#but I just love being bred with eggs

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Imagine your just walking through the woods when a monster rushes you from behind. Sprawled on the ground, helpless under their weight, you wait for the blinding pain of claws tearing through flesh, but it never comes.

Instead, those sharp claws tear through your clothing and you feel blood rushing to face out of embarrassment and confusion. Thoughts rampage through your mind as to what it wants, and then you feel something wet and hot against your opening.

You scramble to get a away but it growls against your neck. It's a monster with needs. It won't let you go until it's done.

You cry out as it thrusts into you. Like an animal, it's only focus is breeding you full of its monster spawn. For some horrible reason, that turns you on. You try to fight how arousing it is to be used like this, that this doesn't feel good at all.

Your voice betrays you though and you moan with an orgasm as it thrusts into you one last time and cums.

You're so ready for this to be all over - to just crawl home and fall asleep in a warm blanket - but then you feel something press against your entrance.

The monster whine and bucks forward. You groan with the force as something pops inside. You have no time to wonder what it is as more of these objects start flood your insides.

Eggs.

You realize that you're being bred with eggs. Your tummy rounds so beautifully with them, your tired mind less horrified and more fascinated to watch it expand with each intrusion.

Finally, the monster pulls out. It carries you back to the entrance of the forest and leaves you there to find your own way home.

All you can think about is how your going to hide this from everyone in town.

#terato #monsterfucker #monster x reader #eggpreg #ovipositor #belly expansion #non specified gender #A very generic ovi idea #but I just love being bred with eggs #monster breeding #biscuit tumblr fic

[thefullwomb]

Anna could feel it. The fertility drugs were sending her ovaries into overdrive. She laid her hand over her flat belly as she felt her womb beginning to fill with her eggs. This was her honeymoon present for her husband. Early in their relationship, he had confessed that he had a pregnancy fetish and that he'd always wanted a big family. Anna had promised him that if he married her, she'd make his dream come true. Now, here she was, her womb filled to the brim with fertile eggs as her husband moved between her legs. Over the course of the next 48 hours, Anna lost count of how many loads he pumped into her fertile womb. Something about having sex with the intent of becoming hugely pregnant made Anna cum so hard that she nearly blacked out every time her husband planted his seed in her womb.

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

THREE MONTHS LATER

Anna had become huge. At just three months along, she could easily be confused for a woman overdue with twins. At the point when the average pregnancy was just starting to show, Anna looked ready to pop. She had no idea how many babies her husband had filled her with, but she did know that she wanted more. This had started as a gift for her husband, a fulfillment of his fantasies, but she had inadvertently unlocked a fetish of her own. She had discovered that she loved being bred. It felt so sexy to be used to grow her husband's children. To be so thoroughly claimed by him that even a casual observer could tell that she was his, inside and out. To surrender her body to its most basic, primal purpose: growing babies. With each passing day, she felt her body changing to fulfill that purpose. Her breasts grew bigger and heavier, her hips widened, and her body became softer and rounder. It was heavenly.

"Honey," She cooed, rubbing the swollen curve of her womb. "I want you to make me a promise. I want you to promise to keep me full of your beautiful babies forever. I want you to keep me as your personal baby factory."

She leaned forward and took his member in her mouth. As she did, she threw back a corner of the blanket, revealing three empty bottles of fertility drugs and a note that read, "Make me more pregnant!".

#huge pregnant belly #preggo kink #preggophilia #pregnancy #pregnant kink #permanent pregnancy #pregnancy captions #pregnant captions #pregnant fiction #surro verse #impregnation kink #Superfetation kink #pregnancy story

[gremlingottoosilly]

I'm kinda obsessed lately with the concept of "human pet shops" in the monster au, horangi dragging könig to one so he can find a pet but könig it's actually the one to fall in love, how couldn't he? You look so hopeless

I love you!! I love your brain!! Omg yesss, it would fit so perfectly into a dystopian setting. Monsters take control over civilization, belittling humanity as the strongest beings in this world - there is nothing humans can do when most of them are killed, and only the prettiest, most breedable ones are left. It's really funny, how monsters completely disrupt normal evolutional progress - now it's not the strongest or smartest human who can survive, it's the most submissive and cute people, who just happen to catch the eye of their monster masters. You are just like this - adorable, pretty, perfect for some asshole of a werewolf to take you as their breeding mate...and then you get noticed by Konig. One of the worst possible scenarios - mercenary, colonel is infamous KorTac, Konig isn't the kind of monster who harboured warm feelings towards humans. He needs a warm hole to dump his eggs in and, at first, he thinks this is what you are. Sleeping on the floor, getting dragged by his tentacles constantly...then he actually took you home, placed you on his bed only to have you rolling over into a curling position and snoring softly because this is the best bed you had in months...

Besides forced breeding, he gives you too much freedom - you're only chained by a collar, but free to roam his house, you have a really nice nest where you can sleep during the day, and he takes you to his bed constantly. At first just for sex, but then he started to leave you toys and books and sweets that humans like... You're still so scared, so terrified of this big monster taking advantage of you almost every night(( your insides are constantly sore, you are tired of being bred and naked, and you just want to run away like a stray kitten, but Konig slowly introduces you into his world. You're so pathetic, so dumb, he almost feels bad every time he forces you into the shower, you hate being wet and cold(( he loves cold water, but will force through hot bathes just to make you smile, will buy you sweetly scented shampoos and little toys for the bath, so his human pet can have fun while he is washing her hair!! You're still forced to take his cocks and tentacles in your holes every night, despite your protests - you are begging him to give you a break, but he only adds more and more eggs in your tired holes(

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #monster!konig #cod x reader

[kentofication]

% — yoriichi tsugikuni & fem!reader ] — 527

❝ sexual content # creampie # breeding # mentions of fertilization # marking # praise # petnames # fluff # unprotected sex # dom!yoriichi x sub!reader ❞

“i can tell you’re liking this baby . . . a whole bunch.” yoriichi moaned as he harshly thrusted up into you, molding your walls into the shape of his cock for future sexual moments like this one, branding your pussy as his own. both of his arms were wrapped around your waist and his feet were planted into the mattress, leaving a slight dent in the mattress itself. 

his heavy balls were being slapped against your ass at an outstanding speed as he drilled his cock into you. his pace never faltered, but he did lack the sight of your face. his own was buried into the crook of your neck, leaving love bites all over the soft platform in order to mark you as his. 

his hips created a rhythm that was suitable for you both. your juices dripped down from the base of his cock and slithered down to his balls, creating more slick and rendering it more convenient for him to slide in and out of you. 

yoriichi’s long locks were being tugged by your dainty hands, finding something to ground yourself to escape from his ruthless thrusts. “you’re so p-perfect . . . y’know that? hmm pretty girl?” he inquired during his thrusts, making them more rougher after his question. 

it was hard for you to respond to his praise, you knew yoriichi was never the one for degradation or making you feel bad about yourself. he was always about praise and making you feel more high about yourself. he knows how self conscious you can be and he wants to adjust to that lifestyle, especially with you. he wants to live out his lifetime with you, but in order for him to do that, he must adjust to your doings first. 

he must understand your likes and dislikes during soft moments and intimate ones. he must understand you as a human being and not just an everyday object. he must treat you like an absolute goddess and not some worn down object waiting to be fixed, and to its dismay, broken down again. in his eyes you are his, he must treat you with absolute respect. he must treat you like a goddess. 

that’s why when he stills himself inside of you and cums deep inside to the point where his sperm is spreading into your womb, swimming its way to your unfertilized egg, you don’t tell him to stop. it’s not because you’re too tired or anything, or you’re worn out from all the ruthless fucking you’ve been doing for the past who knows how many hours. it’s because you love him, and he knows that. that’s why he came inside of you. he knows that you wanted to be bred by him sooner or later. he knows this had been boiling inside of both you and him for quite some while. 

yoriichi knows everything about you, because he treats you so well. he listens to your every request. he listens to everything, even when you think he’s not listening. yoriichi tsugikuni swears to himself that he will treat you like an absolute goddess. he swears on his life he will. on his own, precious life.

originally wrote and posted by @kentofication

#yoriichi tsugikuni #yoriichi smut #yoriichi x reader #yoriichi imagines #yoriichi drabbles #yoriichi x y/n #kny smut #kny imagines #kny drabbles #kny x reader #kny x y/n

[ideahat-universe]

It's like Pokemon but mask off.

I like monster catching games and like with most westerners my first taste of the genre was with Pokemon. But it didn't end with Pokemon. A lot of people who fell in love with Pokemon rarely extended their interest to other titles. As a result many other members in the genre languished in obscurity. The most notable ended up being Digimon but Digimon never got a big piece of the pie, but when rpgs were having a monster catcher craze I jumped in.

Monster Rancher, Dragon Quest Monster, Digimon, Azure Dreams, Robopon, and even something completely off the wall.

And after playing that and many more I had my illusion completely shattered on how good Pokemon actually was.

Every game had a little something that Pokemon either dragged their feet on having or never had.

Robopon gives you the ability to customize and change your abilities based on whatever load-out you gave your Robopon. On a surface level this looks like something that makes the identity of your Robopon irrelevant but that's far from the case as items have to be compatible and certain levels of compatibility make moves more or less effective. But the most important part is acknowledging is that when this game came out Pokemon still had sparse, single use TMs and HMs that were permanent. Robopon allowed you to access to basically every move in the game, you just had to discover which combination of items on which Robopon enables it.

Dragon Quest Monsters 1 has a breeding system and mandates that you use it. Not only are bred monsters stronger than wild ones but carefully bred monsters can have unique and very powerful offspring and even if you settle on a specific monster and want it to be your main, the monsters have level caps that are less than 100 meaning that you'll fall off if you insist on holding a monster indefinitely.

Dragon Quest Monsters 1 came out a full year before Pokemon Gold and Silver came out and when that came out and had breeding as well, the differences were brutal. You were expected to wait out the egg hatching (as if running around in a circle was ever going to be a fun game mechanic), then your egg would hatch and the Pokemon would either be the mother in its base form or a not Ditto. But wait, it's even worse. Pokemon have breed compatibility that is obfuscated with vague terms and now instead of mixing and matching at will you have to consult an insane flow chart to divine who can make babies with whom and you just end up using Ditto anyways.

But the worst part is that outside of shiny breeding (and learning a couple of moves from the parents that can't be acquired otherwise) and getting baby forms you don't get anything special from breeding Pokemon because any random Pokemon can have the stats you're looking for meaning that catching Pokemon is going to be better than breeding in almost every regard.

Azure Dreams allowed you to fight with your monsters and your monsters followed you around in the over world. Two years prior Pokemon Yellow came out with the trademark mechanic of having Pikachu following you in the over world. But this feature would not consistently stay in future titles and it took till Arceus for a trainer to be ever slightly more involved in the fight than just standing and giving commands.

Monster Rancher sacrifices a lot of commonly loved mechanics in monster games in order to have the most definitive monster training experience. Monsters have to train via mini games and non-combat related activities.

Monsters get tired, they get sick, they eat, they have favorite and least favorite foods, they can get hurt, they can get angry, they can run away from home, they can cheat their training, and they can fight with or without your guidance. When you play Monster Rancher you will miss out on the exploration and the range of creatures but when you let your Pokemon get one shot because you didn't know the match-up and basically nothing happens to you or them you'll miss how Monster Rancher makes you care about the well being of the Monster and when you're in a cave or a patch of grass or a large body of water, grinding out experience by fighting a small handle of Pokemon over and over again (back then! I know experience gain is really easy now but back then) you'll wish you can just go to a real gym and exercise the experience you want.

Digimon World changes from game to game but the very first one for the PSone is THE game that screwed up how I felt about Pokemon's basic mechanics.

Digimon World 1 gave you only one Digimon to train and raise at a time and a couple dozen transformations but you could feed the Digimon, it has moods and behaviors, you need to discipline it, you can train it in combat or at a gym, you can adjust its stats, it can learn dozens of moves on top of a super move and Digimon are programmable. Intelligence isn't just a magic damage stat. The smarter your Digimon is the better it can comprehend specific commands and complex maneuvers, meaning that with enough training your Digimon can be told to do everything from evade oncoming attacks, go whole hog and do max damage, Defend from all attacks, or even conserve mana spending.

Dragon Quest Monsters had this as well where depending on how they are trained they handle fights and understand commands based on your training or lack thereof.

Nothing like this really exists in Pokemon. When Reverend breaks Pokemon down to "press the button to receive dopamine." It's a joke but in reality, as a trainer you should be expected to actually train your Pokemon well enough to actually do things on their own. In real life every trainer for every sport expects the person they train to be self directing, when you do a coliseum match in Dragon Quest Monsters you can't give monsters specific commands so you have to rely on how you conditioned them to fight well beforehand.

A Pokemon Trainer should be able to be hands off, and have your Pokemon handle it on their own. If you have to tell your Pokemon what to do and when to do it, have you really even trained them anything?

And you might think this is a long diatribe on what is clearly a post about Palworld but my point is that I play the Monster Collector/trainer games and have been finding Pokemon lacking for maybe 15 years. So I look forward to and support the little differences that make other monster collection/training games better than Pokemon and Palworld offers a very unique experience when compared to Pokemon.

Let me break it down.

Pokemon slowly phased out regular real world animals in favor of more Pokemon but they often gloss over how because there are no normal animals and there's just Pokemon for everything, that Pokemon have to be the main product that's consumed and killed and that hundreds of Pokemon more than likely exist to just be butchered and consumed regardless of how sentient and sapient

many of them are. At the very least Pokemon have their own food cycle where they brutally murder each other to stay alive.

In Palworld you don't have that issue! It's a dog eat dog world, whatever you don't feel like capturing or keeping you thrash 'em and scrap 'em. The game has ragdoll physics so when you're done murdering the sheep and stripping it of its assets you can roll its dead body into a river.

Pokemon talks a big game about friendship and love and how you can't just treat Pokemon like emotionless weapons. However, that's exactly what players do. There's no consequence for letting your Pokemon get nuked so there's no particular care for their well being. Nine times out of ten you don't win because you love your Pokemon more. You win because your Pokemon out levels the opponent or they hard counter the opponent.

In Palworld they don't worry about that ethical dilemma. You know what? Your Pals are weapons and if you really want to up the ante, give them a gun! In the Pokemon world most conflicts are resolved with a Pokemon battle but in Palworld killing people is a team effort!

Gary may think he's smarter than you but is he smarter than bullet?

Throughout the games and the movies and the comics and even TV show what you'll notice is that actually Pokemon battles are a low priority for most Pokemon owners. A lot of people treat Pokemon as family members and pets but even more use Pokemon as a utility to solve everyday problems or participate in special contests.

Depending on the Pokemon game you are playing the side content can enable ways for you to treat the Pokemon like a friend and not like a living gun. There are even mini games that allow you to train your Pokemon towards a goal that doesn't involve just fighting the opponent but these things aren't added on top of each other with each title, they're swapped out. Never the same mini games, never the same friendship mechanics and in each game they are very shallow.

In Palworld you are expected to fight with your Pals but the main feature is putting your Pals to work at your base. Building and turning your complex into a well oiled machine. Not every Pal does the same job so you're invited to get many pals for many different tasks.

So in Palworld they are a pet, they are also a gun, and a hammer. But it's all a core feature and not side content and there's no pretense where you pretend that the creatures you control is not just tools to serve you and do what you desire.

Speaking of desire! Pokemon has Winked and nudged at the idea that Pokemon are occasionally more than friends and pets. There are an odd amount of Pokemon that are more human than monster and there's a redacted text log that says Pokemon and humans were mates and got married. It's hard to know just how close Pokemon are to humans without it being kid friendly or just extremely strange.

Palworld doesn't have that issue! In fact.

Here's Lovander! A Pal whose text entry more or less says that it's fucking everything that moves! It has only recently set its sights on humans, but that's not a big deal. After all, humans can be captured in Pal spheres like any other Pal. That's right game theorists! in Palworld humans are just Pals and are subject to the exact same mechanics.

It takes courage to say the quiet part out loud.

Now is Palworld the Monster Catcher game I've been waiting for? Kind of. It's in early access and if it adds more tasks and locations and objectives it could be quite good. Being completely unhinged and unethical is what makes Rimworld great. If this game can be modded easily, for 30 dollars. It's worth your time. Let's just hope that Craftworld was just a stepping stone for this and not an indication of the devs being more idea dogs than developers.

#palworld #pokemon #digimon world #video games #rpg #Youtube

[alien-magnolia]

Wife <3

Short fic/ description: domestics with your older!neighbor Eddie Munson, who you love with your whole heart!! Marriage is bliss.

Tw: d/s implied dynamics, major breeding/preg kink, family fluff, protective! Eddie Munson, dom-coded! Eddie Munson, sub-coded!Hyperfem reader!!

A/n: I think I might make this a series!

Your pink fingernails tapped on the pastel blue mixer as it mixed the eggs, flour, milk, baking soda and sugar together. You were baking a cake for the return of your beloved husband, Eddie. 

Although you were only twenty-three, he was thirty-five, and you first met him as you and your dad moved into Hawkins. Your dad and yourself came from a religious family, and you made sure to make room for G-d in your day to day life. 

Your very ‘trustworthy’ next door neighbor was exactly what you wished for. Your relationship grew, the two of you fell in love. Eddie Munson saved you in an way that G-d never would. He was your person, a person that was your home. 

You moved in next door with him only a few months after you began to date. A year after, a quiet and eloping wedding in the deep of the Hawkins woods, where you and Eddie swam in the creek naked afterwards, for hours on end. 

Here you were then, home-making, adding an earnest addition to the delicious dinner ready for your husband. You rub your belly, swollen with Eddie’s child, as you feel a cramp. Your unborn babe must have been kicking. 

You hear your Eds come through the door. Strong, fully tatted arms wrap around you, pulling you close. “How’s my beautiful girl today, huh?,” he asks, with a peck to your cheek, which turns into a long, tender kiss. “M’fine, my Eds. Just cramps.”

He gave you a look of pity, then leaning down to caress your heavy belly, heavy just for him. “How’s my son today, being nice to mommy?,” he chuckles, his hairy hand soothing the swollen stretch marks he gave you. 

Just a few months after marriage, the both of you had fulfilled your most primal urges <3 here he had, his young wife, all round and heavy with his child, he bred her to his heart’s content!! Oh, did you love being bred. You and your Eds tried for months, months, for a child. You were almost at full-term now, and how you loved carrying your husband’s seed all this time, feeling it grow inside you. 

You sigh, leaning into Eddie as his dark curls tickle your cheek, his beard feels scratchy as he buries his head into your neck. “Made dinner f’me, huh? Can’t wait, sweetheart. Go on, you rest on the couch and I’ll take care of you both.” You do as said, and how you loved being coddled by him. 

He brings you the dinner that you made, gives you a shoulder, neck, and belly rub , his muscles kneading your skin, you were completely putty in his hands. This was usually apart of your nightly routine. You would face the days worth of chores, pregnancy issues, and more. Eds would come home, feed you, calm you down, and then you were under his spell, wrapped around his tattooed finger (wedding ring tattoos instead of actual rings) all ready to be bred before the night would end. 

My happy, heavy wife, hmm?,” he’d say, after a massage. Daddy’s girl, carrying my seed, so fuckin’ good f’me.” At that point, you’d already be panting for him, watching his calloused fingers go up your thigh, squeezing the soft skin you had there.

The cross on the wall watches the both of you with searing contempt, as Eddie starts his ministrations elsewhere, between your legs, one hand gently rubbing your puffy and swollen clit <3 the other rests on your belly.

Sooner rather than later, he has you back up, legs spread, pounding you from behind while you scream, losing your mind at the feeling of his thick cock dragging along your walls, his veins pulsing, his balls softly teasing your puffy lips!!

You chant his name as if he were G-d himself! “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, was all you could think about, as his wide chest pressed down against your back, having his pregnant wife in a mating press, he finished in you. <3 

“You okay, sweets? Let me help you up, yeah?,” he smiles, that chivalrous, protective side of his always showing, growing even stronger for his wife, knowing there is more to protect now <3.

He adjusts you comfortably on the couch, you lay your head on his chest, fingers tracing his happy trail. You felt ever so happy, that warm trail of his seed dripping down your still pulsing walls. 

Evolution, biology, have run their course. Both you and Eddie succumbed to your most primal instinct. You were married, owned — pregnant, bred. He would die protecting his wife and unborn child.

The both of your wedding ring tattoos glistened in the light of the dim yellow bulb, covered by a white linen shade with ‘Garfield’ on it.

Gentle hands in larger ones, the both of you drift off to sleep, with Eddie’s hand still around your belly, loving you, cherishing your body.

#liz’s masterlist #stranger things smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #soft dom eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #dom eddie supremacy #daddy!eddie #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson x hyperfem!reader

[merakiui]

Ough I wanna be bred by Mer!Riddle so bad. What if both Riddle and the reader were paired in a tank together for companionship - to prevent loneliness - but something goes wrong and the water warms up enough to mimic the changes that happen around springtime when goldfish mer breed...

Riddle will definitely be eager to fuck his darling full of precious fry

Yes!!! The waters get warmer and Riddle’s body responds accordingly. <3 yours adjusts as well in preparation to house an entire clutch; it’s just nature at work. The first time you’ve both given in to a biological imperative that hasn’t quite been necessary because researchers only wish to study your budding friendship. There are plenty of goldfish mer in the world, so there’s no need to pair you for breeding purposes when the species is plenty extant. But the researchers won’t complain when they check on you days later after you’ve failed to come to the surface and they learn you’re taking shelter at the bottom to rest after being pumped full with eggs.

Riddle is immensely pleased with himself and he hovers a lot. He’s just so thrilled and full of love for you; his coloration seems much brighter these days, as does yours. The researchers observe that the two of you seem so sweet and happy together. Riddle’s very protective of you, shooing researchers away when they stray too close to you. They watch from afar, and there’s a routine Riddle follows with them. He comes to the surface of the enclosure every day to collect food from the researchers so that he can personally deliver it to you. He never seems to rest; there’s always something to be done—whether that’s tidying up the little cave at the bottom or constantly checking in on you. Sometimes he manages to coerce you out for a short swim so you can stay active.

He’s so diligent and helpful. The researchers see a side of you and Riddle that they never would have seen had the water temperature not fluctuated to this degree. It’s a pleasant surprise, but it gives them more insight into the dynamics between mates (when you aren’t resting or eating, you’re fucking. A lot.). It’s a perfect opportunity for further study, but before any of that they’ll help in any way they can so that you can lay successfully and safely.

Riddle’s grateful for the researchers’ assistance, but he’s still not too keen on trusting them. He’s always wary, even more so now that you’re carrying. And it can be overwhelming and suffocating when he looms and becomes so hyper-focused, but he truly does mean well. He loves you and the fry so much, and he happily anticipates the day they’re brought into the world.

#twisted chit chat

[spicyraeman]

Nothing against the concept, but if I may ask why remove the tits from Lae'zel? Anyways love how you draw her titless or not

Ayo! Glad you like my Lae’zel even without the tits lol

Lae’zel’s titlessness has less to do with Lae’zel herself and more to do with my headcanons for the Gith as a whole. The Gith spent generations of enslavement being experimented on by mind flayers and then went on to be an intensely militaristic society, along with the fact that they lay eggs to reproduce it just makes sense to me that at some point during all that certain secondary sex characteristics like breast were just bred out of them.

Other than that it's just an aesthetics thing, I think it gives her a more sleek and alien design and honestly, I find the tits on the in-game Gith models look strange and tacked on to their otherwise 0% body fat bodies.

#asks #I also keep the nips as a vestigial trait #id be more willing to accept the whole thing as a vestigial trait if the gith didn't practice actual factual eugenics

[transalphabf]

im unusually tall and strong, for an omega - im not used to being physically overpowered.

maybe that's why i flinch and let you fold me into a mating press: i simply don't expect you to be stronger than me. but maybe it's instinct, to let a big, mean alpha force his cock inside, fully intending to breed me.

you tease me as you slide in. how is a sweet omega like me trying to pretend he doesn't want to be bred when his body is allowing every inch of your alpha dick inside? how could i say i don't want it when im instinctually unable to fight against your grip? what am i talking about, saying i can't get pregnant right now - i can, and i will.

after hours of fucking me, stretching my pussy open, you finally decide im ready. you shove my knees back against my chest, adjust your angle, and force your fat knot all the way inside. my bruised, battered, sensitive little cervix can't take it - finally it gives way, and as your knot pops into my ruined cunt, the head of your cock violates my womb. i finally allow my omega instinct to take over, and i open my legs wider as you fuck my uterus. your tip stretches its walls, ramming into me in preparation to mate.

when, at last, you begin to shoot ropes of hot, virile cum into my womb, i begin to cry from the pleasure. with every egg another of your wriggling sperm claims, i climax, and it only serves to milk more cum from your cock. i can't help it: im finally fulfilling my purpose.

(sorry for the long ask.. i just did my t shot and it sent me right into heat 🥴 love love love your content)

(sorry I took so long to reply to this - hope your heat was nice and intense and your pretty omega cunt was ruined from being fucked so hard)

Your cervix knows its place in the world, and its place is gripping the head of my cock like a vice, forcing me to pump my thick, hot load into your incredibly fertile womb. Just the feeling of the thick, blunt tip of my cock kissing your cervix had been driving you insane, so think how it feels once I break through to your most private place.

Just think how oversensitive you are from cumming over and over again for hours as I used your formerly tight little cunt and finally your womb itself as my cock sleeve. My knot's so big and thick that you pretty much white out at the feeling of something so huge tying you, claiming your cunt as this Alpha's.

Your eggs all being sought out by my Alpha seed, guaranteed to impregnate you, guaranteed to make you heavy and full and content with knowing your purpose as my broodmare.

#knotting nsft #omegaverse nsft #alphaomega #t4t nsft #t4t breeding #omega nsft #nsft #cervix nsft #cervical penetration #cervix penetration

[spacebarbarianweird]

What about Astarion X Dragonborn!Tav headcanons?

This one was really tricky! I had to spend some time reading about the Dragonborn. Hope you will enjoy it

Apparently, Dragonborns in DnD are more mammals than reptiles. They are warm-blooded and have human-like biology (except for laying eggs). 

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Dragonborn!Tav

There is the thing about you two, a literal dragon and an elf.

Dragonborns are from a different world, Abeir, and arrived in Toril only during the Spellplague, only a century ago.

Rare in number, exotic, scary.

Astarion had to sleep with thousands of people. Humans, dwarves, elves, gnomes, name it yourself.

Any possible relationship is tainted at best.

But Astarion was never forced to sleep with Dragonborns.

They were never among the victims. Ever.

When he is with you, he can forget.

Being with you doesn't awake unpleasant memories.

Your skin is covered with beautiful scales, and your dragonlike face doesn't show humanoid emotions.

You are different. Alien. Gorgeous.

You are much bigger than him and stronger.

Sometimes, when you hug Astarion, you are afraid to break him as if he is made of crystals.

Your thick fingers and claws are nothing like his delicate palms.

When you caress his hands, you fear hurting him, ruining his perfect silk-like skin.

Often you carry Astarion around in your hands or on your shoulders - he is almost weightless to you.

You are warm-blooded, but the temperature of your body is much higher than that of other humanoids. It feels feverish, and the most of the non-dragonborns you meet refuse to touch you since your scales are just too hot.

But that's exactly what Astarion needs.

He is always cold, the freezing grip of death owns his undead heart.

You are basically a walking heater to him. When you sleep, he just cuddles you, stealing as much warmth as he needs.

And you also feel comfortable with something cold in your hands

Astarion loves your scales. He often washes you, seeing water streaming down your muscled body.

Your blood tastes different - it has fire in it, and it burns in a good way.

Like all the Dragonborns you are good with arts and especially crafting. You make jewelry for Astarion - mostly something Elven-coded.

You treat him like your own beautiful princess you saved from a monster.

And he answers with love and care you would never expect from non-Dragonborn.

Besides, your ancestors were slaves, bred, and exploited for the sake of Draconic Lords - you've never been a slave yourself, but the hatred toward evil masters is innate.

Eventually, you take Astarion home, to Tymanther, a displaced kingdom on the far east of Faerun.

You make him a part of your kin, so, once you are gone, he still has a place to belong.

--

--

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy @tugoslovenka

#spacebarbarian headcanon #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion headcanon #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #tav x astarion #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x reader #astarion and tav #astarion x you #bg3 dragonborn #dragonborn #dragonborn tav #astarion ancunin

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Wolf in Sheeps Clothing, Another idea

While writing, it's common to come up with multiple ideas centered around one idea. For this prompt, there was quite a few I was considering:

CW: Monsterfucking, noncon, eggpreg, broodmare fetish, pregnancy kink

What if the monster was well known on the farm. You're the rookie out grazing with the sheep when your pushed down and fucked full of eggs. Your fellow farm hands drag you back to the farmhouse and explain that what this monster is. It protects the sheep and cattle and even the farmers. There isn't just one on the farm, probably dozens, but they're all complete replicas of their mimicked animal. You can't tell which one is which and at this point there's no real reason to try and discern the creatures. You're not allowed to kill them and, honestly, the only reason why they haven't tried to kill everyone here is that you're all useful for taking their brood. What does it matter that a few livestock goes missing overnight and a farmhand is left pregnant for the next few months when you some useful monsters at your side more than happy to keep the herd safe.

Or maybe the monster just leaves you there. Hole unplugged. The eggs don't settle within you and quickly try to evacuate the way they came. It takes fifteen minutes of pushing for a pile of eggs to brush between your thighs. That's when your finally able to sit up and get into a more natural position on all fours, letting gravity do all the work. You hate how pleasurable it is to birth these eggs, but you can't get pregnant with them. You'd hate to what birthing them months from now would be like. It takes an hour of groaning and painful spasming orgasms to finally feel like you've gotten rid of them all. You even stuff a hand inside to see if you can force any out manually. You're thankful when you finally get back home to owrest. Terrified of going back to tend to your flock, but shits still got to get done around here. And, as the months dredge on and try to forget what happened, you start to notice that knowing bulge of your stomach growing bigger.

I always love the stories of people being strapped to the underbellies of centaurs and being fucked with every step. It went in a way different direction than the prompt, but imagine if it hadn't left you there. Instead you were assimilated into its body. You hadn't seen the eggs against its facade, no one would be able to see you, stuffed full of tentacles at both ends and gravid with eggs. The other farmhands you worked with would wonder what happened to you, its just like you vanished into thin air. If only they knew you were being fucked among the herd grazing out in field unnoticed. The only time you weren't stuffed is when you were finally allowed to birth the eggs. They quickly grew into their own adult "sheep" and kidnapped their own broodmares to be bred. How many would have to disappear before an investigation occurred? Or maybe you were sacrificed to this creature on purpose.

#Biscuit writing discussion #monster breeding #monsterfucker #monster x reader #terato #eggpreg #ovipositor #cnc k!nk #biscuit snippet

[extrajigs]

Wanted to expand on some domesticated animals of Mirum. These are basically cat-dog birds, ranging in size from cat to medium sized dog. Still need a name for group over all, suggestions appreciated! In depth info below the cut! 

1. The OG This is the wild ancestral form, basically the wolf to the dog. They are from the grass/shrub lands of Mirum and spend most of the year scrounging around for food until the end of the wet season. Once the floods are over they pop out babies like nobodies business while feeding on the debris left by the flooding. By the time fire season rolls around their numbers are pretty scarce. They travel in little groups with multiple hens and one big buff man! But this man does not necessarily need to be a male, or a bird even! They were the first species domesticated by the chimera and the only one to leave Mirum with them.  The ‘Natural’ Breeds These are just the morphs bred into these fellas without any magical manipulation involved, so they still look relatively close to their wild ancestors.  2. The Cupid  These are purely pets, originally kept just for eggs they lost that purpose as more efficient birds came around for that. Now they just make docile lil lapbirds. Though inattentive owners will find old eggs hidden throughout the house if they’re not careful. Most of the time though they tend to stay by their owners ankles.  3. The Ruff Fluffy lil guys who make for great pest control, they’re a very sporty breed despite everything and need a lot of energy to stop them from destroying their surroundings out of boredom. Will do well with another ruff or dog of similar size, though they can be a bit of a bully in the care of a lax owner. 4. The Gallop Literally just made for running, can keep up with a chimera at full sprint and at a normal long distance run. For those with a more active lifestyle. Though they will just as happily laze around all day, just happy to be included honestly. These are also the best swimmers of the natural breeds with their extra oily coat.  5. The Dome This is a purely ornamental bird, stocky and colorful they are the most relaxed of all the birds. Most prefer chimeric company to that of other birds and have a habit of separation anxiety when not with their owner. In line with that, these are the most accepting of chimeric ‘talk’ with most quickly getting accustomed to projected commands. Though please don’t overwhelm your bird, casting the full range of sentient experience unto lesser beings CAN and WILL cause them existential distress! Not to mention your personality may displace your pet’s. 6. The Fluff  The original pillow stuffing. These guys feathers are softer than any other. Keeping a mostly downy ‘undercoat’ for their whole life. That being said these guys can get absolutely RANCID if not kept clean and tidy. Only for the most advanced and attentive of owners unless you want an unholy dingleberry beast skulking around. They also are VERY bitey.  7. Crested These are historically for eating, but have grown to be a very pish posh fancy breed. Most are pure white, thanks to inbreeding, and albeit are not the sharpest tools in the shed. But if you are looking for a bird who may just ignore your commands but love you eternal, this is your bird! 

That’s them so far, will make the magical monstrosities later. Also wanted to try a different lineart style. Thin is nice but I miss my chunky brush. Glad to have tried it though! 

#mirum #chimera #chimera adjacent really #fantasy #birds #need name aaaah i cant think of a good one for these still tho HM #speculative biology #spec bio #Speculative Evolution #spec evo #art #no true north

[gremlingottoosilly]

how would monster konig/price act with a plus size partner? would they like her better? i think they would like her a bit more then a straight sized mate since their plus size mate would have a perfect body to load with eggs/babies!!

- 🍌 anon

(banananon) :))

(I'm going with monster Price for this one because I have too many Konig asks, I need a break) His whole deal is feeding you so his inner bear would be pleased with his mate being soft and sated! Not to the point of a fetish, he won't make you eat if you don't want to(well, I mean, he won't make you eat more than one portion, you're still not getting hungry on his watch), but he still loves to see your body changing just a little bit, meaning that he is a good owner and you're finally healthy enough to take his cubs without breaking. Humans are fragile, after all - he doesn't forget to tell you this, every time he squeezes your waist to pound his fat dick into your pussy, he will whisper just how easy it would be for him to shift and tear you apart - and how he won't do it as long as you're a good, dumb human for him. He would love a chubby partner, the more darling he has, the happier Price is! He will snuggle with you in your nest, happy that all the blankets he prepared are getting well used. He never believed in having a mate before, despite wanting to dump his cum into something fruitful every time he got into a mating season - but he sees your soft arm rolls, your chubby cheeks, your belly that would make a perfect pillow when he is too tired being a monster bear he is...he snatched you right away, not caring about any other pets he might have chosen. You are getting bred right away, even before he got you a proper nest( Price knows that his life is risky, that he doesn't want to get his boys to breed you before him - as much as he considers them his pack - and he doesn't waste time for anything nice. You're still scared and dizzy after being dumped on a bed in this weird military facility filed with broody monsters, and how he squeezes your soft belly and whispers how he is going to put cubs in you - how good of a many you'll make, already so soft and ready for his seed.

#cod #price x reader #john price x you #monster!price #tw: monster fucking #yandere price

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Thank you for you blog! I love it so much - I come here daily to read your latest posts.

I'd love to own a snake but alas, I currently live in New Zealand so no snakes for me.

Do you have cool facts about tuatara? I do but I'd love readers of your blog to learn about these cool little reptiles!

It's a huge dream of mine to work with tuatara one day! I've always loved the reptile life of Oceania and literally the only reason I haven't already moved to Australia or even Aotearoa/NZ is because of the limitations on keeping non-native species.

Anyway, aren't tuatara just the coolest? For those unfamiliar, tuatara (Sphenodon punctatus) might look like lizards, but they're not! Tuatara are the only surviving members of Rhynchocephalia, the sister order to Squamata, the scaled reptiles (lizards, snakes, and amphisbaenians).

Rhynchocephalians used to be very widespread, but today they exist only in limited populations in Aotearoa. They were almost driven to extinction by habitat loss and pressure from invasive species, and for a long time the only wild populations were on offshore islands. In a huge success for tuatara conservation, though, populations were reintroduced onto the North Island and there are now hatchlings being born on the North Island for the first time in centuries. There's still so much work to be done to help these amazing reptiles, but it's worth celebrating! The Chester Zoo in England has also welcomed tuatara hatchlings, meaning tuatara have been successfully bred outside of Aotearoa for the first time and indicating possible future success for wider zoo breeding programs across the world!

Tuatara have many anatomical features that are unique among reptiles, and they tell us a lot about the extinct rhynchocephalians. Their teeth arrangement is unique among reptiles, and their lower jaws can slide to cut through bone. They're the only known amniotes who have hourglass-shaped vertebrae, and they have gastralia (belly ribs). Even if they might look kinda like lizards on the outside, their skeleton is wildly different!

Tuatara have the most well-developed parietal eyes of any vertebrates. These are "third eyes" that sit on top of the head, and in most reptiles who have them they're extremely primitive, but in tuatara they have well-developed retinas and a cornea-like structure! Parietal eyes are covered by a thin layer of skin and probably help with thermoregulation and day/night cycle regulation.

They are carnivores and eat a wide diet of insects, lizards, and birds. Juvenile tuatara will hunt during the day so they can avoid being eaten themselves by adult tuatara, who hunt at night.

The name "tuatara" comes from te reo Māori, and means "peaks on the back," a reference to the spines along a tuatara's back. Tuatara are sexually dimorphic, and the spines are larger and more rigid in males. They're used in breeding and defensive displays!

One of the challenges for tuatara conservation is how long it takes them to reach sexual maturity - about 10-20 years, and they tend to have very small egg clutches. They've been recorded to lay up to 19 eggs, but a more typical clutch is as small as 3-6 eggs or even a single egg. These eggs also take over a year to be laid and hatch. They have the slowest growth rates of any reptile, reaching full size at around 30 years and having an average lifespan of around 60 but lifespans closer to 100 not being uncommon.

The oldest known tuatara is named Henry, and he lives at the Invercargill museum on the South Island. He's at least 120 but may be as old as 150, and is still fathering healthy clutches!

Tuatara are simply incredible. They're so unique among living reptiles, and they have so much to tell us about a mostly-extinct order of reptiles. Plus, like, you can't deny they're so cool and adorable!

#not a rating #tuatara #tuatara anatomy #sorry for the long post. being asked to talk about tuatara awakens something within me #long post

[eggedbellies]

Cumflation always fun

My favorite is when it's caused by tentacles

Especially if they cause... Side effects to say the least. 

Mmmhh even better if the slime that lubes them is an aphrodisiac to humans,  just a little touch and maybe you'll feel the heat start to creak in,  just enough to question if you should leave or not.  The air was heavy with the smell of it,  almost alluring.  Letting one come and poke around your mouth,  letting it slither in and coat your mouth in its gooey self.  It starts to leak as you succumb to the aphradaisc,  or maybe,  your true feelings. Feel as they undress you,  pull your clothes off you,  leaving more and more of their slime on you,  only making you more wet. Feel as they grab you,  hold you in the air, pose you so all your holes can be open to use.  Feel as they tease your needy hole,  leaking.  Beg for them to use you,  to stop teasing,  but they won't,  not yet.  Not till they are certain you are ready,  and when they did,  oh you came from a simple thrust. 

Feel everything go into overdrive,  feel as if you beg to be filled.  They explore your body,  giving it a nice clean coating,  one final feel before you change for the better.  Feel as the first tentacle fills you,  already causing bloat of cum.  Have it comfort you,  rub your belly to make sure you are ok.  Then the netentaclesles appear and repeat the process.  Can't leave you thirsty,  how about we put one in your mouth,  to keep you nice and fed with cum.  Hours pass as you are passed between tentacles,  your holes leaking all their cum,  until it's break time,  to allow you to rest and perhaps,  gestate,  to allow the eggs to form.  Don't worry, just call out and a tentacle will come and satisfy you. 

I wonder what you'll be like in a couple of days,  weeks,  maybe months.  Days of being filled to the brim,  with cum or eggs.  Laying eggs and being filled.  Maybe you've gotten a bit leaky in the tits,  and you have two dedicated tentacles to milk you.  Maybe even more,  who's to say you won't grow an extra pair?  Maybe so much breeding left you a bit alien,  perhaps an extra eye,  a skin change, or much much more,  , who's to say you don't have tentacles you can control yourself? 

All I know is the human who's going to come find you not going to want either. 

Oh yes slime lube is a classic! Yes! Good! We love aphrodisiac slime lube, that is a verye yummy thing. Finding your brain foggy and loose, and it doesn't seem like a bad idea - actually, it feels like a downright good one, now, to let them slip into your body, hold and carress you, letting them slip into your holes and take possession of you -- it's a perfect little gift, isn't it?

And then being nothing more than their toy, always bred and full, squirming tentacles keeping your body constantly oversensitive and round and … yeah… there's a reason tentacles were one of my earliest kinks slol.

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 1: Spring

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: eventually Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Mostly just Ellie being a swear mouth. There’s a lamb birthing. Fluff…this fic is sloooooow.

Summary: Joel and Ellie return to Jackson and you introduce them to the sheep.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

Here it is, y’all. Not much happens. It’s just life in Jackson. There’s more Ellie here than Joel, but that’s because I figure Joel wouldn’t even turn his head toward someone if Ellie didn’t love her first. I’m just setting the stage for healing, for giving Ellie and Joel a nice home and good things. Nothing happens. Life is slower and softer here. Welcome to the Roost.

You were there when Tommy Miller was ushered–bloodied and busted–by the patrol through the gates of Jackson. The hard steel of Maria’s eyes through the slit between her hat and kerchief found you in the crowd and told you with a glance, I know what I’m doing. Meet me at home.

“Yeah, he’s one of them,” you’d confirmed to her later that afternoon as one of the Roostlings tended to his split lip and eyebrow in her living room. “I say we leave him to the coyotes.”

You’d trusted them once upon a time, the Fireflies. But your experiences with them were a deep education in morals and humanity. What you’ve come to believe is that everyone has an equal right to life and compassion and protection. And you might not have found that in yourself if the Fireflies hadn’t come through your papa’s ranch touting that sentiment but living up to a totally different set of rules, one where everyone had an equal expendability for the greater good of the survival of the species.

Fuck the species. If humans were meant to die out, then they would. Nothing is permanent. Not civilization or any one species, not even the mountains that surround your town–even the wind and rain would take them someday. All you can do is be good to those here and now, nurture what you have, and mourn what you lose with a little humility and gratefulness that you got to enjoy it in the first place. There’s already enough suffering. Why add to it? Or prolong it? Just let us all wane with kindness and compassion. Spend our days eating good food and caring for sheep, wildflowers swaying in the sunshiney breeze and stars twinkling at night–

“You go somewhere, Meadowlark?” Tommy teases as he passes you a plate of honey-glazed carrots, bean salad, and egg souffle, breaking you out of your reverie. You’ve come to prefer his tamales, but Maria wanted to use up some of last year’s supplies, so this Sunday’s family meal is harvest plate.

“I was just thinking about the day you came to Jackson.”

Leaning back in the wooden dining room chair, dark eyes glinting in the candlelight, his smug little smile is insufferable. “You wanted my hide on a fence.”

“Stretched and tanned. Could have been useful for patching boots at least.”

“What was it changed your mind again? Oh yeah. Weatherproofing the storehouse, building out your Roost, constructing a working loom–”

“It was the cornbread. And maybe the tamales.” Keeping a deadpan glare between you while stabbing a carrot and taking a bite, you point your fork at your best friend. “And you’re good to my girl here.”

Maria chuckles through a mouthful, shaking her head down at her plate like a mother trying not to let two warring siblings know how amusing they are. “I regret everything. And nothing.” The same dark eyes that glinted with reservation on Tommy’s first day hold back none of her big, tough heart as they seek him out now. “But speaking of mending shoes…you reminded me. Tommy’s brother came by while you were at the Roost.”

Your fork, halfway to your mouth, drifts back down to the plate. “Joel? Here? How’d he find you?”

Tommy answers carefully, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. “He didn’t, really. Patrol found him. Him and a teenager. They were looking for the Fireflies because…the girl belongs to them or something. Used my last known location and headed out west.”

“From Boston? On foot? And he survived?”

“All the stories I’ve told you about him and that’s what surprises you?”

Tommy’d been an open book from day one, answering Maria’s questions about his background, the QZs he’d lived in, why he felt the need to leave the Fireflies. As they’d grown closer and he joined in your family dinners, there were stories traded from the beforetimes, about his construction business with his brother, how his niece’s death changed them both, the things they’d done to good people just to survive. He held nothing back and owned up to his mistakes. Although he often blamed Joel for actions he willingly took part in. Still, admitted that he used his army training to teach Joel to shoot and unwittingly turned him into a killing machine.

But even so, he missed him. You could see that. Tommy missed his big brother. Wished it could be different, that he could have changed him, brought Joel back from his numbness before it was too late. Best he could do was run away from his regret, swing the other way and try to even out all his wrongs…but then found out that the Fireflies weren’t the answer to any of it. And despite all Tommy had admitted to doing, it was this ability to forgive, to take some fraction of responsibility, and to shelter his light through the darkness that Maria took a shine to.

You involuntarily glance toward the living room, toward the mantle where there’s a polaroid of a ruggedly handsome thirty-five year old man and a girl in fluffy brown pigtails. “Shit, Tommy. You think he’ll head back here?”

“Said he was counting on it.”

There’s a somber silence at the table as everything comes to a halt. Maria’s not exactly chilly, just… reserved. Ah. They’ve already been talking about it.

“Should I be congratulating you on a family reunion or….?”

The sudden winter of their discontent warms to a spring as your old friend goes back to her plate. “Well, it’s yet to be determined. Of course he’s welcome here, but not if he brings trouble.”

“He’s not going to bring trouble, sweetheart. You should have seen him that night we talked. He’s got demons chasing him, but he’s tired of running. He needs good people. We’re good people.”

“Unless he finds those Fireflies and they take him in first,” you interject. “Seems to me they’re just like everyone else, and a man who’s that good at mindless, morally-gray protection is a valuable asset.”

That sets him laughing, breaking the tension, throwing you unexpectedly off-guard after you’d just darkly insulted his kin. “Joel? Join the Fireflies? Not a chance in heaven, hell, or all the shit between! He’ll be back. He’s an asshole, but he’s my brother and I know him. He’ll be back. You’ll see.”

________

The day after coming back from your next shift at the Roost, you find yourself ass to the mud on the street outside the Jackson stables. Two bodies–yours, and that of a larger child–rounding a corner in colliding trajectories. You’d been fiddling with the buttons on your walkie, not watching where you were going, your boots taking you home the way they’ve done for years.

But she’d been moving fast–not running, but walking with that speed that teenagers are only capable of when they’re stomping off in a probable fit of angry hormones.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she curses, diving for your wayward walkie and the batteries that spit out all over the ground as you get yourself up and your ass dusted off. “Here,” she says, clumsily dumping a cluster of plastic and tech into your hands. “I hope I didn’t break it. Are you like one of the marshals here or something?”

A quick rummage through the jumble in your hands shows no damage and you start pumping the batteries back in, casting a glance around for the compartment cover. “Not quite.” Seeing what you need a few feet away on the ground, you nod at it. “Would you mind getting that cover, miss…er… You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”

“Ellie.” She watches with interest as you clip the walkie back together and push the activation switch. “I’ve never seen one that small.”

“It’s actually an old kid’s toy. Meadowlark to Whippoorwill,” you mumble into the walkie, your lips nearly touching the plastic speaker, “just had a butterfingers. Testing the walkie.”

“What’s a butterfingers? Are those like code names?” Ellie asks.

Her eyes–black and sparkling–hold your own, a tense moment for both of you as you both hope for different reasons that the machine still works. “Something like that.”

“Whippoorwill here,” comes the voice through the can. “I hear you. Actually need a favor. Send a change of clothes through patrol tomorrow. The big one finally popped and she was a gusher.”

“Damn! I missed it by one damn day? Shit. One or two?”

“Three!”

“Uuuugh. Well that’s just fuckin’ fantastic. Glad you were there to catch ‘em, Whip. This is gonna be a good year. I think Hank’s on the round over there tomorrow. I’ll go pawing through your closet and send some things along.” Starting off in the direction of your friend’s house, you wave back at your new acquaintance. “See ya, Ellie. Nice to meet you. Take it slow around those corners, ‘hear?”

_____

The run-in wouldn’t have been memorable but for the next night when you show up at Maria and Tommy’s place for family dinner, carrying a warm basket of muffins, happy and singing to yourself as you dance in through the door…and come to a stop when four pairs of dark eyes turn to you from the dining room.

Guests? At family dinner? A man and–“Hey there…Ellie, right? Fancy meeting you here…”

The girl smiles from her seat at the table, waving with a hand covered by the sleeve of her raglan top. “Hi.”

“Oh. You know each other,” Maria says, lifting the basket out of your hands. “Then you must have met–”

No. You haven’t met him. But he stands up from the table, wiping a hand on his jeans and extending it to receive yours. Manners. Polite. That’s unexpected knowing the little that you know. His hair is gray now and he’s a bit softer around the middle, more gravity in the cheeks. His ample shoulders have taken weight over the years–literal and emotional.

No, you haven’t met him. But you know him. You’d know those eyes anywhere; studied them in an old polaroid on the mantle just over there. Soft but strong. A good person from another lifetime who was scarred deeply by this one. Someone who cut his soul right down to the quick in order to keep others alive. Those eyes may be a bit more haunted now, but they’re still just as keen.

You never stopped to think that you might someday meet them in person.

“Hi. You must be Joel.” _____

It’s the girls at the table that notice your interest. If left unchecked, your eyes wander across and start to examine the gorilla grip on the fork, the protective hunch over the plate, the beard that’s been newly trimmed and hair recently shaped up (by Maria, no doubt), the scars across the knuckles…temple…nose…

The man’s been through hell and back since the polaroid.

Ellie though…is unscathed, unmarred.

Protected.

And observant. She finally smirks the third time she catches you staring.

Maria’s knee bumps yours to reign you in. He’s not a threat, her eyes say.

This isn’t the time to correct her assumptions, so you put all your focus on your plate or whomever is speaking, whatever isn’t Joel Miller.

“Tomorrow’s work is barrier wall on zone two,” Tommy chews both his words and his venison at the same time. “Once we’ve got that fortified, internal barrier can come down and we can incorporate it as a new section, start safely upgrading the housing there. It’s got a school facility. Be nice to restore that for its intended use instead of using the old record store.”

“Sounds good, count me in,” Joel grunts once he’s politely swallowed his mouthful. “Just put a hammer in my hand and point me at a wall.”

“Just like the good days, eh, brother?”

“Sure.”

“I could swing a hammer” Ellie pipes up.

“You can go to school.”

She scowls darkly at Joel. “Your face can go to school.”

“Ellie–”

“Whippoorwill to Meadowlark.” The walkie on your hip crackles to life and you swallow quickly as all forks stop and all eyes swing to you.

“Meadowlark here. I hear you.”

“Wanted to let you know that all three lambs are hale and made it through the night. Mom’s a little restless, but they’re all safe in the enclosure and I’m doing a sit-in.”

“Thanks for the update. Good to know. You’re in the lead.”

“I know, but Chickadee comes in next week and I bet she takes it. Anyway. Thanks for the clothes and the book, I knew I forgot something. I’ll leave you be unless there’s any change.”

“I’m giving the walkie to Chickadee tomorrow, so you’ll have to egg her on.”

“You know I will. Whippoorwill out.”

Once the radio goes silent, there’s a mix of reactions around the table; pleasant surprise from Maria and Tommy, Joel on guard, his eyes flicking between you and the others waiting to know what it all means, and Ellie’s head twisting around, trying to catch up.

“Three?” Maria trills. “You didn’t tell me there were three new lambs!”

“Yeah. Just missed them. Whip got to do the honors–”

“The big one popped! She was a gusher!” Ellie smiles as the table turns to her. “You were talking about sheep pooping out babies?”

“Ellie, manners. People are eating.” Her guardian glares at her before checking in sheepishly with Maria.

“It’s fine,” you make her excuse. “Ellie head us over the walkies yesterday and–”

“So what’s with the code names?”

The girl is practically vibrating out of her chair with curiosity.

This time it’s your turn to be scrutinized by the newcomers; two pairs of brown eyes hungry for answers.

So you explain while you pick at your dinner.

“There’s a wide acreage outside the settlement walls, on the west patrol loop. We have a good herd of sheep out there. Can’t raise ‘em all in town, there’s not enough room or grazing, although if the winter’s bad, we’ll bring ‘em in to some barns over at the old ranch house.

“But there’s four of us shepherds, each one taking a week at a time out there. Doesn’t require much. Sheep do the hard work of eating and sleeping and rearing their lambs. We do the shearing and milking, send back daily gallons with the patrols–that’ll be the cheese on your salad there. But mostly just make sure they’re healthy and taken care of. Scare off wolves and coyotes if they come sniffing.”

“You go out there alone?” She asks, wide-eyed.

“Sure. It’s pretty secure and the patrols check the fences every day. The Roost is added security for us, since it’s elevated.”

“What’s the Roost?”

“Ah, it’s kind of a fancy treehouse?”

“Thanks to me, I’ll add,” Tommy pipes up. “When I got here, it was nothing more than a shack on a platform. This one here had a target on my back until the day she had four stout walls and a pretty little porch. Won her over pretty quick.”

“Stick built?” Joel asks, shoving a fingerling potato in his mouth.

“Yeah. Reinforced. A-frame. Even pulled windows out of a lodge.”

“Smart.”

Ellie obviously has no time for Construction Corner with the Millers. “You don’t get scared?”

There’s something about her eager wonder that grabs your attention, pulls you in tight, makes you want to answer whatever question she’s got. “There’s nothing to be scared of. I mean, not for us anyway. All of us Roostlings grew up around here. We know the sounds of the animals at night, know they’re more scared of us than we are of them. We’ve seen infected out in the wilds, sure, know what to listen for, but we also know how to defend ourselves if the barriers don’t hold…and they always hold.

“But mostly, it’s relaxing. Quiet. Slow. Time to think. There’s nothing better than a night suspended in the treetops, with the sheep below and the moon and the stars above….”

Joel has stopped chewing, a wistfulness showing from underneath his gruff mask. There’s something thrilling about catching his attention.

A goofy smile cracks Ellie’s face and she giggles, reaches out to punch him on the arm. “Did you hear that? Sheep and stars. It’s everything you dreamed of, buddy!”

“I didn’t mean…” he winces at her brute force and shoots a guarded look at you. “I think I’ll leave the sheep to the shepherds. You said you grew up here?”

It’s the first thing he’s really said to you unprompted and now that you have an excuse to look him in the eye, it’s actually hard to do. “Ah, yeah. Family sheep ranch down in…well, down-river. Not far. Maria too.”

“Spent a lot of time at that ranch growing up,” she smiles. “You and your sister were bad influences.”

“Is that why you up and left us for the big city?”

Maria laughs. “Had to get out before I spent my whole life here. Whoops.”

Joel reins the conversation back. “So you haven’t spent any time in the QZs?”

“No. Holed up at the ranch with…with some folks,” you say as Maria looks away. “Then Jackson was starting up and it was safer here, so I brought in my flock.”

“Hmm,” he grunts, reading your expression, catching the slight omission in your speech. Recognizing survivor’s talk.

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, wondering what your answer is worth to him. You’ve heard of the quarantine zones, knew how rough and miserable they could be. Tommy and Maria both had their stories and you count yourself lucky for never having been unfortunate enough to have to scrabble for existence in one of them. Would have languished and suffocated. Wouldn’t have been able to breathe without the big sky, or sleep without the mountains keeping watch…

Does he think you naive? Or that–wrongly–you’ve had it easy? Does your answer tip the scales in his opinion for the worse?

And what about him? Has the QZ made him dangerous? Hard? Dishonest? Tommy always said he was an asshole…

“Can I see it?” Ellie interjects. “The Roost. Can I go out there with you?”

The question is surprising in more ways than one; most noticeably in its boldness and by your shock in a kid getting so excited about sheep. “Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, that’s why there’s a bunk bed. We bring folks out there all the time. But you have to be willing to work while you’re out there.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Joel grumbles with a tight jaw, stabbing a potato with his fork.

Maria had explained to you the circumstances of Joel carting the girl across the country. To get her that far unscathed? To get her to the Fireflies… He must not have found them or he would have come back alone. Maybe they were dead.

Not that that would be a bad thing.

The girl is smart. Better off here.

But it seems no amount of time can take the father out of the man and he’s fallen into the role for her pretty hard, his jaw twitching as he balances between politeness and worry.

“It’s completely safe, brother. Walled in. Patrolled. In communication, as you’ve witnessed. And the Roostlings are all pretty skilled with a shotgun. She’ll be fine. Might do her some good.”

“Come on, Joooooooel. It’s sheeeeeeeep. In a treehouuuuuu-suh.”

He takes his time chewing. Keeps his eyes on his plate.

“We’ll see.”

“Well,” you smile, winking at the girl across from you, “I just got off my shift, so you’ve got three weeks to warm up to the idea before I go back.”

“Do I get a codename?” She wiggles in her seat, grinning hard at Joel, goading him.

“Sure. I don’t know. You’re pretty spikey. How about Thistle?”

“What?” This dismays her and gets a choke–and then a chuckle–out of Joel. “Why can’t I have a bird name?”

“Because you’re not a Roostling. You have to earn your wings.”

This sets her jaw in a challenge. “Oh. I’ll earn it. I’ll earn it so hard you don’t even know. Bring it on. Take me to the fluffy bastards.”

“Ellie, dammit!”

_____

“So, he’s, uh….” you hand a dish to Maria so she can dry.

“Less than personable?” She finishes, keeping her voice down so as not to be heard by the brothers chatting on the back porch.

“Got some adjusting to do if he’s gonna fit in here, I was going to say.”

“He makes you nervous though. I can tell.”

“No. Not…like that…I just…” It’s best to avoid her keen eye, but catch her surprise out of the corner of yours. “It’s just–”

“My oldest friend in this god-forsaken world,” she declares, throwing the dishtowel on the counter and settling hands on hips. “You are telling me that? That is the man that is turning your head?”

“No. That’s not…He’s…” a growl of frustration follows, trying to scare your thoughts into cohesive order as you scrub glaze out of a pan. “It doesn’t happen that often, you know? Someone from the past showing up and there’s all this…change. I mean, he’s not really from our history, but you’ve had that picture of him and his daughter sitting out and there’s this face from the past just…looming. Like, there was this man who lived and worked construction and then the worst day happened and his child was killed and the person he was just got…replaced with that guy. It’s…I’m just morbidly fascinated by what twenty years in a post-hell society can do to someone. I mean…that smile in the polaroid…he was so warm and healthy…”

It isn’t until this moment that you realize what Maria begins to surmise. The pan and washcloth are abandoned.

“So you’ve had a crush on a man from the past all this time, making your castles in the sand. And you’re disappointed that he showed up and was that.”

She generously and lovingly gives you the time to think.

“Maybe. I don’t know. He’s still good looking, so you have to give me a little slack there. But I don’t know him. Didn’t know him. It’s just an interesting thing, you know? A little fantasy of the beforetimes? One that didn’t really line up way I imagined it?”

Maria begins to laugh kindly and quietly. Then a little less kindly and a lot less quietly. “Oh shit, that man came here for sanctuary and didn’t know he walked into a full-on trap.”

“Hey!”

“No. No. That’s not fair and I’m sorry,” she concedes, taming her laughter somewhat unsuccessfully. “Just go easy on him, okay? He’s Tommy’s brother.”

“Well, then that’s as good a reason as any for me to stay on my side of the creek bed. And, to be fair, those other guys? They came after me first. I have no interest in men that have no interest in me. So it looks like he’s safe.”

“For now,” she smirks. “But. If Tommy keeps me up at night complaining that you’ve busted a bottle over his brother’s head–”

“That was one time! And that guy was a fucking jerk!”--now you’re both laughing–”Which, I guess, yeah, if Joel’s as much an asshole as Tommy says, then maybe I should play it safe and apologize to y’all in advance!”

Thank goodness you have each other to lean on, or you’d both be rolling on the floor in a cackling mess. _____

It only takes a fistful of days and as many shy nods in passing around town for a knock to come at your door one evening.

“Well…hey there….Mr. Miller. What can I do for you this evening?”

The generated streetlights don’t come all the way down your block, and he blinks in the candlelight coming from your open door, his jaw gaping slightly before sealing shut, blocking any words that want to come.

Stepping back, you let the door open wider for him. “I was just putting a snack together. You wanna come in?”

“No, I..don’t…”

You’ve seen this look before from folks new to Jackson. From folks who’ve had to keep what they have to survive. Folks who lived among others who would never offer up anything for free without the expectation of payback and therefore have forgotten–or perhaps never experienced–the simple joy of receiving hospitality.

“You don’t want to come in? Or you don’t want to eat my cooking? Because I’d be offended by either.”

Walking away from the open door has the desired effect and he finds his way to the front room sofa in view of the kitchen on his own.

It allows you to watch him check off the boxes as you put together a tray. Telltale sign of the long-hauler as he scans the rooms for exits and places where a threat could be hiding. Check. Then the sign of the QZoner as he studies his surroundings, taking in a home that’s lived in but not damaged by twenty years of decay or depression. Check.

That finally leaves him open to be vulnerable, and you watch to see if he’ll allow himself to be at ease.

The way his fingers curl and uncurl on his knees, how he looks away when you catch his eye.

You wonder if he’ll ever really sink in. Having family here will help.

“You drink, Joel Miller?”

“Depends,” he answers vaguely, but nods with certainty.

Your offering is simple, rye crackers on a plate, a disk of sheep’s milk cheese with a knife in it, two tumblers, and a bottle of sunshine.

“You all are sure generous with your whiskey around here,” he comments as you pour him a full glass.

“Not whiskey. Cider.”

He frowns. “Cider? You make this?”

“I’m not that talented,” you wave your hand over the cheese and crackers. “As you can see, this is what I consider cooking. Like most things here, I traded for it. There’s an orchard a ride out. Gone wild. It gets harvested once a year and there’s a cider press in town. Couple of ladies spend a good month canning and bottling.”

“Seems like the women run the show around here,” he says, impressed, taking a sip and then staring hard at the glass. “Holy shit.” You’re not sure at first if that’s a good or bad expression until he goes in for another drink.

“That make you nervous? Ladies brewing up the good stuff?” You only laugh at his impression of a deer in the headlights. “I suppose if you’ve spent enough time around Maria, it’s easy to think that. It’s just a very empowered place for everyone. Everyone’s got something to contribute that gives them some pride and gets them some respect. And I guess, in that way, you don’t have to worry about Ellie here. I can tell she’s gonna find her place and do just fine.”

“That’s actually what I came by for,” he says, distracted by the cider. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve had a drink of something that doesn’t burn?”

“It’s sweet, yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been a minute since I had anything sweet.”

You let that hang, watch him examine the amber liquid…or, rather, a memory swirling in its depths.

Twenty years of a broken heart can’t be good for a person.

“You came to talk about Ellie?”

It takes him a second to realize you’re addressing him, but he only nods, and finishes the glass. When you pick up the bottle to pour him another, he quietly stops you with a gesture and the tiniest shake of the head. No. “You ever have raiders come by your Roost?”

“We’ve seen raiders in the area. They’ve attacked the town border before. Always small groups. Hungry. They don’t have the numbers or the ammo round these parts.”

“But what about out there in the open?”

Crossing your arms and leaning back in your seat, you let him know he’s being assessed, let it sink in that he might be over-protective and has the right to be scared but doesn’t need to be. Realize he may never grow out of his defensive conditioning.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Joel Miller. There’s always a chance. But I don’t know if there are any words I can say that would magically put you at ease. There’s one thing I can see though, you care a lot about that girl. I reckon you’re here tonight because she’s bugged you about going out there. And you hate disappointing her, so here you are. But you’re also afraid of letting her out of your sight.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just rolls his glass between his wide palms.

Ducking forward, you do your best to get your smile in his eyeline. “Since I can’t convince you with words, I’ll do it with evidence. Ride out there with me tomorrow and see for yourself.”

“I don’t…that’s not what…”

“Hey. Good parents want their kids to be safe. I know the type.” It was meant to put him at ease, but you realize a bit too late that your words were poorly chosen. It’s difficult to read his emotion; there may be a few going on at once. 

Most of them break your heart. 

An apology would only make it worse. “Tomorrow morning. Stables. Dawn.”

________

He doesn’t like to talk much, Joel Miller. Knows his way around a horse like a true Texan should, completely at ease with a shotgun strapped to his back, but doesn’t seem to want to spoil the silence. Or perhaps he’s just always on guard. That’s okay. You like the sounds of the morning. The crunch of the woodland floor, the sweep of the wind in the leaves. The birds have been up for hours already, their voices warmed up and singing clear. It’s still chilly at daybreak this time of year and steam rises from the horses’ noses, mixing with the fog of the dew evaporating in the rising sun.

After a good half-hour ride through dappled forest light at a leisurely pace, you take up the walkie that you’ve borrowed from Chickadee.

“Meadowlark to Whippoorwill.”

Seconds and trees roll by as you wait for your answer. No hurry.

“Whippoorwill here. You taking another shift? You’re a day early.”

“Nope. Just giving a new resident a tour and letting you know we’re coming in at the north passage. Put some clothes on and don’t shoot us.”

“I make no promises.”

“Don’t ever change, Whip.”

As you come to a ravine and dismount, Joel finally pipes up. “Put some clothes on?”

“Yeah,” you explain, leading the horse down the steep incline, “Whip’s a nudist. Don’t ever show up at her house unannounced if you aren’t ready for a lot of skin.” When he doesn’t know what to say, you smile over your shoulder. “Just fucking with you. Although, there is a stream to the south we all like to skinny dip in come summer.” Another baffled look from him, and another sly smile from you.

He’s distracted by this to the point that he actually flinches when the barrier appears before him. “The hell?” he exclaims, examining a hedge of vines growing up over a twelve-foot tall wall of stone. “You don’t even notice this from the top.”

“Nope. That’s the point. Doesn’t look like a wall from up there, just looks like a hedge from down here. Most people don’t want to make the effort to climb down but if they do, they just assume they have to find another way.”

“This is the meadow perimeter?”

“Well, this gate anyway. A lot of it is woven steel gage and cliffs that only goats can manage. Most of it is natural barrier or camouflage like this so you wouldn’t even know there’s anything being protected.”

“Huh. Clever.”

“Welcome to Jackson Meadow, home of the Roost.”

After displacing and replacing some facing shrubs, you’re able to coax the horses through a narrow tunnel and up a gentle rise that eventually opens out into a sweeping field in a valley under the face of the butte.

It’s still early enough that the wildflowers are just slivers of purples and yellows behind their bud casings, but they spread far and wide across the green expanse, broken only by the random white-gray lumps of grazing sheep. The sun is just beginning to break over the surrounding mountains to the east, but once it spills over, it will only make the spring colors of the valley more vivid than any surviving photograph, more picturesque than any oil on canvas…probably. It’s been decades since you’ve seen a landscape painting, so what the hell do you know.

Able to ride side by side now, you make another study of your companion. And there’s a war going on inside him. You can tell he’s taken by the raw beauty of the meadow, but twenty years of looking over his shoulder makes him nervous in wide open spaces and his eyes won’t stop moving between the grasses and the treeline, constantly appreciating, constantly scanning.

“Relax, Mr. Miller. Enjoy the view. You’re in good hands. See that patch of trees up there?” You nod to a wooded area near the center of the expanse. “Roost is in there. I guarantee you Whip has eyes on us and everything in this valley right now.” Raising a hand over your head with three fingers raised, you use the other hand to point to them.

The walkie smacks on and Whippoorwill’s steady drawl comes out. “Three.”

You wave. Smile at Joel. “See?”

He relaxes in the saddle and a quiet, ponderous minute goes by before he works up the bother to ask whatever’s tumbling around in that head of his. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What.”

“Mr. Miller. I’m no mister. It’s just Joel.”

Things are slow in Jackson, people take their time. As you do with your answer. “Maybe it’s my way of keeping a distance, Joel Miller. You seem like the kind of man that likes people to keep their distance so he can get a good read and make sure it’s safe to approach.”

Twisting with a frown, he scans you as if he’s never really looked before, maybe a little annoyed that you have his number.

You dismount your chestnut mare some distance before reaching the trees, leave the reins to the saddle and let her be, walking over to the nearest duo of sheep–a mother and baby. The ewe bleats at you out of habit, but knows you’re no real harm. She watches her lamb though, chewing when she remembers to.

This lamb is still very young and you’re not sure if it will remember. There’s a bounce to the left, and then two to the right, and then each leg steps carefully as he haltingly makes his way forward. You’re able to scoop him up and turn him over in your arms like a baby, instantly quelling him, and his legs hilariously splay.

“What’d you do to it?” Joel, having followed suit and let his horse graze, walks up and there’s the tiniest smile as he gazes down at the creature in your arms.

“Nothing, that’s just what they do when you turn ‘em over. Here.” You don’t even tell him to put his arms out or ask if he wants to hold the lamb, you simply get close enough and the man’s instincts kick in. All you have to do is hand him off.

Joel’s surprised at first, flinches a bit when the lamb wiggles in his arms–the tiniest protest to being transferred to an unfamiliar nanny. But then both of them calm and you have to stifle a laugh as the two of them just…stare at each other. The lamb in his lamby wonder, and Joel like a new, star-struck dad.

Going about your business, you begin checking the creature’s general health, pushing at the belly, checking the mouth. “This one was born on my last watch, so he’s only about ten days old.”

“Really,” Joel sighs, totally enchanted, not even realizing that he’s instinctually bouncing the lamb a bit. The father in him showing its face again.

“Yep. And,” you indicate the mother, now watching a bit more closely since there’s an unfamiliar human involved, “I birthed that one too. And probably most of her whole line for the last twenty years or more. All of them were as little as this one, and all of them survived. And if the Roost can raise flocks and flocks of dumb little sheep, we can certainly take care of one smart little girl.”

When he scans you this time, it’s clear you’ve given him reasoning that resonates.

He allows you to lift the lamb from his arms, watching thoughtfully as the little thing springs away past its mother and tumbles into some lupines head first. After it recovers and bounces a little more, you bring Joel’s attention to the trees a few hundred meters to the south.

“You can just catch the Roost there, see? The A-frame sticks up above the treetops. And that’ll be Willa at the porch railing.”

He squints. “How do you get up?”

“Retractable ladder. Tommy rigged it for us. You gotta be in it to win it. You’re either up it or fuck it. Ergo, if the ladder’s up, you don’t get in.”

“Huh. How do you get supplies up? Pulley?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

It’s a quiet ride back to Jackson, and you do your best not to look over your shoulder to gauge his reaction, like Orpheus leading Euridice out of Hades trying not to lose a tenuous chance for Ellie to spread her wings. It’s not every day a young person wants to learn the shepherding gig. Most of them want to stay in town near their friends, or are too afraid of the world to venture out. Ellie though, she’s been in the world. Observant. Eager to learn. Fearless.

The sheep could use someone like her.

You could too.

It’s when he’s busy unsaddling his horse in the stables that he clears his throat, and you let the curry brush lighter over your horse’s coat so you can hear him think out loud.

“Yeah that works,” he mumbles. “Think it might be good for her.”

Poking your face over your mare’s shoulder and waiting to catch his eye, you release the hounds of smiletown. “You’re right. And probably good for you too, Joel Miller.”

____

“Whoa, coooooool!!!” Ellie says for the fourth time on the ride from Jackson as she spies the Roost through the trees.

Over the past few family dinners, Ellie asked a million questions about this week–how to stay warm, where to bathe, if the sheep bite–anything and everything, even if it was common sense.

And with every answer she’d listen, enrapt, her eyes flicking to Joel now and then. It became obvious to you–although maybe not to the others–that she was asking not so much for her own good, but to calm Joel, signal that she was thinking ahead and covering all the bases, that even if she already knew the answers it might calm him to hear them too.

A little overkill. But the concern they showed for each other while trying not to be sappy about it was endearing you to both of them.

And perhaps Joel was calmed; maybe not so much by the answers you gave, but the way you gave them--calmly, indulgently, and with just a little bit of sass to show you could keep up with Ellie’s tongue and put her in a figurative headlock when she got too cocky. You caught Joel smiling down into his plate a few times. And at you a few more.

He’s got a good smile. It comes out more often now.

A duffel bag lands on the ground at the base of the Roost’s tree and your horses jump a little. Then there’s a cheerful trill from above, “I’ll be right down! Just packing up the wool!”

“No rush, Goldie! We’ll go water the horses while we wait.”

Ellie follows your lead you as you dismount to pull the packs off the horses–bulky with a week’s weight of food, water, and clothes–before climbing back into the saddle and heading off to the south.

“There’s a creek up here flows right down from the Tetons. Purest, cleanest water you’ll ever see.”

“Can you drink it?”

“Absolutely. You, me, the sheep, it’s for all of us. We humans boil it first, of course.”

Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “Seems a waste. I mean, if it’s coming down from the mountains it’s really cold right? We hardly ever had cold water in the QZ. It’s so good when it’s cold.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when you have to bathe in it.” Her face falls and you can’t help but laugh, hauling yourself out of the saddle and guiding the beast through the pebbled creekbed. “Believe me, come summer, you’ll be plenty happy with how cold it is.”

Once the horses are watered it’s a leisurely stroll back to the Roost, handing the reins over to a tall, veritable Viking of a woman, stong-boned and willowy all at the same time, the long golden braid spilling down her back and curls springing out from the sides of her face giving her the appearance that she’s wearing a lazy albino scorpion on her head. Her blue flannel matches her eyes and clashes with her sunburned cheeks.

“Ellie, this is Goldfinch, our junior Roostling.”

The woman takes Ellie’s small hand in her long, sturdy fingers. “Maybe not so junior if you pull yourself up on board.”

“Goldie started with us about ten years back when she was around your age.”

“Ten years ago?” Ellie asks. “There hasn’t been any new shepherds since then?”

The Rootling shares a concerned look with you before you answer, “Well, there have been, but not all of them stuck.” And you put the question to rest by helping Goldie pack up your horse. “Shit, this is a lot of wool. How many did you do?”

“About twelve?” She answers. “I’m only taking ten worth. Left the rest for you.”

“Damn, you must have been bored. Ellie, can you hand me that duffel? Thanks.”

As Ellie brings the bag to you, she’s also scanning the thatch of forest where the Roost stands. “So she’s taking the horses? She doesn’t have her own?”

“Horses are a sign of civilization,” Goldie offers. “Especially if they’re on a picket line. And we like to keep it not so obvious that we’re out here. We’d have to keep them on picket or they’d just wander off back toward the gate an s hang out there wanting to go home and give away that location.”

“Besides,” you explain, “won’t need ‘em until we go back to Jackson. Safest place to be in the whole pasture is the Roost with the ladder up and a loaded shotgun nearby, not trying to saddle up to ride off. If there’s trouble, we can hold out the time it takes for a posse to come down from town.”

“Is there ever trouble?” Ellie wonders, just slightly concerned.

“Never yet,” you wink.

Finally there’s the ceremonial clink of the walkies, acknowledging that the leaving Roostling is taking hers home and the new occupant has one with a completely restored battery. “Patrol, this is Meadowlark taking over for Goldfinch.”

A few quiet seconds. A pinecone drops nearby.

Then a man’s voice from the speaker. “Meadowlark, this is patrol, we read you. We’ll be hitting east gate around noon today. Anything you need?”

“Nope, we just landed. By ‘we’ I mean me and a learner. New girl, Ellie Williams. Callsign Thistle.”

“Copy. Welcome to the Roost, Thistle.”

Ellie beams, then blinks as you hold the walkie to her face, and you nod her a nod of encouragement.

“Thanks…patrol. Uh…Thistle over and out.”

“Good job, kid,” Goldie says, hoisting a leg over the horse and taking the reins of Ellie’s mare from you. “Have a good week, you two. May your days be filled with storms.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Ellie turns to you. “Storms?”

You strap a pack over each shoulder and start climbing the ladder. “We’re in friendly competition with each other to have the most lambs born on our watch and shear the most sheep. If it rains it can be miserable work at best and impossible at worst and we’re less likely to make good numbers. So it’s an affectionate curse.”

“Oh. Seems cruel to the sheep.”

“What do you mean?”

Shouldering a smaller pack, Ellie starts climbing behind you. “Wishing for storms when they have to be out in it.”

“Eh, they’re happy as clams when it rains. They’ve got wool sweaters already.”

“I’ve never worn a wool sweater.”

Reaching the top, you wait for her to crest so you can see the look on her face when she does. “Then you’re in for a treat. It takes a lot to waterlog wool. Rolls right off. You’ll see. You’ll love it. And that’s not even mentioning the socks!”

“What does happy as a clam mean–” she begins, but stops abruptly as her face comes to the top of the ladder, her mouth opening in awe, rounding in concert with her eyes. “Whoa! Holy shit!!!”

The Roost as a whole isn’t all that large and can be crossed in half a dozen steps. Roughly a seven meter square platform, it holds a one-room cabin with a balcony running along the north and east sides. The windowed, A-frame peak looks out to the north pasture and the roof slopes just out and above the east balcony to shade it in a cascade of knotty pine. Windows wrap all but the west side, the interior wall of which has a simple built-in double cabinet bed with a single bunk running across its head above.

It’s this cabinet bed that draws Ellie inside, and you watch her slowly take in the rest of the cabin, with its rustic table and chairs–Goldie left a couple Indian Painbrush in a mug of water in the sun–the windowed corner with the soft, plush, patchwork pillow chair and a basket full of wool roving, the opposite corner with its woodstove upon a harlequin tilework patch of floor and the spare array of cooking tools on spiraled iron hooks in the knotted wood walls.

The honey dark timber stretches overhead to a peak, from which hangs dried strands of vegetables and herbs, higher up a set of snowshoes, a number of straps and ropes–a butcher’s hook among them, the one arguably ominous tool, meant to make dragging a bloated carcass easier…although it is rarely needed anymore.

Even though the Roost has become your home away from home, the fresh smell off the boards and the dust motes dancing in the sun make you pause and smile every time.

It’s just comfortable enough for two people, a generous hideaway for one, and your favorite place in the whole world. There’d been more than one occasion where you thought about asking Tommy to build you its replica in Jackson, but it would be a shame to ruin its uniqueness…and, of course, there were higher priorities in town.

“Is that where you sleep?” Ellie points at the cabinet bed.

“Yep. Or you, if you want. There’s a bunk. I’ll take whichever you don’t want.”

Bouncing over to the side of the cabinet with the recessed ladder, she climbs, pats the mattress, and frowns. “Why’s it all lumpy?”

“It’s filled with fleece. Same down here. It doesn’t feel lumpy when you sleep on it. Feels like a cloud hugging you. How’s the view up there?”

Ellie pets the bunk mattress another second or two, considering it, before turning out with a smile, “It’s–” but the smile fades when she sees beyond the four meter peak of the cabin and out through the windows for the first time.

Turning to face outward--to see though her eyes–-the sun is breaking fully over the butte, filling the valley like a warm, golden bath, serving up a green to the eye that exists nowhere else in the world. It never gets old and is beautiful from every angle, especially this view from the treetops, birds-eye.

Wordlessly she descends the bunk ladder behind you and wanders out to the balcony, resting her forearms against it, staring out at the vista, and you let her have it while you unpack the bags, situate the supplies, assess the woodpile, toss a set of fresh sheets on each bed.

Once finished with the settle in, you join Ellie where she’s drifted to the other side of the balcony, looking out at the north pasture where the sheep like it best.

After a moment she asks quietly, “What was this place before?”

“This land?” you specify, and she nods. “It was just this. A valley meadow. Native land.”

“It’s hardly touched out here. No broken buildings. No bomb craters.”

“Nope. This place was never really that urban. Even with all those people, some wild places remained. Some were actually sanctioned by the government as untouchable natural places, just to let the animals live and the trees grow. It was for everyone to enjoy.”

“National parks.”

“Yeah, that’s right. This was part of a park like that. But Jackson wasn’t densely populated. Didn’t spread as fast out here. We were low priority. No bombs. So many of us lived on our own land that when the governments came to round any of us up, we’d take up arms and hold our ground. It’s what my sister and I did when they came at our ranch. I think after a while military just left the area thinking if we all got infected it could only spread so far before it just finished off the population and had nowhere left to go.”

“Did it?”

“Oh it came, but it didn’t take everyone. It wandered in later, like everything does out here. Cordyceps are like a fashion. It spread in the urban areas first and made its way out here eons later. But there were fewer people in a lot larger space…and a lot more guns. It was easy to stamp out.”

Ellie’s not like most of the other kids in town who nod at your ancient stories of the olden times. To them, this is the world as it is and how it will be and stories of how it used to be are less than monumental, just a passing curiosity for aimless evenings around a fire. But Ellie’s attention reaches beyond the meadow, beyond the mountains, beyond what she can see. It stretches out in time and tries to divine the past and what might have been; she tries to calculate what exactly was lost and in what ways it’s actually better. A life she could have had versus the one that’s brought her here to this balcony in the morning sun.

A far off bleat becomes a signal for the reverie to break, and you bump your shoulder against hers.

“C’mon. I’ll show you how we do the rounds.”

_____

After a few days, Ellie is doing the morning rounds on her own, reporting in when she notices an ewe in a lay, keeping an eye out for cast sheep–“You see a sheep on its back, do whatever you can to right it, you’ve got about twenty-four hours until they die there of bloat and stupidity,”--and generally letting them all get to know her.

“You’ll need to take your time. Let the lambs come to you or the mammas get emotional about it. Treat ‘em light and gentle for a while. If the ewe sees no need to watch you anymore that means she trusts you and you can pet and pick up the little ones if they let you. But they start cryin’, best to put ‘em down and let ‘em run. Never chase them. You chase them and never let them come to you, they’ll run when you need to get to them most. Take ‘em some apple or carrot and they’ll be your friend forever. Squash and pumpkin are good too. Sometimes I’ll bring out a pocketful of oats. Don’t tell the stablemasters in town; they’d have my ass.”

By mid-week if you couldn’t find Ellie, all you’d need to do was climb up to the Roost and survey the green meadow for the contrast of her red tshirt and you’d spy her sprawled out in the grasses surrounded by a clutch of lambs and ewes. The girl was a sucker for animals.

Shearing went by faster with someone there to hold hooves and legs or just keep the lambs within sight so any ewe under the shear wasn’t kicking to check on her baby. It might have been Ellie’s least favorite part except for the evening time task of carding wool (“Boring”) and drop spinning (“Impossible”).

“Motherfucker,” she whispers, singing a song of hatred at the breaking threads on her spindle, throwing her hands out and taking a dramatic fall backward onto the wool rug she’s sitting on.

“Patience, young grasshopper. It’s not a fast skill; it can take years to learn to spin consistently,” you laugh in the warm glow of the lantern, your spindle wizzing as your yarn pulls at an even gauge, “and all you have out here is time. You’ll get it.”

“Grasshopper? Have I graduated from Thistle?”

“Nope, sorry. Old joke, before your time.”

Abandoning her work and rolling over to her belly, Ellie kicks her stockinged feet lazily in the air and pulls at the fibers in the rug. “There’s only one more day left and there haven’t been any new lambs.”

“Season’s slowing down some. They’ll be fewer and further between.”

“Don’t you wanna win?”

“Win at numbers? Not if it means the health of the sheep. They’ll birth when they birth. Besides, nobody’s beating Willa this year. Those triplets made that a certainty.”

“Whippoorwill’s name is Willa. Chickadee’s name is Addie.”

“Yup.”

“So everyone turned their name into the closest sounding bird except you.”

“Nah. We’re just not real clever with the names is all. Goldie’s name is Pam. We just call her Goldfinch because she’s a blond. Probably wouldn’t even have callsigns but that it makes it easier to hear over the walkie.”

“So what about yours then? Why Meadowlark?”

You smile. “Larks are songbirds. I like to sing when I’m out here. I’ve been caught at it so many times, I don’t even hide it anymore.” You belt a made-up melody loudly out through the open window into the night, “Isn’t tha-a-at ri-ight you wooly ba-a-a-asta-a-a-ards!”

A sleepy sheep calls back in irritation.

“You’re a weird lady.”

“You’re a weird lady.”

Ellie laughs begrudgingly, sits up with a grunt and starts picking at her thread again, squinching her mouth at the lumps. “So if I become a Roostling, I don’t get to pick my own bird?”

“I’m sure we could make an exception. Why? You got one in mind? Because left to us you’d probably be a red-bELLIEd something-or-other.”

“Ha ha. Fine. I don’t know much about birds. Mostly just pigeons in Boston.”

“Well fuck if I’m gonna call you Pigeon.”

The night’s starting to chill down a little and she hugs her knees into her chest, setting her chin on them in thought. It’s about time to close up the window and put a few logs in the stove, but Ellie’s attention wanders up and out among the stars.

You have so many questions. Were all the kids in Boston as stubborn and wild and foul-mouthed as her? Where were her parents? Dead, most likely, but how did she survive them? How did she meet Joel? Did she smuggle run with him? She’s a fair shot with a shotgun, but not practiced. Did he get her here all by himself? That takes a lot of luck and skill. He must care about her a lot to bring her with him all this way, to keep her safe….

“So it was just you and Joel out there for a long time, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I bet you’re happy to finally have somewhere warm to sleep. Traveling during the winter would have been rough. Good thing it was a milder one this time around.”

She gives a pathetic shrug. “I dunno. I liked it. Just us under the stars. We looked out for each other.”

“Well, you have a lot of folks who will look out for the both of you now. And if you need someone to look after, well, these sheep could really use you.”

Unexpectedly, she laughs, something you’ve said keeps her in the giggles for a while. “One night we were camping and I asked Joel where he wanted to go most in the world and he said he wanted to settle down and farm sheep. This is kind of his dream. But then he said that he wanted to be a musician. Maybe he should be the one out here with you to watch sheep and sing.”

“Maybe. Does he have a tolerable voice? The sheep are picky, as you’ve heard.”

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t sing for me,” she squishes her cheek into her knee, giving you a shit-eating grin and a teasing sing song. “But I bet he’d sing for you if you asked him.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you smile and wink, trying to hide your chagrin under a swirling cape of nonchalance. “I can be very persuasive. But...I don’t think Tess would like that so much.”

“How do you know about Tess?”

“Tommy has his tales. They were quite a little family unit for a while. I’m actually surprised she didn’t show up here with you two.”

This sobers her, turns her attention back out to the stars, halting her response. “She would have…. but she didn’t make it.”

A chilly breeze sweeps through the window, and you’re not quite sure if it’s the drop in the air or your heart that makes you shiver.

Tess didn’t make it. In the world as it is, that means one thing. You wonder what happened. How. If it was horrific–of course it was, you can see it in Ellie’s hardened eyes that it was–and how much it affects her or doesn’t. It’s so difficult to tell with kids these days. In the end though, it hardly matters how. In all the myriad of ways it could have happened, it would have ended the same.

You wonder if Tommy knows.

You suddenly feel ashamed of that selfish little spark of hope it sparks in you.

But while what you know about Joel Miller could fill a book, what you don’t know about him could fill a library.

And you’ve had enough time pass through you to know that a lot of patience and a little observation can go a long way towards preventing disaster.

Thoughts for another time.

“What about you, kid, hmm? What was your answer? In all the world, where would you go?”

But you’d already guessed, seen the longing in her face every night this week and see it now as she looks out the window at the silent silver satellite in the sky.

_____

“Ow, dammit! Just keep a good hold on her back legs so she stops kicking me!”

The lamb is breach and you’re halfway up to your elbow in sheep, trying to push at the little one’s one back haunch to clear the way for the other leg. Ellie, wide-eyed and trembling with excitement keeps letting the ewe’s leg slip and you’d be laughing if the hooves didn’t pack such a punch.

You must have seen a thousand sheep born and assisted in a high percentage of those in your lifetime, but this one manages to give you a new rush. It’s the morning you’ll be heading back to Jackson and you were afraid you’d go all week without Ellie getting to experience a birth. Here it is, and she’s just as thrilled as you’d hoped and all you have to do is make sure both the lamb and the ewe make it through.

It doesn’t take much–a little push, a little twist, a little pull, a little gasp from Ellie–you’re able to get both back hooves in your hand and the little one comes sliding out in a gloopy mess onto the grass. Your favorite flannel is caked with blood and you’ll have to go straight to the launders with it on arrival back in town…

…but it’s all worth it when the baby bleats the tiniest baa and Ellie giggles and clutches her cheeks.

“Holy shit! That was awesome! It’s so tiny! Can I name it? Like Snowball or something?”

The footfalls making their way through the meadow proceed Willa’s answer, “You don’t have to do that. The earth and the sky and the wind will name her themselves.”

Leaning back to acknowledge not only your friend and her arrival, but also a broad form following her clad in denim and gristle.

“Brought you a friend,” Willa smirks for the girl’s benefit, tilting her head in Joel’s direction.

“Joel!!! Look!!!” Ellie’s grin is so full she can’t even close her jaw, gaping like a kid who just saw her first Christmas tree.

Another tiny bleat escapes the lamb as its mother begins to lick it clean and Joel’s eyes nearly disappear behind cheeks and crinkles. “Hey there, babygirl. You have a good time?”

“Fuck YES.”

Willa extends a hand to help Ellie up and Joel does the same for you, taking care to keep your dripping forearm at a good distance.

“She did real good out here; you’d be proud,” you praise the girl, squelching her grin with a big, wet, slap on the back. “I’d love to have her again.”

“Aw, maaaaaaan!” Ellie reels in disgust as you dig your palm into her shoulder, really getting the juices in there.

“You just earned your keep, kid.”

This snaps her head around. “Really? Do I get a bird name now?”

“Yup. And I think I know what’ll suit you just fine.” In a short second of mountain time, the wind picks up just a little, lifting the brown curls around her face and the sun comes up behind her over the bluff, kissing her pink cheeks as you lean down and look her straight in the eye.

“Welcome to the Roostlings, Starling.”

____

You let them ride ahead of you, allow the father-daughter team to catch each other up on the week’s news, watch adoringly as Ellie chatters on about the lambs and how they tumble and bounce and how cold the water is and how the Roost creaks and sways a bit when it’s windy, which sheep were her favorite and how much she hates spinning wool.

Next time you’ll have to teach her how to knit, you think. She’ll probably take to that a little better.

And when he’s not giving her his glowing attention, Joel’s only report is that he started work in the new section of town, nothing exciting except the house was blessedly quiet for a whole week thank god.

She still has stories to tell Maria and Tommy at family dinner, repeating again some of the highlights you overheard her tell Joel, and new ones she just remembered. Your friends smile and listen, bewitched, time enough to give her an ear and delighted with the novelty of an excited young person at their table.

“Looks like you have yourself a new recruit,” Maria laughs. “What did you settle on for a callsign?”

Ellie tips her head back, answering through a mouthful of potatoes, “Starling!” and slaps a hand over her mouth when a chunk goes flying.

“Ellie, dammit, talk OR chew, not AND.”

Maria ignores Joel’s curse at her dinner table to ask you, “What prompted that?”

You chew and swallow, pointedly showing off the patience that the girl couldn’t muster, a blatant tease. “Seemed a good choice. Kid’s a sucker for the stars.” You match Ellie’s smile before you sweetly add, “And, y’know. Because starlings are loud and annoying as hell.”

That earns you a bird of another kind.

_____

Tommy cuts a good silhouette against the coming twilight as he lines himself up to the peg and explains for his adopted niece how to score a ringer in an after-dinner game of horseshoes. He demonstrates the looseness of the grip, the swing of the iron, and Ellie soaks it up like a sponge, eager to learn.

He’s a good teacher. He taught Maria…who is currently beating his ass. But Maria is good at whatever she does regardless, always has been.

You concluded long ago that it’s not your game. Branded it a Texas thing and took up your spot on the back porch swing with a bottle of cider, kicking off your boots and putting your woolen-socked feet up on the railing to enjoy the setting sun reflecting off the mountain face.

There’s a cheer as Ellie tosses and the shoe lands with a loud clang.

The porch door opens when Joel returns with a bottle for himself. But instead of rejoining the game, he wanders over to sit next to you on the swing, upsetting it enough to pull your feet from their perch.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Pull up a seat, Joel Miller.”

Several lazy minutes pass, a sweet, comfortable silence filled with the occasional sip from a bottle and an exchanged smile as you push at the porch a little, encouraging the swing to do its thing. And he lets his knees go soft, keeps his feet on the ground but aids in a little gentle rocking.

“Thank you,” he says, finally, tipping his head toward his ward as she scores yet again, “for taking her out there. She hasn’t shut up about it since.”

“Yeah? What’d she have to say?”

“Went on about the lambs, complained about how cold the water was. Said she was tired because she liked getting up early in the morning to see the sunrise but liked being in the trees at night and wanted to stay up to listen to the night birds. Said you liked to sing when you work and the fact that she didn’t complain about it–and from what I heard the night we met you–makes me think you’re not too bad at it. Not too fond of your cooking, though.”

That earns a snort from you. “Well I don’t blame her there; I warned y’all. I wouldn’t say she’s the most obedient kid, but she sure is smart, and really capable and brave. That girl eats the world with the spoon she’s so hungry to know all the things all the time. And strong–she swings an axe better than me. Got a mouth on her–”

“Sorry about that–”

“--and is beautifully, brutally honest, and pretty fucking hilarious. She’s really special.”

“Yeah. Yeah she is.” Something like pride melts his shoulders as he watches Ellie joke around with Tommy, and then slowly evolves into gratitude as he turns to you, to someone who can see her like he does. “Funny, that’s what she said about you.”

There’s a pull to share in that pride and gratitude, to lean in and let yourself bask in the glow of the compliment.

But a wall goes up when you reveal, as kindly as you can, “She told me Tess didn’t make it.” As his eyes grow stony and deny you the pleasure of their focus, you chase after his attention by turning your body toward him on the swing, bringing a knee up and placing a hand on his forearm, gently urging him to stay here with you. “Hey. She didn’t tell me what happened and I don’t need to know and you don’t have to talk about it. But I do need to ask you one thing. That man out there might be your brother, but he’s my friend. And Tess might have been your lady, but she was still family to him. She was important to him. And he’s important to me. And I need to ask you if he knows.”

The arm under your finger tenses as his fingers grip the cider bottle and you move to let go–to let him know you’re not forcing him–but a hand claps down over yours. It’s now his turn to urge you to stay, to give him a minute, to let him bust through whatever is starting to well up in him so he can swallow and tell you, “He knows.” Another quiet minute as he stares out at his family on the back lawn, his jaw working to bring the air in and keep the tension out. “He knows. Thank you…thank you for… taking care of him too.”

His fingers flutter a little, scarred knuckles contracting and loosening like he’s fighting the instinctual urge to hang onto something. So you set your bottle on the porch railing and gently lift his away too, slip out of this awkward hold and instead shift his hand between both of yours, giving it warmth, giving it permission to hold onto you like it wants to.

“They’re my family, which means you are now too. As long as you plan to leave off your wandering and let us keep you safe and cared for, that’s thanks enough, Joel Miller.”

“Quit that,” he grumbles, clasping your hand in case you interpret his words as an ask for release, needing a stolen moment of secret comfort in the deepening twilight. “Joel’s enough. You sound like my mother.”

“Okay,” you compromise, trying to tame your eager heart, silently explain to it that there’s nothing here but the time to do things right. “Okay, Joel.” You smile. “Joel Joel Cinnamon Roll.”

“Shit,” he cringes, shakes his head slowly, stifling a laugh. “Now you really sound like my mother. That’s what she used to call me, how did you-- Tommy.”

“Yup.”

“I hate you both.”

“No you don’t.”

Ellie scores another ringer and Joel smiles. “No, I don’t.”

________

NEXT: SUMMER

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SERIES MASTERLIST

#tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f! reader #joel miller x meadowlark #ellie williams #leave off your wandering