#driving interstate ten

[sturnellaneglecta]

I once got into an argument with a guy in college over whether modern people are really that different from ancient people and he said we are because look how violent etc ancient people were (or superstitious). that sort of thing. But the older i get the more i'm convinced i'm right lol. i don't think humans have stopped being any more bloodthirsty than they were in the past, we just have laws that sort-of kind-of keep it in check now

#drive on any east coast interstate for more than ten minutes and tell me #if you believe there is anything really holding back those people from brutally killing each other at a moment's notice #besides the fact that they might get put in prison for it. #i could provide less funny examples but u get my point #my post #besides on an evolutionary time scale thats absolutely nothing. our brains are the same. we're dealing with emails on brain software that #is only equipped to respond to threats like lions and cave bears. why would our basic psychology be any different

[humansofnewyork]

(1/15) “I wasn’t the first preacher’s wife to run away. There had been three more. One met a man on the internet. Another went into a life of drinking; she posted pictures on Facebook. And the third was Mary Anne. One Sunday morning Mary Anne was singing in the choir of her husband’s church. She walked down from the choir loft, through the middle aisle, out the back door, and nobody heard from her again. I made my own escape seven years ago. And in the Old Testament, seven years means completion. We were driving through the part of Arkansas where bluegrass runs through the hills like blood in the veins. It was dusky dark. And you could cut the tension with a knife. We’d just come from a visit with a ‘church mediator.’ I asked a few questions about our family finances, and the man accused me of ‘usurping my husband’s authority.’ My husband was a meek man. But I guess the meeting had given him courage, because on the way home he said: ‘Detra, you need to get back on my side.’ Right then something snapped. I hadn’t said a cuss word since the age of ten, when I got a whipping for saying ‘gosh.’ But I called my husband a ‘son of a bitch,’ right there in that burgundy suburban. He pulled over to the side of the road. He got right in my face with his finger, and said: ‘Satan! Don’t speak through my wife anymore!’ For the first time I didn’t cower. I didn’t grovel. I grabbed my purse, opened the door, and stepped out onto the side of Interstate 40. I knew I was crossing a line of no return. It was always clear what would happen to a woman who left the church. In our homeschooling textbook there was a picture. It shows a giant umbrella, and that umbrella is God. Beneath ‘God’ is a slightly smaller umbrella, 'The Husband.’ Beneath those umbrellas are the wife and children. You can see the rain, and the rain is Satan. But it wasn’t raining the night I escaped. It was clear and dusky dark. I said: ‘Well God, I finally did it, and I wouldn’t mind a ride.’ Up in the distance I saw a car pulled off the side of the road. And the passenger door was open. I had no idea what was in there. It could have been a killer. But I knew whatever it was, had to be better than what I’d known.’”

[gretavangroupie]

Drift

Word count: 7.2k+

Pairing: Josh x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fluff.

 “Two percent?!” you screech.

Looking down at the cellphone in your lap as you follow the winding directions you see the red battery icon and your anxiety starts to bloom. Your signal has been spotty at best and the constant in and out of service has drained your battery quicker than anticipated. With another hour to go you are starting to panic. Of course your phone would die while you are somewhere in the mountains. 

It started snowing last night, and unfortunately has stuck around. So when the snow didn’t stop this morning you knew you would be in for an eventful drive home. Six inches turned into ten very quickly, and the roads were becoming slick. Your little sedan was not equipped for this type of weather, something you were pretty sure you wouldn't experience in Nashville but boy were you wrong.  

The two lane road you found yourself upon currently was slightly off the beaten path, on the side of a mountain. Houses sprinkled in here and there, with their long winding driveways, painted white in a wintery scene. In different circumstances you would think it was quite beautiful, but right now, your white knuckle grip on the steering wheel has made you feel differently. Your windshield wipers are going full blast, further obscuring your view of the winding back road. You glance down to your phone to check the directions.

Four miles until you turn right.

As you read the directions out, you're met with a loud thump as your car moves 60 miles per hour over a perfectly placed pot hole, jostling you, your car and its contents.

“Shit!” you cry out as your head bounced back on the headrest.

Reaching down to pick your phone up off the floor, you type in your password and unlock it. But that was all it took. That measly 1% was gone in an instant. Panic swept over you, all you knew was that you had 4, maybe 3 miles now until you turn right. But what about the rest of the directions?

Okay, next shopping center I see, I will stop and grab a car charger. 

The snow is falling quickly, and the sun is setting, leaving you to only rely on the light from your hi beams. You swallow thickly as you squint to see the lines on the road. You haven’t seen a car pass you in what feels like forever. 

I knew it was a bad idea to get off the interstate.

You saw it, but it was too late. You couldn't react in time. If you slammed on your breaks your car would go sliding into the ravine. So you hit it. Whatever it was. It looked like a crow bar or some type of bent metal. That's what it sounded like too. As your car met with the object you heard a loud popping and you knew your night just got ten times worse. Your car began to limp further down the road with a metallic clatter against the wet asphalt.

You see a driveway in the distance and decide to push forward to pull into it, against your better judgment. As you pull off into the entry of the long driveway you put your car in park and immediately get out and see that your front left tire is completely blown out. The combination of the pothole earlier, and whatever that metal thing was, has left you stranded in the drift of someone's driveway. 

You get back into your car and grab your phone, realizing that it died 15 minutes ago. As you sit back into the seat you rub your hands over your face and wonder what you did to deserve this. You turn on your hazard lights and pray that someone drives by and stops. But you know the likelihood of that happening is slim. Anyone with half a brain knows better than to drive in conditions like this. 

As you wrack your brain for what to do, it occurs to you. 

Maybe, there is someone in the house at the end of this driveway…

You know that this area that you are in is home to most peoples vacation homes, tucked deep into the side of the mountain. The chances of someone being here are small, but not zero. You grab your coat out of the backseat and put it on. From the looks of it, this driveway is fairly long and the snow is piled high and growing by the minute.

Turning off your car, you grab your dead cell phone, and your keys and get out. Now that the sun had set it was dark, and the wind was cutting like a thousand knives. You lock your useless car and shove your keys into your coat pocket. You pull your hood over your head and thank yourself for choosing a pair of sensible boots this morning. 

As you walk the long snowy, gravel lined driveway you think to yourself that it must be a mile long, and uphill at that. Just as you think it could stretch on for another mile, you see a soft yellow light ahead of you. A light is on in the house. 

Oh my god, someone is here.

Knowing that the house more than likely is warm, has your feet picking up their pace and landing you at the edge of the trees, opening up to the clearing where the occupied house sits. There is one car parked outside of the house and you can hear the soft vibrations of noise from inside. The house is large, old, and wooden. You can see that there are two stories and the ivy growing on the side of the house gives it a certain type of rustic charm you don't see too often anymore. There is smoke filling the air, coming from a chimney, and huge glass windows adorn the entire front of the house.  

As you step up to the porch you brush the snow off of your coat and hood, pulling your frozen hand out of your pocket and nervously knocking on the black wooden front door.  

The large glass window set into the door has you holding your breath as you see a figure approaching from across the house. Pulling a hoodie over their torso, they peer through the glass to see you standing there and run their hand over their face, as the door opens.

“How did you get this address?” he says. 

You nervously stare back at him, “I– I didn’t…my car –I hit something. My phone is dead– I…” you stammer.

“You hit something?!” he asks, shocked.

“Yeah, it was dark, and the snow – I couldn't see. I think it was a crowbar or something.” you reply anxiously.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking concerned.  

“Yeah, I am okay. I am so sorry to bother you. My front tire blew out and my phone is dead so I can’t call Triple A…Do you think I could borrow your phone or, could you call, or…” you stammer.

“Yes, absolutely, come in. It’s freezing.” he says, opening the door. You can feel the warmth radiating from inside and graciously step into the house.

“Do you have your phone? I can plug it in?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah!” you say fumbling into your coat pocket and handing him the freezing device. 

“My god, your hands are freezing! Here, come sit here by the fire.” he says, leading you from the front door, and into the open, spacious living room. He points to the couch next to the fireplace and says he will be right back. He runs up the wooden staircase and you can hear some banging around upstairs before you see him quickly flying back down the stairs, waving a phone charger in his hand. 

You look around the house, and are intrigued by the charm of the renovated old home. The cobblestone fireplace, the wooden beams adorning nearly every inch of the walls and ceiling. It’s a split level home but it has an open floor plan, granting you visual access to almost every part of the house. Small sets of stairs lead to various rooms and loft areas. It’s a very uniquely designed floor plan, and you are interested in the history of the home. Admiring its charming old quality, your eyes flit around but stop when you see the massive windows. You are instantly taken with the wall of windows providing a picturesque view of the snowy scene outside. It’s very charming and you find yourself relaxing into the cozy couch by the fireplace, staring into the snowy sight. 

“Better?” he asks, walking down the steps into the living room, before sitting in a chair across from you. 

Realizing how you must look, you shoot straight up and fix your posture. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Thank you. This is a really cool home.” you say nervously fidgeting with your coat. 

“Oh, thank you, I moved in about two years ago now. Still fixing things up here and there. Trying to bring it up to date without losing its rustic qualities.” he smiles. “I’m Josh by the way.”

“Oh, god, how rude I didn't even ask your name before I made myself at home on your couch.” you laugh. You introduce yourself and shake his hand, which is much warmer than yours and oddly soft. The room is dimly lit by the floor lamp in the corner and the small fixtures illuminating the bookcase in the upstairs loft. The fireplace is glowing brightly behind you. You can see the flames dancing along rhythmically in his eyes. Honey brown and glossy, he must have been drinking before you interrupted his night. 

“When my phone turns on, I will call Triple A and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” you say biting your lip.

“What in the world are you doing driving in this weather?” he asks.

“I was driving back home. I went to visit my parents for the week. The traffic on 40 was so bad, I decided to take a back road thinking it would be faster, but then I got lost and my phone was dying, then this happened... It was not a good choice in hindsight.” you laugh. 

“You’re brave. I’m from Michigan and even I wouldn’t be driving right now.” he smiles, his cheeks scrunching tightly beneath his eyes.

He is sort of…cute. Maybe in different circumstances…

“I know, it’s not too much farther…I think? I feel really bad that I interrupted your night.” you say pointing to the movie that is paused on the TV screen.

“Ahh, don’t worry about it. I’ve seen it a thousand times.” he says, waving his hand in the air.

You focus on it, and recognize the character on the screen. “Is– Is it A Clockwork Orange?” you ask, suspiciously.

He seems taken aback as he replies, “Yeah. Yeah it is…” a twinkle of intrigue in his eyes.

“Cool, that's a great film.” you say, politely.

A small smile forms at the side of his mouth, “Yeah, it really is...” he looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Why do I feel like I am supposed to be here?

“Well, I should go see if my phone is turned on. I have bothered you long enough.” you say standing up, and walking up the small set of stairs into the kitchen. 

“It’s on the kitchen counter by the fridge.” he calls out to you.

As you grab your phone you see it has come back to life, and you quickly dial out the number for Triple A. You lean over onto the counter as the call rings out. You stare out the windows at the snow still continuing to fall and explain to the man on the phone exactly what happened.

“What do you mean…But I don’t…. I can’t get anywhere…. Okay. Alright. Yeah, thank you.” you end the call staring at the screen dumbfounded. 

As you stand there silently trying to figure out your next move you see Josh walk into the kitchen to join you at the counter. He leans his hip onto the countertop, facing you.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his curly brown hair falling onto his forehead. 

You turn to face him and with a blank face you set your phone back on the counter. “No. Apparently they can’t send any trucks out until the morning after they plow the roads. The snow is too bad on the mountain?” you question.

He shakes his head, “Yeah, I was afraid of that. Listen, I don’t want to sound forward but, you are welcome to stay here until the morning. I have a guest room, and anything you might need.” he says kindly.

“Oh wow, that is so nice of you to offer, but I really feel like I am intruding. I mean, you don’t even know me.” you say. 

“The alternative is what? You sleeping in your freezing cold car? No. I know we don’t know each other, but I am a human being and from one human being to another, please. Stay. You can leave as soon as you’d like in the morning. They should have the roads plowed by 7:00.” he says, scratching the back of his neck. 

You stop for a second to think, but something is pulling you to stay. 

“Are you positive that I am in no way putting you out?” you ask, hesitantly.

“Absolutely not. Glad to lend a helping hand. I mean, you must be alright if you knew I was watching A Clockwork Orange.” he smiles.

You nod your head, agreeing and his face lights up with a smile.

“Should we… finish it?” he asks. You bite your lip and stare at him. You know his brown puppy dog eyes have never been rejected in his life. You can feel it.

“Okay, I guess we could. But can I use the bathroom first?” you ask.

“Oh, of course. If you step through that guest room, it’s in there.” he says pointing across the kitchen. 

“Thank you.” you say nervously.

As you make your way into the bathroom, you quickly relieve yourself and wash your hands, noticing the eclectic artwork hanging on the walls in the bedroom. He has very interesting taste in furniture and decor, but it kind of fits the feel of the house perfectly.  As you make your way back into the living room you step down into the warm space, and see Josh waiting for your return sitting on one side of the couch with his feet crossed on the coffee table. 

“All good?” he asks, he has noticed you have removed your coat and grants you a smile.

“Yeah, thanks. I am sure you didn’t see your night going this way.” you laugh as you sit down on the opposite side of the couch. But you feel it. A magnetism to be closer to him. 

What? You don't even know him…

“You’re right I didn’t but I’m kinda glad it did.” he smirks with sultry eyes.

Maybe he feels it too…

You feel your cheeks blush as he unpauses the movie, and it roars back to life. 

You spend the next hour talking instead of watching the movie, discussing the theories surrounding it and even further discussing Stanley Kubrick. You have a lot of the same opinions on his work and career. Josh is super knowledgeable about film making and even tells you how it was always his dream to be a filmmaker himself. Your heart warms at the fact that he is passionate enough to tell a complete stranger about his dreams.

You talk until the fire in the fireplace dies down and you find yourselves sitting in a dark living room, lit only by the small lamps on the book case. 

He looks over at you and stares for a second, “Let me go grab you some clothes for you to sleep in, I'll be right back.” 

“Oh, that's not necessary, I will be okay, really. I can just sleep in this.” you reply.

“Please, I insist.” he says standing and walking up the stairs, his bare feet padding up the wooden steps. 

You stand awkwardly in the living room, waiting for him to return. You walk over to the windows and stare out at the snow, still falling. You walk back into the living room, and notice the bookcase on the second floor loft. You look around to see if Josh is coming back and when you see that he isn't, you make your way up the stairs and over to the full book shelves. 

Browsing the titles you see a lot of classics. You run your index finger over the spines, stopping on names you recognize. The leather bound books are beautifully displayed and lit with tiny sconces on the front of the shelves. Bending down to look at the next row of books, you are surprised when you notice Josh standing next to you.

“Well, what do you think? Any good ones?” he laughs.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn't mean to pry. Well, actually. Maybe I did.” you smile. “But yeah, all the classics, you are well read.”

“I spend a lot of time traveling, and books are a great way to pass the time. I pull a lot of inspiration from these old books.” he says. He reaches a stack of clothes out to you and your hands brush his. You both recoil and look at each other like you have been zapped by lightning.

Surely he felt that?

You grab the stack from him, and look down. “Thank you.”

He bites his cheek like he wants to say something, but again, doesn’t.

“Come on, I will show you the guest room and get you some blankets.” he says, gesturing for you to follow him.

After a few minutes he has retrieved a few blankets for you and provided you with an extra phone charger, handing them to you with a soft smile. In the dim lighting you can see the dimple that forms in his cheek, perfectly situated above a tiny scar.

“I will turn the heat on a little warmer, sometimes it gets cold because of the windows. If you need me, I’m at the top of the stairs to the left.” he smiles, and shuts the door behind him.

You sit on the bed examining the pile of clothes he has so graciously brought you. A long sleeve white tee shirt and a pair of well loved sweatpants. You peel your clothes off of you, and slide into the much comfier attire. Maybe he was right, this will be warmer.

You plug your phone into the charger and spread the extra blanket over the twin size bed. You flip the switch on the wall and climb into the bed. You lay there hearing the wind whip against the old house. You think about your evening and how it went so completely different than you imagined. You are sleeping in a stranger's bed? The room is quiet except for the sound of the snow falling on the windows. You drift off to sleep and think of the beautiful curly haired man sleeping right above you. 

You wake yourself up shivering. Your eyes open and you're met with total darkness. The light from the alarm clock long gone, the air growing colder by the second. The distant whirr of the refrigerator reduced to nothing. The power must have gone out. Your feet are frozen, hands too. Trying to pull the blankets closer to yourself you realize they are already as close as they could be. Your body shivers under the sheets. If only you had some socks you could make it through until morning. 

You lay there for a few minutes trying to rub your feet together to create some warmth, but nothing was working. Your brain remembers the fire in the living room. It had been a few hours since it had gone out, but surely the hearth was still warm. You grab your phone, and turn on the flashlight, illuminating the floor below you. You quietly twist the door knob on the old door, and tiptoe through the hallway into the kitchen. Looking around, you see that the power is definitely out. Walking quietly down the small set of steps you find a place on the hearth of the fireplace, only to find that it too, has grown cold.

Rubbing your freezing cold hands together you think back to what Josh told you. ‘If you need anything, I’m up the stairs to the left.’ You think about going up there to ask for socks but quickly talk yourself out of it. As you look out the large windows it seems the snow has finally stopped falling, but it has accumulated quite a few inches. More than likely making the power fail. 

You scroll through your phone on the couch, but your service is weak. You can't get anything to load. Tiredness begins to creep in on you as the stinging stiffness in your hands and feel remind you of their temperature. 

Okay, just do it. Just go ask for some socks. Tell him the power is out. He will understand. 

Setting your phone on the coffee table you swallow deeply and quietly make your way up to cold wooden stairs. When you reach the landing you turn to his door, which isn’t a door at all. There is no door, it’s just an open archway. The sight in front of you nearly takes your breath away. He has a fireplace up here, and it is still glowing with embers. Your legs carry you over to it where you place your hands and are greeted with the feeling of warmth. 

Inadvertently you release a sigh as you feel your extremities warming. You hear the bed rustle behind you and you flip around, not even fully realizing that you are standing in this mans bedroom. He leans up on his arm, and you can see his eyes slowly opening as he sees you standing in front of his bed. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his voice light and groggy. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just– the power went out, and I was so cold I was just going to come ask you for some socks…” you stammer. “But then I saw the fireplace from the doorway, and my legs carried me here. I thought maybe if I could just warm my hands and feet I would be okay.”

He peels the blanket off of himself and stands up pushing his hair out of his face. His body clad in only his black boxer briefs, showcases his chiseled torso, glowing in the fireplace embers. You have to peel your eyes off of him as he walks across the room. 

He returns a minute later with a pair of wool camping socks, “For your feet.” he says, handing you the socks. You reach out to grab them and his hand brushes yours sending that same electricity through your system.

“My god, you are freezing!” he says. How long have you been awake and cold?” 

Bending down to pull the socks over your feet you answer, “I’m not sure, maybe twenty minutes?” 

“Why didn’t you come up here sooner?” he asks, grabbing your cold hands in his warm ones, rubbing them together to attempt to warm them. 

“Well, you were already nice enough to let me stay here, I didn't want to wake you up too.” you say bashfully. Your eyes travel down his body and back up. “Aren’t you… cold?” you ask.

“No, I’m a warm sleeper.” he answers.

“Ah, that sounds nice.” slips from your mouth before you even can register what you’ve said.

You clamp your hand over your mouth in regret and he smiles, a giggle almost leaving his chest.

“You know, I figured I would lose power. I’m not surprised. How about this… why don’t you stay up here? I will throw another log on, and we can both be warm.” he says, with innocent eyes. 

Your eyes travel to the bed behind him, plush with white fluffy duvets and blankets. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as he goes to speak again, “It’s a big bed. We won’t even touch. I just won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re down there shivering.”

He bends over and tosses another log onto the embers, poking it with the fire poker until it lights. Feeling the warmth on your back, you look back to him. “Okay, but only because I am freezing.”

“I know. I’ll get you warm, don’t worry.” he smiles. 

He walks over to the other side of his bed, pulling back the blankets and gesturing for you to slide in. He pulls the thick blankets over you and nods his head as he tucks you in.

Wow. 

You can’t even think of a time when someone took care of you like this. It’s kind of sweet.

He walks back to the fireplace and prods the log making sure it won’t roll off, and closes the mesh divider. 

He makes his way back to the bed, returning to the warm spot he left only minutes ago, sighing in relief as warmth washes over him as he pulls the duvet back over his now slightly chilled body. 

He rolls to face you, though you are on your back, eyes cast to the ceiling. You can feel his eyes staring into the side of your head, so you turn your head to look at him. The room is dark, the only light coming from the small flames in front of the bed. The orange hues dance across his cheeks, highlighting his cheekbones, and producing a sparkle in his tired eyes. 

“Do you feel it?” he whispers.

You feel your heart leap in your chest as your breath catches in your throat, “What?” you ask, nervously.

“The fire, do you feel it?” he asks.

God…

“Oh, yeah, I do. Thank you… for letting me stay up here. This is beyond…hospitable.” you reply, turning your body to face him in the bed. 

“Are you warming up?” he asks, the log crackling in the fireplace. 

“Yes, I’m starting to. I think it will take longer for my hands and feet.” you giggle.

“Here,” he says, reaching across, grabbing your hands and clasping them tightly between his. “Mine are plenty warm.”

You feel the electricity traveling through your body, and from the look on his face, he feels it too. A light hum leaves your chest as the warmth of his hands works quickly to heat your own.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, you are positive that he can see the pink blush creeping across your cheeks as you stifle a nervous smile.

“Yeah, it does. You’re lucky you’re so hot.” the words falling from your lips before you can stop them, something that seems to be happening far too often. 

A smirk flashes across his face as you stumble trying to correct yourself. “Warm, I meant warm. Not hot. I’m sorry... But, not that you aren’t hot, you are. Really. But–I meant…I’m not making this better am I...” you sigh.

“No, you know what? I think it’s perfect.” he says, his hand gripping yours, thumbs gently exploring the valleys and peaks of your knuckles.

“You do?” you ask quietly.

“Mhmm…” he hums. The rumble from his chest sends a shiver through your body.

You can feel your body temperature rising, but it isn’t from the fire. Josh’s hand releases yours and your eyes flick down as he pulls them away. He notices your furrowed brow and looks up at you.

“I told you we don’t have to touch.” he smirks, rolling to his back, positioning his hands behind his head. You roll back to your back, mimicking his actions. 

You both lay there in silence for a few minutes. You can hear the wind whipping against the windows, the thought causing you to shiver. You let your eyes travel the length of his body under the sheets and you bite your cheek as you meet his bare chest moving slowly up and down with each breath.

Pursing your lips together, you let your foot wander across the bed until it makes contact with his. You let the tips of your toes trace the curve of his ankle, as you watch a small smile play upon his lips. 

He turns his foot to meet yours, rubbing slowly over the top of yours as he twists his body to face you again. He places his hand next to his face on the pillow, pushing down the fluffy feather filled fabric, “So you do want to touch?”

You turn your body to face him, letting your foot slide up his leg, feeling the soft hairs tickle you. “Maybe a little…” you answer.

“You feel it too, don't you.” he asks. But this time, you know he isn’t talking about the fire. 

“Feel what, Josh…” you say in a playfully sultry tone.

“This.” He grabs your arm and pulls you as close to him as possible, his bare chest pressed directly to yours. 

Your legs intertwine with his as his hand cradles the back of your neck. Yours rests on his warm chest. He really wasn’t kidding about the warm sleeper thing.

Your fingertip traces the line of his collarbone as your eyes flick up to his, “Yes…I feel it too.”

You feel his breath on your forehead and you sink into him, as his body heat warms you quickly.

Feeling bold, you press a barely there kiss to his throat, stretched taut over your head. You feel his Adam's apple bob against your lips as your lips connect with his skin. His legs twitch against yours and you feel a warmth creeping down your center.

A closed mouth groan rumbles through his chest as his grip on you tightens. You have never made the first move, but tonight wasn’t a normal night. He was a stranger. A beautiful, warm stranger and you had already taken the first chance by knocking on his door.

You feel him hardening against your stomach and you smile up at him. His eyes have grown dark with want and you know yours probably look the same. “Josh…” you ask.

“Hmmm…” he hums into the top of your head.

“You know you could have just started a fire downstairs… I could have slept on the couch.” you say.

“You’re right. I could have, but I knew both of us weren’t going to fit on the couch.” he replies, voice soft as velvet.

“So you did want me in your bed…” you tease.

“From the second you asked me if I was watching A Clockwork Orange…” he says.

You crane your neck, lips furiously in search of his. You would be lying if you said you didn't catch yourself staring at his plush pink lips all night as he spoke of his passions. Thought about how they would feel, how they would taste. You thought about kissing the tiny scar you noticed on his cheek in the guest room. But nothing you imagined came close to how he actually felt. How he actually tasted. His tongue slides across your bottom lip as it begs for entry into your mouth. Slightly parting your lips he slides in, his tongue searching for yours.

You twist your fingers into his curly hair and it’s softer than you imagined. His lips pull away from yours and you whine at the loss of the heat of his tongue against yours. His lips connect with your jaw and neck as you scratch your nails against his scalp. You feel him hum against your neck as you pull on his hair, begging him for more. 

“You like that?” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Yes… kee– keep going…” you beg.

“God you’re sweet. I have to know you.” he says, as his kisses travel further down your neck. You feel his warm hand slide underneath the hem of the borrowed white shirt. His hand radiates heat across the sensitive skin of your stomach burning a path as it travels up. 

His eyes look to yours for permission, and he takes your deepend kiss as a yes as his hand connects with your hardened nipple. A moan leaves your mouth and travels into his and he rolls the taut flesh between his thumb and forefinger. 

He releases it as he grabs a handful of your breast, massaging the pliable skin. Sliding your knee upwards between his legs, you feel his full erect length straining through his boxers. You press your pelvis into his causing him to groan and pull you in tighter. 

“I want you to know me Josh, all of me.” you say, reaching down to grasp him in your hand. 

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You detach your lips from his neck as you respond with a nod, “Didn’t you say you would warm me up?”

“I did say that, didn’t I…” he teases, lifting the hem of the shirt to pull it over your head. As you lay there next to him, the orange glow of the fireplace reflects onto your skin.

“Shit, you are…for once I don’t have words.” he smiles.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you laugh.

“Good. I always have words. My brothers give me shit for it all the time. But you have me speechless…” he says with a smile.

You blush, and you're positive that even in the dark room he can see it. His dimple shows through and you pull his neck down to connect your lips with his once more. 

Your hands travel down his sides, feeling his soft smooth skin beneath your hands. Supporting himself with one hand next to your head, the other hand skims to the top of the black sweatpants, teasing the sensitive skin across your hip bones.

He hooks a finger into the waistband and tugs downward pulling them to rest at your knees. You kick them the rest of the way off, leaving you bare beneath him.

“I can’t believe you got a flat in front of my house. I can’t believe I was actually here.” he says as if thanking God for his good fortune. 

“Why wouldn’t you be here?” you whisper.

“I travel a lot. I’m not here probably six months out of the year.” he answers.

You know you want to dive deeper into that at a later time, because right now, you need him. Like you need air. Lungs burning from not having him. 

You look directly into his beautiful brown eyes as you quickly rid him of his boxers. He kicks them off and your eyes travel down his chest to see the outline of his length glowing in the fire light between you.

He drops down to place wet kisses over your stomach and hips. Stopping and looking up at you as he presses a kiss to the mound between your legs. His tongue slips out and licks a warm path up your center causing you to breath sharply at the contact. Your hips flex backwards as your body silently begs for more friction. He pushes your legs apart slightly as he repeats the same motion, a sigh releasing from your chest. 

His tongue pointedly circles around your clit, you groan becoming more audible. His hand reaches up and grabs yours placing it on the top of his head. He wants your hands in his hair and you willingly oblige. 

Weaving your fingers through the curls you find yourself instinctively pressing down on his head to bring him closer. A growl racks through his chest. 

“Josh… I….” you whine.

His lips detach from you, “I know beautiful, give it to me. I want it.” he demands.

His tongue begins to furiously swipe against you and within seconds you are free falling into your release bucking your hips up into his mouth. The moan from your chest echoing through the silent house. As you float there in the darkness you feel his mouth leave you, and once you’re fully back, you feel him pressing kisses to your thighs. 

“Josh…I want you.” you say, pulling him up to hover over you. 

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, “You can have whatever you want, as long as you keep making pretty sounds like that.”

Gripping his dick in your now much warmer hand, you pull him to you, pressing him against your soaked core. 

You let go as he takes the lead, slowly sliding into you with a whispered ‘fuck.’

You adjust to him quickly, almost as if your body had been waiting for him since the minute he opened the door. His curls hang down his forehead as he sets a steady pace moving back and forth inside of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you as your lips find his. You can taste yourself, but more, you can taste him. His essence. You can smell his earthy scent, pouring from his skin. Like a mix of damp wood and sweet vanilla. 

He rolls his hips into you eliciting a moan from your mouth. He does it again receiving the same response and a smile crosses his face. His thrusts become harsher, hitting the spot you so desperately need him to hit, and he does. Flawlessly. Your moans fill the air in the room. 

“I have heard so many things in my life, but god damn if this one isn’t my favorite.” he says, punctuating the sentence with the most sinful groan and you tighten around him. 

“Fuck… just like that gorgeous.” he says pressing deeper with each thrust.

“Josh, fuck…” you whine.

“You gonna give me another one baby? I want it…Need to feel you cum on my cock.” he pants. His hips begin to falter, thrusting wildly and inconsistently. You can tell he is close and you’re not far behind him. 

You squeeze around him as your fingernails dig into the soft skin of his back.  “Please, harder.” you beg.

Sweat drips down the side of his neck as he bites his bottom lip, thrusting into you harder than he has been, the smack of skin ringing through the vaulted ceilings. “Fuck, you want it hard baby? God you’re fucking perfect.” his hips snapping into you repeatedly like a rubberband. 

You toss your head back as you feel your stomach tightening. 

“Ahhh… fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking good… I won’t last much longer, I need you to cum for me angel. Let me have it.” he begs.

His words send you spiraling into your second release, tensing around his cock so hard, that he meets his own ending. You feel him pulsing inside of you. Groaning with each spurt your name falling from his lips like a prayer. 

His breathing is erratic as he collapses onto your chest, his messy curls tickling your face. You giggle as you push them away from your nose. He rolls off on you and onto his pillow, turning his head to face you as his breathing evens out. 

He pulls you close to him, your head laying on his chest. You listen to his heart beating and feel the rise and fall of his chest. His fingers run through your hair, occasionally twisting a strand around his finger, feeling the silkiness of it between his digits. His fingertips massage your scalp practically putting you to sleep.

“You live in Nashville, right?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

You nod your head against his chest. “I do.”

“Good.” he replies.

You kiss his chest and he places a kiss on the top of your hair, letting his arm fall loosely around your back. Sleep overtaking both of you, finally warm.

When your eyes open, you see daylight. It is bright, brighter than usual. The sky is gray and heavy with snow clouds, an ominous reminder of what looks to be another snow storm impending. Sitting up, you find yourself still in the king size bed in Josh’s room. You see now in the light of day, the entirety of the wall of windows that overtakes the back portion of his home. His bedroom opening up to the bright light of the day as soon as the sun would begin to rise. You see that he has gone from next to you, and you bite your lip, wondering if he regrets what happened. 

You pull yourself out of the warmth of the bed and redress yourself in the borrowed clothes flung onto the floor with haste last night. You make his bed, a gentle thank you, for him to find later, before you step out of the doorway and make your way down the shiny wooden steps. 

The power is back on, evident by the smell of the coffee pouring out of the kitchen. You look around the house but you don’t see Josh. Where did he go?

You walk to the coffee pot situated next to the stove, and begin opening the cabinet doors looking for a mug. Settling on a blue mug with the state of Michigan on it, you pour the steaming hot liquid into the mug, breathing in deeply the invigorating scent. 

You carry the hot mug into the guest room, setting it on the bedside table as you change back into your own clothes. A few minutes later as you reemerge with the empty mug, you see Josh standing at the counter. He has on a sweatshirt and pants, and his hands are dirty. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold outside air.

“I was wondering where you went.”  you say sheepishly, placing your mug on the counter. 

“I woke up and decided, ‘Who needs Triple A’... I can do it. So I went and dug your car out of the snow, and changed your flat. I have to admit, I haven’t had to do anything like that in a while. Probably since I was home in Michigan. It may have taken me longer than it should but … it was kinda nice. But I will admit it was hard to peel myself away from you this morning.” he smiles.

“You didn’t have to do that!” you implore, “Gosh I feel so bad, I already feel like I have imposed so much!”

Peeling his hoodie off, he rushes to you. “You weren’t an imposition. You were the unexpected surprise I needed. The best surprise.” he says, grabbing your hands. “Last night was…perfect and I want to see you again. In fact I don’t even want you to go.” he says shyly.

“Really?” you ask, nervously.

“Yeah, but I understand you probably need to…” he says looking down to the floor. Your heart clenches realizing how nervous he is, and that’s when you decide.

“I actually have nowhere to be… but… I do need a shower and I’ll probably need some clothes.” you smirk.

“You know…I think I can help with that.” he smiles.

You peer out the window behind him, snow flurries just beginning to fall as you ask, “Have you ever seen 2001: A Space Odyssey? I feel like you’d like it…”

He shakes his head in amazement as a smile spreads across his face, making way for his perfect dimple. With his look suddenly turning to a devilish grin, he throws you over his shoulder and carries you up the stairs, laughing the whole way. 

.

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[according2thelore]

LITERALLY that "dad I'm gay and stronger than you" post had me like ..! my friend and I have been screaming for A Week Straight about the concept of Actual Child Monarch boykingofhell!Sam manifesting his powers early on and just. he and Dean figuring this is probably just another one of those Things We Don't Tell Dad. like, Sam who always knows where the radar traps will be on the interstate, and Sam jedi-whammying the motel clerk into forgetting their overdue payments... John flipping his absolute shit when he finds out; Sam being like "you can't stop me" and John being like "... You're /twelve/, yes, I can" and Sam being like "uh. you're just a guy, dad. I have all of hell at my disposal. do your worst, I guess???" John figuring that if he can't exorcize the hell outta Sam, he can at least make sure Sam can't get out of hell; telling Dean that he really tried but that the demonic forces killed Sam before John could save him; smash cut to early-20s Dean in his first year of solo hunting encountering a crossroads case, where the vics freak out anytime they're alone with him because "can't [he] see that massive fucking hellhound trailing after [him]?!" and the crossroads demon who can't believe who they're looking at when he finally gets them cornered. crossroads demon who smokes out under exorcism, but not before telling Dean "your brother wants to see you"

...anon...holy shit anon...

you are so correct!!

i think that in this situation (growing up with (to his knowledge) a dead sam, and a dad that "let" him die) dean would be more than passively suicidal. he doesn't care about himself, he failed. sam is dead. dean gets reckless, but he just barely avoids dying more than once, just a hairsbreadth.

he drinks until he can't walk straight, gets in the car, and wakes up in the motel parking lot. he goes half-cocked into a werewolf hunt, and he's sure that there's a werewolf behind him about to take him out (and isn't going to stop it, not really), but when he finally gets his finger around the trigger and turns around, the werewolf's ten feet away looking blank and confused. he puts a nominal effort into stitching up a bullet hole, doesn't even bother digging the slug out, and passes out in a random motel. next morning, the bullet's on the nightstand, and the stitches are even and tight. it's not enough to be completely concerned--hell, dean's borderline black-out drunk at any given moment, can't remember the last time he was completely sober--but it's...weird.

animals suddenly hate his fucking guts. dean used to tease sammy about it, about the fact that animals seemed to love dean and hate sammy. they would cringe away from sam's touch, skitter out from under his feet. birds would land on the impala if dean was driving, deer would poke their heads out of the woods if he walked past. but now...dean can't remember the last time he even saw a dog.

they just...flee. even at witnesses' houses, dean sees food bowls and chew toys and hears nails clacking on wood upstairs, but they tuck tail and run as soon as he knocks on the door.

after that first case, that first crossroads case where they name the thing, a Hell Hound...dean thinks it's bullshit. he's heard of black dogs, but this is new. it's weird.

he names it hooch. he and sam had seen that movie at a drive-in one summer, and he figures he's kind of fighting crime, right? he jokingly orders an extra patty on his burger and leaves it out for his imaginary dog, and the next morning it's gone. on the next hunt, the vampire doesn't even come within fifteen feet of dean before something rips its leg off at the knee.

when he calls the demon, it keeps looking down at dean's feet warily, back and forth, like something is pacing between them, something low. the demon keeps giving vague non-answers, distracted, and dean slaps his thigh, calls, 'hooch. down, boy.' and the demon...stops.

then those words...your brother wants to see you your brother wants to see you yourbrotherwantstoseeyou YourBrotherWantsToSeeYou.

dean is apoplectic. he finds the colt, finds the gate, heads into hell without a second thought, muttering to hooch the whole way (you better fucking rip some demons up you lazy son of a bitch).

sam's eyes are yellow, all the way through. bright yellow. he's huge. grown. beautiful. it's everything dean never thought he'd get to see. he dreamed about sam being this old, about sam having hands that dwarf a machete handle, of shoulders that blot out the stars.

sam doesn't react at first, knows that dad sent dean on a solo hunt before it all went down, but doesn't know how much dean knew about it, about dad locking him down here. dean doesn't even question why he's on a throne, why demons flank him on either side, heads bowed, why no demons even tried to stop dean from getting here, why they flinched away from him like something would swoop out of the dark and steal them if they brushed his shoulders.

"sammy," dean says--begs, really--for the first time in years, sam's smile falters. his eyes are hazel again, and his bottom lip trembles, and dean begs, "come with me, come home. please."

maybe it works, and they leave, and dean pulls sam into a hug so vicious that they both cry. maybe sam works from afar, and they relearn each other. their first hunt is ripping john winchester's head from his shoulders and trading kisses in his blood.

or maybe it doesn't. maybe dean stays, because they won't be separated like this, not again. the world's got other hunters, and dean has sam, and the rest of it can go fuck itself.

and sam has the life he's always wanted: power. respect. love. dean. (those last two are the same, really). and a dog, that keeps stealing dean's shoes.

anyway anon...much to think about...i love this...and you, coincidentally, mwah.

you and your friend galaxy-brained this one i fear.

-lizzy

#ask box #boy king of hell sam winchester #lizzy answers #wincest #wincest fanfiction #lizzy writes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as violence, blood, mentions of cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your suspicions lead to a discovery you'll never forget. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: James Conrad

Note: This is our last installment for October. I had a lot of fun with this and I hope you did too. Let me know what you think about me possibly opening drabble reqs/imagines as little continuations of these fics.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Be careful,” you gird as James grabs his suitcase, his black wool coat buttoned up under his grey scarf, “the roads are awful. Are you sure you can’t delay?”

You cross your arms and shiver as the frigid winter seeps in around the front door behind him. He gives a mournful shake of his head. He looks gaunt and ashen, a feat for someone with his bone structure. He makes himself smile and steps towards you, cradling the back of your head as he draws you close to kiss your forehead.

You close your eyes and tilt your head up, claiming a kiss on the mouth too. He pulls you close, embracing you tightly. You feel him tense before he lets you go. Your anxiety heightens as you retract and look him up and down.

It isn’t unusual for him to travel for work, you knew that when accepted the job, and you can’t complain for the profit of his efforts. Yet, the last few times, you’ve had this uneasy feeling. A little voice that keeps whispering to you that something is amiss. There’s something you’re not being told.

“I will,” he avows, “love you.”

“Love you too,” you echo on impulse. You mean it but that doubt nips inside of you. 

“I’ll call…” he says, “please, don’t worry too much about me.”

“I always worry,” now that is true.

“Stay in tonight,” he says as he tucks his gloves into his pocket and hooks his finger through his keys, “it’s cold.”

“Trust me, I won’t be out,” you scoff, “bye babe.”

“Bye,” he says reticently, unable to restrain a twiddle in his fingers.

He faces the door and lets himself out. You follow behind him as he pulls the door shut and you push on it to make sure it catches. You hover your hand on the lock and watch him through the slender pane of glass set into the door. He looks back as he gets to the car, raising his hand in a half-hearted wave.

He could cancel, couldn’t he? Say the weather was too much, the roads icy. He should be able to and he hardly seems eager to go. Or perhaps, only guilty…

You can’t wait another month for your answer. You back away from the door without locking it and take out your phone. You pull up the app and see the little dot in your driveway, backing out slowly. You shouldn’t have done it, you shouldn’t have slipped the tag in his bag, but you know you won’t sleep either way.

You’ll wait ten minutes before you leave. You slide open the closet and pull out your jacket and boots. You’ll have to keep your distance, try not to catch up. If he gets to the interstate, you’ll turn back. You’ll know then if he’s lying or not.

🌕

The sky darkens quickly. With your headlights off, it's even more umbrous. A full moon is expected and would help illuminate the road if it even deigns to emerge from behind the clouds.

You follow the dot on your phone, driving slowly to keep a safe distance, to not be seen. Your husband's care turns away from the interstate and your dread mounts. He doesn't head for the country roads either.

It's only as you take the next turn and hit gravel that you realise exactly where you are. You're headed into the industrial district. What a choice for a hookup. You're convinced now.

You dim the screen of your phone as the dot of the airtag blinks closer and closer in the app. You steer slowly over the stony lot past one of the block factories and past an inactive smokestack. You stop just as you spot the idling tail lights of James’ car.

You shut off your engine and watch as he does the same. You watch him through the darkness, the pillow clouds of the winter’s night casting him in ominous shadows. He gets out, his tall silhouette slightly hunched as he nearly staggers forward. He shakes his head as if he’s dizzy.

He nears the large building before him, soft light radiating around the crack of the large metal door. You note that he doesn’t bring his bag from the back seat. You already know this isn’t business, but that’s all the proof you need to sink into your despair.

You watch as the tall metal door slides back from within and he dips his head as he’s greeted by another figure within. You see only her outline. Her. You shudder and tear your gaze away, staring at the stone on your finger. You hear the heavy shift of the door as it rolls shut, clanging as it’s locked from the other side.

Fuck. What now? You know what he’s been up to but you don’t have a plan beyond that. Do you drive home and cry into a glass of wine? Do you get out and confront him? Tell him not to come back.

Suddenly, the world brightens around you as the layers of clouds recede and reveal the full face of the moon. The silver light beams down and shines on James’ car and the front of the dingy white industrial building.

Your eyes sting as you find yourself paralysed. Go back or forward. You don’t know what way to go.

A starling growl rips through the whistling wind and jars you. You look around, horrified by the noise, something eerie you can’t place. A wolf? Around here? You grip the wheel tight as your eyes return to the dented facade of the abandoned factory.

Your inaction, your indecision holds you there. Deep down, you didn’t want to believe. You couldn’t. You love James so much that maybe you can get through this.

Your hopeless thoughts are interrupted by the sudden shatter of glass. Shocked, you look up to the rain of shards as they fall from the second story of the building. A dark shape plummets from the height and heaps onto the ground, twitching. Oh god, it can’t be!

You lean forward, trying to see if the figure is still moving. Is it a person? Is it him? That fear submerges you and cuts through your hurt and anger. You get out without another doubt, leaving the car door open and you race towards the puffing body on the ground.

As you near, you slow, stopping just a few feet away as you realise it can’t possibly be your husband. It isn’t even human. The… creature raises its head, sniffing with its long snout as it bears its teeth with a ravenous snarl. Its silver eyes meet yours as you stumble back in terror.

What is that?

You shriek as it plants its feet and rises. You step backwards, twisting on your heel as you hurl yourself back towards your car. You run without looking back, hearing that thing pursuing you with its gritty breaths and crashing paws. No, no, no!

You pant as your shoulder hits the door of your car. You barely keep it from closing full and pull it back. As you do, you feel a fiery rip through your flesh, right down the back of your leg, ripping through your muscle. You kick back and launch yourself into the front seat.

You turn and pull the door shut, catching the wolfish monster’s head between it and the metal frame. You cling to the door as it snaps its jaw at you, growling and slobbering your leg throbs hotly. You shift the door and inch and pull it shut, slamming it against the beast's neck. It yelps and as it recoils and you let up enough for it to reel back in the dirt.

You quickly lock the doors and the windows and face the wheel. Your leg is almost impossible to control as it shakes, slick with blood as it seeps through your jeans. You’re dizzy as you feel your strength draining fast. 

You won’t make it far if you don’t stem the flow. Fast! The beast hops onto your hood, its claws denting it as it hammers on the metal. You take your scarf from around your neck and tie it above your knee, tight, then tear away the dangling patch of your jeans to wrap the gash down your calf. 

You shake as you sit back and turn the keys in the slot. You feel the fire radiating up your thigh, like your veins are filling with acid. The creature bends back the corner of your hood and the rumble of your engine dies as it buries its dagger-like claws into it. Fuck!

The monster turns its silver irises back on you, breath puffing as it watches you through the windshield. It spins and raises its paws, bringing them down on the glass, sending a spider web of cracks through it. It rears back again but before it can bring down the shattering hit, a blur swipes it off the front of the car.

You hear snarling and snapping. You squint as the edges of your vision blur. You’re losing too much blood. You can feel the world fading from you.

You glance over as another lupine creature tangles with the first. They’re fighting, rolling in the dirt and snow, thrashing and biting. Your head lolls back against the seat and your gaze wanders over to the building as you resign yourself to the weakness dragging your eyelids down.

In your final moments, worry bubbles over and pangs in your chest. That beast. James was inside, had it hurt him too? Is he still alive?

🌕

The world pulses around you, just on the other side of your unconscious. Blustering gales pound against metal, sweeping through and glossing over your raw cheeks. The rest of you is enshrined in ice, the dull hum of hot air blowing from something electric. 

Your nose is dry and your lips are crackly, your body bound in achy knots. Your leg is emblazoned in fire as you quake, the frigid cold invading your very person. You cling to the blanket cocooned around you, groaning as your eyelids slowly lift.

There’s something musty in the air, a smell that makes your stomach churn. And your dry tongue is stained with the residue of something vile, metallic and visceral. You swallow and cough, rattling as you’re certain the pungent scent of blood is your own. 

Visions of your wolfish attacker return to you and have you whining. Is this death? Purgatory perhaps. The high ceilings and iron rafters watching over you, a moon wrought in similar material hanging at one end of large space, with hands that tick like a clock, the words waxing and waning twisted on each side of the frame.

You cough again, a hoarse deep crackle that catches in your throat. You hear something, the soft clang of metal under rubber, soles nearing you as a shadow looms along your peripheral. A hush that hisses before a stolid heat spreads across your forehead.

“Shhhhh, honey,” James’ voice comforts you as it drawls like syrup, “don’t move, alright?”

He comes around the other side of the couch you lay on, his features narrowing in and out of focus. He drags close a chair and sits near you, taking your hand in his, doting on it as he kisses your knuckles. He tilts his head to press his brow to your fingers, as if praying.

“I’m sorry,” he utters, “I tried…”

“James,” you croak, “what…”

“I think… I don't think I was too late,” he doesn’t raise his head, “but I don’t know if it was the right thing.”

“Please,” you rasp.

“The moon wasn’t gone yet, it wasn’t…” He murmurs, “I wasn’t too late…”

You don’t understand his ramblings. He rocks as he clings to your hands, raising his head as his eyes glisten. He watches you, terrified and ashen. He leans in and stands slightly to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he cradles your cheek, “this is what I never wanted…”

“You…” you close your eyes and remember, “lied?”

“I had to,” he says, “to protect you. To try– if you knew what I am–” he stops himself. He shifts, the chair legs scraping, and you feel the blanket tug up your legs. You shiver as he moves your legs. He unwraps it from the fabric rolled around it. He lets his thumb trace up the scabbed skin and lets out another shaky breath, “it worked…”

“What is going on?” You hiss and snap your eyes open, whimpering as you try to rip your leg away from his touch.

“Oh, no,” he pulls back and puts his head in his hands, “oh, sweetheart, I don’t know… I never wanted you to hate me–”

You wince as metal rumbles, clattering loudly behind him, revealing a grey winter morning and letting in a virulent gust. James stands, nearly toppling the chair, and faces the new arrival. He squares his shoulder, a formidable man even without his posturing.

“You!” He snarls, “shut the damn door!”

“Huh?” The female responds with a grunt, “good morning to you too–”

“You fucking idiot!” He storms towards her just as she slides the door shut, the echo of it hitting the frame rattles you. And his timbre. You've never heard him so angry, or even speak like that. “You— You—”

You see the woman, a blond much shorter than him, but unintimidated by his advance. Her blonde hair is tinged scarlet at the ends, something red caked down her chest, shamelessly peeking out from beneath her shredded attire. She puts her hands on her hips as she faces him boldly.

“What?” She challenges, eyes wandering to you, “oh… who’s this, Conrad?”

He sneers and steps into her line of sight, “my wife. Who you scratched–”

“I… I did?” She scoffs.

“Fuck off, Yelena,” he shoves her, “don’t play fucking stupid with me.”

“Oh, you want to be a bitch?” She retorts, “what happened to pack rules. We don’t touch each other.”

“You were going to kill her–” Your head spins at their conversation. What are they talking about?

“She shouldn’t have been here!”

You hug the blanket as your teeth chatter. Kill you? Flashes of dark fur, the grind of bending metal, the hiss of the engine as it dies, and the beastly silver eyes. No, it can’t be.

“What are you?” You whisper.

Their argument quiets and the both turn to you, faces shadowed with guilt. The woman, Yelena, he called her, glances at him from the corner of her eyes. His shoulders drop and he hangs his head.

“She is still alive,” she comments. “Maybe I didn’t cut very deep.”

“Deep enough,” he shakes his head, “I had to…” he can’t finish the sentence. She frowns and pats his back, “you saved her life. You did what you had to and…” she smirks, “it isn’t so bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” he growls and shrugs her off.

He crosses to you again and resumes his seat. You watch him, speechless with confusing. You put your hands to the stiff cushion under you and push yourself up. You grunt at the effort it takes and your eyes find the ripple gash along the back of your leg. You stare at the crackly brown scabbing.

“How long…” you wonder.

“Ten hours. Look, I’ll explain but–”

Ten hours. A cute that serious couldn't heal that quickly. That's impossible.

The large door rolls open again. He cringes and his forehead lines with frustration at the interruption. You strain to see past him as a couple enters, the man striding nonchalantly, buck naked as a woman follows wrapped in a plaid blanket. She’s disheveled as he brazenly taps her ass, urging her ahead of him before he slides the door shut with an effortless nudge. 

“Of course, Jesus,” James looks back over his shoulder, “Kraven, put something on. The fuck. What happened to not drawing attention?”

“Mm, it’s nice out,” the other man, Kraven grins, curling his arm around the woman who seems less than comforted by his embrace. She looks exhausted. “Oh, and who is this? So worried for me bringing back stragglers?”

James rolls his eyes and looks back to you. He’s quiet as he gives you a helpless expression. He stands and leans over you, keeping his voice low, “I’ll explain when it’s not chaos.”

He tries to press a kiss to your forehead but you turn your head so he can only peck your temple. Explain what? Who are these people? Where is she? The woman who must’ve drawn him into all this.

James crosses the room and snatches up another blanket, throwing it at the naked man. “A bit of decency.”

“Hey, this is my home,” Kraven snips.

The woman grabs the blanket as it drapes from his shoulder and she puts it around his waist, knotting it at the top. He lets her, unbothered entirely. He bends his head side to side, cracking the tension from it.

“Where’s the fucking coffee?”

“Language,” James warns as he looms before you.

“Kettle’s boiling,” an unfamiliar voice squeaks and another woman appears from the edge of the room. You have no idea where she came from. 

Your head is pounding from the building wall of sounds around you. You hear the kettles now, heating up slowly, and the blasting blow of the electric heater, the wailing winds, the pulsing of heartbeats all around you. You cover your ears and cry out, “be quiet!”

“Ah, I see, a new friend,” Kraven muses.

“His wife,” Yelena explains.

“Another?” The quiet woman who drifts like a ghost adds.

“What happened to not shitting where you eat?” Yelena snips, “am I the only one who doesn’t bring their scraps home?”

“What scraps?” A voice comes from above and you peer up at a dark-haired man watching from the second level.

“Ah, don’t start, thrall-fucker,” Yelena sneers up at the man. The woman who stands near the shaking kettle looks away guiltily as the couple wrapped in blankets peek at her. Yelena chuckles, “oh, you didn’t know?”

“Quietttttttt,” another voice adds to the chaos as a tall blonde man appears at the top of the stairs, “she is sleeping.”

“Mm, and his precious little doll,” Yelena mumbles as she blows a raspberry. “When did you all get so goddamn cheesy?”

The kettle suddenly whistles, carving a cavern in your skull. You cover your ears and writhes, screaming again. Everything needs to stop!

“Enough!” James hollers, “Belova, Kemp, Kraven, Warlock, here. The rest, go!”

The room stills. The exchanges of looks, some amused, others skeptical, a few frightened. The woman in the blanket moves first as the man taps her arm, then the woman near the kettle follows her up the stairs as the tall blond descends past them and the dark-haired man above makes his way down without urgency.

Several doors above close as you look at those who remain. Yelena, that man Kraven, and the two other men. James turns to you, “Yelena, make my wife a coffee as I sort this out.”

“Is she dying?” The dark-haired man in wooly sweater asks. The other smells the air and his narrow eyes focus on you.

“She’s turning,” the blond declares.

“She is my wife,” James puts his hand up, “alright, so let me goddamn explain this to her.”

A few shrugs but no real response. Yelena pours the water that sounds like a tidal wave to you. James stands behind the armchair as he watches you.

“Look, this isn’t easy so I will be entirely clear. That… wolf you saw last night was Yelena, that woman there. And the other, if you recall, that…” his throat bobs, “was me. And these others, Kraven,” he gestures to the bare-chested man, “Adam,” the tall blond, “and Steve,” the man with the dark swoop of hair, “are the same. All cursed. Like me and now, you.”

“What–”

“I had to… you would die if I didn’t–”

You look at the ceiling, searching as your heart flutters. You don’t understand. It’s somehow not as bad yet worse than what you feared. He’s not cheating but he lied to you all the same. And now… if he had just told you, you wouldn’t have come. But would you have believed him?

Your eyes fall upon the metal-moon hung on the wall, the long arms marking the phases of the moon. Last night was a full moon…

“You’re…”

“A monster,” James confirms, “I’m very sorry. I couldn’t tell you. Maybe I should’ve tried…” he sighs and sits again, taking your hand, “I won’t ask forgiveness, it is entirely selfish to put this on you, but you will not be alone. Or judged. We only do what we must to survive.”

“What you must… you…”

“There are simple rules. When the moon is full, you’ll change. You can’t stop it but you must heed it. If you do not feed by sunrise,” he pauses and takes a breath. Yelena approaches with a mug and you take it dumbly, unsure what else to do, “then you die. It’s us or them.”

Your eyes gloss and you shake your head. What does that mean? You know, but…

“Last night…” you eke out.

“It wasn’t much,” he squeezes your free hand, “enough to keep you alive. With me.” 

He has the sense to look mortified. You wiggle your hand free and turn your head. You can’t look at him. It’s not just what he’s done to you, but the thought of what he’s done to others, and what he’ll continue to do. What he wants you to do. What you have to do.

You swallow and stare at the black depths of your coffee. You feel your audience watching you. These beasts.

“I want to go home,” you murmur.

“Alright, I’ll take you…” he agrees softly.

“Now,” you demand, “away from these monsters.”

“Ha, you’re one of us–” Kraven begins.

“Shut up,” Adam barks at him, “James, we understand. Take her home. You are always welcome for the moon.”

“Wow, dinner and a show,” Steve snickers, “pretty good night if you ask me.”

Their casual attitudes are callous in your ears. Is this what you’ll become? Apathetic? Inhuman?

Last night, you were ready to do anything to keep your husband. You were even going to forgive him for straying from your marriage. But this, you don’t know if you can ever get past this.

#james conrad #dark james conrad #dark!james conrad #james conrad x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #illuminate #series #au #werewolf au #kong: skull island

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #4 – War in Human Civilization by Azar Gat

This is my first big history book of the year, and one I’ve been rather looking forward to getting to for some time now. Its claimed subject matter – the whole scope of war and violent conflict across the history of humanity – is ambitious enough to be intriguing, and it was cited and recommended by Bret Devereaux, whose writing I’m generally a huge fan of. Of course, he recommended The Bright Ages too, and that was one of my worst reads of last year – apparently something I should have learned my lesson from. This is, bluntly, not a good book – the first half is bad but at least interesting, while the remainder is only really worth reading as a time capsule of early 2000s academic writing and hegemonic politics.

The book purports to be a survey of warfare from the evolution of homo sapiens sapiens through to the (then) present, drawing together studies from several different fields to draw new conclusions and a novel synthesis that none of the authors being drawn from had ever had the context to see – which in retrospect really should have been a big enough collection of dramatically waving red flags to make me put it down then and there. It starts with a lengthy consideration of conflict in humanity’s ‘evolutionary state of nature’ – the long myriads between the evolution of the modern species and the neolithic revolution – which he holds is the environment where the habits, drives and instincts of ‘human nature’ were set and have yet to significantly diverge from. He does this by comparing conflict in other social megafauna (mostly but not entirely primates), archaeology, and analogizing from the anthropological accounts we have of fairly isolated/’untainted’ hunter gatherers in the historical record.

From there, he goes on through the different stages of human development – he takes a bit of pain at one point to disavow believing in ‘stagism’ or modernization theory, but then he discusses things entirely in terms of ‘relative time’ and makes the idea that Haida in 17th century PNW North America are pretty much comparable to pre-agriculture inhabitants of Mesopotamia, so I’m not entirely sure what he’s actually trying to disavow – and how warfare evolved in each. His central thesis is that the fundamental causes of war are essentially the same as they were for hunter-gatherer bands on the savanna, only appearing to have changed because of how they have been warped and filtered by cultural and technological evolution. This is followed with a lengthy discussion of the 19th and 20th centuries that mostly boils down to trying to defend that contention and to argue that, contrary to what the world wars would have you believe, modernity is in fact significantly more peaceful than any epoch to precede it. The book then concludes with a discussion of terrorism and WMDs that mostly serves to remind you it was written right after 9/11.

So, lets start with the good. The book’s discussion of rates of violence in the random grab-bag of premodern societies used as case studies and the archaeological evidence gathered makes a very convincing case that murder and war are hardly specific ills of civilization, and that per capita feuds and raids in non-state societies were as- or more- deadly than interstate warfare averaged out over similar periods of time (though Gat gets clumsy and takes the point rather too far at times). The description of different systems of warfare that ten to reoccur across history in similar social and technological conditions is likewise very interesting and analytically useful, even if you’re skeptical of his causal explanations for why.

If you’re interested in academic inside baseball, a fairly large chunk of the book is also just shadowboxing against unnamed interlocutors and advancing bold positions like ‘engaging in warfare can absolutely be a rational choice that does you and yours significant good, for example Genghis Khan-’, an argument which there are apparently people on the other side of.

Of course all that value requires taking Gat at his word, which leads to the book’s largest and most overwhelming problem – he’s sloppy. Reading through the book, you notice all manner of little incidental facts he’s gotten wrong or oversimplified to the point where it’s basically the same thing – my favourites are listing early modern Poland as a coherent national state, and characterizing US interventions in early 20th century Central America as attempts to impose democracy. To a degree, this is probably inevitable in a book with such a massive subject matter, but the number I (a total amateur with an undergraduate education) noticed on a casual read - and more damningly the fact that every one of them made things easier or simpler for him to fit within his thesis - means that I really can’t be sure how much to trust anything he writes.

I mentioned above that I got this off a recommendation from Bret Devereaux’s blog. Specifically, I got it from his series on the ‘Fremen Mirage’ – his term for the enduring cultural trope about the military supremacy of hard, deprived and abusive societies. Which honestly makes it really funny that this entire book indulges in that very same trope continuously. There are whole chapters devoted to thesis that ‘primitive’ and ‘barbarian’ societies possess superior military ferocity and fighting spirit to more civilized and ‘domesticated’ ones, and how this is one of the great engines of history up to the turn of the modern age. It’s not even argued for, really, just taken as a given and then used to expand on his general theories.

Speaking of – it is absolutely core to the book’s thesis that war (and interpersonal violence generally) are driven by (fundamentally) either material or reproductive concerns. ‘Reproductive’ here meaning ‘allowing men to secure access to women’, with an accompanying chapter-length aside about how war is a (possibly the most) fundamentally male activity, and any female contributions to it across the span of history are so marginal as to not require explanation or analysis in his comprehensive survey. Women thus appear purely as objects – things to be fought over and fucked – with the closest to any individual or collective agency on their part shown is a consideration that maybe the sexual revolution made western society less violent because it gave young men a way to get laid besides marriage or rape.

Speaking of – as the book moves forward in time, it goes from being deeply flawed but interesting to just, total dreck (though this also might just me being a bit more familiar with what Gat’s talking about in these sections). Given the Orientalism that just about suffuses the book it’s not, exactly, surprising that Gat takes so much more care to characterize the Soviet Union as especially brutal and inhumane that he does Nazi Germany but it is, at least, interesting. And even the section of World War 2 is more worthwhile than the chapters on decolonization and democratic peace theory that follow it.

Fundamentally this is just a book better consumed secondhand, I think – there are some interesting points, but they do not come anywhere near justifying slogging through the whole thing.

#book review #history #war in human civilization #azar gat

[unseededtoast]

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Eight

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Though he is a man of few words, his actions speak for his character.

Heading west, I keep walking through the night, though it's less than ideal. I take my time, wanting to stay quiet and undetected by both infected and people. The silence of the night allows my mind to mull over what I found today and how everything is supposed to fit together.

My mind can't seem to figure anything out that makes sense. The map is the only thing that makes the most sense to me. The notes, the game tallies, they all seem so odd but there has to be some connection. There has to be some reason these people were tasked with killing a specific age range of children in QZ's across the country. There has to be some reason they're connected to the Fireflies. I'm seeing bits and pieces of the picture, but not the full painting.

But what if this is all a bit bigger than I can take on? Am I walking myself right towards a death sentence? Maybe. Could I be making the wrong decision to go to Nebraska? Possibly.

The other alternatives are either to retreat back to the QZ and be stuck wondering for the rest of my life, or try to track down which QZ the others went to, and I could miss them and have wasted time. But if I guess which QZ they're going to next, I could possibly save more lives. I've never been good at gambling, and yet I find myself playing at the highest stakes.

Each step seems to take ten times the effort as normal as I consider my options, trying to see which is the most logical, which would give me the best odds of finding these people. As soon as I think I've made a decision, I second guess myself. It feels like there's no right decision to be made.

I stop walking in the middle of a street and stare straight up at the dark sky, the stars shining brightly down. If only they could give me the answer. The sound of a clicker in a nearby skyscraper gets me moving again, towards the interstate. It seems I've made up my mind, and only time will tell if this was the right decision.

Readjusting my backpack and yawning, I take in my surroundings so that I'm not ambushed by infected. Sometimes it seems like they come out of nowhere. My thoughts seem to run in circles until it starts to drive me mad. I have to think of something else or I'm going to go insane. And after searching for something, the green sign above the road distracts my mind and reminds me of the stranger I met only yesterday.

I wonder how Joel is doing, how his journey is going so far. He seemed seasoned to life outside a QZ, his time away from Boston likely forced him to adapt. Whatever job it was that he took to get out of Boston must have caused him to not want to return. But no matter the reason, I hope that he has a safe journey, I'm sure whoever is waiting for him is worried sick.

My path leads me to a roadblock where an old FEDRA checkpoint used to be, just before the entrance ramp of the highway. Cars are parked bumper to bumper and there's sandbags stacked on top of each other supporting a thick line of barbed wire. Knowing I can't climb overtop of it, I take a right and decide to go around. Sure, this is going to delay my trip slightly, but it's better than trying to go overtop of barbed wire. I don't really feel like nursing open wounds on my way to Nebraska.

As I go to turn left to get back on track I immediately stop moving. Standing in the street are three runners, all hunched over with quiet sobs. A clicker cries out somewhere close, its screeches ricochet off the buildings and echoes into the open air. My heart hammers in my chest and I take careful steps backwards so that I can keep my eyes on them. Thankfully, they don't see me and I'm able to get back to the front of the barricade.

I take a left instead, and hope for a better outcome. Bracing myself, I turn the corner and am in disbelief with what I see. There are four runners standing in the road. My eyes trail down the street and I see that they're all trapped here. The FEDRA barricade extends down the streets so that the infected in the Boston area can't use this ramp to get onto the highway. On one of the barricade sections I see the telltale sign of a door, there's a giant FEDRA sign hanging above it. That door would be a direct path to the road if it weren't for the infected. It seems that there's no unobstructed way for me to get to the highway. I'm up against seven runners and a clicker, at least. Even during the day I don't know if I could take this on.

Ducking back behind the building I try to formulate some sort of plan. How can I get through this barricade without the infected noticing me? I know the door is to the left, but there's no way I can get past all of those infected and open it. Even if I do sneak to the door, I know it's going to make sound when I open it, and that's like ringing the dinner bell for them.

Sound would be like ringing a dinner bell. An idea comes to my mind and I spot an abundance of bricks laying beside one of the cars. If I can get those bricks to all fall at the same time across the street, it should draw them away long enough for me to get to the door. It's still risky, but I think it's my best shot. But how do I get them to fall at the same time?

I don't see a way that I can pull that plan off without considerable time, and I don't have time to be stopped up here, not with all the infected. I stare at the pile of bricks and another idea crosses my mind. What if I use them to get over the barricade? I could lay the bricks in a way that I could get over the barbed wire. It might not be the most sophisticated plan, but it's going to have to work.

Quietly, I walk over to the pile and begin picking them up slowly. The barricade is at least six feet high, so I'm going to have to bring bricks up to the top of the sandbags and lay them there before I can construct something over the wire. I slide my backpack off my shoulders so that it's easier to get the bricks to the top of the barricade. Clutching three bricks under one arm, I climb the sandbags and drop them on top. Thankfully, the sand masks the sound of the bricks landing.

I take another trip up with three more bricks without incident, and feel more confident in my plan. On my last trip up with bricks, I drop them on the sandbags, but one of them hits the corner and falls down to the road with a loud crash. The infected hear it and I can tell they're rushing to investigate. I drop down to the road to pick up my backpack and see them coming towards me on both sides. Shit.

With the speed of lighting, I put my backpack on and start climbing the sandbags. I hear them getting closer as I reach the top, their carnal breaths loud in the night. I'm about two inches away from pulling myself to the top when I feel one of them grab my foot and it yanks me down.

My fingers slip on the sandbags and I fall a few inches before I'm able to grab ahold of something. Wildly, I kick my feet in an attempt to get them off of me, but there are too many. In a last ditch effort, I grab my gun from my thigh holster and shoot the ones who drag me down. The shots ring out in the night and I know it's only going to attract more.

The few runners I've shot collapse to the ground, which gives the clicker more space to reach for me. Clickers are infinitely more terrifying than runners, and they're about ten times stronger too. Runners take one bullet to kill, clickers can take at least two or three. I aim my gun towards the clicker and pull the trigger, but it just clicks. It's empty. Quickly, I shove the gun back in the holster and use both hands to grab onto the sandbags.

Adrenaline pumps in my veins and I fight harder to pull myself away from the feral infected. My pant leg rips at the bottom from their clawing and I feel my fingers beginning to slip. Clenching my eyes shut, I grit my teeth and pull with all my might to get away.

Just as I'm about to accept my fate, a shot rings out and one of the infected crumples to the ground. Four more shots hit the clicker, and it falls as well, body twitching on top of the others. Without thinking I pull myself on top of the barricade and whip my head from side to side to see who shot them. I grab my curved knife from my belt and hold it in front of me.

My chest heaves with each breath I take as the adrenaline begins wearing off and the panic sets in. Whoever shot them could be coming for me next. What if it's the T group?

From the shadows I see a figure approaching, slinging a gun behind them as they quickly jog towards me. Once they get close enough, I recognize who it is immediately. It's Joel.

He runs to the barricade and holds out a hand. I put my knife away and offer him my help up the sandbags. We both start using the bricks to construct a makeshift bridge across the barbed wire, the screeches of a dozen approaching infected rushing our movements. Joel takes bricks from my shaking hands and practically stands me up on his own and pushes me across the bridge, my other pant leg ripping from the barbs.

My feet hit the ground with a hard thud, quickly followed by Joel. His hands push on the back of my backpack and one word is clear over the coming stampede.

"Run." We take off sprinting down the highway's entrance ramp. He's slightly faster than me but I keep up well. Joel points to an abandoned car that crashed into a guard rail and I nod, showing him I understand the plan.

We yank open the doors and climb in. If the infected make it over the barricade, they shouldn't see us here and eventually will disperse. The two of us are out of breath and we sit in silence, trying to regain our bearings.

After a few minutes of steadying my breath, I take my backpack off and sit it in my lap. I rest my head on it and lean forward, closing my eyes in an attempt to calm myself down.

"Thank you." I say, slightly breathless. Raising my head from my backpack, I look over to Joel, who's glancing in the mirrors to see what's behind us. His eyes flicker to mine and he gives me a stern nod, opting to stay quiet.

If it weren't for him I'd be some infected's dinner. That fact sinks in and I feel an immense amount of gratitude. He didn't have to save me. He could've left me for dead. Most people wouldn't stick their neck out for someone they barely know, but he did. Though he is a man of few words, his actions speak for his character.

My gaze turns to the mirrors as well, the two of us anxiously wait to see if the infected are going to make it over. The runners would have no issue scaling the wall given the proper motivation to do so, but they're less likely to if they can't immediately see something that grabs their attention.

After hours of us hunkering down silently in the car, Joel opens his door and gets out. He slings his bag and rifle on his back, looking behind him one more time. I get out and gear up as well. And just like the first time I met him, the silence is almost overwhelming. The morning sunlight begins rising, and I realize we spent almost the entire night in the car.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I debate whether or not I should say anything. Seeing as how he just saved my life, I decide it's the least I can do. I clear my throat and scratch the back of my neck, looking down at the ground to avoid awkward eye contact.

"I just want to thank you again for saving me back there. You really didn't have to put yourself at risk, but I appreciate it." I find the courage to look up, only to see him staring at me already with a fierce intensity.

"I thought you were headed towards that camp?" He asks, totally disregarding my appreciation.

"I was. I mean, I did. One guy was left but he was infected. I found clues though, about where they might be going." I tell him, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. He nods,

"So where're you headed?" He asks again, and it throws me off. This is the most talkative he's ever been.

"Omaha, Nebraska." I say, recalling the city where the large 'T' was located. Joel's eyebrows raise.

"That's quite a ways from here." He points out and I sigh, knowing I'm severely underprepared for the long road ahead.

"Yeah, I know. But I have to do this. I won't be able to live with myself if I don't." I confess to him. I'm well aware my choices defy logic, but, the alternative of letting the guilt eat me alive is worse.

Joel rests his hand on the top of the car and looks down the highway. He shifts his weight around like he's deep in thought for a few minutes. He's probably trying to think of a way to ditch me. Feeling like I'm intruding on his venture home, I speak up again.

"Listen, I appreciate what you did for me back there, all of it. But I know you're trying to get home so I'll get out of your hair, for real this time." I say and extend a hand out to him again, probably for the last time. Like before, he stares at my hand.

"I'm headed west and go right by Omaha." He says, squinting in the sunlight. I drop my hand once I realize he isn't going to take it, meaning we aren't splitting quite yet. My eyebrows draw tightly together in confusion as I try to understand what he's trying to get at. I think I understand, but I need to hear him clarify.

"Meaning what? We tag along 'til Omaha?" I hear the insecurity in my own voice and I hate it. Joel takes his hand back from the top of the car and nods.

"Safer that way, for the both of us." He confirms my thoughts and starts walking down the highway. I follow him, accepting his offer.

We walk side by side down the road, the only sounds being the birds in the sky and our gear rattling around. My mind is buzzing with questions I want to ask him, but I respect that he's a quiet, reserved man.

Every few minutes I check behind us, feeling paranoid that we're being followed. There's never anything there, but I'd rather check and see nothing than not check and be surprised. Joel is less paranoid I think, he walks with a silent confidence that tells me he's no stranger to the outside world. He understands it far better than I do.

The two of us walk for miles without saying a word until we come to an exit ramp. I recognize it as a suburb outside of Boston, but I've never been there before. Joel veers off the highway to the exit and I follow without question.

Off the ramp, there's a small town to the left and a bunch of housing complexes to the right. Seems like the perfect place for infected to be lurking about. But for some reason, I put my blind faith in the man leading me and trail him into the town.

He looks over his shoulder at me and points at a small brick building. I nod and approach it with him, preparing my knife for use. He stands on the opposite side of the entrance doors with his knife in hand, looking to me for confirmation that I'm ready. Silently, I nod and watch as he swings the door open. I wait for the sound of infected, but am pleasantly surprised with silence.

Joel seems to know where he's going though, he heads straight for the back room. I take my time to look around at the front room, seeing if there's anything of use. Most likely there isn't, but every once in a while I get lucky. The sound of whatever Joel is moving is enough to catch my attention, and I stand in the doorway. He's moving a large piece of plywood that's on the floor. There's a hole in the ground, and he drops down into it.

Curiosity gets the best of me and I go over to peek in the hole, seeing a small stash of supplies. Joel rummages around and picks up ammunition, a few cans, and another knife. He turns around and sees me staring above him, and he hands me items he can't carry himself; some cans of food and ammunition, before he pulls himself back out of the hole.

"You stashed that?" I ask quietly. He huffs as he puts away the extra supplies.

"A while ago." He answers and the two of us quickly shove the items in our bags. My bag feels like it gained fifteen extra pounds, but I can't complain. The extra weight means we have better survival odds.

Wordlessly, Joel moves out of the store and heads towards the suburban side of town, only a few miles walk away. The cookie-cutter houses remind me of the neighborhood I used to live in. A small, idyllic place at one point in time, turned to nothing but a ghost town now. Joel approaches the porch of one and opens the door. Luckily, it's empty and I follow him inside.

He blocks the main entrances to the home without a word, and I move to help him. I shove a strong chair underneath the handle of the back door and try to turn the handle to test its durability. After that, I make my rounds on the curtains and close them all. It seems like we're making this our base for the night. Once we've taken all the safety measures that we possibly can, Joel finds his way to the living room and unloads his stuff on the old, worn-down couch.

I place my backpack on the floor next to the couch and lean against the doorframe that connects the living room and kitchen, watching as Joel straightens his back out on the floor. His arms reach above his head to elongate his spine, and I hear the bones pop and crack. Wincing slightly, I turn my attention elsewhere in the house.

My eyes catch the fading family portrait on the wall and I go to look at it. The black frame houses an old photo. There's a man, woman, two kids, and a dog. They're all smiling, even the dog looks happy. My heart tugs at the sight of the happy family, and I can only assume what happened to them, just like so many other families. Sighing, I look at the other photos on the wall, seeing the slow growth of the children through still images. They look like they were probably high school age. My fingers find their way to the necklace that adorns my neck and I squeeze it tight.

A sound from behind me snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn back to see Joel staring at me. I offer him a polite smile and go to take a seat across from him on the floor, resting my back against the old couch. I fiddle with the torn edges of my pants, and can no longer restrain myself from asking questions. There are too many things I want answers to.

"How did you find me at that barricade?" My voice is soft. Joel clears his throat and shrugs.

"I took the long way 'round so I wouldn't interfere with whatever you were doin'. I was plannin' on taking this highway back home anyways. Guess it was just a coincidence." He plainly answers and I nod, accepting his answer.

"What a lucky coincidence." I smile, trying to break through the tension that always seems to hang over us. It's going to be a long trip west if he keeps things this short. He just shrugs in response,

"So what did you find 'bout those people?" He asks. I'm surprised he even cares, but I reach for my bag to show him what I've found. I spread the documents out in front of me and let him look. I explain to him what I know and what my theories are.

"Whoever they are, they need to be eradicated. Those kids, they were-" The tightness in my throat constricts my ability to talk and I take a shaky breath, remembering what it felt like to cradle the dying girl's head. Joel just nods, not needing further elaboration. He holds up the scraps of paper I found in the fire and reads the simple words.

"I'm not sure what those have to do with anything, and I'm not sure there's any sort of connection." I speak up, truthfully not knowing if they're of any value.

He puts the scraps down and picks up another piece of paper, the one with the Firefly insignia on it. As he reads the paper it's like the blood is drained from his face. My eyebrows knit together,

"What is it?" I ask and his startled eyes look deep into mine with fear that he tries to mask. An uneasy feeling settles in me. He looks back down to the paper and re-reads the note before he says anything.

"These bastards aren't going to live much longer." Is all he says before handing everything back over to me. The look on his face is unsettling, so I don't push anything further.

There has to be something he knows about this.

#joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us joel #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic

[film-bro-hotch]

I'll Cowboy the Best - Hotch x Fem!Reader - one shot

I have been working on this one for a little bit, but it has been so fun. This is 100% self-indulgent (like most of my stuff), but I really hope you all like it. I have to give credit where credit is due, though, because I used to despise the holidays. It wasn't until living with @honeypiehotchner that I have maybe started to like them a little. What was supposed to be a funny cowboy!Hotch fic has now turned into a Holiday Season cowboy!Hotch fic. Thanks, K. The month of December is a bit more tolerable because of you ;)

Synopsis: You are visiting family on their Texas farm for the holidays and decide it's time your boyfriend meet your parents. One of your problems, though, is that your family isn't too fond of him. There is nearly a 10 year age gap between the two of you, and worst of all, he is your boss. Hotch is determined to make them like him, even if that means saddling up and playing the part of a cowboy.

Warnings: This is an age-gap relationship, but these two are both consenting adults. Reader is near 30 - we don't do that huge age gap stuff. Also there are discussions about the inherent power dynamics between you and Hotch with him as your boss. But mostly this is fluff! This is a happy story!

WC: 8.2k

Find me a horse that I can cover Find me some stars to sleep under Find me a train, I’ll hop out west If she wants a cowboy, I’ll cowboy the best

You watched his hand flex as he gripped the wheel a little bit tighter. Usually this kind of behavior was reserved for when you were in a high-speed chase trying to catch an unsub and Hotch was about to pull some stupid move and drift an SUV in a way that it certainly wasn’t made to do. 

But that wasn’t the case. You were on day two of your trip down to visit family, and you had switched off drivers a few hours ago. You had offered to drive the rest of the way since you knew the town, but Hotch insisted for some reason you couldn’t quite figure out yet. Driving instead of flying was your idea in the first place anyway. 

He looked less than enthused, but you somehow managed to talk him into it. You only had about 30 minutes before you were supposed to make it to your family’s Texas ranch, and he seemed to be getting more stressed by the minute. 

“Aaron, are you good? You’ve been tense for the past hour, and we aren’t on a crowded interstate.” Truth be told, you had only passed maybe 5 other cars in that time.

“I’m okay, really. I’m just…a little nervous.”

It was something that you hadn’t really thought of. It would make sense, though. Meeting the parents was something nerve-wracking anyway, but Hotch probably hadn’t had to do it since high school. And your parents were already…not exactly thrilled with him. He was almost ten years older than you, and he was your boss. Both your mom and your dad were quick to point out the implications, and the trouble both of you could get into for dating. You had mostly brushed it off, changed the subject or made an excuse to hang up the phone, but being there for the holidays made it much more difficult to ignore. 

You were gentle as you placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb along his muscle. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Once they get to know you, they are going to love you just as much as I do.”

He played off a laugh and muttered, “Well I hope not that much,” to which you promptly slapped the arm you had just been caressing. 

“You know what I meant,” you said with a pointed gaze, but that smirk on your face let him know you weren’t actually mad. 

The rest of the ride was uneventful, the majority of your scenery being flat, snow-covered farmland and the occasional herd of cows. Your family’s ranch was one of the closer ones to town, meaning that it was still a good 20 minutes to any store. You could tell that Hotch was analyzing everything as they entered the driveway, committing all of it to memory. The driveway was still gravel, the familiar sound of tires crushing and compacting the rocks and snow beneath settled your nerves a little. The house you grew up in was the exact same as the day you left to move to Virginia. A one story brick home, classic white shutters and a porch that looked like it needed to be restained. Your mother had her Christmas lights on the porch, though it was more because she never took them down than her getting into the holiday spirit. 

The farm was mostly corn, some pole beans and cucumbers planted throughout to help with the soil, though none of that was planted now with the cold. The other half of the land was grazing for the cows, goats, and chickens, and a small barn kept the few horses your parents still had around. 

“You didn’t tell me it was a farm,” he said with a cocked eyebrow. You might have fibbed a little and just said you lived on a lot of land growing up, which wasn’t untrue. 

“You never asked,” you said simply. You were already out of the car before he could say anything more. It was the perfect kind of cold outside. Just a little nippy to wake you up, but no harsh wind feeling like it was cutting your cheeks open. You had only grabbed one bag of your luggage when you heard the screen door open, followed by quick steps on the gravel as your mother called your name. She pulled you into a hug, kissing the side of your head and then your cheek. 

“It is so good to see you! I was just telling your daddy, I can’t believe the two of you drove all the way here!” she said. You looked over at Aaron, offering him an encouraging smile.

It didn’t last too long, though. You hadn’t even heard the screen door open, but your dad had found his way outside at some point and was leaning against the porch railing. “He could have easily bought y'all tickets.” So this was how the trip was starting. 

Aaron may have had so much experience with confrontation, but you could still see his tells, his little ticks that gave away his nerves. Usually his shoulders were relaxed and he stood at his full height. You could see the tension even through his winter coat. He was slouching a little, perhaps bringing himself a bit lower. Even with that, he towered over your dad. You were about to defend him, tell your dad it was your idea, but Aaron spoke first, talking as he walked over to your dad.

“Good thing we didn’t fly. That front coming in has delayed or canceled almost every flight out of D.C. Besides, I wouldn’t want to hassle you with having to pick us up at the airport,” he started, offering his hand to shake. “Aaron Hotchner.”

Your dad wasn’t the most cheery person anyway, but you could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled at having Aaron here. He did, however, pride himself on being a gentleman, so he shook his hand. “Curtis L/N. Good to finally meet you in person.”

“You too. Y/N has told me so much about you and your wife. I’m curious to see how much of what she told me is true.” He was taking a risky move joking like that, but at the very least it got a huff out of your dad, which was better than the blank stare you would get sometimes when you made a joke. 

“Come on, let’s get inside! I don’t want to freeze my ass off,” you said, earning a look of disapproval from your mother for the curse, but the two of you grabbed the bags from the car and followed the men inside. 

Your mother, being the gracious host she always had to be, left the bags by the door and pointed down the hall. “Now at the very end is the spare bedroom that you can sleep in, Aaron. It’s got a little bathroom attached to it,” she then turned to look at you, “you can just use our bathroom, sweetie.” Oh, you should have expected this. You knew your parents were traditional, so of course there was no way they were going to let you share a room with him unless you had his last name. 

While you loved your parents and were happy to see them after living in D.C. for so long, you were quite tired, and there was only so much of them you could take. “Thanks, mom, but I think Aaron and I are pretty tired. We’ve been driving all day, so we might turn in a little early.” You look at Hotch, expecting him to agree, but he seemed quite determined to get your parents to like him. 

“I can stay up and talk a little longer,” he started, but your dad was already waving his hand dismissively.

“I’m usually out like a light before 8:00. I ain’t got much socializing left in me today,” he said, to which Aaron gave a quick nod, wished your parents good night, and went to the guest bedroom. If you were able to follow him, you would joke that your dad sounded a little like him. He may pull late nights at the BAU, but if he could keep from socializing, he would.

You may have been in your childhood bedroom, but you found it incredibly hard to sleep that night. Perhaps it was because you had been away so long that the place felt foreign to you now. Maybe it was the anxiety of your parent’s approval, or maybe it was the fear that after meeting your family, Hotch wouldn’t want to stay in the relationship. You chastised yourself for that one. You knew it was a stupid thought. You grabbed the phone on your nightstand, deciding to text him.

Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t get to share a room. We wouldn’t have been able to get away with anything with that squeaky mattress. I can hear you every time you turn

His reply was quick, almost like he had been debating texting you as well. I feel like I’m sixteen again.

I told you I would make you feel younger

Not exactly the way I thought you would do it.

You stared at the message for a moment, knowing he probably felt some of the same anxieties, which was saying something considering Aaron Hotchner was not an anxious person. You should go ahead and get some sleep. They will probably be up early working

I love you.

I love you too

—

You woke up the next morning a little earlier than you usually would have, though you attributed it to the fact that you went to bed pretty early, and you were dealing with a time change, so it was really closer to 9:00 back home. You could smell breakfast in the kitchen, likely cooked a while ago and your mother left it out for you to reheat whenever you got up. When you walked out, you could see the door to the guest room open, but when you peeked inside, Hotch wasn’t there.

Going down the hall to the kitchen, he wasn’t in there either. You went about your business, fixing a plate of eggs, bacon, biscuits with gravy, and a little bit of grits. Coffee had been brewed probably an hour ago, but you fixed yourself a cup, stirring in sugar and cream before heading outside to the porch where you knew your parents were probably sitting and drinking their coffee. They had probably already worked this morning, feeding the cows and chickens and horses.

It was still cold, but most of the snow had melted, and your dad had put heaters by the porch for this very reason. Your mom does this every morning and still complains that it’s cold, so I had to fix something, he had said to you on the phone one night. A heater didn’t sound too bad right then.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” you heard the moment the screen door creaked open.

“Morning,” you replied, taking the rocking chair on the other side of your mother, “Have you seen Aaron this morning?”

“He went out into town a little bit ago. Said he forgot a couple things and needed to run to the store. I’m having him pick up some more Folgers while he’s out,” she said, cradling her vintage coffee mug in her hand with a smug smile. You know that partly why she missed you was because she missed sending someone else into town. But what could Aaron have possibly missed? He was so particular when it came to packing. He had lists for his lists, and he went over everything with a fine-toothed comb. 

You were about halfway through your breakfast and cup of coffee when you heard the sound of tires against the gravel. You cradled your cup, watching as Aaron stepped out of the car, going to the back and picking up a few grocery bags, a hand behind his back. He swiftly moved up the steps to the porch, kissing your cheek and whispering, “Morning.” He revealed his arm and handed a bouquet of flowers, blue hydrangeas mixed with baby’s breath. The second bouquet he handed to your mother along with a comically large red tin. “I didn’t forget about you. Sunflowers and a value-sized Folgers classic roast for you.” You knew what he was doing, and it was totally working on your mom.

“Aaron, you shouldn’t have,” she said as she took the flowers, inspecting each petal carefully.

“In the Christmas spirit already, St. Nick?” you teased, looking up at him from behind your mug. He had a half grin on his face, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Maybe for some people,” he joked dryly.

He made his way inside, presumably to go about putting the groceries away.

Your mother started a little conversation, asking you a few things about your job, D.C., and about Aaron. It wasn’t long before that conversation turned into your mother going on about the town gossip. How Claire that you went to high school with was married and had two kids with her highschool sweetheart, how they still lived down the road from their parents. You loved yours, but you could not fathom staying in the same zip code as them as an adult. She told you about her hairdresser and how “Bless her heart, she’s new, so she doesn’t quite know what I like yet.”

At some point during the conversation, your dad had made his way inside, his cup of coffee gone as well. It was when you made the realization that your boyfriend was now left alone with your dad that the door opened, both men walking out and heading down the porch steps. 

“Where are you guys going?” you asked, trying to hide the concern in your voice.

“I’m just going to show him around the farm,” your dad said, but there was a glint in his eye that told you he was going to do much more. Aaron looked back at you with a look that screamed help me and was perhaps the most boyish you had seen him in your relationship. As much as you wanted, you couldn’t really do anything, so you watched them walk down the gravel drive toward the barn and said a silent prayer that your father wasn’t planning on killing a federal agent. 

--

“And this right here is my 57’ Thunderbird. I don’t take her out much, only on special occasions.” Curtis had been showing Hotch around the barn for about thirty minutes, telling him all about how it worked, how the hay was kept in the loft which had holes to the feeding troughs in each stall. He seemed the picture of calm, but Hotch could tell he was just waiting for the right moment to talk about the elephant in the room. The older man turned to Hotch, and he expected it to be then that he asked him why the hell he was messing with his daughter.

“You ever rode a horse, Aaron?”

He was taken aback by the question. He had been prepared for anything - for accusations, for an interrogation, for some kind of psychoanalysis, but this…

“No, I haven’t,” he replied hesitantly. “Why are you asking me this.”

“Because you are going to ride a horse today, boy.” 

Hotch had decided that this was worse than any kind of interrogation he was expecting from your father. No, this had to be some kind of divine punishment for a wrongdoing he couldn’t fathom. He should have been offended that your dad called him “boy.” He hadn’t been called that in decades. 

Curtis had already left him by the vintage car and was walking toward a section of the barn to the side with concrete floors. One half looked to be open stalls for grooming, and the other side was filled with saddles, blankets, different ropes and metal chains. He had no idea what was used for what, and part of him was terrified your dad had a murder weapon hidden amongst everything. What should have been the trim by the ceiling was covered with award ribbons of various colors, but an overwhelming amount seemed to be blue. Upon further inspection, it looked as though they were organized by year. The wall closest to the stables held a corkboard with no more room for pictures or trinkets. Tickets and newspaper clippings covered each other, a cluster of memories dating back to around the same time as the ribbons on the wall.

“How much did she tell you? About all this?” Curtis asked, motioning to the board and ribbons.

“She would bring it up sometimes. Always fondly. She told me the family showed livestock and raced horses.”

Curtis crossed his arms, an almost sad sense of nostalgia filling his tone. “Not so much anymore. It’s not as big as it used to be, and I’m getting a little old for hog-tying a calf.”

Hotch found himself laughing, a little surprised he actually cracked a joke.

“There was one time we were in Montana for a case. We were in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, and the local police helping us were all on horses for our search. She joined them like it was nothing. One of our coworkers asked why she never told us she could ride, and she just smiled and said we never asked.” The more Aaron thought about it, the more he realized in that instance you sounded a bit like your dad. He could see now why you put up with his dry sense of humor, and why you had a bit of it too.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you today,” Curtis started, grabbing a saddle. It was an older one compared to the shiny, brighter ones displayed on the wall. This one was still a deep reddish brown but had discoloration in the most well-loved spots. Decorative etchings lined the leather, and silver pieces whose design was near flat adorned places where leathers met. Curtis handed him the saddle, picking up a blanket and a few other roped materials for the horse.

The two walked back into the stabled area, and Curtis stopped at one of the few stalls that actually had a horse inside. “Now most of them go out in the pasture, but Ole Handsome here likes his solitude.” The horse was like salt and pepper, a white sprinkled throughout with gray and black. It was hard to tell exactly what was his color and what was dirt.

“Ole Handsome?” Hotch asked, raising a brow. 

“We got him when Y/N was about 15 I think. Even for a colt he was a scrawny little thing. Looked just pitiful, but she loved him. I started callin him Ole Handsome as a joke, and it just stuck. Now he fits the name.” 

It was an odd moment for Aaron, looking at this animal, a tangible piece of your past that you rarely shared. It made him smile just a bit.

Hotch stood back and watched as your father led the horse out of the stable, slipping the bridle onto the horse with an ease that showed that had both done it a million times before. He went along with the blanket, adding the saddle on top and tightening it with expert hands. Your dad looked back at Hotch, motioning him forward. He wasn’t going to admit it, but the fact that this creature was nearly as tall as him and could easily crush him scared the shit out of him. 

“Now what you’ll do is put your left foot in the stirrup, yup, that thing right there,” he pointed as Hotch followed his words. “Now grab a little bit of his mane.”

“His hair?” Aaron asked, unable to hide his shock. Was he trying to trick him? Would this horse not just bolt the moment he tugged on its hair?

“Well you don’t put all your damn weight on it,” Curtis said, motioning to the other side of the saddle. “You’re gonna hold on to that with your other hand and push yourself up with the stirrup. Holding the mane is just so you are holding on to something else. It ain’t gonna bother him if you pull just a little. It’s like brushing hair with a knot.”

Aaron was hesitant, but he gently placed his left hand on the horse’s mane, taking a fistful while trying to be gentle. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised by the texture. It was much more coarse and wiry than he had been expecting. “Don’t kill me,” he breathed to the horse before placing his other hand on the other side of the saddle and pushing himself up, swinging his leg over and finding the other stirrup.

Curtis looked half surprised, half impressed. “Wasn’t so hard, now was it?” he asked, taking the reins and pulling them in the front so he could lead the horse. “Now you’ll want to sit up straight when you’re riding. Put your hands on the pommel of the saddle. I’ll just walk him around a few circles so you’ll know how it feels.” He made a soft clicking sound with his mouth and gave a gentle tug on the reins, and Ole Handsome gave a snort before moving forward. The motion at first was a little jarring. Hotch felt like he had to fight to keep balance, though he attributed that more to his nerves than anything else. 

The motion of the saddle almost reminded him of ocean waves, a rocking that sent him forward and back. It was a rhythm that was jarring at first, but after a few circles became welcomed. 

“See, not so bad,” Curtis said. “Want to take it up to a trot?”

To be honest, Hotch didn’t know exactly what that entailed, but he was willing to try just about anything to win your dad’s favor. “Sure,” he said, finding himself holding on to the saddle a little bit tighter.

—

You and your mother had been watching the boys from inside the house as the two of you cleaned up breakfast. It started as fearful glances to the barn, making sure you still saw his figure standing by your father in the hopes that your dad hadn’t killed him and hid his body. You could see the two of them talking by your dad’s vintage car, but between drying a few dishes, they had left and weren’t in your eyesight. You were watching out of your own fear and anxiety, your mother was watching because she found it incredibly entertaining. 

You tried to tell yourself to calm down, that you were overthinking and working yourself up, and you did manage to calm down a little bit. You had fixed yourself a hot cup of tea and had joined your mother by the heater on the porch. It was upon sitting down in the rocking chair and looking into the barn that you saw your boyfriend riding your horse.

“Holy shit,” you said, not even bothering to censor yourself for your mother’s sake. “What the hell is dad doing?”

“Language,” your mother said with a pointed gaze, sipping on her second cup of coffee. “Evidently your father conned your poor boyfriend into getting on Ole Handsome. I’m just keeping an eye on the two of them.”

So much of you was terrified for Hotch, but part of you was shocked your father even managed to get him on, and another part was impressed because Aaron was actually doing well.

“Don’t look so scared. Your daddy won’t kill him, at least I don’t think,” your mother had said, moving back and forth in her rocking chair, a fuzzy blanket in her lap, covering her lower half. 

Later your father would swear that it was a barn mouse that scurried in front of your horse. You thought it was a little more intentional, but either way, something scared Ole Handsome, enough for your father to lose grip on the lead as he sprinted off towards the pasture, Aaron holding on surprisingly well. You practically skipped the steps of the porch in your haste, running through the barn to chase after the two. When you caught sight of Aaron, he was off the horse, pulling himself up from the ground, dusting off an arm of his jacket. 

“Are you okay? I just saw Handsome bolt,” you said, taking him by the shoulder and looking him over.

He brushed your hand off, somehow having good spirits about the whole thing. Did he get a concussion? What seemed to shock you the most was that he actually started laughing.

It took him a moment to actually stop laughing, and you could have sworn you saw a tear in the corner of his eye. “In all my career, I’ve been shot at, I’ve gotten my ass kicked, I have been in multiple car chases and accidents, but nothing has scared me as much as when that thing started to run.”

You heard your dad’s jogging footsteps behind you, calling out, “You okay, Aaron?”

Hotch gave him a breathless thumbs up. “Never been better, Mr. L/N.”

And you had never heard a more obvious lie. Yesterday’s snow had mostly melted away by then, but you knew it was still cold. The ground was still frozen and hard, and Hotch was sure to have a mark wherever he landed. 

“Y’all go on inside. I’ll go fetch Handsome before he tears down one of my damn fences again,” your father said, giving Hotch a quick pat on his arm, the one you hoped he didn’t fall on. “I gotta admit, you did a hell of a lot better than I thought you would.”

Aaron gave a little half laugh, something between finding a genuine humor in the situation and not knowing what else to do. “Thanks,” he said. You could hear the edge of a question in his voice, something that told you he wasn’t quite sure if he meant it or not. As the two of you walked back, your arm locked with his, you reassured him that your dad wasn’t one to give out compliments. Hotch joked and asked if that was considered a compliment, and you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face.

“In his own little way, yeah. And right now we are going to take what we can get.”

--

You took care of Hotch for the rest of the day, coddled him really. He tried to tell you that he was fine, that it didn’t hurt more than anything he had gotten on the job.  You pointedly told him that was a terrible scale considering most of the BAU had been shot at some point in their career. He only agreed a little, but you think he enjoyed the peace the day brought after his hectic morning.

The two of you sat on the couch most of the day, curled up against each other with a blanket as you kept the Hallmark channel on. Your mom joined for one of the movies considering these were her favorite things to watch during the holiday season. You may have inherited a love for their cheesy, cliche nature from her. Meanwhile, Aaron would point out plot inconsistencies or try to psychoanalyze the characters. You would throw a piece of popcorn at his face when he would, rolling your eyes and saying, “Aaron, babe, these movies aren’t supposed to be that serious. Now shut up and watch the successful journalist find her true love from high school in her hometown coffee shop.” 

You weren’t sure what movie you were on when you dozed off, your head on Aaron’s shoulder and his arm around you as he suffered through the cheesy movie you weren’t awake to watch. Your mother had gone to bed not too long ago. You were beginning to nod back into reality, and you noticed your side was colder than before, whatever body heat Aaron had given you was gone with him. You were starting to tune into a conversation in the kitchen.

“You really want to help out? 5:00a.m. I want you up and ready by then. I’ve got to feed the animals, and one of the fences needs repair.”

Was your dad really trying to get Aaron to help around the farm? You started to stir on the couch which quickly hushed both voices. When you looked up, Aaron was taking steps toward you. 

“Sorry if I woke you. The couch was starting to kill my back a little. Maybe an actual bed would be better to rest on after getting thrown off a horse.”

You gave a soft nod, still half asleep. “Yeah. Are you going to bed?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding towards your dad in the kitchen, “early morning tomorrow.”

--

Aaron was no stranger to waking up early, though he hadn’t exactly planned on getting up that early during his time off. It’s okay, this is all for her. Just get him to tolerate you, he told himself. Your dad didn’t need to become his biggest fan. He just needed to see that he cared for you. And if that meant getting up before the sun and shoveling frozen shit in the snow, he would do it.

--

Five in the morning came much sooner than Aaron wanted it to. The sun wasn’t even up, so he found himself yawning much more than he would have cared for. At the very least, his new purchases would come into use. When he went out into town the day before, he did stop by the grocery store for flowers and coffee, but he also stopped by one of the stores that were tailored for western and work wear. The amount he spent buying work boots, cowboy boots, even a high-quality hat…Rossi would have laughed in his face if he ever found out. 

He pulled on the steel-toed boots, a slick design that he at least could find a way to style later. He didn’t want to drop nearly $200 on shoes he was just buying to appeal to your parents - he already did that with more traditional boots. Hotch pulled his puffer jacket a little closer and made his way to the porch where Curtis was already sitting with a cup of coffee. Of course.

As he opened the screen door, Curtis looked down at his watch, raising a brow. “Couple minutes late, but to be honest I thought you would have slept through morning chores,” he said, his eyes finally meeting Hotch and looking him up and down.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Curtis asked, his eyes specifically pointed down at his shoes. Well shit, Hotch thought, these clearly weren’t the right boots.

“They are work boots…with the steel toe,” he said, tapping the porch with the end of his boot.

“They are Blundstones,” Curtis said bluntly.

What did that even mean? “Is that not good?”

“Well for one, that’s the cleanest work boot I’ve ever seen. Second, Blundstones are what the frilly boys down in Houston wear when they want to look the part. Any real worker is wearing Ariat or Carhartt. Simple as that.”

Yes, the hierarchy of work boots. Simple as that.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Let’s get to work.”

It had snowed when they arrived, and though most of it had left yesterday, sometime during the night it started again. There wasn’t much on the ground, but it was still falling. He figured they would have a decent bit by the time you and your mother were up. While it was still relatively dark outside, the whiteness of the snow seemed to give just a little more light.

“First order of business, it’s cold enough that the top of the water in the horse’s trough might be frozen,” he continued on as he handed Aaron some kind of metal rod and gloves, “Just break it and get the chunks of ice out for them. Once that is done, you can get the feed out of this bucket here. Two scoops should do the trick, and if the goat that hangs out with the horses cries for more, don’t listen.”

Aaron followed the orders dutifully, feeling like he was back in training when he first joined the FBI. Sure enough, like Curtis said, the water at the top was frozen, but it didn’t take much to break it apart, tossing the glass-looking shards of ice to the side. He turned the buckets over, ridding them of the snow that had accumulated during the night and started to fill them with food. He had only put one scoop in when he heard a sound like thunder, a group of horses making their way to the edge of the fence, crunching snow beneath them. A little goat, white as the snow and with stumps on his head where it looked like horns should have been, followed right behind them.

Hotch continued to fill the buckets, putting two scoops in like Curtis had said. The horses had started to eat, and when he approached the last one, the goat seemed to be waiting patiently like some well-trained golden retriever. He placed the two scoops in and turned to leave, stopping only when he heard a loud bleating sound from the goat. 

“I’m not giving you anymore,” he said dryly.

The goat bleated again. 

“No.”

It cried again, an awful wavering sound with a touch of an attitude behind it.

“For God’s-”

“Hotchner, are you yelling at the damn goat?” Curtis called from the barn.

“No, sir,” he called back, his jaw setting as he looked back at the animal. “No more food,” he whispered, walking back towards the barn.

Curtis was already putting gloves on, a roll of barbed wire by his side. He handed Hotch a shovel and what looked to be a metal fence post. “Handsome wasn’t very kind to my fence after he threw you off yesterday,” he muttered, though he seemed rather unphased by it all. The more he spent time on the farm, the more he wondered how anyone could see these animals normally. Yeah, the five-foot-tall, nine-hundred-pound thing running and ripping your fence out of the ground is pretty normal.

The two men walked along the fencing and frozen ground, soon enough coming up to the post and wire that needed replacing. Even with the gloves, Hotch’s hands were freezing. The kind of cold where it almost feels like they are burning. “Let’s get this over with so we can go inside and get some coffee,” Aaron said, earning a raised brow from your father.

“Chickening out already?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well then get to diggin’.”

The ground was much harder to break than he thought it would be, but the physical work at least warmed him up a little. After a few hard strikes with the shovel, he finally had enough depth to where he could push the post in securely. Once the post was in, repairing the fence didn’t take long. Curtis connected it to the rest of the fencing and checked the stability before he called it a day and said the two of them should head inside. 

Hotch was happy to take off his coat and start brewing the coffee. The sun was just starting to appear, though it seemed that neither you or your mother were up yet. Curtis walked into the kitchen, grabbing a cup for himself. “You know, Aaron, I’ve got a confession to make.”

Whatever followed those words was never good. “Okay.”

“Usually I don’t make guests do farm work like that, you know. But after seeing you get on that horse yesterday…I kinda just wanted to see how far you would go. You seemed committed to trying to impress me, so I thought it would be fun to test it, and I believe I was right.”

Hotch leaned against the counter for a moment, listening to the coffee maker groan as the pot filled with the steaming liquid he hoped would get him through the conversation to come. “And? Are you impressed?”

“I suppose for a fed I shouldn’t be surprised by your dedication. I guess what I am still trying to figure out is why an older man like yourself, with a son, would want someone like my daughter. The answers to those questions are never something a dad wants to hear, but you can figure why I wanna know. Not to mention that you are her boss, and I won’t have you screwing up her career. I hate not to have her home, but that job makes her proud, and I won’t have you fuckin’ it up for her.”

Aaron didn’t want to admit it, but all of those were valid points. The optics of your relationship were…questionable at best. He knew that the moment you started your relationship. It was still something kept on the down low, even though you were practically living together. No one else in the BAU knew…except Rossi. He knew Hotch a little too well and connected the dots. And he caught the two of you having dinner out one night. Being aware of the faults didn’t get rid of the inherent power dynamics, though. Aaron was in a position of power over you, and the thought that you could have felt pressured at all made him sick.

“I know there is not much I can do about our age differences or the fact that she works under me, but I want you to know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for your daughter, Mr. L/N. If need be, I have paperwork ready for a transfer. I would rather lose my job than lose her.”

It was the first time Hotch saw genuine shock cross Curtis’s face. “So you have actually thought about this?”

“I have…a lot. And I know that your daughter makes me the happiest I have ever been, and I hope I do the same for her. It’s why I got up this early on my time off to help, it’s why I agreed to ride that stupid horse and not complain when he threw me off. It’s why I dropped nearly $700 dollars on boots and a hat.” That last part kept the shock on Curtis’s face. “I did it because you are important to her, so I wanted you to like me.”

Curtis seemed to process all that he said, crossing his arms and starting to quietly fix his cup of coffee. Was he just going to leave the conversation there? He could see a slight rise and drop in his shoulders as he fixed the drink, and it took Hotch a little too long to realize he was laughing at him. 

“You’ve gotta be some special kind of stupid if you thought spending that much money on boots and a hat was gonna make me like you more. You really are a fed…but you’re alright, I reckon.”

He was alright. It was much better than any other outcome that has run through his head. “Thank you, sir.”

“Ah, now don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m still not exactly fond of your relationship…but you make her happy, and it’s pretty clear she’s doing the same for you.”

In the end, that was all that mattered to Hotch. That you were happy, and that he was the reason.

—

Like the morning before. You woke up more from the sun being in your eyes than your body telling you to wake up. The snow made the reflection of the sun much brighter. You groaned as you made your way out of bed, throwing on sweatpants and walking into the kitchen to find a sight you never thought possible.

Aaron and your dad were in the kitchen. They had both borrowed your mother’s aprons and were in the process of finishing up making breakfast. 

“Did Hell freeze over while I was asleep?” you asked, unable to hide just how baffled you were at the sight. You were sure your dad hated him.

“Sweetie, sometimes Christmas miracles do happen. Best not balk at them,” your dad joked. Aaron just gave a shrug that said something along the lines of “take what you can get.” Most of the food was already on the table and ready, the sunflowers Aaron had given your mother yesterday were in a vase at the center.

The spread on the table was a lot like the day before. Eggs, bacon, grits, and all the fixings. What was new, though, was the addition of pancakes that seemed to have something in them. “Are those pancakes with pecans?” you asked, a little more excited than you meant to sound.

“Just for you,” Aaron added, placing the bottle of maple syrup by them. The two of you would often make these at either of your apartments, usually listening to The Beatles’ white album from front to back. Sometimes you would even catch Aaron using the whisk as a microphone when he thought you weren’t looking.

You couldn’t help the feeling of peace that a breakfast like this gave you. Having your parents there reminded you of when you were a kid, but the kind of domesticity that was Aaron Hotchner making pancakes with a stupid apron was something that just couldn’t be replicated. It was simple, but it was perhaps what made you happiest.

After breakfast, you decided to take Aaron out for a walk, wanting to see how he was holding up with the pressure of your father. Selfishly, you also wanted to see if maybe he was thinking the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

The snow under your feet was near perfect. Fluffy, not too frozen or mixed too much with water that hadn’t turned to snow. Each step it crunched under your boot with a satisfying sound. You forgot how beautiful the farm looked in winter. Icicles dangled from the gutter of the barn and little beads of melting ice clung to the trees like they were ornaments. The sun was out and heating up the land just a little to start to melt the snowy landscape, but for this moment it gave a bright sheen to everything.

Somehow in this snowy place, Aaron looked even better. The sun gave his black hair the lightest hints of a ruddy brown. The cool, nippy air gave his cheeks and the tip of his nose a dusted red hue. You were sure the tips of his ears looked that way too, though you couldn’t see for his beanie. He looked softer, more at peace than the supervisory special agent you knew at the BAU. This wasn’t Hotch. This was Aaron. This was the man you had fallen in love with. Even in the cold, bundled up like this with him felt like home.

“You know, this is the perfect snow for building stuff,” you said casually, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hm?” he raised a brow, seeming to wonder where you were going with this. You pulled away from his arm, leaning down and grabbing a handful of snow.

“You know, it’s perfect for snowmen and forts. When I was a kid I would make a snowman and then try and make snow farm animals,” you said, continuing to pack snow into a tight little unit. “Hey, Aaron?” you mused, waiting for him to look over before taking the compressed ball of snow and chucking it right at his face. It exploded right at his forehead, taking his beanie off. Flakes of snow clung to his hair, his eyebrows, his lashes. You could see a scowl starting to form on his face, and you were worried if you actually had hurt him or annoyed him. 

“You know, that was really immature of you,” he started, leaning down to pick up his beanie. You took a step forward, opening your mouth to apologize and instead having it filled with snow as Aaron launched some at your face. You took a step back, nearly losing your balance as you tried to spit out the cold. When you looked up, Aaron was doubled over, laughing and wiping the snow off his brow.

“Oh, that was a dirty move,” you said.

“I didn’t realize we were playing fair,” he said, breathless from his laughter, the clouds of his breath visible.

“We certainly aren’t now.” At the same time you both went for the ground, trying to craft an arsenal of snowballs as fast as you could. You were the first to throw, but he was quick on his feet and dodged, throwing one toward you and pelting you in the shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long this went on for, the two of you running around in the snow like little kids again. The way when you finally made it to his side, you tackled him to the ground. He rolled over, tossing snow in the air, in your face, in both your jackets. It was impractical, and childish, and stupid, and you hadn’t seen a smile this wide on his face in a long time.

--

The rest of the day was spent much like the day before, sitting at the television with the Hallmark channel going. It was sometime around 4:00 that Aaron spoke up and asked, “How long would it take you to get ready?”

You had an odd look on your face, your brows scrunched as you tried to understand what he could possibly have planned. “An hour, give or take a few minutes. Why?” 

He smiled a little, a curl of his lip that didn’t yet show his teeth. “Just get ready. Don’t be too fancy. Pants might be preferable,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before leaving the couch. “I’ve got to get a shower before we go.”

You wanted to call after him ‘go where?” but he was already down the hall. He had that look in his eye, the one that showed up when he had a plan for a date night but didn’t want to tell you. Usually he was pretty bad at keeping secrets like that from you, but this time…you really had no clue what he had planned.

It wasn’t until a little over an hour later you sat in the kitchen, flipping through one of your mother’s worn cookbooks that you started to put the pieces together. You had dressed somewhat casually. Jeans, boots, and a nicer top, a jacket hanging on the chair beside you. When Hotch came out from the always, though, you weren’t sure whether you should laugh or find it a little hot.

At his feet were boots. Real boots with the pointed toe, though most of the design was hidden by his jeans. They were…different from the jeans he normally wore. A little tighter and actually showed off his ass a bit. You tried not to stare as he did a little spin, hands on his hip asking if you liked it. The belt buckle was huge, one you couldn’t tell the engraving of from this far away. His shirt was tucked into his jeans, a of type western-styled button-up, each button even up to the very top, done. And the cherry on top of it all was the cowboy hat. His fucking cowboy hat. White, clearly of well quality, and fitting him just right. You didn’t think cowboys were your type, but Hotch as one…you could get behind this.

Your silence seemed to worry him, though, as his face fell a little. “You don’t like it, do you?”

You shook your head, taking a few steps his way. “No, I like it,” you said and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “But now I love it.” You smiled against his lips as yours met his, lingering with your hands on his chest for a moment longer. “Should I even ask how much you spent on all of this?”

“When I let it slip to you dad, he compared me to a frilly Houston boy.”

“Oh, so what I’m hearing is I’ll be paying for food tonight?”

“Now, I never said that. Besides, if I have learned anything about your father, it’s that he liked tradition. So I will be paying, and driving, and dropping you off at a reasonable hour.”

You rolled your eyes a little, but you still had a smile on your face. Your dad and Hotch…you never actually thought the two of them would get along, but somehow he actually managed to win your dad over. Aaron wrapped your coat over your shoulders, your arm holding his as the two of you walked to the car. “Hey Aaron?” you mused, “Could you wear this a little more often?”

“Only for you - and only when we are far away from Virginia.” You gave your cowboy one more longing kiss before the two of you rode off into the night.

#aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch angst #hotch fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner one shot #one shot fluff #cowboy hotch #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds fluff

[nateconnolly]

The happiest day of my life was when Toby began showing an interest in cars. When he was five, all he cared about was dinosaurs. Then it was outer space. Toby didn’t like cars until he was ten-years-old, at which point I had basically given up hope. But now my little brother asks questions about cars as we drive to school. Every day without fail. And he’s learning to identify cars on sight. This morning, he pointed out a battered old Chevy in front of us.

“1980s Ford F350,” Toby guessed.

I imitated the buzzer sound that means wrong.

“Right decade, wrong company,” I corrected. “Chevy 3500.”

“But it had the Ford logo on the tailgate.”

“Not the original tailgate,” I said. “They’re both painted in the same color, but you can tell the tailgate is less faded than the rest.”

“Why would you put a Ford tailgate on a Chevy?”

“Sometimes you replace a part with the first thing you can find, even if it doesn’t match the rest. Especially on a car that’s twenty-years-old. Besides, it’s basically the same part. Only difference is the logo. There’s a few die-hards who worship at Henry Ford’s feet, but most people don’t really mind using the wrong logo when they need a part. And you can’t use a truck bed without a tailgate.”

“So how did you know it’s a Ford?”

“Are you kidding? Check out the corners on the top of the cab.”

Toby leaned forward to scrutinize the cab in question.

“But I got the decade right?”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

“That’s good?” he asked. 

“That’s very good.”

Although Toby knows everyone in Tarwater, he doesn’t know all their cars. He only started learning the difference between manufacturers about two years ago. Now, he can guess the decade a car was made with reasonable accuracy. Sometimes, I take him all the way to the Interstate. When he gets a little older, we’ll have to fully leave town to play this game because he’ll already recognize all the cars in town. But not quite yet. He still needs practice identifying cars based on their shape. He relies too much on logos. 

I drive a silver 1991 Honda Civic. Not the world’s fanciest car, but I would have loved a bathtub with wheels if it could get me and Toby out of the house. And I would have loved it because it’s mine. Even a teenager’s first car, slow and old and basic, is still a car. 

Toby pointed at another truck. “Early ‘90s Nissan?” 

“Attaboy, Tobester!”

Full story free here

#nate's writing #original post #fiction #sibling love

[mariacallous]

SPRINGFIELD, Ill. (AP) — With the calendar-page turn to 2024 on Monday comes 320 new state laws that Illinois residents will need to navigate.

Some will have a widespread effect, including a law banning semi-automatic rifles and another requiring paid time off. But others won’t have an immediate or noticeable impact, including a law that lets county governments consider a potential contractor’s participation in an approved apprenticeship program in determining the winning low bid for a project.

One law that took effect in 2019 but is still impacting tens of thousands of workers is an increase in the minimum wage. It increases to $14 an hour on Jan. 1 for non-tipped workers and will reach $15 in a year.

Here are some of the other major changes to Illinois state law as of New Year’s Day:

BAN ON SEMI-AUTOMATIC WEAPONS

The U.S. Supreme Court has failed to take up the case of Illinois’ ban on the sale, possession or manufacture of automatic weapons like the type used in a mass shooting at a 2023July Fourthparade in the Chicago suburb of Highland Park.

The law bans dozens of specific brands or types of rifles and handguns, including .50-caliber guns, attachments and rapid-firing devices. No rifle will be allowed to accommodate more than 10 rounds, with a 15-round limit for handguns.

Those who previously purchased such guns must register them with the Illinois State Police by Jan. 1.

BOOK-BAN PROHIBITION

Libraries that indiscriminately ban books will not be eligible for state funds. They must adopt the American Library Association’s Library Bill of Rights stating “materials should not be excluded because of the origin, background, or views of those contributing to their creation.”

The library association reported that attempts to censor books reached a 20-year high in 2022, especially those with LGBTQ+ themes and those written by people of color.

PAID TIME OFF

Employers will be required to offer paid vacation for any reason. Workers will accrue one hour of paid leave for every 40 hours worked, up to 40 hours total. Employers may offer more than 40 hours and employees may take time off after working for 90 days.

AIR FRESHENERS ALLOWED

Police will no longer be able to pull over a motorist solely because there is an object hanging from their rearview mirror. The law was approved after Daunte Wright was pulled over in Minnesota in 2021 for having a dangling air freshener. He was shot when the officer, reaching for her stun gun, instead grabbed her sidearm.

NO VIDEOCONFERENCING ON THE ROAD

Video meetings, streaming or accessing a social media website while driving will be prohibited. There will be an exception for video on a hands-free or voice-activated device or an application requiring the push of no more than a single button to activate or terminate it.

NO INDOOR VAPING

Vaping or smoking an electronic cigarette or cigar in a public indoor space will be prohibited. The law adds electronic smoking devices to the list of items prohibited in indoor public places under the 2008 Smoke Free Illinois Act, which banned regular tobacco products’ indoor use.

LICENSE-PLATE READER RESTRICTIONS

Interstate agreements between law enforcement agencies must specify that license-plate reader technology not be used on cars driven by women coming into Illinois to have abortions.

SURVEILLANCE DRONES

Following the Highland Park parade shooting, lawmakers approved the use of drones by law enforcement to surveil “routed” or “special events.” The drones may not be equipped with weapons or facial-recognition technology.

DEEPFAKE PORN

Victims of digital forgeries known as deepfake pornography may file civil lawsuits against anyone who shares or threatens to share an image that falsely depicts a person exposing genitalia or other private parts or engaging in a sex act. Identifying the image as materially altered is not a defense to liability.

RESTROOMS MAY BE ALL-GENDER MULTIOCCUPANCY

Businesses have the option of installing restrooms that may be used by any gender simultaneously. Current restrooms may be renovated to accommodate all genders. Urinals may not be included and stalls must have floor-to-ceiling, locking dividers.

VOTER REGISTRATION FOR TEENS

Teenagers may pre-register to vote at age 16 or 17 while obtaining a driver’s license or state identification card at a drivers’ services office run by the secretary of state. When turning 18, the legal voting age, they will already be registered to vote.

[when-did-this-become-difficult]

alls well that ends well or whatever

I just think

America is all fun and games until you’re driving home on the interstate at ten at night and it’s fucking raining and you have to take a detour because of flooding so you get off onto a county road but then you have to take a detour FROM YOUR DETOUR in the middle of bumfuck Midwest because of a road closure which itself is probably due to more flooding so then you take the stupid detour and you notice there is a pinkish reddish glow in one area of the cloudy sky despite the sun having set and it’s just you and your mom in the car with half a tank of gas and the road does not have lines on it cause you’re not even on a county road it’s just a real uneven country road and you have no idea how fast you’re supposed to drive and then you see a confederate flag

#j.2024 #putting this in the journal...although its NOT LIKELY THAT ILL FORGET IT

[theworldoffostering]

Drama Day #3

Got into our NE hotel around 1am. DH and I split up and slept in separate rooms so we could ensure one of us was in the teen room and one of us was with the younger set.

This morning we were trying to get out of there because we still had a ten hour day in front of us of driving. Ms. 6 refused breakfast and meds. She literally smells because she hasn’t showered and won’t use deodorant. Not a great combo when car traveling for a long day. I know it’s part of the depression and I wish there was something I could do to help.

I told Ms. 6 she needed to eat something (not a lot, just anything) so she could take medication. She was also sleeping with our cell phone in her bra because it’s not hers (it’s one for the kids to use) and I said she needed to give it back. Those were the parameters set for getting into the car. She directly refused so I super calmly but firmly said those things needed to happen in order for everyone to be safe. I let her know we were getting gas and ice across the street and would be back to see what she wanted to do. She waited in the lobby. She said she wanted to be on her own.

In some twist of fate, the hotel manager is a foster parent. She came outside and assured us that it was perfectly fine and legal for us to leave; we couldn’t force her into the car and she didn’t want to come with us. The manager stated that she had already called county services to come out and meet with her. We left.

We got two exits down the interstate and got a call asking if Ms. 6 was still in high school. She is. They said that its NE law that we could not leave her there if she was still in school despite her being 18. They did say she could take the bus home if she wanted because school is not actually in session, but they said the bus is super sketchy and didn’t pick up until 2am. A police officer then called and asked for us to come back. We did. The officer “made” her eat something, take her meds, and returned the phone to DH once we arrived back to the hotel. They told her she had to get into the car with us. She did.

Ms. 6’s mom is asking to have Ms. 6 for the weekend. I think I’m going to say yes. Maybe she won’t want to come home and she’ll want to stay there and maybe that’s okay. Idk but separation at this point may not be a bad thing.

We have like five more hours of driving to go.

#parenting #not the vacation of my dreams #adoption #parenting is hard #parenting teens #trauma

[itstimeforstarwars]

A great deal of my politics as an adult is based in my hatred of traffic lmao.

We should have free reliable public transportation in cities so there's less traffic when I go to the mall.

We should have regular reliable affordable daily passenger trains from small towns to big towns so I don't have to drive in the traffic on the interstate.

We should have more local networks of supplies rather than globalized supply and trade so that there are less semi trucks that drive ten miles an hour under the speed limit on my route home.

We should be able to afford housing in the same town that we work in so that I personally can walk to fucking work without spending more than an hour every day in fucking traffic.

And I think everyone should have these options because everyone I know fucking hates traffic.

#chit chat

[theladyofdeath]

Could you do something with the only one bed trope? Or fake dating? Or both as they kind match. Maybe rowaelin or nessian or elorcan? Thanks so much no worries I’d you don’t get to it

A/N: Thank you for the prompt!! I must admit this is one of my favorite tropes, personally... Enjoy. I may just have to do a part 2... Warnings: Language, overwhelming fluff WC: 2,013

Rowan and Aelin rode down the interstate in a comfortable silence. He’d lost a bet, resulting in a long weekend with Aelin and her parents back home in Orynth.

It wasn't that he minded going. He liked spending time with Aelin, always enjoyed being in her company. She was smart, funny, kind, passionate, and completely gorgeous...

But they were only friends.

They had been friends since the start of freshman year and now that they had graduated and found jobs in the real world, they still got together often to hang out. As strange as it seemed, considering he once drove her absolutely insane, she was the closest thing he'd ever had to a best friend.

They had been at the bar the week before, playing darts while highly intoxicated, and Aelin had bet him that she could win their final round, although she never had beat him before. He'd told her she was insane, naturally, and she upped the prize. If she won, Rowan would have to be her date to her cousin's wedding. If he won, she would buy him drinks every time they went out for a year.

He'd lost.

Bad.

"You're so quiet." Rowan looked in the passenger seat at Aelin, who had her seat leaned back as she eyed him. "You're a horrible road trip companion. Buzzard."

He snorted, shaking his head as his eyes fell back in front of him. "I'm focusing on where I'm going. You're the one that's driven this route a hundred times. You should be the one driving."

She groaned. "But it's so boring driving something you've driven a hundred times. We only have an hour left. Stop complaining."

Rowan sighed, exasperated. "I don't know what to do with you sometimes."

Aelin just rolled her eyes. "You're so grumpy. At least pretend to be happy with me. I told my parents we're dating, so if you don't--"

"What?" Rowan interrupted, nearly swerving into the opposite lane.

Aelin laughed, quietly. "Calm down. It's just for appearances. It sounded a lot better than hey mom, I'm bringing my friend because he lost a bet at the bar."

Rowan chuckled, mostly out of disbelief. “Yeah, alright, but you didn’t have to wait to tell me until we’re an hour out.”

“I did think about not saying anything then getting there and letting you make a fool of yourself when I introduced you as my boyfriend,” she admitted, slyly.

Rowan just shook his head. “You would.”

Her grin widened. “It’s only four days. Act like you always act around me just toss an arm around my shoulders from time to time and dance with me at the wedding. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

He nodded as if to say she was right, it wasn’t. Yet, he felt nervous as hell all of the sudden.

“Stop looking like you’re going to puke.” She laughed. “Being my boyfriend can’t be that bad.”

No, it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be. Maybe that was the issue. What would be a running gag for the weekend would never be a reality and that was what was hard to get his head around.

He continued to drive, following Aelin's directions. She wouldn't let him plug the address into his GPS. She claimed GPSs were for losers that didn't know where they were going. She knew exactly where she was going.

An hour passed and they pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse that had been remodeled. It was massive, looming over Rowan's ten-year-old car. It was safe to say that Aelin's parents had money, not that Rowan had ever known. Aelin didn't act like she came from people with money.

A big golden-retriever came out to greet them and Aelin was out of the car, tackling the beast. Rowan laughed quietly before getting out of the car himself and joining her in the driveway.

"This is Fleetfoot," she said, scratching the dog behind the ears. "Had her since I was in high school." She leaned into the dog's face. "This is Rowan. Don't let his grumpiness fool you. He's not so bad."

"Oh thanks," Rowan mumbled, but the dog came up to him and he scratched her behind the ears. He seemed to pass the test.

The front door flew open and a woman came running out. A man followed behind her, far more calm as he shut the door behind him and descended the porch stairs.

Aelin flew towards them, arms outstretched. She hugged them both before motioning for Rowan to follow.

"Mom, dad, this is Rowan," she smiled, giving him a wink before turning back to her parents. "Ro, this is my mom, Evalin, and my dad, Rhoe."

"You can call me Mr. Galathynius," Rhoe said, and for a moment Rowan thought it had been a joke but he was thankful he didn't laugh because a minute passed and he realized that he was completely serious.

Evalin rolled her eyes. "There's no need for that. It's nice to meet you. We've heard so much about you!"

Rowan blinked. They had? He swore he saw Aelin's cheeks turn a soft shade of pink before they were being ushered into the house.

The inside was immaculate and Rowan was afraid to touch anything. He reached for a vase that looked to be made out of some kind of ancient clay but Aelin swatted his hand away before subtly shaking her head.

"I made up the guest room for you two," Evalin smiled. "Feel free to take your stuff up there and get settled."

Rhoe didn't look happy about that.

And that's when it dawned on Rowan. Of course they would share a room. They were dating, they were adults, and of course, Aelin hadn't clarified about the sleeping arrangements.

She caught his stare and gave him a slow, mischievous grin. Gods, this woman.

"Thank you," Rowan said, at last, ignoring Rhoe staring daggers in his direction.

Half an hour later, Rowan was standing in the guest room, staring at the queen-size bed, shaking his head. "You know, I can sleep on the floor--"

"I'm a grown ass woman, I promise I can keep my hands to myself," Aelin interrupted and dropped her bag on the ground. "I've shared a bed with a man before, you've shared a bed with plenty of women--"

"When you say plenty like that, it doesn't make me sound so great," Rowan said, crossing his arms. "I've shared a bed with...an average amount of women."

Aelin arched a brow. "And you think that makes you sound great? An average amount of women, oh, Rowan Whitethorn, what a legend."

"Please stop talking," Rowan begged, but when she laughed he couldn't stop his little smile.

Aelin gave Rowan a quick tour of the house and then they sat at the kitchen table and ate with Aelin's parents. Afterwards, they played a card game and Rhoe made it his personal mission to see Rowan destroyed...which he did successfully. Rowan was the first one out every round.

Much to Aelin's pleasure.

The entire time, Rhoe asked a million questions. Rowan told him about his career, about what his degree was in, about where he lived and his childhood and how he spent his free time. By the end of it, Rowan was exhausted.

Just after ten, Aelin's parents went upstairs and told them goodnight, leaving Rowan alone with Aelin and Fleetfoot. The dog had continued to warm up to him. He was sure the head scratches were helping in his favor. She followed them up the stairs and laid at the foot of their bed.

"This used to be my room," Aelin explained. "Fleetfoot used to sleep with me every night. So, when I come home, it's a tradition."

Rowan chuckled and opened up his suitcase to pull out his sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. "Then she's taking up your leg room, not mine."

Fleetfoot huffed from the foot of the bed as if to tell him to fuck off. Aelin laughed.

Rowan shook his head as he walked into the connecting bathroom and changed into his clothes before brushing his teeth. When he opened the door again, he froze. In the bedroom, Aelin was in nothing but a little silk, golden nightgown. She was putting her hair up in a ponytail when she turned to find him staring.

Grinning, she asked, "See something you like, Whitethorn?"

He snapped back to reality and cleared his throat. "What the hell is that?"

"My pajamas," she answered, plainly, then gestured to his sweatpants and t-shirt. "Not all of us like to wear what we wear to the gym, to bed."

Rowan didn't bother to tell her that he actually wore a lot less at the gym. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, alright. Bathroom's yours."

That grin remained on her mouth as she disappeared into the bathroom. Rowan went to the bed, turning down the blankets before falling onto one side of the mattress. He stretched out his legs and Fleetfoot shot him a look that he pointedly ignored.

He was scrolling through his feed when Aelin opened the door and he couldn't help but look up and watch her as she approached the bed. That damned nightgown left very little to the imagination.

She knew it, too, knew that he was watching as she went to the opposite side of the bed and turned off the lamp as she crawled onto the mattress beside him. Her leg brushed his and he suddenly hated himself for not wearing shorts to bed.

"Sorry my dad's so intense," came her voice in the dark silence. "He means well. In his defense, the last guy I brought home was Chaol, and that was before he wasn't a douche."

Chaol was Aelin's boyfriend in college and although he turned out to be a great guy who was now married with a kid, he used to be a little rough around the edges.

"Rhoe didn't like Chaol?" Rowan asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm shocked."

Aelin laughed, quietly. "Thanks for doing this for me. If I'm being honest, I just want them to think that I'm thriving, you know? They know I'm a struggling journalist. They thought that I should go into a different field, but writing is all I've ever wanted to do so I did it anyway, even if the pay does suck and the jobs are hard to find." She sighed. "Having them excited for me about finding someone is nice, though. Makes me look like I'm not such a failure."

Rowan rolled onto his side with a frown, finding her outline in the dark. As his vision continued to adjust to the lack of light, he could make out the own distressed look on her face. "You're not a failure, Ace. You're happy as a journalist, even if it is a hard career to make it in. You can't let someone else's expectations of you define how successful you are."

He expected her to make a joke out of his seriousness as she often did, but she didn't. Instead, she whispered, "Thank you."

It was rare for Aelin to be vulnerable around him. He'd only seen it a handful of times throughout the years. It was usually reserved for Lysandra or Elide. Now, Rowan closed the space between them and pulled Aelin close to him, wrapping his arms around her. She reacted with no hesitation and laid her head against his chest, draping her arm across his abdomen. They laid there like that for a moment, comfortably, until Aelin's breathing evened out. She snored softly, and it was something that Rowan would surely make fun of her for in the morning.

Then her knee hitched as she shifted to make herself comfortable and her leg draped across his. They were tangled together and he could feel every inch of her through that little gold nightgown. She wasn't waking up soon and he sure as hell wouldn't be moving from his current position.

There would be no sleeping for him tonight.

He really should have worn some damn shorts.

#rowaelin #part II??? #i think so #rowan #aelin #tog #throne of glass #kingdom of ash #fanfic #fanfiction #prompts #fluff #sjm

[fiorimaya]

Could you do a Dr. Teeth x reader? I hardly see any these days, so it would be nice!

You got it! This is actually the first canon x reader fic I've ever done so I hope I do it right! D: LOL thanks for requesting!

"I think I'm just going to do a bit of homework and then head to bed," you told your mom.

After the exchange of "goodnights", you went up to your room, and... well, you didn't necessarily lie, but you didn't tell the whole truth either. You got some of your homework done, but right before ten after you stopped for the night, you most definitely wasn't sleeping. Your phone buzzed, alerting you of the text that you'd been waiting for all day. It was from Teeth.

Just a couple blocks down between Crimson Street and Spruce Street. You ready?

You couldn't keep from smiling as you texted back, telling him you were on your way.

You already had your bag packed for the night and once you heard complete silence throughout your house, you threw your bag over your shoulder and snuck out into the hallway. Very quietly, you crept down the stairs and out the front door. You began walking down the street. The bright moon and the streetlights being the only light at that point. And then you saw his car's headlights.

He smiled at you while you got into his car. "Hey, Y/N. You look absolutely (adjective you prefer) tonight."

You blushed a little at that.

"Ready to go? I've already filled her up," he said, patting his dash with a laugh.

"Let's do this!" You cheered.

Within a few minutes, you were on the interstate. He was holding your hand, giving it a squeeze every once in a while. He had a CD of some 80s band cranked up loud you were both singing along with it.

After a five hour drive and a whole tank of gas, it was around 3 in the morning when you finally arrived at your destination: the beach. The two of you ran, giggling all the way, to the shoreline.

The night was spent slow dancing at the shoreline to your favorite love songs (that were played on his little speaker he'd brought), collecting seashells, night swimming in the ocean (which included a little water fight between the two of you), and a lot of cuddles while looking up at the sky full of bright stars. Eventually, the two of you got up and ran to the gate. Hoping you wouldn't get caught, you jumped the gate and assisted him in getting over it. And then, hand-in-hand again, you made your way together out onto the boardwalk.

The two of you found a nice spot about halfway down and sat, your feet dangling off. The sun would be rising soon; the skies already changing colors showed sign of it.

"We are going to be so dead when we get home," you laughed.

He laughed with you. "Perhaps. But it was worth it."

You smiled and nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Yeah it was."

Your hands rested behind you on the cool wood. He turned towards you slightly and put a hand over one of yours. "Y/N... you have no idea how happy you've made me these last few months. I don't know what I did to have someone like you. I don't deserve you, but I'm so glad you're mine."

You could feel your face heating up as you looked down with a smile. "Well, Teeth. I feel the exact same way about you."

You looked back up at him and he grinned. "You mean the world to me. And I... I love you. So much."

Your eyes widened a little bit. That was the first time he'd said that. Your smile grew. "I love you too. With all my heart."

And just when you thought you'd seen it all that night, he leaned forward and kissed you softly.

You both pulled away, giggling; faces both red.

"Well, uh. Maybe we should head back," he suggested.

"Good idea."

You helped him over the gate again, and the two of you ran back down to the beach to grab your shoes and your belongings before hurrying back to his car. He refilled the tank again, and just like the night before, you were on the interstate again. Hand-in-hand.

It had definitely been a night you wouldn't ever forget. You two's first "I love you", and then you two's first kiss... what would ever be able to compare?

#request #ask #the muppets #the muppets fanfic #the muppets dr. teeth #dr teeth the muppet #electric mayhem #the electric mayhem #dr teeth and the electric mayhem #the muppet show #dr. teeth #canon x reader #fanfic request #fanfic #fanfiction request #fanfiction requests

[shingekinohyrulewrites]

Angel of Mine

While driving home from work, you encounter a man in the middle of the road. You decide to take him home to restore him to health, only to find out he claims he is a fallen angel.

Read on AO3 here

THERE BE SMUT AHEAD 18+ ONLY PLEASE

You hated your commute.

Frowning, you clenched your steering wheeling tightly until your knuckles turned white. It was Friday, and you were stuck on the interstate headed out of the city. Red brake lights were the only thing you saw, with your car creeping slowly through the traffic. Sighing, you reached for the dial of the radio and raised the volume slightly.

You had spent your entire life living out in the country. The drive to the city never took longer than twenty minutes, but it was the drive back that sometimes took an hour. It was commonplace that everyone in the country had a job in the city, and, eventually, it was your turn to join the workforce. Five days out of the week, you worked a stuffy marketing job in an upscale building smack dab in the middle of the Downtown District. The pay was fantastic and your coworkers were starting to become like family to you.

It was just the commute that had you pulling your hair out.

Your coworkers kept insisting that you just buy a place closer to work but the thought had your stomach churning. It was difficult to just leave behind your home, a place full of memories and somewhere you felt safe. So you continued on with the commute, even if it drove you crazy.

Eventually, you pulled off the interstate and began driving down the familiar, isolated road. Humming along softly to Adele, you absently began to wonder what to watch on Netflix. Your Friday nights consisted of binge watching TV shows on your couch until you fell asleep. The road in front of you seemed to stretch endlessly for miles, your headlights shining brightly in the dark night. Your fingers tapped along to the slow beat of the music as you settled into a quiet haze as you continued driving.

You were quickly pulled out of your haze by a figure lying on the road.

Slamming on the brakes, you were slammed against your steering wheel, the impact immediately waking you up. A breath was ripped out of you, forcing a wheeze as you coughed and tried to remember how to breathe. Blinking, you watched the figure to scan for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

Is this person drunk?

It was Friday night after all, but you thought it was a little early to already be this sloshed. You sighed and set your car to park before cautiously exiting. Slowly, you approached the figure before calling out a timid hello.

No response.

You took another step closer. The headlights shone on the figure and you felt your heart drop. It was apparent that this person was hurt, with large gashes running down their bare back and dried blood smudged on their arms. Your eyes trailed upwards, landing on a tangle of dark hair. Hesitantly, you raised a hand and reached forward to shake the person’s shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, panic beginning to paint your tone.

Still no response.

By now, you were in full on panic mode. You knew you couldn’t just leave this poor helpless person here! Bending down, you grabbed their arm and wrapped it around your shoulder. Since they were passed out, they were basically dead weight. Grunting, you began to stand up, pulling the body with you.

It was at that moment that you realized two things: 1. That the figure was a man, and 2. That the man was naked.

Heat rushed to your face as you tried to keep your eyes above his waist.

It took you about ten minutes to finally get the body in the backseat of your car. You grabbed a blanket from your trunk and placed it on him, hoping to at least give him a shred of dignity. You clambered back into the driver’s seat and continued on with your drive home.

Dragging the unconscious man into your home and into the guest room took twenty minutes.

You were starting to regret your decision about saving him.

Sweat began to trickle down your face as you settled the man onto your bed. You tucked him in, settling the comforter around his bare chest and smoothing his hair back. He was extremely handsome, with tanned skin and sharp features. There was a hint of a frown on his brows, a few scratches around his high cheekbones that showed he had put up a fight.

“You poor thing,” you whispered to him.

You decided the best thing to do was to leave a bottle of water and ibuprofen, along with a note explaining that you had found him and that he had nothing to worry about. You paused in the doorway, giving him one last look before quietly closing the door and collapsing onto the couch.

***

You had been asleep no more than thirty minutes when you were awakened by a blood curdling scream. At first, you thought it was the TV, but you remembered you had fallen asleep without the TV on. It took you a moment to realize that the scream was coming from your guest room, and the realization had you scrambling towards it. Throwing open the door, you were shocked at the sight in front of you.

The man had awoken and was standing against the wall drawing strange symbols. Your eyes traced over it, tracing as he drew a vertical line before drawing a downward curve in the middle, finishing by adding two dots underneath. Bile began to rise in your throat as you realized what he was using to draw the symbols.

Blood. It was his own blood.

Blood stained your comforter, a fresh puddle seeping at the man’s feet as he continued to draw the same symbol over and over again in a daze. A hand flew to your mouth as you tried to fight the urge to gag, and you took a step back, afraid. Your voice got caught in your throat as you tried to process the situation in front of you.

“W-who . . . who . . . what are you doing?!”

Your voice cracked as you shrieked, but it was enough to get the man to stop. He seemed to break out of his daze then, slowly turning around to face you. Holding your breath, you took a step forward.

“Answer my question. Who are you and what the fuck are you doing?”

The man turned to face you in his full, naked glory. He began walking towards you slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if it was a threat. You held your ground, trying to hide the fact that you were terrified as he approached you like a predator stalking his prey. He stopped until he was toe to toe with you. You realized at that moment that he towered over you, his brown eyes boring into yours. He continued to stare at you while you waited for an answer.

“I’m waiting,” you muttered.

He studied you for another minute before stepping away and turning around. You were once again face to face with the deep gashes on his back. But, up close now, you realized that something had been ripped off his back, leaving holes where whatever it was used to be. The bile rose in your throat again.

“My name is Akira. I was once a servant of God.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder.

“I was serving in His army but I was cast out.”

You blinked. And blinked again. And began to blink rapidly.

Is this man high?

When you didn’t receive a response, he turned to look at you again over his shoulder.

“Are you okay? I mean, you were pretty fucked up when I found you.”

Your family had been religious growing up but it had always been difficult for you to accept their beliefs. By the time you were eight, you realized you didn’t believe in a God or any type of mysterious, unknown figure. You respected peoples’ beliefs but religion just wasn’t your cup of tea.

“Foolish mortal.”

He was quick to turn around and face you, anger apparent in his eyes. You shrank down, realizing that you had said the wrong thing. A faint glow seemed to emanate from his body, his eyes seeming to grow wider as he glared down at you. Flinching, you brought your hands up in response and shielded your face.

There was a moment as you waited for him to strike but it never came. You slowly lowered your hands to find him staring sadly at you.

“I meant every word that I said. I was once an angel of God who served proudly in His army. My purpose was to protect Him with my life, and I was ready to die for Him.”

The frown that you recognized from his sleep touched his brow again.

“I . . . I was foolish. I was tricked and I -”

He shook his head furiously, indifference coating his features as he peered down at you.

“I sincerely thank you for saving me. I hope the Lord brings many blessings to you.”

You fought the urge to snicker and instead gave a stiff nod.

“In return, I need to ask you for a favor.”

You gave another stiff nod.

“Please protect me here in your home. Fallen angels face a very difficult life because we have endured God’s wrath and we are to be punished. Please, protect me with everything you have. I will find a way to repay you.”

The past hour had already been too much for you, and now the thought of having to shelter him? It was a bit too much, but the poor man had nowhere else to go, if you could believe what he said.

“Sure. That’s fine. Just clean my walls first.”

***

So began your unusual relationship with you and Angel Akira.

You left him alone the remainder of the weekend, checking on him in the morning and before bed. He apparently didn’t require any sustenance, as when you offered him food he would simply shake his head. Desperate to distract yourself from the situation, you tried to keep yourself busy. You spent Saturday binge watching Netflix, forcing your brain to focus on the screen instead of the guest room door. Sunday was dedicated to cleaning, your body aching and sweating from over exerting yourself.

After taking a shower, you began your nightly routine and began preparing for work. The thought of leaving Akira alone in your home left you concerned, so you absently thought about calling out. The supposed angel had yet to provide any more information to you, and he instead stayed locked in the guest room. Sighing, you sent a text to your boss saying you had gotten food poisoning before steeling yourself to knock on the guest room door.

There was only a second before Akira opened the door. He seemed much calmer than the first night, no longer naked and instead wearing old clothes from an old hookup. The wounds on his back had finally stopped bleeding, and he seemed more at ease.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you.”

He shook his head, dark eyes studying you intently as you scrambled to find the right words to say.

“Um, I called out of work. We need to come up with a plan for you.”

Nodding, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to return. You hesitantly stepped in, your walls clean of his blood and looking brand new. The bed was neat, as if he hadn’t slept in it at all. Confused, you turned around to gaze at him.

“Akira, have you slept at all?”

“I do not require sleep,” he sighed. “Or food, since you’ve offered it before.”

“Well, then,” you frowned.

You sat carefully at the edge of the bed, crossing your legs awkwardly.

“Akira, what is going to happen to you?”

He let out another sigh.

“I do not know. God never spoke of what happened to fallen angels.”

A look of despair crossed his face, and he abruptly looked away.

“Well, he only spoke of one.”

“Lucifer?” you answered automatically, raising an eyebrow.

He seemed to flinch at the name, shaking his head furiously before sending you a warning look.

“You do know that Lucifer was God’s favorite, right?” you asked.

Akira sighed, sinking onto the bed beside you.

“Yes, we all knew. I was friends with Lucifer, many centuries ago. He was bright but cunning, which is what led to his downfall. I always recall him sitting by God’s throne, seeming content.”

He turned to look at you, face seeming to darken.

“The last thing he told us before God cast us out was that he would return. He warned God that he would take his revenge through another fallen angel. He staked a claim to all fallen angels, and said they would join his army.”

Akira stood abruptly then, eyes wide as he shook his head.

"But I refuse! The only one I wish to serve is God!”

“Hey, Akira,” you tried to calm him down, grabbing his arm gently and shushing him.

He visibly relaxed, sinking back onto the bed.

“Will you protect me? If Lucifer comes to seek me out?”

You nodded, feeling as if your voice would betray you. He seemed relieved, nodding before he turned and whispered a quiet thank you.

***

As the weeks passed, you took note that Akira was becoming less angel and more mortal.

It began nine days after you found him. While at work, you left Akira with books about the modern world, asking him to take notes so he could ask you questions over dinner. Since he didn’t sleep, he worked quickly through the books, soaking up the information and catching on fairly fast.

However, on that ninth day, you noticed he looked a little . . . tired. When you came home from work, you found him on the couch, head falling forward as his eyes were heavy. Concerned, you bustled over to him, crouching in front of him as you grabbed his face and turned it side to side.

“Akira? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’m incredibly exhausted. I think I’m exhausted? I remember that term in the medical textbook you gave me. My body feels incredibly heavy and my mind is hazy.”

He shook his head in an effort to clear it but failed.

“I fear that I am becoming mortal. My body is adjusting but it’s draining it.”

With that, he fell into a deep sleep. Sighing, you adjusted his body so he was laying down and covered him with a blanket. You went on with the rest of your day, busying yourself with cooking dinner before showering and collapsing into bed.

You awoke after two in the morning to the sound of rustling. Confused and slightly afraid, you crept into the hallway, following the noise. The light of the fridge provided you with a clearer view of the kitchen, and you let out a sigh of relief at noting Akira.

It quickly shifted to puzzlement.

“Akira?” you called out, cautiously approaching him.

His head whipped around, a leftover sandwich from the weekend hanging from his mouth. Embarrassed at getting caught, he slowly removed it from his mouth, chewing quickly before swallowing.

“Er, hello.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Well, it’s the funniest thing. After sleeping for the first time, I woke up ravenous. That’s another word I learned from your books!”

He grinned, seemingly proud of himself as he puffed out his chest.

“My stomach was burning as if it was on fire. I remembered that you keep food in here so I rummaged about to find anything.”

You walked past him, pushing him aside to check your fridge. Gasping, you were startled to see that it was nearly empty.

"Akira, what the fuck?!”

Sheepish, he rubbed the back of his head, giving you a quiet apology.

“I shall get you more?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out an irritated exhale before turning to give him a thin-lipped smile.

“It’s okay,” you bit out through gritted teeth.

He finished the sandwich in one bite, giving you another sheepish smile before closing the fridge door.

“I, uh, shall go back to my room. I shall see you in the morning.”

Three days after that incident, he began to complain of stomach aches and lower back pain. When you approached him to check him, you caught a whiff of his scent and recoiled.

“Is something the matter?”

“Dude, you reek. When’s the last time you took a shower?”

“Never,” he replied brightly. “I don’t need to.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Well you do now. Come on, I’ll start a shower for you.”

Grabbing his wrist, you led him towards the bathroom. You turned on the water, waiting for him to warm up as you rummaged through the cabinet for an extra towel and a fresh bar of soap. Once the water was warm, you adjusted it so it was just right before turning around to Akira.

“Okay, here you go. Showering should be-”

Your words trailed off. Akira was standing naked before you, blinking at you as he waited for you to finish your sentence. Mouth going dry, you tried your hardest to keep your eyes fixated above his waist. There was no denying that Akira was attractive, but you reminded yourself you were doing him a favor.

“Um, take your time. I’ll be in the living room.”

Akira took a thirty minute shower, and when he stepped out in a plain black T-shirt and sweats, you could smell how different he was now. The smell of the soap was prominent, but there was a hint of something . . . new. You sniffed the air discreetly, and realized he had a pine smell, as if you were walking through a fresh forest.

“Showering is so refreshing,” he mused. “I can see why you mortals do it so often.”

Time continued to pass on, and he adjusted to “mortal life” easily. He had finished the books you had and was yearning to get more, but you were afraid to let him leave your house. One night, over a meal of Chinese takeout, he broached an idea with you.

“I understand this might be asking for too much,” he began. “But what if I accompany you to work but you leave me elsewhere?”

You froze, chopsticks halfway to your mouth.

“I was thinking you could leave me at the library. The books there are vast and I yearn to learn more. Plus, I’m sure there are other topics I could learn about that you have yet to teach me.”

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “What if someone finds you?”

“It’s been almost a month. If God had been looking for me, He would have by now. Do not fret.”

A sad look crossed his face.

“I . . . can only assume He has forgotten about me.”

Biting your lip, you sighed again.

“We can try it out tomorrow.”

The next morning, he climbed into your car, eyes wide as he stared out the window as you began your usual commute. He would ask questions from time to time about the landscape or about something he would hear on the radio. Despite the heavy traffic, you found yourself relaxing and falling into an easy conversation with him.

Just like you promised, you dropped him off at the library, giving him twenty dollars to get some lunch.

“I will come here as soon as I can after work,” you said. “Please be careful and try not to be weird please.”

Smiling, he waved goodbye before turning and rushing into the library. You watched him until he walked in, anxiety building in your throat as you began to drive away. Your entire shift you were distracted, wondering what Akira was doing and if he was okay. You hoped that no one had caught on to what he really was (although you were sure anyone would think he was crazy) and that he was enjoying himself.

Thankfully, your boss let you go early, and you rushed back to the library. Pulling into a parking spot, you ran in, slowing down as you scanned the rows of books. You found him near the back, reading a book about the history of your town with a neat stack next to him. Upon hearing you approach he lifted his head, flashing you a smile before closing the book shut.

“How does one get a library card?” he whispered. “The signs say you need one to check out books.”

“I can help you,” you whispered back, holding out your hand for him to take.

Akira ended up checking out eight books, much to the librarian’s shock. He promised her he would return them by the end of the week, to which she reluctantly agreed. On the drive home, he chattered on about everything he had read, about the new things he had learned, and how immensely happy he was.

“I shall stay home tomorrow to read,” he proclaimed.

Thus began another shift to your daily routines. He would go to the library once he finished his stack, which usually took two or three days. The librarian, apparently, was happy to see him, and the two struck up an unlikely friendship.

Another month passed. One day, after picking Akira up from the library, he practically threw himself into your car, excitement written all over his face.

“I found a way to repay you for everything that you’ve done!” he declared.

Confused, you gestured for him to continue.

“The librarian offered me a job! She said I’m just the man for it.”

“Akira, that’s amazing!”

You leaned across the center console to pull him into a hug. He was startled at your touch before relaxing and wrapping a pair of strong arms around you. His smell immediately flooded your senses, mind going fuzzy at how amazing he smelled. After a moment, he pulled apart, an unfamiliar tender expression touching his features.

“Words cannot express how thankful I am for you. Thank you, for everything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you suddenly couldn’t look at him. You stuttered out a thanks, starting the car and making the familiar drive back home. The ride was quiet, and you suddenly realized you could feel the heat emanating from his body. Once you arrived home, he quietly went to his room, shutting the door and not leaving for the remainder of the night.

As you lay in bed later, your mind kept replaying the way he hugged you and the affectionate way he had looked at you. Your cheeks kept getting warmer and warmer the more you thought about him, and you reached up to cover your face with your hands.

“I cannot be falling for him,” you muttered to yourself.

***

Akira settled into working life easily.

The librarian had nothing but wonderful things to say about him, remarking that he worked quickly and was very well informed. He was able to help out anyone who came through the doors with finding books, and many of the patrons continued to return just to see him. His paychecks would go to you, but you always made sure to give him at least half.

Your relationship had shifted, with the two of you becoming more affectionate and trying to do more activities together. The two of you had developed a nightly routine where you would curl up on the couch, with him reading and you watching TV. You would share a blanket, sitting close to each other, your knees often touching. Sometimes, you would catch him staring longingly at you from the corner of your eye, and the sight would make your heart ache.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen for Akira the Angel.

***

The storm outside was relentless, the thunder shaking your windows and the lightning flashes brightening up your dark room. You tossed and turned, trying to relax but the stress of the storm kept you awake. Sighing, you decided to get up and drink some water, hoping the action would somehow make you tired.

Flicking on your nightstand lamp, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Just as your feet touched the floor, the bulb flickered before sending your room into darkness. The sound of the electronics in your room shutting down had you panicking as you realized the power went out.

You stepped out into the doorway, hoping to get a lighter from the kitchen to light the candles in your room. The sound of the guest room door squeaking open caught your attention, and you heard the sound of Akira’s feet shuffling along the floor. There was a pause before he called out your name.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep.”

There was a pause before he spoke again.

“Do you . . . need some help?”

“I wanted to get a lighter from the kitchen,” you replied.

You heard his feet moving along the floor before you heard him shuffling about in the kitchen. His footsteps got closer until he was standing in front of you. Tilting your head up, you peered at him in the darkness. He handed you the lighter, giving you a small smile.

“Thanks.”

You quickly lit the candles before sitting cross legged on your bed. Akira lingered in the doorway, seemingly hesitant to enter. Smiling, you patted the bed, and he slowly made his way towards you. He sank next to you, staring at you before giving you a shy smile.

A sudden crack of lightning had you jumping, and you instinctively dove towards him. His arms opened immediately and he pulled you towards his chest, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubbed your back. Your heart was pounding from the lightning but was now beating faster due to the close proximity. The feeling of his hand running through your locks had you instantly relaxing and you settled more into his chest.

After a moment you pulled away, looking up at Akira’s face in the dim light. He was staring down at you with such a tender look you couldn’t help it anymore and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft and it took him a moment to respond as it registered in his mind what you had done.

His lips moved sloppily, and you fought the urge to giggle at the thought that he had never kissed anyone before. However, seeing his past experience with all of the books he had been reading, you knew he was a fast learner and it didn’t take long before his mouth was moving perfectly with yours.

One of his hands moved from your hair to your waist, the other reaching up to cradle your face. After a moment he pulled away, panting softly as his eyes flickered quickly, studying your features.

“I . . . I’ve never felt this way before. But I know I can’t stop myself,” he breathed out.

“Then don’t.”

He dove in and kissed you again, gently pressing a hand to your shoulder to lay you down on the bed. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer to you, legs coming up to encircle his hips. His hands settled on either side of your head, holding him up as your kisses turned urgent. You gently pushed him away to sit up and pulled your pajama shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest. Akira’s eyes went wide, a soft blush tainting his cheeks.

“I’ve always seen breasts in books, but . . .”

“Akira,” you scolded him. “Don’t make this weird!”

Trying to keep the mood going, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. His toned chest and abdomen glistened in the low light, arousal beginning to pool deep inside of you. You quickly made work of the knot holding his sweats up, helping him slide them down his legs.

“Good God,” you gasped out, noticing he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Maybe it was an angel thing, but you hadn’t expected him to be so well endowed. His cock hung heavy between his legs, slapping against his thigh as the sweats left him bare. Swallowing thickly, you knew the stretch would be uncomfortable but so worth it.

“Is . . . everything okay?” he asked.

You could sense he was beginning to feel self-conscious so you focused instead on sliding down your pajama bottoms. When you were left in just your panties, you looked up at him, checking his face for any signs that he wanted to stop.

“We can stop right here,” you told him. “We don’t have to do this.”

Some sort of conflict began to play out in his face, eyes going wide as his brows furrowed before he seemed to accept some defeat. Hanging his head, he began to crawl over your body, lips tracing a path from your navel up to your jaw. Shivering, you wrapped your legs around him again.

“I guess I can only ask for forgiveness now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

It was his shaking hand that ultimately pulled your panties down, sliding them down your legs as his thumb grazed your smooth skin. Once they were gone, he positioned himself between your legs, one hand wrapping around his long, thick cock.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t quite know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay,” you replied. “Take your time.”

Sucking in a breath, he pumped himself a few times, eyes fluttering closed before he leaned further down and guided himself into you. As you predicted, the initial stretch was uncomfortable, tears quickly springing to your eyes as you felt that you were being ripped apart. It wasn’t like you were a virgin, but it had been a while since you had slept with someone and the first time after a while was always uncomfortable. Akira’s size didn’t quite help either, but you forced yourself to relax as he slowly continued to push in.

“You feel w-wonderful, love,” he gasped out, hands clenched tight on the pillow below your head.

When he bottomed out he stopped, panting as he waited for you to adjust. He must have felt the tension in your body because one of his hands moved to rub slow circles on your hip. After a moment you lifted your hips up, causing him to moan before he pulled out completely.

“Lord have mercy,” he cried out before snapping his hips into yours.

His thrusts were slow, his hips going all the way back before thrusting back into you sharply. The movement had your body moving up on the bed, your head smacking against the headboard as an especially sharp thrust had your whole body vibrating. You let your legs slide off his hips and instead tried to open them as wide as you could. Crying out, you moved your hands to hold on to his side, nails digging in as he kept on thrusting slowly and sharply into you.

You felt his lips brush against your cheek, pressing light pecks in between pants.

“I-I don’t think I’m going to last much longer, love,” he spoke lowly into your ear.

“M-me either,” you gasped out. “Don’t stop.”

It took four sharp thrusts for you to come, the tight bundle slowly coming undone as his pelvis brushed against your clit. You called out his name in a mix of gasps and moans, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you rode out your orgasm as he kept on thrusting. He came right after, hips stuttering slowly before coming to a stop. Letting out a guttural moan of your name, he let his head hang down low, hair tickling your neck as he released into you.

A few minutes later, after he had wobbled to the bathroom in the darkness to get a towel for you, the two of you were entwined in bed. Your head was laid on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart slow down until it beat steadily.

He was alive. He was yours. He was mortal.

***

Your happiness, however, was short lived.

Another month passed, a month full of endless love making, stolen kisses, and nights spent in the same bed. The two of you had fallen into a relationship, and Akira had finally accepted his fate as a mortal.

One evening, while curled up on the couch, the power in your house suddenly went out. Confused, you lifted your head from Akira’s shoulder and glanced around you. Before you could speak, a loud popping sound filled the room and it was awash in a gentle green light. Akira’s face had gone deathly pale, eyes going wide as he took in the sight before you. As you registered that something was happening, he quickly sunk into a bow, forehead pressed against the floor.

“Akira, it is good to see you.”

You finally turned, hands flying to your mouth at the sight. An angel was standing there, blonde hair falling past its shoulders. It had a pair of wings around it like the traditional art you had seen. However, behind its head, there was an eagle, with a lion and sheep on either side. 

Weren’t angels supposed to be . . . beautiful?

Its eyes flickered towards you, the lion baring its teeth to give you a snarl. The eagle let out a screech and the sheep bleated loudly. The angel’s eyes narrowed, a faint glimmer of red light glowing around its body.

“You fool. You have tasted the flesh and do not wish to relinquish it.”

“I am no fool,” Akira replied. “I have fallen in love.”

He stood then, lifting his chin to stare down at the angel.

“Perhaps I am a fool in love, that may be true. But I am no simple fool.”

The lion roared then, the angel’s face warping into one of terrifying anger.

“God will never forgive you for this. You knew that as His servant you needed to avoid all temptation.”

“Did you forget, dear brother? God was the one who cast me out.”

“It seems you didn’t learn the first time,” the angel snarled.

“Was I truly tempted? Satan may have tricked me, but he was correct in his ways.”

“How dare you.”

Fear coursed through you as the angel seemed to grow in size, the animals surrounding its head focused on you. Swallowing nervously, you stepped behind Akira.

“This mortal will be the end of you,” the angel snapped.

“So it may be,” Akira said. “I love her and there is nothing that God can do to change that.”

“So is that it?” the angel barked out. “You want to relinquish your holiness and become mortal? To one day die and fade into the ground?”

“If it means I can be in love, then yes.”

“Fine, so it will be.”

The angel snapped its fingers. Akira fell to the floor, clutching his head as he let out a blood curdling scream. You kneeled beside him, yelling his name while the angel merely looked on.

“Foolish mortal. I hope you realize the gravity of his decision.”

With that, it was gone. Akira fell silent, lifting his head to peer at you with exhausted eyes. He seemed . . . well normal. His face before had retained an eternal youth, but you could now see the formation of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His dark hair now had a few streaks of gray, falling messily onto his forehead. Smiling, you held onto his face before pressing his forehead against yours.  

He was alive. He was yours. He was mortal.

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