#wish there were more singular pictures but here we are

[murdrdocs]

doing this off anon because i’m simply unhinged but - ghostface!luke doing it to fuck with you when he’s mad…

like you beat the hermes cabin in capture the flag or sumn,, and the first time it happens you wait for him in the woods to meet up after everyone’s in their bunks. and you hear rustling behind you and suddenly there’s a knife to your throat and he messes with you for a while with the mask until you find out it’s him.

and then he gets addicted to the fear in your eyes and the crying he saw and so he keeps doing it 😩 somewhere out there is a picture where luke is pulling your hair with the camera flash on like the tiktok trend im SCREECHING please

cw dark content; ghostface!luke; suggestive content MDNI 18+

the energy of the vengeance coursing through his veins is so electric that it's a wonder you can't feel it.

luke figures it's because you're stuck in your ego. in your glory. it's practically radiating off of you, momentarily protecting you from what pumps through him, meddled with the blood and ichor to create something dangerous.

but he's not here to seriously hurt you. no matter how many times he has to remind himself. he just needs to put you in your place. to remind you that this win was singular, and another won't be following it. with you, there's no better way to do that than to strike fear deep into your core.

it takes a second for it to reach you.

when luke purposefully steps onto a branch, and you turn to face him, he's only met with brief shock. then, like the overcompensating brat that he knows you to be, you laugh in his face to hide your fear.

"what's with the getup?" you gesture to the mask and gloves, amusement in your eyes but luke can see the way the corners of your lips tug down just a bit.

he doesn't say anything, tilting his head and watching on as you ramble to yourself.

"here to scare me? how'd you know i was out here anyway. unless..." you take a step closer, squinting your eyes. "luke?" your smile turns bigger, more genuine.

"knew you were a little weirdo but i didn't suspect this. what, are we gonna do it in the getup? am i gonna be your helpless victim? are you gonna make me beg for my life?"

you get closer and closer to him as you speak. eventually, you reach a hand up and attempt to lift his mask, but he catches you.

"luke?" you ask. he shakes his head, and it's then that the fear starts to set in.

you don't have time to react before luke has you spun around, your hand locked behind your back and your chest pressed up against the rough bark of a tree.

you wince. "ow, luke. you're hurting me," you tell him, trying to wedge yourself out of his grip but this is always one position you couldn't figure out the escape for when you would spar with luke.

he has you at his mercy. and before he'll let you go, he has to play with you for a while.

when the cold and sharp metal of a knife presses against the pure skin of your cheek, you flinch away, only to be stopped by luke forcibly nudging his crotch into your backside to remind you that when he's here, you're not going anywhere.

he hears your sniffles, and he briefly wishes he could see the tears glide down your face. but there's something more perversely addictive about only being able to hear you and not see you. something that makes luke's cock twitch within the confines of his cargo pants.

you're starting to plead, telling him that there's someone coming out to meet you. that he's big and strong and the best swordsman around and he could end your assailant in less than a minute. luke wants to laugh at the irony, and eventually he can't hold it in.

he does. he laughs right in your ear as he lets the knife slip a little and he slices a thin line against your cheek, watching the blood gather from behind the eye slits in the mask before he finally decides to show you mercy.

"not so big and bad now, are we?"

#lukesworld! #luke castellan x reader #ghostface!luke #luke castellan x you #celeste + apollos-calliope #luke castellan smut

[v1ckycupid]

school slvt - pt3

And so they did. They spent the rest of the day with you. There was a lovely movie playing on the TV, but you weren't focused on that. You were focused on the boy lying down on either side of you.

They'd occasionally lay a hand on your thigh, or playfully pull the neckline of your shirt down. But you didn't fight. You'd sit still and let them have their way with you. You've always wanted that.

And then at one point, Jason couldn't handle the tension anymore. He pulled your shirt down, and it bunched up around your waist. Jason rolled to his side and stared at you. Nate was also.

Your nipples almost instantly hardened at the gush of cold air. "You're so pretty Vicky." Jason says. His hands squeeze your boobs and pinch your nipples as he watches the movie half-focused.

Nate lightly pulled your booty shorts down to expose you. You gasped as his fingers brush your bud.

"Fuck...." yiu mumble. "Tell us Vicky, what should we do to this... heavenly little body here?" Jason is now sitting, a singular finger tracing down to your folds.

"Make me your plaything." You softly say, shy. Jason and Nate don't need to hear more. One moment you're lying down, the other you're pulled up. Jason bends you over your study table.

His fingers bully your tight little holes and you squirm under his touch. Nate watches and waits. Jason frees his hard cock and motions Nate over. They'd share you. Oh... if you only knew.

Jason teased you so bad, rubbing his tip over your folds and pulling away. Nate jerked off to your sounds and cummed over your tits. And you loved it.

And then Jason does something. He goes in your other hole. You gasp and shriek, but Jason doesn't stop. You get wet and the journey is smooth eventually. You buckyour hips and your sounds only fire the boys to do more. Nate enters your pussy, and you feel stuffed up.

They ram at speeds that make you arch your back and grasp at random things for support. You feel warm and fuzzy, and filled up as their cum fills you. You lay down, tired just from round 1. Jason takes pictures of cum leaking down both your holes. And you let him. You let him do it.

Jason lays you down on the floor. He makes you go on your fours, ass up. The two boys enter your pussy together. You arch and gasp and moan and scream... in pleasure. They take it up a notch and push in a butt plug. You cry and moan as they fuck you.

Their dicks go in and out, stretching you. You clench around them, and they cum at their own wish into you.

By the time it's 12, you're wasted. The boys clean you up and sleep woth you. The next morning, your phone is blowing up.

It's boys asking if they can get with you. Jason must have posted that photo.... but you don't mind. Do you?

hi vicky!! Do you like these stories? If you do, then I can keep making more for you!

- 😶‍🌫️ anon

hi 😶‍🌫️ anon!!! your writing is brilliant, you are so talented💓💓 i love your stories, i love how they flow and i also love nate n jason, how hot are they?? i would love to be in a threesome with them💞💞 i wonder what other kinks they have.. keep em’ comin!! just like they will, i hope..

#dumb slvt #cnc free use #free use slvt #rough cnc #cnc k!nk #attention wh0r3 #needy wh0re #wh0re #soft cnc #stupid slvt #thr33some #c0cksleeve #c0ckwarming #c0ckwh0re #cvmdump #cvmslut #cvmslvt #c0ckslut

[pedroshotwifey]

Joel Fucking Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (Can be pictured as either HBO or Video Game version)

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: NO use of Y/N, Smut with a lil garnish of angst, kinda mean Joel, Borderline Dark!Joel, but consent is given at a point, one singular spank, rough piv sex, exhibition kink, slight humiliation/degradation, possessive behavior, enemies to lovers-ish?, reader is a menace but we love her, spit kink, anal play, this is pure filth and I'm not sorry

Summary: You and Joel Miller have been sworn enemies from the very start, both of you at each other’s other's throats since the first glance. What he can't know is that you have been harboring a stubborn crush on him this whole time---It’s not until he has you up against a wall that you realize he feels the same way.

A/N: Now that I have all of my one-shots posted, I'm going to start posting my ongoing stories as well as some new works. I'm almost finished with the Frankie Sex Pollen fic so that will be posted sometime this week. I will also be working on creating both a masterlist and a recommendation list, so hopefully that should be done soon too. Thanks for reading!

***

Today has been a shitty fucking day—no pun intended. 

Not to say every day isn’t shitty here in the QZ, but this one really takes the cake. To start your fabulous day, you woke up an hour late, making you one of the last people in line to pick up jobs. When you got to the assigning station, you found that you had been left with two options for the week: janitorial service at one of the mess halls, and sewer duty—where you literally have to shovel shit. The only card left for the mess hall was an all-day shift. You took them both.

That's why you find yourself here now, below the city, finishing up sewer duty, covered head to toe in stench and sweat even though it’s the middle of winter. You’re pretty sure you are the last one down here; it’s been a while since you saw or heard anyone else. You aren’t surprised. You’re used to being the only one who cares enough to actually finish whatever job you were tasked with that day, no matter how repulsive it may be. 

You don't take pride in much, but you are willing to admit that you admire that quality about yourself. You are a damn hard worker and you aren’t afraid to show it. You have no idea where it stems from, maybe your stubbornness, or possibly your inner perfectionist. Whatever it is, you find yourself often wishing that more people would have the same mindset. God knows it would make your life easier at the very least. In the time you have spent in the Boston QZ, you have only had the pleasure—or maybe you should say displeasure—of meeting one other like-minded person. 

You became acquainted with Joel Miller within the first day of being in the QZ, which was about three years ago now. The first glance you got of him was as you were being hauled through the gates, lucky enough to have not been shot on the spot when a couple of FEDRA officers caught you hiding out in the woods. Your eyes met his before they met anyone else's, and he’d held your gaze, his expression anything but welcome, as if he were trying to evaluate you with one look. 

By the looks of it, he had to be at least a couple of decades older than you, but that didn’t stop the heat that started to simmer between your legs at the first glance you got of him. When his eyes didn't leave yours, you took it as a challenge and forced yourself to keep your gaze on him until he was completely out of sight. You knew what you were doing, and so did he, both of you deciding on the spot that you would be enemies until one of you either died or left. 

Sure, you knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to piss people off before you made any allies, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. From the first second you saw that man, you knew that one way or the other—one of them being a heated feeling you chose to ignore—he would be trouble. As per usual, you were right. If you didn't know any better, you would have said that he was dead-set on following you around, bumping into you at almost every job you took. At first, you had been convinced that he had been doing just that.

 The first couple of times it happened you considered it some stupid coincidence, some twisted kind of unluckiness. Granted, it wasn't every time, but it was more often than not, and that was more than enough for you. By the fifth or sixth time out of ten, you waited until the very end of the shift, until it was only Joel and yourself left working. You kept a close eye on him, and as soon as he started wrapping up, you cornered him. That had been the first time that you had ever actually spoken to each other instead of tossing nasty glances back and forth. 

You had immediately gone to work with your rushed interrogation, demanding him to tell you why he was following you, to tell you what his problem was. The most frustrating part of the whole ordeal was the way he had sat back, leaning on one leg with his arms crossed, his expression bored as he waited for you to finish. He said nothing until he was positive that you had nothing more to say. 

“I ain't followin’ you, kid,'' he had said, his voice deep and more pleasant than you would have liked it to be. His tone was hard, as you had expected it would be, but the tangy southern drawl and depth of his voice took you off guard, an unwelcome heat suddenly forming between your legs—which only pissed you off more. 

The stone-cold look in his too-pretty eyes only worsened the feeling, and suddenly you found that you weren't able to speak; you didn't even know what you had come up to say at this point.  “Don’t fuckin’ bother me again,” he muttered and pushed past you before you could realize you had been staring.

***

“You just gonna fuckin’ stand there all day?” A much too familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back into reality. Speak of the fucking devil. 

“Just finishing up, Miller,” you spit, not bothering to look in his direction. You can hear him start to walk up to you but you ignore it, opting instead to actually finish what you had been doing. It only takes a few more seconds, and by that time, you can practically feel Joel staring a hole into your back, no more than a few feet behind you now. 

He doesn't move, so you continue to ignore him and start walking to the ladder so you can get out of this literal shit hole. You only make it a few steps before you realize that he is moving with you, following at the same distance he had stopped at before. Your jaw ticks as you spin around on your heel, so suddenly that Joel almost knocks into you.

“Is there something I can help you with?” you ask him as sweetly as you can manage, the fire in your eyes contradicting your tone. His own eyes narrow as he takes a step back, crossing his arms in his usual fashion. 

“Maybe you should learn how to help yourself first before you go offerin’ it to other people, princess.” He says the name as an insult, and you have to bare your teeth to keep your composure. 

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean, old man?” You ask him, taking a step toward him. He doesn't back away this time, instead taking a step toward you in reciprocation. The two of you lock gazes and stare at each other for what could have been ten seconds or ten days before Joel breaks the trance and shoves past you instead of answering. 

You just stand there and let him climb the ladder to the street above you. You can see right through him, the asshole wants a reaction, and you're not going to grant him that satisfaction—not this time anyway. 

You wait for a few minutes until you can be sure that he's long gone before you grit your teeth and turn on your heel, walking to the ladder and hoisting yourself up. As you reach the surface you catch a whiff of yourself and scrunch your nose. You need a fucking shower.

***

The next day, you wake up in a sour mood, already dreading today's job—janitorial services. At least it's not scooping shit this time. You’re the first one there, as per usual. The hall is a mess after breakfast and you take a deep breath as you think about the fact that even after you scrub it spotless, it will be trashed again by the end of lunch and then again after dinner.

To top it all off, it's ridiculously cold in the room, the fire lit in the back of it not doing much to increase the temperature. You look down at your white cotton t-shirt under your flannel and find yourself wishing you had put a thicker undershirt on.

There aren't many people working with you on the first shift, only the usual other three this morning, not that you're complaining of course, it just means fewer people to get in your way. You keep your eyes to yourself most of the time, only looking at someone if they address you to ask for help or to comment on something. Before you know it, lunch has come and gone and you are preparing for dinner. 

You notice halfway through that time that your friend is working the second shift, and she approaches you so you can work together for the rest of the time, though she only has the after-lunch shift. Rachel is a hard worker for the most part, though she likes to slack off a lot, but you appreciate the help while you have it. The two of you gossip and joke quietly until it's time for her to leave and time for you to sit back and wait for the dinner crowd to flood in.

***

It feels like a week has passed by the time the last person clears out after dinner, and you breathe a sigh of relief—you’re so close to getting back to your apartment and into your welcoming bed. You immediately get to work on sweeping up the trash that collected underneath the tables, eager to get out of here. 

There are only two other people working with you this shift, which is weird because FEDRA usually has at least four people on each job, but you brush it off. They seemed to know each other and they blab amongst themselves as they work. At least the couple seemed like they were in the same mindset when it came to getting this job done, so you didn’t mind the fact that you are missing a crew member. 

Halfway through your sweeping, you hear the door slam open, startling you and the couple that is now busy with taking leftover dishes into the kitchen. The chill that sweeps through the large room makes you assume it was just a gust of wind, probably blowing snow into the doorway. 

Great, something else to clean, you think as you huff an annoyed breath. 

When you turn to face the sound though, you find yourself wishing that the problem had been snow, but of course, when did anything ever go your way? The supposed gust of wind is actually Joel fucking Miller.

Your mood immediately sours and you have to fight not to roll your eyes as you watch him slink into the room and follow the couple into the kitchen. You hear the girl inform him that he was late—as if he didn’t know, or care for that matter. He only grunts in response. You don’t bother to stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head. If Joel sees it, he doesn't say anything. 

***

An hour later, Joel hasn’t bothered you, much to your relief. The only time you have to look up from your work is when the couple from earlier bids you farewell before they walk out the door. There is nothing left to do but scrub the tables, which you are doing now. 

You only have two to go, and then you’re free for the rest of the night. Now that you're the only one left, the room is almost eerily silent, the only sound being the drip of water as you dip your sponge into the bucket and wring it out. After the table you are working on is thoroughly cleaned, you move on to the last one. It sits right next to the busted window, and you shiver as you walk past it. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” The baritone voice sounding from behind you just about causes you to jump out of your skin, the bucket of water in your grasp suddenly spilling over your front. Of course, it was a huge fucking bucket, so it was enough water to coat almost your entire body. 

The white t-shirt you have on under your thick flannel is soaked through so that it’s practically transparent. Dropping the now empty tub to the floor with a loud clang, you swivel on your heel to face Joel, who is leaning against the wall to his right, arms crossed.

 If he sees the fire in your eyes, he ignores it as he smirks at you, obviously humored by your reaction—and likely by the fact that he can see your bra. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, every expletive or reprimand that comes to mind doesn’t seem to cover what you want to say. 

As you stand there soaked in dirty, soapy water, you find that you can do nothing but stare. Your gaze is stuck on the man still standing in front of you, not a twinge of empathy in his own, which he has trained on you in return. You have no idea how long the two of you stay rooted to the same spots, staring each other down, but it must have been at least a few minutes because you can feel your body start to involuntarily shiver as your drenched form begins to freeze. 

Of fucking course you had to have been standing right next to the broken, half-assed boarded-up window, and not by the fire that still rages into the chimney on the other side of the room. 

The cool air sweeping in seems to trap you in its frigid grasp, threatening to turn the grayish liquid that covers you into ice. You can't help it as you finally move, bringing your arms up to cross over your chest in a feeble attempt to warm your rapidly cooling body and cover your exposed undergarment. You flinch as your arm presses the freezing fabric closer to your skin.

The action seems to break the invisible spell that had set over the two of you because Joel takes that as his queue to take a step back off the wall and lift his chin. The movement makes him look bigger and you have to lift your own to look into his eyes again. You can only hope he sees the fury that burns on your own. If looks could kill, he would be dead on the floor right now. 

“You’re fucking joking,” you are the first to break the silence. The quiver in your voice would be embarrassing if not for the fact that it was placed there out of anger. The asshole who put it there must know it too because you can see the way he swallows as if trying to rid himself of his guilt, though if that’s what he is feeling, he doesn’t show it any other way. 

You can expect that the action will be the only sign of such a thing—if Joel Miller doesn't want to feel a certain way, he doesn’t, simple as that. You have never once met a man more rude, nor stubborn as the one currently in front of you.  

“Didn’t realize I was bein’ funny,” he says, straight-faced with that stupid southern drawl that you have come to despise. You don’t reply as you continue to stare daggers at him, and you can't tell what’s making you shake more at this point—the layer of fucking ice about to coat your body, or the unmatched rage that brews in your mind.

 Right now, you would place your bets on the rage, considering it’s actually starting to warm you up. The sight of Joel, arms crossed to mimic your own, still staring down at you like he's some fucking god, only fuels the feeling. Sighing quietly, your eyes shut as you try to calm yourself down before you say something you would really regret. It only takes a few seconds until you speak again, which might not have been long enough, truthfully speaking. 

“That was pretty fucking shitty, even for you, Miller.” You manage to get the sentence out through gritted teeth, but it sounds strained. Anyone would agree that it sounds like you are trying your best to contain yourself, though it’s obviously a task you are struggling with. He says nothing, and his body gives nothing away, so you speak again. He knew exactly what was going to happen if he snuck up on you like that, and he probably didn’t even give it a second thought.

“I mean really, how fucking immature can you be? You really thought scaring me while I was holding a tub of dirty water was the best way to get my attention?” Your mouth starts to let words out before you can even think about what threatens to escape, and there is nothing you can really do but allow it to happen. 

Your lips are moving far too quickly for your brain to comprehend at this point, your anger completely taking over. As hard as it can be to hold yourself back from an argument sometimes, you always managed—but this was the last fucking straw. 

“And why the fuck are you even here? You obviously don’t have anything left to do.” Your voice is quickly raising but you doubt you could do anything about that even if you wanted to right now. Of course, it doesn’t matter how loud you get, you could probably scream right in his face, it never seems to affect him.

“Seemed lonely,” he says simply, shrugging and shifting off of the wall. He looks at your bewildered expression and decides it would somehow make it better if he elaborated, though you both know that he only does it to dig further under your skin. 

“Never got anyone around, s’ all. Too fuckin’ stubborn n’ self-absorbed to make any friends.” His tone is condescending and nonchalant at the same time, like he is both stating a fact and trying to beat you down. You continue to stare at him as he finishes. This is a whole new level, one you wouldn’t even have assumed Joel would ever jump to. 

You’ll admit it, he’s managed to find one of your most delicate insecurities, and he knows it, too.  Even before the outbreak, you always had trouble making friends, your anxiety and general mistrust always got in the way. Every time you thought you were getting close to someone, you would push them away. It was your biggest fear, being betrayed by someone close to you—a worse fear, you decided, than being alone. 

To this day, you have only ever let one person really get to know you. When you met Rachel during your first week in the QZ, she showed you a sort of open kindness that let you know she was a good one. You knew then, and you know now, that she would never do anything to hurt you in any way. 

In the time that you've gotten to know her, she’s become the best friend you’ve ever had, and the only one you wanted. But she is only one person after all, and she can’t spend all of her time with you, so you find yourself on your own most of the time—and of course, Joel Miller, of all people, would pick up on it. 

“You are such an asshole, Joel,” you spew out after a moment. “And you have the audacity to call me lonely?” You can't help the tears that start to blur your vision, so you ignore them as you continue to rant, your hands now flying wildly. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is starting to grow to the point where you feel like it will swallow you whole. 

“You act like you’re so much fucking better than me! Who do you have?” Through your watering eyes, you can see the way Joel flinches slightly, and as much as it pleases you that you seem to have finally found a soft spot, it also eggs you on. You recognize it and think to yourself that he's a fucking idiot for pointing out the fact that you don’t have anyone in your corner when he has the same exact problem. 

“Huh? You say I'm alone, and maybe I am, but I’ve never seen you with anybody.” Your vision starts to clear as you feel hot tears begin to streak down your already-soaked cheeks, allowing you to see the deep scowl set on Joel's face. It almost scares you how mad he looks, but it's too late to back down now. 

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but it never comes. His silence only encourages you, and you know you probably seem immature as you continue to insult him, but it gets pushed to the back of your mind as you quickly realize it’s the least of your worries right now. Your tears are streaming freely at this point, your breaking point finally has been reached. The words are coming out faster than you care to stop them. 

“You have no fucking friends, Joel,” you spit out. That one definitely struck a nerve, and you watch as he takes a step towards you, his face giving you a warning expression as if he already knows what you are going to say next. You know his history, and you know it's a bad idea, you know it is, but you say it anyway.

“You have no friends…” You pause, your brain subconsciously trying to talk you out of what you’re about to do. Of course, you don't listen. “...and you have no fucking famil-” you get cut off as Joels hand makes contact with your throat, his grip crushing your windpipe as he pushes you back until you hit the wall and lifts you onto your toes so you are looking into his rage-filled eyes.

He says nothing for a moment as he lets you struggle in his firm grasp, watching you writhe and try to gulp in air. The panic that courses through your body is almost paralyzing, sending a hot flash throughout your entire body as your brain catches up with what's happening. 

You find yourself panicking even more when you realize that fear isn’t the only thing your senses seem to be overwhelmed with as his hand tightens around your neck. The wetness beginning to gather in your panties is suddenly the biggest problem you are faced with, an unwelcome feeling or arousal suddenly making itself known. 

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as you feel your hands start to claw at the one wrapped around your neck, no doubt leaving raised scratch marks across his wrist. The man doesn't wince or falter though, as you struggle to try to pry his hand away. You can feel your mouth opening and closing, though you’re unsure of what you are trying to say. You suspect it's something along the lines of “Please”, but no sound comes out. 

Eventually, after you realize that nothing is going to come from your struggle, you let your body fall limp, the only movement left is the tears that still crawl tauntingly down your cheeks. Though some of them may still be from the anger that had overcome you before you felt his large palm on your throat, most of them are now evidence of your shame. 

Logically, you reason that there is no way for him to know what kind of response his aggressive actions pulled from you, but you can't help but feel like somehow, he can see right through you. 

Upon seeing you submit, Joel lifts you more until you are close enough to feel his hot breath fan across your face. He loosens his grip enough so that you are allowed to catch a breath, but not enough for you to fall away from him. He starts to lower his arm, letting your feet hit the ground, but he leans his body down with your own so that his face stays less than an inch away from your own the entire time. 

You know that realistically, he only had you in the air for a few seconds, but it felt like an hour with the fear—and unexpected lust—that was coursing through your veins. Though you are still trembling with the silent threat he delivered, you seem to be able to calm down a little as his hand loosens and slides around to the back of your neck, only holding you in place. 

You stare into his eyes because you have nowhere else to look, and are almost surprised to see the array of emotions on display. You see anger, impatience, annoyance, a hint of restraint, but the one that seems to dominate them all is the one that takes you aback the most. You see in his eyes, what must be a reflection of your own. 

Your mouth drops open again as you begin to place the look of longing and desire that burns in Joel's gaze as he stares you down, his mouth just centimeters from your own. You take a chance and allow yourself to look down at the way his lips almost brush yours, his own mouth parted as you both try to calm your ragged breathing. 

You have no idea why you suddenly feel this way—well, you do, you just refuse to admit it. You hate his fucking guts because he is the only man that has made you feel something since before the outbreak. Every time you look at him, it is evidence that you are still capable of letting your guard down, that you are still weak. 

You promised yourself the first time you understood what the potential problem with Joel Miller could be, that you wouldn’t allow it to become one. But this god-damned man makes it so fucking hard to keep that in check when he is staring at you like he wants to ruin you. 

You feel his hand tighten around you again, and you snap your eyes back up to his, suddenly blushing as you realize that you have been staring at his lips for far too long. For once, you are at a loss for words, you have no idea what to say that might save your ass from looking like you had been doing exactly what you had. Thankfully, you don't have to wonder for long because Joel cuts right back to the chase, seemingly shaking himself out of his own thoughts as he speaks again. 

“You want to try that again, little girl?” Fuck. How the fuck are you supposed to ignore the pit forming in your stomach when he says shit like that? You are too caught up in thinking of a response to answer him immediately, and he clearly doesn’t appreciate that as he shifts his position, pushing you back further into the wall behind you. 

When he moves, you realize that one of his legs is slotted between your own, and your eyes widen as you feel how close his thigh is to your center—one little movement and you will give yourself away. You must be dripping at this point, and if he's not close enough to feel the heat coming off your cunt from where he stands right now, he will be if he moves any closer. 

Steeling yourself, you opt not to speak as you bring your hands back up to grasp at his wrist again. Joel watches as you struggle to get a grip before he growls and uses his free hand to grab both of yours and place them on the wall above your head. Your eyes somehow widen even more and you want to shrivel up into a ball as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

You need to move now. You can't let this man see what he does to you, the way your body reacts to the way he so easily dominates you. You know that you have no time to plan anything out, so you do the first thing that comes to mind—you try to tug your hands out of his grip and you lunge to the side. 

You’re not sure why you even attempt it, you know that it won't get you anywhere, but you do it anyway. Of course, he overpowers you once again, and nothing changes but his grip, both of his hands tightening as he leans in even closer to you. The new position causes his thigh to crush into your throbbing clit, and before you can stop it, a whimper breaks through your lips.

Nothing is said for a moment as you stare at Joel with shame, and him at you with a newfound amusement. You can feel yourself melting on the spot, and you let your head hang in humiliation, your eyes trained on the ground next to Joel, who is now smirking as he stares back at you. You feel his thigh crush into you again, deliberately this time, and you have to bite your lip and close your eyes in concentration so as to not give away any more sounds. 

You hear Joel chuckle darkly above you, and the sound goes straight to your pussy. How are you supposed to resist this man when he sounds like that, when the rough denim of his jeans is rubbing you in all the right places as he begins to rock his thigh back and forth, making you bite your lip even harder. The hand on your neck suddenly releases its grip and you feel his thumb come to your mouth, tugging your bottom lip until it falls away from the punishing bite of your teeth. 

“C’mon now, princess,” you hear Joel speak again and you can't help but moan softly as he sets his hand on your hip, starting to guide you across his firm thigh. 

“You’ve given yourself away now, you ain’t gonna get outta this one.” His tone is taunting as he presses down on your hip, bringing you down harder against him. 

The pressure on your clit is almost overwhelming with pleasure, and you find yourself moving on your own, beginning to chase the orgasm that has suddenly come within your grasp. You can’t help it with the way your wet jeans rub you just right and the firmness of his thigh is just enough to push the seam of them onto all the right places.

“F-fuck you, Miller,” you say, opening your eyes and bringing your head back up to look into his eyes, hoping the anger is apparent in yours. He stares at you for a moment before he speaks again. 

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he moves his hand down to where your cunt meets his thigh, and places his thumb right on your clit, rubbing quick circles. The touch is all you need to send you over the edge, becoming a moaning mess under Joel’s body. He’s right of course, you want him to fucking ruin you. God, you hate it when he’s right. 

He continues the circles on your clit as you come down from your high, riding you through it. When you are finally able to catch your breath, you look him in the eye to find him staring right back at you. His gaze is intense and full of want. 

“You want me to quit, darlin?” You can tell by the way he says it, that he asks genuinely. He would stop if you said the word. As much as you want to hate him, you know that he is respectful enough that he wouldn’t do anything to that effect without your consent.

Joel may be an asshole, but he would never put his hands on a woman in that sense if she showed any sign of resistance. Though he didn’t seem to have a problem with wrapping his palm around your throat. 

“I can give you more, all you have to do is ask,” Joel says after you don't answer him. His gaze is hungry as he waits for your consent, his eyes slowly tracing up and down your body, taking you in. When he looks back to your face, you nod slowly, watching as his already blown-out pupils seem to take over his irises. 

“I'm gonna need to hear you say it, darlin,” he says as he brings his chin up to the side of your head, nibbling your earlobe and making you shiver. 

“P-please, Joel,” you say, giving up the act. You know you want him, he knows you want him, and now you know he wants you, too. 

“I need you, please.” At your signal, he doesn't wait any longer as he starts to pull you away from the wall, his free hand traveling back to the back of your neck, the other still grasping your wrists. Before you can figure out where he’s moving you to, your chest slams onto one of the tables, the force almost enough to knock the wind out of you. You had expected him to be rough, but not this rough… not that you mind. He’s clearly done with being gentle with you now that he has free reign.

“Jesus, Joel,” you say, throwing him a look over your shoulder as much as you can with your neck still being pinned down. 

“You fucking mind?” You hear Joel chuckle behind you and feel him step closer to you, pressing himself against your ass and leaning over so that his chest is flush with your back. 

“Nope, not at all.” His breath tickles your ear as he whispers into it. 

“Now I'd be quiet if I were you, girl,” he tells you, his tone almost threatening. “Unless you want to wake the whole town, of course, cause now that I’ve started, I ain't gonna stop.” Your eyes widen and a whimper falls from your lips as he finishes his threat and pushes his top half off of you. 

“Maybe you’d like that, huh, little girl?” he pauses his sentence to rip your pants and panties down in one fluid motion, making you cry out.

“Let the whole town watch me fuck you, show everyone who you belong to, who this cunt belongs to.” He knows you too fucking well, knows that you’re thinking about it now, salivating over the thought of someone walking in on you like this, your pants around your ankles, him, balls deep inside of you, taking what he wants. 

“Dirty little girl, out here whorin’ herself out to me so quick. Slut’s just damn desperate for some good fuckin’ cock.”

You hear a sharp zip from somewhere behind you and you struggle out of instinct, pushing up on the hand holding you down. He ignores your protest and slams himself into you, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, giving you no warm-up or time to adjust. 

You expected him to be big, but you weren't expecting this. He's fucking huge, stretching you out and reaching depths you didn't even know existed. You scream out at the sudden burning intrusion and Joel moves the hand that isn't on your neck to your mouth, silencing you halfway through the outburst. 

The tears that fall from your eyes catch on the palm of his hand as he brings his cock almost all the way out before slamming himself back in, setting a brutal pace. 

“Tha’s alright baby, Ima take good care of you,” Joel assures you through gritted teeth. “Make you feel real good creamin’ all over my fat cock.”

Your fingernails scrape the surface of the table once he releases your hands, scrambling for purchase as Joel slams into you without remorse. You’re almost surprised at how quickly you feel the knot in your stomach start to build back up, the pain promptly turning to pleasure as Joel brutally shoves his cock into your already-sore pussy. 

The sounds of Joel's grunts, your muffled sobs, and the squelching of your cunt quickly fill the room, you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so cock-drunk on Joel. Right now, the only thing you can focus on is the way the head of his dick slams into your G-spot with every harsh thrust. 

The way his dick drags against your walls makes you clench with every swift pass. That combined with the way his hips slap against your ass might just be the best thing you’ve ever felt. 

Your body begins to go slack, your stomach and chest pressing harder into the table, you barely even register Joel's hand being removed from your mouth until you hear your unfiltered moans break through. 

“Jus’ wait one second, darlin,” Joel's voice is strained as he talks. You try to nod back at him but find that it's a bit hard when your bones have melted. His pace never falters as he reaches down to where he pulled his pants down just enough to free his thick cock and heavy balls. 

When his hand finds the open buckle of his belt, he tugs it through the loops and uses the edge of the table to fold it once before bringing it to your lips, pushing it toward you until you bite down on it. 

He tells you something, by his tone it sounded like a command, but you can’t seem to make out the request.  If you weren’t drooling before, you certainly are now with the taste of leather on your tongue. Joel smirks to himself as your moans quiet down with the help of the belt. 

“There ya go, such a good girl holdin’ on t’ that for me,” he runs his fingers through your hair as you keen at his praise. He can feel your cunt tighten around him as your second orgasm approaches once again and he has to steel himself so as not to come right then and there like some teenager. Instead, he brings his hand down to touch your clit again, not with his thumb, but with his middle three fingers, rubbing up and down, immediately setting a furious pace. 

The new sensation combined with the pistoning of his hips pushes you over the edge and you have to bite down on the belt so you don't scream as you receive the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had. It's like nothing you’ve ever felt before, the white-hot pleasure almost blinding you, and the force of it almost pushing him out of your cunt. 

You sob as you listen to Joel talk you through it, telling you how good you're doing for him, how you were made for him to stuff his cock into. His pace never falters as you gush around him, but he does push himself further into you so as to not be forced out of you. 

The strength of his thrust is enough to surge you forward, the table screeching on the concrete floor below you as it too is moved forward slightly. After you come down completely from your high, he grasps your hands and tugs them behind your back for leverage, fucking down into you to chase his own pleasure. 

“Goddamn, darlin, tight, young, little cunt, squeezin’ the fuckin’ life outta me.” His dirty words are almost humiliating as he throws them out, but you love every moment of it, the way you clench around his cock giving you away quickly. 

“Oh, you like that, little slut?” he almost sounds surprised as he continues rambling. 

“Filthy little thing, lettin’ some old man stuff his cock into your sweet little pussy. ‘F you didn’t take dick so good I would think you’d be a damn virgin.” You whine beneath him as much as you can with the leather between your teeth, a shameless request for him to keep talking. 

“Yeah, you like that, huh, little girl?” He grants your wish, spewing more filthy comments every few thrusts. “Like bein’ told what a f-fuckin’ whore you are f’ me?” You keep, drooling on the belt trapped between your teeth.

Suddenly, you feel the large hand that was pinning your neck disappear, only to reappear on your ass, making your eyes widen as Joel quickly slides to your other hole, his thumb right above the tight ring of muscle. 

Usually, you would want to struggle, but for some reason, the thought of Joel taking you there is something you find yourself wanting. He feels you squeeze around him again and he chuckles at your desperation. 

“Now, you’re just full of surprises, ain't ya, princess?” He says, his voice even more strangled than it was before. It almost sounds like it should be painful for him to talk. He stops talking for a moment to allow his saliva to drip down and slide down your ass crack. 

“You’d let me fuck you here, wouldn't you, little girl?” Fuck this man, you both know the answer to that. 

“Put my dick in this pretty little ass?” When you don't object, you feel him spit on top of his thumb again before pushing it into you. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your toes curl as he slides his thumb into you until he can’t anymore. The intrusion triggers your third orgasm, your body melting into the table as you press back into him. It’s less intense than the first two, but you are still fully consumed by the waves of pleasure that wash over you.

If you had been standing, you would have fallen to your knees. You’ve never felt so full in your life, the feeling almost overwhelming as he leans on top of you again, continuing to whisper filth into your ear. You can tell he’s getting close by the way he lets go of your wrists and tangles his fingers into your hair, slamming himself somehow even deeper inside of you.  

“Tell me who these fuckin’ holes belong to, princess,” he spews out through gritted teeth, pulling the belt away from your mouth and throwing it somewhere off to the side. 

“Who makes you feel good, makes these little holes feel good?” When you don't answer immediately, your unleashed moans and whimpers making it almost impossible, he uses the hand that’s not fingering your ass to deliver a sharp slap to your left cheek. 

“Fuck, fuck Joel it’s you,” you practically sob as you tell him what he wants to hear, what you want him to hear. 

“T-these holes are yours Joel, you make them feel so good, they belong to you, all yours,” you cry out frantically. Satisfied with your response, he rubs over the red spot on your skin before returning his hand to your neck. 

“That's right,” he praises you softly and you soak up every word. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, knowin’ who she belongs to.” He thrusts into you half a dozen more times before his pace finally starts to falter. 

“W-where do you want me, sweet thing?” As he asks you, all you can think is “fuck this man for being respectful with shit like that.”  If he hadn’t asked, you probably would have shoved him away, but instead, you make another stupid decision—why the fuck not at this point? 

“I-inside, Joel, inside me, oh my god, fucking c-come inside me,” you’re only slightly aware of how desperate you sound as you beg for his cum, but again, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. You let your cheek rest on the cool surface of the table and close your eyes, too exhausted to hold yourself up any longer. 

You hear Joel groan and start to say something above you, but he cuts himself off as he releases inside you with a strangled moan, almost like he is biting down on his lip so as not to shout. 

A stream of curses laced with your name spills from his lips as he twitches and pulses inside you. The feeling of his hot cum spilling into you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It seems like forever before he stills, practically collapsing on top of you, his cum dripping around his softening cock and down your thighs. 

Despite his weight on top of you, you think you could probably manage to fall asleep there. Your body has never felt so spent and tired, every muscle sore in one way or another. Joel waits only a minute before lifting himself off of you, and you attempt to lift your head to follow his movement, only for your cheek to be gently pressed back onto the table by his palm. 

“Jus' hold on a second, princess.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it makes your heart warm, but you can't resist the perfect opportunity to tease him as it presents itself. 

“You’re happier after you get your dick wet,” you say with a small smile as you follow his request, letting your eyes close as you bask in the feeling of euphoria that’s taken over your body. 

At your snippy comment, you expect him to scold you, or maybe to swat your behind, which is still presented for him. What you don’t expect is to feel his tongue on your spent cunt. Your body jolts and your eyes snap open at the unexpected feeling, your reflexes causing you to try to sit up again, only to be pushed down by Joel’s hand on your lower back. 

“I said to wait a second, darlin’,” he says as he pulls away from you, his tone more stern now. He waits until you nod your head to return to your pussy, dipping into your hole and lapping up your mixed release. You shudder as his tongue grazes your overstimulated clit, but do your best to hold still for him. 

After he seems to have gotten his fill, you feel him pull away again and stand up to lean over you. His hand suddenly grabs your chin, making you twist your neck slightly so that you are looking up at him. He keeps his mouth shut as he brings it to his own before squeezing your cheeks, making you open your lips, and drops his jaw open. 

You gasp as you feel the combination of his spit and your cum mixed with his own slowly spill onto your tongue. He keeps his eyes open and locked onto yours as he keeps your lips together and lets the liquid drip into your mouth. When he pulls away, he replaces his lips with his hand, forcing your mouth shut. 

“Swallow,” he commands. You obey without a second thought and let the substance slip down your throat. He smiles when he's sure you’re done and moves his hand, motioning for you to open up. You do, and he smirks as he sees every drop gone. 

“Good girl,” he mutters as he lays back down on top of you, and you let your body rest on the table again, enjoying the feel of his body on top of yours. As the two of you stay there, catching your breath, you feel Joel's chest start to vibrate against your back in silent laughter. You furrow your brows and attempt to stand and roll him off you, but only succeed in the latter, your legs failing as if they were made of jello. 

Joel stands back and tucks himself back into his jeans as you slump back down on the table, temporarily accepting defeat. You see him take a seat in the chair next to you out of the corner of your eye, his chest still rattling the slightest bit. 

“What the fuck do you find so funny, bastard?” You slur your words, your tone is a lot less fierce than you had wanted it to be. He looks at you before answering, and you feel your both heart and your cunt clench at the almost adoring look in his eyes as he meets your gaze. Maybe the asshole will try to be decent for a moment, his expression promising. 

“Looks like your gonna have t’ scrub this table again, princess,” he says, his tone toeing the line of playful. You feel your lips tug up into a smile as you recognize the fact that this is probably Joel being friendly. Or at the very least, he’s not at your throat at the moment—in a bad way anyway—so you’ll take it. Upon seeing your smile, he sits back further and allows himself a small smile of his own as he continues to watch you sink into the polished wood beneath you.

“Fuck you, Miller,” you say. You erupt into a quiet yet delirious fit of exhausted giggles, Joel following soon after with his own gentle chuckle. 

“Might have t’ give me a second for that, princess.”

*****

Pt. 2 here

#joel miller #fan fiction #pedro pascal #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #bless this mess #the last of us #tlou #we likey? #exhibition kink #enemies to lovers #dark!joel miller

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 5

Masters of the Air

Secret Admirer x Reader

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?

Warnings: Gossip, mentions of death, mentions of cheating, singular use of a petname.

Word Count: ~1.3k

Masterlist Previous Next- Coming Soon!

x x x

After Douglass had made a big fuss, words of the letters had spread across Thorpe Abbotts like wild fire. Everyone was pointing their fingers at possible culprits, bringing the once quiet situation to absolute chaos. It had been weeks since a letter had arrived, the writer forced into hiding from the attention. The men had gone to Africa, their numbers dwindling on the journey, a few notable losses were Curt and Dickie. Replacements had arrived- you held such a hatred for that word.

You craved your own peace more and more as the days passed by. You had found a spot in the empty field passed the runways that was void of people, Lemmons crew left you alone.

“What are you doing out here?” Blakely’s boots crunced the weeds as he approached, his shadow blocking the sun from your eyes as they fluttered open.

“It’s usually quiet out here,” Your tone was teasing, “No questions, accusations or chatter. Just the birds, the breeze and occasionally the hum of a few planes. What are you doing out here?”

“You’ve got mail.”

You sat upright, brushing blades of grass from where they stuck to your dress. “New duty, Blakely?”

“You know you can call me Everett, I’d like to think we are friends of some sort.” He huffed as he handed over the mail. Three envelopes: one from home, one with a return adress of New York City and finally a new letter that was missing a return adress.

“Did Douglass send you out here? Since he is ever so concerned that he couldn’t help himself but to corner me in front of atleast half the company.”

“Carrier said they hadn’t seen you all day, entrusted me with your mail but you really ought to talk to Dougie, he feels terrible for bringing you attention like that.”

“I believe Lieutenant Dye’s celebration is underway, I thought you would be there?” You changed the subject, avoiding Blakely’s words just as you had been avoiding the man they were about.

“I’ll keep an eye out for you later on, save me a dance?”

You sent him a nod of agreement, waiting for him to be out of sight before turning your attention to the letters he had delivered.

You read the letter from home first, it was filled with the ususal wishes for your wellbeing and updates on events or gossip that you had missed. You did not recognize the loopy femine cursive on the envelope adressed from New York and it felt very thin between your fingertips. You open the flap, revealing only a single photograph inside. A man and woman in a busy street, he was handsome in his dress greens and she donned a plain yet elegant wedding gown… but it was not just a photograph of two strangers. Your fingertips gently ran over the mans face, absorbing his features as this was the first time you had set eyes on him since he had left you broken hearted on his porch not quite a year ago. There was a date written on the back of the picture, August 20 1943.

Despite the deep ache in your chest from the photograph, a spark of excitment filled you as you opened the third envelope. There had been a drought of letters from your Secret Admirer since the secret flooded the base, you had missed reading his words more than you had liked to admit.

“I did not intend to draw such attention and for that I must apologize. I have come to the conclusion if any of the men were to find out that these clandestine correspondence were written by me, I would be heckled for my aberrant ways. I am not perceived as a romantic, many see me to be brash and arrogent but since I met you I have been reformed. I feel a fool to be so cowardess with my affections while the possibility of death looms so heavily but I fear my mind over heart mentality will not crumble.”

Your mind spun, it was someone unexpected but who? With each letter you felt more more drawn to his words and your eagerness to discover the identity of the writer grew.

You clutched the recent letter and the photograph to your chest as you lay in the field, unbothered by the setting sun.

Hours had passed, the field had been swallowed by darkness but your body felt too heavy to move under the weight of the papers on your chest. The quiet yet rough trampling of the tall grass behind you alerted you to a new presence.

“If Blakely told you I was out here then he can find himself another dance partner.” You spoke loudly, nearly startling the man as he had not seen your silhoutte on the ground in the darkness, despite actively searching for you.

“That is a shame.”

The voice was unexpected, you honestly had expected it to be Douglass or DeMarco, maybe even Blakely with the intention of dragging you to the party but surely not Major Egan.

“Major, I thought you would be at Dye’s celebration?” Your eyes found his through the darkness as he now towered over you.

“I could say the same for you. Blakely mentioned you were out here earlier but when you failed to show at the party some of the men got worried. I volunteered to come check on you, I don’t think it’s safe to be out here in the dark like this.”

“I would hate to damper the celebration.”

“It got dampered anyway, sweetheart,” He moved to lay on the ground next to you, unbothered by any stains the grass may leave on his uniform, “By the men we have lost and the men we will lose.”

It was quiet for awhile, both enjoying the silent company of another person, unaware of the battling thoughts happening in the others brain. Your worries felt silly compared to his, he had lost friends and men under his command, you briefly wondered if he had volenteered to find you to escape the ghosts of them at the party.

It was silent for a moment before the Major spoke again, “The stars sure are pretty out here.”

Your eyes searched around the clouds, only a few bright stars visable in the dark of the night. “When they peek out of the clouds anyway.”

“Are you alright?”

The genuine concern in his question had taken you off guard. You took a second to debate how much you were willing to share with the Major as every aspect of your life had been previously aired, but remembered divulging a little to him before Dougie had brought attention. You handed the Major the photo you had recieved, glancing over as he angled it under the moonlight to see it clearly. “Before the war, it was all him, he was the one I would marry and bare my soul to. Suddenly everything changed, he had enlisted and just a week before our wedding I discovered that he was being unfaithful. I was foolishly willing to forgive him but he chose her, now they are married and I am here; my lonely soul wondering what is next for me, if my soulmate is out there somewhere or perhaps I am just unlucky and he won’t make it through this war so I shall forever be alone.”

You swallowed harshly, washing the thickness from your throat as your eyes burned looking up at the stars.

“What of your writer?” Egan returned the picture, his eyes scanning your face as the grass fanned your cheeks in the soft night breeze.

“How am I supposed to call someone mine if I don’t even know their name?” You sighed, heavily as if to lesson the weight, “I wish I could tell him that he makes the ache in my heart bearable.”

x x x

@jointherebellion215 @orchiidflwer

#masters of the air #mota fanfic #mota #mota spoilers #bucky egan #curtis biddick #apple tv #everett blakely #james douglass #john brady #major gale cleven #gale cleven #austin butler #john bucky egan #callum turner #major john bucky egan #major john egan

[arcanekai]

Dear Detective | Chapter 9

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

cw | none

an | I had most of this written 6 months ago and in the end I got rid of most of it. Oh well. Also, I'm probably just going to update whenever I finish a chapter, but again that depends on my brain. Perhaps my brain finally gave me inspiration due to the lack of Heizou content in game. #where'sHeizou #bringHeizouback

Previous | Next

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

“A flower shop?!  If this is your way of telling me to get more in tune with nature, you’ve made your point.” Heizou said with an unamused look.

Kazuha only gave a small closed eyed smile before opening the door to the shop.  A soft chime of a bell rang as the door creaked open wide enough for the three males to enter the store.  As the door closed behind them, the bell chimed again prompting Heizou to look behind him.  The usual bell at the top of the door was nowhere to be seen and instead there was a small bell on a red string tied to the doorknob.  The red string holding the bell was decorated with five coins strung in a row leading to a red tassel.  Curious of its significance, Heizou was about to tap Xiao on the shoulder, however, the sweet voice of an older woman interrupted his thoughts. 

“Well, if it isn't Xiao and Kazuha.  Here for some flowers… or something else?  Perhaps something to do with that friend of yours?”

The older woman said as she motioned her head in Heizou's direction.  Her gray hair was tied in a neat bun with a jade hairpin stuck in it while her apron and gloves were speckled with dirt. She quickly wiped her gloves on the apron before taking both items off. 

“Keen as ever, Auntie.  We acquire your expertise in a certain field.”  Kazuha says. 

“I see.  How about we move this discussion somewhere more comfortable.”

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

The woman introduced herself as Qingxi, but said that everyone calls her Auntie and wishes Heizou do the same.  Although Heizou wasn't really sure what was going on, he had a hunch that there was more to this lady than meets the eye.  

As they settle into an enclosed outdoor patio, Auntie says that she will be right back with some tea and heads off back into the store.  As the three boys sit in silence, Heizou takes a look around the room.

Compared to the shop which has a rustic charm, the patio was quite modern.  The coffee table that they are sitting around is bare except for a vase of flowers that sits in the middle.  The rest of the room is actually quite bare due to the three walls of windows, however, there is one item that does not fit in with the modern room.  The dark cherry wood shrine that sits in the corner of the room.  The lacquer is prominent on the wood due to the sun shining its rays through the glass windows.  Inside the shrine sits a plate of persimmons and mandarin oranges along with a lotus incense holder and three picture frames. However, due to the sunlight that is directly shining on the shrine, Heizou can't make out who is in the photos. 

The door to the patio swings open with a thud causing Heizou to turn his head toward the noise out of surprise.  There stands Auntie with a tray in her hands containing two sets of teaware.  She sets it on the coffee table and picks up one of the teapots and begins to pour the tea into each cup.  The other teapot sits untouched as well as a singular teacup.  When Auntie finally took a seat, she took a sip of the freshly brewed sunglo tea before setting it down gently and directing her gaze directly into Heizou's eyes. 

“It would seem that you are in need of my services.  What can I do for you?”

“I'm not really sure,” Heizou replied as he scratched the back of his head, “Kazuha said he knew a place and dragged me here, but my intuition tells me you already know what I need, so I'm going to trust you.”

“I do indeed know your reason for coming here, but I must warn you that this process will be painful, not physically, but emotionally.  Are you sure you want to proceed?”

Heizou nodded, determination evident in his olive green eyes. 

“Very well.”

She said as she snapped her fingers in front of Heizou's face.  His eyelids were struggling to stay open and his vision was getting darker and darker and darker until he was thrown into complete darkness. 

#genshin impact #kaedehara kazuha #xiao #genshin impact x you #modern au #shikanoin heizou #genshin heizou #heizou x you #heizou shikanoin x reader #heizou x reader #heizou #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #Genshin

[narrators-journal]

20$ make a fella holla

I don’t know if it’s obvious, but I can never describe Senku’s fucking hair. It’s just...how do you describe that shit??

Regardless, I hope this is a fun read, I just kinda had fun with it, tried to make it amusing to read, just a lil fake dating romp <3 Hope the romantic tone is there though at the end! I thought it was a pretty cute lil moment, at least.

Some people loved weddings, with the belief that they were the perfect time to bask in the love of your partner and joy of your family. Some, believed the events to be garish, stressful, exhausting nightmares for everyone involved. Which, was more or less the group you fell into.

Though, of course, you had no real issue with weddings, and someday may also wish to be married to your own future partner. But, that didn’t keep the sudden invitation to a family friend’s surprise nuptuals from coming out of left field.

So, befitting someone in your panicked position, you scrambled to find a date to accompany you to the event. Someone, anyone who could make sure you couldn’t be paired off with a complete and total stranger for pictures, and that no well-intentioned aunties, or eager, nosey grannies could offer potential dates and suitors.

Alas, your boyfriend had dumped you a month before, and none of your friends were free to attend with you. “When does this crap end? I’ve got a project to get to.”

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Senku, will you please quit complaining already? Do you have zerofucking social skills?” You hissed back in a similarly quiet tone your date at the reception table. Aka your roommate, Senku Ishigami. A slightly eccentric, odd-haired 19 year old science prodigy on his third year of college, and your last fucking nerve at the moment.

But, your annoyance seemed to simply bounce off of your ‘boyfriend’ as his crimson eyes glared back at you as he muttered quietly, “I do, but this is damned boring. Plus, this tuxedo is itchy as hell. I did my bit, why don’t we just leave already? The ceremony’s over.” “Because that’s passive aggressive and rude, Senku. Have you never been to a wedding?” You asked back, but before your ‘boyfriend’ could shoot back with some explanation about the useless nature of such events, one of your tablemates asked, “So, how long have you two been together?” in an attempt to start some less hissed and angry conversation. “Oh! Uh, about…” While you scrambled for a good answer, Senku jumped in to save you, “Going on two years soon. A little under a month before that marker, actually.” He answered, his boredom well hidden under his usual cool, unbothered demeanor as he spoke, but it still irked you.

Almost as much as his claim did, honestly. God, why am I not surprised that he doesn’t give a singular fuck about the plot holes I’ve gotta patch up if someone asks for details?You mentally fumed as your expression remained politely chipper and joyful as the woman across from you continued to ask questions. “How ever did you two meet then? I hope I’m not rude, but you two don’t seem like eachothers ‘types’.” She hummed, but before you could toss out some bland, cutesy meet-cute plot, Senku spoke once again, “Oh, kinda creepily, actually. She needed a room mate, I was just the person to take her offer.” Why not just admit I’m paying you to be here too?!“We didn’t like eachother at first, I usually don’t like super extroverted girls surrounded by dramatic friends and shit. Which, at first, that’s what she seemed like. I mean, jeez, let loose a machete-wielding maniac on campus and she’d have been prime ‘hot bimbo victim’ material.” Oh my fucking god, Ishigami, what next? Calling me ‘the old ball and chain’? How is this supposed to be believably romantic?!But, of course, the man continued regardless of your attempts to psychicly blow him up. “But, a month or so in, I realized my assumptions were wrong. She’s actually quite a funny, charming girl, with a good head on her shoulders, and some intellegence to her. And...well, y’know, I asked her out from there. Though, I have no clue why she agreed to date my ass, but she did! And I’ve held onto my title since then.”

As he spoke so easily, you were stuck with a nerves-laced smile the entire time. Only able to muster the occassional giggle to try and sell the romance in his take on your actual situation. Because, what else were you to do? Correct your boyfriend on your meeting story? That’d just out how fake the two of you were in an instant, so you mostly focused on your bland wedding reception food and tried not to give your room mate dirty looks as he spoke.

Thankfully, though, the woman across from you two seemed at least a bit charmed, or at least amused by the romantic twist on how your initial meeting with the odd-haired scientist. So, you could let out an internal sigh and redirect the conversation away from your ‘love story’ before Senku could cook up any other questionable tales. But, as you sat there in polite conversation as you ate your fillet mignon and mashed potatoes, Senku’s story was able to settle into your mind. Allowed to stew and marinate as the reception continued.

Why the hell would he got down such a weirdly honest route? He seems more the type to claim we met on tinder, not that weirdly sweet tale of growing to like me from an awkward set up. You asked yourself. Because, in the two years you’d had the man as a room mate, he had always favored blunt honesty over sugar-coating anything, so, it was odd that he had such a long-winded lie at the ready. And it you couldn’t explain it away as him having ‘prepped for the role’, you had to fight him just to put on a tux and pull his gravity-defying hair into a ponytail so he didn’t look weird in any wedding photos. He wouldn’t bother with that type of preparation. So...what? Was he being...honest?

It wasn’t an entirely comfortable realization to come across. Even if Senku had his moments of being attractive, and he was a pretty good room mate, he had the tact of a brick, and a blatant love for science over any living person, least of all you, right?

God, get a hold of yourself, girl.You chided yourself with a small sigh, only a glance thrown to your date to briefly study how he sat and ate his food, that glint of boredom back in his cherry-colored eyes. This isn’t some rom-com fanfiction. Your roomie hasn’t been harboring some deep love for you for two years unless your a beaker of nitroglycerin. You reminded yourself firmly, the flustered butterflies in your belly squashed coldly as you returned to the food in front of you.

Though, after a moment, you did dare another glance to your pretend boyfriend beside you, and this time, those crimson orbs looked back at you. And, as if the scientist had suddenly learned to read your mind, he leaned over until you could feel his warm breath tickle your ear when he whispered, “What’s with the weird looks? Surprised the unfeeling scientist has a heart?” in a playful,flirtatioustone that was almost alien to hear mixed into his voice. A tone you had heard plenty of time in your life, but still managed to cause you to gasp, and choke on your own spit. Like a true charmer.

“Oh! Oh shit, are you choking on something, hon?” Senku asked, instantly on his feet as you coughed on your surprise, “Jesus, maybe this is a good time to go. With your luck, dear, you’ve got a cold brewing.” He said, at least decent enough to fabricate some form of a lie before he took his opportunity and almost drug you from the reception hall just as you got your breath back. I’m going to kill this bastard.

#Senku x fem!reader #Senku Ishigami #x reader #Dcst #dr stone #Senku x reader #scenario #Ao3 ask

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

Seeing the murals above the Veil enclosure

These murals are loaded with meaning. My feeling's been that they represent the Veil in many ways. For one, we have the duality of Light and Dark, not opposites, not the same, but a dyad, essential to each other, joined by the thinnest of lines. We see this in the middle mural where people hold the pillars up, separating above from below, Heaven from Hell.

Cousin Asher, you would find the concept of vacuum welding upsetting—press two sheets of metal together in void, and their atoms cannot tell which sheet they belong to. They cross freely. The two become one.

We see this again in Avalon, a side that looks like Egregore and a side that looks like the Tree of Silver Wings. A pillar sits behind. A sun hangs above. It is impossibly white.

It makes me think of the blight in the Nokris fight in Arrivals and in the battleground this season. It looks like a sun. It looks like it's been Taken.

Turn the Veil vertically like in the Ishtar Facility and what do you get?

A chalice holding the souls of all who have gone before. It rests in an unfamiliar place, a place it does not call home.

An hourglass of Light|Dark, ticking away time, life, death, until nothing.

Only two others have transcended their design. The first, an hourglass counting down with infinite patience. The second, a forgotten blade sharpened anew. And now, the Dredgen. Visit us again. We wish for you to understand what we understand. For now, it is my purpose to speak to you and you alone… but only if you remain worthy.

A pillar holding all the universe within itself, but also keeping it woven together, held aloft by those who struggle in the realm between life and death, god and man, here and beyond.

What happens if that pillar crumbles?

There's been a lot of invocation of Unveiling, the Garden, and implications that there's a bigger picture we're missing lately. We heard from the Veil's artist that it is represents "the mind and memory of the universe."

Truth to Power talks of black hole super computers and the idea of the data of all life being archived, of how

YOU MUST CAST ALL THE LIFE YOU CHERISH INTO A BLACK HOLE.

We've seen "black box" archives for destroyed civilizations discussed all over.

WHO|WHAT|WHERE IS OXA|TAOX

U. "Black holes are the densest possible computers in the physical universe. They are also the most secure, since they can be made to retain their information until they evaporate in the deep cosmic future. The Hive operate small singularity computers, such as the World's Grave, and the Vex sometimes pack enough energy and information into a small area of spacetime to collapse it into kugelblitz black hole like the one you can see outside. But a true stellar-mass or galactic-mass black hole computer is inconceivably more powerful.

"If Savathûn plans to predicate her existence on the concealment of her secrets, as Oryx predicated his upon the sword logic, it would be logical for her to safeguard her deepest secrets and her throne world in a supermassive black hole computer. To defeat her would require a journey below the event horizon and the exposure of her most jealously guarded truths." GOTO R.

Z. You leap from the Tower and escape Quria's simulation.

What is that purple and pink kaleidescopic energy in the dark, egregore goblet of the Veil? When Ghost links to the Veil, that energy seems to be what rockets to the Traveler and pierces it, allowing the Witness to part the curtains of reality and enter somewhere above and beyond us.

And then Nezarec, Master of the Void is freed. Wardcliffe Coil's lore refers to the Void as the basement of the universe. Inanna/Ishtar is thought of by Savathun in reference to the Veil and Neomuna, which Osiris hears as well. He then speaks of myths of the underworld. Katabasis. Hades. Hell. Perdition. The inferno. The Abyss.

O: [sips tea] Though my senses were darkened, that much was clear through the murk of her throne world. There was a secret she kept veiled, even to the last.

O: [sighs] I do not fully understand what I saw, and for a Human to understand a Hive mind... How many legends of katabasis do we have, Ikora?

I: We currently have dozens of stories about descending to the realms of the dead, though research has indicated many more must have existed, lost in the layers of Human history we will never lay eyes on. Mathematically, there were likely hundreds.

I: [pauses] Inanna and Dumuzid and Geshtinanna, Orpheus and Eurydice, Izanagi and Izanami, to name a few. Gods and goddesses, mortal and immortal lovers, always seeking to descend and return with the lost.

O: And neither the lost nor those who searched for them were ever returned the same.

I:...Is that how you think of yourself?

O: [scoffs] Do I sound that dire? All Guardians, all Lightbearers have done as much. But others, well... I wonder, do our former enemies have similar stories...

I: What exactly are you getting at?

O: Frequently, the underworld—or those realms beyond mortal existence—possess wisdom the living do not. What then, is knowledge from a dead Hive god vested in deception.... [long pause]

I: So. Neptune, and secrets.

O:...Inanna...

I: What is it?

O:...A thought. An echo of one. The return from the underworld, and Inanna cast off her veil... It makes sense. I did not understand, when I first felt clutching whispers. Carrying wisdom away from Kur when she strode into the sunlight again.

Ishtar entered the underworld and faced seven gates. At each gate she was stripped of clothing until she entered into that place naked and alone.

If you do not open the gate for me to come in, I shall smash the door and shatter the bolt, I shall smash the doorpost and overturn the doors, I shall raise up the dead and they shall eat the living: And the dead shall outnumber the living!

She is killed. After three days in death, she is rescued by two beings sent by one of the gods

From Wikipedia:

After Ishtar descends to the underworld, all sexual activity ceases on earth. The god Papsukkal, the Akkadian counterpart to Ninshubur, reports the situation to Ea, the god of wisdom and culture. Ea creates an androgynous being called Asu-shu-namir and sends them to Ereshkigal, telling them to invoke "the name of the great gods" against her and to ask for the bag containing the waters of life. Ereshkigal becomes enraged when she hears Asu-shu-namir's demand, but she is forced to give them the water of life. Asu-shu-namir sprinkles Ishtar with this water, reviving her. Then, Ishtar passes back through the seven gates, receiving one article of clothing back at each gate, and exiting the final gate fully clothed.

Eliksni servitors contain a record of their people, archives of those who have entered into death before the living. They are built in the image of the Traveler, a great machine with an unknown purpose, but which has exhibited a drive to protect and preserve life, all life, whether we understand its actions as such or not. It has shown, time and time again, a willingness to throw itself in front of the blade, for us. Its neutronium shell is heavy, dense beyond imagining. It's movements do not come without great effort and intent.

I believe the Witness has, in linking Ghost to the Veil, created a union of two types of records of civilization. One, the record of death, the other, the record of life. The Witness has entered into the Void, the afterlife, underworld, basement, and end of the universe, in order to face the greater gods. Or maybe, to unleash them...

Things I saw inside A wild river and a broken dam (or maybe it's just the sea crashing through a narrow gap I can't be sure). Waves slam through the gap and where they hit the stone they throw up pillars of spray that pierce the mist and crash down in thunder. There's a giant in the cataract, trying to wade against the current, and I can tell it wants to reach the lever and pull the lever which will seal off the flow or maybe give it the sword, but the torrent throws it back so it just keeps its head down and tries to push on. I can't see the face but it breathes out white smoke. I feel for it hard. A world painted around the interior like a stranger Earth everted and glued inside itself but I don't believe this one it's too much like a metaphor. A switchboard or a train station, empty, dead (waiting). The tunnels branch off into infinity. I stare down one for a long time and see a pale worm move in hungry coils around itself. I think this one is the most likely although I might have brought the worm. An egg but I'm not sure if the broth inside is warm still, or if it's gone to rot, or if the warmth comes from the struggles of the tiny winged zygote or the bleed from the wound or the thoughts of something thinking very hard. A star I think. We count on stars as steady friends because they always rise and always shine but a star's a delicate truce: an explosion caught by its own mass so that it can't erupt and can't collapse. Thus I imagine the state of the machine might be. But one force or another has gone awry and now it rests here, snuffed and broken, waiting for the two rival forms of ruin to be set in balance again.

Ghost Fragment: Mysteries 2 — Ingress via dreams alone

#destiny lore #the veil #the witness #the traveler #the void #follow the daito rabbit #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny #destinythegame #destiny2 #d2 #call me the grandmaster of semiosis

[braininatankwithalaptop]

I have torn thoughts on Red Robe's characterization in Mother of Learning.

On the surface, one can draw a parallel between his villainous motivations and those found in lazy action movies. "The bad guy is the radical extremist trying to destroy an unjust system instead of doing nothing like the good guys." But as I thought about the protagonists, Zach and Zorian, I found the parallel isn't the same. Zach and Zorian really aren't defenders of the monarchy, the noble houses, or the status quo. Zach ends the story fighting a legal battle to right a wrong done to him and Zorian ends up as the ambassador to the aranea to help them establish official diplomatic relations with Cyoria. Sure, neither character is specifically politically ambitious, but that seems to be from a sense of humility or desire for rest than actual satisfaction with the status quo. So, what is the actual foil between ZZ and Jornak?

We don't get a lot of specifics with Jornak's characterization, but two details stand out to me. 1) Jornak discovered the deepness of eldemar's/ikosian empire's corruption during a time loop that he had to cheat to retain awareness of. 2) Quatach-Ichl betrays Jornak partially by revealing his plan to hold Zorian's friends and family hostage because Jornak believes that the first ikosian emperor used the time loop to ascend to power and wants to use the same power to conquer the continent. Let's start with the first detail. Jornak discovers in his research that the injustice that happened to him was a result of systemic problems. He couldn't fix those in a month by himself in increments, which is the only time frame he had within the time loop. But he could support the invasion, he could leverage it to destroy *everything* standing in his way and be free to start over from scratch. The only way he could feel like he was making progress was by consolidating more personal power and perfecting the outcome of a horrific invasion. And he knew that the "boon" of the time loop was not designed with him in mind. It was made for Zach in mind and Jornak was terrified of being cut out of the picture and exploited like he exploited everyone else and was exploited. So he had to make a deal with Qautach-Ichl and Panaxeth, further committing him to the invasion as his only course of action. So, his actions are extreme but kind of understandable and sympathetic? But if we look at the second detail of Qautach-Ichl's worries of him we see he's making the same mistakes that he claims are the reason for the systemic injustices today. Jornak wants to "follow the cycle" as it were, and become emperor like Shutur Tanara with his boon of the time loop. He consolidated immense magical power, skill, and political/psychological insight of important actors in the world. All he had to do afterwards was become emperor and instead of being bad like him, be good. Easy, right? But for that to work he still has to conquer the continent which one can't and shouldn't do without committing so many atrocities and compromising so many morals. He may not establish the same systemic injustices but if he doesn't he will make different ones. Jornak sees the cycle of the time loop being an unfair advantage and allowing one madman to reshape the continent as they see fit and decides he's going to ensure he's the madman in hopes of making the world better. And here we see ZZ truly promising something different by not doing that. It is a repeated character motivation of Zorian's and Zach's that they wish to pay people back for the support they received in the timeloop. They consolidated power and then worked on ensuring others got the benefits of it too. The two of them aren't planning on being the singular most historically important people to culture and civilization, they want to give their own (partially) realistic contributions and help their friends do the same. Zorian isn't going to be the one that publishes revolutionary medicinal and alchemical techniques, but Kael might. Zach won't go down in history for single handedly hunting down and dismantling groups of necromancers and cultists, but Alanic and his sect of the church might. They are so committed to helping their friends, and Zorian especially seeks to achieve their goals not through dominance, but through diplomacy. Zorian and Zach's diplomacy and "political" intrigue are so integral to how they win in the end that I'm tempted to say the author read On the Origins of War: And the Preservation of Peace or something similar. Zorian secures an alliance with Spear of Resolve by proving his trust and alluding to helping a rival. Zorian gets important information out of Qautach-Ichl by making a cogent and good faith argument for him to not support the invasion. Zorian gets Oganji to flee the battle by giving up valuable artifacts in a bargain. And most importantly, the angels cut a deal with Zorian and Zach to not enforce certain clauses of the law if Zach and Zorian can skirt the letter of it.

I think if you really comb over how Zorian and Zach interact with antagonists, how others try to get what they want, and characterizations of conflicting people/organizations, politically speaking the story is about how important it is to compromise your goals in the name of results and your ethics as opposed to compromising your ethics in the name of your goals. ZZ break a cycle of exploitation by refusing to forget others and paying back debts. Jornak's bitterness and despair push him to make a deal with the "devil" (primordial) and fight for the short term, corrupt solution. I think this is the most good faith interpretation I can have about the character dynamics and themes of the book but who knows? I might be wrong due to projections.

#mother of learning #mol #red robe #zorian kazinski #zach noveda #mol spoilers #jornak dokochin #quatach-ichl #political intrigue #fantasy worldbuilding #literary analysis #I also had so many thoughts on how raynie's background and character arc parallel to this and zorian's story specifically #but that's a post for another day #I need to learn to be more succinct

[delopsia]

Flowers In November (1/4) Rhett x Reader

Word Count: 12,705 ♡‧₊˚ AO3 Cross-Post ♡⊹˚₊ Flowers In November Masterlist₊˚⊹♡ Warnings: Fem!Reader. Briefly mentioned abusive relationships (not involving reader), improper disposal of a horse's corpse, l-bombs, oral sex, physical and verbal altercations, blood, unprotected sex, inappropriate use of a firearm, lying to a police officer, multiple mentions of food and cooking. Part 2 ♡⊹˚₊

Flowers.

No matter where you go, whether it be the big, bustling concrete city or the vast, unforgiving pastures of your hometown, there have always been flowers—poking out from cracks in the sidewalk, dancing like fairies in unkempt lawns and waving daintily from their pots and planters.

But you think this is the first time you've ever seen something quite like this.

When you'd gone to bed last night, the backyard had been green grass for as far as the eye could see. All was normal, not a singular sign to be found that you would wake up to this.

"I've never seen so many flowers in my life," your mother muses from where she stands in front of the sliding door, "and yet, not a single purple flower to be found."

At first glance, you'd thought they were Autumn leaves, freshly fallen from the old Oaks along the tree line, but those trees shed their leaves weeks ago. Overnight, flowers have decorated every inch of your yard just days before December's start. Coming in all possible variations of red, orange, and yellow.

"Would you mind filling a basket of them for me?" She asks, already reaching for the wicker basket she's just put away, "I reckon we could make a beautiful Autumn wreath out of these."

"Sure," picking flowers sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than packing belongings into cardboard boxes and loading them onto a Uhaul.

You don't think you've actually seen her make a wreath out of live flowers before, but again, you can't argue with such a deal. Not when your shoulders ache from days of hauling everything your family owns from place to place.

It would have been so much easier to hire a moving company.

"Do you want the basket to be completely filled?" You question, just to be sure.

"Please," folding up an old flyer for the local raffle. If you'd guessed three-hundred forty instead of three-hundred ninety, maybe she'd have the leather necklace printed on that paper, "keep an eye out for some purple ones, too."

Can't be too hard, can it?

Sliding your headphones up over your ears, you step outside, basket in tow. For as beautiful as it looks, it sure doesn't feel like it.

Frighteningly chilly wind nips at your neck as you walk across the yard, seeking the perfect spot to settle down in. The more you think about it, the more you realize that this is really, truly, weird.

This many flowers, three days before December starts?

Even the pasture in the front yard is full of them; from the looks of it, so are the lots all around you. An endless sea of flowers with absolutely no business showing up as abruptly as this.

You wonder if they'll come back like this in the spring.

A part of you wishes that you could be here just in case that day comes, wake up to a magical sea of brightly colored flowers marking winter's end. But that won't be happening. Not if the brightly colored for sale sign at the end of the driveway has anything to do with it.

Right by the treeline, you find the old tree stump, still stained from all those times you painted it when you were a kid. It's uncomfortable sitting on, but it's better than sitting directly in the flowers themselves.

Drowning your thoughts with the music from your headphones, you get to work. Picking flowers with the longest stems and placing them neatly in your basket.

This isn't how you pictured your gap semester from college going.

The plan was to come back home and take it easy for a few months, pick up a job waitressing at the local mom-and-pop diner, something simple until you could get over your rapidly worsening burnout. But your mom has her heart set on selling your childhood home and moving closer to the city, and that's a process that has had you working for months.

You never truly realize how many things need to be fixed in a house until someone comes in to appraise it. Replace this, replace that, so you'll finally get an offer worth accepting.

But it doesn't work. You've practically renovated this entire house, and not a soul has made an offer. You don't want to see the house sell, but Lord, is it frustrating, working your ass off, only for it to add up to a whole bunch of nothing.

At the end of the day, many people want to avoid buying a property with a not-so-pleasant history. A handful of times, your mother has mentioned that all this land belonged to a single family. Their daughter, the sole inheritor, disappeared in a storm. Your folks bought this place shortly after the final member of the family passed.

"How's it going?"

The sudden appearance of your mother has you jumping out of your skin, your heart rising into your throat.

"Baskets nearly full," you chirp, sliding your headphones down until they rest around your neck, "not seeing any purple, though."

She hums, reaching down to sift through what you've collected. To be honest, you hardly remember picking half of these. How long have you been out here?

"Well, I hate to interrupt you," she muses, still rummaging through the basket, "but dinner's ready."

Alright, so you've been out here for a little while.

It starts to rain the moment you step inside the house. It feels as if the clouds had been waiting for you to get out of dodge, the storm appearing just as quickly as the flowers had. The wind howls as it whips around the corners of the house, angry and threatening to break through even the tiniest of entryways.

Storms around this part of Wyoming are common. Usually, they don't last any longer than twenty minutes, but it only worsens. The wind only grows louder, buckets upon buckets of rain coming down in thick, white sheets that seem to wrap around the house, blanketing the outside world from view.

You're washing dishes, gazing out the window just in front of the sink, when you notice something bouncing around in the lawn.

"Is that an animal?" Thinking aloud, you lean closer to the glass, squinting. No, animals don't move like that.

Shit.

Swearing, you reach for the towel, dying your hands as you rush toward the door, "I forgot the flowers outside!"

That's what it is. Your mom's favorite wicket basket is bouncing around the lawn, back and forth, being whipped around by the wind like a ball.

Without much thought, you pull the sliding door open, and immediately the cold wind starts to painfully nip at your skin with its frigid teeth. It's only worse as you step outside; the tiny raindrops feel like needles as they batter you, but you can't let that old basket be blown away.

You can hardly see, stumbling blindly as you chase the silhouette of that tumbling basket, but the wind is making a game out of keeping it from you. Whenever you think you've got it, the wind picks up, ripping it away.

But the wind slows a bit, and in a last-ditch effort, you jump on the basket the moment you've seen your chance. Your foot catches on a patch of mud, and your back hits the ground with a painful thump.

But you've got the basket. It's mostly empty now, but you've got it.

All your collected flowers are probably miles down the road by now, blowing into who knows where. So much for making a wreath with them. Swearing under your breath, you push yourself back up, fumbling for purchase on the muddy ground, some kind of leverage to help you onto your feet.

"Huh?"

There, right in front of you, lies a dainty purple flower. Remarkably short, its petals fluttering in the wind. No wonder you hadn't found any.

It should be easy to pluck from the ground, but it's not.

No, the damn thing will not so much as budge from its spot in the ground. You change hands, supposing that one is weaker than the other, but it barely moves. Come on; this can't be that hard. Using both hands, you take hold of the flower's tiny stem and pull.

Just like that, the flower plucks from the ground, leaving a dark hole in its former resting place. Strange.

With the flower safely tucked into the basket, alongside the ones that have survived the wind's torment, you try to get up.

But that hole...it's starting to...grow larger?

You think it's just your mind playing tricks on you, but no, it's—that hole is getting bigger. Beneath you, your legs become nothing but jelly, near useless, as you slip around on the muddy ground, fumbling for footing.

One foot catches traction; you've almost got it, you've almost—

the ground disappears out from under your feet,

and you

fall.

You don't know how long you fall for.

Everything around you is pitch black, a blanket of darkness wrapped around you so tightly that you can barely tell if your eyes are open or closed. The sour bubbling in your bones is the only indication you have that you're moving at all. You've become weightless, fluttering through the air like a discarded feather.

All of a sudden, a strong gust of wind hits you from behind. Now, it feels like you're moving back up, like someone's just flipped this hole upside down.

Where in the world are you? Are you halfway down to the center of the Earth, or are you somewhere else entirely?

A twinge of light appears in the distance.

It's faint, but it's there, and it's growing larger. You can't quite tell if you're moving toward it or if it's moving toward you. But it grows bigger and bigger, rapidly hurtling towards you until all you can see is a blinding light as it engulfs you.

All you see is a dark sky, but then, like a quarter, the world around you flips, and all you see is green as you come crashing down into it with a painful thunk. The impact is strong enough to knock the air from your lungs. It feels like someone's picked you up and thrown you against the ground.

Miraculously, your basket still contains its flowers, the tattered handle clenched in your weak hand. Your only sign that you just popped out of a...

...hole that has seemingly disappeared.

No, no, no, none of this is right. Where are you?

Instead of being once again surrounded by your childhood stomping grounds, all you can see is endless pasture hills. It's dark, still raining, but you can see enough to know that you've never been here before.

The ground squelches below your muddy shoes as you slowly stand. White-hot fire shoots up your right ankle as soon as you put weight on it. It doesn't look broken, but it's hard to tell when every bone in your trembling body aches.

There's movement up on the hill.

A woman. You can't see much of her, but her blonde hair is easy to spot as it flows in the wind, waving like a flag behind her. It seems she's seen you, too, because she's coming toward you.

"Hello?" You call out, shielding your eyes from the rain, "ma'am?"

She yells something back to you. Intelligible, borderline a shriek. No, that doesn't sound like the voice of someone coming to help.

"No, no, no!" She wails, "you don't belong here! You don't belong here!"

You have no time to question it. All you have time for is to turn and run.

Every step hurts. Your feet struggle to maintain traction as you race across the slick ground, left foot sputtering out from beneath you with every stride.

You don't know where you're going. You can't see anything. It's all pitch black and silvery raindrops and green grass, and you can't figure out how close this woman is getting to you. Her voice grows louder and louder with each passing step, chanting incoherently; how you don't belong here; this isn't right.

Lightning strikes the ground, lighting up the world around you.

There's a fence in front of you, the silver gate already halfway open. However, there's a black dot just beyond that. You haven't the slightest clue what it is, but you'll take anything over the woman that's rapidly gaining on you.

Come on, come on, come on, you're almost there.

Something heavy hits you from behind, and for the umpteenth time, you hit the ground with a painful thunk.

"You!" Her voice is so loud that your ears feel like they're going to bleed. Silver glints in the dark as you squirm, legs kicking out as you try to get back up. But she's faster than you, climbing up on top of you as that sharp silver glistens. Your nails find purchase on her scalp, clawing at a raised scar. It doesn't faze her. "You don't belong here!"

Black flickers across your vision, and just as quickly as she'd climbed on top of you, she's knocked off, landing flat on her back. She's still yelling, chanting the same thing over and over, but her voice is drowned out by a deeper one that booms through the dark like thunder.

Your throbbing ankle crumples out from under you as you try to stand, leaving you frantically scooting backward. Away from that girl. Away from whoever was crazy enough to go after her. No, no, no, you've just backed into the fence.

...and the fence steps out from behind you?

It's a horse. Black in color, concealed near perfectly by the blanket of the night. She steps out from behind you, feet dancing dangerously close to your face as she does so, and then she turns and...

It's enough of a sight to make you momentarily power through the pain biting at your nerves. Rising to your feet, you stumble for the open gate, each step feeling like it'll be your last.

That horse has three heads.

The man's calling after you, something that sounds like a rushed 'hey!' but you pay it no heed. Your heart hammers against your chest so loud that it drowns out everything else, beating in perfect synchrony with your racing feet. But that three-headed horse is coming after you, barely visible as she runs you down.

Something thin passes overtop of your head and cinches tight around your waist. The next thing you register is the sharp pull of rope, so strong that it stops you in your tracks.

"Hold on, hold on!" That deep voice shouts; it doesn't sound threatening, but it doesn't stop you from fighting the lasso cast upon you, squirming, pulling at the loop.

Maybe it's the rapid in and out of breath; perhaps it's the fear permanently etched into your expression, but something makes him get down from that monster of a horse. Dropping the rope in favor of kneeling and raising his open palms to the sky.

"'m not gonna hurt you," he breathes, speaking slowly, "a'ight?"

You don't know if you believe that, but as a scream echoes through the night, you realize that you don't have much choice here.

"Who..." your voice dies in your throat, "who are you?"

He's quiet like he's considering, and then, "'m Rhett."

Rhett.

You don't think you've ever met a Rhett before, surely haven't met a Rhett who smiled when you uttered your name.

Whatever moment you've just built up is shattered by the rapidly approaching yelling, the shrill voice of a woman who isn't happy about your presence. Rhett peers over his shoulder, then, turning back to you, "do you trust me?"

"Define trust," you blurt, shaking free of the lasso.

With remarkable speed, he stands and mounts that three-headed mare. "Either you play your cards with a woman wielding a handmade knife," holding out his hand, "or you let me help you."

Well, when he puts it like that.

His hand engulfs yours as you take it. There's some effort required, but he's strong and quickly pulls you up onto the horse with him. It's uncomfortable being crammed up here when this saddle was clearly not meant for two.

"Hold on to me," he tells you, peeking back at you, "don't let go until I tell you to."

Mayhaps it's because you're dripping wet, but as you wrap your arms around his waist, you learn that he's remarkably warm. And as the horse starts to move, he reaches down to tuck his arm alongside yours as if they'll slip away at any given moment. You're lucky that this isn't your first time on a horse.

As the fence line disappears from view, you begin to lose track of where you're going. Everything looks the same; everywhere you look, it's the same. It's starting to feel strangely similar to the lots for sale around your home.

There's no way that this is actually happening right now. This must be some wild, fucked up fever dream you're having. There's no way this horse has three heads, and there's not a damn logical reason behind that hole you just fell through.

Yeah. This is all just a vivid dream.

Rain begins to pick up, wind beats against you like it did before you fell into the hole. It feels a little too familiar as you cling to this strange cowboy, trembling under your wet clothes. But at least he's warm.

It's a while before a dark, rustic little cabin comes into view, looking strangely similar to the abandoned one across the street from your home. It bears the same log walls, cement filling in the gaps left between, but this one has a bite-sized front porch with a little white swing that sways in the wind.

The horse stops just in front of the porch steps, and it's only now that you realize you've just about frozen to Rhett. Muscles and bones stiff with imaginary ice, struggling to detach yourself from him.

As soon as you've let go of him, he's hopping off the horse, spinning around with outstretched arms, "God, you're fuckin' cold," he hisses from the moment he touches your numb hand, "you're lucky you still have these things attached."

Beneath you, your legs feel like sticks, completely numb as you let him guide you up the stairs. The door is partially ajar, easily kicked open with his boot, but the house is warm. Hot, even, feels like the heat that first washes over your face when opening an oven.

A little kitchen sits just to the left of the entryway, but the only thing you can focus on is the crackling fireplace directly in front of you. Rhett walks you right to it and places a thick blanket around your shoulders as you sit on the floor next to the dancing flames.

With two thick fingers, he pinches the sopping wet clothing from your shoulder, chewing on his lip as he visibly thinks. Then, he ventures off through a door on your right.

The fire is hot, and you think you can feel the coldness melting from your skin, but it's hard to warm yourself when you're practically wearing a block of ice.

"These are probably too big for ya," he remarks, remerging from what you assume to be his bedroom, "but it's better than nothing."

There are folded clothes in his arms, what looks like a shirt, a pair of flannel lounge pants, and some plain socks. He sets them on the footstool just behind you, careful not to ruin his near-perfect folding of them. The way he speaks to you makes you feel like you're a pair of old friends, like this isn't the first time you've met.

"If you want to get that mud off," pointing off toward the room he just came from, "there's a shower just around the corner; help yourself to whatever you need in there."

Then, without much else, he heads for the door and mutters something that sounds like an "I'll be back in a minute" before the door shuts behind him.

It takes you approximately half a second to decide that you'll take him up on that offer.

You were right; this is his bedroom. Looks just how you'd imagine any man's bedroom to be, plain navy blue comforter, bedside table devoid of anything but a lamp, a phone stand, and what looks like an obscenely large belt buckle.

Fluffy white towels are on the bathroom sink, neatly arranged into a stack of largest to smallest. You don't think you've ever met a cowboy that was so meticulous with arranging clothes and towels.

Thunder rolls as you step under the water, the lights briefly dimming, but they don't go out. The sound of the shower barely conceals the howling of the wind, angry, daring you to venture out and face its frigid wrath once more.

You think you spend a good fifteen minutes scrubbing the mud out from every crevice of your body. Just as you believe you are finished, you find another patch, caked to your skin like glue, refusing to budge. God, it's even in your eyelashes and behind your ears. A part of you wonders if this three-in-one wash has anything to do with how hard this is to remove.

In the light, you can see that your ankle has swelled up. Not too much to be of concern, but it's a visible difference from the other one, puffy around the joint and sore to the touch. Must have injured it during one of your many falls tonight.

Come to find out, he's given you an option of two shirts, a plain black tee, and a soft, long sleeve pajama flannel that matches the pants he's given you. The shirt you choose engulfs you, the pants a little loose in some places, but they're warm, dry, and not caked with rainwater and mud.

As you lift your dirty clothes up, something hard hits the ground.

Your phone.

Huh. How long has that been in there?

It's got no service; the battery is only at half charge, but aside from that, it hasn't been affected by your escapades in the rain. The time though...how is it eleven thirty at night? It was barely seven just earlier.

Rhett's moseying about the kitchen with a basket of laundry. Perking at the sight of you. "Y'almost look like a different person," he muses, holding the basket out for you to place your soaked clothes. You feel like a different person, to be honest.

"Now, if you don't mind me askin'," making off toward the laundry room, just past the kitchen, "how did a lady like you wind up in our west pasture?"

Well...

"I'm still figuring that out...?" Because you're still processing it all yourself. Surely this is just a horrible dream; maybe you banged your head and hallucinated all of this.

Rhett's head pokes out the laundry room door, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn't say anything. That look was enough of a statement.

Calling your mother's phone doesn't work. It doesn't ring, only displays your call screen, and does nothing more. The frustration must be evident on your face because Rhett fishes his phone from his pocket, "y'can try mine," he offers, holding it out for you to take, "service is patchy out here."

But you receive the same outcome, except his phone won't even accept the number as valid. The longer you struggle, the closer together Rhett's eyebrows knit, tongue poking around in his bottom lip. On your third try, he comes over, peering over your shoulder.

"You're still missing some digits," he says after a moment.

"No?" Lifting your phone for him to see, "I have all ten."

You don't understand why he's looking at you like that, absolutely perplexed by what you've just said. He squints at your screen, reaching out to tap and expand one of your contacts. Ten digits. But then he opens his contacts, and you see...fifteen.

What the hell?

Hesitantly, your mouth starts to move, "I can tell you how I wound up there," your voice wavering, "but I don't think you're going to believe me."

But Rhett is all ears.

And so, you tell him from the strangeness of the flowers that chose to appear toward the end of November to the flower that opened up a hole to your unceremonious arrival to his west pasture. As you tell it, you realize that you've lost your flower basket somewhere in that field; the one thing you have to back up your statement.

Somewhere during your retelling, you wind up on the couch, sitting across from one another as you recount your tale. Rhett doesn't say a lot, nodding his head every once in a while, like this happens every Tuesday.

"That may explain the strange noise from earlier," he recalls, gaze fixated on the fire as the flames twirl and lick the air.

Lifting your head up from where it was resting against the couch, "there was a noise?"

Again, his head nods, slow, "my brother sent me a video of it, hold—shit."

He recoils with a pained groan, squeezing his eyes shut as he reaches behind himself, rubbing his right shoulder blade. Is that...

The image of that silver blade flickers through the darkness of your mind.

"Did she stab you?" It's more of a statement than a question; it's hard to mistake the red stain on his jacket for much else.

"Maybe," speaking through his teeth.

Still, he doesn't fight you as you reach over, urging him to turn so that you can see it better. It's easily missable, but there's a thin cut through his jacket, maybe four or so inches long, slicing through two layers of clothing and deep into the meat of his shoulder. Most of the bleeding is concealed by a bit of mud caked onto his shirt, you suppose, from a fall.

"This needs to be cleaned," how long has he been quietly putting up with this? "It's going to get infected."

"Nah, it's alright," poorly concealing his wince as he stands up, "not like I can reach it, anyhow."

"Well, I was gonna offer to do it for you," it shoots out of your mouth before you've even had the chance to process what your reply was going to be.

Your words make Rhett stops in his tracks, arms limp at his sides. Quiet, dead silent, actually, to the point that you're just about to retract your words when he looks back at you, "...okay."

He disappears into his bedroom, and through the wall, you can hear him shuffling around in there, searching, sifting through cabinets and drawers. But eventually, he comes back with a wet cloth and a white plastic box, the little red plus sign so faded that it's barely visible. Looks vintage.

It's heavy in your lap, full of all the supplies you could ever need. Bandages, creams, sprays, tweezers, safety pins, a strange assortment of oddly shaped bandaids. Everything you can think of is in here.

Rhett's jacket hitting the floor regains your attention just in time for you to get an eyeful as he removes his shirt.

Good Lord.

Those muscles in his back could go on for days, rippling under his pale skin with every movement, a display sent straight from the heavens above. Are you drooling? You think you might be drooling.

Red soaks his right shoulder, blood dried and stuck to the skin there, and it's just about what you'd pictured the moment you laid eyes on the slice through his jacket. But damn, are you glad it's not a cut on his chest. You don't see much of it, but you catch just enough to know that you'd definitely be distracted.

He sits on the floor, back to you, granting you ample access to his injury. The wet cloth does most of the work as you gently wash away the dried blood, careful of his still-open wound.

A strange sound plays through the air, loud, like a rusty gate creaking open, only deeper, unnatural. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. "What is that?"

Rhett lifts his phone from his lap, "that's what the sound was." Did that sound come from...you traveling through the hole?

"That sounds like something straight out of a horror movie," your remark earns you a dry chuckle, a slight, easily missable noise that dances around your ears like the sweetest music.

"I was convinced we had a troll on our land again," Rhett barely winces when you touch the antiseptic wipe to his open wound. Still, you can hear the pain in his tone, words becoming tight, higher in pitch. Falls quiet as you clean it properly, removing the mud and a stray piece of grass that wound up there. "Didn't expect to run into a pretty little thing like yourself out there."

Oh.

You have no reason to smile at that, you really don't, but you find your lips twitching upward.

"I—I'm sorry," evidently, your silence is getting to him, "I didn't mean to..."

"You're fine," you can't help the laugh that leaves you; at least he's not being weird about it, "I'm just too focused on your shoulder to think of words right now."

Intentionally vague, leaving him to fill in the blank incorrectly because right now, you're only focusing on how these muscles feel under your hands. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. At least this wound of his doesn't look like it needs stitches, just a bandage.

"Thank you for doin' this," he says, after a while, "I don't think anyone's ever actually..."

"No?" Holding two bandages beside the cut, internally debating which one is big enough. Hm. Seems the one on the right is the better option. "I take it you don't get hurt very often, then."

"Naw, I wind up with a new injury every week," he drawls thickly, "that there is my bad shoulder anyway."

To add to his words, he lifts both arms above his head, and you can see exactly what he's referring to. His right arm looks normal, but his left one fails to go up all the way, falling short by an inch or so.

"How did you do that?" Inquiring while you open up the packaging. His left arm is slower, too, and takes a little more time to drop back down than its companion.

His shoulders shake with a half-hearted sound, nearly making you put a crease in the bandage, "Thought I could make a livin' bein' a bull rider," the bitterness of the memory so thick that you can taste it in the air, "dislocated it in the finals. Went from first, straight to last."

With the bandage applied, he rolls his neck back and forth, cracking the joints, shoulders doing much of the same. From here, you would have never been able to tell that his left shoulder had anything wrong with it. Those muscles twitch and flex all the same, putting on a simple little show that's got you mesmerized.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last long because he soon gets up. Disappearing with his dirty clothes and the bloody cloth, leaving you to pack the first aid kit back up. He isn't gone long, reemerging into the room, pulling the ends of a black tee down over his gently defined belly.

Selfishly, you wish that he only owned two shirts. The one you're wearing and the one that was just ruined.

"Look, I know this ain't...ideal," he mutters, scratching his neck, "but how 'bout you take my bed for the night."

Your mouth opens, protest heavy on your tongue, "I don't...you don't have to give me your—"

"—and my momma taught me never to let a lady sleep on the couch," his voice firm, but his face soft, "I washed the sheets this mornin' if that makes you feel any better."

This argument was over before it even started.

As you rise to your feet, the ache in your swollen ankle blossoms into something sharp, enough to make you wince. It's barely a reaction, a squinting of the eyes at most, but Rhett's already caught it. Eyes already trained on the way you mind your foot.

"No, no, don't you even say a word," effectively killing your protests before they've had a chance to open your mouth; Rhett heads over to his fridge, "I coulda sworn you were limpin' when I found ya."

"I'm not sure what I did to it," you admit, sheepish. You really don't have any recollection of it happening. It hadn't been hurting when you fell through the hole, but adrenaline is a deceiving mistress.

Which could explain why it hurts even worse than it did while you were showering. Putting pressure on it only makes matters worse; nerves feel like they're burning hotter than a blazing wildfire. Still, you make an effort to walk back towards Rhett's bedroom, hopping along to avoid any more usage of it than necessary.

"You sure you ain't part bunny?" Chuckling at the sight of you, Rhett slowly follows after you, armed with an ice pack.

It could be the pain and exhaustion that makes this bed feel so comfortable; even sitting on the mattress feels like a cozy dream. Rhett kneels in front of you as soon as you're off your feet, taking your foot into his large hands. One on the back of your heel, the other gently manipulating it in his grasp.

"Not broken, at least," he observes aloud, "probably hurt it when you fell, and the adrenaline kept you from feeling it until later."

At least his theory is similar to yours.

He's quick to leave you in peace, passing off the ice pack and letting you know that you can find painkillers in the second drawer of the bedside table. Before you know it, he's made off with a pillow, and even from here, you can see his feet propped up on the edge of the couch. Stacked, one on top of the other.

The sheets are warm and soft against your skin, so freshly cleaned that all you can smell is the fresh linen and vague smokiness of the fire. It's almost as good as your bed at home.

Almost.

You're still figuring out if this is all real, if this is really happening, or if it's just a vivid dream. This bed, this place all feels real; even Rhett feels too real to be a figment of your imagination. But a magic hole? And that...woman?

No, that doesn't make a damn bit of sense. None of this does. If these magic holes were natural, they would have been documented long ago. They'd be common knowledge.

But the drowsiness pulling at your eyelids, weighing them down, feels pretty real.

The next time your eyes open, you feel like you've stepped into a new body.

Eyelashes flutter, momentarily blinded by the bright morning sunshine peeking through the blinds. The air is warm enough so that you aren't burning up under this nest of sheets. You don't want to move, your head full of clouds, your body as light as the comforter nestled on top of you.

Your eyes adjust. This isn't your bedroom. This is...Rhett's.

Sitting up, it all comes flooding back to you in the form of watery memories, vague and fuzzy around the edges. The flowers, the hole, the strange woman, the cowboy, and his three-headed horse. There's a peculiar squishy material under the blankets: the ice pack.

No, no, no, this isnt—

your mom's flower basket sits on the floor next to you. Battered, strands of the material stick out, the handle crushed and deformed, but it's the basket. Flowers and all. There aren't many left, but a handful of orange and yellow have survived, accompanied by some flowers you don't recall picking. Three daffodils and a handful of daisies. Rhett must have added these.

On the very top, though, lies that purple flower.

Pale petals with a darker center, with three red stigmas standing proudly. A fourth one has been crushed, lying bent alongside its companions. The little flower that your mom would have loved.

You wonder if time has passed the same for her. Selfishly, you hope your disappearance has stopped time, wherever she is. You can't imagine how worried she'd be, knowing that her daughter disappeared in a horrible storm, leaving little to no trace of where she'd gone. There has to be a way for you to get back...but how?

Considering the horse...maybe Rhett will know. Thinking back, you don't recall a trace of disbelief as you recounted the night's events to him. If the three-headed horse you saw last night was real, surely this place can't be normal.

This time, your ankle doesn't hurt as badly when you put weight on it, but it stings and is still somewhat swollen. It hurts enough to affect your stride, limping toward the bedroom door.

"Rhett?" You croak, voice echoing about the house. No response.

You can properly take in the room with the sunshine creeping through the windows. It bears the same white horizontal wood paneling as the bedroom did. Two long brown couches on either side of the fireplace and a matching, short sofa in between them. The kitchen is tiny and feels more like a hallway than anything.

Barely any decor, aside from a tall cabinet that stands next to the bedroom door, decorated in trophies, awards, and little knick-knacks of all things Western. The golden bull wearing a cowboy hat is your favorite.

"Rhett?" You try again; maybe he didn't hear you the first time.

Nothing. Must be outside. Your shoes sit in the gap between the fridge and the front door. They've seen better days, but they're dry, slipping over your feet like they always have. The door squeaks as you open it, painfully loud compared to the silence leading up to it. It takes a little effort to shut; the door a hair too big for the frame.

There's an old wooden barn off to your left, not far from the house; everywhere you look, you find nothing but rolling green pasture. In the distance lies the same snowcapped mountains that surround your childhood home, identical. Is this the same location?

"Rhett?"

Again, nothing. But at least a bird chirps in response this time.

A little dirt path leads to the barn, worn down from years of walking the same route until the grass has died and refused to return. Beside the barn sits a GMC Sierra, looking a little worse for wear and desperate for a good scrub. So thoroughly covered in dirt that you have to wipe away some of it to see its actual color.

Blue. Like his eyes.

The barn doors are wide open on either side; it feels like a tunnel, dark inside, with light pouring in from the entrances. Horse stables line the room, maybe twelve in total, with a big back room to your right and what appears to be a feed room to your left. Something's rustling around near the doors on the other side. What that could be, you're not sure you want to know.

Three-headed badger?

A portion of you wants to investigate. Maybe it's Rhett or an adorable barn cat that deserves some head pats, but rationality reminds you that you may not like what you find. The rustling growing louder is what makes up your mind.

Not today.

Turning on your heels, you leave. You've had enough life-altering escapades for the foreseeable future. Lord only knows what else you may run into, given your current luck. But walking away from the barn means walking away from your only viable idea of where Rhett could be. Glancing at the endless fields surrounding the house, there's no telling how hard it would be to find the guy.

A strange sound resonates from behind you, metal on metal. The hair on the back of your neck stands straight.

"Make any sudden move, and I'll put a bullet right between your eyes."

That's not Rhett's voice.

"Turn around."

In your chest, your heart hammers so hard that it feels like it'll throw you off your feet as you slowly turn, raising your palms to the sky. Innocent. Mean no harm.

You find yourself in the middle of Rhett's dirt driveway, staring down the barrel of a gun.

"What are you doing here?" Growling, the man steps closer. Words fail you. Stunned stupid by the gun that bumps into your nose. "You here to take Amy too? Huh?"

Stammering, your feet tangling as you try to step back. Who is this guy? Who's Amy? He won't get the gun out of your face. The barrel pressing into your trembling flesh. You step away. He steps closer.

"Answer me, bitch!" He barks, spit hitting your cheeks.

"I—" gulping, "I was looking for Rhett."

The gun doesn't lower.

"Don't you bullshit me, girl," his words drip with so much venom that it makes him tremble, "I'd know if my brother brought one of his bitches home."

Brother.

Your tongue evaporates. Language forgot. Sweat beading on your forehead. Rhett's brother clenches his jaw, breath whistling through his teeth. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I—"

"Perry!" Barking so loud that it sounds like it's come down from the heavens above.

The world goes dark.

It takes you a moment to realize that you're looking into the back of a jean jacket with a rip down the right shoulder, exposing the plain white shirt underneath. Even longer for you to catch on to the fast-paced bickering, words hurled back and forth with such malice that they burn your ears.

"How about you quit waving that gun around like it's a fuckin' toy?" Rhett's nose to nose with him, teeth bared.

"This bitch is trespassing on our land and saying she knows you," Perry's stepping back and forth, a caged dog trying to get around him.

Rhett's always a step quicker. "They have a name, Perry," he hisses, "and you'd know that if you were decent enough to ask before you put a gun in their fuckin' face."

The argument is over. Not because of a loss but because Rhett walks away from it. Whatever words Perry has to add to the pot go ignored.

"Y'alright?" He's slow to approach you, allowing you to close the space if you're comfortable. When you do, he reaches out to rub dirt from your nose using his thumb, likely from the gun.

"As alright as I can be, considering the past twenty-four hours," his touch tickles, a welcome sensation to distract from the spasming of your gut.

"Are you really pretending I'm not here right now?" Perry huffs, raising his hands up, gun-free.

Rhett tilts his hat, effectively blocking his brother out, "were you the one callin' my name earlier?"

Nodding, "I can't exactly remember why I was looking for you, though."

You're only just now recognizing that his horse is off to your left, one head idly sniffing at the sparse ground below her feet. It's hard to tell what the other two are doing.

"'ts alright," chuckling, he nods toward the house, "was about to come checkin' on you myself."

If only for a moment, the two of you step back inside. Rhett's fridge is the definition of baren as he rifles through it, but he produces two breakfast rolls, says he made them this morning. They don't taste how you expect them to. At a glance, you figured they must have been some gross concoction of ingredients, but biting into it is like biting into a dream.

"Not as bad as you thought, huh?" Rhett grins around a bite of his, "I saw that look you gave me."

Has it always been this warm in here? "Only because I don't know if the food here is different." Lie.

Glancing up from his phone, "is it?"

You pause. Now that you think about it..." it's better," you conclude, and with that, you finish it.

"Good," his chest rising and falling with a silent laugh, "don't tell my mom I stole her recipe."

Rhett doesn't have the answers you're looking for, but he suspects that his father will know something. Based on the way he phrases it, it sounds like strange things happen all the time here. What kind of place is this? The cowboys where you come from would not be as calm as Rhett is.

"Takes too long to drive," Rhett explains as he walks you to his horse, "Isabel won't mind a second passenger, though."

Isabel.

Despite her unearthly appearance, the horse isn't as scary as you expect her to be. She happily accepts the pets you offer her, leaning into your touch like any other horse. In fact, everything about her is absolutely normal, aside from the head situation and her massive size.

You've ridden horses enough times to know how to get on their backs, but Isabel is so tall that you need Rhett's assistance. It's a miracle that you fit up there last night, all things considered. Once you're up there, though, it's alright. Especially not when you're graced with the opportunity to wrap your arms around Rhett. Snuggled close, your head tucked below the brim of his cowboy hat, perfectly blocking the sun from your eyes.

You learn that there are four pastures. Rhett lives in the north, Perry in the south, and their parents reside in the south pasture. He says nothing about the east one.

There's something shiny moving in the pasture as you ride through it. Too far for you to tell what it is; its location is only given away by the way the sun glints off of it. You struggle to piece it together as you ride directly toward it.

But then it clicks. "What the hell is that?"

While you can't hear it, you feel him laugh, vibrating against your skin, "you ain't got cows where you come from?"

"Of course, we have cows, genius," you retort, "but we don't have cows with shiny gold horns!"

You can't believe what you're looking at. A herd of maybe forty cows, black in color, bearing long, golden horns. At first glance at those horns, you'd thought they were longhorns, but they're much too fuzzy. The animal equivalent of cotton balls.

The words that left your mouth are enough to make Rhett look over his shoulder, eyeing you, "no?"

What kind of world is this?

A good portion of you expects to see miniature elephants next, somewhat disappointed when you don't see them. The only other animal you pass is a singular bison relaxing in the west pasture. Just beyond lies a marvelous, towering mansion. The close you get, the bigger it becomes until you can no longer comprehend if this is a house or a stadium.

"Good lord, Rhett," choking the words out, "are you sure this is a house?"

His hand squeezes one of your arms like he's trying to make sure you're still there, "still decipherin' that myself, actually."

An older woman is sitting on the front porch, a stablehand at her side who wordlessly takes Isabel off to a paddock next to the house. For the longest time, she doesn't speak. Not when she leads you inside, not when she has to pry an adventurous kitten from your pant leg, not even when Rhett asks if she's alright.

The inside of the house is just as ridiculous as the outside. Towering white walls, vaulted ceilings, glistening chandeliers, and sculptures that cost a pretty penny. A variety of kittens scamper about, tiny, too young to be taken away from momma just yet. Paintings of cowboys and horses hang along many of the walls, accompanied by pictures of Perry with a blonde woman and an equally blonde daughter.

But try as you might, you can't find any pictures of Rhett. Even when his mother leads you into the living room, you fail to come up with anything. No embarrassing school pictures, no baby photos, no nothing.

"Rhett," her voice firm, quiet, like she's afraid of being overheard, "what have I told you about bringing women home?"

Rhett begins to speak, but an older man steps into the room before he can get the first syllable out. Dark, graying hair, an equally colored beard, and a hat nearly identical to Rhett's. This must be dear old dad.

"Rhett, can I speak to you alone?" he says, smiling, but it fails to make the statement sound any less cold.

For a moment, Rhett hesitates, gaze flickering between you and his parents, until you nod and motion for him to go ahead. Then, albeit reluctant, he leaves the room without a sound.

Friendly family.

"Listen, honey," his momma begins, "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but..."

Tilting your head to the side. "But...?" Where is she going with this?

She sighs, loud, exasperated, "I know you must like my son. He's a good man. Exactly who I raised him to be."

You have no idea what she's trying to tell you, but you force a smile, pretending that you do. Sure hope Rhett is gone for a while.

"But he's a bit of a casanova; he's darn near slept with every young woman in this town," oh, that was...not what you expected her to say, "I just want you to know that before you go and get your heart broke."

With that said, she scoops up a gray kitten from the floor and leaves the room.

You feel like you've just been slapped.

What the hell just happened?

It's probably a minute or two, but you must sit there for an hour, staring at a picture frame containing a pressed flower as you try to comprehend her words. Does she think you're Rhett's girlfriend? Did Rhett not tell her how you got here? You wish you were here all for a pretty cowboy, but you're not.

Just as quickly as they'd left, Rhett and his father return. You're thankful that Rhett sits next to you again. Even though you don't know him very well, the familiarity is much welcomed after the uncomfortable experience you just had. His dad carries a large book, the binding so old and tattered that it barely holds together.

"So, Rhett tells me that you...came out of a magic hole in my pasture last night?" His father inquires after a minute.

"Picked a flower, a hole opened up, and now I'm here," you get the feeling that you're going to become sick of recounting this.

For the longest time, he stares at you as if you've grown three heads yourself. Gaze hard, but his eyes wide with unspoken recognition. Then, carefully, he begins to flip through the book's pages. You squint, trying to read the pages, but you're too far away.

"Strange things happen on this land all the time," Rhett elaborates, "our family has been documenting it for generations. If it's happened, it's in that book."

Explains the age.

You don't like how long his father looks through it. Flipping through it once, twice, gradually becoming faster with time. Rhett looks at you. You look at him.

You're still looking at each other when his dad says, "Books got nothin'."

Your expression drops. A million and one worries flicker through your psyche. Rhett's jaw tightens, the muscles flexing under the effort. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," his dad's voice raises, "what, do you not believe me?"

"Couple of months ago, Perry said a hole just like that appeared on his land and swallowed up half his kelpies," Rhett chides, leaning forward, "now, according to him, you handled it and got them back."

So this has happened before.

Abruptly, his father stands, the book falling to the floor with a resounding thunk, "how many times have I told you to stay out of Perry's bullshit?" He howls, going from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye.

Not backing down from the fight, Rhett stands and steps off to the side, away from the couches. Leading the argument away from where you're sitting. "You only say that shit when it's convenient to you," hissing, an octave deeper, "but you involve me in his business when you want me to do his work for him."

"Because it is your job as a younger sibling to cover for him while he's grieving!" Words shouted so loud that they echo, bouncing down the towering hallways of the house, shaking the paintings and the house's very foundation.

Rhett scoffs, incredulous, "it's been nine months, pops. Nine months."

As if on cue, they both yelp, stumbling away and rubbing their ears. Rhett's mom stands between them. "That's enough!" She bellows, a completely different woman from before, "Rhett, I think it's time for you to leave."

You wish you had your phone; you could definitely use the twisting of the ear technique in future ventures.

Rhett barely waits for you to catch up to him on your way out of the hose. Winding through hallways, past rooms that you know you've passed but have no memory of, everything looks the same, but it's all different spaces. He holds the door open for you, though.

"Did my mom give you a...talk while I was gone?" He inquires as you step past him out onto the porch.

Nodding your head yes, "she practically told me you were the town whore, if that's what you're asking about."

That seems to be the statement that he's looking for because his eyes roll. "She keeps telling that to every woman I so much as glance at," shutting the door behind himself, albeit a bit too hard, "I haven't slept with anyone since I was twenty-three."

"And how old are you now...?" Please don't be a hundred years old, please don't be a hundred years old, please don't be a hundred years old.

"Twenty-six," tilting his hat downward.

Oh. Well, that's a lot more palatable than what you were afraid of.

"Wow, a whole three years without sex," melodramatic as you can manage, "how have you ever survived?"

"It's easy when you don't get nothin' out of it," you can't tell if that's bitterness or jealousy leaking through his tone, drenching it.

"Get nothing out of it?" You parrot as if it'll help you decipher what he means.

"Nope."

So much for elaborating.

On your ride home, it starts to rain.

It's hard to do much of anything. Even with the weather, Rhett still has work to do, leaving you alone in this strange, unfamiliar house. Without a working phone and hardly anything to distract you from the situation. There's a television above the fireplace, but the remote is nowhere to be found.

Chores are your only escape for a while. Washing the few dishes left in the sink, making the bed, and sweeping the floors until it's pristine, without a single flaw. But even then, it's difficult to silence your thoughts. You think about your mom, your disappearance, all over again. If time passes, the same for her, and if she saw what happened.

Your head is torn between hope and horror. If Rhett told the truth about the hole, you can find a way home. His father doesn't seem keen on helping, though. What if Rhett's wrong? And wait, what happened to that girl last night? And his brother, what's up with him?

Oh, what if there's another variant of you here, and what if she's why Perry was so hostile towards you?

This is getting out of hand.

Your only option to stop your racing mind is to make a game out of organizing the shoe rack that sits by the front door. It's a disaster; shoes piled onto its shelves with little to no care. Once you're done with it, though, it's picture-perfect. Boots, dress shoes, and sandals are carefully arranged into appropriate sections, ranging from tallest to smallest.

Come to find out, the remote was also in that mess.

You don't even realize it's a remote at first. Rather than being built vertically like the remotes where you come from, it's horizontal, like a keyboard. Fitting somewhat strangely into your hand, but it turns the television on just fine.

At least Rhett has a few streaming services, all with familiar logos but different names. Prime Pictures, Hoop, and something named...Kibble. But who would have thought that this world had the same shows and movies? There are so many things to rewatch. Are they going to be the same? Different?

It's too easy for one movie to become two, and soon you lose track of how many you've started.

"Where the hell did you find the remote?"

Words as sudden as a thunderclap send your heart into your throat.

Rhett. Dripping from head to toe with rain water, cheeks covered in a thin sheen of dirt.

"Over in the shoe rack," nodding toward the door, "not sure if I want to know why, either."

He turns, casting a long glance toward his newly organized shoes, then a sheepish grin works across his face, "I uh..." rubbing his chin, "I tend to reorganize the house when I'm drunk."

You laugh. His face blossoms into a bright cherry red. Unable to form many words all of a sudden, he fishes out his phone, telling you to order any pizza you'd like while he takes a shower.

Pizza boxes are circular here.

"The fuck you mean they're square?" Rhett sputters, so shocked by your words that he has to put his slice down.

"They just...are?" You think it's got something to do with cost-effectiveness, but you're unsure. "I'm being serious; we don't have round pizza boxes where I come from."

With how he looks at you, you're not sure he believes you.

"I need to see one to believe it," that sounds like intrigue laced around his tone.

"Well, if we can figure out how to reopen the hole," you say, leaning forward, "then I can show you all the square pizza boxes in the world." And...you know, go home.

"Deal," Rhett grins like a cat, "we need to look around the west pasture and figure out where you came out at, anyway. Mash two potatoes with one fork."

Mash two potatoes with one fork. That's different.

An aggressive slam of the front door wakes you around three in the morning. The sound startles you awake, and as you sleepily call out for Rhett, you get no response. He's not on the couch, his blanket and pillow lying in a messy heap on the floor.

You expect him to be mulling around the house when you wake up around eight. Or to at least be within the vicinity of the place. Nine o'clock is the time you've set to go and visit the west pasture because his father tends to have visitors that will get in the way if you wait until any later.

That time comes and goes with no sign of him.

You shower, hunt down a vase to place your slowly wilting flowers inside, reheat some pizza, and still, nothing. This was his time suggestion; he was the one that insisted that you go early, and now the blue-eyed bastard is late to it.

If he doesn't want to come to you, fine. You'll go to him.

The land around his home is vast and unwelcoming to those unfamiliar. His property is that it's mostly flat. You noticed it yesterday when you were riding on the back of Isabela. It's nearly impossible to lose the house if you keep its silhouette within your view.

"Rhett?" You call out, "Rhett!"

No dice.

He's not in the barn, and his truck isn't here. Asshole must have left. Not like you're stuck here against your will or anything.

Isabela knickers at you as you walk past, a harmonious synchrony of three, her own little choir over in the pasture.

"Hi, Isabela," reaching out to scratch her foreheads, "you wouldn't happen to know where your owner went, would you?" You don't know why you expect a horse to respond to you, even a three-headed one.

She looks behind herself, her ears pricking like she hears something. Is that..?

"What is he doing?" Isabela can't talk, but you're pretty sure she understood every word you said because that's Rhett's truck out in the middle of the field. In hindsight, the fresh tire tracks leading toward the gate should have been enough of a clue.

It's a longer walk than you thought it would be, but still, Rhett fails to see you coming. He's got a shovel, throwing dirt into a bottomless hole in the ground. A tarp lies in the bed of his truck, audibly rustling in the morning breeze. It's covering something, but you can't quite decipher what.

"Did you forget you had something planned for nine o'clock?"

He jumps, swearing expletives under his breath, "Jesus, how long you been fuckin' standin' there?"

"Just got here," biting your bottom lip, "you're two hours late to the plans you made because you wanted to do...this?"

"Somethin' came up last night," grunting, he lifts the shovel again, spilling dirt into the hole.

Very descriptive, Rhett. Very descriptive.

"Something?" Isabela nudges you from behind, politely demanding that you give her more pets.

The shovel hits the ground with a soft sound as he marches to his tailgate. Grabbing the edge of the tarp, he yanks it upward. Revealing two severed legs, but not to a person; no, they belong to a horse. Or, they used to belong to one, anyway.

"I don't..." looking back at the shovel, then back to the house, "I don't understand."

"Perry drove home drunker than shit last night," he elaborates, tucking the tarp back down, "moron went off the side of the road and hit one of the neighbor's horses."

You're still not computing this. "So you're hiding parts of it on your property...?" So bewildered that it simmers in your speech.

"The horse is a retired racehorse worth a couple million, at least." Rhett hisses like his neighbors can hear him from here, "if they find out Perry did it, they'll sue us and take the whole ranch."

Exciting. You hope you won't be here when the law comes knocking. "Well, can we look for the hole after you're done?"

"Probably fixin' to be out here all afternoon," he says as he lifts the shovel with his foot.

"Tomorrow?"

"Probably be busy all that day, too."

Helpful. So helpful that you can feel your blood bubble in your veins, red hot, "so when can we look, huh?" It's not even like you can go by yourself. You don't even know which direction the west pasture is in, never mind how to get there on foot.

"God, fuck, I don't know, Monday?" Throwing his hands up, Rhett drops the shovel for a second time, "look, I know you're wantin' to go home, but I have to run this ranch all by my damn self. I don't have time, woman."

You're speechless. What does he expect you to do? Lay around without a care in the world until he feels like helping? Not like you've been uprooted from your entire life and everything you've ever built!

"Alright, alright," deadpanning, your feet move, turning back for the house. Then, under your breath, "with how you talk to women, you probably had to pay all those girls to sleep with you."

A shadow casts over you. "You wanna say that again?"

"I think you heard me well enough the first time," you smile, tight-lipped.

He takes a step forward. You take a step back. The cold metal of the truck presses against your skin.

"I don't think you know what you're talking about," he says, voice lower than you've ever heard.

"What, you gonna prove me wrong?" You shouldn't be taunting him when you're backed into a corner like this. But for some reason, you still do. "Call one of them up for a testimony?"

The bastard laughs, "oh, honey," his hand coming down to plant itself next to your head, "you don't need no damn testimony when I'm standin' right here in front of ya."

Your eyebrows raise. He can't possibly be suggesting..."I thought you didn't like sex?"

"Not usually, no," his head drops down as he speaks, looking you dead in the eye, "but there ain't nothin' better than watchin' a pretty woman fall apart on my tongue."

You're unsure how you feel about the heat that sparks between your legs as he sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact with you. Here you are. In the middle of this pasture, with a cowboy on his knees...for you.

One of his hands caresses your hip, thumb teasing the brim of your—no, his sweatpants. You shouldn't be doing this. You just met this guy for crying out loud!

Logic doesn't stop your hips from twitching forward into his touch.

That's all he needs to hook his thick fingers into the waistband, "no panties, hm?"

"I didn't exactly have the luxury to pack," there's more you want to say, but it's hard to when he pulls the material down until it pools around your ankles. Cold air nips at your previously covered skin, only warmed by the hot breath that fans against you.

Rhett's hands trail up the inside of your thighs, callouses tickling the sensitive skin there. It's been so long since the last time that his simple touch alone makes you start to drip. His hands continue to rise until his fingers comfortably dip between your folds, running from your entrance to your clit.

"Cute." Before you can even process what he's just said, Rhett leans forward and—

oh.

His tongue is so unbelievably hot as it presses against you, spreading you open around him. Then, one slow, flat, broad stroke of his tongue dragging from your entrance to your clit, circling it lazily. The motion pushes his hat into your belly, and as he drops back to tease your hole once more, it ultimately falls off. Leaving nothing but messy hair, perfect for you to tangle your fingers into.

And you do just that.

"That's it," he coos, voice vibrating against your swollen clit, "pull on my hair while I eat this perfect little pussy of yours."

One little tug, and he moans directly into you, laving over your clit in sloppy figure eights, and that, that. It has no right to feel as good as it does, making your hips start to writhe.

"So squirmy," big hands settle upon your hips, forcing them to stay still as he works you, rapid, quick little licks that wrench a cry right out of your throat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this guy knows what he's doing. "Still think I had to pay them, girls?"

You don't recall closing your eyes, but when you find the strength to open them, you see those blue eyes peering back up at you. He smiles at the sight of you, flits his tongue against you a little harder, the tip pointed just at the right angle.

Chest heaving, you tug on his hair a little harder; your legs are starting to shake from it all, "fuck," the tone of your own voice foreign to you, "Rhett."

"God, you make my name sound like it's a fuckin' sin," growling, he pulls you close toward him, giving you no chance of escaping the onslaught of his wicked tongue on your pussy.

The sensation of him sucking on your clit makes you jolt with pleasure, heat pooling between your thighs while he keeps fluttering his tongue over it. You're whimpering out into the open air, helpless as he downright devours you like a starved man, and you're his last meal. It's been so long since the last time you felt the subtle nudge of your gut tightening that it's almost foreign.

"R-Rhett—" struggling to formulate words, "'m close."

"I know," grinning, he doesn't stop what he's doing, loudly slurping at your cunt, "come on, darlin', cum on my tongue for me."

You barely feel it coming on.

All it takes is one more suck against your clit, and you're spiraling toward the edge with no guardrail to catch you. Too much, too fast. You yank on his hair so hard that Rhett moans around your clit, a beautifully pitchy noise that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Like a tidal wave, your orgasm washes over you. Convulsing as he licks you through it, straddling the border of too much and just enough. Lungs burning, head spinning.

Just as quickly as it had bubbled up, it fades away, leaving you a panting, trembling mess, all for him to see.

"Damn," his scruffy cheek is pressed against your hip, lazily smiling up at you like a cat who got the cream, "you're out of this world."

You could hit him.

His chin is so drenched that it's downright glistening in the sunshine, thin lips swollen, so completely, utterly relaxed against you. A totally different man from the one a few minutes ago.

"You know," carefully running your fingers through his hair, combing out the mess you've made of him, "I can't tell who this benefitted more."

He laughs, cheeks starting to turn pink, "consider it a mutual trade-off." The end of his sentence distorts around a sleepy yawn, "'m sorry, I tend to be a real ass when I'm tired."

The way he's peering up at you is awakening something. An uncanny urge to take him back to the house and look after him until he's well-rested and that lively spark has returned to his eyes. But, for the life of you, you can't understand why.

What the hell did you just do.

Taking your silence as a reply, he opens his mouth again, "whaddya say we try and make a quick trip to that pasture?"

Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

You're lucky he offers to drive you back up to the house because your legs tremor so much that you can hardly walk straight. Rhett's quick to notice it, winking at you as you stumble past him and toward the front door.

Curse orgasms and their need to fill your bladder with half the water in the Pacific ocean.

By the time you step back outside, a little more stable on your feet, Rhett's already got Isabel ready to go. She's standing next to the small porch steps, and with the added leverage, it's much easier to climb up.

"If you can't figure out how to get you home," he chuckles as you squeeze in behind him, "we're gonna have to find you a horse."

"You gonna go hit one too?" It shoots out of your mouth before you can stop it.

Lucky for you, Rhett laughs some more, "somethin' like that, yeah."

Back to the pasture again, bypassing Rhett's little stash of evidence. Should you be concerned about that horse's owners coming knocking? Probably. Are you?

Not really.

Maybe you would be if you thought about it more, but it's hard to linger on it when fluffy cows appear in the distance. With their long black fur and glistening horns, something straight out of an art piece.

"Are their horns actually gold?" You inquire. It looks damn close to real gold to you.

"Yes, ma'am," Isabela slows as you grow closer to the herd, stopping just shy of them.

One of the cows is feeling friendly, approaching you like an old friend. She's close enough for you to touch, but as you reach out, she looks at you kind of...funny, making your hand freeze midair.

"You can pet her," demonstrating, Rhett reaches out, scratching his nails against her cheek.

You're not too sure about that one. She sure doesn't seem to like it when you brush your nails over her forehead, absolutely fixated on you, as if you've just offended her to the core. Yeah, no, you probably shouldn't...

A careful hand curls around the back of your own. Slow, Rhett guides your hand to pet her forehead, up and down, in the same fashion you would pet a dog you've met. She's so unbelievably soft.

"Are all cows this soft?" You've never felt anything quite like it. Silky, a little velvety, even.

"Nah, not all of 'em," he lets go of your hand, gives her golden horn a little tap, "these right here? Solid gold, not hollow."

Their horns are entirely and utterly mindboggling, perfectly smooth and cool to the touch, not at all like you'd expect a horn to feel. How strange.

"Do you raise them for their gold or their meat?" A part of you isn't ready for the potential answer.

Rhett chews on his bottom lip, "both." He gives the cow one last head pat before Isabela starts to move again, "the gold pays for most of the expenses 'round here."

So gold is still considered valuable here. Interesting.

"But just between you and me," he continues, "lately, I've been lyin' sayin' nobody's in the gold market no more."

You have to cling to him a little tighter now that Isabela is starting to move quicker; with every step, you fear you may fall. "How come?"

"They think they're entitled to it," he reaches down, grazing his fingertips along your arms, where they're looped around his waist, "always askin' me to slaughter my cows before their time so that they can buy stupid shit."

A memory flickers into the forefront of your head. "Is that how your parents could afford that giant house?"

"You catch on quick."

The gate to the west pasture is just up ahead. While it's hard to say, you think this is where you first met Rhett. Barely even a few days ago, and yet, it feels like a distant memory, fuzzy in your head. You can almost feel the way that lasso cinched around you, catching you with such little effort.

After you go through the gate, it takes a lot of work to come up with much of anything. You know you were close to the fence that borders the end of the west pasture, but the land looks so different during the day than it does at night.

"I've got nothing," you frown, "it all looks the same."

Rhett hums. A deep sound that vibrates through your arms and up into your chest, leaving you feeling all tingly after he stops. "Y'know, I think you landed a little further down."

"How would you...?" Unless... "Rhett, were you there when I came out of that hole?"

"Sorta." You can't see his face, but the tips of his ears tint a pretty shade of ruby red, "I watched the hole open and headed off to let my dad know," he peeks over his shoulder at you, "but then I heard Autumn start screamin' and I turned back 'round."

Autumn. So that's what that woman's name was.

Up ahead, there's a patch of dead grass. Perfectly circular, maybe ten feet in diameter, brown in color, a stark contrast to the green surrounding it. Isabela stops short of it and refuses to move any closer, even as Rhett asks her to continue. Seems you'll be going on foot.

You're unsure why you feel nervous about walking closer to the patch of grass. Ideally, if it reopened under your feet, you would wind up back at home, and all of this would be over. So why are you feeling like this?

Rhett audibly sucks in a breath as you step into the circle. Like he's expecting it to swallow you up at any given moment.

No, no, no, there should be something here. A sign, a clue, something, anything. The realization of there being absolutely fucking nothing is suffocating. Brings your heart rate up until it beats in your ears like a drum. You look and look, kicking the ground as if that will force it to open.

Nothing. Nothing happens, and the only things out of the ordinary are the few remaining flowers strewn about the grass.

"If it can open up once, it can open up again," Rhett tells you, holding out his hand to help you back up, "we'll figure this out, one way or another."

You're beginning to wonder if that's truly the case.

Rhett hums the entire way back. Some slow little tune that he doesn't have a name for. It's not much, but it's enough to distract you from the sour taste this trip has left in the back of your mouth. At least for a little while.

Something possesses you to stick around while he untacks Isabela, petting her as he busies himself with unclipping various things you don't know the name for. You're thankful she enjoys all the attention because it's the only thing keeping your hands from shaking.

For the first time, it hits you. The realization that you could be stuck here for the rest of your life. There's a very good possibility that you're never getting home. That you'll never see your mom again, your friends, your old life. They'll never know what happened to you.

"You're gonna spoil that horse," you've almost forgotten that Rhett was in here with you.

"Probably," you wish you could come up with more to say, but you can hardly think up another word.

Rhett has already caught on to your mood. Doesn't say anything else, instead communicating without words. He tells you he's ready to turn Isabela out by placing his hand between your shoulder blades and giving you the slightest nudges to get you going in the right direction. Does it again when he's done with that, wordlessly telling you to head for the house.

As you step inside, you can't help but feel like something is...off, but you don't know what it is.

"Y'alright?" It's now that you realize you've stopped dead on the threshold, leaving Rhett no choice but to idle on the porch. You start to turn, but along the way, your eyes catch a glimpse of the vase sitting on the counter.

"Someone's been in here."

Behind you, Rhett stiffens, gently taking hold of your waist and pulling you back onto the porch. Eyes wide, flickering between you and the wide open door, "what do you mean?"

"When I left," gulping, "my flowers were sitting in that vase on the counter."

It's empty.

All it takes is one long gaze into the house before Rhett reaches for the door, slamming it shut. Your mouth opens, but he's quicker, "we're goin' into town to get a doorknob that actually locks."

Part 2 ♡⊹˚₊

#flowers in november #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott imagine #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #oneshot #ao3fic #ao3 oneshot #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #x reader #self insert #reader self insert #rhett abbott outer range

[almondcup]

Identity and Truth in Alias Grace

Although I haven't finished reading this book yet, I felt I needed to put some notes down unless I forget and before I procrastinate.

All the same, Murderess is a strong word to have attached to you. It has a smell to it, that word - musky and oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase. Sometimes at night I whisper it over to myself: Murderess, Murderess. It rustles, like a taffeta skirt across the floor. Murderer is merely brutal. It’s like a hammer, or a lump of metal. I would rather be a murderess than a murderer, if those are the only choices.

In one of the most elegant, violent, poetic quotes in the novel, we find Grace trying to adopt a word for herself. Murderess is how she has been described, at the time of judgement, and throughout history. Here she tries to identify with it, and make it her own. It demonstrates her attempt at maintaining some limited control over her identity, and her perception of herself, when society has already assigned her one.

And I wonder, how can I be all of these different things at once?

The quote refers to Grace’s musings regarding the various descriptions of her transcribed in the papers. From conflicting descriptions of "inhuman demon" or "innocent victim", to even basic misconception of physical attributes such as green eyes or blue eyes. She struggles to keep pace with an image of herself which is beyond her, and which she does not see in herself.

You should ask the lawyers and the judges, and the newspaper men, they seem to know my story better than I do myself.

A lot of this difficulty in maintaining control over her own story is as a result of how her case was sensationalised in the newspapers. Grace’s story is one that everyone believes they know themselves, thoroughly, as if they were present. We see this even in modern cases today, and perhaps it is even exacerbated as a result of social media, where even those completely detached from the situation claim to know the ultimate truth from the comfort of their homes.

When others are vehemently confident that their opinion of you (and your case) is correct, you begin to question what you know of yourself.

And that’s what it was like at the trial, I was there in the box of the dock but I might as well have been made of cloth, and stuffed, with a china head; and I was shut up inside that doll of myself, and my true voice could not get out.

However it was not merely the media who sculpted Grace’s persona for the sake of judgement. The lawyers too told Grace what to say, and how to behave. In this case, the lawyers also sculpted Grace’s identity, either to paint her as a manipulator or as a mislead fool - both being extremes in order to convince others of her supreme darkness, or else light. Identity in the eyes of the court was a picture to paint, more than a given truth.

Now, many years in the future, we follow Grace recounting her story before Simon. In this instance, Grace has full control over her own portrayal, and as a reader we are reminded of this multiple times. She continuously shapes her own identity in his mind based on what she chooses to show or say.

But I don’t say this. I look at him stupidly. I have a good stupid look which I have practised.

Because he was so thoughtful to tell my story, and to make it as interesting as I can, and rich in incident, as a sort of return gift to him

But in Grace’s power, we also must understand that her portrayal may also be biased, according to how she wishes to portray herself. We must accept there is no singular known truth in retelling.

Today when I woke up there was a beautiful pink sunrise, with the mist lying over the fields like a white soft cloud of muslin, and the sun shining through the layers of it all blurred and rosy like a peach gently on fire. In fact I have no idea of what kind of a sunrise there was.

I wouldn't describe identity as inherently fragile, but it is certainly elastic. It can be moulded, sculpted, and stretched. It can transform into unrecognisable shapes when travelling from mind to mind, story to story. It is an adaptive thing, and an uncontrollable thing. It is not always possible to choose how we are presented to others, and even when we present ourselves we do not often do it honestly. The theme of identity is in the name of the book: Alias Grace. Identity can be an alias we assume. There are many of them, and we can choose which to adopt, but be frustrated by the ones that are given to us.

#literature #literary analysis #margaret atwood #alias grace #bookblr

[mysticstronomy]

WHAT IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF A BLACK HOLE??

Blog#249

Wednesday, November 30th, 2022

Welcome back,

Picture an entire star collapsed down into a gravitational singularity. An object with so much mass, compressed so tightly, that nothing, not even light itself can escape its grasp. It’s no surprise these objects have captured our imagination… and yet, I have a complaint.

The name “black hole” seems to have created something of a misunderstanding. And the images that show the gravitational well of a black hole don’t seem to help either.

From all the correspondence I get, I know many imagine these objects as magnificent portals to some other world or dimension. That they might be gateways which will take you off to adventures with beautiful glistening people in oddly tailored chainmail codpieces and bikinis.

So, if you were to jump into a black hole, where would you come out? What’s on the other side? Where do they take you to? Black holes don’t actually “go” anywhere. There isn’t an actual “hole” involved at all.

They’re massive black orbs in space with an incomprehensible gravitational field. We’re familiar with things that are black in color, like asphalt, or your favorite Cure shirt from the Wish tour that you’ve only ever hand-washed.

Black holes aren’t that sort of black. They’re black because even light, the fastest thing in the Universe, has given up trying to escape their immense gravity.

Let’s aim for a little context. Consider this. Imagine carrying an elephant around on your shoulders. Better yet, imagine wearing an entire elephant, like a suit. Now, let’s get off the couch and go for a walk. This what it would feel like if the gravity on Earth increased by a factor of 50.

If we were to increase the force of gravity around your couch up to a level near the weakest possible black hole, it would be billions of times stronger than you would experience stuck under your elephant suit.

And so, if you jumped into a black hole, riding your space dragon, wearing maximus power gauntlets of punchiness and wielding some sort of ridiculous light-based melee weapon, you would then be instantly transformed … by those terrible tidal forces unravelling your body into streams of atoms… and then your mass would be added to the black hole.

Just so we’re clear on this, you don’t go anywhere. You just get added to the black hole.

It’s like wondering about the magical place you go if you jump into a trash compactor.

If you did jump into a black hole, your experience would be one great angular discomfort and then atomic disassembly. Here’s the truly nightmarish part. ..

As time distorts near the event horizon of a black hole, the outside Universe would watch you descend towards it more and more slowly. In theory, from their perspective it would take an infinite amount of time for you to become a part of the black hole. Even photons reflecting off your newly shaped body would be stretched out to the point that you would become redder and redder, and eventually, just fade away.

Originally published on www.universetoday.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, December 3rd, 2022)

"HOW LOW-MASS BLACK HOLE BEND SPACE THE MOST??"

#astronomy #outer space #alternate universe #astrophysics #spacecraft #universe #white universe #space #parallel universe #astrophotography

[keicordelle]

Once upon a time, they were supposed to have kissed by now, but here we are, pining away, lips ever so distant. Chapter 6 of A First for Everything, The Heart of the Cards is up on Ao3!

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

-

"Why the cheek?"

"Pardon?" Urianger looked up from the book in his lap, the sound of Thancred's voice startling him from his train of thought. Thancred was watching him from across the table, his eyes trained on him, and heat rose to Urianger’s cheeks at the singular focus Thancred granted him. He lifted a hand to touch his face, pages flipping closed to lose his place without his fingers holding them open, but all thoughts of aetheric interference in transportational coalescence seemed less important than they had thirty seconds ago.

Thancred's face betrayed little more than polite curiosity and perhaps a pink shading of chagrin for having stolen Urianger’s attention so thoroughly. "Your tattoo," he clarified. "Why did you choose to get it on your cheek?"

"Oh." The elaboration only made the heat in Urianger’s face flame hotter. He traced over the familiar lines of his Archon's mark, the ink indistinguishable from his unmarked skin beneath his fingers but for a decade of habit. "In my youth, I was very prideful. 'Twas a decision born of juvenescent vanity, in truth. I wished all to know me as an Achron before aught else."

"Do you regret it?" Thancred asked, tilting his head until soft white hair fell into his eyes. The movement exposed his own Archon's mark, half hidden beneath the leather collar he always wore.

"No. It is who I am and who I wished to be," Urianger answered easily, no hint of hesitation weighing down his voice. No, that crept in after, fingers fidgeting and heat spreading further over his face as he added, "But what of thee? Thinkest thou it a decision ill-made?"

Thancred blinked at him in surprise, like he hadn't expected the question. Or like he'd never even considered it. "No, I- I think it suits you. I can't imagine what you would look like without it." Urianger brushed his fingers along the inked lines again as Thancred stood, shifting around the table to peer into his face. Urianger’s ears burned as Thancred’s eyes traced the lines of the tattoo, his face a little too close for comfort. He fidgeted awkwardly under his scrutiny. If he’d thought he'd grown used to having his visage fully exposed in the year since he'd taken up this new garb, he had been woefully incorrect. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as Thancred stared, his face so close Urianger could smell the mint that lingered on his breath. It was as if Thancred were trying to picture him without the mark splashed across his cheek - or perhaps like he were trying to memorize his face, that it might never slip from his recollection.

When at last Thancred sat back, releasing him from the heavy weight of his study, a breath of relief slipped from Urianger, edged in something like disappointment. Before he could ponder that, Thancred swung his legs up into his lap, amiable smile on his lips as he added, “I can’t imagine it was pleasant to have done though. Needles in my neck was bad enough, but on your face? Ouch.”

Urianger hesitated, blinking down in surprise at Thrancred’s feet in his lap. His hands hovered awkwardly above them, not quite sure where they belonged. The only other person who'd ever sat with him like this, casual and unrestrained and easy, was Moenbryda, and that had been so long ago he almost couldn't remember what it was like. People were stiff around him most of the time, awkward and formal. In truth, Urianger couldn't blame them - full well did he know that he was not the most convivial of people. In fact, most of the time he encouraged it, content to hide amongst his dusty tomes and offer his input only when sought out by others.

But there was something charming about the casual way Thancred touched him, as he had grown to do over the past few weeks. The brush of his leg, the feeling of his hand on Urianger’s arm, even the dig of his calloused heel into his thigh... It was pleasant, in a way Urianger had never expected such simple contact to be.

He had hesitated for too long. Thancred started to pull back, lips twisting into an apologetic grimace as he drew his feet from Urianger’s lap. Urianger moved without thinking, snatching one foot and tugging it back into place.

It was Thancred's turn to blink at him in surprise, and Urianger felt his face flame once more. "I, er... Thou might remain as thou art. If it is thy wish," he offered haltingly.

Thancred hesitated only a moment before he relaxed into him, lips curling into a shy smile. It was a new expression on him; in all the years Urianger had known him, he didn't think he'd ever seen Thancred look shy. Embarrassed, yes, coy, certainly, but never shy. Urianger’s own lips curved in response, a tentative accord as they sank into the comfort of this casual touch.

Urianger’s hands settled on his feet, fingers curling to dig into his soles to rub out the aches that no doubt formed from day after day of his vigilant patrols. Thancred let out a groan that bordered on sinful, eyes drifting shut as he melted into the couch. "Oh gods, Twelve bless you. That feels so good."

A soft huff of laughter was Urianger’s only response, and the silence that fell between them in its wake was companionable. Peaceful, even, broken only by Thancred's borderline salacious moans -- and, eventually, the unexpected scuff of a foot. They both jumped, too distracted with each other to notice the muted sounds of footsteps.

"Oh!" Minfilia blinked down at them, startled as a deer in lamp light, as surprised to see them as they were her. "Ah, I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." Or perhaps it was just the intimacy of their positioning that surprised her. Pink dusted her cheeks, her hands fluttering awkwardly as she rocked to a halt, looking halfway ready to turn tail and flee.

Thancred snatched his feet from Urianger’s lap, his own expression turning guilty, as if they’d been caught doing something wrong. "Nothing to interrupt," he assured her, his tone perhaps a touch firmer than was necessary. Urianger had to imagine the expression on Thancred’s face was one previously only seen by jilted lovers who'd come home earlier than promised. He could not have looked more guilty if he tried, and Urianger wondered idly if they really had been doing something inappropriate.

The atmosphere grew notably awkward as they stared at one another, all three of them rather at a loss. Minfilia shifted from foot to foot, her gaze pointedly trained on the floor. It wouldn't have mattered even if she'd opted to stare him down, because Thancred refused to look at her, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stared in the general region of her ankles. Urianger glanced between the two, tasting the awkwardness that hung in the air, an advanced form of the tension that lingered perpetually between Thancred and his young charge.

He had to say something. If he didn't, this moment might never end, and they’d all be stuck there wishing they were anywhere else until the Light swallowed the shard. More than that, Thancred and Minfilia would be trapped in their stilted relationship without some outside influence to guide them together. Perhaps it was presumptuous of him to take that upon himself, but they both deserved better than the strained acquaintance that currently beset them. And Thaliak knew Thancred was never going to shake free of his ghosts on his own.

Old memories of entertaining the Leveilleur twins nearly a decade prior with nothing but a deck of cards and a steadfast refusal to play horsey surfaced, the perfect means of distracting them both. Perhaps if they simply had more opportunities to bond, to see each other as people and not merely a stern guardian and the echo of a lost friend, they might be able to grow closer. They both needed someone to turn to, someone to trust. And Thancred had always thrived when he was taking care of someone he cherished.

"What say you to an afternoon spent in each other's company? Long hast it been since last I had willing partners with whom to play cards, and I find myself longing for the chance. If you are willing, I would be most grateful for your companionship."

They both turned to Urianger, startled out of their malaise by his proposal, as he had hoped. "I... I wouldn't mind playing with you, Mr. Urianger. If you want to," Minfilia offered hesitantly.

"Didn't you have research to do?" Thancred asked. To say that he regarded Urianger with suspicion would be overstating things, but in all the years they had known each other, he had never once known Urianger to play cards.

"It can wait," Urianger assured him, and Thancred shrugged. Out of character or not, he would play along, because Urianger had requested it of him. He would have to come up with a way to thank him for that later.

"Alright then, what did you have in mind?"

And so they sat with Urianger as he explained the game, and slowly, the tension lifted. Not just the awkwardness that lingered in the air today, but all of it: Thancred's curtness and Minfilia's timidity fading until he was flipping cards between his fingers and dazzling her with simple tricks, her laughter chiming through the air. Certainly it wouldn't fix everything. No, it was going to take a great deal more time and energy before they both learned to trust. But it was a step - a very good first step in the right direction. Urianger sat back, lips curling in quiet contentment as he watched them have the first real conversation he'd seen between them since they arrived.

Until Thancred turned, nudging him with his elbow. "What do you think you're doing over there, sitting back and relaxing? Come on, it's your turn to deal."

Right. It wasn't just the two of them. For as long as they were here, the three of them were all in this together. For now, at least, Urianger didn't have to sit on the outskirts and watch. And with the sound of their laughter in his ears and the feeling of Thancred's knee brushing his own, he realized for the first time that the painful squeeze of loneliness that always dwelled beneath his breast had vanished. Some day, of course, they'd have to move on. But for now, as he leaned forward and accepted the deck from Thancred, Urianger resolved to enjoy the time he had with them to its fullest.

[Chapter 7]

#ffxiv #thanuri #urithan #thancred #thancred waters #urianger #urianger augurelt #ffxiv fanfiction #final fantasy xiv #my writing #first for everything #~K

[simping-overload]

The Marshall PT 2

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚒𝚔 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚜,𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚛𝚚𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗✨️

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚒𝚖, 𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚘, 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚔𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚜, 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚝, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚌𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚎, 𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚎𝚕𝚎, 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜!, 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗

𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚘: @agent-yolk-writes

𝚏𝚎𝚖/𝚏𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍,(𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛)(𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢) 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 & 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝙼𝙻𝙼, 𝙽𝙱𝙼𝙻𝙼, 𝚎𝚝𝚌 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒'𝚖 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞♡

PT. 1

After the introductions to the team, the boss bot who you assumed was the leader asks the first question, "What are these ``Kaijus`` and why must you kill them?"

"They are creatures that were genetically created by Precursors or Colonizers as we call them and designed with the sole purpose to wipe out humanity. They use ``The Breach``, which is the portal connecting the worlds; to send the Kaijus to ours in an attempt to kill us. We so far have been successful keeping them away from humanity however it is getting progressively harder, it's only a matter of time before one of those monsters does collateral damage." You explained it in the simplest way you can. If you got into the specifics of these things it would've made it more confusing.

Optimus hums, a thoughtful look going across his face before turning back into his usual. The yellow and black transformer, Bumblebee lets out a series of beeps, making you tilt your head in confusion, you may know binary but that is far different from what you know.

Arcee who stands beside him, translates for him, "Bee wants to know about your Jeager."

"Well, you in luck I brought a Figurine of my Jeager. I do have some pictures as well." You unzip your bag pulling out an 8' depiction of your Jeager, it's one of the more sleek and fast Jaegers but still could pack a punch.

"This is Raptor Valor, she's on the sleeker and fast side compared to some of the other ones but she can pack a punch. She stands around 250 feet and around 1800 tons. " You pause pressing the button on the right arm of the Figurine, a sword shoots out of the arm sheath. "This is her sword, we had it on the right side since the right is our stronger arm. It's a chain sword, so when it deploys its loose a chain but then locks in place. We've sliced clean through some kaijus with it. She also has a plasma launcher on both arms, she can launch a canister that latches onto the kaiju giving it a very nasty shock it can leave the kaiju either semi-paralyzed or completely. If charged enough it can be killed in one shot."

You pass the Figurine to Miko, it was originally supposed to be a surprise for her since she wanted one so badly. "Here, I had it made by a friend of mine. You best take care of it, it cost a fair bit."

Miko Simba holds the Figurine, the smile on her face grows wider, "I totally will!! Thanks bro." She runs over to the kids who are on the platform and to shows off her new Figurine.

"Okay, how exactly do you fleshies even operate these things? Is it through some type of

You let out a chuckle, you were still surprised humanity can come up with this kind of technology. "Oh I wish it was that simple, but no. We use something called the Drift it melds the minds of the two poilets, sharing the memories, emotions and instinct, before synching with the Jeager and fighting as one. A singular poilet cannot handle controlling a Jeager, which is why we have the buddy system. One Poliet controls the left and the other controls the right, and that's pretty much it, if you wanna know more of the science stuff you'll have to talk to the nerd boys about it if we ever go public. Do keep this on the downlow I don't need my Commanding officer on my ass about this."

#pacfic rim #tfp #transformers prime #tfp optimus #tfp ratchet #tfp wheeljack #tfp arcee #tfp bumblebee #tfp bulkhead #tfp x reader #tfp optimus prime #tfp optimus x reader #ratchet x reader #tfp ratchet x reader #bumblebee x reader #tfp bumblebee x reader #bulkhead x reader #arcee x reader #tfp wheeljack x reader #wheeljack x reader #x male reader #the marshall

[dextixer]

RWBY: Arowfell and the weird characterization and flanderization of team RWBY

Link to the original thread on reddit - HERE

While watching through the gameplay of RWBY: Arowfell i could not shake the thought that our main characters, team RWBY are acting somewhat strange and not at all how i am used to. Now, many critics have stated that we would like for the protagonists return more to their V1-V3 selves. And its almost like this wish was noticed by a monkey paw. We did get to see the return of V1-V3 team RWBY selves, but writen as if they were from RWBY chibi.

In this thread i would like to cover how team RWBY is writen in the game RWBY:Arowfell, and how in my opinion they are not writen well.

Flanderization

Before moving on, let us first cover the term of Flanderization. As the name implies, this is a term that comes from a character in the show Simpsons, a character that goes by the name Ned Flanders. A character that started out as a regular christian, loving father etc, who over time became a parody of an evangelical christian with little else to his character.

Afterwards it has become a commonly used term to describe characters with complexities becoming one-note and changing to basically be centered around a singular quality of theirs. A simmilar albeit weaker effect of this can be seen in RWBY: Arowfell.

I will be fair to the game, not all dialogue is there to flanderize team RWBY, there are a lot of what one could consider to be "regular" conversations, and yet there are times when it seems like the characters of team RWBY do a suddent flip to their flanderized versions with statements/actions that make little sense from them.

Its the same thing as many RWBY fans have noticed with certain fanfictions of RWBY, how characters are suddently changed to be different, more one-note or with qualities that are heavily exxagerated. And people take issues with those portrayals because those characters do not feel the samel. I think this would apply to what is a canonical RWBY story even more.

Besides Blake, this strange flanderization can be seen in all other 3 members of team RWBY which i will cover individually.

The Child

Those who read RWBY fanfictions can probably remember just how many fanfictions they have read in which Ruby  acts less like a socially awkward teenager and more like a 10 year old girl. This usually stems from an oversimplification or even misunderstanding of Ruby as a character in Volumes 1-3. While Ruby does have some childish behaviours, and does carry a level of innocence with her, she is still understanding of the world around her. She is still clever and someone who wants to be a hero.

And yet... In arrowfell...

During the hunt for the Union Boss responsible for Grimm attracting Orbs:

After said Boss activates 4 Grimm attracting Orbs during his capture:

Im sorry... But what? This sounds less like the Ruby i know and more like her chibi counterpart interacting with Cinder and her goons. Not only is this dialogue make Ruby act as if she was 10 year old, this dialogue also happens during what are time sensitive missions.

For example, in the first picture the rest of team RWBY are very much against trying to find the bird of the Mayor of the village, because they have a job to do. Only for Ruby to make that silly declaration and decide for the team.

Which also takes me to another extremelly weird characterization of Ruby:

Ruby being too lazy? To hunt down orbs that have resulted in destruction of villages?

Whatever one might think of Ruby, at the end of the day she is heroic to a fault. It is something that we critics will acknowledge as anyone else. And yet during the mission to hunt down the 4 orbs that have already caused the destruction of villages, during the destruction of each orb Ruby complains about how difficult this job is, how she wants to rest etc.

That while annoying and definitely out of character for her does not even compare to what happens after the destruction of the third orb, after which she seems to want to leave the last orb active due to being lazy? Who is she and what did she do with Ruby?

The Ice Queen

I apologize in advance for using this title for Weiss due to the connontations it might have to some people, but there is no better phrase that i can use to describe how Weiss behaves in Arowfell.

For the most part, Weiss acts as any other member of team RWBY acts during dialogues, its just simple questions and "lets go do x" and the like. But when she engages with Penny and even her sister, her characterization suddently changes:

If i have not watched the original show. Im going to be honest, i would believe that Weiss truly and utterly hates Penny, for seemingly no reason. It seems like the game is trying to mirror the V1 Weiss and Ruby dynamic. But it does so with two completely unrelated characters and has Weiss, someone who has underwent massive character changes act as she did nearly a decade ago. Not only that but the things she says arent just haughty or cold, they are outright hostile.

I would expect this kind of behaviour from a clone trooper in Star Wars the Clone Wars series rather than Weiss. Its almost open distain and hatred, which ignores the character progress of Weiss and just seems out of place. Even her own family is not immune to this:

This is Weiss speaking to Winter. Now, the relationship between Weiss and Winter has always been somewhat weird. Winter is usually a tough sister on Weiss and she expresses her love by wanting Weiss to do better and better, and this is reflected in Winters dialogue in this game. She is not warm to Weiss but also wants to help her improve. Weiss has always seemingly accepted this behaviour from Winter and has constantly exhibited love towards Winter, so for Weiss to act so cold? It just looks like its out of place.

This is the kind of dialogue i would expect between Weiss and Whitley, or Yang and Qrow in a more sarcastic/joking manner. To see Weiss being so... Cold just makes little sense to me. The entire dynamic of their relationship seems changed.

The Ruffian

Unlike Weiss and Ruby, Yang for the most part avoids mischaracterization in various interactions. She seems to act the same way she always does, at least until scenes like these come up:

Once again, these seem like lines that i would see from V1-V3 Yang, or from Chibi Yang. Not Volume 7-8 Yang. After losing her arm Yang has still retained some of her playfulness and cheer, make no mistake. But being callous of destruction they cause, being so ready to beat up suspects? Its just... Thats not her. That hasnt been her for a long time now.

Of course one also has to mention that giving Yang lines about beating up suspects while acting as a police force is.... Its really unfortunate... Just like with Hanlons portrayal, someone had to have noticed these lines. The fact that no problem was found with them is... Its not the best look for RT or for Yang.

Whats more important is that there are scenes where it makes sense for Yang to be ready to fistycuffs. But then there are scenes as shown above where such words are not exactly appropriate to her character.

The game partially feels like its meant for children

I do not think i am out of line by saying that RWBY has been in the Young Adult/Teenager area of media since Volume 3 aired. I am not going to say that no younger demographics are not watching RWBY, but right now it is marketed towards and is made mostly for the more adult crowd.

And while watching the playthrough of RWBY: Arowfell, half of the time it felt like i was watching a childrens game. The dialogue is extremelly simplistic, almost half of the characters that are met are silly in one way or another. Quests are given and worded in extremelly simplistic ways.

Now, maybe in Volume 1-2 that would make more sense, but in Volumes 7-8? Not as much, especially since the game itself also deals with at least somewhat darker topics. There is a large disconnect between the main plot and all of the sidequests, some of which HAVE to be done to progress the main plot.

It also feels like team RWBY, all of them are dumbed down, for example. When team RWBY first encounters a fear orb that attracts Grimm, they take it to show to General Ironwood. They are stopped by Bram who asks them to give the orb to him under the excuse that its "Military equipment". To which they choose to comply with his request despite the fact that GENERAL Ironwood leads the military?

And its not just that, throughout the entire game team RWBY seem to trust literally every person they meet. In V7 they are shown to at least have some level of suspicion around people, even Ironwood. And now in game they trust literally everyone? What is up with that?

It does not end there. In the last part of the game team RWBY encounters a hostile team BRIR, which is all fine and dady. But then team BRIR just go ahead and tell team RWBY who the main bad guys of the game and traitors are. FOR NO REASON. Its not an interogation or anything of the sort. They just openly say who they work for... Which is just..... Why?

Then you have events like this:

This is after team RWBY fight and beat Amoncio Glass. A weapons smuggler that attacks them with a mech-suit... And they just leave him there.... They dont arrest him... They dont wait till Atlas soldiers arrest him.... They just. Let him go...

Conclussion

I understand that RWBY: Arowfell is not a War and Peace novel. I understand that it is not meant to be the height of literature and that most of the game is a sidescrolling fighting game. I do understand that. But that does not mean that the character writing has to be so... So poor.

The games language, the dialogue is way too simplistic. The way team RWBY act range from normal to "Who are you?". And this applies to both individual characterizations of team RWBY, but also the team as a whole. Only Blake seems to avoid this fate, but she is the only one.

I get wanting to make a more lighthearted game. But Volumes 7-8 are an incredibly poor location to choose to make this kind of game in. If this game dropped in Volumes 1-3, i would probably have little problems with how its writen and how characters are handled. But in V7-8? This doesnt make much sense.

At least that is my opinion. If anyone wishes to give their opinions, feedback, disagreements. You are welcome to do so.

#rwby #rwde #rwby arrowfell #team rwby #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee

[littlemissidontcare]

Mod I’d love to your thoughts about the aw being called out on the podcast twice and with everything that followed after from those two sightings to her being his godmothers business dinner and any predictions you have on what she will do baiting wise or what you think is gonna happen!

Obviously DM and Enty get a lot of blinds about Sebastian, fan submitted or from a direct source. Fact. Enty and DM have more connections and sources than we will ever have that know about Seb & Annabelle. Fact. Enty saying he thinks it’s PR because Annabelle is known for attaching herself to high profile men, that’s not a very odd thing to say and makes the most sense. When Deumoix said that her source (which she was surprised to hear say this), said that Annabelle and Seb were set up by “mutual friends”, I definitely think it was someone like Deanna or someone they don’t hang around with a lot. Someone closer to Annabelle than Seb is what I mean. Could it easily have been their teams setting it up? Yes.

As the podcast goes on, she says that Seb had boundaries from the very beginning, and that Annabelle wanted more out of it. Most likely meaning that she wanted more pics, more stories to post, more paps, and more baiting. It’s all the same. She wanted more of those things for the attention, and he won’t give it to her.

So here we are with Anastasia of Beverly Hills. We got the awkward as fuck Easter meal. (Not saying dinner because it was not a “family” thing). And then the party for whatever and whoever’s brand with the trees and the shirts and who gives a fuck. Annabelle was there. Was Seb? We will probably never know. Or she may post something with him this weekend showing he was there, but at this point I doubt it.

Was Annabelle invited? Probably. Why? Because she needs the attention, and even rich people won’t turn down money. Her team probably paid Anastasia (also since she is connected to seb), to have Annabelle there and post that singular picture. It raises eyebrows and gets people’s attention, something Seb isn’t giving her that much of.

Shit, even Seb’s team could have paid Anastasia to have her there. Either way, she wasn’t invited because she’s “part of the family” and Anastasia wasn’t even right next to her in the picture. You would think that if she was becoming part of the fam or Anastasia gave a fuck about her she would stand next to the “girlfriend” for a pic.

Anyways, the silence I believe is because she got called out on deumoix’s podcast by herself and enty, got called out in her comments on IG, and simply doesn’t know what to do with herself. She posted pics then deleted them, and we got basically nothing until yesterday with her brand deal then some videos of some flowers. She’s trying to play “shy” and “private” but only because she got called out THREE TIMES.

She’s probably twiddling her thumbs as we speak. As for any predictions, I’m not sure I have any. We may get something this weekend, we may not. Maybe they’re going to end it before his birthday, maybe we’ll see them together, but who knows. I’ll tell you this much, she isn’t endgame. This won’t last no matter what the hell it is. Also, I don’t see how anyone can believe this is real when we’ve seen it all before, but twice as bad. You guys are falling for her shit just like she/they want.

Pictures speak a thousand words and I will die on the hill that says he wishes this was over.

[pesterloglog]

Kanaya Maryam, Roxy Lalonde

Act 6, page 7777-7782

KANAYA: Thank You

ROXY: no problem!

KANAYA: I Didnt Think

KANAYA: It Would Be This Easy

KANAYA: I Mean

KANAYA: Not That It Was Easy For You By The Sound Of It

KANAYA: What I Mean Is I Thought It Was Going To Involve An Arduous And Lengthy Process For Myself To Undertake In Order To Figure Out How It Was Even Possible To Reconstruct The Orb Let Alone Actually Do It

ROXY: nah

KANAYA: Nah?

ROXY: nope!

KANAYA: So Instead Of All That

KANAYA: Its Just

KANAYA: Handed To Me

KANAYA: Like A Nice Present

ROXY: yes

KANAYA: I Dont Know What To Say

KANAYA: This Changes So Much

KANAYA: About Everything I Thought I Had To Do

ROXY: does it?

ROXY: the way i see it is you shouldnt have needed to worry about makin the thing

ROXY: i think it will be challenging enough like...

ROXY: hatching it??

ROXY: and tending to all the stuff that comes next

ROXY: isnt that basically being responsible for the preservation of an entire race of people?

ROXY: like not even a simple kinda people that all go about havin their own babies by themselves n such

ROXY: u have to set up and deal with this huge creature that does it all herself right?

KANAYA: Yes

KANAYA: Thats How It Works

KANAYA: And Yes That Will Be

KANAYA: Probably Very Challenging

ROXY: yeah so just focus on that!

ROXY: im sure you will have help if you need it

ROXY: i mean... after all this shit is over obviously

ROXY: hey speaking of which

ROXY: howd it go here? did you do the thing?

KANAYA: Yes I Think We Did The Thing

KANAYA: Our Frog Should Be Good To Go

ROXY: we?

ROXY: oh yeah karkat came too didnt he

ROXY: where did he go?

KANAYA: Oh

KANAYA: He Um

KANAYA: Hes Still In The Cave

KANAYA: Uh

KANAYA: Meditating

ROXY: meditating huh

KANAYA:

KANAYA: Yes

KANAYA: It Was A Very Spiritually Uplifting Encounter With The Denizen

KANAYA: It Really Uh

KANAYA: Blitzed Our Chakras

KANAYA: He Needs Some Time To Clear His Head

ROXY: heheh ok

ROXY: so you are roses girlfriend right?

KANAYA: I Dont Know

KANAYA: Is That What Humans Call A Matesprit When The Matesprit Is A Girl

ROXY: umm

ROXY: i dunno

ROXY: is a matesprit the thing trolls call each other when they are girlfriends or boyfriends with each other?

KANAYA: Yes

ROXY: ah ha!

ROXY: then uh

ROXY: the answer is yes?

KANAYA: Yes

ROXY: lmao

ROXY: ok it was kind of obvious i was just makin sure

ROXY: anyway thats cool!

ROXY: did you meet on ur fancy meteor vessel

KANAYA: In Person We Met There Yes

KANAYA: Originally We First Spoke While She Was Still In Her Session

KANAYA: I Assisted Somewhat

KANAYA: But I Think I Bugged Her Mostly

KANAYA: That Seems Like A Lifetime Ago Now

ROXY: so i guess you mustve gotten to know each other a lot better during the trip

KANAYA: Yes

KANAYA: We Had

KANAYA: A Lot Of Free Time

ROXY: i bet :)

ROXY: man... three years was it?

ROXY: thats crazy!

ROXY: for a whole bunch of people who only just met including humans AND aliens

ROXY: or i mean trolls whoops sorry if thats rude

KANAYA: We Call Each Other Aliens All The Time

ROXY: haha

ROXY: but then you all IMMEDIATELY have to hunker down together for three years

KANAYA: That Is Very Much What Happened And What We Had To Do

ROXY: it sounds fun!

ROXY: kinda wish i could have been there

ROXY: i guess i had my own less long stint with people in my session

ROXY: only like half a year tho

ROXY: which was cool in its own way but it wasnt nearly as... social as your scene sounded?

KANAYA: It Was Pretty Social Yes

KANAYA: But We Also Had Little Groups Who Generally Convened With Each Other More Often Than The Entire Ensemble Crowded Together For A Singular Noisy Affair

KANAYA: Such Events Were Pretty Rare So Maybe Not As Social As You Are Picturing

KANAYA: In Fact It Was Quite A Subdued Situation Compared To The Crowd I Was Formerly Accustomed To Congregating With

KANAYA: There Were Twelve Of Us Back Then

ROXY: yeah WOW!!!

ROXY: i remember hearing about that from a friend

ROXY: who...

ROXY: never even existed from this frame of reference :(

ROXY: i guess thats another weird thing about my lil sojourn to get to this point...

ROXY: it is all made of memories now that didnt even happen for other people

KANAYA: That Does Sound Like A Lonely Predicament In Its Own Particular Way

KANAYA: A Sort Of Sacrifice Youve Had To Make Yes

ROXY: yeah

KANAYA: Sacrifice Abounds It Would Seem

KANAYA: I Dont Know Of Anyone Presently Alive Who Hasnt Had To Trade Something Very Important To Them In Exchange For Continuing To Be A Material Seeker In This Endeavor

KANAYA: You Were Forced To Trade Something Too But In Return Youve Been Able To Do Something

KANAYA: Something So Wonderful That

KANAYA: I Guess Im Judging Your Accomplishment From An Especially Personal Vantage

KANAYA: But No Matter What Else You Have Been Through

KANAYA: I Believe You Can Say Youve Done Something As Important As Anyone Could Ever Hope To Do

ROXY: aw yeas 8)

ROXY: i hope so!

ROXY: i really hope it all works out and you make a super successful trollworld 2

KANAYA: Yeah

KANAYA: I Want It To Be A Good Place

KANAYA: Not So Much Like Where Im From

KANAYA: It All Sounds

KANAYA: Really Daunting Actually

KANAYA: Not Even Just The Propagation Of My Kind But Managing To Do It Responsibly

KANAYA: Just Causing Millions Of Beings To Exist For The Sake Of Doing So

KANAYA: And Dismissing Responsibility For What Sort Of People They Become

KANAYA: That Isnt Good Enough For Me

KANAYA: I Think Echidna Was Right

KANAYA: Ill Need Him

ROXY: who

KANAYA: Oh

KANAYA: Nobody

KANAYA: Lets Say It Was A Figure Of Speech

KANAYA: Ill Need Everyone

KANAYA: Whoever Is Good And Wishes To Have A Hand In The Way Our World Is Shaped

ROXY: count me in! :D

KANAYA: I Will

KANAYA: But

KANAYA: As Of The Immediate Point In Time

KANAYA: I Dont Know What To Do Anymore

ROXY: hm??

KANAYA: Before You Came

KANAYA: I Was On My Way To Join You And Rose And John

KANAYA: Feeling Quite Sure I Was About To Get Ready To Fight

KANAYA: But Then You Gave Me This

KANAYA: And Now Im Unsure Of Everything To Which I Just Imminently Committed Myself

ROXY: how so

KANAYA: I Want To Help Us Win

KANAYA: But I Also Have A Lot Of Responsibility Now

KANAYA: In A Way That Is Much More Tangible And Also Spiky And Round And Sharp Than Just A Few Minutes Ago

KANAYA: And I Feel I Have To Consider Risk To Myself Is Now Also The Same As Risk To The Future Of My People

KANAYA: Does That Make Sense

ROXY: ooh i see

ROXY: yeah!

ROXY: it is like.....

ROXY: like say a mother wolf being all ready to stand up to some other asshole of nature

ROXY: like a nasty bear

ROXY: and shes ready to fight and all but also shes got to think about what happens to her pups if she gets hurt yeah?

KANAYA: Something Like That

KANAYA: Except Id Relate More To An Analogy That Didnt Involve Weird Alien Creatures

ROXY: oh sure

ROXY: just imagine instead of a wolf its like

ROXY: a mother uhhhh

ROXY: help me out here

KANAYA: Musclebeast

ROXY: a beautiful mother musclebeast

ROXY: and instead of a bear

ROXY: its um

ROXY: a metroid

KANAYA: Lets Say Good Enough

ROXY: damn straight

ROXY: be fuckin fight of the year right there

ROXY: but yes that concern is completely understandable

ROXY: you dont gotta fight if you dont want!

ROXY: but im sure we could really use the help

KANAYA: Would I Actually Be Of Much Use

ROXY: i think so!

ROXY: id look at it this way

ROXY: none of this next gen troll stuff is even going to matter if we dont win this fight

ROXY: so we have to prioritize beating all these goddamn villains

ROXY: specially the witch!

ROXY: any extra edge is going to help

ROXY: and tho i admit i dont know much about you i am feeling prrrettyyy confident in my assessment that u are probably some sort of sick deadly bitch

KANAYA: Who Told You My Secret

ROXY: i knews it ;)

ROXY: in fact i would BET

ROXY: that you could USE your concern for all ur future space pups to be WAY extra deadlier in this fray

ROXY: maybe youd make the whole difference??

ROXY: the point is we need you now just as much as anyone in the future will

ROXY: and we are ALL riskin stuff and ALL in this together and if youre with me and rose and john, dont worry we aint gonna let anything happen to you

ROXY: i promise!!!!!

KANAYA: Dang

ROXY: dang?

KANAYA: That Was Really Motivational And I Feel Very Inspired Now

ROXY: for real?!

KANAYA: Yes

KANAYA: A Little Corny But Definitely Genuine And Moving

KANAYA: And Now Im Suddenly Psyched Again To Go Dunk A Narcissistic Fish Woman Into A Sea Dumpster

ROXY: FUCK YES

KANAYA: Not To Project Myself As Someone Fickle Or Lightly Swayed On Big Decisions

KANAYA: Maybe It Was Just A Roughly Thirty Second Spell Of Cold Feet And I Just Snapped Out Of It I Dont Know

KANAYA: But You Really Do Seem To Have A Way With Motivational Words

KANAYA: You Must Be A Natural Leader

KANAYA: I Think Your Group Was Lucky To Have You

ROXY: me?? nuhhh

ROXY: im not naturally good at that at all

ROXY: i mostly just yelled at my friends cause they were such a gaggle of frustrating bozos

ROXY: i guess im just feeling way inspired by the fact everyone is here together and we are all about to try and do something huge and important

ROXY: ive also watched john in action a bit and he is VERY good at that stuff

ROXY: hes actually so good at being inspiring hes inspired me to try and be... more inspiring? that sounds dumb as hell but is true as shit

ROXY: i also love how hes got NO IDEA how good he is at leadery stuff, its

ROXY: it

ROXY: it is so inspirationally friggin adorable

KANAYA: :)

KANAYA: Shall We Go Then

ROXY: we hella shall

#homestuck #kanaya maryam #roxy lalonde #homestuck act 6 #page 7777 #page 7778 #page 7779 #page 7780 #page 7781 #page 7782 #homestuck act 6 act 6 #homestuck act 6 act 6 intermission 5