#Ticket to Ride: First Journey

[boardgoats]

22nd April 2025

The evening began with the sad news that Kath and Ian and their daughters were leaving for a new pub in Shipton Abbot (or was that  Newton Abbot?).  They have been good to the group and worked hard to give us an environment that conducive to gaming, so it is sad to see them moving on, though Devon is quite a nice place.  Everdell is also reputed to be a nice place, and one that some of the group…

[reasonsforhope]

"In an unprecedented success for conservation efforts, a tiny population of Guam kingfishers given a new home has laid its first eggs—after 40 years of the species being extinct in the wild.

Exterminated from its Guam island home by invasive brown tree snakes, the kingfisher, known by Guam locals as a ‘sihek’, has survived entirely in captivity, managed by a global collaboration of conservationists called the Sihek Recovery Program.

The program introduced the birds to the Palmyra Atoll thousands of miles from Guam in order to create a wild-born population that can regain natural skills until their native island has been cleared of the invasive reptile—and the sihek can return to its ancestral home.

GNN reported in September of 2022 that 20 sihek eggs were set to be transferred to Hawaii to be born in an aviary with conditions and flora similar to that of Palmyra Atoll.

The journey to recovery would be long, complex, and in some ways unprecedented. In order to reduce the risk of foreign germs or parasites spreading to atoll, the resulting sihek chicks were going to be hand-reared until 9 of them could be transferred in cages to Palmyra.

After getting their “ticket to ride” by the vet traveling with them, they would finally be able to return to the wilderness. But the program teams didn’t know which of the available prey species the sihek will favor, didn’t know what time of year, considering the 365-day perfect temperatures, the birds will breed, or how far they would disperse.

But despite the miles and the unknowns, their remarkable release last autumn was a success by any reasonable metric. Four female and five male birds quickly explored their new home, learning how to forage and hunt new prey within the tropical forest.

Four pairs have since established territories, built nests, and laid eggs, marking the first time the species has bred in the wild since its extinction from Guam in the 1980s...

Pictured: First confirmed wild-laid sihek eggs in almost 40 years

With the mated pairs less than a year old, this is their first time incubating and caring for eggs, meaning it’s likely it will take a few rounds of egg laying for the birds to hone their skills and hatch chicks, a statement from ZSL read. Nonetheless, these eggs demonstrate both the tremendous resilience of these remarkable birds and the power of conservation to create a second chance for species on the brink of extinction.

“After many long days last year looking after these birds when they were just tiny eggs and chicks, it’s so rewarding to see them beginning their journey towards raising their own chicks in the forests of Palmyra Atoll,” Charlotte James, one of the London Zoo bird keepers who hand-reared the birds.

“It’s hard not to feel like a proud parent seeing them out there thriving and making history—and an honor to be part of the ongoing mission to bring sihek back from the brink of extinction.”

Plans are underway for more young sihek to be released at Palmyra Atoll this summer. Egg laying season is underway at participating (Association of Zoos and Aquariums) AZA-accredited institutions across the US. As they grow to maturity, these chicks will also journey to Palmyra, with the ultimate goal of establishing ten breeding pairs there. The wild sihek at Palmyra Atoll will pave the way for a growing, wild sihek population for the first time in decades.

Then maybe, just maybe, at some point in the distant future, the descendants of these birds who’ve regained their wild skills will be able to practice them on the island of their origin once again."

-via Good News Network, April 26, 2025

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Beginning & End

Summary: Taking a late drive to get your mind off a few things, you get more than you bargained for from a not-so-routine traffic stop.

AO3

A/N: Wasn't sure how to tag this since Agnes is technically an Agatha... variant? persona? Also I didn't tag the Agatha taglist since this isn't technically Agatha? tricky tricky... This is basically just pure smut with a sprinkle of plot.. enjoy xoxo (also let me know if you want more of Agnes?)

Words: 6.2k

Included: Established relationship, Jealousy, Smut; choking, spitting, bdsm, possession, semi-public sex, car sex, fingering, cunnilingus, daddy kink, roleplaying, power dynamics, dom/sub, teasing, begging

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix

You sigh as you lean into the leather seat. The music is loud enough to hurt, but you don’t turn the volume down, glad of the noise even if you don’t feel like singing along. Trees fly by outside the window as you drive. 

A sign passes in a flash but you catch the number; 45. Your speedometer reads 55. 

Making sure you’re alone on the road, you push it to 57 just for kicks. Even as the dark scenes on either side pass in a blur, the road ahead is clear. The moon hangs low and bright above, reflecting off the filled-in parts of the pavement. 

The song changes and you sigh again upon hearing the familiar tune. It only reminds you of your wife; who should be home and in bed with you, but ended up on night-shift instead after hassling a suspect a bit too hard, canceling your planned evening. 

Which leads you to driving the backroads between Westview and Eastview, hoping the journey will tire you out enough that you can sleep. Instead it lands you in the position of blowing past a hidden cop. 

Just your luck. 

You groan as you turn the music down and pull off the road into a flat area of grass. With the lights, you can’t tell if it's a Westview or Eastview officer at first. You have pretty good chances of getting off with a warning if it's one of Agnes’ coworkers. 

But it’s not one of the regular officers. It’s the Chief’s car. You hit your head against the steering wheel. He’s been riding Agnes’ ass for months and will likely give you a hefty ticket just to spite her. 

While you’re hitting your head against the wheel, there’s a knock on your window. You roll it down without looking, “Look, Chief, I know the deal. You can just write me a ticket and I’ll pay it tomorrow.” 

“Oh, will you now?” 

You pause. 

Looking up in disbelief, “Agnes?” 

“That’s Detective O’Connor to you.” Her face doesn’t change from the stern facade, “You were driving pretty recklessly back there. Have you been drinking tonight, ma’am?” 

Subtly as you can manage, you check your side mirror to see if anyone else sits in the police cruiser. It wouldn’t be unlike the Chief to put Agnes through some insane test. No shadows lurk in the other car. 

You drag your eyes back to Agnes. She’s waiting, still just as stoic, but you see the mischief in her eyes. Well, if she wants to play, why not up the stakes?

Tilting your head and smiling, “Of course not, detective. I’ve been a good girl.” 

A split-second pause tells you she wasn’t expecting that. She licks her lips before the act slips back into place. She scoffs. 

“That’s what they all say. Wait here.” Her hand pats the open window before she’s heading back toward the cruiser. 

You watch her walk away in the side mirror with a grin. Her confident gait stirs something in you, always has. 

For a split second you consider throwing the car in drive and peeling out of here. You’re curious to see what Agnes would do. You hope she’d chase you all the way home; that way when you get there you could finally have a taste of what tonight was meant to be. 

You want Agnes painfully. Between work deadlines on your end and long hours on hers, you’ve been too tired to do more than cuddle, or some heavy kissing on a better day. You miss the connection that comes from baring yourselves to one another. And the orgasms, too, of course. 

Agnes is back at your window, breathalyzer in hand. You make a split second decision. 

“Please, detective, I can’t afford another ticket, and my wife will be so mad.” You plead, using that innocent, wide-eyed expression you know turns her on, “Is there anything I can do to… pay it off, per se?” 

To her credit, she doesn’t crack this time, “Are you soliciting an officer of the law, ma’am?” 

“No, of course not! Unless that’s what you want.” 

“Step out of the car.” 

The commanding note in her voice goes straight between your thighs. You open the door and step out, watching her brows raise at only the long nightgown you’re wearing. There’s a chill in the air that makes you shiver. Her eyes are drawn to your chest before she shakes away whatever is going through her mind. 

While you’re enjoying the game, you do hope she’ll let you get back in the car soon. The cold is unmanageable without more substantial clothing. 

Agnes holds up the breathalyzer, “Open your mouth.” 

You do so without thinking. A blush races up your face. Agnes can’t help but smirk. 

It’s not the breathalyzer that finds itself between your lips, but two fingers that settle on your tongue and press. You jolt at the pressure. Tears come to your eyes as you gag, but the weight of her fingers doesn’t ebb. You fight against your gag reflex to curl your tongue around the digits. 

Closing your lips around them, you swirl your tongue like one would around a piece of candy. Even through blurred vision you can see how Agnes’ eyes darken. She leans forward, staring at your lips. 

Her fingers move deeper, pressing harder, fucking your throat. You swallow around them. 

You find your mouth and throat empty as Agnes pulls out. Her hand grabs your face before you can close your mouth and holds it open, fingers wet against your cheek. She grins meanly. 

“Stick out your tongue.” 

The second you do, Agnes spits in your mouth. You whimper. It’s humiliating and you feel yourself clench around nothing. You leave your tongue in the position she demanded, obedient as ever. 

Agnes laughs, “Swallow.” 

Humiliation, in combination with your startling need for her touch, forces the tears to spill over and down your cheeks. The sight of them seems to please her. She’s always loved seeing you thoroughly debased; loves knowing only she can break you down like this. 

Partners in the past did try. Yet they would hesitate, hold back, believing they knew the limits of your desire instead of trusting you. A few would panic when they saw tears in your eyes and pull out of the scene completely. You often found yourself pretending; toning down your desires to ‘acceptable’ levels and leaving yourself unsatisfied to avoid that worried look in your partner’s eyes. 

But you’ve never had to pretend with Agnes. From that first time, she went as far as she wanted, knowing that you were an adult capable of safe-wording if it was too much; it wasn’t. You had been dripping and needy the entire time. You had cried while she sat back and watched you polish her boots with your tongue, and had nearly come undone from the act alone. It was everything you craved—Agnes was everything you craved; trusting, dominating, cruel when it suited, and the most loving partner you’ve ever known. 

You had vowed then and there that you weren’t letting her get away. And how lucky for you that she put a ring on your finger; the ring that is so much more than a symbol of love; but a brand, too, just as you desire. 

“I wonder what your wife would think of you offering yourself up to me,” Agnes muses, “but you’re so eager for it, I can’t help but wonder if she’s not satisfying you properly.” 

“Only you can satisfy me, detective.” You flutter your lashes. 

That draws a real laugh from her. Something inside you preens. You lean forward into Agnes’ space, angling your head for a kiss, but she pulls back. 

“Be that as it may, soliciting an officer is a crime, as is reckless driving.” Her hands reach for her belt, where her handcuffs rest in one of the holsters, “I’m going to have to take you in.” 

Though the idea of being cuffed and fucked however she pleases excites you, you’re not entirely pleased with how your original plan was ruined. Agnes knew where the line was during interrogations and she crossed it. Knowingly. It’s safe to say you’re a little pissed she acted out. 

A mean-spirited voice in your head considers pushing Agnes away entirely, leaving her wet and turned on for the rest of the night shift while you go home and find solace in your favorite toy. The rational part of you knows that no toy can replace your wife, and it’s her you want. You’re just not going to make it easy for her. 

You fall to your knees before she can work the cuffs off her belt. She jolts at the unexpected change. You slam against the ground pretty hard and wince, but don’t dare stop. 

Your hands find her belt buckle. Deftly, you start to undo it, “Please, I can make you feel good. I’ll do anything.” 

Agnes raises her brows. She doesn’t stop you from undoing her belt or slowly lowering the zipper of her pants. There’s a tenseness in her jaw as she thinks over the request. Intent on sealing the deal, you move your hands from the front of her pants; instead leaning forward to place a kiss where they’d just been. 

Looking up through your lashes, you beg, “Please.” 

“Well, since you’re so eager for it.” 

Ignoring the screaming in your knees, you shoot to your feet, capturing Agnes’ lips in a hard kiss. You attack with lips and teeth and tongue. At the same time, you slip your hand inside her pants and past the waistband of her panties. 

She groans against your lips when your fingers play in her wetness. Your fingers ghost over her clit and you grin into the kiss. Two hands settle on your hips and shove, your back hitting the side of your car; it hurts for a moment before you’re once again lost in the feel of your wife, how she’s using her position to grind against your hand, the obscene noises leaving her throat.

Your clit throbs with every roll of her hips. It’s intoxicating that she’s just taking what she wants, using you as a toy to achieve her own pleasure. But the desire between your own legs reminds you of the end goal. 

Agnes’ hips pick up speed, her usual low groans evolving into panting, high-pitched whimpers. She’s so close. You consider letting her have what she wants. 

Moments before she can fall over the edge you pull your hand from her pants. Hands settling on her chest, you shove her back. She jolts and stumbles. Her fucked-out expression from seconds earlier shifts to confusion, then anger. 

“What the fuck?” Agnes snarls. 

“You’ve been bad, detective.” Still leaning against the car, you cross your arms over your chest, “Or should I say Daddy.” 

Agnes stands straighter. There’s steel in her spine now, jaw taught as darkness comes over her expression. Amusement alights inside your chest. 

Her hands begin to unravel the belt from the loops of her pants, “I’m going to paint your backside blue.” 

“I don’t think so.” Your voice is hard. “You see, I had a lovely evening planned for us. Dinner, a movie, clean sheets for us to spend all night ruining. And we didn’t get to enjoy any of it because someone couldn’t control her temper. So you, daddy, are going to fuck me until I decide I’m ready to forgive you.” 

“It’s cute that you think you’re in control, baby.” 

Agnes steps into your space, belt in her hands. You stop her with a hand on her chest before she can get close enough to do anything. 

“I am in control.” 

“Those with the upper hand don’t usually have to state the fact.” 

You tilt your head, “If you don’t give me what I want, you’re not going to touch me for weeks. I’ll fuck myself and all you’ll be able to do is watch. And I’ll stuff all the pairs of panties I ruin into your bag, your pockets… everywhere you go, you’ll be reminded of just what you’re missing.” 

The smug expression slowly slips from her face. She tries to push forward again, but you’re unyielding; clenching your fist in the fabric of her shirt until she feels the subtle bite of your nails. There’s fury and a small trace of fear in her eyes. 

It’s rare that you have the upper hand. Usually Agnes is twelve steps ahead of everyone—you included. But this time she miscalculated, and she’s going to pay for it. 

“Your choice, daddy.”

She scoffs. Shaking her head, a few pieces of her hair free themselves from her low ponytail. They lay in and over her face before she blows them out of the way carelessly. She hasn’t been taking care of it, you can tell; and briefly, you consider if you can get away with commandeering her into taking better care of herself. 

You likely shouldn’t push your luck. Agnes is going to punish you enough for this stunt, you’re sure. 

The belt is tossed onto the ground a few feet away in a silent show of surrender. Her eyes are dark, churning with a mixture of fury and arousal. A brief moment passes where you wonder if you’re taking this a bit too far, but you shove it down; Agnes is an adult just as you are and will tell you if you cross any hard lines. 

“Is the heat on in the cruiser?” You ask. 

She pauses, taken-aback, “Yeah, of course.” 

“Good. You’re going to fuck me in it later. But first—” 

You open the back door of your own car as wide as it can go, just so you can perch on the seat with your feet still outside. With a smile, you open your legs wide. You hadn’t considered this outcome when you left the house for your drive, so your panties are relatively plain, but it doesn’t matter since they’re soaked through. 

Agnes takes a step forward and you hold up a finger. She pauses. You point at the ground. 

Her face goes red, “Not fucking likely.” 

And then she’s on you. She’s holding herself up with one hand on the seat, the other dragging your face to hers. Her body rests perfectly between your legs. With a low moan, you roll your hips against her front. 

Her grip on your face is painful. Thank god her nails are clipped short. 

Agnes pulls away from your mouth to bite and suck at your throat. You throw your head back, still grinding up against her, moaning with abandon. The friction is nice but it isn’t what you wanted. 

“I want you to eat me out.” You force out. 

“I don’t care what you want.” Agnes growls. 

“Oh? Well, I guess I should be prepared to handle my own orgasms for a while, then.” 

As you say that, you stop grinding, and lay fully against the seat, one of your arms snaking its way down your front and between your thighs. You’ve only circled a finger around your clit twice before her hand catches your wrist in a punishing grip. 

“Try it and I’ll tie you to the bed everyday when I go to work.” 

“I made my terms abundantly clear.” 

“You know what you forgot though, brat?” Agnes taunts, lips right next to your ear, “You’re too greedy to settle for your hand or your little toys. It’s only a matter of time before you get bored and come crawling back to me.” 

“Maybe I’ll just crawl to someone else. Agent Vidal has been hanging around.” 

A hand closes around your throat and you whine. She squeezes, your vision going fuzzy around the edges. You roll your hips. 

“I’ll lock you in the house if you even think about it.” Her voice is hard, promising, “You’re mine, baby.” 

“Prove it.” 

That’s the wrong thing to say. 

Agnes pulls back completely. Her hands leave you, the pressure of her body is gone. You look up and she’s standing just far enough away that you can’t touch her. You growl. 

The look on her face is one you’ve seen a dozen times; the very same one she wears when you’re about to endure something you don’t like. But you vow not to let her have the upper hand. Not this time. This time, you’re going to make her bend. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She says. 

The words are like a bucket of cold water over your head. You don’t spend long dwelling on the threat, there’s no time. 

Agnes is halfway back to the police cruiser when you worm your hand into your panties and bury two fingers inside without preamble. Despite being the source of your own pleasure, you jolt, back bowing off the seat. The moan that leaves your lips is exaggerated; pornographic. 

“Oh, yes!” 

You hear her footsteps come to a stop. You don’t dare open your eyes, not yet. The pleasure you’re experiencing is real, even if it is half of what it could be with Agnes’ help, but you have to keep up the act—have to make her jealous of your own fingers. 

Though she hates to admit it, Agnes is jealous in all aspects of life. There’s a bit of healthy competitiveness worked in there that you can admire. Yet some days… some days she comes home fighting mad, hair a mess and muscles clenched tight as she recounts the events that made her that way. And lately they’ve all had the same person involved—

Agent Rio Vidal. 

A loaner agent from the FBI, here to figure out some of the more poignant details of a murder on the Westview-Eastview county line. She’s confident and cutting and painfully attractive. Somehow, she knows how to push every single one of Agnes’ buttons, in work and play. 

You’ve only met her twice and each time Agnes was an animal afterward. The appreciative glances and suggestive words made you blush—and though you won’t admit it, turned you on a good bit—while Agnes could barely hold herself back from attacking the woman. So possessive. So jealous. 

You can use that. 

The door on the other car hasn’t opened and you know she’s watching with rapt attention. You put on a good show, rolling your hips into your one hand while pinching at your chest with the other. You could get off on her watching. 

Another exaggerated, high-pitched moan, “Oh, Agent Vidal!” 

Though the woman is attractive, you can’t imagine anyone but your wife. Agnes doesn’t need to know that. 

Strong hands grab your calves and pull you half-way out of the car. You squeak, eyes snapping open. Agnes looms above you and oh fuck you’re in trouble. 

“You little bitch.” She snarls, hand coming to wrap around your throat.

You try to moan but she doesn’t give you that much air. Another deft hand rips your own from your panties, even going so far as to rip the fabric off completely. There’s the ghost of her fingers above your center. You roll your hips. 

The sensation of loss and blurry edges is usually a huge turn-on; maybe it’s the intense change from oxygen to no oxygen, but you’re struggling more than normal. You tap her wrist three times. 

Agnes pulls away completely. Her hand is off your neck, the other gone from between your thighs. You take in large lungfuls of air and feel your heart-rate slow just a little. A little whine works its way from your throat, though it’s mainly a result of the throbbing between your legs that’s still driving you crazy. 

Your wife’s hands hover over you, eyes concerned, “Honey?” 

“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.” You assure, sitting up and kissing one of her palms, “The quick change just… startled me. I’m okay.” 

“Should I… Do you need me to take you home?” 

“Oh no, Agnes O’Connor, you’re going to finish what you started.” Spreading your legs offers an obscene picture of just how soaked you are, made even more tantalizing by the ripped panties clinging to your thigh, “Unless you want me to find someone else who can finish the job.” 

It’s like flipping a switch. 

Overwhelming is a word that could be used to describe Agnes in bed—smothering, even. She has a way of overtaking every single one of your senses at once. Your skin is on fire with her touch, with the faint strands of hair tickling your face. The scent of burnt break-room coffee clings to her jacket. You even taste it when her tongue invades your mouth, moaning obscenely against your lips. 

You like being smothered, though. You crave it; aching for anything that will let you turn your mind off and just feel. 

Agnes pulls back. Her breath is hot against your lips, “You’re such a brat.” 

“Only for you, daddy.” You murmur. 

A shudder passes through her at the name. Her grip tightens on you, near bruising. You moan. 

“Where do you want me?” 

“With your mouth between my legs.” 

“Fingers?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Agnes chuckles, “So you do remember your manners. Interesting.” 

You roll your eyes. To your luck, Agnes doesn’t see—if she had, you would have been punished accordingly. Though you realize things are a bit off-balance with your threat hanging in the air; any other time, Agnes would have you bent anyway she pleased, taking all she wanted until you couldn’t handle any more. 

Being in control is… odd. Not unwanted, but odd. You have to be more aware of yourself, confident in every command that leaves your lips. You’re glad that this is Agnes’ preferred role even if you’re enjoying the change. 

Lips kiss the inside of your thighs and you shudder. When she sinks her teeth in, you squeal, jolting at the change. Your hand falls to the top of her head. 

“Not what I meant!” 

“Oh, then what did you mean?” She taunts. 

“If you don’t make me come right now so help me—” 

The heat of her mouth on you is enough to shut you up. Her tongue drags up your slit with agonizing slowness. She teases at your clit for only a moment before repeating the slow drag, making you whine, pressing her head closer. 

You feel the rumble of her laughter and god help you the vibrations feel amazing. Yet when you try to move your hips for more, her hands keep them pressed firmly to the leather seat. 

Another threat sits on your lips that never comes to pass. With the last slow lick, she fastens her lips around your clit and sucks, hard. It’s painful and wonderful and your back bows off the seat, hands scrambling for anything to clench into. The weeks have been long and you know you’re not going to last. 

“I’m going to come.” You force out. 

She laughs again. That, in combination with her attention focused solely on your clit, sends you straight over the edge. You feel wild, unhinged as your hips move without any guidance from your mind, chasing the waves of pleasure that make your every muscle go taut. 

But when the pleasure subsides, Agnes doesn’t stop. She pushes two fingers inside and curls them in that way you like so much. You clench around them, though you ache, not ready for more so soon. 

“I can’t—Please, I can’t.” You beg. 

“One more, baby. You can give me that, can’t you?” 

“I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

And you do. Her fingers know every inch of you well, her mind cataloging every spot that makes you whine, every move she performs that sends you over the edge. She calls on that knowledge as the pads of her fingers rub against that spot inside you with abandon until you can’t breathe, shrieking and moaning loud enough that you worry someone will hear you miles away. 

The pleasure tenses your body so tight that you worry the muscles will never relax again. It hurts in that delicious way only Agnes can bring out. 

When you do relax, she’s licking gently at you, collecting the flavor on her tongue and savoring it like a fine wine. You twitch. The hand you have in her hair pushes as you attempt to slide further onto the seat, away from her mouth. 

“No more,” you beg, “please.” 

“Am I forgiven?” 

You laugh, breathless, “Not quite.” 

You tug her up wordlessly until the weight of her is draped over you. It’s nice, comforting to feel her close. Her warmth helps fight against the cold biting at your lower half. Sighing, you bury your face in her neck, your hand coming up to lazily play with her hair. 

Agnes accepts the touch. She traces little patterns on your hip over the nightgown, soft and quiet. You can still see the red and blue lights from your hiding place in her neck. 

“Why do you have the Chief’s car?” You ask. 

She scoffs, “Mine broke down three hours into the shift. Had to call the Chief and walk all the way to his house to get the cruiser.” 

“What? Agnes, why didn’t you call me?” 

“I wanted you to enjoy your night in, honey.” 

You think about arguing, but you recognize the exhaustion in her voice, and decide not to push it—for now. It’s an argument you can save for later. 

“So what was it, the battery? I thought we just replaced it.” 

“I think the old girl might just be done for. We’ve had her for a while.” Agnes shrugs. 

“But that’s… we brought Nicky home in that car.” You whisper, chest aching. 

Another piece of your life—connected to your baby—that you won’t get to keep. Agnes tenses, her breathing growing ragged, and you feel terrible; she’s likely already thought about this the whole shift, spent all these hours remembering it alone. That’s why she didn’t call you—she didn’t want to drag you bag into the deep end of the pain, too. 

You press a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. No wonder she took the first opportunity to play with you, she needed the distraction. 

“I’m sorry, my love.” You murmur.

“Not your fault, honey. These things happen.” 

She sounds less and less like herself with every moment. You don’t want to shove the grief aside—the grief counselor said that only made things worse—but this isn’t how you want to handle it; Agnes draped over your freshly-debauched form in the backseat of your car. 

This is a conversation, a breakdown for home, where the two of you can take all the time you need to soak in the new loss. You need to distract her away from this. 

“Will the force offer you one of their vehicles?” 

“Yeah. They should.” 

“Where did you break down?” 

“By the bridge on Old Forest.” 

Perfect. 

“Let’s give her a proper sendoff, then.” 

Agnes pauses. The look she gives you is questioning, as if not quite believing your suggestion, but she knows better—knows you’re serious about this. 

“Alright.” 

Which is how you find yourself halfway across town, on a back road with no streetlights, pulling off perilously close to a ditch. Agnes' car is unmistakable even in the dark—from the extra mirror on the hood reflecting the moonlight to the dent in the back bumper she never got fixed. You feel suddenly overwhelmed as you trace your fingers over the body. 

So many memories, good and bad. Your late-night trysts in the back seat. Bringing Nicky home. The back seat full of his stinky sports gear. Agnes’ old case files winding up on the floor. 

Agnes comes up and drapes her jacket over your shoulders. The warmth of her body has seeped into the cloth, now blocking out the chill in the air, “This might not be the best idea.” 

You raise a brow, “Cold feet, detective?” 

“Mine are nice and warm. Yours, however...” 

She looks up and down your scantily-clad form with a worried furrow of her brow. It’s sweet, but not needed. 

“I don’t think our plans will keep me anything but warm.” You smile, leaning back against the car while pulling Agnes close, until every inch of her is pressed against your front. Her hands settle on your hips as she kisses you with a softness belaying the vulnerability she still feels, “Unlock the car.” 

“Honey—” 

“Agnes, would you rather I went home?” You murmur. 

“Of course not.” 

“Then what do you want?”

“Beats me.”

“You know what I want?” 

Using your leverage against the vehicle, you draw one of your feet up the inside of Agnes’ leg, careful to press every part of yourself against her. Her warmth radiates through her flannel and jeans and you smile. 

She raises a brow, “I’m sure I can guess.” 

“I want you to bend me over in the backseat of this car like you did that first time. You remember, don’t you? How pissed you were that I’d been teasing you for five dates.” You laugh at the memory, “You couldn’t even make it out of the restaurant parking lot.” 

“You were so loud we almost got caught.” She recalls, voice low, gravelly. 

“There’s no one around to catch us now.” 

Agnes wraps one of her arms around your waist and uses it to tug you sideways, making quick work of unlocking the car. With the hand not on your waist, she opens the back door, and eases her jacket from your shoulders. She lays it out on the cold seats with the warm side up. 

Not for the first time, you’re moved by her consideration of your comfort. It would be so easy for a partner to disregard the little things if it meant getting to the end goal faster; but not Agnes. You reward her with a long, slow kiss. 

When she pulls away, there’s a fond little smile on her lips. She pats your hip, “On your hands and knees.” 

You obey without question. Crawling onto the backseat, you’re reminded of just how confined the space of a car is. You have to keep your head bowed so as not to hit your head on the roof. It’ll be worth your while, but you know the two of you will be feeling the adverse effects of this choice for days. 

Agnes follows and shuts the door behind her. She works her way into the backseat until not a bit of space exists between the two of you. Every inch of her front is pressed against you, draped over you like a warm blanket. You push your backside back into her crotch, teasing. 

“I should’ve sent you home to get your purple.” You say. 

“Be good and you can have my cock later.” 

Warm fingertips trail up the back of your thigh until they snake under the hem of your nightgown. The soothing heat of her touch is lovely compared to the bite of the cold air. You lean into it. 

“Yes, daddy.” You sigh. 

Her body pulls away from yours and you turn, confused. A sharp slap to your backside makes your breath stutter, your core clenching around nothing. Your toes curl. 

“Interesting that you want to be good now, when you’ve been testing me all night.” 

“What can I say? I’m motivated by rewards.” 

You’re satisfied that Agnes seems to be in the moment, rather than locked up in the memories in her head. Intent on keeping it that way, you lean back into her, arching so you can match her entirely. Her muscles go taut and relax and being able to feel it makes you ravenous. 

Two fingers push your ripped panties aside and begin to drag up your slit, teasing. It should be noted that you are trying to be good for her, offering the control she takes to so well. You like to think she can tell, too. 

When she slips her fingers inside you without torturing you further, you’re sure she knows. 

You push back, desperate. You want more of her and bad. It’s as if the orgasms she gave you less than an hour ago never happened. Every muscle in your body quakes with the knowledge of what only Agnes can give you. And you want it so deeply that it threatens to bring tears to your eyes. 

“Please.” You beg without prompting, “Please, more.” 

A split-second hesitation belays her surprise, but she does slip another finger inside, stretching you even wider. You can’t stop how you move, nor the noises that come out of your mouth. You feel cursed with hunger only she can sate. 

It’s this car, this backseat, and the memories here that are driving you so mad. It’s the life attached to it that you never thought you would get; a family, a future, a wife who loves you despite all the ugly parts others had run from. It’s the years you haven’t had to live out alone, the pain you’ve shared. It’s the fact that this act was once a beginning and now it’s an end. 

Her lips press against the back of your neck, impossibly gentle, so unlike the role she’s meant to be playing. Something inside you breaks. 

“Agnes—“ You choke out. 

“It’s okay, honey.” 

You let go. 

You let go from holding yourself back—fucking yourself on her fingers until you shriek with pleasure. You let go of the ball of emotions in your chest, of hunger and pleasure and guilt. You let go of the pain and let tears spill over onto your cheeks. 

It’s not the best orgasm you’ve ever had, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s a goodbye to this piece of your life. It’s an end. And it hurts just the same as it feels good to embrace the potential of something new. 

Agnes holds you, steady as ever. You feel the dampness of her own tears on your neck. 

You turn and lay on your back, welcoming the weight of her. You use your thumbs to wipe away the tears coming from her beautiful blue eyes. 

“Am I forgiven, or do we have to go another round?” She asks.

You grin, not taking your hands from her face, “You’re forgiven, my love.” 

“Thank god.” 

Agnes drops her head until it rests on your chest. You laugh, extracting the hair tie so you can run your fingers through the length of it. Her arms wrap around you as much as they can. 

She presses a kiss to your chest, over where your heart is. You gently work through a knot in between your fingers. The windows are clouded with perspiration. Beads of water reflect what little moonlight peeks through the trees. Moonlight or no, you know every dip and curve of your wife’s form, and could identify every part of her without sight. 

The stale coffee smell has worn off, replaced by the faint undertones of the cologne she wears each morning. It’s deep and musky and comforting. 

Maybe it’s the weight of her head on your chest in combination with the memories that makes you speak, “Have you ever thought about us trying again?” 

She tilts her head so she can look up into your eyes without lifting from her resting place. Her brows are furrowed.

“Trying again?”  

The weight of her beautiful eyes on you almost makes you change the subject. These conversations are so much easier without that layer of intimacy. But you’ve started something and you’ll be damned if you don’t finish it. 

“To be parents.” You whisper. 

“I’m a little past due on that, baby.” Her smile is self-deprecating. 

“I’m not.” 

“You never wanted to carry. I remember that much.” 

“That was then.” You continue smoothing through her hair, “Now… If you want to try again, I’ll do it. I want to do it.” 

You can’t decipher the look in her eyes. She doesn’t pull away, but she’s tense. 

“We don’t need to decide right now. We have time.” 

She nods, “Alright.” 

“You’ll still be daddy, even if you aren’t my baby-daddy.” 

“That was terrible.” 

It doesn’t stop her from grinning, nor does it stop you from laughing. Something in the tension eases. You can’t lean down and kiss her like this, so you press a kiss to the pads of your fingers, and press them to her lips. She nips at them playfully. 

The quiet is nice, but you can feel the cold settling into your bones. You need to be back in a heated car before you get sick. 

“When is your shift over?” 

“In a few hours.” 

You nod, figuring out what time she’ll come home and how it fits into your schedule, “I have nothing after work if you want me to make good on those orgasms I owe you.” 

“I look forward to it.” 

It takes some time, but you and Agnes manage to untangle yourselves and worm your way out of the back seat. She sits, keeping you wrapped in her coat, until the inside of your own car is nice and warm. That earns her a few lingering kisses. 

She trails you on the drive home before speeding off to do god knows what during the last few hours of her shift. And when you fall asleep—already feeling sore—an eagerness sets in your chest of what awaits. With an end, a new beginning. 

[wileys-russo]

https://www.tumblr.com/wileys-russo/753695268809162752/its-giving-alba-and-fresa?source=share

could we pleaseeee get a litle fic about this 😭

the void masterlist

the roadtrip (before the void blurb) II a.putellas

if there was anything your mami was a sucker for, it was family traditions, especially after your papi passed away, believing they would make the four of you closer together.

so every boxing day when you were all exhausted and still bloated full of copious amounts of food you'd pile into the car together and drive six hours to your tio's house to spend a couple of days before you'd return to barcelona for new years.

the drive had always been, interesting, to say the least with the four of you cooped up in a car together for so many hours and as little breaks or stops as eli could manage.

alexia and alba had both begged to take a plane, offering to even pay for the tickets which would shorten the trip to only fifty five minutes and give the luxury of being able to stretch your legs and use the bathroom at will.

but though they'd asked for years, they'd been shot down each time with a firm shake of the head and a warning look from eli when they tried to argue their point further, giving up with defeated groans and going back to packing.

you however loved the journey, you loved the view, the snacks, the talking, story telling. but as your sisters grew up they became less interested in these things and more in their headphones, naps or books which left you normally bored and restless since eli had to focus on the road.

you always sat in the back, on the right behind eli while alexia always rode up front, alba sat behind her begrudgingly as every year she'd lose the battle for the coveted front seat.

"maybe next year hermana." alexia would smirk after easily yanking alba out of the seat she'd just camped out in for a half hour before you were due to leave in hopes this might clench it for her, eli dismissing the argument with a wave of her hand.

the first few hours were normally civil, with everyone in a halfway decent mood still riding out the high of the holidays there was lots to discuss, mostly whatever scraps of family drama and gossip alba managed to find out as she moved from seat to seat around the table during christmas dinner.

then you'd all stop briefly, just to use the bathroom and be bribed with snacks at a rest stop.

"aquí pequeña." alexia mumbled with a mouthful of food, tossing you whatever candy or snack you'd requested, often a couple of extra than you'd normally be allowed which you knew well enough to hide before eli got back to the car as your eldest sister gave you a wink and motioned to zip her lips before she did her seat belt back up.

though after the rest stop was usually when the cracks started to show.

"oh for me? gracias fres!" alba gasped sarcastically, swiping the packet of sweets from your hand as you frowned and reached for them back, held off easily with her hand against your forehead.

"give it!" you huffed, only seven years old so regrettably with arms not long enough to snatch back whatever snack the seventeen year old had snaked from you.

"what? you don't know how to share with your hermana?" your sister teased, tipping half the packet into her mouth as you gasped and pushed harder against her hand much to her amusement. "you didn't ask!" you fiddled around with your own seat belt before it finally clicked undone.

letting out a cry you lunged at her, scratching and clawing, alexia having tuned you both out cluelessly with her earphones shoved in and sunglasses dropped over her eyes.

"give it!" you grunted, stood up on the seats and trying your best to get the much taller girl into a choke hold. "just take it then." alba grinned, still easily holding them out of your reach as you jumped on top of her right as eli slid inside.

"oye! basta ya!" the older woman warned, reaching over to smack both of you on the leg right as you sunk your teeth into alba's hand and she yelled, shoving you back into your seat as your back thumped into the door.

"don't push her!" alexia finally decided to pull one of her earphones out as alba kicked her seat, her own head whipping around as she leaned over to punch your other older sister in the thigh.

"all of you! stop!" eli yelled right as alba leaned forward to retaliate and your leg shot out to kick into her ribs, causing her to drop your candy which you scrambled to snatch back, groaning when most of it had now been eaten or dropped on the floor.

"mami she bit me!" "mami she took my candy!" "then she punched me!" "mami she pushed the baby!" "i am not a baby!" "you are too!"

after a stern warning and another disagreement between your sisters about taking turns in the front seat, alexia winning out with the 'i'm older, taller and i need the leg room' argument, you were back on the road and all in a significantly worse mood.

"fresa if a single part of you crosses this line, i will snap it in half." alba warned drawing an invisible line through the middle of the seat in between you as both you and alexia rolled your eyes in sync.

"alba." eli sighed tiredly with a shake of her head, your sister ignoring the warning and crossing her arms, looking out the window as your mami just turned up the radio to try and drown you all out.

of course though with nothing to do but think, it didn't take you long to come up with a loop hole.

for christmas you'd been gifted a clever hand made wooden puzzle from your albuelo, it was linked together with elastics and could be manipulated into almost any shape without breaking or coming apart.

to everyones surprise it was your favourite thing you'd gotten all day, spending the entire afternoon messing about with it, so naturally eli had packed it for you to amuse yourself with on the journey.

grabbing the puzzle out of your bag with a few moves you'd managed to make it into a straight line, around thirty or so centimeters long with all of the pieces locked together like that.

you glanced to the side and smiled noticing alba's eyes had closed as she rested her head on her hand, leaning against the window clearly dozing off. so with the puzzle in hand you crossed the line, poking her a few times with it and quickly pulling it back as her hand tried to snatch it.

"fresa if you touch me again, you die." alba mumbled, eyes still closed as her nostrils flared and your smile widened, waiting a few minutes until she settled again.

*poke, poke, poke*

"what did i say!" your sister shot upright, eyes snapping open as again you yanked the puzzle just out of her grip. "not to cross the line with any part of me or you'll snap it." you parroted.

"sí. so give me your hand i'm gonna break it!" alba growled as you shook your head. "no. my hand didn't cross the line, this did!" you grinned wiggling your puzzle happily.

"well if that crosses the line one more time...its going out the window." your sister warned quietly with a glare before settling herself again.

but of course, growing bored again after a few minutes you didn't listen.

*poke poke poke*

this time you were quick to pull the puzzle away and drop it to the floor where your sister couldn't reach, and without it to follow through on her threat alba hit you instead.

"no no no i'm sorry i'm sorry!" she whispered frantically seeing the tears well up in your eyes and your bottom lip start to wobble. "no no pequeña don't cry!" alba practically begged but by then it was too late as you audibly sobbed first capturing alexia's attention and then eli's.

"fres? nena what's wrong?" alexia turned around right away with a frown, reaching her hand out toward you as you linked your fingers with hers. "alba hit me! it really hurt." you sniffled wiping your nose with your free hand as alexia's eyes flickered to alba whose were wide in fear.

"ale i-" "i am going to kill you."

"alexia!" eli sighed as your eldest sister dropped your hand and lunged, alba curling up into a ball as best she could to avoid the hands lashing out at her as your mami did her best to tug alexia back into her seat.

"stop it! all three of you sit still, no talking, no touching, no moving. dios mío you are giving me a headache and we are barely halfway there!" eli raised her voice silencing all of you as alexia reluctantly settled but not before sending alba another deathly glare of warning and sneaking you a chocolate bar as your eyes lit up.

though as alba caught your gaze to apologize again her own eyes widened as you smiled smugly, tear tracks dried on your face as you happily munched away on your snack and your sisters features hardened and she shook her head.

"diablillo."

around the four hour mark you'd grown bored again, and so had alexia whose music was failing to entertain her anymore as her arm snuck back and tapped your knee.

catching your gaze in the reflection she made a gesture and your face lit up knowing exactly what it meant, another favorite way to pass the time during these trips.

"alba." you kicked her lightly as she hummed and rubbed her eyes, awoken from a nap as she raised an eyebrow in your direction. you began to make gagging noises as she suddenly woke right up and clutched her stomach.

"stop, right now." your sister warned through gritted teeth, alexia catching your eye with a grin and an encouraging nod as you fake retched louder and began to gag.

"stop or i swear-" alba started to warn but as you made a particularly realistic retching noise her face paled and she covered her mouth and blocked her nose, shaking her head.

"fresa." eli warned seriously catching onto what was happening but it was too late as you gagged again and alba cracked. "mami por favor pull over. pull over!" the girl could barely get the words out as eli swore under her breath and quickly pulled to the side, stopping the car.

right as the car stopped moving your sisters door was open and she was rushing to the nature strip, emptying the contents of her stomach as both you and alexia tried to hide your laughter behind your hands.

"they do this every time! voy a mataros a los dos." alba grunted out before alexia gagged this time and she was doubled over again as the pair of you made no move to hide your laughter.

"why are such a bad influence on your hermana? grow up ale!" your eldest sister whined as eli's hand slapped against the back of her head with a loud smack.

"get in the back ya mismo, alba gets the front." eli pointed as alexia sighed but didn't argue, wincing again as eli's hand collected with her back as she did, mumbling under her breath about making it there in time for lunch.

"one more argument and the three of you can sleep in the backyard in a tent, together."

much paler than normal but seemingly steady again alba dragged herself into the front seat as alexia clipped in and patted the middle seat right beside her, both of you ignoring the death threats muttered under the breath of your middle sister.

"vamos fresita, nap time." alexia wrapped an arm around you as you settled into the middle seat and leaned into her, shaking your head.

"i'm not tired." you mumbled, but your sisters fingers threading through your hair and scratching at your scalp had the words sounding much less sure than you'd intended, eyes already starting to close, and within a couple of minutes you were out like a light.

[xxaraaq]

wc | 1.04k

cw | unprotected sex, car sex

Farmhand! Toij x Southern! reader

A/N | It's been so since my last post so please forgive me for that, I just needed to take a break. I'm a bit rusty, but I hope you still enjoy.

Mr. Farmhand Toji, all big and mean and tan with his southern drawl and swoon worthy smile. He hasn’t seen you in a while, and you’ve changed.

He remembers you from way back when: the knobby kneed, skin and bones girl who would somehow always convince your daddy to save at least one cow from the drove before they were sent off to slaughter. Yeah, you were different now – much different. You were grown now, and you looked the part.

“Don't go lookin’ for trouble now, you’re ten years her senior.” Warned Nanami when he caught Toij’s eyes wandering. It ain’t like you're a little girl anymore. A college graduate ready to take over the logistics part of your fathers massive farm, he’s sure you know how to handle yourself. And it’s not like he's the only guilty party. He’s felt your gaze on him ever since you got here, going out your way to make sure that he knows you’re back in town. 

He finally caught you at the country fair, all dressed up in your cowboy boots and low rise jean shorts, a real sight to see. “How we doin’ today ladies?” He comes from behind, catching both you and your friends off guard. You turn to see him, covered in dirt fresh off his shift, face fine as can be with his eyes dead set on you. “I think it would be right to say that we’ve been havin’ a great day so far, ain’t that right girls?” You say, saccharine sweet smile forming on your face. They nod, and you don’t have to break your neck to sense the look they have on their faces. You haven’t stopped talking about the man in front of you since your foot first landed on the dirt road of your hometown, and it doesn’t take but a second for the two of them to scamper off, saying something about getting more money from the ATM machine to buy more tickets. Just the two of you now, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this hot and bothered. 

The two of you walk with no destination in mind, basking in the sounds of children running rampant and the buzzing of the rides. “I don’t think we’ve spoken since you were still kickin’ and cryin’ about havin’ to see your favorite heifer sent off to the stockyard.” He watches you, watches how your hips sway side to side and how your cleavage shines through your too tight shirt. You smile at the memory of you begging your mother to convince your dad to let you keep at least one of them on the farm, crying and crying about how you would personally take care of it. “Well that was a long time ago Toji, and for your information,” You stop dead in your tracks, hand on your hip and devilish smirk on your face. “It wasn’t all too long ago when you were always getting sent to clean up horse shit for sneaking girls onto the property, so let’s agree to say that we’ve been on a journey of self growth.” Your voice is sultry, music to his ears if he admitted. He bends down just low enough to get close, making your body heat up. He smirks, eyes clouded with something that soaked your panties. “Are you sass mouthin’ me, Mrs. City girl?” He asks, and you find yourself emboldened to keep on. “What are gonna do if I am, Mr. Country boy?” You look him up and down, practically eye fucking him.

This is what you get for being bold.

“I- I can’t, s’too much.” Hand pushing – well, trying to push him from you. The car is fogging up, heat only helping to blur your mind even more. “What happened to that - fuck - that smart mouth? Thought your bite could back up your bark.” It’s overwhelming the way he’s fucking into you, his thick length filling you up too good. His truck shakes from the sheer force of his thrusts, all of it almost too much to handle. You can barely register what he’s saying, mind occupied with how deep he’s managed to reach inside you. You didn’t expect this, the intoxicating feeling he gives you as he buries your head into his leather seats. The men on your campus can’t even compare to him, skinny as a twig if placed next to Toji. “M’- shit -m’ cumming!” He doesn’t let up for a second, only pushing your back into the meanest arch you think you’ve ever been in. 

Your orgasm crashes through your body, leaving you speechless as your body jerks from the aftershocks. But he’s not done, not yet. You’re certain he’s going to drive you to insanity the way he ruts into you like a man starved. Your words come out incoherent, barely stringing together a sentence as pulls you to his chest by your hair. “You feel good, hmm?” His scent envelops whatever part of your brain that’s still working, the smell of his sweat and sex overriding your senses. “Yes, s, s’good, so good.” A blissed out smile graces your face, arms reaching out to grab whatever you can to try and ground yourself. “Shit,” His thrusts grow irregular, irate even, as his orgasm draws closer and closer with each passing second. He cums deep inside you, a raw growl crawling out from the deepest parts of him as his thrusts slow. 

The two of you collapse onto the seat, flushed and exhausted with remnants of pleasure coursing through you. You feel him pull out of you with a hiss, his seeding dribbling out of you. “I could go for a chili dog right about now.” He groans, stretching out like there’s an infinite amount of space to do so. “Are you really thinkin’ about food right now?” You roll your eyes, blindly searching for your shirt. He answers with a simple nod, chest glistening with sweat as he zips up his jeans. He props himself up on his elbow, somehow invading your personal space despite everything. “Would you care to join me for a ride on the carousel?” He asks, low voice making you hot and bothered all over again. 

You’ve changed, but he sure hasn’t.

-Nene

[readwithsahana]

window seat ✭ OP81 ✭

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

On a train you don’t want to be on, to Melbourne you find yourself sitting in the aisle next to a charming young man, about to ask for the window seat…

warnings…none!

author’s note…Hi lovelies, i’m Sahana! nice to meet you all. This is my first fanfic on tumblr and i hope you guys like it!! Requests are open and i’ve got way too much free time so go for it 🤍!!

———————————————————————

You were walking on into a train that’ll take you from Queenscliff to Melbourne and you definitely didn’t want to be there. Truth be told, the only reason you came on this trip was because your company forced you to, for some boring conference. You’d rather be back at home doing anything but this but you had no choice.

The stale air in the station made you want to throw up, as it always does. The weight of your bag felt much heavier than yesterday, but that may just be the extra unenthusiam you were carrying.

As you stepped up from the station onto the train, the air-con hit you like a bitch.

“Why is it always so damn cold on these things?”

You muttered to yourself hating every second of this day already.

You looked at your ticket, for the 100th time today, hoping it was actually a Disneyland pass and you’d just seen it wrong…but of course, your life didn’t let anything nice happen to you.

“1B, 1B, 1B…”

You repeated quietly to yourself, as your eyes scanned the seat numbers written until you finally found yours.

It was the aisle…

You would have to be staring at someone’s bald head in front of you….

For 3 hours straight…

Fun.

You saw the guy sitting in the window seat on his phone. He looked young, probably not much older if not the same age as you. And he didn’t seem to be all that in love with the window seat. So…maybe he’d let you switch?

“Hey, excuse me?”

He looked up at you, his hazel brown eyes meeting yours. Oh…he’s cute.

You took a deep breath and began your plea.

“Do you mind if we switch seats? It’s no problem if you don’t want to, its up to you, its just if you wouldn’t mind sitting in the aisle, we ca-“

A small smile along with a soft chuckle appeared on his face as he heard you rambling on and on so he politely interrupted - you had secretly thanked him for, respectfully, shutting you the fuck up. It was starting to get long.

“Sure, go for it.”

You were a little surprised by how nicely he accepted…that wasn’t so hard. He got up and made way for you to sit inside, and then sat down in the aisle seat.

“Thanks for that.”

“Oh no problem, i’m not really one for window seats anyways.”

He smiled. You swore you felt butterflies for a second.

Theres a second of silence, but it surprisingly wasn’t awkward.

“I’m Oscar, by the way.” He smiled again. There was no doubt he was attractive, but his smile was something else…

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. So, not a fan of windows? Or scenic views?”

Oscar can’t help but let out a soft chuckle at your humour. He catches himself subtly admiring your features…you were really beautiful. Not what he thought this train ride had in store for him, though he wasn’t complaining.

For Oscar, any travelling was just boring. As someone who travelled a lot, he got used to just tuning out the whole ride - If you ask him to name one trip he remembers, whether a train ride, flight, or car ride…he honestly couldn’t answer. To him, the destination became more important than the journey since nothing ever made the trip memorable.

“I’ve just grown up seeing all of Australia before, so I don’t find the need to see it through the window.”

He said, making up something more poetic, so that you wouldn’t think he was some cynic that hated seeing pretty views, since that obviously wasn’t true - he was enjoying looking at you.

You find yourself captivated by how he speaks. He’s calm and composed while saying the smartest of things - you’d never met someone like him before. And he’s good-looking? You had basically just won the lottery of strangers to sit next to.

From that point onwards, you both didn’t stop talking. Covered pretty much everything and anything. Oscar was usually a pretty reserved person, but for someone that he’d just met, he felt weirdly comfortable sharing a lot. He’d often find himself not even paying attention to your yapping, too focused on the way your eyes light up when you’re talking about something that excites you. Hell, he’s known you for less time than it takes to grill shrimp on the barbie but you’ve got him smiling uncontrollably.

———

“Actually, it’s my first time in Australia.”

You admit, still beguiled by how amazing this country is and why you haven’t come sooner.

“Oh, I better show you around some time then.”

Oscar smirks, hoping it’d be more true than a joke.

———

“How is football better than cricket?!”

He said, in disbelief, looking at you like you had just committed a crime.

“Cricket it just hours of men running with wood in their hands.”

“Football’s the same thing but with a ball?”

———

“Strawberries over Kiwis anyday.” Oscar was fully confident with his answer.

“Okay, you’re actually insane.” You say, shocked by the statement he’d just recited.

———

“The last stop is Melbourne. Please take all your belongings and mind the gap as you leave the train.”

The PA system announced, snapping you out of your dream-like experience with Oscar.

Just like that, 3 hours had passed by. You had forgotten the dead awful conference you had to attend, the shitty company you work for and how much you were supposed to hate today.

Oscar helped you with your bags as you both got off the train, a bittersweet feeling left hanging in the air.

“I guess this is goodbye…” The young Aussie said, his endearing smile seeming more than forced.

“Show me around, sometime?”

You had hoped this wasn’t going to be the last time you would meet Oscar, and by the way his eyes lit up when you offered, you guessed Oscar felt the same way.

As you both bid your goodbyes, and walk in opposite directions, both you and Oscar come to a realisation.

He had just been on a journey he would remember, thanks to you.

You didn’t even need the window seat to get through that ride, thanks to him.

You heard your phone ping in your pocket.

‘How does 7pm tomorrow sound?’

Maybe this trip wasn’t so bad after all…

[minyard-05]

some things about aaron minyard

he doesn't like silence

the first time he cried after his mother's funeral was in the holding cell of columbia city's central police station, with drake spear's blood still staining his t-shirt

he used his phone call from that same room to call katelyn. everybody else that mattered already knew where he was, and she would too before long, so he just asked her to talk and listened to her voice until they took the phone away

he spent some of the first nights andrew was in easthaven at wymack's. katelyn hadn't been sleeping well with aaron and his nightmares, and abby would want him to talk about it, but wymack offered a free couch and no questions asked. aaron's never thanked him for it and wymack's never mentioned it

he used to want a dog when he was kid and he even asked his mother one night they were both drunk and tilda got so angry that he wanted to land them having to feed another body that she didn't leave any money when she left the next day. suffice to say aaron got good at stealing and the dog was just a stupid dream

he had a lot of those stupid dreams around age fourteen, because he was starting to drift away a lot more often. he used to drag his feet past the music rooms at school and wonder if he ever could've been the sort of person who could play piano or guitar, or be a sports prodigy, or a writer, or insanely good at math for some reason. aaron was, like, average, at most of those things. but he figured you can get through life being average, and it wasn't like he was going to make it very far anyway

he likes buses a lot. always been strangely calmed by them. trying to keep himself out of his mother's reach often resulted in planning cheap and convoluted bus journeys around the city, trying to get as far as he could without breaking the limits. he liked the routine of it, liked people-watching with the other passengers, liked the way the lights reflected in the windows when it got dark.

.once, he really did it. he left his mother and her boyfriend of the week in the living room and went to his room and packed as much into a bag as he could carry. fresh bruises on his arms and clumsily wrapped cuts on his hands only made him more certain. he was going to do it. he was going to run.

aaron left the house without anyone noticing. he walked two blocks to the nearest bus station, bought a ticket for the loop and figured he'd get off once he was far enough. for the whole ride, there was this almost giddy anticipation. he could barely sit still. he'd never been so sure of anything in his life. except, well, he didn't know what he was going to do for food. but he'd stolen a million times before, he could keep doing it. unless he ended up in a part of the city where security was tighter. his mother wasn't dating the cop anymore, so getting arrested was a more likely outcome. and aaron didn't have any shelter or anywhere to sleep aside from the streets. and he was still in school, technically. and what would happen when his mother finally broke up with whoever she'd found this time? she'd be crushed and she'd need the drugs to keep her steady and she'd need aaron to stop her from taking too much and she couldn't always cook on her own so she'd need aaron to help her and she needed aaron and didn't she always say how much she needed him how much she loved him wasn't it selfish to run wasn't it selfish to just leave her like this no note no explanation not even a goodbye this was a betrayal she surely didn't deserve. she'd always said it was the two of them against the world, so who was aaron to dare abandon her like this?

at the end of the line, aaron bought another ticket. he took the bus back to where he came and walked two blocks to his house. nobody noticed he'd gone.

[makingqueerhistory]

Queer Books Challenged in Florida Schools and Libraries

There are some affiliate links below in case you want to support MQH.

Gender Queer: A Memoir, Maia Kobabe: Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma and fundamental violation of pap smears.

The Color Purple, Alice Walker: Separated as girls, sisters Celie and Nettie sustain their loyalty to and hope in each other across time, distance and silence. Through a series of letters spanning nearly thirty years, first from Celie to God, then the sisters to each other despite the unknown, the novel draws readers into its rich and memorable portrayals of Celie, Nettie, Shug Avery and Sofia and their experience. The Color Purple broke the silence around domestic and sexual abuse, narrating the lives of women through their pain and struggle, companionship and growth, resilience and bravery.

Julián Is a Mermaid, Jessica Love: While riding the subway home from the pool with his abuela one day, Julián notices three women spectacularly dressed up. Their hair billows in brilliant hues, their dresses end in fishtails, and their joy fills the train car. When Julián gets home, daydreaming of the magic he's seen, all he can think about is dressing up just like the ladies in his own fabulous mermaid costume: a butter-yellow curtain for his tail, the fronds of a potted fern for his headdress. But what will Abuela think about the mess he makes -- and even more importantly, what will she think about how Julián sees himself? Mesmerizing and full of heart, Jessica Love's author-illustrator debut is a jubilant picture of self-love and a radiant celebration of individuality.

Drama: A Graphic Novel, Raina Telgemeier: Callie loves theater. And while she would totally try out for her middle school's production of Moon over Mississippi, she can't really sing. Instead she's the set designer for the drama department's stage crew, and this year she's determined to create a set worthy of Broadway on a middle-school budget. But how can she, when she doesn't know much about carpentry, ticket sales are down, and the crew members are having trouble working together? Not to mention the onstage AND offstage drama that occurs once the actors are chosen. And when two cute brothers enter the picture, things get even crazier!

Cemetery Boys, Aiden Thomas: Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can't get rid of him. When his traditional Latinx family has problems accepting his true gender, Yadriel becomes determined to prove himself a real brujo. With the help of his cousin and best friend Maritza, he performs the ritual himself, and then sets out to find the ghost of his murdered cousin and set it free. However, the ghost he summons is actually Julian Diaz, the school's resident bad boy, and Julian is not about to go quietly into death. He's determined to find out what happened and tie off some loose ends before he leaves. Left with no choice, Yadriel agrees to help Julian, so that they can both get what they want. But the longer Yadriel spends with Julian, the less he wants to let him leave.

I Am Billie Jean King, Brad Meltzer: This friendly, fun biography series focuses on the traits that made our heroes great--the traits that kids can aspire to in order to live heroically themselves. Each book tells the story of one of America's icons in a lively, conversational way that works well for the youngest nonfiction readers and that always includes the hero's childhood influences. At the back are an excellent timeline and photos. This volume features Billie Jean King, the world champion tennis player who fought successfully for women's rights. From a young age, Billie Jean King loved sports--especially tennis! But as she got older, she realized that plenty of people, even respected male athletes, didn't take women athletes seriously. She set to prove them wrong and show girls everywhere that sports are for everyone, regardless of gender.

This One Summer, Mariko Tamaki: Every summer, Rose goes with her mom and dad to a lake house in Awago Beach. It's their getaway, their refuge. Rosie's friend Windy is always there, too, like the little sister she never had. But this summer is different. Rose's mom and dad won't stop fighting, and when Rose and Windy seek a distraction from the drama, they find themselves with a whole new set of problems. One of the local teens - just a couple of years older than Rose and Windy - is caught up in something bad... Something life threatening. It's a summer of secrets, and sorrow, and growing up, and it's a good thing Rose and Windy have each other.

Marriage of a Thousand Lies, Sj Sindu: Lucky and her husband, Krishna, are gay. They present an illusion of marital bliss to their conservative Sri Lankan-American families, while each dates on the side. It's not ideal, but for Lucky, it seems to be working. She goes out dancing, she drinks a bit, she makes ends meet by doing digital art on commission. But when Lucky's grandmother has a nasty fall, Lucky returns to her childhood home and unexpectedly reconnects with her former best friend and first lover, Nisha, who is preparing for her own arranged wedding with a man she's never met.

And Tango Makes Three, Peter Parnell: At the penguin house at the Central Park Zoo, two penguins named Roy and Silo were a little bit different from the others. But their desire for a family was the same. And with the help of a kindly zookeeper, Roy and Silo got the chance to welcome a baby penguin of their very own.

More Happy Than Not, Adam Silvera: In the months following his father's suicide, sixteen-year-old Aaron Soto can't seem to find happiness again, despite the support of his girlfriend, Genevieve, and his overworked mom. Grief and the smile-shaped scar on his wrist won't let him forget the pain. But when Aaron meets Thomas, a new kid in the neighborhood, something starts to shift inside him. Aaron can't deny his unexpected feelings for Thomas despite the tensions their friendship has created with Genevieve and his tight-knit crew. Since Aaron can't stay away from Thomas or turn off his newfound happiness, he considers taking drastic actions. The Leteo Institute's revolutionary memory-altering procedure will straighten him out, even if it means forgetting who he truly is.

Melissa, Alex Gino: When people look at Melissa, they think they see a boy named George. But she knows she's not a boy. She knows she's a girl.

Melissa thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever. Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web. Melissa really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte. But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part... because she's a boy.

With the help of her best friend, Kelly, Melissa comes up with a plan. Not just so she can be Charlotte -- but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all.

A Quick & Easy Guide to Queer & Trans Identities, Mady G, Jules Zuckerberg: In this quick and easy guide to queer and trans identities, cartoonists Mady G and Jules Zuckerberg guide you through the basics of the LGBT+ world! Covering essential topics like sexuality, gender identity, coming out, and navigating relationships, this guide explains the spectrum of human experience through informative comics, interviews, worksheets, and imaginative examples. A great starting point for anyone curious about queer and trans life, and helpful for those already on their own journeys!

This Book Is Gay, Juno Dawson: This candid, funny, and uncensored exploration of sexuality and what it's like to grow up LGBTQ also includes real stories from people across the gender and sexual spectrums, not to mention hilarious illustrations.

Little & Lion, Brandy Colbert: When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she's isn't sure if she'll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (as well as her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support. But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new...the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel's disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself--or worse.

King and the Dragonflies, Kacen Callender: Twelve-year-old Kingston James is sure his brother Khalid has turned into a dragonfly. When Khalid unexpectedly passed away, he shed what was his first skin for another to live down by the bayou in their small Louisiana town. Khalid still visits in dreams, and King must keep these secrets to himself as he watches grief transform his family.

It would be easier if King could talk with his best friend, Sandy Sanders. But just days before he died, Khalid told King to end their friendship, after overhearing a secret about Sandy-that he thinks he might be gay. "You don't want anyone to think you're gay too, do you?"

Sorted: Growing Up, Coming Out, and Finding My Place: A Transgender Memoir, Jackson Bird: An unflinching and endearing memoir from LGBTQ+ advocate Jackson Bird about how he finally sorted things out and came out as a transgender man.When Jackson Bird was twenty-five, he came out as transgender to his friends, family, and anyone in the world with an internet connection. Assigned female at birth and raised as a girl, he often wondered if he should have been born a boy. Jackson didn't share this thought with anyone because he didn't think he could share it with anyone.

The Black Flamingo, Dean Atta: Michael is a mixed-race gay teen growing up in London. All his life, he's navigated what it means to be Greek-Cypriot and Jamaican--but never quite feeling Greek or Black enough.

As he gets older, Michael's coming out is only the start of learning who he is and where he fits in. When he discovers the Drag Society, he finally finds where he belongs--and the Black Flamingo is born

Explore the full list here.

[keeksandgigz]

poison in the water

chapter 1 of the shadow of the carrion

pairing: post outbreak! joel miller x reader

carrion: noun A dead body; a corpse or carcass. or Anything vile or corrupt.

summary: September 23, 2013- after a fight with your mom, you come across the strange sight of a twitching man, and that same night, all hell breaks loose. four years later, you begin your journey west with your mother and sister. after an ambush by a pack of hunters, you're saved by the least likely person to want to save you.

content: 18+ mdni always!! this is game joel, canon- compliant violence, pre- canon, hunter!joel & tommy, swearing, a lot of exposition for this chapter, a whole bucketload of angst and my usual penchant for drawn on descriptions [3.5k words]

the carrion masterlist | the carrion playlist

divider by @saradika-graphics

For as long as you could remember, you’d found death everywhere you went. In your tender ages— the garbles of fur, feathers, and blood. Birds, raccoons, possums, cats, marred creatures on the asphalt that you couldn’t seem to peel your eyes off of on the way and back to school. Their organs spilled on the hot pavement, fur swaying with the wind of the passing cars. You’d look at them, with intrigue, disgust, pity, waiting for the animal to become another unidentifiable dark shadow on the road within the span of a week, its meat and bones absorbed by the unforgiving earth. 

And then, like a dark curse that seemed to haunt you, it hit your family next. It prepotently infiltrated itself in the ties you had with your grandmother— your last living, anyway, the only one you’d ever known— as her Memphis home engulfed itself in flames, and took her with it. There was no body to see, this time. No bones, or blood to fixate over. Just a gray urn looming over you on the mantle of your family home.

You’d feel her speak to you at times, absentmindedly, behind the background static of the TV, calling your name, slithering in your ears. And you’d turn, of course you did, recognizing your grandmother’s creaky voice, and when you’d told your mother, she’d laugh and brush it off. You’d always been just a kid. A kid with a vivid imagination. 

That same galloping imagination had gotten you a full ride scholarship to a prestigious writing program, and it was so close you could almost reach out and it. Your first taste of freedom from your family. Your overbearing mother, the woman who was always supposed to be in your corner, seemed to be on the opposite end of it, with her biting words ready to lash at you. Engulfed by the cowardice of your father, who never seemed to be able to stand up for you against the green-eyed monster that lived inside of your mother, and just stoically stood in a corner. A stifling environment where you most often felt made of glass, ever since your sister was born, if not for the underhanded critiques, without a single kind word ever directed towards you. 

Your classes were supposed to start the following week, and all your suitcases were laid neatly next to your door, like a golden ticket to freedom, and your mother couldn’t hold back from being especially venomous to you during that week. So you left, just to clear your mind for a bit. You couldn’t believe those were your last days with your family, and your mother had decided to spend them screaming at you. It was supposed to be a short walk around the neighborhood, just to cool down, just to let your mother’s We’ll all be so much happier once you’re gone bounce around the walls of your mind, warbling her words in repetition, just to let it lose its stinging meaning. A noise interrupted you– a man. 

The unnatural movement of his body, his heaving, irregular breaths. His hands and neck twitched with a clicking sound, almost as if it were involuntary. Poor man. Pity almost compelled you to reach out, but then he slowly turned, and the words “are you okay?” died in your throat. The man’s eyes were void, mindlessly looking at the ground as his body bent unnaturally to throw up on the concrete. He hadn’t noticed you, it was a good enough time to head back without attracting his attention, but what gripped yours was the maroon stain on the man’s mouth. Dripping down on the floor along with his bile– blood? Only then you noticed another body, limply laying on the grass, the body of a woman, whose unnatural position allowed you to see the blood oozing from the bite marks on her neck, like the skin had been lacerated. You felt yourself grow sick, hiding behind a wall of vines as you tried to sneak away from the scene in a nearby alley, after which you ran home until your lungs burned, and your eyes were misty with tears. Your own bile on your front lawn, confused and terrified as your chest heaved with difficulty.

“Hope you’re ready to come inside and apologize” you distantly heard your mother’s stern tone from the front door, but there was something gripping you, right by the throat, that compelled you to stay on the grass. Your mother would not have believed you. 

That night you went to sleep without eating, then, the same shadow of death that had followed you since you were little, engulfed your whole life. 

You were woken up by the sound of alarms, and your mother shaking you awake. Her alarmed tone still haunts you, she called you honey, something she hadn’t done since you were sixteen. We’ve got to go, hurry, honey. Even after everything, that sentence echoed and warbled itself in your nightmares as you were rushed out of bed and out of your home. That’s all you remember doing that night: running.

***

 You’d lost your father within the initial pandemonium of the outbreak– ten days after, to be exact. You and your family snuck into a nearby wine cellar, next to a house on the hills. Scavenging food with your father, not straying too far from your hiding place– those things hadn’t cleared out of the city just yet. Your father had managed to find a radio that stayed on at all hours of the day, covering the helpless cries of those twitching bodies outside. Had a couple close calls, as one of them managed to venture out to the hills. You’d heard his sobs as he regretfully threw up, lamented a garbled I don’t want to do this, followed by an unnatural snarl as his bile slithered down the cracks of the wooden beams of the roof. You’d trembled in fear in the opposite corner, held by your mother’s arms, as she hugged your sister, unmoving, wondering if by an insane stroke of misfortune that thing could have been able to open the heavy doors to the cellar. 

Then, one day your father went off to gather, by himself, and a gunshot in the distance of the sparse forest up ahead was all you needed to hear to know what had happened. 

No limbs flailing in the dark of night as he ran away from a possible horde, no heroic death. Just the hollow boom of his small revolver, and a head full of questions that haunted you for weeks and months, as you waited for the area to clear, and you’d found what was left of his skeleton in the forest where you’d used to go with him to scavenge. Picking up what was left of his skull, you clearly saw the fissure in the muddied bone, right on top of his head. You’d found his revolver right next to his bones, which he briefly taught you how to shoot in those ten days you’d been with him, carefully placing the safe and tucking it into your backpack. Your father had always been a coward, anyway.

Within the span of four years, your resources waned, food became scarce, and the wine cellar became too small a place for your mother and sister, as the former drank away her grief. With each of her heavy sobs, you lived in fear of those ‘infected,’ that was what they had called them over the radio, hearing her from a distance, and having to watch her heaving body get torn apart by a pack of them. Your sister was still young, she couldn’t possibly have been able to contribute, so the responsibility fell on your shoulders. 

So you left Memphis in the Summer of 2017, the only home you’d ever known, to venture East. Your mother had heard about a rebel group, the Fireflies, looking for a cure. It’s been years since they grouped, they sure ‘s hell got a cure by now, your mother muttered as she packed her bag and swaddled your sister, who was four and could barely walk, on her aching back. You took turns carrying her, hearing pained hisses behind you by the hour. You’d try to keep to the forests, as the infected had not traveled there, yet, and as long as you stayed outside the city, things had been relatively safe. 

Regardless, your father’s revolver burned against your back, forcing itself to be felt, as a testimony of the duty you had to your family, to keep them alive, despite the cowardice he’d ended his own life with— without explanation. 

When the forests began to become sparser and sparser, you’d had no choice but to venture into the cities. You’d reached Cincinnati without so much as a scratch, just debilitating back pains from carrying your sister, and an insatiable hunger for rest. You’d heard that most of the QZ’s had fallen in the hands of the Fireflies, the closest being Pittsburgh, which, according to the fading map you kept in your back pocket, was going to be another day’s travel. For the first time in a while you felt optimistic about your plan working, you’d almost gotten your mother and sister so close to safety, so close to living a decently peaceful life. 

If only it hadn’t been for the bullet that perforated your mother’s back and lodged itself in your sister’s stomach.

***

Joel hated the summer. How sticky his clothes felt against his skin, how every sunbeam on his aging skin felt like Sarah again. It reminded him of pools, soccer games, and a lazy beer on his porch as the sun went down– things that had been gone for a long time. 

He found respite in the shade of the abandoned building he’d set up camp at with his crew. He exhaustingly got up from his dingy makeshift cot with a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in almost half a decade. There was a soft breeze treading through the skeletal desolation of what used to be downtown, providing relief from the damp fabric on his back. It was the third or fourth city in the span of five months. Five months of traveling up and down the Midwest– hunter group after hunter group, riding with the same shameful, guilt-ridden monkey on his aching back, while Tommy talked his ear off about quitting all this senseless killing. 

“Just a few months more, then we’ll quit. We’ll kick these assholes to the curb and start goin’ East. We’ll go somewhere nice.” Joel said, exactly five months before. 

And yet, there he was. Killing more people for a few scraps of extra clothes and food. He couldn’t. Not when he knew leaving meant certain death, and, had they made it out, even sparser meals than what he’d gotten used to. 

On a lucky day, where clueless tourists would trek through the ruined remains of what once was the QZ, he was able to rack up enough provisions to keep him and Tommy afloat for a couple weeks. Yet, big groups were sparse, and the greed of his fellow hunters was as devastating as their violence. Gathered around the cadavers like starving vultures, picking apart their backpacks, tearing clothes and shoes off of the still-warm bodies, laughing maniacally at their senseless violence. He hated the sadistical nature of it all. 

He’d woken up because of gunshots that morning, which always left him hopeful for some good loot to bring back to Tommy. Only it wasn’t like that this time. 

Tommy was already there, wordlessly standing on the curb, staring at the scene ahead. A girl. The side of her head and arms streaked with blood as she held the body of an older woman in her arms, and upon closer inspection there was also a little girl swaddled to her chest. That made Joel’s stomach churn a bit, as he stared at the last girl standing. She was surrounded by his whole crew, laughing and taunting her. Out of his good ear he’d managed to hear the word mom muttered just once. Her eyes went wide, as she stared ahead, taking stock of what animal could have possibly done that to an innocent mother and her little girl. Monsters like him, that’s who. His crew liked to do that— leave the last person standing, look at them cry, keep them alive for a few days to truly let them metabolize that there was no way out of it. Except, many of them tried to put up a fight, brandishing whatever small guns they’d carried with them– they had no chance. But the girl, after the initial shock, just stared straight ahead, holding on to her mother’s body, frozen. 

Joel wasn’t a merciful guy, not when the world ripped out his right from his hands, but the way you’d stared straight ahead like a deer in headlights painfully reminded him of how he’d felt the night Sarah died. He often wondered, in the dead of night, as much as he’d hated dwelling on it, where he would’ve ended up had she lived. The two of them and Tommy would’ve escaped to some quiet, small town– one of those that had been completely evacuated the first two weeks after the outbreak– and lived off the land. He enjoyed burying his grief in the bullets and blades he used to harm others, as much as he hated to admit it– he had to keep Tommy alive, after all. 

Joel wasn’t a merciful guy, not by a long shot, but something about the way you looked so utterly paralyzed, holding your own mother, made his chest tighten the slightest bit. 

“Get Miller to finish the job” one of the men barked, amused. Joel rolled his eyes as the rest of the crew diverted their gazes to him and his brother, and your gaze turned ever so slightly to their direction. He could see your eyes now– two fissures pleading for what could have been two things: to let you survive or to let you join your family. The more he looked at you, the more his throat closed in on itself, so he stepped forward. 

“Not you, your pussy brother!” another man laughed, and the rest followed. He could see Tommy blanch under the thunderous laughs of his crew. He couldn’t have done it. 

“He won’t do it,” Joel started, trying to buy himself some time. “He’s sweet on girls, aren’t you, Tommy?” he snickered, disgusted at himself for even uttering those words, as he pushed his brother aside, heading to your paralyzed figure. 

“He’s gonna do it. Y’know why?” the man who proposed the idea croaked with a slice of a smile. Joel knew why. “Because we’ll kill you both if he doesn’t” the man snickered. He saw your body rise and fall in a quick gasp. You also knew that there was no way out of this. 

Joel produced a gun from the back of his ratty jeans and placed it in Tommy’s hand. “Be ready” he muttered, hoping his brother understood the hint, and pushing him closer to you. 

You could feel the terrifying anticipation crawling up your bloodied arms still holding your mother’s chilling body. 

Please kill me. I’ve got nothing to lose. 

The man named Tommy tentatively steps towards you. You can see it in his eyes, he doesn’t want to do it. Your eyes are veiled and misted with tears, tears that you won’t let fall. Not in front of these men.  

Don’t kill me just yet– I’ve gotta go East, for my Mama. 

Your bones truly feel like ice. 

Why can’t I move? Stand up. 

Tommy is in front of you, and his arm is pointing the gun at you. 

You’ve got a gun. Shoot ‘em. 

He’s so close you can see down the barrel, you can see his finger hug the trigger. The last thing you see before you close your eyes is your murderer’s eyes full of tears, then the gun goes off. 

But it’s not at you. 

***

There’s a deafening silence for a moment. Then another gunshot, then another, then the crowd of men surrounding you grows rowdy and restless. The man who was with Tommy lifts you up, and your legs feel like there’s a million ants crawling under the soiled flesh of your skin. 

“You got a gun?” the man yells through the shots. All you do is nod, everything is too loud. “Can you shoot?” Another nod, then he turns around to deliver two head shots. You count three more men standing.  “Grab your shit, we gotta run” he commands, and your legs move faster than your brain does. 

“They got a truck out back!” Tommy yells, turning around to shoot at the leg of one of your attackers. You hear the bone crack, and for some reason it deafens you. 

There’s a strange feeling clouding your mind. It wants you to stop, it wants you to sit down, it wants you to be taken by the men chasing you, to be shot, to join your mother and sister whose limp bodies were becoming to grow smaller the further you ran. What would they have done with them? 

“Faster!” you heard one of the two men yell, but everything felt muffled, even the gunshots and screams of the crowd of the three hunters trailing behind you. “‘S close, right behind here” one of them gruffed, as your lungs burned with exertion and the abysmal portions of food you’ve had for the past few months. 

“C’mon girl, up” Tommy’s brother said, grabbing your back with his arm to toss you across his body. There was a blindness to what was going on, like your brain was stuck to a few minutes before everyone else’s. That despite the yells and screams of your chasers and the gunshots, everything seemed to be happening from a distance, to everyone else, but not to you. Only when you reached a rickety brown truck you’d realized the man was carrying you– he had to have seen you struggle, and Joel knew the empty stare in your eyes all too well. He hauled you in without many ceremonies as Tommy climbed into the driver’s seat, and he hopped in right next to you with a string of go, go, go, furiously hitting the back of the passenger seat. There was a thick sheen of sweat on the man’s scarred temple as everything moved in slow motion. The rumble of the truck’s motor right under your body, the stray gunshots from the massacre’s survivors. 

“Won’t be long ‘til the others reach us, hurry up, Tommy” the man urged, as the car finally went into motion, and for a second you fell back into your body. 

“‘M goin’ as fast as I can, Joel” Tommy retorted, his tone just as alarmed as his brother’s. It had been a while since you’d been in a car, you observed, staring at the dilapidated buildings blurring outside the window.  

Once you were out of the city, Joel scooted himself in the middle, and climbed over the console to sit in the passenger seat. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, in a stern tone, which, regardless, seemed to be much gentler than how he’d yelled at you to get a move on an hour earlier, but it seemed that as hard as you tried, your mouth couldn’t produce a sound. It physically burned your throat to force it.

His eyebrows contorted in concern, for a brief moment, then, like lightning, his expression hardened. That was the man you’d seen when the hunters killed your mom and sister. 

“Joel, leave her alone” Tommy interjected, and you were briefly grateful for his meddling– you didn’t want to talk to anyone. How was it that you were able to get out of what had happened alive, yet your mom and your sister’s bodies laid cold on the dirty concrete in a random city. They wouldn’t have received a proper burial, like your dad. There was no family for you to go back to. Nowhere to go but wherever that damn truck took you. Would they have burned the bodies? What would Joel and Tommy have wanted with you? You saw yourself tossed on the side of the highway, wandering aimlessly, until a pack of infected would have come and ripped you apart. That was the ending you deserved, for being alive instead of a four year old girl. 

Your lip began to tremble, and your throat closed up for good, and in the midst of your silenced sobs you heard a muffled She can fuckin’ stay quiet the whole ride. See if I care. This need to save every wounded bird that comes your way is gonna get you killed, Tommy. 

See if I care.

See if I care. 

If only somebody would have cared.

thanks for reading! feedback, comments & reblogs are so appreciated <3

[keyofnow]

The Beatles Chronology

If music is at their heart, then their story is the clothes it wears.

Those who fail to appreciate The Beatles — and even many who do appreciate them — underestimate the specific progression of events that transpired during their journey, let alone the quickness of it all. The Beatles were a professional band for only seven years.

Here are the benchmarks of The Beatles‘ career from zero to hero :

YEAR 0

John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Pete Best.

Brian Epstein is The Beatles‘ manager as of a few weeks ago.

First studio audition at Decca (on New Year's Day).

Regular gigs at Cavern Club, Casbah, elsewhere in Liverpool.

First BBC radio performances.

First shows in south of England.

Original bassist Stu Sutcliffe dies.

Return to Hamburg, seven-week residency at Star Club.

First EMI studio session.

Pete Best is fired from The Beatles.

Ringo Starr joins The Beatles.

First TV appearances.

John & Cynthia marry.

First single “Love Me Do”; becomes Top 20 hit.

Opening for Little Richard (in Liverpool and Hamburg).

Follow up single recorded.

Last Hamburg residency (through New Year's Eve).

YEAR 1

Second single “Please Please Me”; becomes first chart-topper.

UK tour opening for Helen Shapiro.

Recording debut album in one day.

UK tour opening for Chris Montez and Tommy Roe.

First LP Please Please Me; becomes #1 for 30 weeks.

UK tour opening for Roy Orbison.

Third single “From Me To You”; first undisputed #1.

Paul starts dating Jane Asher.

BBC radio performances: Saturday Club, Easy Beat, and others.

Extensive UK concerts.

Hosting BBC radio series Pop Go The Beatles.

Fourth single “She Loves You”; first to sell million copies in UK.

First UK Tour as headliner.

Band meets The Rolling Stones; John & Paul write song for them.

London Palladium.

Beatlemania.

Sweden Tour.

Royal Variety Show.

Fifth single “I Want to Hold Your Hand”; has a million pre-orders.

Second LP With The Beatles; displaces previous album at #1.

The Beatles Christmas Show (three weeks in London).

YEAR 2

Finishing three-week run of The Beatles Christmas Show.

Three-week Paris residency at Theatre Olympia.

“I Want To Hold Your Hand” hits #1 in US.

First US Visit: Ed Sullivan, Washington Coliseum, Carnegie Hall.

Filming and recording soundtrack for first motion picture.

Sixth single “Can't Buy Me Love” (#1).

John publishes first book In His Own Write.

Hold top five spots on Billboard Hot 100 chart.

First World Tour.

First motion picture A Hard Day's Night; blockbuster.

Third LP A Hard Day's Night (#1).

Seventh single “A Hard Day's Night” (#1).

Frequent BBC radio and TV performances.

UK Tour dates; occasionally The Kinks and The Who open.

First US Tour; first rock tour by chartered jet.

Hollywood Bowl.

Meet Bob Dylan first time, get stoned.

Brian Epstein publishes autobiography A Cellarful Of Noise.

Eight single “I Feel Fine” / “She's A Woman” (#1).

First deliberate feedback on record.

Fourth LP Beatles For Sale (#1).

Another Beatles Christmas Show; Yardbirds (w Clapton) open.

YEAR 3

Finishing three-week run of Another Beatles Christmas Show.

Ringo and Maureen marry.

First full week of studio sessions.

First use of outside studio musicians.

Filming and recording soundtrack for second motion picture.

First direct exposure to Indian music.

Ninth single “Ticket To Ride” (#1).

The Dental Experience.

Paul records “Yesterday”.

Europe Tour; The Yardbirds (w Beck) open.

John publishes second book A Spaniard In The Works.

Tenth single “Help!” / “I'm Down” (#1).

Second motion picture Help!

Fifth LP Help! (#1 on pre-orders alone).

Second US Tour.

Shea Stadium (largest concert attendance in history).

LSD pool party in LA.

Roger McGuinn, David Crosby bring Ravi Shankar records.

Peter Fonda tells “I know what it's like to be dead” anecdote.

Hollywood Bowl.

Awarded MBE's.

One-month recording new album.

George introduces sitar to band.

First use: extreme equalisation; tape speed manipulation.

Eleventh single “Day Tripper” / “We Can Work It Out” (#1).

Sixth LP Rubber Soul (#1); first album with no filler.

Last UK tour; The Moody Blues (w Denny Laine) open.

Turn down offers for third motion picture.

YEAR 4

Three months off.

George and Pattie marry.

John gives “more popular than Jesus” interview.

Friends of The Beatles open Indica Bookstore.

John discovers The Psychedelic Experience by Leary & Alpert.

Two-and-a-half months recording new album.

Starting with “Tomorrow Never Knows”.

First use: backwards tape; tape loops; automatic double-tracking.

First Indian musicians on Beatles session.

Klaus Voormann (artist friend from Hamburg) designs cover.

Last Beatles concert in UK.

Twelfth single “Paperback Writer” / “Rain” (#1 in 12 countries).

Song is subtle plug for Indica Bookstore.

Last World Tour.

Death threats in Japan.

Kidnapped in Philippines, and the First Lady incident.

Last US Tour.

Beatle burnings in Bible Belt of US.

Thirteenth single “Eleanor Rigby” / “Yellow Submarine” (#1).

Ringo's first lead vocal on Beatles single.

Seventh LP Revolver (#1); first album they don't perform live.

Last concert at Candlestick Park, San Francisco.

Three months off.

John films How I Won The War in Spain.

Paul writes film score for The Family Way.

George studies sitar under Ravi Shankar.

Ringo visits John in Spain and holidays.

John meets Yoko Ono at Indica Gallery.

New sessions begin with “Strawberry Fields Forever”.

YEAR 5

Sessions evolve into concept for new album.

Fourteenth single “Strawberry Fields Forever” / “Penny Lane”.

First single in four years to miss #1.

Paul helps organise Monterey Pop Festival.

Eighth LP Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Our World broadcast, recording of “All You Need Is Love”.

Paul publicly admits to taking LSD.

Fifteenth single “All You Need Is Love” (#1).

Meeting the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.

Brian Epstein dies.

Filming and recording soundtrack for new DIY movie project.

Sixteenth single “Hello Goodbye” / “I Am The Walrus” (#1).

Televised movie Magical Mystery Tour.

YEAR 6

George records original film score for Wonderwall.

Band holds last recording sessions before India trip.

Meditation retreat at Maharishi's camp in Rishikesh, India.

Hanging with Mia Farrow, Brian Wilson, Mike Love, Donovan.

Meditating, writing songs for next album.

Donovan teaches them new picking pattern.

Seventeenth single “Lady Madonna” / “The Inner Light” (#1).

George's first composition on a Beatles single.

Return to London (first Ringo, then Paul, John & George last).

Foundation of Apple Corps.

John and Yoko fall in love.

Band records Esher demos at George's house.

Twenty weeks of sessions for new double album.

Paul and Linda fall in love.

Jane Asher dumps Paul on live TV.

First animated film Yellow Submarine.

Eighteenth single “Hey Jude” / “Revolution” (#1).

Ringo Starr quits The Beatles.

John and Cynthia divorce.

Ringo Starr rejoins The Beatles.

Eric Clapton sits in on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”.

The Beatles’ authorised biography published.

Ninth LP The Beatles, a.k.a. the “White Album” (#1).

John and Yoko busted for cannabis possession.

Hell's Angels crash Apple Christmas Party.

YEAR 7

Thirty days writing, rehearsing, recording and filming new project.

Directed by Michael Lindsey-Hogg, filmed first at Twickenham.

Glyn Johns audio engineer, George Martin musical supervisor.

George Harrison quits The Beatles.

Tenth LP Yellow Submarine (#2, behind The White Album).

Sessions relocate from Twickenham to Apple building.

Apple Studio installed in basement over weekend.

George Harrison rejoins The Beatles.

Billy Preston (unofficially) joins The Beatles.

Apples Studio sessions.

Rooftop performance.

John, George & Ringo hire Allen Klein as band's new manager.

John and Yoko marry (Bed-In For Peace in Amsterdam).

Paul and Linda marry.

George and Pattie busted for cannabis possession.

Nineteenth single “Get Back” / “Don't Let Me Down” (#1).

Twentieth single “The Ballad Of John And Yoko” (#1).

John and Yoko announce The Plastic Ono Band.

Sessions for one more album at Abbey Road.

Mostly leftovers from Get Back and the White Album.

Paul rejects Allen Klein as manager.

Band's last photo shoot together.

The Plastic Ono Band plays Toronto Rock'n'Roll Revival festival.

Band includes Klaus Voormann, Eric Clapton, and Alan White.

John Lennon quits The Beatles.

Apple keeps John's departure a tight secret.

Eleventh LP Abbey Road (#1).

Twenty-first single “Something” / “Come Together” (#1).

YEAR 8

Last Beatles session for new song; John does not attend.

Overdubs onto material for Get Back.

Phil Spector hired to produce soundtrack album for new film.

Paul McCartney publicly announces The Beatles’ breakup.

Documentary film Let It Be.

Twelfth LP Let It Be (#1).

Twenty-second single “Let It Be” (#1).

Ringo, Paul, George, and John all release solo records.

Paul McCartney sues to dissolve The Beatles.

Ever get the feeling there's something obvious you overlooked....?

🍏

[nvareim]

bite me, v. garza x fem! reader

tags; predator/prey, fearplay, dacryphilia, degradation, drugging, thigh riding, stalking, dubcon and toxic dynamics. MDNI w/c; 4.4k ao3 link | pinterest board a/n; never arguining with a woman with big brown eyes, whatever u say gorgeous

The streets of Las Almas are still blood-stained the day you escape.

It’s been quieter since the Shadows combed through the city, killing anything that moved. The dogs no longer bark, kids don’t play in the streets, and the armed men who roamed every alley are few and far between. It’s the perfect opening. You spend the morning preparing. 

You pack lightly, only the things you’re sure you’ll need. Clothing for layering, socks, underwear, and cash. It all fits nicely in a backpack you can easily carry. You leave both of your phones on the nightstand, the backs pried off and batteries neatly stacked atop each other. 

The better part of an hour is spent prying at the metal collar around your neck. You pry at the latch until your fingers are bloody, picking at the screw that holds it together. As a last resort, you use the point of a utility knife. You sit just inches away from the mirror, neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle as you slowly unscrew the locking mechanism. You’re stock-still, barely breathing out of fear the blade will slip. 

 The second the collar unlatches, you rip it from around your neck and throw it aside. It slides across the floor, hitting the baseboard with a heavy thud. You take deep, ragged breaths as you study your reflection. The lack of weight around your neck is foreign. With it gone, your decision is final. There’s no turning back now.

Las Almas is teeming with Mexican soldiers. They pace the Greyhound station, X12s strapped to their thighs and rifles slung across their chests. Their watchful eyes follow you as you pay for your ticket in cash with shaky hands. The old woman in the booth hardly scrutinizes your forged papers, clicking away at her keyboard as she logs information. She slides your ticket through the opening in the plexiglass, wishing you a safe trip. 

You practically fall onto a bench, sighing as you hug your bag close to your body. Rain pours down from the roof, streaming toward the storm drains. The air is thick and warm with moisture, heavy on your skin. You bounce your knee nervously as you wait for the bus to round the corner. 

When it does arrive, you’re the first to board. You snag a window seat at the very back where you can watch every passenger enter. You hold your breath with each new rider, nervously anticipating Valeria or one of her men to be the next passenger. It isn’t until the bus is pulling away from Las Almas that you feel the weight lift from your chest, though just barely.

Your journey north becomes a slow crawl. The best ticket you could afford brought you just north of Denver. The rest of your cash is rationed out and stuffed beneath your clothing.

In the beginning, the kiss of cool air against your skin is refreshing. It’s a welcome reprieve from the sweltering Mexican heat. A reminder of how far you’ve gotten. But the novelty quickly wears off once the slight chill turns unforgiving. You attempt to adapt by picking up a free coat from a local church and bartering over warmer clothes from thrift stores, but they only do so much to protect you from the bitter cold. Homeless shelters aren’t an option, the lines are longer as the dead of winter draws nearer. By the time you reach Wyoming, you’re running low on money to spend. You resort to stealing food from gas stations and sleeping in alleyways. You spend your days in local libraries, reevaluating your route north and searching for updates on Valeria. Librarians typically quirk a brow at your peculiar behavior, but leave you alone until they close down for the night. 

As the nights grow longer, they become even more difficult to get through. You curl yourself into a ball, your money stuffed into the band of your bra and a knife clutched tightly in your hand lest anyone gets any ideas. Hostels are few and far between and only reserved for nights you’d surely die if you slept outside. 

In early December, you spend a decent chunk of your food budget on a cheap motel room. It’s a shady establishment just outside of a small city, the kind of place you pay for by the hour. Snow flutters down and gathers in the parking lot, the pure white flakes quickly soiled by the gravel beneath. Multicolored Christmas lights are wrapped around the wrought iron railings in honor of the upcoming holiday. A few women smoke in the shadows of the building, seemingly huddling together for warmth. 

Inside the room, The wallpaper peels away to reveal yellow-stained drywall beneath and the heating unit rattles when you turn it on, blowing a small cloud of dust into the room. You refuse to peel away the comforter out of fear of what you’ll find, so you toss a blanket overtop instead. The lingering stench of cigarette smoke and artificial lemon is nearly caustic. 

 You turn the TV on, upping the volume until it’s loud enough to drown out the noise of the heater. The throw beneath you is scratchy and thin, but the bed itself is comfortable enough that you allow yourself to sink into it. With so many miles between you and Valeria, it’s easy to lull yourself into a sense of false security.

You shrug your jacket off to use as a makeshift pillow. It’s a far cry from Valeria’s luxurious bed back in Las Almas, but it’s the best you’ve had in weeks. The steady flow of warm air filling the room thaws the stiff joints in your limbs and loosens the long-held tension in your shoulders. It’s easy to fully settle into the makeshift pillow, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. It’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

It’s pin-drop quiet when you wake up. The constant hum of the heating unit has ceased, though the room has long gone cool. The TV had been shut off, leaving the room completely dark. 

You blink away the last bits of sleep from your eyes, willing your vision to focus. Something primal stirs in your gut, fight or flight instincts urging you to move. The darkness comes into focus slowly, the shape of the furniture comes into focus. So does a figure sitting at the foot of the bed. 

Your blood freezes in your veins. You push yourself up from the bed, heart pounding in your ears. A firm hand wraps around your upper arm, throwing you back into the mattress. The springs squeak from the force. You kick and thrash in Valeria’s hold, desperate to land at least one hit. You refuse to go down without a fight, not after all you’ve been through. You manage to land a single scratch across her cheek. Blood bubbles up from her skin, smearing onto your fingers and her face when you push her away. 

One of her hands pins both your wrists to your sternum as she bears down on you. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in place. You take in a gasping breath, lungs struggling to expand under her weight. For the first time, you get a good look at Valeria and what you see terrifies you. There’s a feral glint to her eyes and not a bit of playfulness in her smile. Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a rabbit. 

“You scream and I’ll gut anyone who comes in that door,” Valeria hisses, hand tightening around your wrists as she wraps a zip tie around them. Tears spill from your waterline as composure crumbles. The edge of the tie presses into your skin uncomfortably, but Valeria doesn’t soften at your whining.

“It was a fun chase, sweetheart, but it’s over,” She fishes a small bag from her pants pocket, shaking a small white pill into her palm. Valeria holds it to your lips with one hand, the other pinching your nose shut. You go as long as you can without air, stubbornly clenching your jaw shut until your lungs burn. 

Valeria watches with interest, grinning as the seconds tick by. You barely make it a minute before you’re gasping for air. Valeria doesn’t waste a moment before she’s pushing the pill past your lips and pressing her palm over your mouth before you can spit it out. Her fingers still pinch your nose shut, her grip unyielding against the restrained fists that pound against her chest.

“Swallow, baby,” She goads as black creeps into the edges of your vision. By now, the pill is reduced to bitter white chunks on your tongue, but you make a show of swallowing to satisfy her. The reaction is almost instantaneous, her fingers prodding past your lips as you desperately gulp down oxygen. Her fingers taste like sanitizer and lotion as she inspects your gum line and beneath your tongue. You cringe away from her touch but with the bed beneath you, there’s nowhere to go. 

When she’s confident you swallowed, she gives you a quick pat on the cheek. The corner of her lips twitch up in only a ghost of a grin before she’s hauling you to your feet and bending you over her lap. You huff, balance thrown off kilter by the sudden movement and lack of oxygen. Valeria’s knee digs uncomfortably into your stomach and ribs. A hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you firmly on her lap. 

“You thought I wouldn’t hunt you down?”  She asks, free hand trailing down the curve of your spine. Her chipped and jagged nails drag across your skin, leaving raised lines in their wake. Fingers curl around the waistband on your sweatpants, gripping tight. You kick your legs, gritting out empty threats as she pulls them down. She tugs until the cleft of your ass is exposed to the stale air.

“I’m sorry,” You sob into the comforter, tears wetting the scratchy blanket. You sound like a broken record, the apologies spilling from your mouth only broken up by promises to never do it again.

“I don’t believe you,” Valeria coos, a condescending smile playing at her lips. She splays her hand against your ass cheek, lightly pressing into the soft flesh until it dimples beneath her fingertips. Her grip on your arm has tightened enough to be bruising.

The heat between Valeria’s thighs only heightens at the sight of you draped over her lap. Idly, she considers the merits of a more sadistic punishment. Purpled bite marks across your shoulders would certainly remind you who you belong to. Or maybe nice ‘V’ carved into the soft fat of your ass. Both would crush your little attitude beneath her boot. Ultimately, she decides to stow those thoughts away for now, saving them for when you’re back home with her. It’d be easy to go overboard now, with the adrenaline and anger rushing through her bloodstream. For now, she just wants to make you cry. 

The first hit comes when you least expect it. The impact sends a ripple through the soft flesh of your ass. Valeria groans lowly at the sight. Your hips jump at the sensation, skin going hot beneath Valeria’s palm. The strike has you screeching, thrashing beneath her in a futile attempt at an escape. You clench and unclench your restrained fists.

“Count.” Her brown irises are swallowed by her dilated pupils, trained in the spot where her hand met your cheek. The heat of your skin bleeds into Valeria’s cold palms, goosebumps popping up across your exposed skin. 

“What the fuck?” You squeal, humiliation and fear petering into indignation. It’s not a surprise to Valeria, she’d always known there was a bit of you that needed training. You were impatient, even selfish at times. A wily little thing she enjoyed wrestling into submission. The brattiness was endearing in her own bed, but after the past few weeks, it only stokes her anger. 

“Count,” She repeats, a little louder this time. “Count and maybe I won’t fucking chip you.” The twist of anger in your expression has her raising her hand again, coming down in a perfect arc to hit the same spot again. You shriek into the bedding, fingernails sinking into your clammy palms. Valeria’s arm tightens around you, dragging you even further into her lap. “Not gonna do it?” She brings her hand down three more times, alternating which side she hits to keep you on edge. “You think I’m lying? Tracked you down like a fucking dog, tell me why I shouldn’t treat you like one?” 

“Won’t do it again, Val,” You sob. “Please, I’m sorry!” Hot tears stream down your flushed face, mixing with the drool smeared across your chin and mouth. Your voice cracks with the force of your crying. Valeria grows impossibly wetter, slick dampening the gusset of her panties. 

“Then start counting.” Your fingers claw at the blanket as she strikes you again. There’s no screech or resistance when her palm hits you, just sniffling. The seconds drag by like hours as Valeria waits with bated breath, hungrily watching the tears spill from your eyes. 

“ One .” Valeria releases your chin and you press your cheek to the mattress. She groans at your thin voice, hoarse from all your yelling. Her palm rubs soothing circles over the spot she’d just hit, contrasting the rough treatment just seconds prior. A shudder runs up your body at the sensation, eyes screwed shut. 

“Good girl,” She murmurs, lips curling into a predatory grin. The next hit has you tensing up beneath her, stammering out a low two . There’s still some resentment buried beneath your submission. It shows in the impudent curl of your lips, the angry furrow of your brow. The quiet whimper that slips your mouth before three is delicious. It appeases Valeria’s growing appetite.  

By ten , you’ve run out of tears. The quiet groans spilling from your throat have a knot winding in Valeria’s stomach. Your ass is marred with her handprints, raised marks from the trauma. Come time, they’ll darken into bruises, the sting of red-hot flesh fading to an overwhelming ache. And every time you see them, you’ll be reminded of your mistakes. Valeria loosens her grip on you, knowing you won’t even try to run. 

By fifteen , your eyes have glossed over and your thrashing has ceased. The numbers are whispered through gritted teeth between quiet grunts, attitude fully snuffed out by Valeria’s hand. A little pain and you’re her good girl again, all sweet and pliant beneath her. Your inner thighs are dewy with the slick that leaks from you, dribbling down your cunt to your swollen clit. 

There’s no resistance as she hauls you to your feet, hands placed beneath your armpits like you’re a doll. You brace your hands on her shoulder, legs too shaky to keep you upright. Valeria tugs your panties and sweatpants up, brushing the bruised curve of your ass too firmly to be accidental. You shift a little, lurching forward to escape the pain. 

Valeria grabs you by the hips, dragging you into her lap. You let out a little yelp upon resting your ass against her thighs, the sudden weight against the raw skin overwhelming. For a moment, you hover, but Valeria presses you down firmly, ignoring the way you wriggle away. Once the pain subsides, you practically meld into her, head resting in the crook of her neck as you sniffle. Valeria brushes the hair from your face, damp with tears and cold sweat. Your limbs are loose, heavy with warmth that emanates from the pit of your stomach.

“Why’d you run?” She murmurs, dragging her splayed palms up and down your thighs. When you don’t reply, she tugs your head from the crook of her neck, hand cradling the base of your skull. Valeria studies you with her dark eyes, searching for a flicker of resistance in your lachrymose gaze. She finds nothing. “Hm? What was it?” 

“I was scared,” The words slip out before you can consider them. It’s an admission only made more pathetic by your thin voice. Something in Valeria’s gaze shifts as her lips press into a line. Her hand tightens on the back of your neck. The weeks of false composure fracture when faced with her dilated pupils, only a thin rind of warm brown surrounding them. The fear hits you like a cold wave, washing over your body as the words are spilling from your chest. 

“I-I didn’t know if it was safe for me to stay,” You stammer out, clenching your hands into fists in an attempt to ward off the tremors overtaking you. “I was worried that maybe they’d come for me next and you wouldn’t be there, Valeria, and I-” The corners of her lips tug up into a smug, satisfied grin and your words are cut short with a stifled sob. 

It’s not a lie, but not quite the truth either. Valeria can see it in the split second of hesitation before you speak. There’s fear there, but not fear of her enemies. No, she saw that terror in your wide-eyed gaze when you realized she had been the one to find you. 

“Oh, mi vida ,” Valeria coos, a hand coming up to cradle your cheek. Her thumb brushes away the few tears rolling down your face. Her other hand brushes up and down your side, dipping beneath the fabric of your shirt. “You thought you’d be safer running?” You sniffle as she squeezes at the fat of your hip. “This,” She gestures to the room around you with a sardonic chuckle. “This is worse than if you stayed put. I can’t protect you when I don’t know where you are.”

“I’m sorry.” You say for the millionth time. It’s the only response your brain can formulate. She’s right, running only left you more vulnerable to people who would use you to reach Valeria. But she doesn’t take your fear of her into consideration, even with the marks spread across your ass cheeks. 

“I believe you,” She says, “But it’ll take more than an apology to make me trust you. You understand, right?” 

You nod, eyes cast downward in shame.

“Good girl,” She tugs at your lower lip with her thumb. “Missed you s’much, you know?” She purrs, pressing two fingers past your lips. Your jaw widens to accommodate the push of her finger against your tongue. “Was so excited to see my girl. Bet you can imagine how I took the news, hm?” Drool gathers behind your teeth, dripping down your chin as Valeria ‘accidentally’ bumps your gag reflex. You lurch, but her fingers remain firmly hooked in her mouth. You don’t have the energy to resist her, any coherent thought slipping from your grasp before you can make sense of it. 

“So pretty like this,” She muses. Valeria adjusts you like a doll, one hand grabbing and moving your limbs until you're straddling her thigh. “You know who owns this cunt, don’t you?” Her other hand grips your hip, rolling it against her muscled thigh. Valeria laughs at your garbled moan as pleasure sparks in your core. “Just my stupid little pet that doesn’t know what’s good for her.” 

“M’not,” You slur, fingers curling into the collar of her shirt. She continues the slow pace, occasionally bouncing her knee to relish in your yelps. The heat in your stomach only grows. Electricity shoots up your spine when Valeria perfects the angle, pressing the seam of your pants against your clit just right. You moan around her fingers, lips and chin shiny with spit. In the weeks you spent running, pleasure had been an afterthought. You never had the time or privacy to worry about getting yourself off. The neglect left you swollen, sensitive, and all too receptive to Valeria’s touch. 

“Really?” She coos, slowly pulling her fingers from your mouth. They come to rest on your other hip, fingers dampening the fabric beneath them. “Grinding your cunt on me like a dumb mutt, aren’t you?” With a firmer grip on you, she presses your cunt even harder on her thigh, rocking you back and forth. You mindlessly follow her movements, chasing your high. 

Valeria studies the pinch of your brow and pitch of moans, watching every minute expression that crosses your face. Your thighs tighten around her own, desperately humping at her. Quiet pants escape your swollen lips, your head hangs low, and your eyes shut. The languid pace is entirely your own, she’s barely moving you along.

When your moans take a higher pitch, fingers tugging at her shirt, she knows you're close. Valeria’s hand comes to pull at your hair, tugging your head back and exposing the bare column of your throat. Her jaw clenches upon noticing your collar’s absence. She meets your wide eyes, your scleras flushed red and pupils dilated. Your pace falters, but Valeria prompts you to keep going with a bounce of her leg. 

“Please,” You whimper. “Wanna come.” The desperation in your voice is palpable. It’s pathetic enough to have Valeria pitying you. It’s hard for you to keep your grip on her shirt, your muscles seem to have a mind of their own. Your restrained hands fall to your lap, numb and warm as you continue to grind. 

“Yeah?” She taunts. “You wanna cum on my thigh?” Her fingers dance up your shirt, calluses brushing over your fluttering abdomen as she makes her way to your breasts. You part your lips when her fingers toy with your hardened nipples, plucking and twisting the sensitive buds. 

“Mhmm,” You nod, eyes fluttering shut. Your tongue is too heavy to form a proper response. By now, your head has gone cottony and light, filled with nothing but Val. It’s hard to even remember how you got into this situation or even recognize the dull ache of your bruised ass on every grind. Her body heat is suffocating, the scent of her perfume leaving you drooling. Valeria can see the distant look in your eyes, so she lets your lack of verbal response slide. She dips her head to your shoulder, pressing wet kisses along the curve of your neck.

“Please,” You manage to wail, repeating the word until your voice gives out on you. Valeria’s teeth glint in the moonlight as you come, nipping at the thin skin above your pulse point. Your wetness soaks the crotch of your panties, leaving them wet and sticky along the curve of your folds. The heat bleeds through your pants, warming Valeria’s thigh. 

When your hips stop twitching and your breath slows, you slump into Valeria. The hand beneath your shirt traverses up and down your spine as you hiccup and cry. Shame curdles in your stomach, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Valeria presses soft kisses to your cheek, slowly making her way to your chapped lips. 

The kiss is sloppy and almost entirely one-sided. You struggle to keep up with her, clumsily tilting your head the wrong way and hardly moving your tongue. Her teeth knock against yours. When you cringe away at the sensation, she follows you, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to break skin. Hands wrap around your upper arms hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer to her. She licks along the sharp edges of your teeth, presses her tongue against yours. You squirm and whine through it all, only settling when she pulls away, a string of blood-tinged saliva connecting you. 

Satisfaction blooms in Valeria’s chest as she meets your teary eyes. You weeks of planning, the effort spent running, all of it was rendered pointless in a matter of minutes. The regret has your chest tightening, wishing you’d fought harder, bared your teeth. It’s too late, you realize as she heaves you to your feet. There’s no chance at escape with the way the room sways, legs weak beneath you. Valeria anchors you to her side just as you're about to fall, pulling you toward the door. Your mind desperately screams to push her away, but you can’t feel your arms anymore. You stumble and trip over the door frame, only held upright by Valeria’s arm around your waist. 

You can’t help but feel like a prisoner approaching the gallows when you see the idling car. Gravel crunches beneath your feet as she drags you forward, ignoring your attempts to dig your heels in. Each step is one step closer back to Las Almas, back to her mansion, to the gilded cage she’ll lock you in. Fear curdles in your stomach, but there’s nothing you can do with Valeria practically pinning you to her side. She pushes you into the car, quickly sliding in next to you and slamming the door shut. The click of the locks cements your fate. Valeria wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close when you try to shuffle away. She barks out orders to the driver. The car shifts gears, quickly leaving the motel and meeting the open road. Valeria murmurs something about going home as your body loosens, her knuckles brushing over your arm. It’s only a matter of minutes before you’re sprawled across the seat, head resting in her lap. The promise of deep, dreamless sleep is irresistable. 

Valeria idly brushes the hair from your face, humming a quiet tune just loud enough for you to hear. For a while, she watches you fight to stay awake, eyes fluttering shut adorably each time you do. She smiles when you finally slip away, that pinched, fearful expression finally leaving your pretty face. It’s the culmination of weeks of work, countless outbursts, and more than a few deaths. You gave a good chase, she’ll admit, but she won. 

Valeria’s sure once the rohypnol’s effects wane, you’ll be back to your feral self. It won’t be easy to earn your submission, but to her, that’s half the fun. Valeria can already hear the foul threats you’ll grunt out from behind your gag, drool dripping down your chin as you pull against your leash. But that’s trouble for another day, another training session. It’ll take more than one session to fully domesticate you, but Valeria is eager for the work ahead. She’s always enjoyed playing with her food. 

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[boardgoats]

29th October 2024

The evening began with everyone admiring Plum’s spooky cardie, before people settled down to play spooky games.  To mark Halloween, the “Feature Game” will was Ghosts Love Candy Too (the sequel to Ghosts Love Candy).  This is ostensibly a quick little card game where players haunt kids to steal their sweeties, however, in practice, it took rather longer than expected to get to grips with.  The…

[eniyicalisma]

CAPPADOCİATİCKETPOİNT - SİLVER

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[chevxyn]

CONFLICT = CHEMISTRY!

in which, you and sae got into a lil conflict outside a football stadium & the paparazzi’s made a false statement that the two of you are dating.

an itoshi sae smau series

written + 1 attachment.

act iv, ep 032 : amusement park | next part

wc : 1,2k+

when you got that message, you were already well prepared for the date. but you were kinda scared if he’s gonna take you to dinner date and it’s a five star restaurant, considering you were wearing everything but that type of dresscode.

so you silently prayed before that same car of his appeared on your front porch. fortunately, you don’t think it’s anything like that. as when he walked out of his car, he was just wearing something casual himself, a white shirt that had rolled up sleeves, and black pants.

“you ready? it’s quite a far journey.” he said, and you nodded before raising an eyebrow, “yep, where are we going anyways?” you had asked.

“an amusement park.” oh, that was not what you expected. especially from someone like him, where did he even think of that? but hey, you always liked the thrill.

you smiled as he said that, before walking beside him, as he opened up the door for you. man, get your standards to someone like him. you sat at the passenger seat as he walked to the driver’s side.

“you don’t mind that right?” sae asked for confirmation, and you just chuckled, “i actually like amusement parks.”

“good.” he exclaimed, as a hint of relief could be heard. as the car started it’s engine and he drove out of your driveway.

on the way there, the scenery was almost breathtaking, spain, never disappoints you honestly. and added with the feel of luxury of his car, felt like you were in a fiction.

when you got to the destination, you couldn’t help but realize the amusement park was awfully quiet but the workers is there. as if waiting for the two of you.

sae got out of the car and so did you, as he scanned something from his phone, the workers lets you in. and oh my, it was empty but it was open with bright light coming from many of the attractions, and the spinning ferris wheel from a distance.

you glanced at him, “why is it only us in this park?” he just took his attention to you, “i rented the whole place.” he said as if it was a normal day to day thing.

your eyes widened and your voice couldn’t even come out with the shock you just heard ‘bachira, i know why your ticket got refunded.’

“but wouldn’t that just make it harder for people to spot us?” you asked, and he was quiet. clearly when he booked the whole amusement park, he didn’t think of that.

“eh, i mean if it’s okay for you, i can just post us in my page.” you offered and he nodded, atleast this date won’t be wasted.

but for now, since he already rented it and well, it probably costed alot, might aswell have fun in it. your face formed a smile, before averting your attention back at him.

“what?” his eyebrow raised as you chuckled and took his hand, “come on! let’s try the rides.” he didn’t bother to remove your grasp, and just lets you hold him.

this amusement park is beautiful, as you remembered they have a firework show, and since this is rented, chances that you can tell them to put it on.

what catches your eyes first was the drop tower, which you absolutely loved. it’s the thrill that kept you alive honestly. as for sae, when he realized you wanted to go on that ride, he did not like that height.

you saw the way he reacted, and almost laughed but kept it, “scared?” you taunted and he glared at you. oh, if anything he hated, that’s someone doubting him.

“taking that as a no,” you said and smirked, pulling him to go to the tower, as for sae, he just silently gulped as he got dragged by you. he would never admit it, but he dislikes these rides.

so it was not surprise, when the two of you were strapped to the seat and dropped from 300 feet from the ground— he almost fainted. but crazy enough, he was not screaming. you on the other hand, was.

oh, it also had a second drop that you did not expected, and that made you hit a note that you never did in your music career. and sae looked a little dead inside.

the two of you got off from the tower, and after that you looked traumatized, which sae took notice and sent out a huff, as if he enjoyed that face of yours.

“so, where’s your confidence?” he taunted and you are now the one that’s glaring at him, “oh, i could recall that you went pale.”

“i wasn’t the one who screamed.” he defended as you rolled your eyes. “maybe you have no emotions.” you said, and smirked.

he formed a small smile at that, it was rare for him to do so. especially in a place where they are just fake dating. and this went on for a while, the cycle came back to back. when the two of you would try the amusement parks’ rides, from the scary ones to those that are just fun like the bumper cars.

he had no idea why you wanted to play this one since it was just those cars that you can just drive around. he already have multiple. that is until he tried it and you absolutely made him dizzy. yet he couldn’t do the same to you.

what a gentleman. and now here is the two of you, after so hung with the other terrifying rides, you’re going on the water ride on a boat. the afternoon had already turned into night, and fairy lights had lighten the way of the waters.

when you got into the boat, and as the boat went onto it’s trail, you looked at sae who looked like he had a sense of peace in a while. the waters was calm, you specifically picked this ride cause you had requested the firework show to be lit in a few minutes.

and you felt like it was the perfect ride to go on. so as they waited for the fireworks to start, you sparked a conversation, “so, did you like the rides?” you asked, and he reverted his focus to you.

“it was not bad, although most of it was..” he paused trying to find the right word, “terrifying?” you asked and he nodded.

“in a way.” he admitted, and you just chuckled. honestly, this was an amazing experience, although the real reason why you were happy is cause you had fun with a new..

actually, what would you classify the two of you? acquaintances or friends? you really don’t know after all this, but you definitely had fun.

in his pov, as you were in your own thoughts, he was focused on you. he wanted to know why rin cared for you so much, that he would gladly stand up for you. and it has been bothering him that he actually felt nice with you.

almost happy with you. to him it doesn’t make any sense especially when the two of you are just acquaintances in his eyes, but he shrugged it off whenever he felt that same emotions.

suddenly, a spark was heard from a far, and just as they looked at the sky, a firework blew. it was beautiful. really, it was.

the sound of the waters flow and the fireworks up on the sky, made you feel nice. sae looked to the sky, and you couldn’t help but notice, he looked.. good in this light, that you couldn’t help but admire him.

taglist (open) : @vaelils, @levihanmyotp, @kaz-0e, @jaeyuuns, @narcjsistx, @sxftiebee, @tojirin, @nensi, @banzaitaka, @whisperofae, @orphicarchive, @bubybubsters, @sellomaybe, @s4-mmy, @nomyimi, @rwbie, @chuuyalvover, @suksatoru, @x3nafix, @misscandygirl122, @imas1mpp, @literallyushiwaka, @y-sabell-a, @pctterheadd, @swagkittybear, @luvvmae, @luvynii, @syarc0re, @saiongfs, @lovessen

©chevxyn

[mummyemmatojames]

46. A Disappointing Surprise: Legoland Letdown

Hello, dear community. Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with a disheartening update on our MDLB and FLR journey. After the film incident left James grumpy, I wanted to cheer him up with something special, but it backfired. I booked us two nights at Legoland near us, thinking it’d be perfect for my Lego-loving little boy, and I’m really disappointed with how it turned out. I’d love your thoughts on what went wrong and how to move past this.

The Plan: A Fun Surprise

After James sulked over not getting to watch that 12-rated film, I felt bad and decided to surprise him with something to take his mind off it. He loves his Lego—spends hours building with it at home, beaming when I praise his creations—so I booked two nights at the Legoland resort nearby. I pictured him wide-eyed at the Lego displays, thrilled by the rides, and cozy in a themed room. I even splurged on a pirate-themed room with a kids’ bunk bed for him, complete with treasure chest decor, thinking he’d adore sleeping in something so playful and boyish. I kept it a secret until we were driving there, then told him, “Mummy’s taking you to Legoland, sweetheart!” expecting him to light up. He smiled at first, but it faded fast.

Why It Went Wrong

From the moment we arrived, James was off. He sulked the whole time—through the park, at meals, even in the room I’d been so excited about. He found it embarrassing to be around so many actual children—toddlers and young kids everywhere, squealing and running wild. “It’s all babies, Mummy,” he muttered, arms crossed as we walked past a Lego pirate ship swarming with little ones. I thought he’d settle into his 10-year-old headspace—enjoy the bricks, the fun, the silliness—but he couldn’t. He kept pulling away from me, avoiding eye contact, and barely touched the Lego sets in the room. It was like he couldn’t get comfortable, stuck between feeling too old for it and too exposed to lean into being my little boy.

I tried to make it work—held his hand on rides, ordered him a kids’ meal with his safari utensils I’d packed, tucked him in that pirate bed with his bottle each night. But his grumpiness didn’t budge. By the second night, I’d had enough—he was fussing about everything, from the noise to the food, and I sent him to bed an hour early at 6:30 PM, skipping nursing entirely. “You’re going to bed now, James,” I said, handing him his formula bottle and turning off the light. He didn’t argue, just rolled over, but I could feel his frustration—and mine. We checked out this morning, and the drive home was quiet, both of us deflated.

My Frustration

I’m so disappointed. I spent time and money planning this—hundreds on the tickets, the room, the travel—because I thought it’d be perfect for him. Lego’s his thing, and I imagined him thriving in that playful world, letting me be Mummy in a space built for fun. The pirate bed was my favorite touch—I pictured him giggling as he climbed in, snuggling up with me nearby. Instead, he couldn’t get in the headspace, and I’m frustrated he wasn’t ready for it. I know he struggles with the dynamic in public—like at the wedding or the pool—but I hoped a Lego wonderland would feel safe enough. It didn’t, and now I’m kicking myself for pushing it.

Sending him to bed early without nursing felt right in the moment—I was too annoyed to offer that closeness—but it left a sour taste. He’s been quiet since we got home, tinkering with his Lego at the table but not really engaging with me. I’m not sure if he’s mad, embarrassed, or just worn out, and I’m not sure how to fix it. I wanted this to be a win after the film letdown, not another flop.

What Went Wrong—and What’s Next?

Looking back, I think I misjudged his comfort zone. At home, Lego’s his happy place—private, controlled, just us. Legoland was loud, chaotic, and full of real kids, which made him feel out of place instead of immersed. He’s still wrestling with accepting me as Mummy outside the house—public settings keep tripping us up—and this was too big a leap. Maybe I should’ve started smaller, like a quiet Lego exhibit, not a full-on theme park. I’m also wondering if the film fight primed him to resist anything “little” right now—he’s been so good, but these back-to-back clashes might’ve rattled him.

For now, I’m giving him space today—letting him decompress with his bricks while I regroup. I’ll talk to him tomorrow, maybe over a cuddle, and see where his head’s at. I’m frustrated, but I don’t want this to derail us—our dynamic’s too strong at home to let a bad trip undo it. I just need to figure out how to ease him into public play without these blowups.

What Do You Think?

I’d really love some insight from the community—have you had a surprise like this backfire because the public setting didn’t click? How did you help your little one get back into their headspace after? For those whose partners struggle with Mummy outside the house, what’s worked to bridge that gap—small steps or just sticking to home? And if you’ve got ideas for cheering James up after this—maybe a quieter Lego-themed treat—I’d be so grateful. I feel bad it flopped, and I want to get us back to our happy place.

Thank you for being here as I process this disappointment. I still love my little boy, even when he’s sulking—I just need to find the right balance for us.

With all my love (and some frustration),

Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[khaire-traveler]

Hermes is the exhausted traveler who spent almost a full twenty four hours traveling from one place to the next. He drags his feet along the floor as he lugs his overstuffed suitcase of souvenirs behind him then immediately perks up when he sees the time and rushes to make his next flight.

Hermes is the excited tourist who struggled to save thousands of dollars for the chance to visit another country that they've admired for so long. He zips around from place to place, stopping to take photos of the gorgeous sights he may never see again, and he dives in head first at any opportunity to participate in or witness cultural traditions.

Hermes is the newly-wed groom who enthusiastically jumped on his flight with his spouse for his first honeymoon. He tenderly holds hands with his lover, resting their heads on one another, as they both stare, wide-eyed, at a strikingly clear sky populated with glistening stars and makes a wish as he mistakes a satellite for a comet.

Hermes is the single father who desperately needed a vacation but couldn't find a babysitter in time. He smiles contently as he lounges on a beach chair, soaking up the sun, and watches his two girls pretending to be sea monsters in the ocean's waters a few feet away.

Hermes is the college frat boy who travelled to the beach a couple cities away for his spring break vacation. He chugs down another glass of beer and belts out karaoke with his best friend to the song I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston at 3am, likely annoying their neighbors in the hotel room next door.

Hermes is the fragile old man who finally got the chance to return to his home country after years of having no choice but to live abroad. He smiles nostalgically at the small town he grew up in, sipping at a cup of coffee as he sits in an old café he used to visit often, admiring the scenery and feeling torn about how much things have changed in his absence.

Hermes is the anxious student who managed to get an opportunity studying abroad with their school. He nervously examines the map of the metro lines and stations, attempting to catch a metro back to his temporary housing after a full day of wandering the city and being too afraid to ask a stranger for directions.

Hermes is the young boy who took his first plane ride alone to visit his dad after the separation. He shyly converses with the nice lady seated next to him on the plane, sharing very little information but enjoying the company regardless.

Hermes takes the form of all travellers. His spirit journeys with us as we travel by plane, car, bus, or train. He waits in line for the metro ticket by our sides, he rocks out to our favorite songs with us in our cars, he squeezes our hands during the turbulence on the plane, he stares out the bus window with us as we listen to headphones.

Hermes is the spirit of The Traveller, and on every trip we take, every journey we embark on, every first step on the road of life, he wishes us safe travels.