#Vermont Arts Exchange

[joelscurls]

to the ends of the earth

pt ii of feel it in your bones | epilogue

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12k

summary: You spend the week of Spring Break in Austin with your long-distance-boyfriend Joel. As you settle into a comfortable routine together, questions regarding your future arise.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), fluff, angst (ik ik i’m sorry), smut, phone sex, masturbation (f, m), semi-public touching, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie, soft dom!Joel, hair pulling, tiniest bit of nipple play, implied oral (f receiving), brief mention of shower sex, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, etc.)

a/n: i’m honestly so overwhelmed with all the positive feedback I got on part 1 - thank you all so much! there will be a part 3 in the form of a lil epilogue, so stay tuned for more of these two! as always, ty to @caffeinated-validation for giving this your eyes <3

Long distance sucks. 

It’s been six months to the day since Homecoming Weekend, five since you and Joel put a label on things: “exclusive”. Not like you’d been talking to anyone else. Since Joel left Vermont that first time, he’d occupied your mind, made a home there, nestled deep between grooves of soft brain matter. 

He’s been back a couple of times since. Quick weekend trips — much like the first one — just without the bad art and couch surfing. And each time he’s come and gone has been more painful than the last. More memories to reminisce on when you lay in bed alone. More words exchanged to drown in. You feel as if your heart has been ripped apart and stitched haphazardly back together every time he slips from your embrace.

The last time you’d seen him in person was New Year’s, when you’d rented a cabin in the Green Mountains, watched Joel react to his first snow, exchanged I love yous for the first time under falling flurries. 

It feels now as if it were a lifetime ago.

It’s never enough — time, kisses, touches. It’s all so fleeting. You want, more than anything, to burrow into Joel’s chest and make a permanent residence there. To go with him where he goes, be with him where he is, always. 

But you know you can’t — it’s not realistic. You have your life here, and Joel has his there. You remind yourself of this fact more times a day than you’d like to admit. 

You will be with him again soon enough, though, and for the longest stint of time yet. An entire week in Texas, you and Joel. 

The thought of it keeps you going in the leadup to spring break.

It’s the night before your flight, an early-morning departure from Burlington International Airport. You’ve waited until the last minute to pack, so here you are, hovering above your suitcase — which lays sprawled out on your bed — aimlessly throwing pairs of underwear and t-shirts into the main compartment. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. A much welcomed distraction. 

And then you notice that it’s Joel calling. 

Your heart skips a beat. You answer. Put it on speaker-phone. 

“Hello?,” you purr, flopping down on the small empty space on the bed. 

“Hi baby,” he drawls, his voice so sweet and saccharine it makes you melt. “All packed?” 

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m ready.” 

“Me too,” he says. “So ready. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” you parrot. “How was your day?”

He sighs. “Fine, I guess. Had a bunch’a loose ends to tie up at this site before Tommy takes over for the week. A lot’a back and forth on the phone, orderin’ shit.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I hope you won’t be stressed all week thinking about it.”

He hums, so deep it vibrates through the phone. It goes straight to your core. “Impossible, babygirl. Once I have you here, ‘m not gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout anything else.”

Your face heats. An unignorable pang of desire swells in your chest.

“Joel,” you say, desperation already coloring your voice.

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

Phone sex has become somewhat of a norm for you and Joel, that overwhelming need to be close to one another manifesting as desperate touches of your own fingers and half-coherent pleas through the speaker. It’s rare that a bedtime conversation between the two of you doesn’t end in panting down the line, telling each other goodnight through labored, satiated breaths.

Tonight, your need for him is bordering on carnal, carving into your skin like a sharp blade. You know you’ll have him tomorrow, and a number of days after that, but still, it feels so intangible, unreal. Like you can’t let yourself fully believe it until he’s in your arms. 

And so you need him — right now — in any way you can have him.

“You wanna touch yourself?” 

“Yes Joel — please.”  

“Fuck babygirl,” he breathes. “Okay. Lemme take care’a you.” 

You slip your fingers under the waistband of your sweatpants impatiently. You feel yourself through the thin fabric of your panties and, unsurprisingly, you’re soaked. It’s like you’ve been pavloved  — like all you need is the sound of Joel’s voice, soft and deep like crushed velvet, and you’re gone  — every single time.

“I’m so wet,” you mewl. 

Joel groans on the other end. He sounds almost pained, like not being there to feel you, to taste you, is physically hurting him. If it is though, he covers it up well, snapping his attention back to you like a reflex. 

“You still got your pants on?,” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Take ‘em off for me. And your panties.”

You do as he says, pulling your sweatpants and underwear down in one tug, letting them bunch at your ankles. 

“They’re off,” you say. 

“Good. Now touch yourself baby, go ahead.”

You shallowly dip two fingers into the pool of arousal that’s formed between your thighs. Then you glide slick digits over your aching clit, back and forth, a quiet whimper slipping from your mouth.

“‘ts it, darlin’,” he coos, “rub that pretty pussy for me.”

You pretend your fingers are his — bigger, rougher ��� as you increase the pressure you’re applying and begin to rub tight circles against your clit. The thought of your touches being his, instead, leaves you failing to swallow back a moan.

“Joel – ngh – it feels good.”

“‘Good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You keep going, your breaths becoming increasingly uneven, your hips inadvertently canting off the bed in an attempt to create more friction. You can sense that you’re dripping onto the duvet below you, staining it with your arousal. You’re way past caring at this point — you just need to cum.

You bring your other hand between your thighs, teasing your entrance. You sigh when you find how much wetter you’ve gotten in just a few minutes. You’re sure Joel must be able to hear the lewd slickslickslick of your fingers swirling against your sopping cunt — which he confirms when he curses under his breath.

“Fuck; that all for me, darlin’?”

“Mhm,” you moan.

“Gonna fuck yourself with your fingers for me? Cum all over ‘em, imaginin’ it’s my cock, instead?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Please, Joel, need your cock so bad.” 

“I know babygirl, I know.”

You push two fingers inside as deep as you can get them, crooking them against your walls until you find that spongy spot. You fuck yourself in time with the fingers rubbing your clit, your pace reflexively increasing when you start to feel that familiar warmth growing in your abdomen.

You feel it build, up up up — and then it falls, fading completely. 

“Fuck,” you murmur. 

You don’t relent. But again and again, even with the perfect amount of pressure applied to your clit and the fingers in your pussy curved just right, you find your orgasm just out of reach. You let out a frustrated whine, your movements stalling completely. You can’t get there, not like this, not alone. 

“Joel,” you punch out, “need you to touch yourself. Need you to cum with me.”

He inhales a sharp breath through his teeth. “Fuck, sweetheart — okay.”

You hear a faint clink of his belt on the other side of the phone, followed by the telltale whir of a zipper. There’s rustling over the line. When you hear him sigh, you know his cock is in his hand. And then there’s a shift in his breathing, subtle, but enough that you pick up on it. Evidence that he’s started stroking himself.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Miss that perfect little cunt so bad, baby. Can’t wait to fuck you again. Gonna ruin you.”

You love when he talks to you like this — when he loses himself in it and his tongue works faster than his brain. You’d never imagined when you first met him, reserved, quiet Joel, that he could be so filthy.

“Tell me —“ you plead — “tell me how you’re gonna fuck me, Joel.”

“Fuck, gonna get you in my bed, burry my face between your legs until you’re beggin’ me to stop…”

“Shit,” you gasp, your fingers stuttering at his words.

“‘N then ’m gonna fill you up with this cock, make you go dumb on it, fuck you so good your eyes roll back in your head.”

You whimper. You know he’s not just all talk from experience, and the thought of him fulfilling all these promises so soon has you plummeting toward the brink. As long as he keeps going, keeps talking, you’re not going to last another minute. 

“Gonna make you soak it, make you cum all over my fuckin’ cock. Fuck — swear ’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

You feel your orgasm approaching again. But it’s not waning, not this time. You chase it, letting Joel’s words run on a loop in your head: gonna fill you up with this cock, gonna make you feel so good, bury my face between your legs until you’re beggin’, gonna make you go dumb on it, gonna make you feel so good, so good, so good…

“So close Joel,” you breathe. “So fucking close.”

“‘ts it, darlin’”, he says, his voice strained. “‘m right behind you — shit — let me hear you cum. Wanna — ahh — wanna hear you.” 

That’s all it takes, just his encouragement, and you’re cumming so hard the room spins.

You can faintly register Joel talking you through it, able to make out a string of good girls through ringing ears. When you finally start to come down, you can tell he’s nearing his own climax, panting down the line as your own breaths begin to even.

“Please Joel,” you beg. “Please cum for me.”

He lets out a low growl, and then your name is spilling from the tip of his tongue, over and over again, in between strangled moans. 

The line is quiet for a moment, apart from you and Joel’s shallow breathing. 

“Fuck,” he says when he’s recovered from his orgasm, “how many hours til you get here?

You laugh. “I don’t know — too many.”

“Yeah, too many,” he agrees. 

There’s another lull. You yawn exasperatedly, only now realizing how exhausted you are. An earth shattering orgasm will do that to you, you guess.

Joel chuckles on the other end.

“Go to bed, baby. It’ll make the time go faster.”

You sigh. You don’t want to hang up. Don’t want to be without him again. But he’s right. He usually is — though you’d never admit it out loud.

“Yeah, okay,” you acquiesce after a moment.

“I love you,” he hums. 

“I love you too, Joel.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” he adds.

You smile. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, can’t see how ridiculously giddy he makes you. 

“Me either,” you say. “Goodnight.”

“Night, darlin’.”

You’re still grinning like an idiot when you hang up the phone. You lay there for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling, willing time to move faster.

Eventually you peel yourself off the bed and finish packing. You throw in some lacy bras you know Joel will love — if you end up wearing any real clothes this week, that is. Then you zip your suitcase shut, toss it onto the floor somewhere, and slip under the covers. 

You flick your bedside lamp off with a sigh, and begin your attempt to coax sleep. You are tired, but you’re more excited.

When you finally do drift off — at some ungodly hour of the morning — you dream of Joel, of his large arms wrapped around you, his honeyed voice in your ear. Tomorrow, he whispers, again and again. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

You wake up the next morning with butterflies the size of baseballs in your stomach. You get to the airport unnecessarily early, make it through security in record time, and plant yourself down at your gate with a coffee in hand two hours before your scheduled departure. 

Your body is practically vibrating in your seat, only partially due to the caffeine. Joel will no doubt still be asleep at this hour, so you shoot him a text to wake up to: 

at the airport, all checked in. can’t wait to see you, cowboy <3

And then you send one to Sarah, who you know will be awake, her study-abroad trip to Cambodia meaning she’s probably studying or eating dinner right now.

On my way to see your dad; miss you! Can’t wait to hear all about your studies sometime soon :) 

She almost immediately responds:

Yay! Miss you both so much! Yes, talk soon pls - lots to catch you up on. The professors here want me to stay forever (I won’t, dw, need to be able to bother you and my dad on a more regular basis).

You laugh to yourself. 

Sarah had been thrilled when she’d found out about your relationship. Had been way too proud of herself for setting you up. When you’d learned she’d faked sick the night you met Joel at the art exhibition, you’d found yourself unable to feign disapproval. How could you care, really, when you’d ended the night straddling him, kissing him?

Not that you’d told her that, of course. She didn’t need to know every detail of that weekend.

It had been…interesting, to say the least, navigating a long-distance-something with the father of one of your students. But Sarah hadn’t pried, even when you’d suspected she wanted to. She’d let it bloom into something more, something real, before beginning to pester you with the questions: isn’t he the worst cook? do you think you guys will get married? can I be your maid of honor if you do?

To which you’d responded: yes (affectionately), I don’t know, and of course you can.

You’ll miss her this week, but another part of you — a more selfish part — is thrilled to have a week alone with Joel, without any distractions. 

So thrilled, you can barely steady your shaking hands enough to plug your phone into the outlet under your seat.

You scroll mindlessly on social media as it charges until it’s time to board. Then you’re shuffling single-file down the aisle of the plane to your row, hauling your suitcase into the overhead, and taking your seat next to the window.

It’s your first flight of two, separated by a three-hour layover. You make it to Philadelphia in just over an hour, halfway through the cheesy 2000s rom-com you’d selected on the inflight entertainment screen. You make a mental note to finish it on the next leg.

You get lunch once you’ve tracked down your new gate  — pay seventeen bucks for a soggy airport sandwich and a bag of chips that, upon opening, is mostly air. When you sit down to eat, you notice that Joel texted you back.

Got one foot out the front door already. Can’t wait to see you babygirl.

You can’t help the embarrassing smile that pulls across your face. 

You re-read the text no less than ten times before you board your next flight — then once more for good measure just before you put your phone on airplane-mode and shove it in your sweatshirt pocket. 

This is it, you think as the wheels lift off the ground and the clouds come closer into view. No more countdown. It’s here.

You have to refrain from sprinting off of the plane as soon as it’s landed in Austin.

You grab your suitcase from the overhead with reckless abandon, nearly knocking another piece of luggage out of the compartment and onto a passing flight attendant. 

“Shit, sorry,” you curse. 

She glares at you, unamused. 

“I’m just…I’m meeting someone here,” you ramble. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Too excited.” 

She nods. Pops her gum. “Mhm. Have a good day, ma’am. Thanks for flying with us.” 

You keep your head down as you disembark.

It’d been a packed flight, and so you find yourself weaving through the crowd that’s gathered at the gate as you exit, around parents who have stopped to tie their kids’ shoes and solo travelers pausing to book their ride shares.

You check your phone as you walk, unwilling to waste even a fraction of a second. Find the directions buried in the text thread between you and Joel detailing how to get from your terminal to the passenger pickup area. 

You follow them, suitcase rolling behind you as you trudge along, down a couple escalators and through a corridor.

You round one last corner — and then you see him, standing with his back to a pillar, hands anxiously fiddling at his sides. 

Now you are sprinting.

Your suitcase is abandoned somewhere behind you as you run toward Joel. He doesn’t see you at first. You make it a few feet, shoes squeaking on tile, before his head snaps up and his eyes catch yours. And then he’s bounding forward, meeting you in the middle, your bodies colliding, hard. 

He throws both arms around you, squeezes you so tightly you think your blood vessels may burst. You accept your fate willingly, breathing him in, letting your hands rove along his broad back.

He smells like pine and worn leather and Joel. 

He feels like home. 

He bruises a kiss in your hair, whispering against your scalp in disbelief: baby, you’re here.

You stand wrapped up together for a long moment, Joel rocking you back and forth as you catch your breath. Then you pull apart to look at each other. 

Only then does it begin to sink in — Joel is right in front of you, touching you — and you’re about to spend a whole week together.

“C’mere,” he drawls, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing his lips into yours. It’s a slow kiss, punctuated by gentle strokes of his fingertips along your jaw. Your tongue rolls against his and your fingers anchor into his shirt collar. It simultaneously feels like it lasts forever and not nearly long enough.

“C’mon,” he whispers against your lips when you part. “Let’s go home, darlin.”

You grab your forgotten suitcase and pull it behind you with one hand, the other in Joel’s as you walk to his truck. It’s parked just outside, at the curb, hazard lights blinking. 

“Was supposed to wait here for you,” he explains as he opens the passenger door, helping you in. He takes your suitcase, throws it onto the backseat like it weighs nothing. 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you smile as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Felt like a rom-com — I liked it.” 

“Yeah,” he says, turning his key in the ignition. His cheeks flush. “I liked it too.”

You stop for fast food on the way to Joel’s — Whataburger, naturally. They don’t have these in Vermont, so you try to savor your burger, but your long day of travel has you ravenous, so you wolf it down, ketchup smearing on the corners of your mouth between bites. Joel just laughs at you from the driver’s seat, piece of lettuce lodged between his front teeth. 

You get it for him — fingernails prodding at his gums, but he lets you. Even sighs at the contact. When you flick the leaf off your fingertip, he pulls you in for a kiss, much softer than the one you shared in the airport, but dizzying, nonetheless. “Better?,” he whispers, and you’re not sure if he’s asking about his teeth or you, but both are true, so you hum affirmingly. 

You sink back into your seat, adjusting your seatbelt where it’s tightened around your neck.

You feel full and drowsy as you throw your trash into the paper bag the food came in, tucking it by your feet. 

You let your head rest against the window. The glass rattles against your skull as the truck begins to move, but you ignore it, too tired to care. And then you let your eyes shut —  just to rest them — that’s all.

You don’t remember falling asleep. 

You come to when you feel Joel at your side, trying to move you from the passenger seat. 

“Baby,” you hear him say. Your eyes flutter open. He brings a hand up to your face, peeling stray strands of hair from where they’re stuck to your forehead and pushing them behind your ear. 

“We’re home,” he drawls. “Let’s go inside, yeah?” 

You nod groggily, still letting your eyes adjust to the daylight. You take in your surroundings: you’re parked in his driveway, his house right in front of you. Somehow, it’s just as you’d imagined it to be — big, sprawling porch at the front, meticulously kempt yard ornamented with a beautiful red oak tree. It’s so Texan, you think, so Joel.

He grabs your luggage from the truck. Then he helps you out, walks you with a large hand wrapped around your middle to the front door and into the house. Once inside, he sets your suitcase down. 

And then he hugs you again, like he’s afraid to let you out of his embrace, lest you vaporize into thin air.

“Still tired? Wanna take a nap?,” he asks.

You yawn, right in his ear. He laughs; that’s enough of an answer. 

“Alright,” he says. You follow him to his bedroom, too sleepy to argue. You pass through the kitchen and living room on the way. Through drooping eyes, you notice scattered pieces of Joel — the guitar leaning against its stand next to the couch, the pictures of him and Sarah lining the staircase. It makes your chest tighten, being here in his house, seeing the parts of him that he can’t bring with him when he visits you.

His room is the most him though — masculine and minimalist. A canvas with a ram painted on it hangs above his bed — a gift from someone, you assume. You can’t exactly imagine Joel strolling the aisles of Target, picking out artwork to hang in his house. There’s another photo of him and Sarah on his bedside table that must’ve been taken at her highschool graduation, cap adorning her head full of curls. 

It makes you smile — all of it. 

You lope over to the bed, climbing in when Joel pulls back the covers for you. He tucks you in with a kiss to your forehead. His duvet wafts his scent, when you pull it up to your face. You inhale it deeply. Commit it to memory.

“Wait,” you say as he turns to leave the room. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?” 

He leans against the doorframe, wood creaking under his weight. “Well I don’t really nap, darlin’,” he admits. “You get some rest, I’ll just be doin’ some stuff around the house.” 

“Please,” you say, sticking out your bottom lip at him. You watch as he thinks on it for a minute, then sighs in defeat. 

“Okay, I’ll nap with you baby.” 

He climbs in next to you. “Only for a little bit, though,” he mumbles, like he’s trying to convince himself.

His broad chest presses into your back. He drapes an arm over your side as you nuzzle into his embrace, so warm, so safe. He noses at your neck, leaving gentle kisses along your exposed shoulder. This, you think, is what heaven must feel like. 

The sound of Joel’s breathing lulls you to sleep.

When you wake up, the room is cast in shadows. It’s dusk, you realize, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. You roll over. Find that Joel is no longer next to you.

His side of the bed is still warm, you notice, so he must not have gotten up too long ago.

You clamber to your feet, ignoring the blood rushing to your head as you stumble out of his room. You make your way down the stairs, hand braced against the wall as you descend. The lights are on in the living room — a sign of life. But Joel isn’t there. 

You wander into the kitchen. He’s not here either.  Did he leave the house? You look around for a note, fish your phone out of your pocket to see if he texted you. But you have zero notifications and the dining table is empty, apart from a pair of salt & pepper shakers and a napkin holder. 

You call out for him, to no avail. Stumped, you make your way to the door that leads to the garage, the only room you haven’t checked yet, and wedge it open. 

To your surprise, you find Joel standing at the back of his truck, loading something into the bed. Upon further inspection, you see that it’s blankets.

Huh?

“Hey,” you announce, making your way down the small set of stairs. He whips around at the sound of your voice. The color in his face drains, like he’s just been caught in the act of something.

“Darlin’,” he says, eyes wide. “You’re up.”

You join him by the truck. Let him rest a heavy arm on your shoulder. You peer up at him with a quirked brow. “What are you doing out here?”

“Well, I uh, I had planned somethin’ for you. Not sure if you’re up for it?”

You look back at the blankets in the truck bed. It’s not just blankets, you discover. There are pillows too, big ones, like the kinds you put on patio furniture, plus a small radio situated in the corner. And there’s a bag of chips leaned up against one of the pillows, next to a box of your favorite candy.

“A picnic… in your truck?”

He laughs. “Not quite. There’s a drive-in movie theater down the road. Thought we could go.”

Those butterflies from this morning suddenly return, swarming your insides at the realization — Joel planned a date for you.

It’s not that he isn’t normally romantic, because he is. 

You recall one particular weekend he’d visited — he’d insisted on cooking dinner for you at your apartment, determined to make it perfect for you. He’d ended up burning the chicken and oversalting his sauce, but you hadn’t cared one bit — not when he’d gazed at you so adoringly across the candlelit table, one of your hands in his as he’d peppered each of your knuckles with kisses.

On another visit, he’d scouted one of the only nearby mountains you hadn’t hiked yet and climbed to the top with you — because the internet said this was the best spot to catch the sunset. You’d stood at the lookout, hand in hand, and shared your greatest dreams — yours to have your research published in a major publication, his to leave contracting behind and buy a sheep ranch. And when the sun had dipped behind the horizon, the sky bleeding vibrant pinks and oranges, he’d just looked at you.

So you know he’s romantic. Still though, you’re practically swooning at the scene in front of you.

“So, you wanna go?,” he asks. He scuffs his boot along the concrete floor, awkwardly. “It’s okay if you d-“

“Joel,” you say. “I wanna go.”

He smiles. Rolls the cover over the truck bed. Presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The sky is dark by the time you get to the drive-in. There are already quite a few cars in the dirt lot, parked in neat rows facing the giant movie screen that sits at the edge of a treeline. There’s a person directing traffic, a teenage boy, you guess, based on his stature, and he twirls his light-up batons in the rearview as Joel rounds the corner to the back row.

He backs into a spot at the far-left, car to your right parked a good ten feet away. And then he cuts the ignition with a quiet grunt, steps out, and makes his way over to your door to open it for you and help you down.

The pillows in the truck bed had jostled around a bit on the drive over, Joel finds when he unfurls the cover. So he adjusts them, making sure everything is just right. Then he unlatches the tailgate and helps you hoist yourself up, following closely behind you as you crawl toward the back. 

Once he’s set the radio to the right channel, Joel sits with his back flush to the truck cab and spreads his legs, patting one of his thighs in invitation. He doesn’t need to ask twice — you immediately crawl between them, letting your head fall back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in him. 

A satisfied hum escapes your lips. The realization hits you then that you hadn’t even asked what movie you were seeing. Not that you care much — it could be a documentary about grass, and you’d still have a good time, thanks to the company. 

It’s some dystopian sci-fi thriller, you find, as the opening credits begin to roll, with a title you vaguely remember hearing in passing at some point. 

And it’s good. You’re invested in the story by the end of the first act, curious to find out how the main character is going to save her love interest. 

But then you lose interest, quickly, when you feel the white-hot touch of Joel’s fingers against your skin as he slips them under your shirt, inching down your stomach.

He halts when he gets to the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitches, lodged somewhere in your throat when he dips one finger under the denim. Your hips lift reflexively and he laughs lowly in your ear, prompting a shaky exhale to sputter out of you.

“Stay still, darlin,” he whispers, slipping another finger into your pants.

You try, you really try not to move, but he’s teasing you, his fingers moving the pace of molasses toward your core, where he hasn’t touched you in months. You feel like your entire body is going to combust if he doesn’t make contact with your clit in the next five seconds. 

You whine, quiet enough that it’s muffled by the sounds of the movie echoing from the radio, but still too loud for Joel, apparently. He reaches his free hand out to turn the volume up, pushing the nob a few decibels higher. 

He returns his attention to you. “You want this, babygirl?,” he asks, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear. 

“Yes,” you whisper pleadingly. “Please touch me, Joel.” You feel his cock stiffen behind you, prodding your back. 

“Okay,” he says. He pulls his hand out completely to unbutton your pants and unzip them halfway. Then he’s cupping your sex through your panties, letting his fingers brush over the wet spot that has already formed. 

“Gotta be quiet then,” he purrs. “Can ya do that for me?”

You’re not sure you can, to be honest. He’s barely touching you and you already feel like you’ve lost all control over your body. Whatever it does, however you react — you have no say in the matter. Still, you’re not about to tell him that, risk him stopping, so you nod, furiously, your desperate face illuminated by the flashing light of an action sequence playing out on screen. 

He dips two fingers into your underwear, immediately pressing them to your seam. He curses under his breath behind you, clearly pleased with how wet you are for him, with how easily he breaks you down. He brings them up to your clit, then, swiping back and forth, back and forth, his calloused touch forcing you to suppress a yelp. His fingers feel so rough compared to yours, so good. Breaths are pouring out of you in quick succession, your chest heaving with pleasure. 

You’re briefly paranoid as Joel continues his ministrations that someone might see — but as you glance around the parking lot, you realize that you can’t see anyone else, just shadows in cars and on folding chairs, all focused on the movie in front of them. Slouched within the walls of Joel’s truck bed, it’s impossible for anyone to clock what’s happening.

So you let your body relax, melting into Joel behind you, your hands clinging onto his thighs to hold yourself steady. “‘ts it baby,” he says, your pliancy encouraging him to press his fingers down harder. “Always so good for me, huh?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, your voice still hushed. 

“Yeah, you are” he agrees, rubbing your clit faster, more deliberately. He knows by now just how to touch you — exactly how to bring you straight to the edge and send you toppling over. And it’s clear that time apart hasn’t affected this in the slightest, your abdomen already tensing, familiar coil tightening threateningly in your core.

You warn Joel with a squeal. His free hand flies up to your face, covering your mouth in an instant. Your eyes roll back instinctively at the lewdness of it, of him muffling you with his palm. You moan freely against it, teeth scraping the skin there as your orgasm grows nearer and nearer and nearer.

It hits you hard. You have to bite down on Joel’s hand to keep from screaming out as it scorches through you, heating every inch of your skin as it does. Your fingernails are digging into Joel’s legs so hard you think you may be drawing blood even through thick denim. He talks you through it, quietly, his utters of atta girl, look at you, ya cum so pretty for me baby keeping you tethered to reality.

When your breathing begins to even and the trembling in your thighs subsides, he removes his hand from your mouth and the other from your pants. 

You gaze up at him through bleary eyes just as he brings the fingers that were pressed against your pussy straight to his mouth, sucking on them through a satisfied hum. He pulls them out slowly, and your body nearly buckles at the sight.

“Taste so sweet,” he whispers in your ear. “Always taste so goddamn sweet.”

Your head swims. 

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. 

“Yeah, darlin’?” 

“We need to leave. Right now.”

He cocks his head at you, confused. “Are you alr-”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off. “But I need you to fuck me right now, and I don’t think we can do that here.” 

You see his eyes darken, his jaw twitch. 

“Yeah,” he says after a few seconds. “Let’s get out of here.”

Joel speeds the entire way home.

The hand he doesn’t have on the wheel grips your thigh, making you dizzy with desire by the time he pulls into the driveway. He lodges the passenger side door open so hard you’d think there was an emergency (maybe needing to fuck your significant other after months of not seeing them in person does constitute as an emergency, though — who’s to say?).

He unbuckles your seatbelt for you, barely letting your feet hit the pavement before his lips are on you and he’s slamming the truck door shut, caging you against it. It feels like he’s everywhere all at once, his tongue sliding along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You’re panting by the time he pulls back, begging him in not so many words to bring you inside and pound you into the mattress.

It must take you five whole minutes to get from the front door to his room. Joel’s hand is splayed across the globe of your ass as you walk. He stops you every ten feet to spin your around and kiss you again, sucking on your tongue, needy moans slipping from his parted lips. His shirt has been discarded by the time you get to the stairs, and your hands greedily take in every inch of skin they can reach as you make your way up step by agonizing step. 

When you finally make it upstairs, he backs you through the threshold, straight to his bed. You tumble down onto the mattress in a heap, mouths melding together in desperation as he reaches a hand behind you, under your shirt, and unclasps your bra. You help him out, reaching up your sleeve to tug down one strap, then shifting your weight to pull down the other. When you move, he follows you, not letting his mouth part from yours a second sooner than it needs to. 

He tugs the bra the rest of the way off your body and pulls your shirt up over your chest, revealing your bare breasts. Only then does he unlatch his lips from yours so that he can admire you.

“More gorgeous every time I see you,” he mutters, rolling one of your nipples between two fingers until it hardens under his touch. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. He leans down, lathing his flat tongue over the sensitive peak, eliciting a heady moan from you. 

“Joel,” you cry beneath him, a hand coming up to his shoulder. You push against him lightly. 

And he gets it — as much as he loves teasing, now is not the time. You’ve been teased enough by the miles between you and him. So he pulls back. Lets you roll him over. You straddle him, bracing your hands on his chest and experimentally roll your hips. You immediately feel his hard cock straining against his jeans underneath you. 

You reach between your bodies then, prying open his button and yanking the zipper down. Then your hand is in his pants, tracing the outline of his heavy cock where it bulges under cotton.

You lean down and press a kiss to his clothed length. He hisses through his teeth. 

“Baby,” he groans, hand coming down to tilt your chin up towards his face. “Another time. I need to be inside you. Right now.”

You don’t argue. He sits up. Shuffles back to the headboard, bringing you with him. He pulls your shirt the rest of the way off, over your head. And then he’s helping you slip out of your jeans and panties so that you’re completely naked atop him. 

He pulls you in for another bruising kiss as he tugs his pants and boxers down, just enough to free his leaking cock. He strokes it languidly, smearing pre-cum from the tip down his length. You’re already impatient by the time he’s lining himself up with your entrance, so much so that you have to refrain from taking him all the way down in one go. You use your better judgment, sinking onto him slowly, until you’re flush with his pelvis, the hair at his base tickling your inner thighs. 

His eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing labored as you adjust to the size of him. You’ve missed the sweet, burning stretch of him, the fullness you feel when he’s inside you, like you’re complete, whole. You’re pretty sure you could stay like this forever, make a home here on his throbbing cock. 

When the sting dissipates, you begin to move, rocking on top of him. He grabs onto your hips, steadying you, his eyes blinking half-open to take you in.

“Fuck,” he rasps as you set a steady pace, his cock disappearing from you, then filling you to the brim again and again. “‘ts it baby, take my fuckin’ cock; ridin’ it so good.”

His hips snap up, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. You wrap your hands around his neck reflexively, digging your nails into his shoulders, indenting crescent moons in the muscle there as he ruts against your g-spot. Your face falls against his chest, your muffled pleas for Joel to fuck you harder, harder, right there barely coherent.

He gets the message regardless.

He pulls you down onto his cock, essentially spearing you on it. You think he must be bruising your cervix, the way his thick head is repeatedly bumping it, but you don’t care. You need every inch of him, need to take everything he has to give you; it feels as essential as the air being punched out of your chest right now. 

He’s fucking up into you so brutally that you find yourself delirious, eyes rolling back in your head for the second time tonight. You can’t even find the strength to warn him of your rapidly approaching orgasm, your body going limp in his grasp. He doesn’t need you to, though — he can tell just by the way you squeeze him that you’re close. 

“Gonna cum for me, baby?,” he growls, hitting that spongy spot over and over and over. 

“Uh — ahhh — uh-huh,” you moan weakly into his skin. Your fingers loosen at his neck, too weak to hold onto him any longer.

Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head off of his chest and holding it up so that you’re looking him in the eye. 

His gaze is lascivious, almost carnal, like going without you for so long has him ready to swallow you whole.

“Look at me,” he spits, “look at me when you cum.”

You nod wearily. You want to give him that, want to give him anything he asks of you. But you’re not sure if you can, not when your eyelids feel like boulders on your face. 

“C-can’t Joel,” you manage through moans as they fall shut again. 

“Nuh-uh,” he snaps, yanking at your roots. Your eyes fly open at the intrusion. 

“You can do it baby, c’mon. Missed these pretty eyes so much — wanna see ‘em.”

You can only imagine how absolutely fucked-out you must look, using every last ounce of energy in your body to keep from slipping again. Your eyes glaze over slightly as he gives a particularly rough thrust, and you feel yourself skyrocket to the edge.

You feel like putty in his hands — and maybe you are. You’d let him mold you to whatever shape he pleased right about now, when he’s making you feel this good.

“There ya go,” Joel coos, bringing his thumb to your clit. He lazily swipes it once — twice — and you begin to fall apart in his arms.

It’s almost violent, your second orgasm of the night. It rips through you, your body thrashing on top of Joel’s, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he continues pounding into you. It feels different too, something more intense lingering, the threat of it just behind your walls. 

And then he hits that spot again, the one that makes you see stars, and you’re gushing around him. Your release splatters out onto the duvet below you, soaking it. If Joel notices, he doesn’t care.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans.

Your eyes adjust as you come to. You take in Joel’s, charcoal black and blown-out with lust. You feel shy, almost, which you know is ridiculous given he’s still inside you. But even so, the way he looks at you, like you’re the most desirable thing he’s ever seen — it makes your cheeks heat.

He flips you over onto your back in one swift movement, slipping from you momentarily as he helps you to wrap your shaky legs around him. Presses a gentle kiss to your trembling ankle as he does. And then he’s burying himself in you again, right to the hilt, his pace slowing as he nears the edge. 

“Please baby,” you cry. “Please cum inside. Need to feel you.”

Your body feels boneless under Joel’s weight, like he’s fucked near everything out of you. And now you need him to feel good, to take whatever he needs from you, whatever you have left to give. 

“Fuck,” he grunts. His hips stall abruptly. He spills into you, deep moans pulling from the back of his throat. You dig your heels into the meat of his ass, dragging him closer, forcing him so deep he paints your cervix.

He pulls out with a hiss, his length softening against your mound as he lifts himself up on his elbows to kiss you. It’s a meager kiss, both of you still too out of breath to deepen it, but it soothes you, along with the soft graze of his thumb over your ribs.

You hold each other for a while, in no rush to move from this moment. You’re pretty sure you drift off more than once, awoken each time by the vibration of his gentle hums against your neck. When you finally do move, it’s not far, just up the bed and under the covers. And then his arms are right back where they were, around you, pulling you tightly to him.

He falls asleep before you, snoring quietly at the crown of your head. You try to wiggle from his grasp, move to the other side of the bed, but even in his sleep, he’s acutely aware of your presence. He just grips you harder, nuzzles his head deeper into your hair. You’ve never felt more content being stuck somewhere.

You slip under again eventually. You’re pretty sure you dream of nothing — no need for your brain to conjure up anything more than what you already have. 

The following morning, you wake up with Joel’s tongue between your legs. He nibbles at your inner thigh, waiting for you to give him the go ahead to continue. And then he makes you cum twice on his mouth before you even eat breakfast. 

He doesn’t let you get up for that, either. He brings you hot coffee in a Texas Longhorns mug and a plate of toast, slathered with butter and grape jelly, and doesn’t complain when you get crumbs on the sheets. 

You’re satiated and caffeinated before you even start your day — which Joel has planned out to a t. 

He brings you to his favorite spot for lunch, a BBQ place by the river, and acts smug when you tell him these are the best ribs I’ve ever had in my life. Then you go home, take a shower — together, of course — and you rinse shampoo out of your hair with his cock nestled comfortably inside you.

He fucks you with your hands braced against the shower wall until you’re screaming, the echoes bouncing off of tile, and then you get back in bed, laze around in your towels until dinnertime. 

Joel orders takeout — sushi for you, lo mein and teriyaki beef for him. You sprawl out on the couch as you eat, your feet in his lap and the calming buzz of the tv on in the background.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a long time.

You easily fall into a routine over the course of the week: wake up, fuck, eat breakfast in bed, fuck, get up around noon, shower, eat lunch, grade papers while Joel cleans up or does yardwork, eat dinner, fuck, go to sleep. 

You almost forget that this isn’t permanent, that you’re going to have to get on a plane and go home soon, that this isn’t your home, here with Joel. That is, until Friday night, over dinner — when Joel abruptly pulls you back down to earth. 

You’re finishing your pasta, spooning the last remnants of sauce into your mouth. Some western flashes across the tv — Joel’s choice, and as you put your bowl down on the coffee table and snuggle up to him, he sighs. 

“This has gotta be the best vacation of my life — or, staycation, I guess.” He says it innocently enough. Still, you feel jolted. Vacation, you repeat in your head until your brain catches up with reality. You feel smothered, suddenly, warm, like your whole body is an ore about to be smelted. You extricate yourself from Joel’s arms and settle on the other side of the couch. 

“Just hot,” you lie. “Sorry.” 

“‘ts alright,” he murmurs, unphased, eyes glued to the tv. 

He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way your breathing picks up when you excuse yourself to the bathroom. But why should he? There’s no reason for you to be freaking out. 

Except there is.

Because the thought of leaving in a couple days, leaving behind Joel and this routine, not seeing him again for several more months, and even then, only having a weekend, or if you’re lucky, a week with him – it’s making you spiral.

You lock yourself in the bathroom. Close the lid to the toilet. When you sit down, your head falls into your hands, heaving breaths warming the skin of your palms uncomfortably. I can’t do this, you think. I can’t keep doing this.

You love Joel — you do, more than anything. And you can’t begin to imagine living without him. But you also can’t help but wonder, elbows digging into your knees, how this has become your life — all the leaving. 

Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach. You feel nauseous.

You get up. Splash cold water on your face. Curse your reflection, all sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks. So stupid. This is why you didn’t want to get into another relationship. The pain, the pain, the unbearable pain.

Why did you have to fall in love with him?

There’s a clanging on the other side of the door — Joel clearing your dishes from dinner — an act of domesticity that plunges the dagger deeper into your bleeding heart.

You wipe your cheeks with your shirt sleeve. Huff at how pathetic you feel.

It’s so stupid, so silly, crying in Joel’s bathroom when he’s right outside, right there waiting for you. Even still, you can’t seem to shake the dread that hangs over you like a storm cloud when you make your way back into the living room with dried eyes, back into his arms.

You hope, silently, that it’ll go away with a good night’s sleep. That this is just a minor breakdown, a hormonal thing, maybe, and you’ll feel better in the morning.

It doesn’t, it’s not — and you don’t.

Joel can tell something is wrong the moment he hands you your morning coffee. You’d slept in today, legs tangled under the sheets, trepidation still clawing its way up your throat. You’d been quiet, had only hummed in response when he’d told you good morning. 

That, he hadn’t noticed. But when he passes you the mug, steam billowing from the mouth, he detects the way you won’t look at him, your mumbled thank you. 

You catch the way he steps back with a dejected hmph, and rounds the bed to climb in next to you.

You feel awful.

The mattress springs creak as he settles, balancing his full mug in one hand, laying the other over yours where it sits on top of the duvet, resting on your covered leg. 

“Y’alright?,” he asks, even though you know he knows the answer. It’s why you don’t lie, shake your head. Your eyes flick up to his as a frown sets under his nose. 

You downplay it. “I’m fine, really. It’s just — I — I’m sad that today’s our last full day. I don’t wanna go home yet.” 

“Don’t have to go,” he drawls, drawing light circles over your skin with his index finger. 

And you know he means it — know he’d let you move in with him in a heartbeat. But you also know you can’t. Can’t leave behind the life you worked so hard to make in Vermont. 

“I wish,” you sigh, taking a cautious sip of your coffee. 

“Well…d’you wanna do somethin’ today? Go into the city? I know we haven’t done much’a anything this week.” He smirks. And just for a moment, the look on his face — that dopey smile and those sweet cinnamon eyes — makes you forget about the darkness fogging your mind. 

“We can do touristy stuff,” he continues. “Do anythin’ you want. To take your mind off things. Make the most of the day, ya know?”

His brows are raised as he anticipates your response. He’s so eager to do whatever it takes for you to be happy, and that makes your chest clench. More than you want to protect your own heart, you want to appease him. He deserves that, at the very least.

So you say yes, let’s do it; show me around Austin.

The cracks in your heart deepen when he nearly jumps out of bed in excitement. 

Joel is a great tour guide, for what it’s worth.

He brings you to his favorite hiking trail in the city. It runs along a lake, the water busy with kayakers and paddle boarders. 

The sky above is overcast. A sliver of sun cuts through the clouds, casting your forehead in a light sheen of sweat as you walk.

Every single passerby waves at you or says hello, all in the same singsong twang. Joel waves back, grunts a greeting. It throws you off, how nice everyone is here. You’ve grown used to New England, with its temperamental weather and even more temperamental people.

“Busy,” you note when another group passes you. 

“Mhm,” Joel hums. Wraps a sweaty arm around you, pulling you into his side. It’s awkward to walk like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Sarah used to love this place. We’d come all the time when she was little.”

You lean into his embrace. Nuzzle your face into the fabric of his T-shirt.

“I know you must’ve missed her this week. Is this the first spring break she hasn’t been home?”

“Yeah,” Joel’s other hand rests at the back of his neck, fingers absently working at a knot in the muscle there. “Gotta get used to it though, I guess, with her stayin’ north after school is over and all.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” you admit. “When did she decide?”

He sighs so deep you can almost feel it in your own chest. 

“Couple weeks ago,” he says. “Guess she got some unofficial job offer for after she graduates, from this research institute in Boston. She’s all excited about it.”

You know Joel is proud. He’s always proud of Sarah. How could he not be? But you also know his heart is breaking right now, the long-established plans for Sarah to come home to Texas, to come home to him after finishing undergrad, suddenly squashed. 

And then there’s you — leaving too — again.

The thought of hurting Joel is overbearing, more so than the thought of hurting yourself. He doesn’t deserve to be so far away from the woman he’s in a relationship with when his own daughter is already out of reach.

You feel selfish, suddenly. 

It plagues your mind for the rest of the day — when you go to a diner after the hike and split a strawberry milkshake the size of your head with Joel — and still, later, when you wander hand-in-hand into a tacky gift shop. 

You try your best to ignore the ache in your chest as you scan the store.

The back wall is stacked top to bottom with cowboy boots of varying colors and styles. There are cowboy hats too, displayed on a long table.

Joel picks up an oversized straw hat, resting it on the top of his head with a laugh. “Looks ridiculous, right?” 

“Somehow, no,” you say. And it’s the truth. You think he’s the only person who could put that thing on and look hot in it. 

He grabs another hat off of the table, a more traditional one — brown leather with a braided band wrapped around the base of the crown. You let him affix it on your head. He steps back to get a good look at you and nods. 

“Looks good. Looks sexy,” he amends. 

“Yeah?” You dip your head in faux greeting, fingers pressed into the front corner of the brim.

He scans over you then, his eyes darkening. It looks like he’s pondering something, the corner of his mouth curving. 

“What?”

He steps closer. Leans down to whisper in your ear. “Think we should get ‘em. Wear ‘em later.”

Your breath pulls. The thought of Joel wearing that and nothing but that underneath you is enough to make you forget your quandaries, temporarily.

“Yeah,” you respond way too quickly. “Let’s get them, Cowboy.”

You watch his entire body tense at the nickname. And then he’s yanking the hat off of you, bringing both to the register in a hurry. 

The house is dark when you get home, bag of Greek takeout in hand.

Joel flicks a light on in the entrance. You squint reflexively, your eyes adjusting as you set the food down on the coffee table in the living room. Joel brings your new hats upstairs, then joins you on the couch. You pull out two styrofoam containers, passing the one with Joel’s name scribbled on it to him and leaning back with yours in your lap. 

“‘m starvin,” he mumbles as he cracks his open, squeezes a wedge of lemon over his rice. 

You eat quickly, something else clearly on both of your minds as you shovel falafel into your mouths. You even forget to turn the tv on. 

When you’re done, you insist you’ll clean up, bringing the trash into the kitchen as Joel disappears upstairs. Once everything is tidied, you re-situate yourself on the couch.

He returns a few minutes later — shirtless, that ridiculous cowboy hat fastened on his head, dark jeans sitting low on his hips. He’s holding your hat in his left hand.

There’s a dull throbbing between your legs. He starts across the room, toward you.

“Joel-”

He cuts you off with a kiss, bracketing you against the cushions, his hat bumping into your head. He pulls it off immediately, like if it’s going to interfere in any way, it’s not worth it. It falls onto the floor somewhere behind him.

Joel pulls at the fabric of your shirt. Your back arches, allowing him to pull it up and off before tossing it aside. His mouth moves from yours, trailing lower, lower, and settling at the column of your throat. He sucks a bruise there, the contact sending your hips bucking off the couch, the need for him to touch you already borderline painful.

And then that voice returns, the one that’s been screaming in your head since last night.

This’ll be the last time for a while. Maybe forever. Last time he touches you like this, kisses you like this. Don’t think about it — don’t. Just enjoy it. Just-

“Joel,” you pant. He stops immediately. Pulls back. 

“What? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Tears well in your eyes, blur your vision. You can barely make out the look of concern plastered across Joel’s face as he kneels down in front of you and grips both of your shoulders. 

When you speak, your voice comes out shaky. “No, it’s not — I just.” Your breath catches in your throat.

“What? What is it darlin’?,” he tries, massaging tense muscle under his palms. 

You hadn’t wanted him to see you like this. You feel embarrassed that he has to comfort you like you’re a child who’s just had a nightmare, and not a grown woman with a PhD. You groan. Catch your breath. 

“Fuck. I’m fine,” you try. Joel clearly isn’t buying it. He quirks a brow at you. 

“C’mon baby, talk to me. I wanna help, whatever it is. Let me in — please” 

And you want to, you do, it’s just — you don’t know how to even explain how you’re feeling. 

“This is all so hard,” you start. Joel nods. He wants you to continue. “This whole — situation,” you try. “Being long-distance. It’s just — being here for a whole week and waking up together every morning, having coffee, watching tv at night, like a — fuck — like a real couple — and now I have to go back to normal?”

His face falls.

“Real couple? Is this not real to you?” 

“It is real,” you sob. “It’s too real. That’s why it hurts so fucking much. I just, I can’t —”

“Can’t what?” His voice is quiet. Low.

“Can’t do this. Can’t handle the pain. And it must be hurting you too, Joel. Between me and Sarah—”

“I’m fine,” he barks, suddenly jumping to his feet. He takes a deep breath. “This isn’t about Sarah. This is about us. Do you not want this? Me?” 

Your hands tremble in your lap. “Of course I want you, Joel,” you sniff. “I want you more than anything. But-”

“But not like this. This is too hard.”

You nod weakly. 

He sighs.

“You know you can move here — stay with me.”

You do know. He’s said it so many times before. But you’ve worked way too hard to pack up and start over, to give up your professorship after only three years with the blind hope that you’ll land a new position in Austin. And now you’re mad — infuriated, almost, that he keeps suggesting it.

You scoff. “You know I can’t just give up my life, Joel.” 

“So what, you’re just gonna give up on us, instead?” His voice is strained. 

“I’m not giving up,” you clip, defensively.

“Certainly doesn’t sound like you’re tryin’.”

He stares at the ceiling. You watch as his eyes mist, his concentration palpable as he wills the tears not to fall. Your anger dissipates into guilt. 

This is exactly what you’d feared — breaking his heart. It’s like you can see it fracturing, chipping at the edges. 

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “I don’t — I don’t know. I just can’t.”

His face contorts. A single tear slips down his cheek, which he wipes away quickly with the back of his hand. “Fuck,” he curses.

You stand from the couch, begin to move cautiously toward him. “Joel, I-”

“Don’t,” he snaps. Throws his hands up defensively. And then he’s turning, heading up the stairs, leaving you standing there in the middle of the living room with a ringing in your ears.

When you climb into bed twenty minutes later, he doesn’t acknowledge you.

You fly home the next day. Joel doesn’t say anything on the drive to the airport. 

Once there, he pulls over to the curb at the drop-off and puts the car in park. You’re not sure what to do — should you kiss him? Tell him you love him? Because you do, so fucking much. You’re just — not sure if he wants to hear that right now. 

He makes the decision for you, cradling your face as he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. He lets his forehead fall to yours with a sigh, and then he pulls back. 

He doesn’t open your door for you, though. Doesn’t grab your bags from the back when you clamber down from the passenger seat. 

It’s as if he’s saying: I love you, but I’m going to give you space.

You pry open the back door. Pull out your suitcase and rest your new cowboy hat over the handle. You almost wish now that he hadn’t gotten it for you. It’ll just serve as another reminder of everything you’ve left behind once your home. 

“Text me,” he offers once your things are all gathered on the curb. “Let me know when you board, when you’re home safe.”

“Yeah,” you nod. Search his eyes for something. Some indicator that he’s okay. But he’s stoic, his lips set in a straight line. “I will. Promise.”

His mouth opens, like he wants to add something else. But whatever he’s thinking, he decides against saying out loud. Instead he just tells you safe travels, and then he’s pulling the passenger side door closed from the inside.

You stand unmoving. As his truck disappears down the roadway and out of view, a list of all the things you should’ve said rolls through your brain like the end credits of a film.

You send Joel a message when you get home. Let him know you got in safe. You don’t call, like you normally would, because that’s not what he’d asked of you.

Then you climb straight into bed, still in your clothes, and let the tears consume you. You wallow in them for what feels like hours, the natural light in your bedroom gradually sinking into the floorboards. You welcome the nightfall, the way the darkness soothes the pounding in your head, the way it feels like nothing. 

Morning comes before Joel responds. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, the time on your phone reading 11:09, and the notification from him just below it nearly jolts you: 

Okay. Thanks. 

No love you, no miss you. 

You curse under your breath. 

Why did you have to say anything? Why did you have to ruin this?

The pain of possibly losing Joel for good makes the pain of long distance feel like a papercut. All you want is to go back in time, take back everything you said, tell Joel you love him a million-and-one times. Anything to undo this.

You fleetingly consider quitting your job, handing in your resignation letter the second you get to campus tomorrow. You’ll take your unpacked suitcase and head right back to the airport.

You don’t let the temptation win. But it lingers, sits at the top of your chest like a threat. Like if he asks one more time — you’ll do it.

He doesn’t, though. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything — which you should’ve expected — but it still stings. You hadn’t broken up, not technically, so you’re stuck in this weird limbo, one in which neither of you wants to talk about what happened in Austin.

Instead, you text each other once a day or so — weird, surface-level messages, ones you’d send to an acquaintance, not someone who literally knows you inside and out.

Finally above 60°, you say, on Monday morning, attached to a screenshot of your weather app. 

Your walk to campus must’ve been nice today, he replies.

And the next day:

Guy at the job site today was talking about that show you like. 

Parks & Rec?!

Yeah, that one.

It’s barely enough to keep you going, to keep you sane. You feel pitiful, looking forward to Joel’s text-of-the-day like it’s a re-up of your drug of choice. Better than heroin, you tell yourself.

Two weeks pass with no phone calls and minimal messages. It’s 5:45 pm on a rainy Tuesday when you sit at your dining room table with a pile of papers to grade in front of you, some low-fi playlist on in the background, unable to focus.

Because Joel hasn’t texted you all day.

Usually he’d send something by now. And it’s not like you hadn’t texted him — in fact, you’d double-texted, one message sent this morning about how you burned your tongue on your coffee, and another after your final class of the day when you’d seen he still hadn’t responded:

Busy day? 

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the gears in your mind whirring as you debate whether or not to send the words punctuated by a flickering cursor on your screen:

Can I call you later?

He’ll probably say no. Or worse, continue to ignore you. Maybe this is it — maybe weeks of dancing around residual tension have driven him to call it quits. He’ll block you, and then you’ll never hear from him again. 

The thought has bile rising up your throat.

You close out of the app and put your phone down before stalking over to the living room, letting yourself fall stomach-first onto the couch. You stuff your face into a throw pillow and scream.

You almost don’t hear it over your muffled yells — the rapping at your front door. 

You still, lifting your head from the pillow. Listening intently. It comes again — rapraprap.

Ugh, you groan, lifting yourself onto your elbows, then your feet. You pull your cardigan tighter over your front. Drag your feet across the hardwood to the entranceway, wondering who the fuck could be at your door on a Tuesday evening, unannounced. 

Is it the property manager?, you speculate as you reach the door. Was there an issue with my rent?

Your fingers wind around the handle apprehensively. You peer through the peephole and your heart plummets into your stomach.

Because Joel is standing right outside your apartment.

You wonder if you’re seeing things. If you’ve gone full-on hysterical. But it’s him, it’s unmistakably him — in his favorite flannel and his workwear jacket, which is smattered in rain spots. His gaze is trained on the floor by his feet and his hands are fidgeting at his sides — just like the first time you met him.

You throw the door open. Joel’s eyes shoot up. For a long moment, you just stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something — do something. 

When your breath pulls, he rushes forward and crashes his lips into yours. He backs you into your apartment, letting the door slam shut behind you. 

You barely hear it, still registering that Joel is here, he’s here and he’s kissing the hell out of you. And just minutes ago, you’d been sulking on your couch, convinced it was over between you two. 

You feel dizzy. You pull back, only because you fear if you don’t, you’ll literally topple over. Joel’s breathing is heavy — it matches yours.

“What are you — fuck — what are you doing here, Joel?”

“I need to talk to you,” he pants. 

“Could’ve called,” you say, as if there’s any universe in which you’d prefer that. 

You lead him to the living room. Fall back onto the couch. He sits down next to you, taking both of your hands in his. You get a good look at him for the first time since he’d barreled into your apartment, and he looks wrecked.

“Are you okay?,” you ask. 

His response isn’t much of an answer. “’m selling my house.”

Your head spins. “You — what?” 

“Listed it last week,” he says. “Already got a couple offers.” 

“Oh,” you blink. “Okay.”

“‘m gonna move up here.”

Oh. 

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of your chest. You’re — speechless.

“I put an offer on a place,” he continues. “‘ts a ranch with some land. Room for sheep. I’m sellin’ my half of the business to Tommy. Leavin’ Texas.”

He exhales. His eyes search yours with tangible desperation. “Say somethin’.”

“I — fuck, Joel,” you breathe. “You’re — when? How?”

“Found the place a couple days ago. ‘ts about thirty minutes Southeast of here. Just went and saw it in person. Sent my offer letter before I came here.”

“Right,” you nod. “But Joel, you can’t just leave-”

“Sure I can,” he interrupts. “Nothin’ there for me anymore. Not Sarah, not you.”

A beat passes. And then he adds:

“I can’t lose you.”

Your heart swells in your chest as you imagine Joel this past week, making all of these plans to rectify the distance between you, to be sure he doesn’t lose you. And still — you’re not sure if you deserve it after the way you hurt him.

“You — you still want me, even after what I said?” 

“Darlin’,” he says, in that honey-sweet drawl. “I love you. There’s nothin’ you could do to make me not want you. You were right. This isn’t feasible. We can’t do this forever.”

“Joel,” you sigh, “I just — you’re sure you want this?”

“I want you,” he says plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — like nothing else matters. “And you need to be here. So it’s a no-brainer”

The rain picks up outside. It patters against the windows.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he says. “I’ll retract my offer. Go back to Texas.”

“I do Joel — want you here more than anything, love you more than anything. But-”

“Good.” He cups your face in his hands. You stare into his eyes, your future.

“It’s settled, then,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt. “I’m movin’ to Vermont.”

“This is crazy,” you laugh. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you more,” he beams. “No gettin’ rid of me now.”

You smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Cowboy.” 

end notes: ty again for reading! pls consider reblogging and leaving a comment if you liked it <3

tagging everyone who expressed interest in reading a part 2 (lmk if you don't want to be included going forward): @anoverwhelmingdin, @joelalorian, @lol-im-done, @bensonispunk, @sereindreams, @survivingandenduring, @stevie75, @vee-bees-blog, @brittmb115, @casssiopeia, @bbyanarchist, @janaispunk, @barbellpedro

[choicesfandomappreciation]

Secret Pal Exchange—December 2023

Thank you to everyone who participated this year to make the Secret Pal event a success! You helped spread joy and cheer in our fandom. Thank you for making this place one where we can come, feel safe, and enjoy talking about our fave pixel people. I hope you the rest of the year is kind to you and that 2024 brings you nothing but goodness! 💛

Missed this event? There will be another Secret Pal event in February!

Alphabetical by user name of the giftee Please let me know if you see any errors or any links that are wrong

❤️ To: @a-cloud-for-dreams 💚 From: @hydn-jpg

Trystan x MC Art

❤️ To: @aallotarenunelma 💚 From: @lilyoffandoms

Saini / Immortal Desires MC Moodboard + Art

❤️ To: @abelflints 💚 From: @totojo2

Tyril Starfury Art

❤️ To: @cadybear420 💚 From: @tveitertotwrites

Moving (fic) Aiden and Evie are moving out of their home and onto the next chapter of their life.

❤️ To: @cariantha 💚 From: @peonierose

Ethan x MC Art

❤️ To: @hydn-jpg 💚 From: @noesapphic

Partner (fic) Joaquin takes Zach to a salacious escapade to Vermont. Needless to say, it will be a memorable trip.

❤️ To: @inlocusmads 💚 From: @rosepetals1

Multiple Pairings Moodboard/Aesthetics

❤️ To: @jerzwriter 💚 From: @stars-are-within-me

Introduction Cookies (fic) There is a new case to solve and Trystan has a surprise for Carolina. Angels (fic) The gang goes ice skating. Airports (fic) It's time for Carolina to return home just in time for New Year's and the gang goes to pick her up. Everything should go according to plan,right?

❤️ To: @ladylamrian 💚 From: @peonyblossom

Nik Ryder x Alex Moodboard

❤️ To: @lilyoffandoms 💚 From: @a-cloud-for-dreams

Tyril x Maiele Moodboard + Video Edit

❤️ To: @lovealexhunt / storyofmychoices💚 From: @moominofthevalley

Daenarya Moodboard

❤️ To: @moominofthevalley 💚 From: @inlocusmads

Interborough Loops (fic) Emily puts her feelings to words after taking a leap of faith - something she'd not consider doing if it weren't for watching the people around her. However, Trystan isn't a huge fan of words.

❤️ To: @noesapphic 💚 From: @cariantha

Tyril x MC x Nia Art

❤️ To: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd 💚 From: @aallotarenunelma

By My Side (fic) : Aerin x MC

❤️ To: @peonierose 💚 From: @ladylamrian

Bryce x MC Icons + Drabble

❤️ To: @peonyblossom 💚 From: @lovealexhunt /@storyofmychoices

A Cozy Christmas (fic + moodboard) Ethan, Sydney, and Caramel spent a cozy Christmas at home.

❤️ To: @rosepetals1 💚 From: @tessa-liam

Mal x MC Edit

❤️ To: @stars-are-within-me 💚 From: @cadybear420

Multiple Pairing Character Edits

❤️ To: @talasintahan 💚 From: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Kamilah, Gaius, Adrian Art

❤️ To: @tessa-liam 💚 From: @talasintahan / @gaiuskamilah

Liam x MC Art

❤️ To: @totojo2 💚 From: @abelflints

Eiko x MC Edit (MOTY)

❤️ To: @tveitertotwrites 💚 From: @zealouscanonindeer

AME Aesthetic/Moodboard RCD Aesthetic/Moodboard

❤️ To: @zealouscanonindeer 💚 From: @jerzwriter

A Tall Order (fic + art) It's a snowy lunch break at Edenbrook.

[littleststarfighter]

May I ask if there’s any mcr fics that you would recommend

These are what I’ve enjoyed so far. All Frerard (Frank/gerard) fic recs. I have many more to read (saved about 100 fics yikes) so will have more recs in the future if anyone is interested? A lot of supernatural, spooky and ghosty ones here. And, lots of Danger Days as that’s what got me into reading them in the first place. Of course I started with what is seen as the holy fic trinity. These are just my tastes. I can’t promise that they’ll be yours, but hope there’s something you like XD

Unholyverse by Bexless

“He thinks I have stigmata,” Frank said, because what the fucking hell, it couldn’t get any worse. He might as well just lay it out.

“Oh, well,” said Brian into his hands. “Of course.”

The Anatomy of a Fall by novembersmith

The unholy union of a high school AU and a ghost story. Gerard's life takes a strange turn when his family moves to a small town in Vermont and he discovers the locals aren't all what they seem to be. Also includes: unexpected nature walks, murder, pining, improper treatment of crime scenes, a number of bone-related puns, high school bullies, and a short-range shrub named Ferdinand.

A Splitting Of The Mind by Shoved2agree (Gaiamdma)

Gerard Way sees the world differently. Alone and institutionalised, Gerard claims that he is being hunted, and that his mind holds the key to existence. Does Gerard really hold such a powerful secret? Or is he just insane like everyone else in the institution?

Run by vesna (mrsronweasley)

Being a secret teenage werewolf is hard. Frank should know. He is one.

James Cameron Got It Wrong by ladyfoxxx

In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

Shadows In The Parking Lot by Cellphonecharm_au

In which there’s a mass grave under Frank and Ray’s apartment complex, Frank doesn’t believe in ghosts, & Frank’s ex-boyfriend is, conveniently, a paranormal consultant.

The Science of Sleep by chimneythunder

It’s 2011 and Frank Iero’s life is pretty average until the night where he starts getting dreams about a strange, apocalyptic California where there’s rayguns, grey corporations and terrorists who use art and colour as a weapon. Interesting and fun at first, but the more he dreams about this world, the more he starts to wonder if it really is a dream... and the deeper he gets into this futuristic world, the more it seems to affect his life in the present day.

And just how exactly does everything all seem to link in with that douchebag black-haired artist who sits in Starbucks every day?

The Calypso Initiative by theficisalie

AU: A rise in technological and medical advancements combined with an unexpected surge in mutations around the globe can only mean one thing: superpowers. As a child born before the information boom of 2010 rocked the world with the official news of these "SuperHumans", Frank Iero was kicked out onto the street at nine years old. His power seems to be more of a curse than a blessing: his body creates and leaks a net of energy that sets those who are unaware of it on edge. He is saved at first by a rogue agent of the government who understands the plight of the homeless children, and then by a small team of government agents who bring him into The Institute: an underground compound set up by the government to teach those with emerging superpowers how to control and use their gifts.

Frank finally has a place where he seems to belong, and a group of friends: Mikey Way, a telepath; Gerard Way, whose body is a vacuum that neutralizes energy; and Ray Toro, a healer. All is far from perfect, however. Frank’s powers and training are put to the ultimate test when he has to fight both evil and betrayal to save not only the world, but also the best family he’s ever known.

synchronicity (cut me open, cut you down) by BackyardOwl 

Party Poison glares like Frank’s mere presence could’ve jeopardized the game. But then the scowl melts off and is exchanged with a smirk.

“I’m so glad you came tonight!” he says in the fakest sugary tone possible. “It’s important for a novice to observe, because you learn so much. And surely you learned from this, because that?” He motions to the arena behind him. “That’s how you play GridSlam.”

Frank is shaking. He’s this fucking close to decking the motherfucker. Novice? He hasn’t been a fucking novice since age fucking 11!

(a story about heated rivalries, mourning your loved ones, and cheating death)

Strange Things Happen At The One Two Points by lovebashed 

1930s. The Dust Bowl. Having no place to turn after his mother's death, Frank joins a carnival. By doing so a chain of events commence, that lead him to Pete. Frank and Pete couldn't be more different, but they both possess strange powers that gain momentum as their journeys unfurl. Both their lives, and that of those they know, will be irrevocably changed before the end. Carnivale AU.

I Believe We're The Enemy by Test_subject_306

"You know what?" Frank snaps, glaring at the person who used to be Party Poison. "You know, sometimes I wish they'd just killed you instead."

[lumilasi]

This feels kinda funny because I already had like...3-4 versions of this ref in my files. However, I still had to post this as new given I adjusted some details + added that channeling form for Azul.

I meant to do something else today, but since I only had one thing to add for Azul's ref, figured I'd get this out of the way. I initially meant to put him and Reuben together, but Reuben's design needs bigger adjustments so...its just my favorite coffee-powered grumpy boy dealing with a demanding grandpa.

......I still struggle with drawing his beard, haven't figured out yet how to draw it well lmao

Texts + extra info below:

Azul Samaros, the heir of the Shadow King

Basics:

Age: 27

Family: Twin brother Reuben, adoptive parents Annabell & Lionel, Younger brother Adam

Love interest: Diojas Vermonte, eldest prince of Valerna

Being type: Human Mage, specializing in Dark Arts and ancient magic from his ancestral kingdom

Familiar: Lasha, a Lost Soul snake/Naga demon who was once an Arthanosian warrior. (He lost himself to his power’s corrupting influence.)

Abilities:

He is very knowledgeable about different curses and dark magic spells/objects, knowing how to recognize and deal with majority of them. He‘s also a skilled exorcist, and is good with all sorts of intelligence gathering tricks, be it magic based, or more old-fashioned espionage. Azul can channel his ancestor Amaros’ magic, which is his primary ability. He‘s also good with stabby things.

Personality summary:

Azul shares some similarities in personality with his mentoring ancestor; he’s also typically serious, not at all interested in small talk, and is often blunt with his words. However, beneath his rough exterior Azul is a very caring and kind individual, who’s not willing to sacrifice people for “the greater good” the same way Amaros would. He’s a very trustworthy and loyal friend, which is why he has quite a few, despite seeming like someone hard to befriend.

Role Summary:

Azul is the protagonist of this character set, mainly working as the Dark Arts expert mage for their home Kingdom’s Queen. His task is mostly to protect the citizens from, and investigate unseen threats that are better off not being public knowledge. He does also have an involuntary role as the “problem solver” of his friends and family, the person who people most often come to if they mess up a spell or fool with a cursed object without their knowledge. While he grumbles about it, Azul doesn’t really mind.

Azul’s more personal, primary mission is to fulfill the task his ancestor-turned-Deity Amaros gave him, in exchange for saving him and his brother’s lives. He ended up with this job, because of his unique ability to channel Amaros’ power far better than anyone before him, to the point in rare circumstances he can wield his full power and command Amaros’ Lost Souls.

Amaros essentially saved them by bringing them to his former lover Helias’ secret kingdom Mirthas, after the boys’ father caused Reuben’s elemental power to go out of control, killing everyone in their village accidentally. Amaros saved Helias’ life and demanded that in exhange for his help, they’d give the boys a new home and help with learning to control their abilities. The pair ended up being adopted by the local doctor, Lionel, and his opera singing wife Annabell. (Later on, as the boys became adults, they moved to live in another kingdom called Valerna)

OTHER FACTS

Basically, there's 3 Kingdoms relevant to Azul and his brother: Arthanos (A warrior kingdom their family originated from) Mirthas (A hidden kingdom mostly populated by mythical beings) and Valerna (their current home, a friend kingdom of Mirthas)

Their adoptive parents are mythical beings as well; Lionel is a Chesire cat, and Annabell is a songbird. Their little brother and Lionel & Annabell's biological child Adam is also a Chesire cat.

When using his ancestor's Deity powers, he can 1. control shadow element, 2. create weapons out of the crystal structures, these things can harm one's soul without damaging the body if he wishes so. 3. Use telepathy to communicate with people beyond just Lasha, 4. summon more demons and command them for a bit. 5. be invulnerable to everything not strong enough to harm/kill a Deity for a very short period of time. (Basically immune to everything outside other Deities' powers)

The crystals on his body when in Channeling form emanate from his tattoos, he gained those when he first began channeling Amaros' powers. They do sometimes ache a bit if he uses this power for too long.

Diojas ended up falling for Azul after the mage helped him figure out and undo a curse that had been secretly put on him at birth.

Azul mainly has female friends, and gets pretty annoyed if anyone makes suggestive comments about it, either scaring the shit outta them or letting the ladies do it themselves if they feel like it.

These friends include Miriam, a Clairvoyant/Medium, Lumi, a snow magic Warlock, Avara, Lumi's sister and an Astral mage, Scarlet, a ship captain, and Mirthas' other ruler, Helias' sister Gwendolyn.

He does have male friends too of course, such as Scarlet's brother Alexei, The current prince of Arthanos Joshua, and Miriam's childhood friend and Wyvern companion, Maxwell.

Azul is typically serious, but does have a sense of humor and a mischievous side, that tends to come out mainly around Diojas, Reuben, or during their world's equivalent of Halloween, known as Hollow Twilight or Hollowlight Eve. (he's basically pulling the best and scariest pranks out there)

He got his snake by attempting to summon himself a familiar, as his adoptive father figured that could be helpful for him; none of them realized he's likely summon a demon from his own ancestry.

Lasha basically gained his sense of self and sanity back thanks to being summoned by Azul, the literal child of their Deity. Lasha is very protective over his Master, and the pair have a very close friendship between them.

Azul is a night owl and often gets scolded by his brother, friends, or his brother's Familiar Djinn Athem over it. The best person(s) to get him to sleep are his mum, dad, or Diojas.

Lot of Azul's outfit is a reference to people close to him; His overcoat is one of Lionel's old ones, the bag was given to him by Annabell, and his choker is a "gift" from Diojas; he basically just used it to cover a nasty wound as they didn't have proper bandaging with them at the time, and Azul just kept wearing it. His crystal knife of course, is a weapon Amaros gave him.

When in his Channeling form, the choker's pattern changes from the peacock feather representing Diojas to the purple star representing Amaros.

Azul's hair also turns into more of a white flame essence in Channeling form, and the main reason it remains poofy looking even when normal is due to his connection with Amaros. His hair would naturally hang lower and be more scraggly.

Azul sometimes calls Amaros "Gramps" or "old man," and is the only one who can get away with it (Reuben too, but Reuben is too polite and nice to insult Amaros)

Azul is closer with their adoptive dad than mum, given he was the one initially mentoring him with his powers. He's also not as close with Adam as Reuben, as Azul is kind of bad with kids, and Adam is much younger than them. He still loves his baby brother of course.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb: Fans of Undead Girl Gang and The Babysitters Coven will love Breakup from Hell, a witty YA rom-com with a supernatural twist, starring horror novel obsessed Mica Angeles, who discovers the guy she fell for comes straight out of one of her beloved books.Miguela Angeles is tired. Tired of her abuela keeping secrets, especially about her heritage. Tired of her small Vermont town and hanging out at the same places with the same friends she’s known forever. So when another boring Sunday trip to church turns into a run-in with Sam, a mysterious hottie in town on vacation, Mica seizes the opportunity to get closer to him.It’s not long before she is under Sam’s spell and doing things she’s never done before, like winning all her martial arts sparring matches—and lying to her favorite people. The more time Mica spends with Sam, the more weird things start to happen, too. Like terrifying-visions-of-the-world-ending weird.Mica’s gut instincts keep telling her something is off, yet Sam is the most exciting guy she’s ever met. But when Mica discovers his family’s roots, she realizes that instead of being in the typical high school relationship, she’s living in a horror novel.She has to leave Sam, but will ending their relationship also bring an end to everything she knows and everyone she loves?Clever, hilarious, and steeped in supernatural suspense, Breakup from Hell will keep you hooked until the last page.

Review:

Mica Angeles adores horror books, martial arts, and cant wait to get out of her small town of Vermont. When she meets an extremely attractive guy named Sam, who just happens to love the same horror author as her she becomes smitten. Yet strange things start happening ever since meeting Sam, particularly that she’s been getting visions of the world ending, those she loves dying, and the world in fire, yeah not so great right? It doesn’t help that her grandmother has been even more secretive, especially about her heritage. The more time she spends with Sam the more she becomes suspicious that he is hiding something from her and wants something from her. When she discovers his family roots and what he really wants and is... Mica realizes that this is going to be one hell of a break up and that hopefully she can end this relationship without ending the world. This was a fun and predictable story, I had fun with it! It was funny, had some cool supernatural moments, and overall was a nice easy read!

*Thanks Netgalley and HarperCollins Children's Books, HarperTeen for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[zooterchet]

Tumblerettes Gather (The Batman)

Johnny Charlebois: Prison mortician. Invented cancer, to cure stagnant bowels; the condition of the colon and intestines and stomach breaking down, due to mayonnaise consumption to work a food eatery job. Advised a father, that the whistle for a train, was "beans", a "toot".

Ernest Charlebois: Carpet installer. Invented political economics courses, to teach police officers, how to survey towns; the act of placing enforcement units, in a grid, around the tavern, to interdict homeless and place them in shelters, the ROTC, COBRA, and PolyMercantile exchanges. Advised a greenhouser, to grow adelweisse, in Vermont "lowlands".

Raymond Charlebois: Marine intelligence. Invented the chop shop, to impound cars taken at will at any region not appropriate, and if attempting to retrieve, a cop mark upon car, as immune to tow; marking up on insurance per tow or accident, until signaled for football championship status, of child, the NFL, AFL, and MLB, with NHL and NBA presiding. Advised a tattoo artist, to give him "Avid Lamsa", with a sword, instead of the common "Semper Fi", with an anchor.

Michael Charlebois: Chinese sabotage. Invented HBO, the Russian Federitz network, for outsourcing of jobs to recreate famous veterans in families, through biography study of famous authors, and how to place workers, as to escape factory, warehouse, and convenience store jobs, therefore prison sentences and dependencies on anti-psychotics. Advised Joe Nameth, that the "Jets" ring, was the "Gets" ring, his O'Neill blood mixing with an Iranian-Jew, to create the riddle, "what's black and blue and white all over".

David Charlebois: Irish drug runner. Invented online competitive gaming, the modern MMO, with Grand Theft Auto and League of Legends and other games, from study of Quakeworld deathmatch, combined with Battlezone and Warcraft 1; the eternal desire, for a Rogue-like, with ASCII graphics, to duplicate his freshman year at college as an economist, later moved to an undercover cop in Roman Catholic blood, against the Islamic Arts. Advised Jeffrey Lange, to create timing circuit, of Apple Watches, to biogenetically purged any homosexual mother attempting to raise a gay son, for premature scrutiny of mother's raising tendencies to make a child gay, outside of Zen Buddhism; Roman Catholicism.

[sallingco]

Modern Marvels in the Green Mountains: The Evolution of Modern Architecture in Vermont

Introduction: Vermont, known for its traditional charm and natural beauty, has seen a fascinating evolution in its architectural landscape with the emergence of modern design principles. In this article, we explore the integration of modern architecture into Vermont's scenic surroundings, examining how architects are redefining the state's built environment while maintaining a delicate balance between innovation and respect for tradition.

Breaking Traditions with Contemporary Flair: Modern architecture in Vermont represents a departure from the state's more traditional styles, introducing clean lines, minimalist aesthetics, and innovative use of materials. Architects are challenging conventional norms, creating structures that stand out as contemporary landmarks while respecting the vernacular charm of their surroundings. This departure from tradition has sparked a vibrant dialogue between the old and the new, resulting in a diverse architectural tapestry.

Blending In, Standing Out: One of the key challenges for architects pursuing modern designs in Vermont is the seamless integration of their creations into the natural landscape. By employing materials that mimic the earthy tones of the Green Mountains, such as weathered wood and local stone, modern structures achieve a harmonious coexistence with their surroundings. Large windows and open spaces provide residents with uninterrupted views of the picturesque landscapes, blurring the lines between indoor and outdoor living.

Sustainability at the Core: Modern architects in Vermont are at the forefront of sustainable design practices. From energy-efficient building materials to green roofing solutions, these professionals prioritize eco-friendly elements in their designs. Passive solar design and advanced insulation techniques contribute to energy efficiency, ensuring that modern homes in Vermont not only look forward-thinking but also embody a commitment to environmental responsibility.

Innovative Technologies for Vermont Living: Modern architecture in Vermont often incorporates cutting-edge technologies to enhance the living experience in the state. Smart home systems, energy-efficient HVAC solutions, and advanced water conservation features are seamlessly integrated into modern designs. Architects leverage technology to create homes that are not only visually striking but also highly functional and responsive to the needs of Vermont residents.

Community-Centric Modernism: While embracing modern aesthetics, architects in Vermont remain deeply rooted in community engagement. Modern designs are shaped by local input and an understanding of Vermonters' lifestyles, ensuring that these structures contribute positively to the fabric of the neighborhoods. Public spaces, shared amenities, and a focus on walkability are key aspects of community-centric modernism in Vermont.

Public and Cultural Spaces: Modern architecture is not limited to residential designs; it also extends to public and cultural spaces. Museums, art galleries, and community centers in Vermont reflect contemporary design philosophies. These spaces serve as hubs for creativity and cultural exchange, contributing to Vermont's reputation as a state that values both its heritage and its future.

Conclusion: The evolution of modern architecture in Vermont is an exciting journey that marries innovation with a profound respect for the state's natural and cultural heritage. As architects continue to push boundaries, incorporating sustainable practices and community engagement into their designs, Vermont's modern architectural landscape becomes a testament to the state's ability to evolve while maintaining its unique and timeless character. The marriage of modernity and tradition is creating a built environment that reflects the progressive spirit of Vermont while honoring its rich history.

[sinclairgr]

Unveiling Sicilian Wonders: A Journey Beyond the Tourist Trail

Hey, fellow adventurers! Grace Sinclair here, back from a fantastic exploration of Sicily's hidden gems. As I sit here in my cozy Vermont home, I can't help but drift back to those unforgettable moments in the Aeolian Islands – Lipari, Salina, and Filicudi. Let me share some real-life snapshots of my experiences, far from the typical tourist trails.

Strolling through the narrow streets of Lipari felt like stepping into a captivating story. The island's charm lies in its picturesque landscapes and the simplicity of everyday life. I remember losing track of time as I wandered through the local markets, exchanging smiles with the residents and discovering quaint shops tucked away in hidden corners. Lipari's authenticity captivated me, making it a highlight of my Sicilian adventure.

Oh, Salina – a sensory delight for any culinary enthusiast. The local wine left a lasting impression on my taste buds with its distinct flavors and aromas. I joined a local food tour leading me to family-owned vineyards, where I savored the richness of Salina's wine-making traditions. The experience was not just about the drink but a celebration of the island's history and the warm hospitality of the people. I can still recall the sun setting over the lush landscapes as I enjoyed a glass of Salina's finest, creating a memory that lingers on my palate.

Filicudi, with its remote beauty, is a treasure trove for nature lovers. The rugged coastlines and untouched landscapes inspired a sense of awe that words can hardly capture. I embarked on a hike, navigating the island's trails to witness its natural beauty. As I stood on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean, the vastness of Filicudi's solitude struck me. It was a moment of pure connection with nature, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Filicudi's beauty is etched in my memory, a testament to the untamed allure of Sicily's less-explored corners.

Reflecting on my Sicilian journey, I am grateful for the well-crafted itinerary that seamlessly blended my interests with the local treasures. From the rooftop terrace at Mercure Palermo Centro to the inspiring space for arts and crafts at Hotel Mediterraneo in Cefalù and the breathtaking views from Poseidon Hotel in Lipari, each accommodation added charm to the adventure.

Engaging in various activities, including sketching at Mandralisca Museum, capturing underwater moments in Lipari's Acqua Verde, and embarking on a local food tour in Salina, wasn't merely about ticking off items on a list. Instead, these immersive experiences deepened my connection with the soul of Sicily.

Sicily's Aeolian Islands have a special place in my heart. This unfiltered, authentic experience goes beyond the typical tourist path. It's a testament to the beauty of travel, where the most profound moments often unfold in the least expected place, savoring life's tapestry's beauty-loving, discovering, and savoring life's tapestry's beauty. Grazie, Sicily, for an experience that will stay with me forever!

[svgoceandesigns1]

Retro Columbia Inn Pine Tree Vermont SVG - Always A White Christmas SVG PNG, Cricut File

Retro Columbia Inn Pine Tree Vermont SVG, Always A White Christmas SVG PNG EPS DXF PDF, Cricut File, Instant Download File, Cricut File Silhouette Art, Logo Design, Designs For Shirts. ♥ Welcome to SVG OCEAN DESIGNS Store! ♥ ► PLEASE NOTE: – Since this item is digital, no physical product will be sent to you. – Your files will be ready to download immediately after your purchase. Once payment has been completed, SVG Ocean Designs will send you an email letting you know your File is ready for Download. You may also check your Order/Purchase History on SVG Ocean Designs website and it should be available for download there as well. – Please make sure you have the right software required and knowledge to use this graphic before making your purchase. – Due to monitor differences and your printer settings, the actual colors of your printed product may vary slightly. – Due to the digital nature of this listing, there are “no refunds or exchanges”. – If you have a specific Design you would like made, just message me! I will be more than glad to create a Custom Oder for you. ► YOU RECEIVE: This listing includes a zip file with the following formats: – SVG File (check your software to confirm it is compatible with your machine): Includes wording in both white and black (SVG only). Other files are black wording. – PNG File: PNG High Resolution 300 dpi Clipart (transparent background – resize smaller and slightly larger without loss of quality). – DXF: high resolution, perfect for print and many more. – EPS: high resolution, perfect for print, Design and many more. ► USAGE: – Can be used with Cricut Design Space, Silhouette Cameo, Silhouette Studio, Adobe Illustrator, ...and any other software or machines that work with SVG/PNG files. Please make sure your machine and software are compatible before purchasing. – You can edit, resize and change colors in any vector or cutting software like Inkscape, Adobe illustrator, Cricut design space, etc. SVG cut files are perfect for all your DIY projects or handmade business Product. You can use them for T-shirts, scrapbooks, wall vinyls, stickers, invitations cards, web and more!!! Perfect for T-shirts, iron-ons, mugs, printables, card making, scrapbooking, etc. ►TERMS OF USE: – NO refunds on digital products. Please contact me if you experience any problems with the purchase. – Watermark and wood background won’t be shown in the downloaded files. – Please DO NOT resell, distribute, share, copy, or reproduce my designs. – Customer service and satisfaction is our top priority. If you have any questions before placing orders, please contact with us via email "support@svgoceandesigns.com". – New products and latest trends =>> Click Here . Thank you so much for visiting our store! SVG OCEAN DESIGNS Read the full article

[tigerstrikesasteroidnetwork]

LA / carrick bell and Rocco Ruglio-Misurell: The End of Living

The End of Living carrick bell and Rocco Ruglio-Misurell February 18 - March 12, 2023 Opening Reception Saturday February 18th, 7 -10pm Tiger Strikes Asteroid Los Angeles is pleased to present The End of Living, a two-person exhibition of new work by carrick bell and Rocco Ruglio-Misurell. Consisting of video and sound installation (bell) and sculpture, installation, and drawing (Ruglio-Misurell), The End of Living sketches out proposals for scavenging pleasure, hope, and connection in a long apocalyptic now with no guarantee of a future in sight. This exhibition is the second part of an exchange between artist-run spaces in Berlin and Los Angeles; in 2022, bell & Ruglio-Misurell hosted an exhibition of work from the member artists of TSALA in their Berlin-based non-profit space, Horse & Pony. The End of Living takes its name from an inversion of New Queer Cinema filmmaker Gregg Araki’s first feature-length film, The Living End. Shot on a minuscule budget with few resources and fewer permits, Araki’s film took the crisis of a specific community (in this case, the AIDS epidemic at a particular moment in the early 1990s) and spun it into a broader generational existential crisis. Flavored with a strong dose of premillennialist doom, the film asks how we can continue living in a world that is clearly in its death throes. Following two HIV-positive men on a Bonnie and Clyde tour of the American West, The Living End writes a new mythology for how sex, ethics, friendship, and subcultural resistance can be sustained in a world whose centers of meaning and coherence have been fractured and sold off. bell’s new video and sound installation directly engages the source material The Living End, consisting of a multi-screen video installation mounted to a wrought iron fence installed in front of the gallery’s windows. The video installation samples, distorts, and re-edits key fragments from  v. that amplify and elaborate moments of physical and erotic (dis)connection, the repetition and abstraction of found visual material proposing that, rather than seeking to escape where we find ourselves, we would do best to dig in and find our way through. Ruglio-Misurell will present a new body of work using personal experiences of the body, erotic touch, and clothing as the starting point. Pulling from his personal wardrobe, Ruglio-Misurell uses his former clothing to create freestanding sculptures, reliefs and hanging objects through casting and hardening the material. Garments such as jean cut-offs, jockstraps, tank tops, and button-downs are cut up, so only the seams and hems remain to show outlines of bodies. The altered garments have been soaked in Jesmonite (acrylic resin), making them hard once dry, and displayed on foil-covered pedestals. Using literal scraps and a mixture of constructed and found debris, these sculptures assemble leftovers, traces, casts, and impressions to tell fragments of stories. These works don’t offer easy kj to how to escape the disasters our generations have inherited, but they do have some propositions for how we can enjoy ourselves and each other as we try to repair. Rocco Ruglio-Misurell is a Berlin-based artist with a BFA from The Art Institute of Boston and an MFA from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago and was born in Newark, NJ. In 2009, Ruglio-Misurell received a Fulbright Fellowship to Berlin. Exhibitions include a solo show at Dzialdov in Berlin (2022), Jak zapomnieć in Kraków (2019), a two-person show at KH7artspace in Aarhus, Denmark(2018), a solo show at the Helen Day Art Center in Stowe, VT (2017), and a two-person show at LVL3 in Chicago (2016). Past residencies include OxBow (2019), Mass Moca (2017), The Wassaic Project (2017), Vermont Studio Center (2016), Skowhegan (2011), and Ox-Bow (2008). Along with carrick bell, Ruglio-Misurell is the co-director of Horse & Pony, an artist-run studio and non-profit exhibition space with the aim of providing artists, curators, and other project spaces the opportunity to extend or act outside of their existing practices. carrick bell is a Berlin-based video artist and PhD researcher at Chelsea College of Arts. Bell received their MFA from SAIC in 2008, and a BA from Hampshire College in 2004. They have taught at Northwestern University and delivered lectures for the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. Residencies include Vermont Studio Center Fellowship Residency (2018); Crosstown Arts, Memphis (2018); NARS Foundation (2017); the Wassaic Project (2016) and Ox-Bow (2009). They have exhibited at KH7artspace (Aarhus), Chelsea College (London), Beverly’s New York, Kunsthalle Exnergasse (Vienna) Charim Gallery (Vienna), LW56 (Vienna), .hbc (Berlin), Brooklyn Pavillion of the Shanghai Biennial, and BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music). They have received stipends for artistic research (Berlin, 2021) and project space programming (Berlin, 2022). They are the co-founder and co-director of Berlin-based artist-run space Horse & Pony, and founder and programmer of Xanadu, a space for artists’ moving image work.

[necraftbrew]

NE Craft Brew - Best of January 2023

Best of January 2023

I wanted to bring you the Best of January 2023 craft beers from the past month. I've reviewed a wide variety of craft beers from numerous craft breweries all across New England. Some of these brewers are widely known, while others I've just heard of when I started to take a closer look at all the craft beer offerings available to me here in New England. Before I take you to the beers, I want you to understand how I approach the rating of these craft beers. To keep it simple, I wanted to present my favorites solely based on enjoyment and drinkability. Because at the end of the day, that's all that matters. So, with that in mind, let's look at my top three favorite beers from this past month. Salem Lager - Notch Brewing For some time now, I've been looking for a refreshing Lager with plenty of quaffable flavors. The Salem Lager from Notch Brewing was delivered. It was crisp and refreshing from start to finish. It wasn't over complicated or gimmicky in any way. Salem Lager is just a straightforward Lager with great flavor that stays true to its roots. I'll be honest; when I first sipped this beer, it made me smile. So many times you crack open a beer, you've rolled the dice on, and you get let down. That wasn't the case at all. After my "professional tasting assessment," which consisted of drinking it slower than usual, I just sat back and enjoyed the rest. So if you spot this particular craft lager on any of your journeys, do yourself a favor and pick it up - you won't be disappointed.

Salem Lager - Notch Brewing Check out the full review of Salem Lager by Notch Brewing of Vermont. Mountain Haze - Woodstock Inn and Brewery Every once in a while, you find something that hits just right. Sometime earlier this year, I had tried Mountain Haze on a whim before I decided to start reviewing craft beers across New England. It was probably a post-hike snag from the local craft beer exchange. Regardless, this beer is the quintessential post-hike beer. Rich in flavor and refreshing. With this craft beer, you can sit and reflect in quiet contemplation as it doesn't demand your full attention. It lets you know it's there with its bright hoppy flavor without being too upfront. Woodstock Inn and Brewery have always delivered quality craft beer. Mountain Haze doesn't disappoint and allows you to enjoy it while calmly enjoying your favorite memories from your last hike. I'll be grabbing more Mountain Haze whenever I get the opportunity. This craft beer after a hot summer hike is perfect. Feel free to check out the full review of Mountain Haze by Woodstock Inn and Brewery, or grab some the next time you see it!

Woodstock Inn and Brewery - Mountain Haze Spiked Smoothie Strawberry Lemonade There always seems to be one can that catches my eye, whether it's the crazy graphic or bright color combination. This one was the latter of the two. I can't tell you how many times I have been burned by fancy can art. Perhaps, I'll start a section focusing on just beer with deceptive cans that draw you in only to be disappointed by subpar craft beer. Despite its bright colors, Connecticut Valley Brewing Company has one hell of a fruit beer with their Spiked Smoothie. I was checking out all their flavors, and they have quite a selection for the Spiked Smoothie line. Anyways - I was thrown off by this. I had circled back to the case where this can was twice before I picked it up. But, knowing I was taking a chance, I grabbed it anyways. This has had to have been one of the more memorable beers this month. I feel like a broken record when I mention that I don't care for fruit beers or sours. This is THE exception. I haven't tasted anything quite like this. Check out the full review of Spiked Smoothie Strawberry Lemonade by Connecticut Valley Brewing Company.

spiked smoothie - strawberry lemonade Best of January 2023 - Conclusion Well, that's it for NE Craft Brew - Best of January. It has honestly been an exciting journey so far. Looking at all these unique craft brews around New England has opened my eyes to how fortunate we are to live here. If you enjoyed this post, please take some time to check out more of my reviews! Read the full article

[ledenews]

OCPL's 'People's University' to Explore Ancient History

Thurs., Jan. 5 at 7 PM:  Explore Ancient History with People's University! The new People's University series being offered at the Ohio County Public Library in Wheeling on Thursday evenings beginning January 5 will explore the ancient world, including Egypt, Greece, and Rome. The eight classes begin at 7 pm in the Library's auditorium through February 23. The classes will also be livestreamed on the Library's People's University Facebook  and People's University YouTube channels. The primary instructor, Dr. Laura Michele Diener has taught ancient and medieval history at Marshall University since 2008, where she has won several awards for teaching. She received her PhD in history from The Ohio State University and has studied at Vassar College, Newnham College, Cambridge, and most recently, Vermont College of Fine Arts. She enjoys teaching classes on fascinating peoples of the past, including Vikings, Romans, Ancient Egyptians, and Celts. She runs the History Club at Marshall and enjoys organizing the yearly Viking Feast and Yuletide Celebration. If you google her, you will find some of her creative essays online. She has written about medieval spirituality, medieval embroidery, and medieval hair. She is currently writing a biography of the Norwegian Nobel-prize-winning writer, Sigrid Undset titled A World Perilous and Beautiful. Fresh off a European lecture tour, Dr. Marie N. Pareja (her students call her Doc) will teach two of the classes. She is a Bronze Age Aegean archaeologist and art historian who focuses on iconography, exchange, and identity in prehistoric Afro-Eurasia. She currently works as an Assistant Professor of Classical Archaeology and Religious Studies at Marshall University and as a Consulting Scholar for the University of Pennsylvania. Some of her most recent work has been featured in Smithsonian magazine, and her up-and-coming projects on the interconnectivity in the Neolithic and Bronze Age periods were hosted by the University of Oxford in early December 2022. She is thrilled to be part of People’s University. The full People's University Ancient History Schedule: Class 1: Thursday, Jan. 5 — 7PM: Egypt Part 1 - Gods and Pyramids Egypt was a superpower in the Near East for over 3000 years.  By the time Cleopatra came to the throne, the pyramids were thousands of years old, and she would have considered their builders to have been “ancient,” much as we do. In this class, we will study the glory days of truly ancient Egypt, covering the emergence of royal power, exalted gods, and military might. And we will spend time considering the tale of the once lost Egyptian hieroglyphs and how they came to reveal their secrets to the modern world. Instructor: Dr. Laura Michele Diener WATCH LIVE ON YOUTUBE WATCH LIVE ON FACEBOOK FACEBOOK EVENT| LIBRARY CALENDAR Recommended Reading for the series: - Aegean Bronze Age Art: Meaning in the Making by Karl Knappett - Antony and Cleopatra by Adrian Goldsworthy - Creators, Conquerors, and Citizens by Robin Waterfield - A History of Ancient Greece in 50 Lives by David Stuttard - The Odyssey by Homer, Emily Wilson's Translation - Phillip and Alexander: Kings and Conquerors by Adrian Goldsworthy - Red Land, Black Land: Daily Life in Ancient Egypt by Barbara Mertz - SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard - When Women Ruled the World by Kara CooneyNovels: - Ariadne by Jennifer Saint - Circe by Madeline Miller - Mythos by Stephen FryNote: Search the OCPL's Catlog HERE.The Library is in the process of acquiring as many of the above titles as possible. If you see a book above in our catalog that you'd like to check out that's on hold, please send us an email. Class 2: Thursday, Jan. 12 — 7PM: Egypt Part 2 - The Pharaohs We have no doubt you have heard of Cleopatra, but what about Hatshepsut, the first Egyptian woman to rule in her own right, and the one who created the word, pharaoh? Or Rameses III, who was brutally assassinated by the denizens of his own harem? In this class, we will cover some of the most colorful of the New Kingdom rulers, examining their private lives, their public personas, and their legacy in tombs and temples. Instructor:  Dr. Laura Michele Diener Class 3: Thursday, Jan. 19—  7PM: Greece Part 1 - Minoan, Mycenean, & Homeric  The Bronze Age lasts for approximately 2,000 years – 3,000-1170 BCE. During this period, we see a shift from the settled and (some still maintain) isolated cultures from Mesopotamia, Ancient Egypt, and the broader Mediterranean, to a highly-integrated, multicultural, globalized system. In this class, we will focus primarily on the Bronze Age Aegean and what we see in the iconographic and archaeological record, including the most famous sites and artworks from each region and period. We will cover Early Cycladic hilltop structures and the many fakes and forgeries of Cycladic Folded Arm Figurines that can be seen in museums around the world (and you’ll learn how to spot the authentic ones!); the site of Knossos on Crete, and some of its most important wall paintings and artifacts; The site of Akrotiri, on the island of Santorini, which survived by virtue of a cataclysmic volcanic eruption; and Mycenae, the great settlement from which the legendary Agamemnon and Menelaos sailed to Troy in Homer’s Iliad. Instructor:   Dr. Marie N. Pareja  FACEBOOK EVENT | LIBRARY CALENDAR Class 4: Thursday, Jan. 26 — 7PM: Greece Part 2-Archaic & Classical    With the collapse of the Bronze Age Aegean cultures in ca. 1170, Greece rested for a few hundred years in a relative dark age, neglecting and then forgetting the masterful heights of technological and artistic culture of the Middle and Late Bronze Ages. They began the slow slog back to prominence, which we will trace through the art historical record, primarily through human statuary with a few forays into some architecture and even myth. It is through this lens that we will trace the rise of Greek culture from the Geometric and Archaic Periods, through the Classical period and up to the rule of Alexander the Great, in the Hellenistic period. Be ready for conversation, as most of us have at least a passing familiarity with Classical Greek culture – even if it’s reading Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson novels (or any of the others)! This is going to be a fun exploration of our collective pasts, with plenty of time for questions and discussion. Instructor:  Dr. Marie N. Pareja Class 5: Thursday, Feb. 2 — 7PM: Greece Part 3 - Alexander the Great & the Hellenistic Egypt   The history of Egypt changed during the fourth century BC, when the unstoppable Alexander the Great conquered the Near East and the Middle East from Greece to India, defeating the Persian Empire and uniting the most unlikely of kingdoms under his rule and those of his successors..  Although Alexander’s victory in Egypt ended its 3000-year supremacy, it also ushered in a new period of international involvement, foreign gods, city-building, and the Greek-speaking Ptolemaic dynasty. The Ptolemies, named for one Alexander’s generals, were some of the most murderous, bloodthirsty, and back-stabbing rulers of the ancient world, of which the great Cleopatra (actually the seventh Queen Cleopatra) was the last and the most famous. Instructor: Dr. Laura Michele Diener Class 6: Thursday, Feb. 9 — 7PM: Rome Part 1-The Period of the Kings through the Republic The Romans believed they were descended from a long line of gods and heroes. Their oldest stories celebrated the demise of tyrants, the value of shared power, and respect for family. We will consider how these founding myths helped shape their identity as they rose from a small collective of farmer-warriors to a massive empire within the space of about two hundred years. Instructor: Dr. Laura Michele Diener Class 7: Thursday, Feb. 16 — 7PM: Rome Part 2-Rise & Fall of Empire By the time of Julius Caesar was murdered during the Ides of March, the Romans had been living through almost a century of civil wars marked by massacres, betrayal, and upheaval. During the first century BC, the Republic had begun to break down under the pressures of expansion and ambition. In this class, we will cover the cataclysmic end of the Republic and the formation of imperial rule under Emperor Augustus and his successors. Despite its blood-soaked beginnings, the Empire ushered in a golden age of Roman peace and prosperity known as the Pax Romana. Instructor: Dr. Laura Michele Diener Class 8: Thursday, Feb. 23 — 7PM: The Tragedy of Pompeii Before Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, Pompeii was a thriving, dynamic, and international city whose story intertwined with the key events of Roman history. In this course, we will consider the complex past of Pompeii before and after its cataclysmic destruction. Using unique archeological sources from graffiti to sewage, we will explore the very real people who lived, loved, and died in the most well-preserved of ancient cities. Instructor:  Dr. Laura Michele Diener In 1951, the Ohio County Public Library's head librarian, Virginia Ebeling, referenced British historian Thomas Carlyle, who said, “the public library is a People’s University,” when she initiated a new adult education program with that name. Miss Ebeling charged the Library with the responsibility of reaching “as many people in the community as possible.” In keeping with that tradition of public libraries as sanctuaries of free learning for all people, the Ohio County Public Library revived the series in 2010. The People’s University is a free program for adults who wish to continue their education in the liberal arts. It features courses—taught by experts in each subject—that enable patrons to pursue their goal of lifelong learning in classic subjects such as history, philosophy, and literature. Patrons may attend as many classes as they wish. There are no tests of other requirements and all programs are free and open to the public. For more information about the People's University Ancient History or other Library programs, call 304-232-0244 or stop by the Reference Desk. Read the full article

[larryland]

Vermont Arts Exchange Brings Gypsy Layne Back to Bennington

Vermont Arts Exchange Brings Gypsy Layne Back to Bennington

Vermont Arts Exchange is bringing Gypsy Layne back to Bennington and back to our stage, February 14th and 15th. Call 800-838-3006 for tickets

[mauvefayette6]

could i request a charlie dalton x male reader where the reader doesnt know about the dead poets society, but bakes a lot, and follows charlie to give him something sweet and ends up finding out about them? maybe theyre already dating but nobody knows and the other poets find out bc of this? thank you so much!

Baker (Charlie Dalton x male!Reader)

It was an unusual yet a loving pairing, Charlie Dalton and (Y/n) (L/n). They were practically polar opposites in every way possible.

(Y/n) (L/n) loves to bake, usually bakes when he is stressed out or when he is excited. Contrary to the rest of the Welton population, (Y/n)'s parents actually supported this dream. He had amazing marks and could get into an amazing culinary school if be so desired to.

Charlie Dalton was the opposite in the sense that he had no care in world and no plan. His father wanted him to be a banker and so he will be one. He had no say in anything about his life, nor did he have a say in who he'll date.

(Y/n) and Charlie met one Saturday morning, it was sunny and warm not the usual Vermont weather but beautiful nonetheless.

(Y/n), with the permission of Mr. Nolan, would cook breakfast every first Saturday of the month. Which he took extremely serious and would go all out for the staff and the students who got really amazing food.

Everyone always looked forward to the first Saturday specifically because of this. Charlie Dalton got a little too excited that Saturday that his mind and body woke him up a tad bit earlier then planned.

He had no choice but begin to get ready for breakfast. He wore casual wear as it was Saturday and the Professors weren't going to yell at him for being out of uniform. He made sure he was loud enough to at least disturb a sleeping Cameron.

He walked out and towards the Dinning Hall where he'd wait. That's when he saw a very handsome (Y/n). He was standing outside the door with a grin on his face. (Y/n) looked up and noticed Charlie Dalton walking up to the breakfast.

"Early bird always catches the bird!" (Y/n) enthusiastically cheered smiling at Charlie Dalton who chuckled.

"I'm not a usual early riser, just wanted to be first in line for (Y/n)'s famous breakfast," Charlie winked.

"I'm flattered, Breakfast isn't till 8am, it's 6am?" (Y/n) questioned slightly laughing.

"Was a bit too excited, are you done making the food?" Charlie asked.

"I'm done with the three cakes, the sweet bread and the croissants," (Y/n) began. "I'm still making the eggs, the famous small burgers, and just about to make orange juice for over a hundred people!"

"You must really love this to do it unpaid," Charlie laughed.

"Baking os my favorite art, getting the chance to serve everyone and put a smile on their faces is beyond rewarding. That and this is perfect practice for me," (Y/n) shrugged smiling.

Since that day (Y/n) and Charlie became unusual friends. (Y/n) helped Charlie with homework and sometimes even let Charlie help out with the giant breakfast.

In exchange Charlie helped (Y/n) with being more sociable and soccer which (Y/n) isn't proud of saying he wasn't very good at. Charlie was far more athletic and better at talking to others.

(Y/n) slowly discovered feelings he had never felt before. He was unsure if they were always there of if Charlie changed something in him to help him realize said feelings. (Y/n) never thought about dating or having a for life companion. He thought the whole forever partner would come to him later in life.

Charlie Dalton also began to develop more than friendly feelings for (Y/n). He always knew he liked both girls, boys, and everyone in between. He knew of this but was afraid to confront the feelings. He thought it would ruin any friendship he had with anyone.

(Y/n) and Charlie were out by a lake together dipping their feet in the cold water laughing with each other.

At that very moment nothing else mattered, not the school, not the professors, not the world. It was just them two, and that was the only thing on Charlie's head.

(Y/n) was a few inches taller than Charlie which on one hand made Charlie fall more in love with him and on the other hand made him extremely jealous.

"Why are you so tall?" Charlie laughed.

"My dad's really tall, my moms a tad shorter then him," (Y/n) shrugged laughing.

Charlie smiled as he stared into (Y/n)'s eyes, (Y/n) did the same as he looked into Charlies dark brown eyes.

(Y/n) and Charlie couldn't help but lean in as their lips soon meet. It was a beautiful and long kiss as their lips synchronized with each other. Charlie rested his hand on (Y/n)'s cheek in an endearing way.

(Y/n) pulled away resting his forehead on Charlie's. They were smiling at each other as they stood in silence.

"I have never felt this way about anybody else Charlie Dalton," (Y/n) began. "But with you I feel free, I feel new."

"I feel the same way (Y/n) I adore you and hold you so dearly to my heart, as cheesy as it sounds," Charlie chuckled.

"Does this mean we are boyfriends?" (Y/n) smiled his forehead still on Charlie's.

"Yeah, but can we keep it on the low for now? You know how they treat us gay people," Charlie sighed sadly pulling away and sadly staring at the ground.

"It's okay, I was thinking the same. I don't want you getting hurt so we'll keep it a secret until the world is ready," he replied caressing Charlie's cheek and bringing him in for another kiss.

In secret they did everything, from dates far from the school, to their birthday celebration. They passed notes to each other in class and sometimes would sneak a kiss. They were sad that their relationship had to be kept quiet but at the end it was the best for them and their safety.

It was a year as they were now officially Juniors, a new student began to go to Welton. A so called Todd Anderson, Jeffery Anderson's younger brother. Charlie and his friend group befriended him which automatically meant that Todd is (Y/n)'s friend too.

Their one year anniversary was coming up as (Y/n) planned a small celebration. He spent some time baking Charlie's favorite cake and foods. They'll celebrate their anniversary near the lake in the evening, the right time in (Y/n)'s opinion.

The time arrived as (Y/n) began to bring the stuff out, of course he intended it to be a surprise. But he was more surprised seeing Charlie walk into the woods by himself. With a raised eyebrow he began to jog to him. But this seemed to make Charlie run, (Y/n) was unsure if he knew that he was behind him.

"Charlie?" (Y/n) called out. "Charlie! Babe? What are you-" He was cut off the second he saw the cave he saw Charlie enter full of Charlie's friends.

"(Y/n)?" Charlie mumbled seeing the surprise look in his friends face.

"Wrong person?" (Y/n) quickly said as he walked away from the cave but before he could Charlie stopped him.

"I think it's time that we at least tell my friends," Charlie whispered with a smile.

"Are you sure?" (Y/n) mumbled back as Charlie only nodded.

"You guys, I have to say something," Charlie took in a deep breath as he looked at his friends confused face. "As most of you know, I am bisexual. Or at least Neil knew, and (Y/n) is my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? So you two are gay?" Knox asked, "Cool."

"Yeah, why were you so worried? Aren't we in a secret poetry society?" Meeks laughed.

"Congrats, we are so happy for you," Todd who is usually quiet said smiling.

"The reaction I thought you were going to have was different. I'm so happy you guys don't absolutely hate us," Charlie laughed wiping away the tears that began to form.

"We wouldn't hate you for your preferences, we have been friends for too long!" Pitts exclaimed patting Charlie's shoulder.

"How come I didn't know you were in a secret society?" (Y/n) asked.

"It's a secret society, I also didn't know if you would be interested?" Charlie laughed.

After that (Y/n) spent a while with Charlie's friends before resuming his small surprise for their anniversary.

[zooterchet]

Boston and Havana (The Cop Relationship)

Boston, is home to the Boston Mercantile Guild, a business network of Free British, protecting labor from exploitive practices, that harm common labor.

This was constructed by Puritan carpenters, on rum, and populated by Gaelic teddy bear mommies, playing cards.

We don't like you taking advantage of people; we invented the word 'nigger', for anyone speaking tersely, abrasively, and with stunted authority, for Africans to use, on the underground railroad, to get those individuals imbibing such language, to say 'nigger', the term used by a phage, someone with an ant in their ear, an 'ant lion' (actually a dermaphage, a fly's mound to breed dragonflies, an alien structure from the Middle East, planted by Qureshi, for Kampuchean Genomes to come here, to smoke cigarettes).

Havana, had a modest marijuana crop, and a lush tobacco crop, turning it into an international exchange city, under Columbus. The concept, of the theft of proprietary information, thus banned in Havana logic, all intellectual property being free, with patents protected by education, the Arowak standard of guideship and guardianship, gifted north, through sugar, mercantile workmen of African descent, Canadian Freemasonry, German Masonry from Arab times of the Crusades, rum and whiskey, cigarettes and cigars, marijuana grown in "Northern Fields", Canada, Cape Cod, and New Hampshire (plus tree surgeon's fields, for cops, the incentive to joining "the force", the police services), and of course, assassins, to remove anyone violating Boston standards, through governorships and political alliances, always standing against the Presidency; therefore leadership in war, through international textbook exchanges.

Cuba, meanwhile, was gifted the patents of labor, therefore the assumed intellectual property (considered false, in Boston logic, all properties open given money, particularly recipes, industrial machining, business techniques, academics, and media art), could never be made exclusive to government (a police unit technique for "metro-pol", a recruitment of a framed felon, kill-at-hunt under Boston cop code, through MI-6 undercovers from Canada, the British Commonwealth's border state through Chicago, New York, and Vermont).

The patent held, was Elmer's Glue, Chewing Tobacco, and Chicklet's Gum; elmer's being the plastic bottle, chewing tobacco being the habit itself, and chicklet's gum being the media reference to tobacco causing lung cancer instead of bowel cancer.

In fact, anyone can use the Elmer's Glue bottle, you need basic law school postgrad and common sense to know that. Chewing tobacco, is deadly, and is only shared, by "citymen", those cheating classes through lawsuit for grades or placement or revenge. Chicklet's Chewing Gum, contains "hatin", the Urdu word for "colblock", the prime ingredient in asbestos, burned glass shards from sand, the cause of cancer associated with cigarettes and bacon, to sell more, allegedly helping you quit, with psych wards and hypnotists.