#i don't have a name for this story yet even though it's existed for years so i'll tag it with a substory i have in this same world | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahdraftingco · 1 year

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Oneshot: Trouble

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

AO3 Crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44157645

Summary: Ellie's gone. She ran away a while ago, after she discovered Joel's lie. It was a lie he had to make for his own sake because he couldn't handle losing her but still, he lost her. Now, he walks the wasteland alone, searching for purpose…and that's when he stumbles onto you. A bright, young woman who had gotten through the worst of it without losing her innocence to a world gone mad. If only you knew what was in store for you now that Joel has found a new person to latch onto…

Word Count: 8.2k+

A/N: As always, please read through ALL the warnings before proceeding: porn with plot, dead dove: do not eat (this story is not for the faint of heart so don't say i didn't warn ya), borderline non-con, dark!joel miller, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, age gap, use of the word "daddy"/"baby girl", bondage, forced orgasms, gunplay, praise kink, somnophilia, size difference, genuine fear/peril, death threats, cum play, rough sex, sexual coercion, squirting, breeding kink (unprotected piv, possible pregnancy/pregnancy talk), angst, mentions of violence, degradation, references to death

This fic will contain spoilers to TLOU Part One, so if you haven't played the game, please be aware that I will be referencing canon events. Hope you enjoy the sinister Joel I've made up and yes, I did based the physical description off Pedro Pascal's portrayal of Joel ~ ♡

It's been months since Ellie left Joel. He had gone out to look for supplies, since she had been sick. It wasn't until he got back and saw that she had taken up everything she could carry that he realized it had all been an act to let his guard down.

He had thought they were past what had happened at the hospital, since it's been almost five years, but the truth is…he knew what he had done was unforgivable. She was the cure. She wanted to die for the cause. She knew what she had to do but he was the one who wasn't ready to let her go.

This is the price he will pay for it.

It breaks Joel down more and more every day that passes as he scavenges the east coast, hoping he'll find clues of Ellie's whereabouts somewhere. Though, he taught her well, which meant he was almost certain she'd be hard to find.

If she's smart, which he knows she is, Ellie would've made it to the north before the winter began. That way, there's no chance of Joel ever catching up to her in the snow.

With a heavy sigh, Joel makes his trek up the state highway, weaving through abandoned cars. He'll be in New York soon. There once was a station there, but it quickly grew overcrowded and fell soon after.

Not enough food for people to eat, not enough protection for people to survive.

The infected would be roaming in the city, but Joel knew to avoid the densely populated areas. He didn't want trouble.

And yet, trouble always finds him.

Trouble had a name this time. Your name, though he didn't know it just yet.

Instead, as he watches you from a distance, Joel calls you baby girl in his mind, seeing how much younger you were than him. It was obvious you were older than Ellie though. You were an adult, a young one, but an adult all the same. It makes him wonder how you ended up here all alone.

You're humming to yourself, as if the thought of a threat nearby didn't phase you. It's a song he has heard before. Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks. He can almost hear the guitar riff, but it wasn't anything he could play.

However, at this moment, he wished he could.

Seeing you happily whispering the lyrics to yourself as you take down your laundry fills Joel with a kind of desire that taints his soul. It's dark and twisted, the way he wants to bottle up your joy and keep it all for himself.

How could you be so carefree in a world gone mad? It's as if no one has ever hurt you before.

Maybe…you didn't even know the infected existed.

That's impossible, but it looks like you're completely self-sufficient. You have a lake house and he can see the fishing equipment. You also have a garden with rotating crops that are growing well despite the incoming winter.

Who taught you to live life like this?

Peaceful, alone, without a care.

Joel is almost…disappointed. He'd imagine if anyone else had stumbled upon you, you'd be taken easily. You were like the easiest prey for a hungry predator, since you were clueless to the danger you could be in.

It makes Joel want to protect you…but it also makes him want to own you. There's an insatiable need to show you how much you need him to keep you safe, from people just like him.

So, that's exactly what he's going to do. Joel will make you his. He will weave himself into your life until you can't possibly live without him anymore.

That way, you'd never leave him like Ellie did…

❅❅❅❅❅

Today's catch went swimmingly, as it always does. You reeled in enough to have extra to dry into tasty jerky. Winter is approaching and you start to see your breath in the air, knowing that a storm is brewing. You'll have to start chopping some more firewood to store in the basement in case it's an extra cold winter. The temperature has been dropping every passing year, while the summers have gotten hotter.

You're thankful you won't have to think about summer preparations right now. Having to deal with those forest fires took up so much of your time. Winter is destructive as well, but at least it requires you to stay in instead of slave away all day.

Another winter alone, though. You let out a sigh at the thought. How long has it been since everyone you loved passed away?

You're tired of burying people…

Last month, you had to clean up the house a few miles down the lake. You hated having to do it, but your parents taught you well. The moment someone died, you needed to put them out of their misery or they'd fester and become worse creatures than the resurrected undead.

So, you put a bullet in their head and dug a grave for them. Then, you would spend hours rummaging through their house for any supplies before giving it a good thorough cleaning. It was your way of laying them to rest.

You'll miss that man though. Neither of you exchanged names, but you would trade fish for some of his pepper plants. Sometimes, he'd have canned goods for you that he had made himself. You still have some in your basement now. That'll help for the winter.

All these thoughts help you get through deboning your catch. You light up your wood fire stove so you can make a serving of stew and start the dehydrating process. It isn't until everything is in the pot that you register the rustling outside.

Is that the wind or…no, it can't be.

No one ever comes around these parts. It's so hidden by the trees that only an experienced person would think someone lives out here. That's sort of why your parents bought this house. It was secluded in the best kind of way, which aided a lot when everything went to shit. You were born here, raised here and will likely die here.

However, you weren't expecting that day to come so soon. Whoever is out there…they won't hurt you, will they? Your nerves heighten as you walk towards your door, debating if you should grab your gun.

You don't, because the person knocks.

It's a gentle knock, just three light taps. You calm down a little at that. You figure if it was a malicious person, they'd just break down your door. You haven't ever encountered a malicious person before, since you try not to believe everyone is bad. The people you know have all been kind, despite everything.

You hope this person will be the same.

So, you open your door and…

"Hello there." The older man at your doorstep says in his southern accent. "I was just passing through and I noticed you had a fire going. I don't mean to bother, but would it be alright for me to spend the night here, away from the cold?"

You look the man up and down. He doesn't seem like a threat, though he does have a rifle on his back and a pistol tucked at his belt. He's wearing a brown jacket with a flannel underneath along with several other layers that look like they're getting soaked through from the light snow that's starting already. He has a patchy beard with some grays in it along with soft brown hair that matches his eyes.

The man doesn't look intimidating, besides the weapons he's carrying.

So, you do what your parents had always done when people stumbled upon your little house and tell him, "you can stay the night if you agree to bury your weapons somewhere outside. There's a shovel out back. Choose any spot away from my garden, please."

"I will happily take that offer, thank you." His voice is smooth and gentle, so you ease up a little as you watch him leave to go fulfill your request.

The man returns later with just his bag and as a show of faith, he empties it at the doorstep so you can see what he has in it. You notice how few supplies he has, so you sift through your cabinets for some spare canned goods.

"You can have these." You bring them to him. "I've got plenty."

"You're very kind." He gives you a brief smile before taking the cans from you. "Are you always this welcoming to strangers?"

"I wouldn't call you a stranger. You're simply a traveler passing through. Nothing strange about that in our world."

You quickly leave after you say that to give him a change of clothes, since his are soaked and the spare in his bag doesn't look very warm.

"Would you like to use my bath?" You ask, pointing over at the bathroom down the hall. "I haven't heated any water, so it'll be a minute, but you can take a nice, warm bath if you'd like."

"That sounds wonderful." He seems pleased with your offer. "You're a very good girl, treating me with such hospitality."

"We all deserve some normalcy." You leave him with those words so you can go start the fire for the bath water.

It takes around half an hour to boil enough water in intervals, since your stove is quite small and you can only carry so much water at a time. Though, the man, who lets you know that his name is Joel, helps with that, lugging the pot of water back and forth for you until the tub is filled. You tell him to take his time and that dinner will be ready whenever he's done.

When Joel finishes his bath, he meets you in the kitchen and you pour him a bowl of stew, which you invite him to eat by the fire. You've already eaten your portion so you opt to spend time organizing stock since the storm is coming in stronger than you anticipated. You haven't harvested your winter vegetables yet and you should probably do that now before they get buried.

"Something on your mind?" That southern accent sounds close now and you look up to see Joel standing beside you, empty bowl in his hand. "Thanks for the stew, it was delicious."

You smile, taking it from him so you can quickly wipe it clean and set it aside. Then, you answer his question with a light sigh, "I didn't expect the snow to start falling so quickly. I need to go out and salvage what I can from my garden before I'm snowed in."

"Can I help with that?" Joel offers and you shake your head.

"I can't ask you to do that. You just bathed, plus you're my guest."

"I can always bathe again. You shouldn't be out there alone right now. Let me help." His voice has this tinge of leadership in it that makes you want to follow him, so you eventually agree.

"Alright. In exchange, you can have some of the harvest." You make him a deal.

"Can I ask for something else?" Joel catches you by surprise with that. "Would it be okay if I stayed here until the storm ended?"

"Oh…" He's right. If the storm has started already, he'd be stranded out there if you kicked him out tomorrow.

But, is it really smart to spend an entire storm with a man you've just met?

You can't let him trek through the storm though, so you tell him, "if you help me with some repairs around the house, then you can stay as long as you'd like."

"I'd like that." His smile makes your heart skip a beat.

The rest of the evening is spent shoveling snow and pulling out as many vegetables as you and Joel can carry back and forth to the house before the storm gets significantly worse. You're both soaked head to toe and you're freezing once you both get back into the house. The fire isn't going to warm you up, so you'll definitely need a bath. But, you don't want Joel to get sick, so you offer to have him bathe first, but he declines, since you need to too.

"One of us is going to get sick waiting to bathe." You tell him as you start boiling the water for the bath.

"Then why don't we bathe together?"

Your ears must have been deceiving you and you turn to Joel, who is peeling off his soaked outer layer. He doesn't seem phased at all by what he just said but you're flustered.

"H-how would that work?" You're suddenly feeling warm all over, despite your shivering.

"It'll be like sharing a hot tub." He says with a chuckle. "Just keep your underwear on. I can keep my shirt on too, if you're more comfortable that way."

Now you're embarrassed for a whole other reason. Why did you just assume he meant getting into the bath with him naked? There's no way he'd ask that of you and you feel bad that you even thought such a thing.

"That would work. You don't have to keep your shirt on, but I think I will." You're too shy to be that bare in front of him, but keeping your shirt and underwear on is fine. He doesn't say anything else about it as you both start prepping the bath once again.

When it's ready, you realize there's another problem with this scenario. It's not all that big of a bath. How would you both fit?

"You'll just have to sit between my legs." Joel tells you while he strips. "I'll get in first and guide you into a comfortable position."

You let him take the lead, though you turn away when he pulls off his shirt and don't turn back until you hear him get into the bath. Then, you strip as quickly as you can, leaving yourself in just your shirt and underwear. Joel puts his hand out and you take it, letting him help you in. He has you sitting between his legs, with your back against his chest, and…it's oddly nice.

The bath water is very warm and your shirt rises a little since there's air under it, so you try your best to smooth it out, though that doesn't help much.

"Do you want to take it off?" Joel asks you, his warm breath tickling the back of your ear.

"I…" You would but… "I'm not wearing anything underneath."

You aren't the biggest fan of bras. They're only good when you're exercising or doing some heavy lifting and don't want your breasts to get in the way. So, you don't wear them regularly unless you feel the need to.

"I won't look." He rests his chin on your head. "I'll keep my eyes up so you can get comfy."

That would be nice. It's odd how easy things are around Joel because you feel like you can trust him to do as he says, so you opt to pull off your shirt, tossing it aside. It hits the floor, the wet sound echoing through the room. You adjust yourself so that your breasts are submerged beneath the water and when you tilt your head up, Joel has his lifted to the ceiling, not stealing any glances at you.

Though, it wasn't his eyes you should've been worried about. You hadn't noticed where his hands were resting until you felt one of them slide up to cup your breast and the other slips down into your underwear. You're about to say something but then Joel rolls his thumb over your nipple and you can't stop the light moan that leaves your lips at the sudden sensation.

"Does that feel good, baby girl?" He whispers right into your ear with such sultry affection. "Do you want daddy to keep touching you like this?"

Before you can reply, Joel presses a finger against your entrance and forces his way into you, making you gasp. Your toes curl when his finger does, filling you up so much out of nowhere. It's nothing like when you touch yourself and in combination with his other hand teasing your breasts, you can't hold in the soft whimpers from how good it feels.

You need to tell him to stop, but then he thrusts another finger inside of you and you cry out from how much he's stretching you out. You've never been this full before.

"You're so tight." That word lingers in the air and you're getting dizzy from his seductive tone. "Has no one ever touched you before?"

You shake your head, not knowing why you're able to answer him but not able to tell him to stop…

"Are you telling me this is all mine?" He pushes up against a spot inside of you with his fingers that makes your whole body shiver in reaction. "You're sucking me in, baby girl. I'm jealous of my own fingers."

There's so many questions you want to ask him, like why he's doing this to you and why it feels good even though you shouldn't want a random man you just met to touch you, but none of those questions can be asked when every breath you take is stolen by a moan or whimper.

Something's building inside of you, that tension you've only felt on occasion when you've been bored and masturbated. However, this is even more intense than those times, because you're not the one setting the pace.

Joel is aggressive with his touch, fingering you at a pace you wouldn't be able to. Then, every now and then, he spreads them, reminding you of how big his fingers are as they stretch you out.

You're on the cusp of your orgasm and that scares you.

Why are you about to cum from this?

Why aren't you stopping him!

"Don't hold it in." He urges you to let go. "Cum for your daddy."

You're not my—you can't seem to finish your own thoughts because he's forcing your orgasm onto you, his fingers ruthlessly grinding against that spot inside of you that makes you cum hard. You're thankful you're in the bath right now because you swore, you squirted for the first time. You've never came that much before, tears streaming down your eyes from the intensity of it.

The pleasure sears every inch of your skin, making it hotter than before and the steam from the bath isn't helping your mind calm down. You're getting lost in that daze and it's not ending.

Especially not when Joel keeps going and he adds another finger, spreading you wide open. You're gasping for air from how filled you feel and he must not like that because he takes his other hand and shoves his fingers into your mouth. You gag on them, not expecting to have his fingers invade your mouth, but he doesn't care that you feel that way.

Instead, he goes, "be a good girl and enjoy yourself."

You wonder how you're supposed to enjoy yourself when your mouth is as full as your pussy is but soon enough, you understand. Every moan you want to make is forced back down your throat by his fingers and it's hard to breathe like this but that just causes your body to tense up more around his fingers. They're hitting you so deep inside that you're going to cum again all too quickly.

You try to tell him to stop but your words come out all gurgled up from the saliva pooling up in your mouth since his fingers are playing with your tongue. You're practically drooling and you try to swallow, but that means you have to suck on his fingers to do so, which only riles him up more.

"That's good practice, baby girl." He encourages you to keep doing that to prepare yourself for something else. "I can't wait to bury my cock in this pretty little mouth and your tight wet pussy."

You're on the verge of tears again and you don't know if it's out of fear or arousal as you get closer and closer to your next orgasm. You don't want his cock anywhere near you but you realize then that he's been pressing his hard cock up against your back this whole time. If you thought his fingers filled you up, you were certain his cock would break you.

You start to panic, trying to shove his arm away from you so he can stop fingering you but that only angers him. So, Joel retaliates by pulling his fingers out of your mouth and wrapping his hand around your throat, squeezing it hard.

"Don't make me kill you." He threatens and you go completely still. "I don't want to, but if you keep misbehaving, I will."

"Please…" You sob out of pure fear. "Don't hurt me."

"I would never want to hurt you. You're my precious girl, so don't make me do anything I don't want to, okay?" He lightens his hold on your neck then and you inhale as much air as you can, trying to find your composure. "You're going to cum for me again and then I'm going to take you to bed. Understood?"

You don't want to say it but he'll kill you if you don't so you nod and tell him, "I understand."

"Address me correctly when you're talking to me." His fingers press into your neck, as a little warning.

You swallow your nerves then go, "I understand, daddy."

"Good girl. Daddy likes it when you listen." He gives you a soft kiss on the cheek, changing his tone all too easily. "Now, let me spoil my baby girl."

You brace yourself as his fingers curl their way back inside of you, going much more gently this time. Strangely, it's not enough to get you close. His pace is too slow, too soft, and you're trembling from how much you want him to be rougher with you.

"Say what you want." It's like he can read your thoughts. "Tell me and I'll do it for you."

You shouldn't say anything but your body is craving that feeling too much, so you give in and say, "more, please. I want more."

"Do you want me to go faster?" He asks as he does exactly that and you nod profusely. He suddenly slows though, so you know what you have to do.

"Yes, daddy, please go faster." You say what he wants to hear and he ramps up the speed again, giving you what you need. "Please don't stop, I'm so close…"

"I want to see it." Joel growls in your ear before you hear a pop and the plug in the tub is no longer in place. The water suddenly drains out rapidly and you stiffen at the cold air hitting your warm skin. "You better cum a lot for me."

You don't know what he means until he starts to move his fingers side by side inside of you and you squirt uncontrollably, screaming from how forceful he is at drawing your orgasm out of you. You can't think straight because you can't stop cumming, every orgasm gushing out of you against your will.

"Stop!" You shout because it's too much, you're too sensitive now and you're going to pass out. "I keep cumming, I keep–"

"That's good." He slowly corrupts you. "You want to keep cumming. You want to drown in the pleasure only I can give you. Enjoy it, baby girl."

And you do.

You hate how much you end up enjoying it, bathing in such bliss. It consumes you completely…and you faint somewhere along the way. You've never felt so good before. Your body can't handle it and you pass out from the high…

❅❅❅❅❅

Joel dries your hair for you while you're unconscious. He likes how peaceful you look, having fallen asleep to the orgasms he gave you. He wants you to look like this everyday and he'll make sure it happens.

A sweet girl like you deserves to be treated well.

Maybe that's why he can't resist touching you in your sleep. Joel watches as your chest begins to rise and fall more and more with every gentle stroke of his fingers. You're getting so wet for him now. He wonders what you're dreaming of and if he's in it.

He'd like to be. He wants you to only think of him. He's the only one that you need. He's the only one that matters. No one else will take you from him.

Joel refuses to make the same mistake twice. He loved Ellie like a daughter, raising her to be a strong woman. A woman strong enough to leave him in the dust because of a lie he made.

So, he has to be more careful with you. You're malleable, he's certain of that. You'll need some persuading, but you'll listen to him. First, out of fear, but eventually, out of love.

All he needs to do is tie you to him the only way he knows will work…by making you fall for him.

❅❅❅❅❅

It isn't until you wake that you realize your body is still heated from all the orgasms. You're aching from the waist down and you wonder why…until you see Joel between your legs, his tongue dragging up and down your pussy like he's starved for your taste.

How long has he been…you can't even formulate the sentence because he flicks your clit with his tongue and you squirt just a little from how overstimulated you are. A whimper leaves your lips because of it that draws Joel's attention to you and he smiles, happy to see you awake.

"How did you sleep?" His voice is so eerily calm…

You're unsure of how to answer that, so you ask back, "did you sleep?"

He nods. "I slept great, holding you in my arms."

"How long have I been asleep?" You're confused…

"A little over two days."

Your eyes widen at his words. Have you really been passed out for that long?

"Why are you down there?" If you've been asleep, why is he touching you?

"I needed to make sure whenever you were awake that you'd be nice and ready for me." He teases your entrance with three of his fingers before slipping each one inside of you slowly.

You brace yourself, expecting for the sudden stretch to hurt but…it doesn't. His fingers feel thick inside of you, but it's not anything you can't handle.

What did he do to you while you were asleep…

"You're almost ready for me, baby girl." His thumb presses lightly on your clit when he says that, sending shivers through you. "I've opened you up as best I could."

"Please, Joel…" You plead to him. "I don't want this."

"Your body says otherwise." He tells you as he curls his fingers and you nearly cum just from that. "See, you want this. Why are you running from it?"

"You're not giving me a choice." He's throwing himself at you and you're unable to stop him.

"I did give you a choice." Your breath catches in your throat when you hear the safety of your pistol flick off and Joel presses the barrel against your bare chest, right where your heart is. You only notice then that you're completely naked. "Either I kill you, or you enjoy my touch. I had assumed you'd chosen the latter, but if I'm wrong…"

His finger hovers over the trigger and you shake your head profusely, not wanting to die like this, not when his fingers are still teasing your insides. It's unbearable, the weight of the gun on your chest while his fingertips drag along that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

So, you succumb to the scenario you've found yourself in, "you're not wrong. I want this. I'll enjoy myself. I promise."

"Then, cum." He commands, keeping the gun steady on your chest. "Show me you're being honest."

You bite your lip and choke back your own dignity as you grind your hips against his hand, thrusting his fingers inside of you the way you need them to. You gasp when he starts to follow your rhythm, pushing you closer to the edge. It's a great distraction, because you barely notice the way he's trailing the pistol up your chest, but you're well aware of it when it brushes against your lips, forcing you to part them open.

Before you can beg him not to, Joel rests the barrel of the pistol in your mouth, the cold metal coating every one of your taste buds. You gag a little when he drags it against your tongue, but you can't focus on it while his fingers are inside of you. Tears start to stream from your eyes out of sheer terror and the most warped and frightening smile curves on Joel's face the moment he sees you.

That's when he undoes the safety of the pistol yet again and rests his finger on the trigger, his voice more menacing than ever as he goes, "cum for me right now or I'll blow your brains out, baby girl."

Every muscle in your body tightens at the threat and that's all it takes for the tension in your body to explode. You can't tell if you're screaming or moaning as your orgasm ripples through you violently, locking up every sense with nothing but pleasure. You can't feel, you can't see, you can't think.

All you can do is cum because that's what he wants from you.

Relief washes over you when Joel pulls the gun out of your mouth and tucks it away behind his back. His fingers release you from their hold and an empty feeling is tainting your mind. You've been so full for so long that it feels…wrong to be hollow.

How much has he corrupted you? How long is he going to stay until you're exactly what he needs you to be?

His baby girl…

You need to get out of here. You need to run. You need to fight Joel for your life back because you can't be his.

And yet, you can't find it in yourself to shove him away.

Not when he's whispering so softly to you, "good girl, that must've felt great. Let me make you feel even better now."

It isn't until you feel the tip of his cock press against your pussy that you snap back to the reality of it all. You're going to have your first time right now and he's going to fuck you raw.

The last bit of rationality courses through you as you plead, "please, don't do this. I don't have any condoms, I don't want to–"

"It's okay, darlin'." His southern accent sends shivers down your spine. "This is what you were meant for. This is what your body craves. Just let it happen and I'll take care of you."

You claw at his chest the moment he starts to force his way inside of you, his cock stretching you out more than his fingers did. You've never felt this kind of pressure before as he opens you up with every thrust. He doesn't like that you're trying to fight him, so the next time you shove at him, he smacks you right across the face. You gasp at the feeling and he pushes more of himself inside your swollen pussy then, smiling.

"You're so tight and yet you're taking every inch of me." Joel suddenly grabs you by your hair, pulling you forward so you can stare at the way his cock is slowly disappearing inside of you. "Almost there, just a bit more."

"Let me go." You cry out, wanting him to take his hand out of your hair. "Please, it hurts."

"Grab onto the headboard and I will." He makes you a deal and you listen, wrapping your hands around the metal.

His hand leaves your hair, letting your head drop back onto your pillow, and you relax just a bit. It doesn't last though, not when he pulls out a piece of fabric from his pocket and binds your wrists.

"Now, hold on tight, baby girl." His hands rest at your hips now, gripping your flesh. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

You don't understand what he means until he pulls his cock out of you and rams it back inside, hilting all of a sudden. He's too deep, too big and all too much for you.

You try to say something but he raises his hand at you before you can, instructing, "if you want to speak, you better address me correctly or I will have to teach you a lesson."

You swallow at his threat, your throat going dry. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you're scared to say anything but you want him to be gentle. He'll break you if he keeps being this rough.

So, you stuff your pride away and beg, "please go slowly, daddy."

His smile softens then, liking how you've listened, and he rewards you by rolling his hips, letting you get used to him being inside of you, grinding himself back and forth against every spot that makes your pussy tingle.

It's starting to feel good and that's frightening because you're biting back your whimpers. You can't enjoy this. It's wrong. He's taking you by force and yet your body is desperate enough to meet him halfway, wanting more.

"Does my baby girl enjoy being fucked?" Joel adjusts a bit so that he can thrust upwards into you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. "Tell me you do."

You keep your mouth shut, not wanting to say a word, and he doesn't like that at all. So, when you're right at the cusp of your orgasm, he pulls out of you, leaving you struggling against your restraints.

"If you want it, say it." He starts to rub his hard cock against your pussy, teasing your sensitive clit with the tip of it. It's torture because it's not enough to get you there.

You need more. You need him inside of you.

Joel takes his time to torment you, dipping into you just a bit before pulling out, dropping his cock over and over again on your pussy, rubbing circles around your clit.

Eventually, you can't handle the denial anymore so you cave and go, "please fuck me. I want to cum."

"Say it again." He wants you to embarrass yourself further and your skin burns from it.

"I want to cum. Please fuck me. I need you, daddy." You add on, hoping that's enough.

It is, because the moment he thrusts inside of you, you cum. You cum all over his cock and he rewards you by fucking you harder, making your orgasm even more intense. You're gasping for air because it doesn't seem to stop. You're throbbing inside and every thrust sends such waves of pleasure through you.

"You're milking my cock so well." He praises you. "Someone's desperate for my cum."

Your eyes widen when you realize he must be close from the way he's pumping into you and you panic, "please cum outside, don't cum in me."

"How am I supposed to cum outside when you're not letting me go?" He tries to pull out but your pussy is gripping onto him too tightly.

"No, don't, please." You can't get pregnant. You can't have a baby with a man you've just met. You can't…but he won't let you decide otherwise.

"You'll feel so much better once you're all filled up." Joel reassures you in the worst way possible. "Soon, you'll beg for it."

There's no way you would. Why would you ever want such a thing?

"Enjoy it." He says sweetly to you, looking at you with such affection. "We won't be able to fuck much when you're pregnant, so it's best to make every time count."

You want to ask why he wants you of all people, a random girl he met in the middle of the woods in the winter, but you're certain he won't have an answer. Perhaps this was all just bad timing and even worse luck.

It doesn't feel like much at first, when he finishes inside of you. It's hot and it spills out of you when he pulls away. Joel takes his time, pushing as much cum as he can back inside of you. You hate the orgasms you have from that simple action.

It isn't until the second time that it feels…primal. You can't explain it, but when he's fucking you like a feral animal, you find yourself leaning into it. Your body isn't in tune with your mind anymore. It's not listening to your pleas because it knows it feels good to be taken by him. He never hurts you unless you do something he doesn't like, which is rare. He only ever wants you to feel pleasure.

Days go by of this, of just…constant breeding. You will sleep, then wake up, fuck, have breakfast, fuck, have lunch, fuck, do house chores then fuck in the shower afterwards, then eat dinner which always ends with you bend over the dining table because you're the meal he's actually hungry for. This cycle repeats until you get your period.

The disappointment on Joel's face stings. It's like you failed him. You couldn't give him what he wanted. You don't like the feeling…but a tiny voice in your head reminds you that you shouldn't want to please him anyways.

During your period, Joel teaches you how to suck his cock, since he can't fuck you. As a reward for learning, he caters to you, helping you with your cramps, rubbing your belly when it aches, cuddling you like you're the love of his life. It's…jarring, to say the least. You'll go from him fucking your face to him caressing your back and whispering sweet words to you.

Run. That tiny voice yells into the abyss that is your mind right now. Run far away from here.

You want to listen but…where would you go? You grew up here. You don't know anywhere else. This is your home and he's the intruder.

An intruder who's making himself at home.

"Does your stomach still hurt?" Joel asks because you've tensed up against him, your thoughts influencing your nerves.

"A little." You lean into his chest, not because you want to, but because he's warm and the winter has been cold. "I'll be okay."

"You'll always be okay, baby girl." He presses a soft kiss on your forehead, taking in a long breath before saying, "I'll keep you safe."

Safe from who? You wonder, because you aren't safe from him…

❅❅❅❅❅

Another month passes and you're late. You counted the days, mainly because Joel made you, and you're late. You've never been late before, which can only mean…

"We won't know for sure, but we can find out." You suggest. "There's a convenience store a few miles up. There's no food there, but there's plenty of pregnancy tests. I remember seeing them."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, hoping he'll take the bait. Please say yes.

You need to get him away from your house. You need to kill him but you can't do it here. You need to do it somewhere he isn't familiar with.

A place where you know a gun is hidden.

"Better to be sure." Joel agrees to the trip. "But you're coming with me."

"Okay." You knew you'd have to. "I'd like to walk with you. It's a nice hike, now that the snow has melted."

The rest of the day is spent preparing for the day trip. When it's finally time to sleep, you're surprised to feel Joel's cock harden behind you as he spoons you. He rubs himself against you and you hate how your body reacts to it, leaning into the feeling.

"Just to be sure." He whispers to you and you know what he means. He doesn't have to say much else.

You feel him nudge you until you're on your hands and knees and he's situated behind you, pulling down your pajama pants. Joel lines his cock up at your entrance and in one single motion, he fills you to the very brim. You can't hold in your moan, not when his body is pressing down onto you, engulfing you completely as he starts to pound into you.

"How does it feel to be mine, my sweet baby girl?" He asks, his hips meeting your ass perfectly.

"So good." You don't lie because you know it'll be the last time you do this with him. "Please don't stop, daddy."

"Never." He says, grabbing you by your hair so that he can kiss the back of your head. "I wouldn't dream of letting you go."

With his hand still in your hair, Joel continues to fuck you from behind, tugging you back to meet him. His lips on yours are sloppy, but you kiss him back, feeling connected with him on all levels. Your body moves against his in perfect harmony and you drown in the moment

It isn't until he whispers the words "I love you" that your heart pinches just a bit, remembering the reality. You're going to kill him tomorrow, this man who loves you in a sick and twisted way.

"Fill me up." You whisper back, giving him something else, since you can't give him your love. "I need you, Joel."

That's enough for him to finish inside of you, the heat spilling into you in waves. His cock pulses inside of you for a few moments before he pulls out and lays back beside you.

You go back to the way you were laying before, and he spoons you to sleep. You wonder what it'll feel like to sleep alone, now that you've slept with someone for this long.

You're going to miss it…maybe even him too…

❅❅❅❅❅

Now that the snow has thawed, the ground is much less muddy. You still had to wear your boots, which aren't uncomfortable but they're harder to run in. You don't think you'll need to run but…you want to stay prepared.

Joel tells you a bit more about himself on the walk to the convenience store. You're unsure if you want to know more about the man you're about to kill, but you can't refuse him, so you listen.

You don't expect him to tell you about Sarah…but now everything makes sense. Perhaps, he's been waiting for a chance to make things right. To raise a child who won't end up dying in his arms and leaving him forever.

You clutch your stomach when he's not looking, scared of your own mind. Scared that the tiny voice in your head is now whispering guilty thoughts…

You can't. It's not reasonable to have a child in a world like this. Especially not with a man like him.

You say that, but Joel has warped you in a different way. You won't lie and say you won't miss him when he's gone. It's hard not to miss someone you've spent the last two months getting to know in more intimate ways than two normal strangers would.

As a war breaks out in your mind, you and Joel get to the convenience store. The front glass is shattered, but it's always been like that. Looters at the very beginning of it all broke it, which is why there's moss going on the shards that were left behind. That's what your parents told you.

You miss them more and more with each passing day. They were well-prepared to have you, knowing they've set up a little oasis in the middle of disaster.

You can't have this child with Joel. You're ill-prepared to be a mother. You're unsure if Joel would even be a good father, even if he claims that's all he wants to be.

Would a good father taint someone else's daughter the way he has tainted you?

You hold back your sigh as you and Joel walk over the glass to get into the store. It's a small store, so it's not difficult to find what you're looking for. You wonder if these will even work, since they probably have an expiration date, but you just have to know.

For your own sake, more than Joel's.

Once you've packed a fair amount of pregnancy tests into your bag, you tell Joel that you've stashed some canned goods behind the counter in the off chance you might get stuck out and about, and you wanted to check if they were still there. It's not a lie, but you stashed a gun there too.

So, you go to the floorboard you hid everything under and pull it open and—

The sound of a gun's safety flicking off freezes you in your tracks. You swallow, hard.

Fuck, did Joel figure it out? You're too frightened to look up, scared that you'll be staring into the barrel of a gun.

But then, a new voice appears and she goes, "step away from her, Joel."

You glance up then and your eyes meet the girl's for a second. She's young, maybe barely eighteen, and yet she wields the gun you had hidden in the floorboards like she's used to handling them. That thought should worry you, but you're more worried about how she knows Joel.

Did he…do something to her too?

"Ellie, please." Joel pleads, his hands up. "Don't take her away from me."

"I know what you did to her." Ellie has her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot him. "I saw what she put in her bag."

"She's pregnant. We're going to be a family." He tries to reason with her. "Come back with us. We have a home. You'll have a little brother or sister soon. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You're sick, Joel." She gestures for you to come over to her and even though Joel's eyes pierce into yours to stop you, you still make the trek over to her. Once you're securely behind her, she continues her harsh words to Joel, "you don't know what it means to be family. Family wouldn't do this, wouldn't do the things you've done."

"I can change. I can do better. I'm sorry."

You've never seen Joel so weak before. The once scary man that held you captive is now cowering before this girl.

"Sorry won't bring them back." Ellie tells him and you wonder what she means by that. "So, don't come looking for us. I'm taking her and I'm leaving now."

"Please, don't take her." He begs, his voice cracking as he goes, "I love her."

You open your mouth to say something, but Ellie stops you. Maybe she knows what you're about to say, or maybe she just doesn't want you to say it back to him. Not that you would…right?

"This isn't love, Joel." She tells him for you. "Whatever this is…it sure as fuck isn't love. I'm sorry. You did this to yourself."

The moment those words leave her mouth, she shoots Joel. You cover your ears at the sudden sound as it echoes through the quiet.

You hear Joel scream and you realize then that Ellie didn't shoot him in the head. She shot him in the leg, so he couldn't catch up to you two.

"We have to go, now." She grabs your hand and you both start to run.

Run, that voice comes back in your mind, run and don't look back.

❅❅❅❅❅

You and Ellie take a break once you're a good distance away from the convenience store. You give her some of your water, since it looks like she's low on supplies. She asks you about what happened and…you tell her. Not in full detail, but enough.

"That fucker." She seems angry at Joel for more than just what he did to you, but you won't pry about what exactly.

"Who is he to you?" You ask Ellie, wanting to know that instead.

"He's trouble. The kind of trouble I need the strength to take care of before he hurts anyone else…" She says, the anger leaving her voice as a sadness seeps in, "but I'm not strong enough yet. I couldn't kill him…but I will one day."

You can tell she doesn't want to, and you understand why. You might be the only one out there who understands her because you feel the same way.

There's no way Joel isn't looking for you two.

So, your journey with Ellie begins. You're both on the run from Joel, but also finding the will to hunt him too. All while wondering if he's imprinting himself onto you the way he wanted to.

You press your hand on your stomach and chills run through you.

You should've known Joel was trouble the moment he walked through your front door…

A/N: I've always wanted to write a villain!joel since I feel like it actually fits his character a lot, if he was given the right set of circumstances. I also am a big fan of the "I need to kill him before he kills me" trope, but with a twist! The addition of Ellie in this part makes me really happy and gets my mind rolling. The latter half of this one-shot is very plot-heavy, which is new for me but I kind of like it? It really builds up to a possible sequel! So, if you're interested in a sequel, please let me know! This really does have the potential to be a whole series ♡

#the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #the last of us

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shuttershocky · 1 month

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What do you think of Nasu basically spoiling Mahoyo 2 in FGO, even though Mahoyo 2 doesn't exist (yet)?

lol

lmao even

I will make an even better call.

He did not stop at spoiling Mahoyo 2, a VN that doesn't exist in any way, shape, or form yet. No. In fact, Nasu has gone above and beyond, also spoiling a critical new story element for the Tsukihime Remake's Red Garden, hidden inside the Mahoyo event.

Why do I say this? There's a scene in the collab event where the gang discusses the matter of reviving the dead. Aoko's little incident at the end of Mahoyo inevitably gets brought up, but Alice shuts down the notion that Aoko can revive the dead, because what Aoko does is time fraud, essentially running a scam, and therefore does not count.

If you are killed, but Aoko makes it so you don't die, she does so by taking the time you were killed and propelling it into the far future, way after you would die of old age anyway. In Mahoyo, Touko is aghast at the methodology because messing with time would absolutely incur some kind of terrible debt to the fabric of reality that will have to be paid eventually, while in FGO, Alice believes it doesn't count as reviving the dead, probably because you never died (because the time that you died is far, far sway).

What does this have to do with Tsukihime?

Now, in the original Tsukihime, Shiki was basically a dead man walking; his body was animated by Akiha's life-force / soul after saving her from an inverting SHIKI, and while it's never explained beyond "Akiha has powers no one else in her oni family has", no mage has been able to revive the dead, or keep a body that can no longer live on its own moving by making it a parasite on their own life. Others that cheat death such as Touko or Roa (or Meltryllis in FGO) move bodies instead, they cannot save a body that has been damaged beyond saving.

Only Aoko and Akiha have done that.

Now, we know due to some bad ends in the Tsukihime Remake that Shiki is still unknowingly dependent on Akiha, because she's able to control his life and even make him pass out by cutting him off (at least until he gets possessed by Roa), BUT we don't know if the accident with SHIKI was the only thing that happened in the past.

The Tsukihime Remake no longer takes place in Misaki town like the original did. This means that Shiki no longer encounters Aoko walking around her home town. She would have had to go to a hospital in Souya town, and coincidentally run into 9 year old Shiki terrified of seeing death everywhere.

I don't buy that their meeting was a coincidence anymore. I think Aoko knew he would be there.

There is now an unexplained gap between when Roa was Elesia, and when he was SHIKI. In the original timeline, Elesia would have been born around 1975 and fully overwritten by Roa when she was 16, or at 1991. If Arcueid killed her quickly, Roa would have had to find a new host fast, and the incident with SHIKI happened in 1992, 8 years before the events of Tsukihime. No gap.

But now, Arcueid defeats the possessed Elesia in 2001, and the incident with SHIKI doesn't happen until 2006 (8 years before the events of the Tsukihime Remake in 2014). There's now a 5 year gap.

Now, Nasu might just be really bad at mathing out his timeline, but based on entirely no evidence whatsoever, I'm gonna say the 5 year gap between Roa's victims is intentional.

Roa had one more victim in between Elesia and SHIKI, which would be Shiki himself, way before Shiki would gain the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.

Roa got confused. He meant to target Tohno SHIKI, heir to the powerful Tohno family, and instead got Tohno Shiki, their child slave whose family name got replaced. Roa goes wild inside a Nanaya's body, but ends up running into Aoko (who we know due to Melty Blood Type-Lumina that she has orders from the Clock Tower to defeat and interrogate Roa), who gives him the fuck you laser and incinerates Roa in an instant. Roa gets told by Dr Arach (who is obviously a fucking vampire) that he had the wrong Shiki all this time, while Aoko uses her bullshit to restore Shiki himself.

Unlike with Ciel, whose soul is now "Roa" and thus became immortal because she cannot die while Roa is still recognized by the World as alive, Aoko's method of reviving the dead doesn't heal them of death, she just magics all that shit away.

This makes Shiki avoid the magic loophole that Ciel gets trapped in, becoming an ordinary boy again with no vampiric connection (because Aoko made the whole incident never happen).

That distinction is important, because not dying when being killed is why Shiki has the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception in the first place. He experienced death and his mind now comprehends its true nature. Aoko reviving him doesn't trigger it because like Alice says, Aoko doesn't revive the dead.

Akiha on the other hand, triggers it because Shiki was mortally wounded and his life can no longer move his body, instead relying on Akiha's life force to survive. This makes Shiki dead but functionally alive, manifesting the mystic eyes of death perception.

When Aoko heard that the little boy she unkilled somehow managed to die again just a little later only to reawaken at the hospital, she had to come and see him for herself, leading to that fateful meeting outside the hospital.

TL;DR - Mahoyo event spoils that Roa in the Remake timeline switches it up, possessing Shiki first before ever touching SHIKI, which Aoko deals with.

_____

I have zero proof about any of this by the way which is why it sounds like complete bullshit, because it is. I just saw an opportunity to post Tsukihime Remake speculation on a barely related topic and ran away with it.

BUT, consider this: I correctly predicted that in the Remake Arcueid route, Roa would see a skull staring at him when he finally realizes Shiki is "Death". I know what Nasu plans for Tsukihime, it is all revealed to me in my dreams.

#Tsukihime

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kobb4ni2 · 11 months

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･｡ﾟ☆ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

-> [ |Part One.| Part Two ]

✧ .* pairing ─ Yandere Boa Hancock.

✧ .* gender/pronouns ─ Female and She/Her

☆ .* note ─ YIPPIEEE I'm done with Boa hancock backstory and her relationship with Y/N for the Yandere Warlord series! I wanna make a build up first so I can make a connection and relationship with the charcters to Y/N bc being too rushed isn't my style tbh. Anyways I hope yall like this! Jinbie is next! BTW If your going going use the banner outside if Tumblr please credit me! Thank you and have fun reading!!

☆ .* TRIGGER WARNING ─ Celestial Dragons, Sl*v*ry, Implied SA, Kidnapping, Child Abuse and Spoilers for Boa's backstory

┈➤ Synopsis: Being a Warlord is a hefty job or title. Many fear you or look down on you. You may be looked down on as a Government Dog to other pirates but yet being feared and respected by your infamous reputation and the strength you had acquired.

There are many rules of being a Warlord that are implied to even normal pirates, one of them is to devote yourself to your captain or your goal when you're traveling in the seas.

It's just too dangerous to fall in love, especially on the high sea, yet that didn't stop your fellow Warlord from being intrigued by you. And are willing to do what it takes to take you, you were theirs in the first place eversince they laid their eyes on you.

As a mermaid, it was hard being on land especially when you were forcefully dragged by pirates who wanted to sell you for a high price. You remember the scream of your fellow species - the Fishman- fighting the pirates just for you to let go of yourself. You remember your crying for help and the screams of your relatives and your friends. It was truly a havoc in your hometown.

Your crying was canceled out of the tank they put you in when you were captured. You were thirteen that time when you were at your worst. And when you arrived at a human auction and when a white-suited, snobby-looking, human yelled his prize you knew that hell was going to begin. That man was a celestial dragon, one of the worst people that shouldn't ever exist in the first place.

You've heard their names no matter where you go. Those egotistical, vacuous assholes always cause fear, especially your kind, you heard stories and wished desperately that you'll never even meet them, yet the universe is truly cruel to you. And when you saw them bid for you and win was when your world collapsed...

There are no words to tell your experience being a slave to the celestial dragon. Being used in other ways, ways that you don't want to do, ways they violate you, they treat you like something to be replaced with and don't care about. But even in this hellhole, there was someone you connected with in the filthy cell they put you in. Her name was Boa Hancock she was twelve at that time and was the eldest of the three sisters. You don't know how you connected maybe it was the connection of the misery of being a slave or what but the four of you manage to have such friendship even in those years of torture

Boa was tired. Tired of being a slave. Tired of getting beaten, Tired of not being able to escape the neverending hopelessness. Tired of hearing her sisters scream for help every time they were near. It was another night of being a slave, every second felt like an hour whenever she was with the celestial dragons she couldn't take it any more, even if she was in the locked up jail she felt no peace yet... you came to her sight when you decided to help them.

Sandersonia was having a breakdown since she was last "needed" by one of the celestial dragons, Sandersonia was crying hysterically ever since, Boa and Marigold have been trying to calm her down, even though both were tired they will help and protect each other. Because the only person who could relate to each other. As minutes flew by, someone came and open the gate which caused the girls to be immediately quiet, they saw one of the guards throw in the young slave like one of the girls, if Boa was correct she was a new slave to the same master, but she was different, the slave in front of her was a mermaid an (F/C) tailed mermaid, she was covered in bruises and cuts, but she was also badly injured in her arm.

"This one is new, the master told us to put her in the same jail as you slaves because you guys are the master's favorite slaves."

And with that, the guard was off before locking the cell. The sisters looked at the injured mermaid, the sisters were too scared to move so they didn't do anything. The mermaid then started to move towards the nearest wall to lean in.

Boa heard a small sniffle and turned her head to see the (F/C) coloured mermaid was silently weeping. The mermaid then raised her head and noticed the three sisters. She then looked down and quickly wiped away the tears and did something unexpected she. . . smiled at the sisters and then waved at them even with there were dried tears on her face.

If Boa knew at that time what kind of impact you've had on her, she won't change it. No. No, she won't. She will rather relive that time when she first saw you even if she had to endure all the torture just to experience that moment again.

Sweet sugar candies. Was the now Empress of the Sea or another the current Empress of the Amazon Lily was holding. The gorgeous woman alive sat on her throne as she nibbled on some handful of sugar candies that were originally made for children. In normal circumstances Boa would never eat this kind of sweets, she has a mountain of piles of gifts given to her every day by her admirers but for some odd reason, Boa would send her sister Sandersonia or Marigold to import those specific kinds of sweets. She buys those sweets to be reminded of that fateful day. The day when you showed her that there's always hope even in the cruelest time of your life.

The empress then began to smile remembering you. Before the empress even begins trying to reminisce about you she suddenly stopped herself.

She wants to keep on remembering you but if she does she'll unlock bad memories of what happened.

She keeps you close to her heart even after these years because of how much she and her sister owe their life to you. You ways sacrifice yourself like how you always defend the sister, you may have tails but in her eyes, you always stand and protect her and even take her and her sister's place whenever the celestial dragons wanted some "fun" with them.

Your sacrificial attitude knows no bounds and you gave a prime example to her during that one fateful day.

That one fateful day when you sacrificed yourself for her and her sisters to leave the hell hole named "Mary Geoise" during the mass breakout.

The last time she saw you turning back and smiling at them while you immediately disappeared in front of their eyes as the fire swallowed you whole.

#warlord x reader #yandere warlord #yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #boa hancock #boa hancock x reader #yandere boa hancock #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #yandere op #i made the banner lolz!!

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sweet-honey-fruit · 3 months

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Call me dumb, call me naive, but there's nothing you can say that will convince me otherwise.

We all know that infamous cutscene of the traveler running with what looks like a destroyed Khaenri'ah, red skies and ruined land with The Heavenly Principals insidious cubes raking havoc across the land.

Everyone says that it looks similar to Mondstadt. And they theorize that Mondstadt was built above the ruins of Khaenri'ah. I even heard that Mondstadt was Khaenri'ah because of how similar their architectural styles and placement were.

This has never, and will never, make sense to me. Firstly, it's been shown and confirmed that Khaenri'ah was under Sumeru. We've seen the doorway to it. Secondly, Khaenri'ah was destroyed 500 years ago. Destroyed by the 7 archons and Celestia, after the archon war. Therefore, Mondstadt was already placed and established during the reign of Khaen. How can Mondstadt be built on top of Khaenri'ah if it already existed?

"Maybe they moved locations-" I cite my sources to the 2020 genshin impact comic on Webtoon where it clearly shows Mondstadt in its current day location. It follows the story of Vanessa and dips a little bit into her lore. Vanessa ascended to Celestia a 1,000 years ago. So current day Mondstadt still resides in its place even after the events of Khaenri'ah 500 years ago.

I don't think that cutscene was Khaenri'ah even though so many people claim it is. It's too similar to Mondstadt. No, I firmly believe, I mean heavily believe, I MEAN I will develop a religion based on this belief; That was foreshadowing the destruction of Mondstadt.

Celestia is going to destroy Mondstadt. We all know Venti- Barbatos- Is really important to genshin lore. He even says he's "being watched" by someone that we can only assume is Celestia.

He's the god of freedom, holding the Queen chess piece, shown to be one of the strongest, if not then THE strongest, archon. Rather that's with physical power or will power. He's a mysterious and secretive person who says just enough to get by without suspicion. He has skeletons in his closet and we've seen that hinted with the upside down statue, a blatant disrespect to his name.

Mondstadt has "The Gateway to Celestia" etched across the Barbatos statue, which is a mystery all by itself. All the other nations have has a Chapter and different Acts. We have yet to have that with Mondstadt. We only have seen a Prologue for that nation.

There's more to its story, and I believe the next time we go back to Mondstadt it's going to be a full circle. We started in Mond, now we're going to end in Mond. That end is going to be that cut scene with the red skies and ruined land.

#sweethoneyfruit talks #genshin impact spoilers #genshin impact venti #genshin impact theory #genshin impact #genshin impact lore #genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #genshin venti #mondstadt #genshin men x reader #genshin men

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dragonrider9905 · 3 months

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Celebrating You!

Hi guys! I’ve been on here for a bit now and while I never had a follower goal, I do appreciate you guys who have decided to follow me! So now I’d like to celebrate you!

In light of TBB ending, and how much we'll be missing the boys, I thought this was as good as a time as ever!

Here’s the idea! I’m opening a prompt request for the dates of April 5th through May 5th, 2024 (you may start submitting now though!) and choose from the prompts below! You can choose one from each category, or just one category. It’s ok if it is just the prompt or the prompt and a brief idea. If you have a fun idea or prompt not listed, please share!

Rules: I only write SFW. I typically write for clones; I reserve the right to refuse requests which make me uncomfortable for whatever reason. I have had a few requests in the past that really unsettled me for various reasons. Or if I don't know the character. I'd hate to try to write something then upset the person because it is so ooc that it's cringy. (But if I said I would write your request and haven't yet, I just honestly haven't gotten to it :D I like to do well on the stories you guys entrust to me so it does take me a bit :D)

This is supposed to be fun so lets keep it fun!

You may submit as many requests as you'd like! The more the merrier!

Characters: Star Wars Clone Wars or The Bad Batch (as long as I know them. I know a lot of clones but alas, not all.)

Story genre:

Classic SW! (Pick an era if they exist in more than one if you wish)

AU of choice (modern, western, pirate, mermaid, time traveling, etc if I’m unfamiliar with the genre, I may have to change it or request more details)

Dialogue Prompts:

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“If we’re going to do this we’ll need—“ “A plan?” “No! Code names! Cool ones!”

“I don’t need to be anything to you. I just want my life to mean more to you than my death.”

“You are playing a dangerous game without even a glimpse of the rule book.”

“I’ve never been terrified of death, til he set his sights on you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” “Yeah, you’re not allowed to ask that in this situation.”

“Where’s your shoe?” “The giant mud puddle in the road demanded a sacrifice.”

“Love at first sight doesn’t exist.” “Then how else do I describe the feeling I got when I first saw you?” “You…love me?” “Apparently not, according to you.”

“A fate worse than death….” “They’re burnt cupcakes.”

“White paint has more color than your face.”

“Why is there a dragon in my fridge?” “It was hot.”

“Touch **, and you’re dead.”

“I am the law.”

“Do that again and I’ll throw you out the window. Wait, what are you doing?” “Checking how high the drop is; seeing if it’s worth it.”

“I’d rather have you hate me than loose you entirely.”

“I have a mission but don’t know what it is.” “Well that sounds incredibly counterproductive.”

“I would like to join you in acknowledging the difficulties in your life.” “You are the worst at this comforting thing.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this but I’m quite petite.” “Really? I had no idea in our twelve years of friendship that you’re shorter than I am.”

“But what is power?” “Loyalty.”

“Don’t you sign to me in that tone.”

“I’m with him/her for better or worse.” “It’ll probably be worse.” “I knew that the day I met him/her.”

"I'm sorry I tried to kill you." "It's fine, but next time you should try harder."

"C'mon, like I need an excuse to spend time with you."

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."

"The only one who gets to kill you is me."

“blood loss”? well it’s not lost. I know exactly where it went. right over there.”

“How the mighty have fallen!” “It’s a dropped chocolate bar, stop being dramatic.”

“Shit, we’re gonna die” “Now I don’t want to hear that negative attitude, look on the bright side!” “Yay! We’re gonna die! Woo!”

“How do you do it?” “How do I do what?” “Pretend you are ok.” “I’m not pretending.” “Yes, you are. Every single day and it breaks my heart.”

“Hey, so I know things are pretty f**** shitty right now but I need you to breathe for me.” “Wha-wh-wh-” “You’re having a panic attack. It’s gonna be ok. Just breathe with me.”

“Please, my arms—I can’t wipe my tears, don’t let them see!”

"Smiles are contagious!" "Don't worry, I'm vaccinated."

"I don't want to get involved, it's too risky." "Please do it for me, you're the only one I can turn to." "It's not worth it. You really want to lose everything? 'cause I don't."

"Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself?" "No"---a long pause---"actually yes, at Christmas time"

"There is a reason I go through that door first, It's to make sure everyone else walks back out"

“I can’t leave you here!” “You can and you will.”

"OH! Are you alright? Are you alright?" "Apart from being trapped under here, and maybe suffering from broken bones and embarrassment beyond what I am capable of handling. . . I'm dandy, why do you ask?"

Oh no, are you alright? You're covered in blood!" "Yes, it's yours, Now will you please let me take you to the hospital?"

"What did love ever do anything for anyone anyway?"

"What the hell were you even thinking?!" "You told me not to think!"

"With love comes loss, that's part of the deal. Sometimes it hurts, but in the end, it was all worth it. There's no greater gift than love."

“'Temporary stitches' all stitches are temporary if you have a pair of scissors and aren’t a coward" "What do you....that better not mean what I think you mean......" "Am I just talking about sewing stitches or sutures too? Maaayyybe?" "NO! Absolutely not!"

"I made the calculations, and boy am I bad at math."

"It'll be over soon, I promise."

"Working together again, just like old times." "Well, not just like old times."

"I am many things but not your enemy."

Action Prompts:

Forehead kisses

Palm/hand kisses

Dramatic rain scene

Touching foreheads

Jealousy

Dancing

Last stand

Christmas/Life Day celebration

mistletoe

Accidental hand touch

First date

First kiss

Spending time with the family

Bad day cheering up scheme

Pranks

Going to a pet shop

Going to the movies

Always go after the girl

soft spoken person has loud, unnerving scream.

Lullabies

Nightmares

injury

amnesia

pretend/mistaken to be married/in a relationship

cooking

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my-soupy-brain · 10 months

Note

ted blowing your brains out in kansas cause he can see the way seeing him around michelle makes you uncomfortable (and also bc he needs to remind himself you're there and you're his)

Gonna challenge myself to go hella spicy with this, because I want to be a better smut writer. And I love this prompt. Love it. So let's goooo!

---

Relationship: Ted Lasso x reader (f)

Warnings: Angst and smut ahead!

---

The knots in your stomach were multiplying the minute the plane touched down in Kansas City.

Ted was giddy, of course, to spend time with Henry. Maybe see some old pals from his coaching days here. You were happy just to be with him.

After nearly a year of dating (and several months of courting before that), Ted still can't believe he found you and found love again. And well, Ted is the best. You never dreamed of meeting a perfect man until he waltzed into his life with that perfect smile.

"You ready, spaghetti?" Ted chimes with a grin, heading out the doors to the awaiting cabs. You nod pensively. "Yep, sure am."

You weren't nervous about being in Kansas. No. You were nervous about Michelle.

How would she feel about you? She knows you exist, but you've yet to meet. And Ted was so broken after his divorce... after so many years of love...

The knots in the stomach are back.

When the cab pulls up to Michelle's house (formerly Ted's house) you get out and put on a brave face. Michelle greets you both at the door.

"Hi, y/n! Great to finally meet you," she says, offering a warm hug. So far, so good. She seems...lovely.

"Hi, Ted," Michelle answers quietly, and Ted nods. "Hey there, Michelle."

Hearing her name off his lips even made you uncomfortable, but you stifle the jealousy down. It's in the past.

...

At dinner though, it's a different story.

Ted and Michelle exchange silly inside jokes and stories. She fills him in on folks around town they both know, and he laughs and jokes along with her as they gossip.

"I need to use the bathroom, I'll be right back," Michelle says, leaving the table and winking at Ted. He smiles brightly in return.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"You OK there, sugar?" he asks, noticing the aura around you.

You nod and take a sip of your cocktail. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

Ted scrunches his eyebrows, not believing you. You smile again and try to push it down.

When Michelle returns, she has yet another story.

"Oh, Ted! Did I tell you about..."

It turns into garbled noise. Your brain is starting to spiral. The history they have. The friendship they have. They've seen each other naked. They had Henry! They're a family! What are you doing here? The minute he can get her back, he'll leave...

"Excuse me," you say, getting up from the table. "I just need some air."

"Do you want me to come..." Ted starts to rise from his chair, and you shake your head. "No. Stay."

Ted's face is painted with worry and you can't hear much as you walk away, but then you hear them laugh.

They're laughing at you. You're another member of their inside joke punchlines…Panic. Breathe. Panic. Breathe. Take a seat. The sun is going down. It's lovely here. Take a breath. Breathe. You're safe. You're OK.

"Baby, breathe," you hear a familiar drawl when you look up from the bench. Ted's kneeling in front of you, his hands gripped around yours.

"It's OK, darlin', you're OK..."

Your eyes are leaking tears down your cheeks -- and when did that start?

His big, warm hand cups your cheek.

"You don't gotta talk about it, but if you wanna tell me what's goin' on, I'm here," he offers quietly, and your eyes scan around, hoping you're not drawing a scene. You open your mouth to answer but you stutter, and nothing comes out.

"Let's head back to the hotel, 'kay?" he asks.

"No, I don't want to ruin the dinner..."

He waves it off. "It's fine, I'd rather be with you anyway."

Your heart lightens a little at that.

In the car, Ted reaches over to grab your hand. Your eyes are out the window, looking at the sunflower fields as they pass by. You take a breath.

"If you want to...I mean...Michelle and you..."

Ted looks over, his own breath hitching.

"If you and Michelle want to get back together, I understand," you finish, clenching your eyes shut. "You have a history. You're a family. I...if I'm in the way..."

Ted shakes his head.

"Darlin' is that what's been on your beautiful brain all night?" he asks quietly, trying not to explode with praise to calm your nerves.

You nod.

"I just see how you are together. I can see...why you two were together...I just..."

Ted squeezes your hand as he pulls up to the hotel.

"Sugar, look at me..."

You look at him, your eyes welling with tears again.

"There ain't a soul on this earth that could get between the two of us," he says, now holding both your hands in his. "That's history. Sure, we share Henry. But everything changed when I met you. And we've moved...on..."

You nod.

"But it's so effortless between you two, don't you think? All that history, all those jokes..."

Ted smiles a little from the corner of his mouth.

"Old jokes. History, not future. You're my future, and I'll have jokes with you, too. We already have our own, right?" You muster a smile.

He gets you both out of the car and to the elevator, holding your hand the whole way. In the room, you feel...better. Just being away from the situation. Alone with Ted again.

...

Ted pulls you in for an embrace as you kick off your shoes.

"I don't want it to be a habit or nothin', sugar, but it's sexy that you were a little jealous..." he whispers to your hair, and you let out a small chuckle.

"I just don't wanna share you, that's all..." you answer. "You're mine."

Ted tightens his embrace, kissing your neck, leading up to your lips, and kissing those, too. His tongue sneaks out and runs against your lips and you moan a little as it turns into a passionate make-out session.

He leans you down in the bed, your faces never separating as you scoot backward toward the pillows, his hand climbing under your shirt.

"That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard," Ted mutters, his breath coming in short and hollow as his arousal takes over.

"What? That you're mine," you answer, and he growls, kissing and sucking on your neck, his hands becoming needier as they move to unbutton your jeans.

He returns the praise, kissing down your neck, then lifting your shirt off and kissing down your breasts.

"I've never felt like I do with you, princess," he murmurs to the soft skin of your chest, your hands pushing down your pants as he unbuckled his belt. The clink of the metal has you salivating.

"You're so damn sexy, so perfect... you turn me on like a damn lightswitch, I swear," he says, leaning over you, his hair mussed from removing his sweater. Your fingers run up under his white t-shirt, over his belly, and to his chest hair.

"No one's touched me like you touch me, no one's wanted me like you want me," he whispers in your ear. "And I'm gonna show ya how much I appreciate how fucking gorgeous and perfect you are for me."

You shudder when he lets out a rare curse, which he only does when his emotions are heightened.

His hands unclasp your bra, his left hand massaging your breast and his mouth wrapped tightly around a perked nipple. He moans while he kisses you, moving down your body, his right hand now grabbing your thigh.

"I'm gonna show you," he says, working his fingers to your panties and tugging them down your thighs. "I'm gonna show you that you're mine. And I'm yours..."

He lowers his face between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit at a measured pace, but that has you seeing stars and grasping at the sheets below you. His big, warm hands hold your thighs open, his eyes connect with yours, and they're dark and practically black with lust.

"Oh God!" you shout, closing a hand over your mouth from the volume.

"No, none of that now," he says, his voice low and husky in his Kansas drawl. "Let everyone hear how good that feels..."

Your back arches off the bed when he sucks against your hole, a finger and then two sliding in and hooking just right, massaging the spot inside you that makes you goddamn delirious.

"That's right, my sweet good girl..." he coos to you. "Let go for me, because I ain't done with you tonight."

Your eyes roll back as your climax crashes through you, your thighs quivering around his head. He smiles proudly, riding you through it with soft strokes against your swollen lips.

When he climbs back up the bed you pull him down into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands push his pants and underwear off in one motion, and he kicks them off the bed, curling under the blanket with your naked bodies wrapped together.

"Lay on your side," he mutters, his voice shaky. Your hand grasps him for a moment, pumping him slowly and he groans as he watches you work his cock.

He lays down and faces you, bringing your leg over his hip, and he pushes his hard, thick cock into you, making you shudder.

"Oh fuck, Ted..." you murmur, feeling your soaked pussy take each delicious inch of him.

His hand on your thigh holds you in place while he thrusts slow but so damn deep you can feel it in your stomach.

"Look at me," he requests, and you do. His eyes are dark, his hair falling over his forehead. He kisses you passionately again, your breath between you short and staggered.

"You're all I want in this damn life," he says to you, whispering it to your lips but looking in your eyes. "You're all I'll ever need. All I'll ever want..."

He ruts his hips harder, your hands on his broad chest, your mouth caught agape in a moan.

"Yeah, right there," he whispers to himself. "Ya feel that? That's what you and only you can do to me..."

A deep, long moan escapes your lips. "Oh, God, Ted..."

He smiles kissing your neck, his own moans peppered against your skin as he fucks into you.

"Mmmm...you're so tight, sugar," he praises you. "And this body, my God...you're so damn perfect, every curve. Every delicious curve on this body..."

You kiss the words from his lips, your body starting to tremble and tighten again...

"I can feel you, baby. Come on my cock for me, I'm yours and you're mine, so come just for me," he begs. "My fucking goddess."

Your head rolls forward against his shoulder as you cry out his name, your body pulsing, pussy clenching around him, milking him.

"Yeah, there she is," he coos. "That feel good, baby? I'm almost there..."

You kiss him passionately, deep. Pouring every ounce of yourself into it.

"No one makes me feel like you do, baby," you answer. "You're all mine, and I'm all yours..."

He groans loud, crying out your name as he clutches your hip, playfully slaps your ass and ruts into you with everything he has.

"Keep going, oh God, I'm about to..."

He smiles, wanting you to come over with him. With one tiny adjustment to his angle, he hits a place that has you seeing stars. Your body let's go in a shudder, cursing, with your chest blushed and eyes glassy.

"Oh God, y/n..." Ted moans, and with three more hard thrusts he explodes, spilling into you, your bodies still pushing with each other to ride through it. He nearly shouts in relief.

He rolls you to your back and goes into the bathroom, returning with. a damp warm washcloth, opening your thighs and running it between you.

"Come back," you beg, your voice hoarse from the moaning and shouting. Sweat glistens on your forehead and your body is warm with a flood of endorphins.

He crawls in next to you with a smile, kissing your shoulder, rolling you to his chest.

A few moments of breath catching and he smiles down at you.

"Damn, sugar. You took the wind right outta me," he says with a smirk. "Ain't nothin' can top how you make me feel."

You sigh and run your hand down his chest, and he covers it with his own. You feel him deliver a kiss to the top of your head.

"I love you so much, Ted... I'm sorry for..."

But he cuts you off.

"Not to interrupt ya, darlin', but you've got nothin' to apologize for."

You look at him. "Well, I just got in my head..."

He scoots down and faces you, nearly nose to nose, leaning in to kiss you. His soft lips and warm breath and tease of his tongue makes you forget what you were gonna say next.

"You're my future, sweetheart. I ain't goin' nowhere without you."

---

I'm really trying to be better at writing spicy stuff. But thank you for this prompt! It was so sexy and cute. I just think Ted would be floored to have someone who cares about him that much, and he'd want to return the sentiments. Thanks for the prompt, my friend

#ted lasso x reader #ted lasso x you #ted lasso reader insert #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso smut #ted loves being claimed

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sevensoulmates · 25 days

Note

Hi I just wanted to say I was on twitter and saw someone discussing and sharing your meta posts and I was genuinely intrigued and curious because you guys are obviously so devoted to the buddie couple and it's really endearing. And I was just really interesed about this perception of the couple you guys seem to have because is so different to the other side of the fandom I'm actively interacting with. I'm obviously a B/T shipper and only got into the fandom because of them but I'm really loving the show (currently I'm on season 5). I'm just curious about how is it that you guys see buddie as romantic when I think their interactions are clearly platonic, they obviously have a deep relationship, an intimate friendship but no more that that.

Again, I'm not trying to hate I just wanted to ask because it looks like the buddie shippers are settling themselves for disappointment just waiting for them to go canon. You all are obviously loyal fans and I think that's lovely but I honestly just don't see the show writing Eddie as queer now and I really think Tommy is here to stay (I think there's too many signs pointing to this fact like the buck actually episode and the old guy named Thomas). Again I'm not here trying to hate because I think you guys love the ship genuinely but I just wonder how is it that after all the things the shows portrays you guys are still rooting for buddie. Please feel free to ignore my question if I'm annoying you, I really don't want to come off as rude I was just really interesed in the topic.

There are a boatload of reasons why I and many other people ship Buddie. Most of them are far too long to get to in one ask like this because Buddie have had 6 years worth of material to sort through and it would just take far too long.

Long story short: in the same way that Buck was confirmed bisexual over the course of a single episode after years of many people saying Buck could never be anything other than straight, Buddie could be made canon in one single episode and it would be accepted just as easily even though it's been years and a lot of people are still saying they could never be together.

It's TV. The writers can do whatever they want. The second they decide to start bringing in more explicitly romantic things, people will suddenly start "getting" it.

To be more precise: I think it's easy for people to see a ship like Bucktommy and latch onto it because it's very clearly, explicitly queer. It's a lot harder for people to believe in or "see" ships where a queer couple hasn't done anything explicitly romantic like kiss or hold hands, etc. It's unfortunately due to heternomativity and the sad death of the slow burn. I can't really do anything about either of those things.

For me, the primary reason I ship buddie is because of the deep special bond and obvious family they've built over the years that feels different from every single other relationship they've had with literally anyone else on the show. That includes Tommy, Shannon, Abby, etc. You can view it as platonic if you want, that's anyone's subjective opinion.

You seem like a sweet person, but you're also coming into the show with a bias towards Bucktommy, which is fine. They're what brought you to the show, they're the ones who initially intrigued you, and they're also the only ones currently explicitly queer. I get it.

I am going to be so honest with you: I think the show has been writing both Buck and Eddie as queer men for many many years. But just like how Buck was only allowed to confirm it this most recent season, they haven't been able to confirm it for Eddie just yet. I could write essays and essays about how Eddie is so obviously deep deep in compulsory heterosexuality and has been almost since the beginning, but it would take too long. There's plenty of posts I and others have made all over tumblr and on my blog.

Slow queer burns featuring characters that aren't introduced in the first 5 seconds as queer are almost non-existent, they very rarely happen in popular media, and because of that it's almost impossible to ship something without someone coming at you saying "they don't see it". Fact of the matter is that Buddie is one of the easiest ships to "see", if you were looking at a man and a woman, but they're not. I can't really convince people to see what they don't want to see.

If you're curious about the specifics, I'd encourage you to go through my blog/meta or other buddie-positive blogs on tumblr to find many talented and intelligent individuals who will have a lot to say on why they believe in buddie.

When it comes down to it, I don't think the fandom at large is ever gonna believe it until they see it. That's kinda just human nature and the state of how we all consume media right now.

But once the show does go there, they're gonna be like damn can't believe I didn't see that until now while the rest of us sit here like "we've been trying to tell you this whole time."

In the meantime, I'm enjoying Bucktommy for what it is, for however long it lasts, and I'm gonna enjoy buddie just the same, regardless of if they go canon or not, or how long it takes.

#911 abc #speculation

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aimbutmiss · 4 months

Text

So, we know that Shanks didn't leave East Blue after the Loguetown incident. He heard of Yasopp's fame as a sniper and went to recruit him. Then we skip to Foosha, after he's formed a crew, where he meets Luffy. And we all know how the story goes from there. He stays there for a year, leaves for the Grand Line and is recognised as as a yonko six years later.

Now, here's the problem: That "skip" from Loguetown to Foosha is a whopping 12 years. What the fuck was this man doing all those years??? We have no idea. All we know is that he regularly dueled with Mihawk and had that infamous fight with Blackbeard that left him with his scar (exact time unknown). But other than that? Absolutely nothing.

Here is what we do know though: Benn Beckman is from the North Blue, and Lucky Roux is from the South Blue. So, Shanks was just possibly going around all four blues recruiting people before going into the Grand Line? Makes sense. Except 12 years seems like an awfully long amount of time for that... Especially considering in the main storyline of One Piece, not even a full year has passed, ignoring the timeskip.

Blackbeard was part of Whitebeard's crew back then too, so he must have been in the Grand Line, right? So either;

A) Shanks entered the Grand Line once before, had his fight with Blackbeard there, and came back to the East Blue for an unknown reason. Or,

B) Blackbeard left the Grand Line for whatever reason and they had their fight in one of the four blues.

I think option A is more plausible. But that begs the question, what was Shanks doing in the Grand Line if not building his reputation, and why did he come back to the East Blue? The most accepted theory (I think?) is about what Roger said to him after returning from Laugh Tale. Whatever information was passed between them (which made Shanks cry btw, so maybe he also told him he'd be dying soon?) it must have been somehow related to Joy Boy, even though we can't exactly know what it is. Roger has said that he was sad about missing Joy Boy's time, being a bit early. And he's also said that he wishes his son would be the one to find One Piece even though he didn't have a son back then. So, if Shanks was aware of Joy Boy and the devil fruit, he probably spent his time in the Grand Line looking for it, after forming a reliable crew for which he traveled tne whole world. When he eventually found it, he stole it, and brought it to the East Blue. Why? Who's in the East Blue? It's Ace. It's always been Ace. Shanks wanted to fulfill his captain's dream and pass on the title of new generation's hope onto his son. That's why he told Buggy he wouldn't look for the One Piece, which led to their falling out. Buggy always believed Shanks would become the next Pirate King, but Shanks knew he wasn't meant to be the one, it was Ace. But things didn't go according to plan when Luffy ate the fruit. We have two possibilities once again. Either;

A) Shanks saw Roger in Luffy before the boy ate the fruit, and arranged it so that he would find it and eat it.

Or,

B) Luffy found and ate the fruit before Shanks saw his potential by pure coincidence.

I honestly don't know which one it is, and I don't think it matters much. Either way, Shanks' plan didn't go like what he had in mind but fate made it so that things would work out anyway. Only after making sure the future was in safe hands could he go on to the Grand Line once again to make a name for himself. He did say that he bet his arm on the future after all.

So, what do you think?? I think this theory makes the most sense but I'd be interested in hearing other opinions, or add ons to this one.

Also, six years in the Grand Line before becoming an emperor is quite long too, I think. I wonder how Shanks rose to that status? Who was his predecessor and what happened to them?? Or was there no predecessor and only three emperors??? (I've seen people say Rocks pirates ruled the seas and the emperor system didn't exist yet but let me remind you all, Rocks pirates disbanded at God Valley when Shanks was only one year old. So emperors have existed for more than 30 years probably.) Shanks probably had a plan for his second (technically third) journey on the Grand Line too but what was his goal this time??? So many questions about this man and I didn't even bring up the case of how he was found by the Roger pirates exactly during the God Valley incident, which is a very important event that ties into so many plot points. And inside a treasure chest of all things??? This guy drives me insane STOP BEING MYSTERIOUS STUPID RED HAIRED MAN

#im looking forward to the whole mess around this man finally untangling #i need answers so bad #today is a thinking day #one piece #red haired shanks #red hair pirates #buggy the clown #monkey d. luffy #gol d. roger #roger pirates #portgas d ace

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modernsapphicism · 2 months

Text

Pancakes for Dinner

inspired by the song of the same name by lizzie mcalpine. a fetchen story as told by karen's letter to gretchen.

warning: light angst, possibly unrequited love

Gretch,

Hey. I know I haven't been in contact for weeks since I came home in India, and I'm really sorry for that. I thought I needed some space after graduation to figure things out for myself for a while especially now that high school is really over.

It kinda sucks, doesn't it? I thought life would be all good after Spring Fling in junior year, but somehow everything became different. Some are good different, others are bad different. Mostly good, though. At least we all graduated, and thanks to everyone, I didn't have to fall back a year to catch up with my grades.

Gretchie, I'm in the airport right now, waiting for my flight back to the US.

Funny how I've been riding airplanes since I was small and it still makes me nervous. I mean, it shouldn't be logical for a machine that heavy to be able to fly, right? It has no feathers like a bird, and its wings doesn't even flap. It just doesn't make sense, Gretch.

I am coming home. I plan to, at least. And I will be there by your side the next thing you know.

But in the rare case that I don't make it home, I want you to know something.

The truth is, all these years being by your side has been the best years of my life.

Sure, there are ups and downs especially when Regina gets cranky and lashes out on us, or when school sucks so hard that it's stressing us out. It was always you who held my hands though it all and made things better.

I love the days when it would just be the two of us hanging out. When we go to the mall and shop for clothes, when we go salons and have our nails done, when we go to festivals and carnivals and try on all the rides that we can go to, and take photos for our scrapbook.

I especially love it even when we're chilling in your house when your parents aren't around, on the couch wearing our pajamas with popcorns and colas in the table in front of us, a cheesy movie playing in the TV. You would always snuggle next to me, hold my hand underneath the blanket, and lay your head on my shoulder. You would fall asleep on the middle of our third movie and I would always be too scared to move, not wanting to wake you up and ruin your peace so I just sit still until the credits roll.

Days when you would sleepover at mine and we would talk and talk about everything and anything until the sun rises. How we would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and make the kitchen our own little bubble. You would always pretend that the spatulas were microphones and sing random tunes just to keep me company while I cook pancakes for dinner. I would always be in awe of your voice and how you carry yourself when you perform as if you were on a stage, spotlight set on you, and there were only the two of us in the whole world that existed in that very moment.

I know you still love her, Gretch. It shows in the way you look at her and the way you cling to her every word. It has been like that for years but you just don't realize it. You would always say that you were just doing everything because you're a great friend. It's not like that, though. It hasn't been since ninth grade.

I know I was too much of a coward to say something, even now, I'm still scared. I don't want to taint whatever we have right now and risk losing it all. I can't lose you, Gretchen.

I don't want to keep on pretending that seeing you pay attention to someone else doesn't hurt. I don't want to keep on telling you that I'm happy you're with someone else when I'm clearly not.

But you couldn't have known.

Gretch, I don't want to say something, not yet, but I hope by now you probably have an idea what I'm trying to tell you. I can't be too forward in case it all comes crashing down on me and I don't think I can handle this going south, at least not right now.

I'll see you when I see you, and hopefully I'll finally be brave by then.

Always yours,

Karen.

#karen shetty #gretchen wieners #fetchen #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #karen x gretchen #song fic #kinda #idk what to tag this i just whipped this out a couple of mins ago #dribble drabble #angst #light angst #?

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kerubimcrepin · 2 months

Text

An Afterword: talking about Welsh and Shedar

While we are done with the movie and the show, it cannot be understated, just how much we still have to cover. Both in terms of canon, and things out of the realm of canon.

And this includes interviews, and things that never got made.

[source]

The thing that often bothers me, is that the creator of the franchise that my most favorite cartoon of all time is a part of, probably despises said cartoon.

I can't not think about that, when I see Simone and other Aux Tresors characters reused in Wakfu season 4 as background character assets, or when I think about how every show except Aux Tresors has had an OST released, or how the only Aux Tresors companion in Waven is Lou. Though I know, logically speaking, that it's more likely because it's just not very popular.

youtube

Funnily enough, I personally, and rather selfishly, think that Welsh & Shedar's demise is probably the greatest fortune to happen to this franchise. What was one of the worst things to ever happen to Tot was one of my greatest fortunes. (I would not care about Joris as a character, had Kerubim never existed. The cartoon, and their relationship, mean a lot to me, for personal reasons.)

To Tot, the thing that I love the very most has cannibalized one of his life's dreams. Starting with the resources, and ending with character designs themselves. Even the character design of a fucking cat??

As an artist myself, I can't even begin to imagine the horror of that, and yet... I feel nothing but joy. It's quite weird, how life works.

The good news is that Welsh and Shedar has been resurrected by Ankama (watch as it gets a full artbook and an OST release before Aux Tresors, an 11 year show that still doesn't have those, yes I am bitter), so, it is mostly water under the bridge. We will hopefully get to enjoy both, in a couple of years.

[source]

But I feel like it's very likely, that a lot of Aux Tresors and the way Tot may feel about it, was influenced by this disaster, and I couldn't begin this post without addressing that.

So, what was, or could be in the future, Welsh and Shedar?

A plot summary from the youtube trailer's description, just as filled with Tot's overwhelming sadness as everything else relating to W&S's cancellation, man, goes as follows: "Here is the trailer for an animated series project launched in 2012 which has very little chance of arriving on your screens. The story is that of Welsh, a young boy forced to fight for an inheritance he never knew existed: that of the throne of the Kingdom of Bonta. Ankama’s “animation” department has plenty of ideas behind its graphics tablets: series, special episodes, films, our brains are always buzzing! However, not all projects are lucky enough to reach you…"

So basically, it was/is/will be a story about a young man, or boy, who finds out he is the next in line for Bonta's throne, and is taken there by Joris. How all of this happens is rather murky, AKA:

Anyway,

Tot has reported that his idea for this series was quite similar to the anime "Ranking of Kings", which I had sadly not watched. Make of that what you will.

When does Welsh & Shedar take place?

Firstly, I will say that, because of how much Tot loves this series, for years it was in a state of vague canonicity. AKA "it did likely happen, but it has never been produced so we don't know WHAT it is, that happened there. There sure was a guy named Welsh at some point."

What points to this is 1. Khan's old man design still being canon,

And 2. This usage of Welsh & Shedar-era Joris in an official timeline. It says that Joris would have been 60 years old, in this series.

Obviously, this timeline is subject to change, if/when Welsh & Shedar becomes real, and there are a lot of things we don't know!

Some curisities...

Funnily enough, there exists this image, which was leaked by a French site when Aux Tresors began airing, — mistakenly used as promo for the series.

It could be depicting some other draft of W&S where Joris is a kid. Or, it could be depicting something between Aux Tresors and W&S, from when Ankama had to make something new up to take W&S's place.

It yet again makes me yearn for an Aux Tresors art book. Because seriously. What does this even mean.

Anyway thank you france for killing W&S, making Aux Tresors (the PEAK.... the SLAY.....) real, and now resurrecting W&S. We truly do live in the kindest timeline 🙏

#welsh&shedar #ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #Youtube

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bookshelf-in-progress · 8 months

Text

The True Story: An Epistolary Novelette

An intrusive fantasy story for @inklings-challenge

I. Christine Hendry to the proprietor of Wright and Co.

Sir or Madam:

I feel like such a fool for reaching out to you--a stranger whose business card happened to be tucked in the pages of an ancient book on my grandmother's shelf. I don't even know if your shop exists anymore; signs are against it, because I can't find so much as a phone number to contact you by. Nothing but an address and a name: Wright and Co.: Specialists in Rare, Antique, and Nonexistent Books.

That last category is the only reason I'm bothering to write at all. I'm looking for what seems to be a nonexistent book, so I may as well try writing to a shop that may or may not be real.

When I was a little girl, my grandmother read to me from a copy of Song of the Seafolk by Marjorie A. Penrose. It was an American children's fantasy from--I believe--the 1950s, all about a family getting mixed up with mermaids on a tiny Atlantic island. It had beautiful black-and-white illustrations, and language so lyrical that I still remember passages even though I haven't read it in nearly twenty years. My grandmother loved it to bits, and read it to me a dozen times after I came to live with her. I went off to college, and jobs, and travel, and I haven't much thought about that book--or, to be honest, my grandmother--since I left the house.

But now Grandma has a broken hip, and there's no one else to care for her, so I've come back. The moment I stepped back into that house, I found I wanted nothing more than to read that book. To her, if possible. I need to return the favor.

But the book is nowhere to be found. I've searched through all her bookshelves (extensive), closets (messy), and storage boxes (many and varied), to no avail. I resigned myself to the necessity of buying a new copy, but there are no new copies for sale. Or any old copies. None in any library. Not even a hint of its existence online. All my inquiries to cashiers and librarians have been met with blank stares. It seems like no one in the world has even heard of that book except my grandmother and me.

So I write to you from sheer desperation. A cry into the void. If your shop does exist, and you are a real person, is there any chance in the world that you have the book I want? Knowing now how rare the book apparently is, I shudder to think of the price you'd charge, but as long as I don't have to sell any limbs to pay for it, I find myself willing to pay almost any price. Of course, that's assuming you're a real person reading this, and you by some miracle have the book, and you haven't thrown this letter away while sneering at the lunatic who wrote it.

If all those things somehow manage to be true, please write back to me at this address, and I assume we'll be able to arrange some method of payment.

Yours, in desperation,

Christine Hendry

II. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

I am pleased to inform you that Wright and Co. does still exist, and it maintains its specialty of supplying books that can be found nowhere else. It is unsurprising that you were unable to locate a second copy of the book, because a glance through our sales records show that the book was purchased from this very shop in 1968 (which is likely why your grandmother was in possession of our business card), and comes from our specialized stock of books that exist nowhere else in the world.

These books tend to appear on our shelves at unpredictable times, and rarely in batches of more than one or two, so I feared I would be unable to grant your request. Yet I have sometimes found that these books appear in response to a need, so I searched the shelves, and to my delight, found the book tucked into a corner of our children's section.

The books from our special selection sometimes wander back to our store's shelves when they are no longer needed by their purchasers, and it appears that this is what happened in this case, because the book I found bears signs of ownership by a Mrs. Dorothy Hendry. Since I cannot charge you for your own book, I have taken the liberty of shipping the copy of Song of the Seafolk along with this letter.

I humbly beg your forgiveness for the suffering this has caused, and I sincerely hope Wright and Co. will be able to serve you in any future literary needs.

Faithfully yours,

Benjamin Wright

III. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Mr. Wright:

I'm glad you couldn't see how red my face got when I received your response. It's one thing to send a letter when there's a miniscule chance of a reply, but getting a reply and knowing that a real, living person read your words is a very different (mortifying) thing. I would never have written that letter the way I did if I had fully comprehended that it was going to be read by a complete stranger.

My only consolation is that my letter wasn't half as strange as your reply. What do you mean, the books appear on the shelves and wander back? How on Earth did you send me a copy of my own book??

Because you're right--it's the exact copy I remember from my childhood. The same purple clothbound cover with the mermaid and lighthouse stamped into it. The same jelly stain inside the back cover. Page 54 has a torn corner, and the mermaid on page 126 has a unibrow penciled onto her face. Even if my grandmother hadn't written her name in the cover, I'd have known it for the same book. Yet she would never have donated--or even sold--Song of the Seafolk, even after I moved away. She loved it too much.

Yet somehow you sent it to me. I'm so grateful that I won't even accuse you of sending a ring of book thieves to raid my grandmother's shelves.

I read the book to my grandmother this weekend, and it was like the years fell away, and we were back in the warm glow of my childhood bedroom, completely at ease with the world. The pain medication leaves Grandma foggy sometimes, but there were several points when she smiled, closed her eyes, and recited the book along with me word for word. I'd try to repay you in some way for facilitating that, but some things are priceless.

However you got the book, it seems to prove you're able to achieve the impossible, and because of that, I'm going to bother you with another request. Grandma loves fantasy, but her true love is mystery novels. She has a whole bookshelf devoted to them, mostly Golden Age paperbacks--country house novels, a smattering of noir. I feel like there's so little joy in her life right now, but the one thing I could provide would be a new mystery. Yet, looking at her shelves, I suspect that she's read every book of this type that exists. So I'm going to ask you to live up to that Nonexistent in your name and find me a Golden-Age-esque mystery that no one--not even Grandma--has read yet. If you can achieve that, I would be grateful for whatever you can send me.

Yours with gratitude,

Christine Hendry

IV. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

I am afraid I can answer very few of your questions as to the workings of this shop, at least when it comes to our specialized stock. Among the shelves of Wright and Co., there will on occasion appear a book which no employee has ordered--books with unfamiliar titles by unfamiliar authors, which have the appearance of age and wear, but cannot be found in any other shop, and have no history of publication by any firm. Yet there is always a reader--sometimes several, if the shop staff takes to reading it--who finds that it perfectly satisfies their tastes and fills some unmet need, as if the book was dreamt up just for them. These books seem to come into existence just when needed, and sometimes wander away when they're not.

We have several theories about the origins of these books, very few of them sensible. Perhaps they come from other worlds, where history went just a bit differently from ours. Perhaps they are books that authors dreamed up but never wrote. Perhaps they are spontaneously created in response to a reader's desires. I have learned not to question it. I merely accept the books as a gift--and bestow them as gifts to those in need.

To that end, I have honored your request for a mystery. Though I've no doubt there are many more ordinary books that could fulfill your desire (any seller of used books could tell you that this genre is far more extensive than most individual readers suspect), there is a book that appeared on our shelves last autumn that I feel will exactly fit your grandmother's tastes. The Wings of Hermes by Elizabeth Tern casts Oxford don Joseph Quill in the role of amateur sleuth, as he is pulled into the intrigue surrounding a piece of ancient Greek statuary. Quill is a very literary detective, in the vein of Gamadge or Wimsey, though his story has a touch of noir and more than a tinge of melancholy. I feel the book will be satisfying to a woman who has been a patron of our shop, and I hope it will fulfill its intended role of aiding in her recovery.

Yours faithfully,

Benjamin Wright

V. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Darling Benjamin,

Do you think I'm stupid? Or are you just insane? Do you expect me to swallow all that rigamarole about magic teleporting books? If it's a joke, you tell it with an alarmingly straight face, and frankly, it seems in poor taste (and poor business practice) to dump it all onto unsuspecting customers. If you don't want to explain how you got my book, fine--I'm sure it's a boring story involving mistaken donations or something--but I wish you wouldn't insult my intelligence by making up some whimsical fairy tale.

But for all that, I can't fault your taste in books. The Wings of Hermes was stupidly good. Grandma LOVED it. I stayed up until nine at night reading it with her--which is practically the middle of the night by her standards--because she was so desperate to know the culprit. It's a cut above most of the books on her shelf, and it's taken a place of pride there.

You weren't kidding about the melancholy. Grandma didn't mind--she was too wrapped up in the mystery--but I'll admit it got a bit depressing for my taste in places. The world seems dark enough right now--Grandma's hip isn't healing as well as we'd like. I'm having trouble adjusting to the move, and balancing work with Grandma's care is getting a touch overwhelming. I don't need fictional darkness on top of that.

What I need is something to lift my spirits. I've searched Grandma's shelves, and though she has plenty of comedies, there's nothing that catches my attention for more than a few pages, or elicits more than a wan smile. I don't know if there's a book in the world that could cheer me at the moment, but if any shop could supply it, I suppose yours can. Do you have anything like that? If you could, please send it my way.

At least, if you're willing to send it to a sponge. It seems you forgot to bill me for my last book, so if I have to settle the debt first, please let me know the price and I'll pay up. But please spare me the fairy tales.

Yours in respect,

Christine Hendry

VI. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

Your skepticism about the origins of our shop's unique books is understandable. Yet I told you the honest truth in response to an honest question. Any of our shop's past or present employees, and many of our long-term customers, would be able to verify the truth of my account. I do not typically disclose the story to new patrons, but your long history with Song of the Seafolk led me to believe you were already among those who would value it, and perhaps the faceless nature of letter-writing prompted more than usual candor. I apologize for your confusion, but I do not retract so much as a syllable of what I've said. I have told you only the truth as I know it. You may believe or doubt as you desire, but I would ask that you fling no further insults toward my honesty or my sanity.

In light of the struggles weighing upon you, the staff of Wright and Co. have forgiven any insulting insinuations, and are only too glad to do what we can to ease your burden. We have honored your request for a comedy, and have sent you a slightly worn copy of Mercator Must Walk the Plank by E.G. Delaford. It is worn because it has been read so many times by the members of our staff. It has often been stored behind the counter for staff to read in slow moments, and many of the quotes have become bywords with our little band. We sometimes read it aloud at the Christmas party. Yet by mutual consent, we have agreed that it is exactly the book you need (working here gives one a sense for these things--another Wright and Co. oddity), and gladly send it to you. If we have need of it after you've finished, we trust it will find its way back.

The book appears to have been written in (some version of) the early 20th-century, about a gentleman who takes to high-seas adventure despite his complete lack of sailing knowledge--a Don Quixote of the sea--and the woman he rescues from a shipwreck who tries in vain to set them on a sensible course. The humor is absurd, the characters memorable, and the story--I have forgotten myself. It's best for you to discover these things for yourself.

I have enclosed an invoice detailing the price of The Wings of Hermes. The price is modest compared to the extreme rarity of the book, and you may pay it if you wish to own the book outright. However, Wright and Co. also maintains a sort of library system for those who understand the unique nature of these one-of-a-kind books. For a nominal fee that covers the cost of shipping, patrons may keep one book at a time in their homes, and send it back to Wright and Co. when they wish to request another. If you wish to experience the widest variety of our unique selection--and keep these books in circulation for other readers--I recommend enrollment in this system.

I will not send an invoice for Mercator Must Walk the Plank, because we could not sell that book at any price. You may keep it for as long as it is of use to you, without interfering with your ability to borrow other books per our normal system. We consider this loan not a business arrangement, but an act of charity in your time of need.

Yours faithfully,

Benjamin Wright

VII. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

I hope you don't mind that I slipped a note inside Mercator before Ben sent it off. We've never let the book outside the shop before, so I just had to say hello, and welcome you to our little band of Mercator fans (because I know you're going to love it). Please don't worry about sending it back too quickly. I must have half the book memorized, and I can always recite the silliest bits if Heinrich gets too grouchy.

I am so glad you're going to get to read this book, but I have to say that I'm surprised Ben agreed to it, because I could tell some of the things you said your last letter made him upset. These books mean a lot to him, and he doesn't talk about them to just anyone, so I don't think he liked being called a liar.

Not that I blame you! I'd have trouble believing the story, too, if I hadn't seen it myself. But I have! Hundreds of times! We'll be stocking the shelves or dusting, and all of a sudden we'll see a new book there--you usually just know there's something different about it. It'll have all the stuff that a normal book does--cover and endpages and copyright stuff and publisher names, and sometimes even those order forms to buy other books from the publisher. But they're all about companies that don't exist. Or by people we can't even find on the internet. There are too many books in too many styles for them to be the work of some prankster--especially since it's been happening for years and years and years.

And sometimes the books come back to us. I can count at least a dozen times that I've sold a book to someone, and then a year or two later I'll come across the very same copy on our shelves again. It's weird, but after you've worked here long enough, you get used to it, and you forget how strange it all is to people who don't know.

So anyway, I know you're going through a lot with your grandmother (I'm so sorry! I hope she's getting better!), and I'm sure you must be a really lovely person if you loved Song of the Seafolk so much (I hope you don't mind that I read it before Ben sent it back. Delightful book!) which is why I don't mind at all sending Mercator to you, even if you think we're all crazy. But we're not, really. And I hope we can be friends.

Lots of love,

Penelope Brams

(You can call me Penny!)

VIII. Heinrich Gross to Christine Hendry

Madam,

You have the only existing copy of Mercator Must Walk the Plank. I must ask you to use caution when handling it. It is beloved by many in the shop. Please do not consume food or drink while reading it. Do not dog-ear any more pages. Please be gentle when turning the pages that are coming loose.

This book is a gift we do not give lightly. Do not abuse our kindness.

Respectfully,

Heinrich Gross

IX. Christine Hendry to the staff of Wright and Co.

Everyone,

I'm overwhelmed. I had no idea this book--or the story behind it--meant so much to all of you. I feel like I've been sent a priceless family heirloom--and you know me from only three letters! I don't know what I've done to deserve so much trust, but I will care for this book as though it were a priceless work of art (which, from the sound of it, it basically is).

In the name of honesty, I have to say that I don't believe the story of your shop. Frankly, it all sounds like nonsense. But as I'm reading Mercator (we're on Chapter Nine!), I'm beginning to see more than a little bit of Katherina in my objections. Maybe you're all mad, maybe you're mistaken, but I'm not sure it matters much. There are worse things in life than a little nonsense. Especially when you're all so very kind.

I hope all of you (especially Ben) can forgive me for the snide remarks in my last letter. Grandma and I thank you for all the books--wherever they came from--and would be honored to consider you friends.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

P.S. How do I get enrolled in that lending program? I've sent back The Wings of Hermes.

X. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Have you finished the book yet? What do you think?

When you're done with Mercator, I have so so so many books I want you to read. I'm making a list. I know you probably don't have as much time to read as we do here, but I'd hate to think of you missing out on any of my favorites.

I don't want to rush you, but I've never talked to anyone outside of Wright's who had the faintest idea what I was talking about when we referenced Mercator. I've enjoyed having it as our inside joke, but it's even better to have more people in on it.

Write back soon!

Penny

XI. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

Grandma and I finished Mercator Must Walk the Plank last night--and started it again this morning. I can see why you all love it so much. What a wonderfully absurd book. Exactly the type of comedy I was looking for. Your instincts were correct: it was just what we both needed to cheer us up. It's removed enough from our world both in time and plausibility to take our minds away from ordinary things, and there's nothing mean-spirited about any of the humor. So many good characters among that crew. And the plot! High comedy! It's been almost a week since I read Chapter 14, and I'm still giggling over the fishing scene.

I would be overjoyed to read anything else you might recommend. If any of them are half as good as Mercator, they're sure to become my favorites, too.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

P.S. Grandma's hip is doing much better. Still a long road to recovery, but maybe the reread will help. Laughter being the best medicine and all.

XII. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

I've enclosed the forms for enrollment in Wright and Co.'s specialized lending program. If you will fill in the required information (though we obviously already have your address) and submit the proper payment, we will be able to begin sending books. The catalogue is yours to keep. I'm afraid the selection is rather outdated, and the summaries less than ideal at conveying the merits of each book. It was assembled by my predecessor, and I'm afraid that my uncle's genius for books did not translate to marketing skill. Amid the cares of business, I have not found the time to put together a modernized version, especially as I find that bespoke recommendations from our staff are far more likely to result in successful pairings of book and reader.

You will note there is a section on the third page where you can request a book. If I can offer a recommendation, I believe that the Alfred Quicke mystery series by Glorya M. Hayers, with its blend of comedy and mystery, would perfectly fit the tastes of your household. The mysteries solved by idle-rich amateur detective Alfred Quicke are always intriguing, but the cast of comedic types--and the farcical situations that arise in the course of the investigation--keep the stories lighthearted. The best way I can describe it is as if Wodehouse wrote a mystery series. The setting is much like that of his most famous stories, though with curious details that suggest it is set in an intriguing alternate world. With seventeen books in the series, you would find enough material to keep your grandmother in mysteries for a long time--though I suggest starting with the fourth book, The Counterfeit Candlestick, as the point where the series finds its voice.

I appreciate the handsome apology in your last letter and accept it wholeheartedly. However, I admit I had hoped for more than agnosticism toward our story. Despite your assertions, the truth does matter, whether we can discover it or not. Though the strange behavior of these books is outside our usual experience, it does not mean it is impossible (you will find a similar truth expressed by most of the great fictional detectives), and I had hoped your respect for us would open you to the possibility that there is more to this world than what we can understand. Perhaps it was too much to expect under the circumstances. But I hope we have garnered enough goodwill that you will not take offense at this expression of my honest opinion. If you do, I apologize, and will attempt to keep future letters focused purely on business.

Respectfully yours,

Benjamin Wright

XIII. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Mr. Wright,

I respect your opinion, though naturally I don't agree. I don't doubt you're sincere in believing what you do, but I can think of a dozen more mundane explanations of how these books mysteriously appear and disappear on your shelves (most of them involving poor record-keeping and less-than-stellar search engine skills). I suggest we drop the subject in the future, as neither of us is likely to convince the other, and my lack of belief about the mystical origin of these books doesn't keep me from fully enjoying the experience of reading them.

I hope you won't think it rude that I filled out your forms twice. Grandma and I do count as separate households, and if I'm going to keep Grandma in mysteries and experience some of the other books, I'm going to need two separate streams of supply. For now, though, I think books 3 and 4 of Alfred Quicke will suit our needs nicely.

Many thanks,

Christine Hendry

XIV. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine!!!

I'm so so glad you loved Mercator! I just knew you would, but it's always a little bit horrible when someone else reads one of your favorite books, because if they hate it, it crushes a piece of your heart, and I don't have that many pieces to spare.

But when they love it! Oh! I can love a book twice as much when I know someone else who loves it! I wouldn't think it was possible I could love Mercator more, but thinking of you and your Grandma laughing over it in her sickbed makes me so--this is going to sound strange, but I'm proud of it. As if we sent out a friend to do a good work, and he succeeded in working miracles. I hope you read it as many times as you want. Trust me, it gets better every time.

But I hope you'll find time to read some other books, too! I'm glad you got your own account along with your Grandma's. Alfred Quicke is lovely (I love his books almost as much as Mercator--please let me know what you think of Bright Folly when you read it), but one cannot live on mysteries alone. There are so many genres, so many moods, so many eras of literature to explore, and Wright's has wonderful examples of so many of them, so I'm so glad we'll get to send them to you.

I know Ben sent you that horrible little catalogue. Ignore it. It makes so many of the very best books sound so dull, and half my favorites aren't even in it. I can do a much better job of telling you what books to read. I've got pages and pages written up about the best ones, but I don't want to overwhelm you right away, so I'll just tell you about a few of the very best at a time. I've included a list of some of the ones I think you'll like best.

You can read what you like, of course, but I can't help thinking you should read The Autumn Queen's Promise by Rose Rennow just as soon as you possibly can. If you loved Song of the Seafolk, I'm sure you'll love this. It's another children's fantasy (a newer one--'90s, maybe?), with the same type of atmospheric historical setting, though this time, it's the most vivid autumnal woods you've ever read about in your life, which makes it perfect for this time of year.

The story's all about this fairy queen who stumbles into this little village in colonial America and can't get home. And she hates them all at first, of course--she's this horrible arrogant thing--but she comes to care for them and it's just lovely to read about. A little slow, but no slower than Seafolk. A nice, relaxing kind of slow. I'm sure you'll love it.

Whatever you pick next, I hope you'll keep me posted with reading updates. I so love talking with you about these books. It's so nice to have a pen pal!

Lots of love,

Penny

XV. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

Your account has been opened and the requested books have been shipped. We at Wright and Co. are pleased to count you as one of our trusted patrons.

I am afraid I will find it difficult to honor your request to drop the subject of the origin of our specialized books. Perhaps it is a fault, but I have never been able to bring myself to "agree to disagree". It has always seemed to me the coward's way out of engaging with the search for truth. However, you are correct that endlessly rehashing the subject is unlikely to assist either of us in continuing that search, so I will refrain from mentioning it unless there is further evidence to discuss. If you would be so kind as to patronize our shop in person, I would be happy to offer you further proof of the phenomena that I describe, but further discussion via these letters is likely to remain futile.

Faithfully yours,

Benjamin Wright

XVI. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Mr. Wright:

My offer to "agree to disagree" was a courtesy to you. I'm sure you don't want to lose a customer over the issue, so I was giving you the chance to let it slide so it wouldn't interfere with our working relationship. You think that makes me a coward? How can you say I'm "refusing to engage with the search for truth" when you've admitted that you don't know what the truth is? You said yourself (I still have those first letters) that you don't know where the books come from. Just because you can find no record of them doesn't mean they just appeared out of thin air. And these supposed "returns" of books could come from donations or poor record-keeping. You say you have evidence, but from my point-of-view, you could just be a quirky small press that prints old-fashioned books and tells whimsical stories to draw in customers. With all the stress surrounding Grandma's health, there's no way on Earth that I could make a cross-state trip to see your supposed "proof" for myself.

Frankly, if it weren't for Grandma, I'd consider canceling my accounts with you. But she's been tearing through Alfred Quicke so fast and enjoying it so much that I don't dare to cut off her source of supply. And the books you've sent are wonderful--you've been so kind about Mercator, and you gave me back Song of the Seafolk, and The Autumn Queen's Promise is turning into a lovely story I wouldn't have been able to find anywhere else.

I can't wrap my head around you people. Every time I give you the chance to back away from this weird story, you double down, and frankly, it's freaking me out. Penny's so bubbly that it's easy to see how she could get caught up in it, but you write with such a serious professional voice, and you seem (in your bland professional way) personally offended at my refusal to just go along with your story of mysterious magical books. Why does this matter so much to you? Why can't the books just be wonderful, obscure stories instead of mystical teleporting tomes that respond to feelings or whatever? I can't understand you.

Maybe you'll burn this letter and cancel my accounts, but if you dare to engage, I would like to know what you have to say for yourself.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

XVII. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

What did you say to Ben? He's usually so nice and sensible and kind and ordinary--really a great boss--but every once in a while, he broods. And he's been brooding ever since he got your last letter. It's like he's walking around with this big old cloud over his head. He keeps wandering the shelves and then going into his office and glaring at his computer and staring at the wall.

It's got me worried. Is your Grandma okay? I guess he'd tell me if she wasn't. Or you would. I hope.

Are you dying? Maybe that would explain why you haven't written in so long.

Please don't die on me. I couldn't bear it.

Write back soon.

Penny

XVIII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Dear Penny,

No one's dying. Grandma gets more mobile every day, and I'm in as good of health as you can have when you're running mostly on caffeine and a couple of hours of sleep a night. I've just been so busy between work and Grandma's care and insurance (so many stupid phone calls) and trying to figure out our finances, and trying to find senior housing for Grandma (her house has way too many stairs), that I barely have time to eat, much less write you back. I'm sorry if I worried you.

As for Ben, well, long story short, I majorly overreacted to some minor thing he said, and wrote a sleep-deprived response that I never should have sent. I really don't want to get into it with you, because you'd probably side with him, and I'd like to keep our friendship intact, at least.

I did manage to read The Autumn Queen's Promise a few pages at a time, and it was just as lovely as you promised it would be. Exquisite fall reading. I almost hate to send it back--that lovely cover alone, with its painting of that beautiful queen in that autumnal woods, added so much atmosphere to the house just by being here. It'll never replace Song of the Seafolk in my heart, but it came closer than almost any other book to recapturing what it felt like to experience it for the first time. I send it back with warm thanks for the recommendation.

I'm also sending back your beloved copy of Mercator Must Walk the Plank. I've held onto it far longer than I deserved to. You were so gracious to send it to me, and I can't take advantage of your kindness. (You can tell Heinrich that I haven't added a single scuff to the cover).

Since Ben seems to be in no mood for letters from me, can I send my book requests through you? Grandma would like Books 8 and 9 of Alfred Quicke (she can use my account for the second, because I don't have much time for reading at the moment.)

Thank you,

Christine

XIX. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Miss Hendry:

You say that you find us at Wright and Co. difficult to understand, but I find you equally baffling. In a single letter, you will thank us profusely for our friendship and the books we provide, while at the same time attacking that very thing which we hold most dear. In expressing my difficulty with the phrase "agree to disagree", I was not attacking your morals. You will note I was more than willing to honor your request to drop the subject. Yet in misconstruing my words, you have sounded the horn of war, and honor and duty--and, to be honest, personal inclination--demand that I engage.

You ask me why these books--and the phenomena surrounding their existence--matter so much to me. I can answer only by biography. Wright and Co. is a small, cluttered, dim, obscure shop--you could find a thousand used book stores like it anywhere in the world--but from a young age (the shop was owned by my uncle then) it seemed a place of unique enchantment. I would spend summer days racing among the stacks and losing myself in books. I grew more jaded and cynical as I aged--most teenagers do--but whenever I was in danger of becoming a disaffected youth, there was something about the shop that made me feel there was something more than the meaninglessness of everyday life.

Learning about the miracle of the books felt like getting the answer to a question I hadn't realized I was asking. Here was proof there was something beyond the mundane and predictable. Something too wonderful for the human mind to understand. Some wondrous power cared enough about the patrons of this shop to help them get the right story in their hands at the right time--even if that story had never been written. Other books have authors and publishers, but these books seemed like a gift from the author of imagination itself.

When I took over the shop, I became a steward of that gift. Caring for these books and matching them with readers makes the running of this shop, not just a banal business arrangement, but a calling. Stories have the power to shape our imagination, our outlook, our relationships with others--and these stories, coming as they do unwritten, unbought and unlooked for, seem to have more power than most. Caring for that power is a great responsibility, one that I take very seriously. I have seen its good effect again and again. You cannot deny you have experienced it yourself.

You are correct when you say that I do not know the exact origin of these books. But I am not intellectually lazy just because I am content with no answer. Making peace with mystery--knowing that some things are ever unknowable--is not the same as refusing to believe the truth that comes before your eyes.

You have closed yourself to even the possibility of an explanation that goes beyond the reality you can comprehend. I have spoken of evidence that proves there is no rational explanation for these books, and you call me an unreliable witness. You have seen hints of the wondrous that you dismissed out of hand. I understand that you do not have the same evidence that I have, and I have not been as gracious as I should have been in making allowance for that. But saying that my refusal to seek an exact explanation makes me intellectually lazy is inaccurate in the extreme.

I may not know how these books come into my shop, but I know from whom. I may not know the exact mechanisms of the miracle, but I firmly believe there is an author of all that has allowed my shop to be a source of minor--and yes, rather whimsical--wonders. I need not know more than that to do my duty well.

Perhaps that explanation will help you to understand my position. More likely you will think me crazier than ever. But since I have explained my inner self, perhaps I have some right to ask for an explanation in return.

Ever since your response to that first letter, when I hinted at the miracle surrounding these books, I detected not only disbelief from you, but disdain. I was troubled to see such disgust toward the concept, especially from one who has proven herself an enthusiastic fan of fantasy. Why do you seek wonders in your stories, but resist it so fiercely in your own existence? Would it be so terrible for these books to have a supernatural origin? Is there not some appeal in letting the wondrous into your life?

You need not respond to such prying questions if it makes you uncomfortable. But I ask that at least, if you do respond, that you deal gently with one who has made his inner self so vulnerable to your scrutiny.

Yours faithfully,

Benjamin Wright

XX. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

Wow.

When I asked for an explanation, I didn't expect that.

I don't know how I can possibly respond.

I definitely understand why it matters so much to you, but somehow, this conversation has shifted from magic to theology, and I'm even less equipped to engage in a conversation about that. Not to get into too much detail, but that's part of the reason I haven't seen my grandmother in so many years. Grandma's comfortable with that stuff. I prefer my fantasy to remain safely in stories.

If what you say is true, if there's some grand wonderful power--call it magic, call it God--that does things we can't understand, then we're completely powerless against it. Which is fine if the power is good, but if the good things are real, then the bad things can be, too. There are too many ordinary problems for me to want to live in a world where there's some grand plan I can mess up by doing the wrong thing, and greater powers are waging in a war for my soul.

Fantasy is great. I love stories of mermaids and magic and the wonders of life. But it's not reality. I learned that young, and every year I live only proves it more. I'm content to live in the ordinary world with its ordinary problems, and get my escape through literature--where none of the monsters on the page can hurt me.

I'm glad--I really, truly am--that you've been able to make yourself believe in some grander purpose behind these silly little stories we've been reading. But I can't believe in that. I've seen no proof to make me believe it. Maybe you have, but most people can barely trust their own eyes, so how can I trust yours? It's not that I think you're crazy or stupid. Your personality and experiences make you want to believe. Mine make me happy to doubt. It's nobody's fault, and neither of us can change it, and it's fine. I'll stop calling you a crackpot if you stop calling me a coward, and we'll leave it at that.

Wherever the books come from, we all agree that they're wonderful, and if you don't mind dealing with a dirty nonbeliever, I'd be honored if you'd let me continue doing business with you.

Yours,

Christine Hendry

XXI. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Where is Mercator? We got your letter, and The Autumn Queen's Promise, and your most recent Alfred Quicke, but no sign is there of Mercator Must Walk the Plank.

Oh! Oh no! What if it got lost in the mail? Could we survive such a tragedy? Silly old John Quackenbush and fiery Katherina, and grumpy little Pegs and that whole lovable crew--gone forever! If the U.S. Postal Service is responsible for their destruction, I'll...we'll...we'll make them pay! This is a murder and there must be justice!

Don't worry, I don't blame you. But the next mailman to cross my path better watch out. We'll find that book if we have to tear through every mail box and bag and truck in the country!

I'll keep you posted about the search if I can find the time to write.

Frantically,

Penny

XXII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Dear Penny,

I'm so extremely sorry. When I sent you that last letter, I truly thought I had packaged and mailed Mercator Must Walk the Plank, but after receiving your reply, I discovered that the book was still on its usual shelf in my grandmother's house. I've been so sleep-deprived lately that I overlook things, but I didn't think I could possibly have overlooked something that.

Don't worry. I'll be sending it out as soon as I get another box to ship it in. And this time, I'll make 100% sure it's inside before I ship it.

Please forgive me.

Christine

XXIII. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Dear Christine,

You've asked me not to call you a coward, but your wording leaves me almost no choice. Denying yourself the good and wondrous out of fear of evil and danger is the definition of cowardice. Staying within the narrow world of rationality makes for a bleak and colorless life--and you're none the safer for your denial. Good and evil exist whether you acknowledge them or not. Closing your eyes to them only makes you vulnerable to ambush should they come upon you unaware.

Can you not open yourself to the possibility that the good can overcome the evil? That it can offer strength to face the dangers? Great stories can do that by showing us how to act in such situations, to give us examples of victory over darkness, to open our minds to possibilities that we might not accept in our ordinary lives. You've experienced such stories. Is it so strange to think they might reflect the reality we live in? Is it so strange to think there might be some greater power offering us those stories to sustain us?

To you, I'm sure it seems impossible. But you know there are those who think otherwise. I only ask you to consider the implications of the choice.

Respectfully yours,

Ben

XXIV. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

I don't think you can call my position a choice. You're acting like I'm picking between favorite foods or something--picking one position because I don't like the other one. But as far as I can tell, my position is the only choice. I have no reason to believe any other option exists.

It would be wonderful if I could believe the way you do. It seems to have brought you a lot of peace. But I'm not built that way and I'll just have to struggle along. Your concern is touching, but I've been doing just fine so far.

If I ever see proof, I'd have reason to reconsider, but as it is, I have enough trouble in the world I can see to worry too much about one that I can't.

Respectfully,

Christine

XXV. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Still no sign of Mercator. Did you forget to send it again, or do I have to lay siege to the post office?

Penny

P.S. Have you been reading any more of the books?

XXVI. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

I have tried to send off that package no fewer than three times, and every time the book somehow makes its way back to my shelf. Maybe I'm just so used to seeing it there that I keep putting it back. I am so sorry for the delay.

It makes me feel guilty that I'm still profiting by reading your other books. Now that winter is upon us, Grandma and I have started reading aloud from the longest of your fantasy suggestions--The Queens of Wintermoon. You're right that it's an odd book--Russian-flavored science fantasy, with all those complicated family ties and political intrigues--but it's just what we need right now. Grandma is unfortunately dealing with a bout of pneumonia at the moment, which means I'm spending a lot of time at the hospital, but a big, thick, lush and lyrical literary book with a huge cast of vividly-drawn characters is just what we need to take us away from the sterile white walls and the scent of disinfectant.

It's great to sink into that snowy world with its royal glamour and underground orchards and mystical machines. Grandma and I spend ages talking about the four sisters and their royal husbands--all their flaws and heartaches and complicated relationships. I'm most attached to Vitalia and her political intrigue plot, while Grandma most loves the storyline of Inessa and her mysterious woodcutter husband. I have my suspicions about both their secrets, but I'm more than willing to wait the 800-or-so pages they'll need to resolve everything. It's nice to have something to take my mind off of other worries.

But I will keep worrying about Mercator. I promise somehow or another, it will make its way back to you.

Yours,

Christine

XXVII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

I don't understand it. This is the fifth time I've tried to send Mercator Must Walk the Plank back to you. This time I waited until I'd had a decent night of sleep so my mind was clear. I put it in the packaging (extra padding). I took a picture of it inside the box. I took a picture of the sealed and addressed box. I took a picture of the box when I took it to the post office and left it at the counter. And then I returned home to find the book sitting on the same shelf where I'd put it this morning.

Are the darn things breeding? Did you send me extra copies? There is no other explanation for what happened.

It's got my head spinning, and until I've got it figured out, unfortunately Mercator is going to stay right where it is.

Sorry!

Christine

XXVIII. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Christine,

Penny has made me aware of your difficulties with Mercator Must Walk the Plank. It's clear to me (as I'm sure it will be to you) what has happened. If you wished for proof, you now have it. The Powers-That-Be have determined that you have more need of the book than we do.

Please don't distress yourself by (or waste postage upon) any further attempts to send the book back. We have plenty of other books to read, and if we ever have need of Mercator, I trust that the same powers will ensure it makes its way back to us.

Yours,

Ben

XXIX. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. I'm trying not to think of that book and I can't. It just doesn't make sense.

This can't be happening. But it is. And if this part of your story is true, then that means the other part of the story is true, which means your theories

This doesn't mean you've won. I'm sure there's some rational explanation that I've overlooked. I shouldn't even write to you because you'll just try to convince me that this is proof we live in a world of angels and fairies who bother themselves about the books we read. But it's not like there's anyone else I can talk to about this.

If you have nothing to say but, "I told you so," don't bother writing back at all. But if you've anything useful to say I'm all ears (or eyes, I guess--weird that I've never actually spoken to you. I don't even know what you look like. How old are you?)

I should sleep. But I'm going to go off and mail this letter like a moron because it's the closest I can come to a conversation.

Good night.

Christine

XXX. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Christine,

This is me not saying I told you so.

That doesn't leave me much else to say.

I'm 39.

Picture the word "man" in the dictionary. Imagine there's an illustration there. That's pretty close to what I look like.

If you want to hear my voice, you'll have to come to the shop and talk to me in person. Or I suppose we could call each other. We do live in the 21st century. But I admit I've enjoyed this 19th-century correspondence we've been keeping up.

I wish I had something more useful to say, but I doubt I can say any of it in a way you want to hear.

I hope you've been sleeping better.

Ben

XXXI. Penelope Brams to Christine Hendry

Christine

CHRISTINE!!

I know you didn't order another book, but I was wandering through the shelves the other day when this book just about jumped out at me. It's like it had your name written in it. Like how your grandmother wrote in Song of the Seafolk.

Your name's not in it. I checked. But something about it still made it seem like yours. Like we were keeping it from you. Ben agreed (he's got a good sense for these things), so I started preparing the box to ship it. But I read a bit of the first chapter before I packaged the book, just to get an idea of what I was sending you. I didn't move from that spot until I'd read the whole thing. Ben just about locked me in the shop before he found me sitting in a daze in the back room.

Christine, you have to read this book. Now. It's the most beautiful...well, not fantasy. But it's not not fantasy. It's so real and yet so magical and you could maybe read it both ways. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I finished it.

But what's the book? If you've opened the package by now, I'm sure you know it's called Cardinal's Map by someone named Dorothy Cannes. It's from the eighties, it looks like, but it feels older. And newer. Does that make it timeless? I suppose all of the books in our "special" selection feel that way. Anyway, it's about this girl named Miranda, and she's this terrible grouch, and she goes to work for this old guy named Cardinal (that's where the title comes from) who needs help writing his book. And he's got the most beautiful map of all the countries in world of his fantasy book. Except the countries might be real? And just....ack, I don't have words! The book has a lot of them. Read those instead.

And then write to me because I need to know what you think about the ending!!

Lots of love,

Penny

XXXII. Christine Hendry to Penelope Brams

Penny,

You were right.

Thank you.

Christine

XXXIII. Christine Hendry to Benjamin Wright

Ben,

It's been three hours since I finished Cardinal's Map, and I haven't moved from my chair. Everything you said about the power of story is true. It's like this book reached into my soul and rearranged the furniture. Cleared out the clutter. And it did it by sweeping me along with the characters and the story and the beautiful prose so I didn't even know what was happening until it was already done.

Everything we've been fighting about for the last few weeks was in this book. It talked about all the things you were trying to tell me, but instead of just telling me, it showed me and made me think and feel and helped me make sense of it all. And I never felt like it was preaching. I'm not even sure it was trying to preach. It's just...a story, so I let my guard down and it got under my skin. Just like Cardinal's map got to Miranda.

I don't know if you've read the book or not, but the premise is that John Cardinal is writing this extensive fantasy work and Miranda's this jaded college kid hired as a secretary to help him arrange all his notes. And she's fascinated by the fictional map and gets swept up in the book, until she realizes that Cardinal is telling the story of his life. That this character who traveled to this other fantasy world is supposed to be him. And she's got to figure out if he's using this as a metaphor, or if he's crazy, or if this other world really is a real place.

And by the end of the book, we don't know. You could read it both ways--the world in the map is either a metaphor or a real country that he’s been to. But it doesn't really matter which one is true, because the bigger truth is that Miranda knows there's something beyond the rational world that we can see. And it's not terrifying. It's wonderful. It's not this place full of monsters waiting to pounce--it's this exciting, dangerous, beautiful place to explore.

If Penny wants to know what I think of the ending, I believe that Cardinal's world is real. And I believe your story is true. I've seen evidence. That terrified me, because that means the world no longer makes sense. But the truth doesn't have to be a terrifying destruction of the reality I know; it can be an expansion of it. I don't understand why any of this happens, or how, but maybe I don't have to know how. I just need to be thankful that it did.

You said that Mercator stayed with me because I needed it more than you guys did. Maybe what I needed was evidence of the miracles you told me about. Then I wondered why Song of the Seafolk wandered away, because I very much needed it here when it was at your shop. But maybe what I needed was to write to you. The correspondence we've shared, the books you've sent me, they've strengthened me through a lot of difficult weeks. They've given me and Grandma a lot of joy, brought us back together after so many year's apart. And they've helped me straighten out a lot of questions I didn't know I was wrestling with.

There was someone's hand in all this--an author arranging all the pieces of the story in a way I'd never have been able to achieve on my own. Maybe before that'd make me feel helpless, but now, I don’t know, I guess I feel cared for. Like someone’s watching out for me.

I feel like I should thank you, and I don't know how. This is too deep for words. Thank you for writing, even when I was horrible to you. Thank you for the books. Thanks for being a part of my story.

Grandma's doing better now. If she's up for it, I think it's time for a road trip.

If you're ever going to see Mercator or Cardinal's Map again, I might have to hand them to you in person.

Love to all of you,

Christine Hendry

XXXIV. Benjamin Wright to Christine Hendry

Christine,

You may not believe me, but I did not read Cardinal's Map before sending it to you. I simply had the notion that it would be the ideal book for your circumstances--and I was as surprised as you were to find just how true that was. Another gift, I suppose.

I look forward to reading it, if you can ever spare it (I look upon the book as belonging to you now). I also greatly anticipate the opportunity to see and speak to you here in the shop. I hope you will not wait long to make good on your promise.

Yours faithfully,

Ben

XXXV. Christine Hendry to the staff at Wright and Co.

Everyone,

I can't say how wonderful it was to see you all in person. You all looked just like I pictured you. Your shop is too wonderful for words. I could have moved in. But alas, Grandma and I don't have the resources for a move right now.

We'll have to continue the friendship long-distance. Now that I have the shop's phone number (funny I never thought to request it before), and your personal numbers, I suppose we can call whenever we like. But if you don't mind, I'm going to keep corresponding by letter, too.

Love to you all,

Christine

#inklingschallenge #team chesterton #genre: intrusive fantasy #theme: visit the sick #story: complete #remind me to tell you the behind the scenes stuff sometimes #maybe it wouldn't be interesting to you but it was a wild ride

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