#lightning returns edit

[tatooineknights]

Return of the Jedi (1983)

[uinre]

FINAL FANTASY XIII-2 (2011) | LIGHTNING RETURNS: FINAL FANTASY XIII (2013)

[karlachx]

andy plays: FINAL FANTASY XIII: LIGHTNING RETURNS [1/∞]

↳ victory poses

[newhologram]

ᔕᗩᑕᖇEᗪ OᑎE

[maryse127]

On top of beating Final Fantasy XIII itself, I also finished the Episode Zero: Promise novel so I can move right on to the Fragments Before novel before starting Final Fantasy XIII-2. Maybe beat Heavensward in the meantime too.

[proxycrit]

FAMILIAR FAMILIAR MASTERPOST

If you want to see my general info (and also which tags to look at my other art, click here)

FAMILIAR FAMILIAR is a self indulgent TOTK AU where Link and Zelda traverse the wild lands of Hyrule together. There are ruins to be discovered and monsters to be eaten.

This project is a linktober challenge that will extend past the month of october. Please be patient with me as this is entirely being funded by a hyperfixation and the support of beloved patreon backers (ty patreon backers). Pls note fanart, fanfics, and spinoffs are perfectly fine as long as credit is due!

Chronological Order (updating as we go!)

1. Blood Moons and Headaches

2. Basement Adventures

3. Basement’s Adventures Haunted

4. Basement’s Extra Haunted

5. Lost (and found)

6. World’s Endin, Purah’s Stressin

7. Concern about Death Mountain

8. Goron City and Yunobo

9. Death Mountain vs Oversized Railgun

10. The Sage of Fire

11. Interlude

12. Goodbye Eldin!

13. Rained In

14. Skyview Towers

15. Close Call

16. Welcome To The Swamp

17. A Guide Named Yona

18. Sidon’s No Good Very Bad Two Months

19. Authority Issues

20. Lab in the Sky

21. The Water Sage

22. Reprise

23. Century Idol

24. Safe Travels

25. It’s Free Transportation

26. Song of Perseverance

27. Crack in the Maze

28. Looking for Lunch

29. Pirates, in MY Hyrule?

30. Ghost Ships

31. Great Fairy Cotera

32. Arm Collection

33. Mushrooms and Cheese

34. Three Headed Public Menace

35. Back into the Basement

36. Spider Jumpscare

37. It’s Free Spine Residue

38. Song of War

39. Wet Sand

40. Fight or Flight

41. Flooded Desert

42. Gut Conductor

43. Riju’s Bug Zapper 9000

44. The Shroud Bringer

45. Weight of Responsibility

46. Ghost Nap

47. Restless Dead

48. Lightning Sage

49. Surcease

50. Kept Promise

EXTRAS:

- Link and Zelda Reference

- Spotify

- Oneshot ficlets

(EDIT; Due to work and bills, Familiar Familiar will be returning June, just to give me some breathing room! Sorry for the wait)

[theskywithin]

Love Edition: The Love Your Sun Sign Wants Vs. The Love Your Moon Sign Needs

There’s the love you chase, the love that ignites something familiar within you, the love you want. And then there’s the love that unsettles you, the one you secretly need, the love that holds a mirror to your soul and dares you to receive it.

Your Sun sign reveals the love you desire, the one you crave like a habit. Your Moon sign uncovers the love that scares you, the one that could truly set you free.

Find your truth below.

Aries Sun: You want a love that strikes like lightning, that roars like a war drum, that meets you in battle with fire in its veins. A love that is fearless, reckless, a storm that never stills. You crave someone who chooses you with the force of an unshaken belief—who runs toward you, never away.

Aries Moon: You need a love that doesn't demand a fight to feel real. A love that holds you even when you are still, when you are silent, when you are unguarded. You need someone who doesn’t conquer you, but softens you, teaching you that love is not a war—it is the quiet after the storm.

Taurus Sun: You want a love that is steady as the earth beneath you, unshaken by time, untouched by uncertainty. A love that lingers in the scent of skin, the weight of a familiar touch, the promise of a thousand tomorrows. You crave a love that never leaves, that stays wrapped around you like warmth you can always return to.

Taurus Moon: You need a love that is not afraid of change. A love that whispers, "trust the unknown," that teaches you that permanence is an illusion and the only certainty is the present moment. You need someone who shows you that love is not possession, it is a river that never stops moving, and sometimes, to love fully, you must let go.

Gemini Sun: You want a love that dances in words, that spills across pages, that never stops shifting, growing, becoming something new. A love that keeps you guessing, keeps you chasing, keeps your mind alight with questions yet to be answered. You crave a love that feels like a conversation that never ends.

Gemini Moon: You need a love that does not need words to be felt. A love that stays in the silences, in the spaces between sentences, in the depths you often avoid. You need someone who does not ask you to explain yourself, but simply understands, someone who sees beyond your laughter, into the quiet parts of you that have never been held.

Cancer Sun: You want a love that feels like shelter, like coming home to open arms, like hands that memorize the shape of you. A love that lingers in old songs, in whispered confessions, in promises that taste like forever. You crave a love that wraps around you and never lets go.

Cancer Moon: You need a love that does not cage you inside of it. A love that does not promise forever but shows up in every moment. You need someone who does not complete you, but reminds you that you were never incomplete to begin with.

Leo Sun: You want a love that shines, one that makes you feel seen, adored, worshipped in the softest way. A love that celebrates you, that sets fire to the world just to warm your hands. You crave someone who loves you loudly, who never makes you question your worth.

Leo Moon: You need a love that stays even when the applause fades. A love that sees you in the quiet, in the shadows, in the moments where you do not feel like a sun but simply a flickering flame. You need someone who loves you not for how brightly you shine, but for who you are when no one is looking.

Virgo Sun: You want a love that is careful, intentional, built brick by brick with steady hands. A love that makes sense, that does not falter, that feels like something you can trust with your whole being. You crave a love that is earned, that is proven in the smallest, quietest ways.

Virgo Moon: You need a love that is messy, that is unplanned, that does not follow a blueprint. A love that teaches you that perfection is an illusion, that love is not something to be fixed, but something to be felt. You need someone who holds you even when you don’t have it all figured out.

Libra Sun: You want a love that is beautiful, effortless, untouched by conflict. A love that feels like poetry, that exists in balance, in harmony, in gentle whispers and soft hands. You crave a love that feels like a fairytale written just for you.

Libra Moon: You need a love that does not fear the truth. A love that is not always soft, but always real. You need someone who does not just love the polished version of you, but embraces the mess, the contradictions, the raw and unfiltered you.

Scorpio Sun: You want a love that consumes, that pulls you under, that binds two souls together in something darker, deeper, unbreakable. A love that is written in fate, in blood, in the stars. You crave a love that leaves a mark on your soul.

Scorpio Moon: You need a love that is light. A love that does not demand suffering to be real. You need someone who teaches you that love does not have to hurt to be profound. You need someone who stays, not because they are bound to you, but because they choose you every single day.

Sagittarius Sun: You want a love that feels like the open sky, limitless and wild, where no heart is tethered, and no dream is too far. A love that moves like wind through your fingertips, light enough to never weigh you down, yet strong enough to set your soul on fire. You crave someone who understands that love is an adventure, a journey, not a destination to settle in. Someone who runs beside you, never in front, never behind.

Sagittarius Moon: You need a love that stays when the world stops spinning. A love that does not feel like an escape, but a home you never want to leave. You need someone who shows you that love is not a road to be traveled, it is a place where you can rest. Someone who does not chase you, but waits, knowing you will always find your way back when love is steady enough to be trusted.

Capricorn Sun: You want a love that is not reckless, but intentional. One that is slow-burning, resilient, something that feels like destiny rather than chance. You crave someone who understands that love is not just words whispered in the dark, but actions repeated in the daylight. Someone who stays not because they have to, but because they have chosen you, over and over again.

Capricorn Moon: You need a love that is effortless, given freely, without conditions. You need someone who does not love you for your strength, but for your softness, the part of you the world rarely sees. Someone who reminds you that love is not something you must build with your bare hands, it is something you are already worthy of, without having to earn it.

Aquarius Sun: You want a love that feels like a secret universe, untouched by expectations, where two souls can exist in their own orbit. You crave someone who understands that love is not meant to be caged, that connection does not need labels to be real. A love that feels like discovery, like endless conversation, like a masterpiece only the two of you can understand.

Aquarius Moon: You need a love that does not just admire you from a distance, but steps closer, close enough to touch, close enough to stay. You need someone who reminds you that love is not just an idea, not just a philosophy, it is something you can hold in your hands. Someone who teaches you that real intimacy does not take away your freedom, it deepens it.

Pisces Sun: You want a love that feels like magic, like something written in the stars long before you arrived. A love that dissolves the boundaries between reality and dream, one that makes the ordinary world feel a little softer, a little more poetic. You crave someone who understands your longing for something deeper, something divine. A love that is not just felt but transcended, that lingers in every song, every sunset, every quiet moment when the world feels too heavy and you just need a hand to hold in the dark.

Pisces Moon: You need a love that is real. A love that does not disappear with the morning light, that does not fade when fantasy is no longer enough. You need someone who loves you with their feet on the ground, not just their head in the clouds. Someone who teaches you that love is not found in escaping the world, but in learning to stay within it. A love that does not just exist in your heart, but in the spaces where life is raw, imperfect, and beautifully real.

[petalbcrnes]

✫ㅤ𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄ㅤㅤ𝑜𝑓.ㅤㅤ𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆ㅤׁ . °ㅤ

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 ㅤ＼ 𝓙𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 ’n shazam!reader

♡ · REQUEST — Could I please request a Jason Todd X Shazam!reader? Reader has the same powers and Shazam and she looks damn good in her suit, Jason and her are the chaotic couple everyone in the Justice League and their side kicks are jealous of, and they get fan edits made of them lmao

⊹ 💬 · my knowledge of the Justice League is vvv limited so i apologise if they’re a bit to ooc, i did all the research i could to fully understand this req (forever a tattooed jay truther so don’t mind the moodboard lol)〟

ഒ DIRECTORY⠀’N⠀RULES.

Before Jason, the Justice League headquarters felt isolating for you. Which sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?

You, who’s blessed with the gifts of gods from the very mountain of Olympus. You, a hero intertwined with the same golden threads that make up demigods. The world could be so small under your fingertips—wisdom, strength, stamina, speed and courage—you’re supposed to have it all. And somehow, it feels like you keep nothing at all.

Being at the top of the world is truly a lonely feeling. You experience it everyday with the other heroes between these walls. They don’t necessarily do it on purpose. You’re just so painstakingly different. Off. Something they haven’t dealt with before.

Before Jason, that is.

You’ve had lightning dance across your fingertips, bend to your will and strike along the sky for you. But Jason Todd was something else. Something else with his sharp sea-green eyes. Something else with his stupidly charming grin. Something else with the way he’d find you every time in this labyrinth of a building and untangle the knots in your body with his quips, mean and handsome face, sparkling eyes—he is thunder in front of you—unbowed, unbroken, unshakable, perfectly imperfect and for some reason he’d started directing his stupidly charming grins at you.

Wandering the halls with your shoulders stiff, walk hurried, eyes cast to your feet and nervous of every word said to you—never mind if it was kind—was a draining ritual you bonded yourself to.

Falling for him was too easy. It was natural how you’d seek him out too. It spurred you even more when there was a flush on his cheeks after seeing how you’d call out his name in a crowd of other shining heroes. You two got drunk off of each other like the very presence of one another was ambrosia—golden life ichor sent by the gods.

They’d truly blessed you this time. You’d never give this up. The way the relationship you two had actually grew into a real relationship. How you’d have your hand in his and he’d trace circles on your palm and how he’d kiss your shoulders and fingertips, claiming you needed to be taken care of. He understood that isolation. Jason Todd understood and changed it all to a fairy tale.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Even now, sitting with him in one of the many common rooms the headquarters has, bodies pressed close, head on his shoulder and his arm playing with a strand of your hair. His head is tilted back against the cushions, a rare, soft smirk on his lips as he mutters something that makes you laugh quietly.

He smelled like smoke and leather and warmth.

You could’ve stayed like that forever.

It hadn’t dawned on either of you that the relationship wasn’t exactly public yet.

Most of the League is returning from a late mission. They’re tired, soot-streaked, and ready to debrief and crash. The doors slide open with a familiar mechanical hiss as Diana, Barry, Hal, and Bruce step in—talking quietly among themselves.

But the chatter halts.

You two absolutely, undeniably comfortable. Domestic, even.

And in public.

Barry stares wide-eyed, as if there was a comically big light bulb above his head that just lit up.

“Are you guys—? Wait. Is this—? Are you two—?”

Jason didn’t even look up. “Took you long enough.”

“Seriously?” Hal sounded like he was choking. “You’re dating Red Hood? Jason Todd? Are we just letting anyone into cuddle territory now?”

You sighed, not moving. “He passed every test I gave him.”

“I barely passed,” Jason added, smug. “Or maybe I’m just effortlessly charming.”

“Are you kidding me?” Barry blinked between the two of you. “You’re like—lightning bolts and golden capes! And he’s—he’s literal Gotham crime trauma incarnate—no offense.”

“None taken, I guess?” Jason said, finally glancing up. “We make sense in a messed-up but perfect way.”

There was a pause. Even Diana didn’t say anything at first. Just observed them, the way you leaned into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way Jason’s hand never stopped tracing soft, lazy circles on your side.

“You look happy,” Diana said after a moment.

“I am,” you replied simply.

That was something you were sure of. The happiest, the purest joy had threaded itself into your being when you were with this man.

Diana nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Then that is all I need to know.”

Bruce was silent. No one expected anything else.

“Still feels illegal,” Hal muttered, grabbing a drink from the nearby fridge. “Like, morally. Cuddling with Jason Todd in the Watchtower.”

Jason gave him a lazy grin. “Then close your eyes next time.”

“I am texting Clark,” Barry announced. “Power Couple status: officially threatened.”

You finally cracked a smile. “Tell him we’ll duel him and Lois any day.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Seeing you two cuddling on the couch was a shock. But fighting side by side? That was truly a sight.

The ground shook with the force of the blast. Smoke curled upward in jagged columns as buildings groaned, half-toppled. Civilians were still evacuating, but the League was already deep in the mess—and so were you and Jason.

Jason reloaded without missing a step, ducking beneath a burst of plasma that barely missed his head. “Three on the left, armored. One's got a cannon.”

“A cannon, seriously?” you deadpanned, eyes glowing gold as static crackled along your skin. “Cannon first?”

“Cannon first.”

You launched into the sky with a thunderclap, a streak of white lightning behind you. The cannon-wielding merc didn't even have time to flinch before a bolt ripped through the clouds and slammed him back into the earth, smoking.

Jason whistled low. “Damn. I don’t think that I need to tell you how attractive that was.”

“Focus, Hood.”

“I am,” he muttered, firing three quick rounds into the knee joints of the other armored targets. “Deadly attractive and helpful.”

Roy and Kori are perched on a broken wall, watching as Jason and you tear through another group of enemies with terrifying precision.

Roy let out a low whistle. “Okay, I’ll say it—hot.”

Koriand’r smiled brightly. “They are very passionate! It is nice.”

Back on the ground, Jason threw a smoke pellet, vanishing into the haze just as another unit arrived. The moment they were disoriented, you flew in from above—fist-first—sending shockwaves that scattered the troops like dominos.

Then came the lightning—pure, radiant energy arcing from your hands, guided by Jason’s markers, precise as a sniper.

He appeared beside you again just in time to catch your elbow, steadying you.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Never better.”

Jason grinned. “Then let’s end this.”

© petalbcrnes | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 7

This part was brought to you by the amazing @megasweetbones . They wrote this part, I simply edited it. Go check them and their work! Show them some love!

First Previously AU Summary

“Were you the ones that summoned me, freeing from the bane that is paperwork?” the being asked.

Constantine was momentarily thrown for a loop, but the Brit was able to right himself more quickly than any of the other heroes.

"We summoned you to make a deal. I'm offering my soul-"

"Let me stop you there." The King's smile was mocking. And probably terrifying to everyone else, given his fangs. His lichtenberg lightning marks spasming in a way that could be mistaken as agitation. "I know who you are, John Constantine. Many hold claim to fragments of your soul. But, even if that was not the case, I am the one who holds claim to all souls. As all souls have , and will, pass through the Infinite. Your soul holds no weight here. Neither does your mind or body. Do not bargain with them. And do not bargain with me. Simply tell me why it is you summoned me, as I already know what I want from you."

Constantine looked like he didn't know whether to be offended or not. But it seems fear won out, as well as desperation.

"Forgive me, please, your majesty. Trigon has threatened to destroy our universe, starting with Earth. We have summoned you here to ask that Trigon be forced to return to the Infinite Realms. Or, to at least be stopped from devouring our universe."

It was as if everything paused. The billow of the wind, crackling ice, the flicker of the candles, the shifting of the lightning scars and cape of stars.

"He has threatened... what?" Quiet, almost shocked, the words passed from the Ghost King's lips.

Lips which twisted into a snarl. Fangs elongated. Flickering candles became green blazes. Wind roared back into whipping gales. The King's body distorted with his rage. Unfathomable and nightmarish.

"He dares to Challenge me?!? My Rule? My Authority? He knows of how this world has those under my protection and, yet, still believes he can touch what is MINE?"

If Red Robin and Supernova hadn't already been exposed to this Eldritch madness and the Realms, frequently, they'd probably be near catatonic. Like the other heroes. Most were on the ground or leaning against something. Aquaman looked sea sick. Flash was shockingly still for once. Even Batman couldn’t handle the madness the King oozed.

Supernova can smell that at least two people have pissed themselves. Euwh. What an awful day to have a nose. Especially with his heightened sense of smell. Phantom could probably smell it too, though was uncaring in his rage.

At least Constantine was able to speak in the face of an angry Ancient who Rules the Infinite. His experience with powerful otherworldly beings that could end him at any moment coming in play.

"Please, let us know what deal it is you wish to make in order to have Trigon stopped. He will be here very soon."

"I want you to abolish the Anti-Ecto Acts and free the souls of my citizens, who were captured and experimented on under such heinous laws." Phantom turned to look at Red Robin and Supernova, who should have pretended to be affected like the others. As it stands though, they were standing there. Unshaken and unaffected. "There are those among you who have already worked to undo the damage. But they should not be forced to work alone. I want all of you to support them and my people you have wronged. I want my people returned, safe and sound."

Phantom was finally able to calm down as he spoke. Wind slowed down and candles went back to but a flicker. He turned back to look Constantine dead in the eyes.

"Make no mistake, I would have fought for the Earth, and this universe, the moment I was made aware of Trigon. I have my own reasons for protecting this world and its people. But I expect the same in return. In that you are protecting the health, well-being, and safety of your people? I must do the same. Free my people and erase the laws that allow your kind to hunt us for sport and science. This is not a deal, as it's my job to prevent my people from destroying the Balance. No, this is a warning. My people may question why I'd save yours, given these laws. My people want war. While I deal with Trigon, you will undo the mistakes of your government. Or else, banishing Trigon would be for nothing."

With that, the King left. Ice and the haunting aura leaving with him.

Constantine looked over at the two young men who stood, casual and unmoving. He, as well as every other person in the room, was still shaking. The whole situation called for a drink, or a dozen. But he knew that he needed to get everyone in order to fulfill their end of the deal. The Bat would just knock down any liquor once he was aware and the Anti-Ecto Acts were too important to deal with while drunk. Bullocks.

To be continued?

Note: Hoped you guys enjoyed that! @megasweetbone really out did themselves. Now the question is this a good place to finish? There isn't much more I would add but some aftermath so I want you guys to tell me if I should just leave it as is or not. Once it is finished I am going to ask the others who helped with the story ( @fanfics-or-dragons and @megasweetbones ) if I can post it on Ao3! After all I want to properly credit them so knowing if they have an account so I can add them as a guest writer or credit them another way. Tell me your thoughts in the comments!

-Gremlin

Edit: I have decide to post it on Ao3. If I decide to add anymore it will be in an epilogue or another story. Thanks for your support!

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. iii - gossip girl (no...like please go piss girl) series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 12.5k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), u and joel fight again (not sorry), age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, mentions of abuse???, no use of y/n

a/n: so...after a month i return!! this chapter is pretty long, but very lightly edited. sorry about that...if i looked at this piece any harder i would have just scrapped it again. it's kind of all over the place and i hate it but i have better parts coming so i just need to truck thru

August 3rd, 2025 -

Something within that tiny corner store on the outskirts of New York softened something between the two of you. Conversation flowed, as much as it could for someone like Joel, his thick and gravelly voice something you became accustomed to. Occasionally, if you caught him on a good day, you would be able to pull a small laugh from his lips that he’d quickly brush away with a pensive hand. 

Your arguments, however, were still as harsh and unforeseen as the last. The proximity of your opposing personalities sometimes drove a wedge between you–Joel’s anger and distrust for the world mixed with your hopeful innocence led to some differences.

He tried to be patient though. 

Instead of resigning to his usual bids of silence, leaving you anxious and bitter for days, he would attempt to reason with you. He opted to explain his discernment, never going into great detail, but sharing enough to know he’s lived enough life for the both of you.

So, slowly throughout the following months, you began to trust his judgment, and followed his lead more than you already had. He had done more than enough to prove he knew his way around–hunted and scavenged for food, knew the best routes to avoid infected, and was strong enough to handle anyone you encountered. 

You had willingly put your life in Joel’s hands from the beginning, but now he fully had your trust too.

The journey hadn’t been all smooth sailing though. Joel seemed to be in a better mood–whatever had happened before you met slowly began to slip off his shoulders. However, the change in atmosphere didn’t dull his survival instincts. Each person you passed, while not many, immediately received a scowl from Joel. He was distrusting, almost hostile, towards anyone you passed. 

Sometimes though, it was for the better. 

Ducked low in the forest, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, it was a dull and dreary day, rain pouring down from above. You both walked, hunched through the trees, trying to gain whatever coverage you could. 

Suddenly, a rustling echoed through the forest. Before you could react, an arrow whizzed past your head, digging deep into the trunk of the tree beside you. You gasped, ducking to the side, and Joel’s arm instinctively pulled you to his side.

“Stay close,” he whispered, words barely audible over the downpour. “Be ready to run.”

It was the same simple words he always said. A short ritual of shared heartbeats and sweaty palms. Tense shoulders brushed against each other, sending a shiver down your spine, while you both carefully crunched through the leaves. 

Then, like a flash of lightning, a spark of navy blue rustling fabric shot out through the trees. You whipped your head to catch more than a glimpse of the stranger, but Joel was already ahead of you. His arm left your side, already bounding for the shadowy figure weaving through the brush. 

The sound of a windbreaker wooshed past branches, the fabric snagging and tearing, leaving behind a trail for you to follow. You were ways behind the two, Joel nearly catching up on their heels. Just as the person was about to take a turn, Joel lunged forward, tackling them to the ground.

There was a scuffle in the leaves, stray pine needles and mud sloshing beneath them. Staggered grunts and heaved breaths were the only thing heard from the two men wrestling on the ground. 

As you neared, attempting to catch your breath, you finally got a look at the stranger. Long, blond hair cascaded down the back of his neck, face covered in a messy scruff, and balancing on his nose was a crooked pair of glasses, the right lens cracked.

Joel loomed above him, heavy hand and a firm grip pinning him to the dirt. It was obvious that the crash had already taken a lot out of the men, but Joel persevered, pulling back his arm and following through with a swift punch to the cheek. The man wriggled defenselessly, only movements being an attempt to get away from Joel’s radiating anger.

“Motherfucker,” Joel growled, arm recoiling for another punch. “Why were you watching us?”

“I wasn’t,” the man gasped, eyes squeezing shut, awaiting Joel’s fist. “I swear! I was just passing by! I don’t want any trouble, please.”

“Bullshit,” Joel seethed, fist cracking against the man’s jaw. “You fucking shot at us!”

The noise made you cringe–knuckles against bone. A crack rang out, a cry and helpless whimpers leaving the man’s lips.

“Joel,” you said softly, afraid to disturb whatever beast had awoken in him. 

He didn’t move, knuckles turned white underneath the staining crimson. He gripped the stranger’s shoulders violently, like they would snap if he squeezed any harder. Pure rage flowed off of him, rendering the man underneath him speechless–even before his jaw hung slack from Joel’s punches.

“Joel,” you said more confidently this time–voice firm. “You don’t need to kill him.”

He didn’t even turn to you, a low growl leaving his lips. “Why shouldn’t I? A few inches to the left and that arrow would’ve shot you dead. I’m not leavin’ this bastard here still breathin’.”

Your eyes flicked between your shoes sloshing in the mud and the limp, whimpering body in the leaves. For just a second, your eyes met his, a deep, pleading stare piercing through your skull. Suddenly you felt nauseous, the sight of his mangled jaw and bloodied face too much to take in.  

“Joel, he doesn’t even have a bow,” you yelled, your feet bringing you towards him before you could even think. “I’m sure he’s learned his lesson.”

Hands outstretched, you pushed your palms into his steady shoulder, his hold on the man unyielding. You did little to move him physically, but your efforts snapped him out of whatever trance he was in.

He rose to his feet, the blood and mud caked heavy onto his clothes. Taking a look at the man beneath him, he saw that you were right. The only thing around his chest was the tattered windbreaker and stained white tee–no sign of a bow.

Guilt panged his heart for a moment, his brain leading him to wonder how cruel this world had really made him. But then, another arrow sliced through the air, just barely missing Joel as he stood up. 

Deeper in the woods, hidden behind a thick tree, stood a woman crouched in the shadows. She held a bow shakily in her hands, the quiver lazily strung across her back. 

Bang!

The familiar click of Joel’s gun rang out and your eyes shot to him. Before you could even blink, he pointed the gun to the ground, the man from before still laying in pain. Pulling the trigger, blood painted the forest–and your shoes. 

Your mouth hung open, there was such a deafening ringing in your ears, you didn’t know if you screamed or not. The man, now corpse, lay lifeless in the slush, the hole in his skull gushing out spurts of blood that made you sick. The same thick liquid–a mixture of mud, blood, and rain–covered your boots, oozing underneath them and sticking to the soles. 

Shock having taken over, Joel was far out of your sights before you could tear your eyes away from the scene. Another deafening gunshot pierced the air, your stomach dropping at the sound. 

Then, from through the trees, Joel emerged. Bloodied, but unscathed, he jammed the weapon back into his jeans pocket, wiping some blood off onto the denim. You stood frozen, unable to process everything that had just happened. 

It was all so quick–Joel pouncing on the man, the sound of his jaw cracking, and then as it all seemed to be ending, the moment of betrayal left Joel with one choice, and shockingly no hesitation.

You had always known him to be a man of action, but the icy stare the moment that second arrow shot out scared you. His jaw untensed, breaths evened out, and brow unfurrowed as if this brought him some sort of serenity–a precise, tactical rage that was both deadly and terrifying.

“Here,” Joel muttered, pushing something into your palms.

In your daze, focused on the corpse’s dead weight sinking into the earth, you didn’t notice the weapon in Joel’s hands. 

The sight sickened you.

In his bruised and bloodied hands he held a bow and quiver–the same one that woman held in her trembling hands. He pressed the leather strap of the bag into your hand, outstretching the weapons towards you.

“Figured you could use a weapon,” he said in response to your silence.

You took a step back, adjusting the straps of your backpack. “I figure I’ll be fine,” you mocked, a bite of anger in your tone. “Plus, I’m no good at shooting one anyway.”

That was a lie. In this world, you needed a weapon just to be able to fall asleep peacefully at night. But each glance at the bow repainted the picture of the previous owner cowered in fear as she met what could only be a nightmare inducing scowl from Joel.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is,” he spat, slinging the bow over your head. “But I just saved your life. Now I’m not expectin’ no thank yous, but droppin’ the attitude would be nice.”

A tense silence filled the air. The same kind that always happened just before one of you and Joel’s arguments. The few moments while you questioned if you really wanted to push his temper–you always did.

“He was running away.” Thunder cracked out from above, rain pouring down even harder now. “You didn’t even bother to see that he had no weapons!”

Wiping a hand over his beard, he groaned, reaching for his backpack long discarded in the leaves. 

“Well his friend did,” he said, grunting as he pulled the arrow from the tree. “Or do you not remember this almost going through your skull?”

Harshly tugging the quiver at your side, he tossed the arrow inside. The bag thudded against your hip, the quills scratching against your arm as you struggled to match Joel’s quickening pace.

“You didn’t even try to talk to them. You just pounced on him…like one of those things.” 

Your words, laced with venom, made him freeze.

“If you want to go around making friends,” he paused for a moment, then resumed his steps to create some distance. “I’ll just let you get killed next time.”

This time it was you that froze. Rain fell heavy like bullets onto your skin, stripping away your flesh until you stood there completely vulnerable. 

Those words alone were like a death sentence. It wasn’t like you couldn’t fend for yourself, medical knowledge and basic survival skills became an ingrained part of everyday life in this new world. It was your innocent naivety that would be your demise–something that Joel didn’t have.

He kept you on a good path, having a sixth sense for danger and every corner it loomed. He had the confidence to know that he could protect not only himself, but you as well, without needing the help of others. He knew other people were far more dangerous than any infected could ever be.

And without him you probably would have been dead tonight.

August 16th, 2025 -

The following days had been painful. 

Despite the beginnings of opening up in the bodega, Pennsylvania had shown to be bringing nothing but bad omens. The state was filled with people, most of them looking for trouble, and after your first encounter in the woods you begrudgingly decided to let Joel take the lead.

Still, you slept with one eye open, not leaving the events of that night behind. Something about it stuck with you, that almost mechanical-like need to kill that filled him in that moment. The image of the man’s face–jaw unhinged, glass from his lenses piercing into his skin–stayed in your mind even in your sleep, dragging the days along slowly.

Joel noticed your shift in energy towards him. You honestly expected him to say nothing about it, taking your retraction as a blessing and bidding his usual vow of silence. The first week was awkward, Joel trying to fill the space with small talk and forced conversation, but the effort was there. Still, your anger raged on–mostly in some unrecognized way of being cautious. 

You figured after a week of brushing off his attempts at talking to you he would give it up. The next morning however, he woke you up with a gentle shake.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he grinned slyly down at you, something held in his hand hidden behind his back.

The nickname made you huff out, both in embarrassment and frustration, wiping the sleep from your eyes. As usual, your makeshift pillow of sewn together tattered clothing left you neck stiff, a shock of pain only adding to your annoyance.

“I thought we were staying for another day?” you groaned, facing the man with pouted lips.

A few days ago, the two of you had settled in a small town. It was void of any life, or infected, the perfect spot to stay for a few days. Joel had decided the location of the town’s cinema–the most intact building. 

So, the two of you sat on the stained, red carpet of the grand entryway. The velvet ropes that usually formed that line were wrapped around the door handles–something that took Joel too much effort to cut through. Stale popcorn sat in the warmer, butter caked on the glass, and the drink machines reeked of mold and mildew. Above the lonely hallway where Joel had inspected each branching room, hung a black board filled with tattered lettering of the last movies played before the outbreak.

‘Fin ing N mo - 7:30 pm - Ro m 5’

‘Lord f th Rin s - 8:00    -  oo  7’

‘Hulk -  :00 - Room 3’

Reading the names washed a wave of nostalgia over you when you had first walked in, remembering each movie in vivid detail.

“That’s one thing I miss the most.”

Whipping your head around, Joel was behind you, watching you read off the film names. He had been off checking each theater, both for supplies and any lurking infected–you hadn’t expected him back so soon. 

“You liked movies?” you said, a slight surprise in your tone.

“Loved ‘em.” A slight smile twitched at his lips, a distant memory clouding his eyes.

It was odd. Ever since that night in the woods, Joel had been more avid than ever to start conversation. Whether he popped out from within the shadows, filled the empty space while you walked, or spoke to the darkness while you fell asleep, Joel would try to piece together some sort of conversation starter. It was mostly superficial, occasionally hinting at bits of his past life, but always quick to cover it up with rushed steps and a pensive hand across his chin. 

The way you met had put you both in an odd position, but the way Joel had acted throughout the months of knowing you was even odder. 

When his actions towards you were on the softer side–tending to your wounds, providing for you–his words were nothing but cold, his stares icy. But now that you had seen this side of him–violent, impulsive–it seemed like each word he said was calculated, smoothed over with honey. Like he was trying to give off a certain impression, convincing you, and himself, that he wasn’t a monster.

So now as he shook you awake, hands more gentle than ever, you didn’t buy it. If this was his true character, then he should have shown it to you before, not in some cruel attempt to cover up his actions with faux smiles and sappy nicknames.

“We are,” he said, voice low while he cautiously brought his hands from his back–the blood-stained bow now cleaned in his hands. “I just thought I could finally teach you how to use this thing. I’d feel a lot better sendin’ you out with a weapon in your hands.”

He stayed crouched beside you, shoulders tense, awaiting your response. 

The bow in his hands looked cleaned–brand new almost–like it had been rid of everything it had been through. The quiver laid on the ground behind him, the quills peeking out behind his boot, like a tempting wave.

His effort tugged at your heart, a softness in his gaze that almost seemed too real to be an act. You imagined him, deep in the night, washing away the blood, probably splintering himself in the process. 

Since he had first slung that wretched weapon around your shoulder you swore you could smell the stench of death wafting from it–although you knew it was impossible. But he had noticed and taken the time to try and scrub away the memories that haunted you–and unknowingly himself too.

“Sure.”

That was all you gave him with a simple nod as you rose to your feet. You didn’t take the bow from his hands, if you were even able to, just the sight of it made you uneasy. 

Joel stood alongside you, palms splayed across your back as he led you down the hallway. The red carpet grew more stained in the shadows, popcorn and drink cups strewn about, while he ushered you into theatre number seven.

The trip down the walkway was silent. You had fully expected him to bring you into the woods, shooting at some bottles on stumps, or some birds in the trees, not lead you into the depths of a dark and grimy theatre. As you rounded the corner though, a sliver of light caught your eye. A couple lanterns sat posted in the corners of the room, doing a decent job at giving the room a warm, comforting glow.

A display of cardboard cutouts and movie posters were placed at different heights along the torn screen in the front of the room. Jack Sparrow and his pirate crew were plastered in the middle, a cutout of Buddy the Elf standing proudly in the corner, and the shark from Nemo staring dauntingly from the bottom corner–barely visible.

You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips, “What is all this?”

His lips curved into a playful smirk, once again offering you the bow.

“Target practice.”

“You’re kidding,” your tone was flat, but your face was anything but–a childlike smile on your face, eyes wide.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He lowered his head, removing the quiver from around his shoulders. “Pick a target and shoot. We’ll work from there.”

He walked towards you, closing the gap you had been purposefully creating for days. Carefully–almost as if he was waiting for you to push him away–he hung a wary hand near your head, the strap of the bag balancing on his forefinger. Then, when you didn’t flinch, he gently wrapped the leather around your shoulders, adjusting the quiver until it fit snugly against your back.

You couldn’t help the soft blush that warmed your cheeks as he worked–his soft breaths against your ear, arms wrapped around your body, fingers grazing your waist. It was a casual movement, one that didn’t come with much thought from him, but that didn’t stop your find from temporarily racing.

The fear, embarrassment, frustrations–every emotion you had towards this man crashing down on you in that one simple moment. You didn’t know anything about him–nor did he know a thing about you–but the months you had spent by his side were enough to pick away the important parts of him. You felt like you had some understanding of him, and in this moment you realized it was the same for him.

That discomforting feeling in your chest, the one that bubbled each night with crippling fear, you had thought it was fear of Joel at first–his rough demeanor and harsh words were nothing but unkind. But you had soon come to realize your fear and unwarranted anger towards him came from the harsh reality Joel faced you with: that you weren’t ready to survive in this world on your own.

“When did you do all of this?” you asked in awe, taking an arrow from the quiver.

Stepping to the side, Joel leaned back, taking a full view of your figure. You felt small beneath his gaze, uncertain in your movement as you clipped the quill to the string, pulling it back with all your strength.

“Took me a couple nights,” he mumbled softly to let you focus. “Those cases up front weren’t too difficult to crack open. I was afraid I’d wake you up gettin’ them open.” He let out a small chuckle, eyes still focused on your poor form. “You slept like a rock.”

Your fingers let go of the string, a burning sensation brushing across as the thick cord released. Aiming for the center of Johnny Depp’s face, your gaze never left the tip of his nose–where you hoped to hit–until the arrow plunged into Keira Knightly, all the way on the left.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath.

“I take that’s not what you were aimin’ for?”

Your gaze fell to your shoes, embarrassment creeping in. 

“It’s pretty bad isn’t it?”

Softly, you heard Joel's heavy footsteps creep up behind you. His hand, warm and calloused, gently took hold of your arm that held the bow. His chest was pressed firmly to your back now, his beard tickling the side of your face as he leaned down to see your view. Cheeks flushing a deep red, you were glad he couldn’t see your face, but his cheek pressed so closely to yours, you were sure he could feel it.

“Better than when I first started,” his voice, deep and gravelly, sent shivers down your spine as he encased your hand in his. “You just have to steady yourself.”

His boot tapped the inside of your ankle and your breath hitched at the contact. 

Typically tailing feet behind him, the image of Joel in your mind was usually his broad shoulders, boots trudging in the dirt, occasionally reaching a hand up to scratch through his peppered hair. Now, the proximity gave you a glimpse of the man you had never seen before–the scent of cigarette smoke and some earthy undertone flooded your senses, his skin a roaring fire that burned with each touch, and the coarse hair scratching against your smooth skin.

You widened your stance at his request, his foot planted firmly between yours. 

“Take a deep breath.” He lifted the bow with you, sliding his arm around to place an arrow between the fingers of your other hand. He held that one too, fingers entangled with yours around the thick rope. 

“Hold it as you pull back.” Steadily, he pulled back, allowing you to do most of the work, but keeping you still. “Don’t breathe until you release.” 

Then, his hands left yours, taking a step back and leaving you with an unexpected chill. Releasing the bow, the arrow slicing the wind, it struck into the center of the poster. 

A gasp left your lips and the bow dropped to the ground as you jumped in excitement. 

“I did it!” you squealed.

Joel leaned back on the wall, amused at your enthusiasm.

“Not too hard now is it?” his said, hands once again secretly hidden behind his back.

Taking another arrow from the bag, you took it in your hands, inspecting it proudly.

“I could get used to this.”

He smiled. “That’s what I want to hear.” Pulling his arms out from behind him, a small plush polar bear sat in his hands. “You keep up the good work and this is your prize.”

Turning the figure in his hands, you saw it comically had a red sweater and a slushie–the iconic ICEE bear.

“No way,” you gawked, immediately going to snatch the toy from his grasp, until he held it from your reach. “Not fair! Where did you find that thing?”

It was tattered, the sweater gained a few holes during his stay in the rubble filled theatre, but the nostalgia he brought you was more than enough. You jumped up, even balancing on your toes to try and tear it from his hands.

“He was behind the counter.” Joel laughed–a real, hearty, genuine laugh. “I thought he’d be a good motivator. Looks like I was right.”

September 17th, 2025 -

“Keep in the shadows,” he mumbled, voice low and even–he was serious. “Don’t know what’s out here.”

Your feet trudged on the broken sidewalk of what used to be a town somewhere in Ohio. With your leg healed, you both were able to cover more distance than before, a partial reason for Joel’s lift in spirit. 

As you strayed behind him, pace steady, a familiar feeling began to build in your lower abdomen. Crossing your legs and quickening your pace, you tried to fight the feeling, but it persisted.

‘Fuck, not right now.’

Biting your lip, you debated telling Joel. You knew he’d be annoyed by the inconvenience, but he would be even more upset if you slowed him down with your constant leg shuffling. 

Each step had you on your toes, wobbling side to side trying to ease your pressing bladder. You tried placing your focus on Joel’s heavy steps ahead of you, attempting to replicate them. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s stern whisper caught you by surprise, earning an especially tight press of your thighs.

Legs crossed and movements jittered, you shamefully refused to meet his piercing gaze. You could feel this patience thinning and knew the truth was the only thing getting you out of this. Supplies had been running low, Joel taking the lesser half had left him particularly exhausted and agitated the past week. His eyes–encompassed in dark clouds, lids hung low–were only a further demonstration of that.

Hands awkward clasped behind your back, you spoke in a barely audible whisper. “I think I have to pee…”

His grip, tight on your wrist, caught you by surprise. A low groan left his lips at the comment and embarrassment panged in your chest.

“I told you to go before we left,” he growled, words sharp. “Go back there. And make it quick.”

You stumbled deeper into the alleyway. Broken glass crunched underneath your feet and bits of plywood and garbage practically made you unable to see the ground. A rotting, rusted dumpster sat in the corner, its presence dismal and grimy. It wasn’t an ideal place to use the restroom, but it was the only cover you had from Joel who kept guard at the entrance.

His back was turned, his broad shoulders and thick muscles flexing through his sleeves as he surveyed the area. He kept a tight hold on the small gun you had found on a previous supply run. There were minimal bullets left, but Joel knew to use them well and sparingly. 

Fingertips fumbling at the waistline of your jeans, you struggled to undo the button. You danced on the tips of your toes, your bladder threatening to burst at any second. Your fingers restlessly worked at the worn button that was sloppily resewn, mumbling silent curses to yourself. 

Then, a low groan rumbled through the depths of the alley. Your entire body froze, tensed in fear. Pupils dilated, desperate to adjust to the shadows, you kept your wide eyes focused on a pile of wood pallets and trash where the sound erupted from.

Not taking any chances, you took a careful step backwards. Too terrified to tear your eyes away from the corner, that low rumble still vibrating off the walls, a stray piece of trash caught your foot. Stumbling backwards, you regained your balance with a yelp. Shooting your head back towards the pile, a hand crept out from the rubble, anchoring a spongy, rotted body from the trash.

Without hesitation, you started your way towards the light of the street. Feet carrying you as fast as they could, you grabbed ahold of Joel’s gray sleeve, tugging him towards you.

“Joel, run!” you screamed, hands travelling down to get a more secure hold onto his arm, nails digging into the skin.

It had been a while since you had encountered any infected, let alone a clicker. The groups you stayed with hid deep in the woods, far from any wandering infected. Most patrol groups were led by the men, leaving you to tend to things back at the camp–not that you minded. All your close calls and encounters with infected were at a young age, leaving traumatic, scarring memories of their reeking flesh inches from your face.

Just simply seeing the decaying, fungus flesh rise from the rubble struck an unfathomable fear within you. Joel had sworn to protect you and you never had any doubts in him, but you had seen what those things could do.

Joel was quick to match your pace, instead taking your arm in a firm grasp, dragging you behind him as he began to outrun you. He didn’t bother to question the situation, the deafening clicks that rang from the alleyway were enough to piece things together. 

You had only seen him like this a handful of times–jaw so tense it might snap, every muscle tensed so harshly a sweat formed at his brow, and nails dug so deep into your skin it bled. Nothing was on his mind except whatever last second escape plan he had formulated in his head. Despite the thrumming heartbeat you could feel in his wrist, his body oozed an unmistakable confidence as he twisted through corners and ducked under fallen signs.

Your panicked scream, combined with the persistent creaking of the berserk clicker had attracted a swarm of runners from a nearby building. The group had at least five infected, arms outstretched, croaking out horrific sounds as they hurled themselves towards you. 

Each time you would sneak a glance over your shoulder, you would stumble over your feet, Joel harshly tugging you upright. 

“Focus,” he huffed, voice breathy and ragged.

Firing off a few hurried shots, Joel widened the distance, striking the clicker until only two bullets remained. The rest of the infected shrieked at the sound, their pace slightly staggering at the sudden shock of the bullets ringing out.

His chest heaved, shoulders tense from the tightening of his lungs as he pushed himself to keep running. The deeper he ran into town, the more buildings and obstacles he could use to lose the band of runners. Their animalistic howls and slobbering grew more distant, but he didn’t dare look back just yet.

Then, as you reached the center of town–a large bell tower in the middle and four surrounding buildings–Joel brought you up the stairs of the town hall. Four grand, white pillars stood proudly at the entrance, allowing enough coverage for you to hide behind them. 

The windows of the building were boarded securely, a contrast to the rest of the town that had been scoured through and destroyed. Even the door was securely shut, something that was rare nowadays–most doors blown to bits, or the lock busted off. Instead, the two stately doors, knobs still golden and glistening in the sun, stood proudly as if the very town it stood for wasn’t in shambles.

A deafening silence filled the air. The only sounds came from your thrashing heart and Joel’s staggered breaths. His hands on his knees, he tried catching his breath, the sound of the runners finally having subsided. 

The peace didn’t last long though, a rattling of chains echoed from behind the door, the metal eerily scratching against the wood. Joel was quick to react, sliding from his place behind the pillar and slinging an arm around your waist, the other reaching for the gun in his back pocket. He pulled you so close you could hear his heart beating almost in time with yours, his breath fanning on your ear as he whispered strict instructions.

“Whoever is in here–do not trust them,” he warned, gun steadily aimed towards the entrance. “Let me do the talkin’.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat keeping you from responding–as if you had any time to. The doors groaned open and you held your breath, hoping for a kind face, some water, or simply any refuge from the infected that were surely still roaming the streets. 

A low creaking rumbled the porch beneath you, the doors opening slowly with wear and time. Behind them, stood a couple. A man was in front, maybe in his late thirties, with a thick head of brown hair in a bowl shape on his head. The woman looked much younger–even younger than you–her long, blonde hair cascading down her back. Both were dressed in an unusually put together outfit. Her ankle length dress seemed almost untouched and a simple gold cross necklace lay delicately on her collarbone. He was in a tucked in polo, unscathed khakis, and matching silver cross.

“Get inside!” The man waved his hand, ushering you both towards the door. “Quick! Before they track you here.”

At first, you didn’t hesitate, the fate of whatever was in store for you inside seemingly better than the horde of infected on your trail. But then, in a firm grip, Joel took your wrist and pulled you back towards him.

Brow furrowed, you turned to face him. 

Was he crazy?

You had pretty unfriendly encounters with people before, but surely this situation called for an exemption of Joel’s typical distrust. The two figures in the doorway looked like they would blow away if the wind blew hard enough, there was more chance of taking them on than the group of infected.

Back pressed to his chest, you could feel his hesitance seeping into you. His breaths were heavy, the groaning sounds of infected coming closer left him with little time to think, and you knew he was trying to come up with something, anything, to not have to enter a house with strangers.

Unexpectedly though, he held you close to his side, but still taking the lead as he walked through the doors. The couple promptly shut them behind you, a series of locks being wrapped and chained shut.

“Are y’all crazy?” the man huffed out, his southern thicker than Joel’s, almost incomprehensible. “I ain’t ever seen a group of those things that big and y’all still waited to come inside! You two musta met some real crazy folks hestiatin’ on an offer like that.”

The arm wrapped around your waist tightened, his fingers digging deeper into your side, bringing you hip to hip. Looking up at Joel, there was a clear scowl painted across his face, trying to give off an intimidating air. His other hand had a careful hold on his gun, fingers curled around the handle–and trigger–ready to shoot at any moment.

“It’s a dangerous world out there,” was all Joel muttered, eyes burning holes through the man’s skull.

“Couldn’t agree with you more.” Seemingly unfazed, the man stuck out his arm to Joel. “The name’s Samuel and this here is my wife Liz.”

Samuel lowered his hand when Joel only nodded in response. 

In a slight effort to ease the tension, your gaze fell upon the petite woman, almost cowering in her husband’s shadow. Liz’s hands gently clasped in front of her, shoulders slightly hunched forward as she bowed her head downwards, eyes focused on her shoes.

“Well,” Samuel continued, breaking the thick silence. “Liz and I have been stayin’ here for a while now and don’t mind y'all stayin’ as long as you need,” he paused for a moment, eyes suddenly flickering to you. “But I can’t just keep two strangers in here, now can I?”

“We’re not stayin’,” Joel said firmly.

He started towards one of the windows, trying to get a peek through the boards, but never fully turning himself away from the two. 

The scene outside had calmed, most of the infected had been lost in the chase, but there were still others staggering about. They dragged the worn soles of their feet across the pavement, gasped breaths and painful wails escaping their decayed lips.

“Well you can’t possibly be thinkin’ of going out there.” 

Joel’s shoulders stiffened and his eyes glazed over, probably scheming up some way to get out of this situation. 

“Just stay for dinner.”

Samuel offered yet another solution within Joel’s introspective silence. The offer was so casual, too casual even. Being invited over for dinners wasn’t something too common nowadays, most food being rationed and eaten in portions. Not only were they offering their valuable food to strangers, but ones that wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there.  

“Fine,” Joel caved, his hand dipping deep into his pockets, fingers curling around the hunting knife he always kept with him. “But if things clear up before then, we’re out of here.”

“Of course,” the man nodded, wrapping an endearing arm around his wife. “We wouldn’t want to stop ya from where you’re headed.”

The next moments were filled with a thick, awkward silence, only growing by the second. Liz stood stiff under her husband’s arm, eyes focused on her dusty mary janes. Not once during the conversation had her eyes lifted to meet yours–or anybody’s. Her retraction piqued your curiosity, such a contrast to the personality of her partner. Samuel had answered each question, invited you inside, and persisted you stay for dinner all while his wife stood like a statue.

Joel’s eyes were focused, not once caring to look your way, only caring about the potential danger in front of him. He still stood uncomfortably close, the hair on his knuckles tickling your fingers as they brushed past, ready to grab your wrist and run.

It was the same practice every time he sensed a threat, but this time it persisted. Usually Joel took you by the arm, dragging you away the moment he got uncomfortable, and leaving it at that.

This was nothing like those times.

Joel was trapped and he didn’t know what to do.

Like a caged lion he sat, waiting for his captor to strike, and then would tear him to pieces.

Then, his eyes flickered to you, sticking just a moment too long. You shifted under his gaze, his eyes panning uncomfortably low. It wasn’t until then that you realized the damp, sticky feeling through your jeans.

In the chase, your bladder must’ve let loose, the fear and adrenaline taking hold of your body. You were too focused on survival to notice, but now, the denim stuck to your thighs set a dark crimson hue to your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize,” you stuttered out, voice cracking in embarrassment.

Eyes dropping to your shoes, you couldn’t bear to look at the reaction of those around you. Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind–those hazel eyes growing wide, unable to look away as his brow softened with a newfound pity. 

Instinctively, he shielded you, stepping in front of you to cover whatever dignity you had left. With his back turned to you, the worn soles of his shoes all that you could see, a slight weight was lifted from your shoulders knowing these strangers couldn’t see your accident.

“That’s quite alright,” Samuel laughed–not a teasing one, but a warm, almost comforting laugh. “I’m sure Liz has something you can change into. Right dear?”

“Yes, honey,” her voice was just as small as her, barely able to pick up on the words she said. 

“Perfect,” Samuel waltzed dangerously close to Joel, closing the gap with a hand to the shoulder. “We’ll help you get settled and how about you help me get the meat for dinner tonight?”

Joel stiffened, straightening his back to both shield you and try to brush off Samuel’s hand.

“Whaddya mean?” he asked suspiciously.

Samuel tightened his hand, pulling himself to stand side-by-side with Joel–too touchy for both of your likings. His other hand waved in the air, pointing towards a grand double staircase that stood in the middle of the room. 

“Ya see,” he beamed proudly. “We were able to get a generator and some fuel. To save power we only have it hooked up to the freezer downstairs, keeps all the meat nice ‘n fresh. I need your help connectin’ it to the kitchen so these ladies can get to cookin’. We’re havin’ a feast tonight!”

His voice echoed through the mostly empty corridor and despite his enthusiasm, Joel didn’t seem any more impressed–only more suspicious.

Finally turning back to you, Joel looked over to you with apologetic eyes–not something he gave very often. Sweat drenched hair clung to your skin, cheeks slightly flushed, but what his eyes stuck on was the streaks of red trailing down your arm. 

In his frenzy, Joel didn’t think about how rough he grabbed your arm—only that it was enough to keep you upright and running. 

Now, he didn’t waste time slinging the bag from around his shoulders, brushing off Samuel’s hand. Stepping away, he placed it on a nearby bench, fishing though for the pack of medical supplies.

“I need to patch up her arm first,” he muttered, knowing he was mostly stalling for time. “Then I can help you.”

Once again, Samuel stepped a little too close–this time to you. He took your arm, lifting it to inspect the wound. 

“Nothin’ my Liz can’t fix.” That same toothy smile plastered on his face. 

Taking your other arm, Joel had stepped behind you, gently pulling you towards him.

Between the two men, you felt minuscule. Joel’s intimidating presence had always made him seem so much bigger–stronger. But the vibe Samuel gave off was even larger, more discomfoting–demanding even. 

His constant proximity and physical contact took you back, it was almost like interacting with people from a distant time, before all of this had happened. Their pristine clothes, sunshine smiles, and glistening skin were all so out of place in this dilapidated home–but so were you with your urine soaked jeans, blood stained t-shirt, and the gruff man leading you around like a dog.

“I’d like to take care of it myself.”

Palms in the air, backing away in defeat, Samuel retreated towards the stairs. 

“A man wants to take care of his wife, I respect it.”

You opened your mouth to correct him, but the words didn’t find their way. Something about the way Joel took your arm in his hand, giving it an immediate tight squeeze as if to say keep your mouth shut. 

So you listened, too embarrassed to say a word even if you had the chance.

The couple made a slow retreat, Samuel with a teasing grin and directions to the kitchen, and Liz with a slight wave and soft promise to return with clothing.

“What the fuck,” you whispered, not even waiting for the two to fully ascend the stairs.

Cloth in hand, he dabbed the blood from your skin, the slight tinge of alcohol burning into the wound. His fingers curled tightly around your wrist, pulling you closer before he spoke.

“I don’t like how they’re tryna separate us,” he mumbled lowly, voice thick with concern and his stare sharp and intense.

Rolling your eyes, you flicked your focus to the interior of the building. It was all white with dark, wooden accents on the railing and support beams. The building was old for sure, but hadn’t cracked to time, the foundation was still standing as strong as ever. The furniture had mostly been cleared out of the room you stood in, but down a darkened hallway, you could make out the shapes of a library filled with bookshelves and papers strewn across the floor in some sort of barricade. 

The upstairs looked more put together from what you could see. A small bust statue intact at the top of the stairs and other historical paintings and documents sat faded on the walls. A low buzzing could be heard through the floorboards, most likely the generator Samule spoke about in the basement. Another staircase, this time more compact and discrete, sat hidden in the corner of the room, a little latched door covering the entrance.

“You don’t trust anybody,” you teased, finally meeting his gaze. “Surely me saying we’re not married isn’t gonna get us killed.”

He huffed at the realization you weren’t on his side–or that you at least wouldn’t be taking this as seriously as him.

“They don’t need to know a damn thing about us,” he warned, his voice even lower now–almost threatening. “If I can’t find us a way outta here in time, you don’t tell that woman a damn thing. You understand?”

His gaze kept shifting between you and the stairs, like he was waiting for Samuel to come back down and intrude. You knew he couldn’t help his distrust, the topic being a hot point of contention, but it still irked you. These people had shown you more kindness than most had given you in the years since the outbreak, and despite Joel’s attitude, still invited you to dinner.

“C’mon, they’re trusting us down here all alone and you can’t even give them your name?”

Still warily close, you noticed the way he stood on edge, like any misstep and the floor would crumble beneath him. In all the moments you two had been pressed against the wall–hordes of infected on your trail, the whizzing of bullets as Joel shot back at raiders–he always knew what to do, or at least acted like it. Now, it was evident he had no plan with how his eyes nervously shifted and each word you spoke made him bite the inside of his cheek raw.

As he wrapped the last of the bandages around your arm, he gave you one final waning stare, eyes sharp and intense. “We’re not doin’ this here. I don’t care about whatever little peace project you’re trying to pursue here, but we are not here to make friends.”

Instinctively, you opened your mouth to snap back at him, but his patience wore thin.

“We’ve already been over this. You’re stayin’ with me so you keep your mouth shut if you want to live. I’m not gettin’ a good feeling about these people.” His words were so hushed, you had to lean in so close his breath fanned your face. 

His paranoia had begun to seep through your skin, creating a deep pit of anticipation in your stomach. You began to grow uncomfortable under his stare–the alcohol dully buzzing on your skin, the way his fingers pressed onto your skin, and the darkened denim that awkwardly clung to your thighs in a moistened, clammy grip. 

Almost as if on cue, just as Joel was pulling away, his words still lingering in the air, Samuel pushed open the doors at the top of the staircase. His footsteps were heavy, clicking against the wood in hurried–almost impatient–steps. The ever-present smile on his face told a different story though as he looked at you over the banister, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I hate to intrude,” he sang, southern drawl thick and crisp. “With everyone tryin’ to get to Chicago, people’re in too much of a rush to get outta here. So, we usually don’t get any guests.” Samuel’s eyes flicked to Joel. “Can’t help but be cautious. No offense.”

Joel nodded warily. The distance he had created was slight, but still enough to grab you in a moment's notice. 

Since the stay in the old theatre, Joel had been more inclined to trust you to handle yourself. He seemed to fully trust you to protect yourself–and him if needed. The moment you stepped foot into this building though, the floor creaking and door groaning almost like some kind of call, Joel had been on edge. His distrust was a usual trait of his that annoyed you, but this proximity and paranoia was beginning to worry you.

Your shoulders stiffened as Samuel's gaze trailed back to you. Not wanting to abandon what little faith you still had in the world, you stood straight, trying to ignore the growing pit in your stomach. The feeling of something wrong was beginning to pile in your chest, a cold sweat forming on the back of your neck as the two men exchanged words muffled by your anxiety.

Although he was talking to Joel, when you regained focus you could see that Samuel was still looking at you–or maybe through you. And Joel had definitely taken notice. He tried to ignore it, brushing it off by urging conversation, now more keen to the idea of getting Samuel out of here–even if it meant being alone with him.

Joel had creeped slightly up the stairs now, leaning onto the railing, knuckles turned white as he gripped the wood. “How come I ain’t ever hear anythin’ about this group before?”

His words confused you, dropping into the middle of a conversation you were meant to be paying attention to. 

“I thought it was the Fireflies at first,” Samuel said, his long legs carrying him down the staircase. “But it seems like some other group that thinks they can save the world. Sounds like a lot of lies to me, but they had lots of people convinced. Whole group of ‘em came through here ‘bout a month ago talkin’ about some museum.”

Eyes thinning, Joel looked at the man skeptically. Although confused, you joined in on the skepticism, as many people as you had been around, you hadn’t ever heard of such a group.

“How come you haven’t joined them yet?”

Samuel shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle under his breath. “Like I said, I don’t believe in any of that stuff. All that genetic mutation and human trials they’re doin’ down there just ain’t human. It ain’t God’s way.”

The way those words left his lips, the sharpness of them, sent a chill down your spine. Throughout your stay, Samuel had been nothing but cheerful, that characterizing grin never leaving his face. Now, it was replaced with a deep scowl that spread across his entire face, his eyes melting into something darker.

Joel hesitated for a moment, the noticeable shift in the air catching him off guard. “Don’t sound like anything we’d be interested in either. Chicago wasn’t on our itinerary anyways.”

Almost as if nothing happened, that toothy grin returned to Samuel’s face. “Listen, I don’t know where y’all are headed,” his gaze was slightly more serious now, his voice having a deep, more affirmative tone to it. “But Liz and I belong to this group out west that I could really see you two havin’ a place in. I ain’t tryin’ to force nothin’ on y’all, but thought I’d make the offer before you left.”

Knowing Joel would protest, Samuel took a careful step forward, holding out a handful of clothes he had tucked beneath his arm. He took a glance over the pile in his hands, then one more analyzing look over your figure, and you instinctively shuffled your legs, trying to cover the stain.

“I was scared these wouldn’t fit,” he said, urging the clothes into your hands. “But lookin’ at you close up I think you’ll be just fine. Should fit like a glove.”

If you weren’t in the middle of the apocalypse–sweat clung to every inch of your body, standing with piss down to your ankles–you would have thought he was making some creepy attempt to hit on you. This unflattering situation though, just made his persisting kindness seem like pity and an unnecessary kindness you hadn’t been shown in a long time–not even from Joel.

So despite your intuition telling you something was off, you bathed in the short lived attention, graciously taking the fabric from Samuel’s hands. Unfolding it, you held a thin, cotton dress–something you hadn’t worn in years. You couldn’t remember the last time you had worn something other than pants or shorts, anything else seeming like a luxury of the past. 

The dress was a darker green with a delicate floral pattern threaded into the neckline. It was a similar cut to the one Liz wore, modestly spanning to your ankles, and the sleeves puffing around the shoulders with an elastic hem. A thick band of an even darker green wrapped around the waist, slightly cinching it, but the most noticeable feature was how spotless the whole thing was–like someone had spent hours caring for it.

“This is way too nice,” you shook your head, pushing the dress back into his hands. “I can’t take this–I’ll just ruin it.”

A deep, hearty laugh erupted from Samuel’s lips, taking both you and Joel by surprise. 

“Don’t even worry ‘bout it,” he chuckled, placing his hands on his thighs as he doubled over. “All that woman does is sew these dresses. She’s thrilled to finally have someone else wearin’ em.”

Nodding your head in appreciation, you clutched the dress to your chest. Each stitch looked professional, the entire piece beautiful, and you made a mental note to thank Liz later.

Turning back to Joel with a small smile, he gave you a slight nod of approval. For just a moment, his eyes flicked to the dress tightly held in your hands, followed by an even quicker glance to your frame, picturing how you would look in it.

Before you could catch him, the familiar creak of the door began to rumble through the floorboards once again. All three heads turned and a timid Liz peeked her head through the opening. 

Looking at his wife, Samuel’s lips curled into an even tighter smile. “Perfect timing, dear. Why don't you get dinner started, hmm? You can show our new guest around?”

Joel’s eyes met yours with a knowing stare–you were out of time.

You both would have to face the inevitable and go your separate ways.

Taking a few cautious steps towards the door, you didn’t dare look back at Joel again. There was something off about him. How instead of exuding confidence and an unwavering boldness, he now leaked fear from every pore and his brow knit with worry. And it scared you.

Even when running from the infected, you felt the fearlessness coursing through Joel’s veins, and your confidence in him was strong enough to give you the will to look back over your shoulder. Now, you felt nothing but uneasiness behind you and knew looking back at him would break you–and any hope you had.

Most of the upstairs was shockingly dark, curtains drawn and doors shut to most of the rooms down the hallway. A large kitchen and dining room stood openly connected, taking up most of the space of the second floor. To the right, slightly branching off from the two, was a half bathroom, a small flickering lantern balanced on the lip of the sink.

Her voice, light and airy, barely drifted its way towards you. “You can use that bathroom to change. I left a washbucket in there if you’d like to use it.”

You gave her a thankful nod and started towards the bathroom. It was dimly lit and you stumbled on the cracked tiles beneath you. On the floor next to the sink, sat an old wooden bucket filled with water that steamed up into the air. A patched washcloth sat along the edge of it along with a pair of washed undergarments, also adoring a few sewn on patches. 

Sitting on the edge of the toilet, the lid ripped from its hinges and lost somewhere, you balanced on the edge, careful to keep your belongings clean. You stripped off your clothing, the cool porcelain shooting goosebumps through your skin. Fingertips dipped into the hot water, longing to be able to sink your entire body within the bucket for a refreshing bath. Lathering a sliver of soap within the cloth, you brushed the suds across your limbs, massaging the bubbles deep into your skin.

Travelling with Joel meant sticking to the forests, rivers, parks–pretty much anywhere people weren’t likely to be roaming around. Supply trips were scarce and mainly for food, water, and medical supplies. 

“We ain’t got room for luxuries.” He would groan each time you tried to bring along a cracked lipstick tube, dried out nail polish, or anything that would give you even the hint of femininity. And apparently soap fell into that category for him as well.

There was one time you had found a half-full bottle of 3-in-1 and although the sight of it sent shivers down your back, it was better than nothing. That glorious bottle only lasted a month however, before your weekly routine of river showers and hair lathering were cut short by Joel’s outrageous overuse of product.

You let out a breath of air through your nose. A smile tugged at your lips, a memory replaying, your hair sopping wet, not bothering to have dried off before storming over to toss the empty bottle at Joel’s head.

Drying off with the tattered towel hung on the back of the door, you slipped the dress over your head, reaching around to clasp the back. The mirror was faded and cracked along the edges, but the middle gave a clear image of yourself you hadn’t seen in a while. One not caked in blood, nails free of grime and dirt, and in a handmade dress nonetheless.

Patting down the fabric at your hips, you smiled warmly at your reflection. Seeing Liz’s unscathed image, her skin silky smooth, hair unknotted, and clothes ironed and unstained, made her seem like a spectacle–an art piece in the middle of this broken down town. Now, for just a moment, you felt like that as you looked back at yourself.

Shaking your head, you placed your focus elsewhere, the reality of your situation striking that sinking feeling back in your chest. Folding the rest of your clothes neatly on the counter, you wrung out the washcloth until it was almost dry. Although you knew no one was looking, you couldn’t help but cautiously look over your shoulder before slipping the last sliver of soap into the rag and into your sock, hidden in your boot. 

It wasn’t the best hiding place, or the cleanest, but you knew Joel would appreciate it nonetheless. You could imagine the short nod of approval and softening of his face that would truly tell you he liked it–although his every word would say otherwise.

You could hear him now:

“Where’d you get this from?”

“You don’t need to be stealin’!”

“What’d I tell you about carryin’ things we don’t need?”

Each word that fell from his lips would be a front of denial for the bar of soap he would likely use all of in one singular shower. But you had gotten pretty good at reading Joel at this point and knew better than to pay attention to anything that left his mouth.

Finally ready to leave the bathroom, hoping you had stalled long enough for Joel to have returned, you took a cautious step out the door. Immediately, the smell of vegetables cooking and the lingering scent of garlic filled the air. Instinctively your legs, and your stomach, led you to the kitchen.

Standing on her toes, Liz was propped in front of the oven, stirring ingredients into a large pot. The lights were now on in the shared kitchen and dining space, the overhead lights filling the room with a warm glow, and the hood fan roared in the background. 

It had been a while since you had seen actual, functioning electricity, let alone a working kitchen. You stood in the doorway in awe, watching as Liz danced from counter to counter, chopping up vegetables and measuring mason jars of broths as if this luxury was an everyday occurrence. 

Turning to grab a knife from the block on the island, Liz noticed you watching. With a slight gasp, she acknowledged your presence, a soft smile pulling her lips into a childish grin. 

She waved, urging you towards her as she held out what looked like a grape held between her fingers. “Come here! You have to try these, they’re amazing.”

Without the two men around, Liz had really seemed to come out of her shell, that meek and timid crease in her brow replaced with an uplifted joy. 

Popping the green fruit between your lips, you couldn’t help but hum at the taste. The closest you had gotten to fresh fruit were canned peaches and the berries on bushes you passed–nothing compared to this.

Eyes wide, you peered around the kitchen, looking for more. “Where’d you get these? They’re so good.”

Liz giggled, a cute, giddy giggle that she covered with the edge of her cardigan sleeve. “We grow all sorts of things back at home. The freezer downstairs lets us keep all of it fresh so we can cook with it while we’re here.”

“Back home?” you raised a brow, placing all your weight on your elbows as you leaned back onto the island. “You two don’t live here?”

Before returning to the stove, Liz pushed a wooden bowl of grapes across the counter. 

“We’re from a camp back in Utah,” she started, that warm gaze sapped from her eyes the moment the words left her lips. “There’s a whole group of us at the farm, ten married couples just like me and Samuel…”

There was a tense silence that filled the air, the only sound coming from the bubbling of the pot beneath her. You could tell there was more to what she had to say, the words stuck in a lump that bobbed in her throat, so you stayed quiet.

“Samuel got into a fight with our church leader,” a short spurt of a laugh left her lips, but nothing on her face looked like anything was funny. “So he sent us out here to gather…supplies for the farm.”

Brow furrowed, your rolled grapes between your fingers, trying to piece together her story. 

“All the way out here? Aren’t we in Ohio?”

Liz solemnly nodded. “A few men from the group set up a few safehouses, like this one, across the country. Both so we can take longer supply trips, but also in case anything happens to the farm. We’ve got crops, animals, electricity, a lot of things people would come after us for…I’m glad we’re out here.”

You sighed at the thought of this farm Liz spoke about. Working electricity, food at your fingertips, and a stable roof over your head sounded like a dream. Samuel’s offer didn’t seem so daunting anymore. So why did Liz seem like she hated it?

“This place is pretty nice,” you bit your lip, trying not to pry. “I haven’t seen anything like this in years. A whole farm full of buildings like this is crazy…”

She shrugged. “It’s not all it's cracked up to be. This world…it changes people.” 

For a moment she paused, looking you in the eyes, neither of you knew what to say. You both sat in the weight of her words, trying to rethink the situation despite your obvious envy.

“Has your husband,” Liz started up again, taking every moment of this alone time to give into her curiosity. “Always been that way?”

You laughed, immediately catching onto her lack of subtlety. “For as long as I’ve known him? Yes.” Taking a sharp breath in, you pondered how much you should share–Joel’s warning still lingering in your mind. “And he’s not my husband.”

If it was even possible, Liz’s face grew even more pale. She turned back to the stove in a frenzy, trying to cover up her pupils that had blown wide, her warm brown eyes now focused on the pot in front of her.

“But Samuel said…”

Confused by her reaction, you straightened yourself off the counter. Her shoulders stiff and rigid, only moved to chop vegetables, the clink of the knife against the counter more intense and forceful than before.

“Well Samuel was wrong. Joel didn’t say-” you froze once you realized you mentioned his name. The casual conversation with Liz had made you grow too comfortable, forgetting everything Joel had warned you about, but still you carried on. “He didn’t say anything, but we’re not together.”

“How do you know him then?” Her words were quick and sharp, like she was running out of time.

“We just sort of…met,” you shrugged, popping another grape in your mouth. “He’s looked after me ever since.”

Reluctantly, Liz tore her eyes from the stove, barely making eye contact with you as she spoke. “Does he treat you right? I mean– I’m sorry, it’s just that– your arm. A-and the way he spoke…”

Eyes wide, you shook your head, arms outstretched in front of you. “No, no, no! It’s nothing like that, we were just in a rush, that’s all. He can be a little harsh sometimes, but nothing more than words.”

“You don’t have to put up with that you know?”

Snorting, you let out a genuine laugh, only to look at Liz’s deadpan expression and saw she wasn’t joking. 

Sure, from the few minutes they were in the same room, Joel hadn’t made the greatest impression. But to hint at the idea that was unkind–abusive–to you was just absurd. Almost a complete breach of boundaries.

“Jo-” you began, only to shake your head in frustration. “He isn’t like that. I don’t know what kind of idea you’ve got, but it’s the wrong one.”

A surprising surge of confidence exuded from the girl beside you, now staring into your eyes with an unforeseen intensity.

“I’ve seen cruel people in this world and he’s one of them,” her words were icy now, venomous, as she spat them in your face. “He has nothing but anger in his heart and it’s only a matter of time before that anger is towards you. I’ve seen it happen too many times. You need to leave before he kills you.”

Stunned, you stood shocked. Liz was beside you, gripping the handle of the pot, knuckles white as she shook with rage. Or maybe fear?

Placing your palms on the counter, you slightly grounded yourself. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Liz, but I think it’s time you stop.” 

Her words were sending an eerie chill down your spine, some unrecognizable force–maybe your intuition–telling you, for some reason, that she was right.

“I can see you care about him,” her words were more hushed now, but still that direct, cold tone. “But, that man isn't capable of loving anything. He may say he cares, but he only knows how to provide. So take your heart and run before he crushes it and kills you with it.”

That soft spoken voice from before, now shot holes through your chest with each word she uttered. Her voice was like a song, singing the lyrics to a hymn that destined your fate. Each word she spoke was certain, so sure. You had no choice, but to trust her somewhere deep down in your gut.

You’d never let her know that though. You had sworn your loyalty to Joel, a silent pact as you two parted on the stairs. An agreement made in that one, simple nod.

“I appreciate you for looking out for me, but he’s the only reason I’m alive right now,” you clenched your hands into tight fists at your side. Your mind went back to that fateful night, the thud of that granola bar against your chest, the exact moment you knew Joel was going to save you. “I’m sticking by him because I care for him as a friend and nothing more. We keep each other safe.”

Guilt panged your heart, like uttering those very words betrayed your entire being. You don’t know why saying those words made you feel the way it did, almost as if a veil had been lifted to expose your true feelings.

It wasn’t something you’d ever had much time or reason to think about. Most days were spent on the go, exhaustion and hunger ready on your mind, clouding any other thoughts throughout the day. Conversations with Joel had only really been apparent within the last month, some sort of unspoken guilt laced in each conversation since that night in the woods, so you didn’t think much of it. 

Each “affectionate” act from Joel just seemed like some sort of redemption plan. A way to earn back your trust each time it frayed. And although you played along each time and gave in, you knew the motive behind his actions. 

But that doesn’t mean it meant any less–the way he let his guard down, eyes slightly softened with anticipation of how you’ll react, and the self-assured grin each time you’d clap your hands in amusement. 

Your relationship–if you could even call it that–with Joel was complicated, but not for a second abusive. If you had feelings for Joel or not would be a topic to ponder on another day, because even if you did, all of the words Liz said about him would still be lies.

Before you could bite back though, the beginnings of an argument brewing in your mind, Liz spoke up in that usually soft voice. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, backing down, that surge of confidence from before puddling at her feet. “I shouldn’t have assumed…he just reminds me of someone I knew.”

For a moment you felt bad for raising your voice, even if it was slight. The sight in front of you was pitiful, the woman completely retracted back into her shell just as you had met her–shoulders up to her ears, head ducked down, anything to make herself appear smaller.

“It’s okay,” you assured, lowering your tone. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. He’s just…done a lot for me.”

Liz softly smiled. “I’m sure he has. He looks very capable–a lot of drive. Especially to get out of here.” She let out a laugh, eyes flickering to yours for reassurance.

You returned her laugh, honestly surprised Joel hadn’t come up here and dragged you out of here already.

“Yeah…he isn’t too good with strangers.”

Bits of small talk echoed through the kitchen, conversation flowing steadily between the two of you. You helped with the rest of the prep, preparing the rest of the dish while you waited for the men to bring the meat from the freezer. They had made the trek out back to connect the generator to the kitchen and start it up, but you hadn’t expected it to take this long. 

While you rinsed and peeled potatoes, you tried to distract yourself with a silent competition of fastest potato peeling. On the fifth swipe of your finger, the tip nearly getting plowed off that time, you decided maybe that wasn’t the best distraction and settled with sitting in your thoughts.

They were heavy, unpleasant. The plopping of potato peels in the sink was now the only relief from your anxiety as Liz left the room to grab seasonings from the pantry. 

Being alone left you with this dark, unsettling feeling that something was deeply wrong. Samuel and Joel had been gone for way too long now, the freezer only one floor below, and with dinner already being prepped you wondered what the hold up was. This was unusual for sure, and you felt that with Joel’s earlier urgency, he would be desperate to get back in your sights.

All of your worries were cast aside however, when your ear perked to the familiar rasp of Joel’s voice. The deep gravelly drawl stood out against Samuel’s cheery accent–the both of them laughing? The chatter grew closer, the door at the top of the staircase letting out that familiar creak, giving you a better listen to their conversation.

At first it sounded like just Samuel laughing, but underneath his over-the-top cackle, you could hear the bits of something familiar. You had only heard it a handful of times through your stay with him, but clear as day, you could hear that low, drawn out honeyed laugh of his–and it sounded genuine.

Something–anger, jealousy, sadness–struck you in the chest, freezing your every move as you eavesdropped on the conversation. Even your breath stayed stuck in your lungs, afraid that even the sound of breathing would distract you from this moment.

“Sounds like an unforgettable trip.” It was Samuel. “Wish I did somethin’ like that before everythin’ got turned around.”

“Tommy’d kill me if he knew I ever told anyone ‘bout that,” the last bits of laughter tugged at the edge of his words, waiting to burst again. “But that story was just too perfect, I’ll die laughin’.”

Waltzing into the kitchen, Samuel was the first to enter, a large box balanced in both of his hands. Behind him, Joel was smiling, the remnants of a laugh still on his lips. As soon as he saw you though, he stiffened, and his usual stoic expression returned.

He placed the box on the counter with a thud. You peeked over the edge to see pieces of chicken freshly sliced and defrosted.

So that’s what took them so long.

Nodding, you turned back to the stove, hoping to let the men carry on whatever friendly conversation they were having before. For someone who was so uptight and distrusting, Joel walked in the room the most laid back you had ever seen him–almost casual looking. 

He must have seen the soured look on your face though, because the moment he had noticed you, he was silent, only Samuel carrying the conversation now. 

“Smells great in here,” Samuel complimented. “Where’d Liz go?”

“Pantry,” you said simply, wanting Joel to hear your shift in tone–although you knew he would probably just roll his eyes.

He hummed in response and you could hear him sifting through the box behind you, most likely sorting things for Liz.

“What’d I tell ya,” his voice was laced with pride, taking a deep inhale through his nose. “My Liz is the best cook, Joel-”

Your head whipped over your shoulder, dropping both the peeler and potato into the sink. Samuel was oblivious, but Joel had already knowingly met your gaze–his eyes wide and guilty.

His words from earlier replayed in your mind.

“You keep your mouth shut if you want to live. I’m not gettin’ a good feeling about these people.”

Within the few minutes you were alone, he had made it a point to jam that point into your head until his paranoia seeped fully into your skin. All his worry must have fully bled into you, because he was now sharing names and stories with the man he was so distrustful of moments before.

Your lips thinned, a scowl painted deep on your face. Joel’s eyes were filled with regret and guilt, his face drooping with the heaviness of his heart. It took everything in him not to interrupt Samuel right there and make some pathetic attempt to redeem himself, somehow explain how things got here.

But you didn’t give him the chance.

Turning back to the sink, you peeled potatoes angrier than ever, replaying your conversation with Liz. Maybe her judge of character wasn’t as bad as you thought?

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write (message me to be added or removed)

[uinre]

Mog's First Meeting With The Farron Sisters ✧ FINAL FANTASY XIII-2 (2011) | LIGHTNING RETURNS: FINAL FANTASY XIII (2013)

[worldofstoriesanddreams]

Is there an age limit chapter 3 - Christmas edition

Wrapped in a straitjacket, his utility belt and every gadget stripped away, Batman pulled himself up to a sitting position and scanned the room. 

Across the room, Superman was sweating bullets — his face as green as the kryptonite handcuffs that chained him to the wall.

Wonder Woman, in the WayneTech Virtual Reality suit, was in her own world, fighting imaginary battles, unaware of their plight.

Green Lantern was trapped in a yellow cube.

In the agency cage of fire, Martian Manhatter had lost his humanoid form — incapacitated by terror.

Green Arrow without his arrows. Black Canary was gagged and had a metapower inhibiter collar around her neck. Both of them were in straitjackets, unable to escape.

Flash was trapped in a containment field which severed his connection to the Speed Force.

A bald man in a lab coat, calling himself the Master of the World, taunted the Dark Knight with empty boxes that once contained Batman’s contingency plans and resources he had prepared to take down each and every member of the Justice League, should the need arise.

Checking his watch, he announced. “It’s 3pm. Time for Captain Marvel to show up to save his friends.”

He loaded a gun with bullets from the box with Captain Marvel’s lightning on it. These bullets were made of pure lead — deadly to Daxamites. 

“Why put one into his shoulder when I can shoot all of them into his heart?” The villain cackled.

Batman’s contingency plans were never meant to kill. They were to neutralise members of the Justice League when they are under mind control or go rogue, or otherwise become a threat to humanity.

Captain Marvel crashed to the roof, landing in front of the villain.

“Release them,” said the Big Red Cheese.

Click

“Duck,” Batman growled. “Pure lead bullets!”

Bang! 

Bang! 

Bang! 

Bang!

Bang! 

Bang! 

Captain Marvel didn’t flinch as the flurry of bullets struck his chest, bouncing off without leaving a scratch.

“My turn,” he tapped the villain’s shiny head, knocking him unconscious.

He looked at the boxes with their insignias and stared at Batman. His eyes blazed with anger while his smile dropped as he scrutinised Batman. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Disappointment coloured his voice.

“Hm.” Batman glared back.

“Then you’ll know how to free them,” Captain Marvel’s brilliant smile returned as he ripped open the straitjacket, releasing Batman.

So he’s not Kryptonian. He’s not Daxamite.

What was he?

*

Back in the Watchtower, the atmosphere turned chilly. Every hero gave him the cold shoulder. They should. In their line of work, it was unwise to trust so easily. A certain level of paranoia was essential for survival.

Martian Manhunter sat in the break room, still shaken by his exposure to fire. He refused to look at Batman.

“Have some milk and cookies,” Captain Marvel walked in with a tray.  It held a plate piled high with an assortment of chocolate cookies with cream centres, and two glasses of milk. “This really helps after a tough day.” 

The alarm went off. 

There was yet another alien invasion.

Did the various alien races have some kind of time table to invade the earth on a monthly basis?

The screen showed an armada of fiery spaceships that covered all visible space. His sensors showed each ship exuded flames with heat that rivalled the sun’s core.

“Hold this," he handed the tray to Batman.

Captain Marvel beamed, “I call dibs on this invasion.”

A blur of red cleared the sky of the fiery orbs in a blink of an eye.

The Captain was back in the room, with another mug of milk in hand. “Join us for milk and cookies?” He beamed at Batman.

*

It was the night before Christmas. Batman hadn’t a clue who or what Captain Marvel really was. He was only available outside elementary school hours, so he had to be an elementary school teacher, but the bat computer scanned the photos of every elementary school teacher in the country but couldn’t match any of them with the elusive Captain.

As he retired for the night, he noticed milk and cookies laid out near the entrance of each home. Even his own children would set out milk and cookies for Santa Claus before they go to bed on Christmas Eve. 

He looked at the chimneys. Santa was known to enter homes through chimneys. Some fireplaces were still burning, so Santa had to be flame proof.

In one single night, Santa visits every home in the entire world, delivering presents to those who have been good, and coal to those who have been naughty. Bruce knew. Ever since he started those contingency plans to take down every one of his team mates, he had been getting a coal in his stocking every Christmas.

The clues fell in place.

Captain Marvel loves milk and cookies.

He’s great with the kids.

He’s flame proof, which meant, going down the chimney while the fire is still burning wouldn’t bother him.

He moves so fast, he could visit every home in the world in one night.

The way he looked at Batman after seeing the contingency boxes in use, reminded him of how his dad would look at Bruce when he was naughty.

That bright red suit and white cape - same red as Santa's suit. Same white as the trimmings.

The perpetual smile. 

The Captain’s favourite catchphrase — “Holy Moley” — “Ho Ho Ho.”

Of course.

He knew Captain Marvel’s real identity.

Captain Marvel is Santa Claus!

[newhologram]

.•°¤*𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉•.¸¸¤

[chanlix-honey]

Run It Again (Bang Chan)

Warning: Smut (+18), pet names, daddy kink, fingering, fear of thunder, and a panic attack occurrence. Please let me know if I missed anything! Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Thank you all for your patience! Without further ado, here's my first Bang Chan x Fem Reader fic. I'm thinking of making this a series, but I have too many ideas and not enough time to write. Let me know if you would like me to continue this, and make it a series with all the boys!

It’s Friday night, and you’ve just come home from a long day of doing voiceovers. With your throat a little sore, you decide to boil some water for a honey tea and change out of your work clothes. Once you’ve changed into your sleepwear, your phone rings. Your manager, Delilah, is calling you.

“Hey Y/N, are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh, no I don’t think so. Why, what’s up, Delilah?” You ask. You hear her sneeze, sounding distant from her phone. 

“-choo! I’m so sorry for calling so last minute, but the animation team just told me they finished the final scenes for the show,” she starts.

“Ah, ok.” Your kettle clicks off, signaling that your water is boiled. You return to the kitchen, grabbing a cup, spoon, and a honey jar. 

You shoulder your phone to multitask the call and your tea. “And you know what else is great? Cough cough—The director called just before I called you to say that the voices need to be done by Sunday morning so the team can review it.” 

You stop your movements, putting down the honey. 

“What?”

“Yeah…I know.” 

You both sigh on the call together. Delilah clears her throat.

“Could you come in tomorrow morning so we can make any necessary edits before the review?” Her coughs crunch on the other end of the line.

“Definitely, I’ll be there in the morning.” 

“Great! I’ll email you the script now so you can take a look at your lines beforehand. I’m so sorry for all of this, I’m—cough—sure this is inconvenient for you.”

“It’s okay, really! Like I said, I have no plans for tomorrow.” You reassure her. 

“Ok, thank you...I’ll see you tomorrow! I’ll send the script now. Good night, y/n!” 

“Got it. Good night Delilah.” You both hang up.

You stir the honey and hot water in thought. 

As much as you love voice acting, sometimes the job can be stressful. You’re grateful that this job lets you express yourself through characters and it pays your bills. And to be working with the company of your dreams—Stray Kids—is unreal. You remember watching Skzoo as a kid and the joy it brought you. And yet, you can’t help but think that there seems to be some lack of communication (and time management?) within some departments. Hyunjin–head of animation–often loses his head if Felix isn’t around to check in with him.

Finishing your tea, you put the cup in the sink. You head to the fridge to grab some leftovers and put them in the microwave to heat up. Once the food starts rotating, you hear your phone ding. Checking the notification, you read the email. It’s the script for tomorrow’s session.

The TV plays in the background, but you don’t really pay any mind to it until this moment. “Be sure to bring an umbrella if you’re planning to go out tomorrow, as there is a high chance of rain tomorrow…”

You skim through your lines until the microwave beeps. You take out your food and begin to read through the script carefully.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

—

You arrive in front of the production building. 

Dark clouds billow the skies, and the sound of thunder floods your ears. You scamper into the building quickly, umbrella in hand. When you enter the building the rain begins to pelt down on the ground. You jump, as lightning strikes outside. For a moment, you stop and breathe deep and shaky breaths. Once you’ve calmed down, you take the stairs to the second floor. All the recording booths are at this level, making it helpful for your trembling knees.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t last all day,” you mutter to yourself. 

You’ve always hated storms. They’ve terrified you ever since you were a kid. The strong winds always made you paranoid, thinking of the worst situations. When thunder breached your ears, you would always hide under a blanket to muffle the noise. Your parents used to let you hide in their closet to calm down, usually with a stuffed animal or blanket in hand. 

Even today, they stress you out. As if coming to work in the morning for a last-minute session wasn’t stressful enough.

Entering the recording room, you put your stuff down on the couch with a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for sound-proof rooms. Comfortable with the atmosphere, you head into the booth. You take some headphones sitting on a small table in the booth and put them on. Waiting for Delilah and the others to come in, you open your phone to review the script some more. After a few minutes, you get a text from her.

Hey Y/N, just wanted to let you know I can’t make it to the studio today. I woke up with a terrible cold. One of the other guys will come in to watch over your session.

Ah, ok. Thanks for letting me know! I’ll stop by to bring you some soup. Take it easy in the meantime!

One of the other guys? Who could it—

“—Y/N? Can you hear me?” A male voice takes you out of your thoughts. You widen your eyes as you’re familiar with that voice. Looking up, you see him.

“Oh good, you can. I’ll be filling in for Delilah, so just do your lines as if I wasn’t here.” He smiles.

The director is here? Why him, out of everyone? Your hands begin to clam up.

Changbin or Han is usually here to fill in if something happens. 

“Ahm, I got them working on other projects this morning, so their schedules are full.”

“Oh, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He nods, sheepishly. An embarrassing moment of silence passes and his voice fills my ears. 

“Right, go ahead and start from line 5, I’ll play the scene just two lines before yours, so be ready.” You nod in agreement.

The scene plays and you’re cued in to say your line. “Hello! I’m Joy, the host of this series, where the boys bake…”

You breeze through your lines and before you know it, you’re nearly done with this session. 

Until, this line. 

This is great! Mmm, this pastry is so good, mmm…

You tense up, forgetting that line felt a little lewd for your liking. You thought about it while reading through the script the first time. Realizing that Delilah would be there to listen in, the anxious thought went away quickly. 

But Delilah isn’t here. Chan is. The director of this whole project is here watching you voice your lines.

No way. No way I’m doing this line in front of the director. It feels weird…wrong even. I can’t do this! 

You’ve never really interacted with a guy in that way before. There is zero experience in that field. You never even touched porn or smut books to find out. You run away when guys flirt with you. The idea of interacting with someone to that extent terrifies you. Doing anything that even remotely puts yourself in a situation that could lead to uhm…doing more…sets you off. You’re worried you would mess up. Especially since you wouldn’t know what to do. You find that trying to function becomes quickly more difficult.

You curse to yourself at the cold that took over Delilah. 

The count-in starts, quickly realizing you're up. And the line is next. “This is g-great! Sorry, I stuttered.” He pauses the recording to talk to you.

“No worries, we can always cut it. Just try it again. I’ll give you the last line to prepare yourself.” He instructs, hearing the count-in tick in your ears.

“This is great! M–coughs” he pauses it again. “Is everything okay Y/N?”

“coughs, clearing throat y-eah, yeah. Sorry, I just had something caught in my throat *coughs* I-I’m fine.” You move away from the microphone to clear your throat some more. After a moment, you stretch and take deep breaths to calm down.

“I’m alright now, I can do it this time!” 

“Ok, let’s take it back to the last line.” You nod and hear the count-in once more.

The line plays and you’re ready. “This is grea-AH!” You jump back from the microphone and take your headphones off. Chan bursts into the booth concerned.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“A spider..” you pant. “I saw a spider on the mic…” He looks around the mic and the ground to find it. 

“Spider? I don’t see it anywhere.” He keeps looking around but to no avail. You could’ve sworn you saw it! Didn’t you? Or maybe was it just your hair in your face? 

He sighs and rubs his eyes. 

“I know we’re almost done, but let’s take a break. It’s still early, and we’re both clearly tired. We’ve been going at this for a few hours already.” His head tilts towards the door leading back to the recording space. You follow him begrudgingly.  

He must be so annoyed with me. Maybe he’ll fire me for this… You think to yourself.

Once exiting the booth, you see him back in the chair staring ahead, lost in thought.

After a few moments, he speaks again. 

“I’ve noticed you’re having trouble finishing the line.” He looks at you. Chan gets up from the chair and saunters over to you. 

“I-I just got it yesterday...I’m just flubbing over this one.” You reassure, avoiding eye contact. Keeping a distance, you walk backward as he continues coming towards you. 

“Honest. You just said yourself, it’s early. W-we’re tired. I-I’m tired.” You stammer. Unable to walk any further, your back presses against the wall. Chan places his hand on the wall, near your face, and leans in closer and closer, just until there’s a few inches of space between your noses.

“I don’t believe you. I think you’re nervous.” he sneers, picking up on your nerves.

“Is it…because of me?” He questions.

“That’s..I–” he gently grabs your chin and tilts it up, bringing your vision back to him.

“Delilah tells me you’re great at what you do. Am I wrong?” You feel your face getting hot.

“N-no, you’re not..” you mutter.

You hear your heartbeat travel from your chest to your ears. Blood continues to rush to your face. You start to feel your pussy thrum at the situation.

“Hm. Thought so.” The hand on your chin travels to your lips. His thumb brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.

So soft…I could kiss her right now. He thinks.

“Have you…have you been with someone before?” He looks down at your lips, licking his. Your eyes widen at the question.

“I-!” You close your mouth, trying to collect your thoughts. He looks back up to you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t think that question has anything to do with my work—”

“—Oh but it does. Have you ever felt a man’s touch before, Y/n?” Your brain short circuits. You struggle to find words.

“Have they…” his hand slinks down to your hip, his other hand still perched on the wall.

“Taken care of your needs?”

“Uh…” you begin to feel a wetness growing in your panties.

“Maybe…pleasured you before?” His hand shifts some more, resting on your thigh. His thumb rubs towards your inner thigh, fingers reaching close to your womanhood. You feel yourself vibrate under his touch.

“I…” his hand stops moving on your thigh, waiting for your response. 

“N-no..” you whisper. “You’re the first.” He hums in response, as his eyes darken.

“Then can I–no. May I, take care of you?”

All the lights were cut off, and all the electronics whirring in the room were powered down. Chan looked around in the dark room, realizing what had just happened.

“Eep!” You quickly grab onto Chan’s shirt and hide in his chest. 

“The storm must have knocked out the electricity. It’s alr–”

“–Please.” His attention is brought back to you. 

“Please, uhm…” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, combing your fingers into his hair. He smiles.

“At your service.” He leans in to kiss you, closing the gap. 

For the first time in your life, you feel so...aware of your body. Blood pumps to your fingers. Goosebumps lay atop your skin. You feel your hair standing up. You feel the fuzz on your soft sweater. The chill rushing up your back. The throbbing in your jeans. The warmth of his touch. His hands ride up under your sweater, just enough where he can feel the skin above your jeans. 

The smell of Chan’s cologne wraps around you, and it's so rich. It’s a light vanilla smell with a bite of cedar and a dash of cinnamon–it’s all you want to smell. And his hair is so plush. It’s like feeling a pillow. You want him, and yet you can’t do anything. You don’t know how.

Your lips move with tenacity, with caution. Anxiety prisons your well-being and you freeze, unsure of what to do next. Chan notices this and pulls back. He rubs his thumbs on your hips to help you calm down.

“Is this ok? Do you want to stop?” He asks.

“I-No. I’m sorry, this is ok…I just don’t know what to do.” Your mind is going a million miles per hour. You struggle to grasp where your head is. All the possibilities of what-ifs, hows, and should-I thoughts whir into the blender that is your mind. You’re slipping into the rabbit hole. A dark pit of void that is filled with racing thoughts. The void strangles you, seeping into your lungs. They continue to fill, ready to burst–

“—Y/N?” A pin drops. You hear your name breathe past his lips. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright. We can stop if you’re not feeling ok.”

“No, sorry I–I just need a second.” You shakily sigh. “Can I–is it ok if I hug you? Sorry, I–”

He pulls you into his chest, and a small poomf sound is heard, as he wraps his arms around you. Your body vibrates for a moment. Your anxiousness has nowhere to go, so it encapsulates your body. You take deep breaths to really try and calm down. Chan rubs the small of your back–ever so softly–you hum in response.

“Don’t apologize to me ever again. And you don’t have to ask if you need something from me. Just tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Sor–I’ll-I’ll try.” You sink further into his chest as you feel your heart beating to a normal level. Your shoulders slump and you wrap your arms around him.

You start to hear his heart beating in his chest. It’s nearly all you can hear.

After a few minutes, you let go of him and he gently pulls away.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers.

“Better.” You sigh in contentment.

“..And about…?” He leads. You feel your face get hot again.

“Oh! Uh, y-es. I’m still–yes.” You nod. “Tell me at any point if you want to stop, ok?”

“Alright,” you respond. He leans down to your ear and whispers.

“Good girl. Listen to your body and let it talk for you. I’ll do the rest.” He brings his hands to your hips once more. He tilts down, his face breathing down your neck. Softly, he presses his lips to it. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

He keeps at this to trail down your neck and a bit past your collarbone. He stops just above your sweater, where it lays. 

“I’m going to take this off of you, ok? Raise your arms for me, baby girl.” You do just as you’re told, and he pulls your sweater off of you, revealing your chest and baby pink bra. You’re itching to hide your chest as a habit but you’re more curious to see what else he does next. So you tame the itch. 

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Chan takes you into his arms and kisses in between your breasts. He sucks and licks all around your exposed flesh, leaving marks. In the midst of this, he slips one of his hands onto your bra’s clasp and undoes the latch. Coming up to your shoulders, he slides the bands of your bra off them.

“Do you know how gorgeous you are?” You look away, blushing some more. You feel your lower region pulse. A soaking feeling sits in your panties once more and you moan quietly. Though not quiet enough. 

“Fuck baby girl,” Bangchan grabs your thighs and lifts you. “Daddy wants to hear that again.” You wrap your legs around his hips. Chan kisses you again, his tongue threatening to take dominance. He licks your bottom lips for entrance and you comply, letting him explore your tongue. 

He leans you on the wall to take a hand to one of your breasts. With his right hand free, he teases your nipples, pinching and pulling at his own discretion. You moan and whimper in his mouth and Chan can’t help but praise you. He pulls away from the intense kiss while continuing to play with your breasts.

“That’s it pretty girl, you’re so good for me.” Chan nuzzles himself into the other side of your neck, leaving kisses all over it. 

“Everyone should know you’re mine,” he growls. He sucks and bites your neck, intentionally bruising it. 

“O-oh Chan…” you whimper. Still on his hips, you feel his stiffness. You need more of him, this isn’t enough.

“Mmh..” you grind on him once and your pussy twitches. Both of you are still clothed. There’s so many layers between you two. But you can’t help it. You want him. You need him. 

Before you realize, you hear Chan groaning in your ear.

You grind on him again. And again. And again.

“Fuck baby, you’re so eager. You want my dick, huh? You want daddy’s dick in you, princess?” He growls.

You stop for a moment, feeling your body flutter in response to Bangchan calling himself “Daddy”. Rolling off his tongue so pleasantly, so confidently. You plead to yourself mentally, wishing he would say it again. You whine, melting into his body.

“Yes! P-please. I n-need it..daddy.” He coos.

“Aw, you're so cute. You like it when I call myself daddy, don't you princess?” Your face feels hot.

“Y-yes..I really like it..” you mutter, hiding your face in his neck.

“Such a sweet girl. I can’t deny you begging so nicely for me. Daddy will give you what you want…but first, I’m going to take your pants off ok?” He speaks softly.

“Ok.” You nod.

He puts you down to unzip your pants. Pulling them down enough to see your matching pink panties. Your damp spot is revealed and he hums at the sight.

“My, my, baby girl. All soaked, just for me.” He gets down on his knees.

Chan kisses your pussy between the panties and pulls them down, along with your pants. You step out of them, now completely naked. He looks up to you.

“Let me hear you more princess, ok?” Chan plants his face into your region and you squeal in surprise. It’s a new feeling. An odd feeling. A good feeling. Really good. He licks your clit slowly and you whine.

“Ah..d-daddy. That feels good,” you sigh. Chan licks a long stripe, close to your cunt. You feel the pit of your belly sink. At the same time, it feels like something’s unraveling, like a blooming flower. One by one petals peel away from its center. Your cunt pulsates, aching for more.

Chan speeds up, his tongue flattening and stretching between your folds. He alternates his pace, all in attempts to rile you up. This works, as you feel..something grow.

This bubbling feeling…feels like it’s going to burst…

“I’m–I’m–” 

Before you can form your sentence, your body shakes, erupting a wave of shock and pleasure throughout your body. He stops his actions to give you a moment.

“Good girl, let it all out for Daddy,” He brings a hand to your head, petting your hair gently.

Once your body relaxes, you feel something warm and wet come out of you. 

“Ah, you’re so pretty when you cum babygirl.” He kisses your temples gingerly. 

You could barely feel his kisses as your body felt like it was floating. You feel hazy, but good. All you’re thinking about is Chan and you feel butterflies in your belly. Your thoughts move slowly. Drifting around like clouds. Eventually, come back to yourself.

“Doing ok cutie?” He asks.

All you could muster up to say was “Mhm”. You smile up at him, laying a hand on his cheek. 

“We didn’t get to, um–” He interrupts.

“It’s ok, I came when you did. We can work up to it next time.” He grabs the hand on his cheek and kisses it.

“N-Next time?!” You blush.

“Of course…and we have some things to talk about before we get there. Would you like to get lunch together?”

Thunder dispels the sweet moment you both shared. “Can we order in?”

“Of course. We’re gonna be stuck inside for a bit.” He giggles.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, yeah?”

[puckpocketed]

Preds propaganda time!!!!!

It's so much fun being a fan of a shit team since it's always a treat if they win and it's never too hard when they lose

It is also investment for the future when we figure out what is wrong with us and then fix it and become Super Mega Good (I am coping)

Our notable achievement of the year is that to date, we are the only team to have beaten the Jets twice!!!! We killed a 5 on 3 penalty when they have the best pp in the league in the second win!!!!!!! I will never get over this!!!!!!!!

We are brightass yellow and I have convinced myself this is a perk

I mean our vibes aren't like on par with the Sharks' level or anything but it's Smashville man it's hard to have a truly shit time there's always fun to be had

Ok time for OUR GUYS!!!!

Our goalie tandem may not have top 3 stats but they are certainly top 3 in vibes!!!!! They are both Juice!!!! There is a big juice (Justus Annunen, who we got in November from the Avs) and a little juice (Juuse Saros who is my precious beautiful talented boy. I could go on about him for ages. He is (I'm pretty sure) the smallest goalie in the nhl, he is one of the most played goalies in the nhl, his team lets him get killed every night, I love him)

Our captain is the most beautiful captain in the nhl!!! Roman Josi when will you return from IR I MISS YOU

We have Filip Forsberg, known talented goalscorer and mustache haver!!

We have Preds Edition!Steven Stamkos, which is not the same as Regular Lightning Steven Stamkos!! The former is like the playable character version of the latter's video game boss. On one hand he had a hot week recently and is a goal away from sole possession of 22nd most goals scored in the nhl all time and on the other he scored an own goal that was credited to the Islanders' Sorokin for his first goalie goal the other week.

We have Ryan O'Reilly, who everybody wants BUT NOBODY WILL TAKE HE IS OURS AND WE HAVE HIM (He was a hot topic at the trade deadline because he's so good at hockey)

Currently our top dpair is noted silver fox Brady Skjei and noted cutie patootie Nick Blankenberg (he is literally my comfort Blanky)

We have so many full time children (23 or younger) and part time children (regular callups) right now I can't go into too much detail but trust me they're all swell

That is all I have for now thank you for your consideration as always I am preds ambassador come visit me any time at my embassy (my blog) <3

~@ittybittyjuice

HELLO!! I have been saving this one I’m sorry it took so long!! Lots of things on the back burner and life is ticking on <33 Thank you so much for taking the time to write this up and send it to me I will peep at the Preds tag soon I am so excited to get to know your little guys. Some thoughts about them:

Their tragicomedy calls out to me like the scent of a home cooked meal I love when things are so sad they’re a little bit funny. wdym your gm went all-in during offseason on big fish free agents and the team exploded anyways I’d call that hammy if it happened in a TV show <- JUST REALLY FUNNY AND INTERESTING TO ME

Roman Josi.

Comfort Blanky <- ur so good at this wwhy isnt preds lb yuge

I really need to know about little Fyodor Svechkov if you have anything on him. I’ve seen two (2) silly clips of him in media and he’s my point of reference for the Preds he’s the face of the franchise to me

You’re cool as hell for reaching out to other teams on here and trying to grow your community!! (I’m a supporter of everyone’s right to be a hater of course. Personallyyyyy I think the hockey communities on tumblr become smaller, meaner, less fun spaces when we isolate ourselves. Cross-pollination is KEY!!!!)

Thanks for coming to hang out <33 you make hockeyblr a warmer and brighter place for everyone !!!

Roman Josi

[theskywithin]

✴︎✴︎ Take Your Power Back ✴︎✴︎

Pluto in the Houses as the Long Return to Self

Real power is presence. It’s the ability to stay with yourself even when it hurts. Even when you’ve been taught that your needs are too much, your truth is too dangerous, or your instincts are untrustworthy. Pluto does not only give power, it also reveals where it was stolen, suppressed, buried alive. And through the burn, the excavation, the obsession, the rupture, Pluto teaches you how to take it back. Not all at once, but slowly, through every instinct that once felt forbidden. Here’s how Pluto teaches you to reclaim your power, depending on where it lives in your birth chart.

just a little note: My book is on sale across all digital platforms (except Kindle) until June 15 ✧ The paperback is still available on Amazon. For the summer sale link, scroll to the bottom of the page 🕊

✴︎ Pluto in the 1st House

Take your power back like smoke that refuses to disappear. Like a flame that doesn’t flinch when watched. You are the pressure before lightning, the stillness that makes people sit up straighter. Take it back by walking in like you were never gone. By letting your silence say more than your explanation ever could. By knowing that intensity isn’t something to manage, it’s your nature, and it’s not up for negotiation. You are not a mirror, you are the original. Let your spine carry your name like a banner. Let your eyes speak in full sentences. Let yourself be seen without shrinking to fit the frame. Your power is in the way you don’t leave when the gaze gets heavy, it’s in the way you stay.

✴︎ Pluto in the 2nd House

Take your power back like gold remembers its weight. Like roots split the stone without asking. You were never meant to beg for what’s already yours. You are the vault, the soil, the inheritance no one can touch. Stop measuring your worth in echoes, stop offering proof of your right to exist. You are not the fruit, you are the tree that does not kneel to be picked. Let your voice sound like a locked door clicking open. Let your “no” feel like metal, cool, final, unquestionable. You don’t owe your light to those who close their eyes when it shines. Take your power back by keeping what feeds you, by standing still and letting the world rise to your value.

✴︎ Pluto in the 3rd House

Take your power back like a secret that stops whispering. Like a spell that chooses to speak itself aloud. Your mind is a blade, it cuts through illusion without drawing blood. You are not here to repeat the script, you are here to rewrite it. Let your voice land like truth in a room full of noise. Let your silence feel deliberate, not timid. Take your power back by trusting your perception, by saying what others tuck beneath their tongue. By letting your words shake the structure, not cushion it. You are not an echo, you are the original frequency.

✴︎ Pluto in the 4th House

Take your power back like a house locks its doors and breathes. Like land that remembers who walked it first. You are not built from silence, you are built from stone and storm and memory that never asked for permission. Let the walls shake, let the old names fall from your mouth like dust, let the roots rewire themselves around your voice. Take your power back by choosing which bloodline ends with you, by blessing the past without obeying it. You are not haunted, you are home.

✴︎ Pluto in the 5th House

Take your power back like a heartbeat remembering it’s allowed to be loud. Like sunlight that no longer dims to make others comfortable.You are here to feel everything and survive it. The moment belongs to you, the beauty, the ache, the riot of being fully in your body. You don’t need permission to enjoy your life. You don’t need a witness to make your joy real. Take your power back by letting yourself exist without editing. By being wild and unguarded in your pleasure, by letting delight become devotion. You are presence in its purest form and that is enough.

✴︎ Pluto in the 6th House

Take your power back like a clock that resets itself. Like a spine that straightens after centuries of bending. You are not here to be useful. Your time is not a currency, your energy is not a favor, your care is not a contract. Let your rituals serve you before they serve anyone else. Let your “yes” feel clean and your “no” feel holy. Take your power back by tending to yourself like the altar you forgot you were. By building a life that fits your rhythm, not the roles you were handed. Your rest is revolution.

✴︎ Pluto in the 7th House

Take your power back like a mirror that stops distorting the image. Like a vow made silently to yourself in the middle of someone else’s sentence. Let your reflection belong to you again. Let your yes be yours, not a strategy. Let your love feel like choice, not survival. Take it back by no longer asking to be chosen. By knowing you are not someone’s peace prize or project. By understanding that connection doesn’t require self-erasure to last. You are the presence that turns longing into recognition, stand beside, not beneath. Love without folding.

✴︎ Pluto in the 8th House

Take your power back like a secret that no longer shakes. Like a hand that opens without trembling. Let your boundaries be velvet and steel. Let your desires speak in their own language, unfiltered, unashamed. Take it back by no longer performing vulnerability to earn intimacy. By knowing the difference between merging and losing yourself. You are the current that runs deeper than permission. You are the threshold and the lock and the key. Let trust be sacred but let power stay yours.

✴︎ Pluto in the 9th House

Take your power back like a wild animal that remembers the door was never locked. Like a name that echoes louder the farther it gets from where it started. Take it back by leaving, by outgrowing, by rising so far past the old story, even your shadow feels lighter. You don’t need a reason, you don’t need a plan, you just need to follow what won’t leave you alone. Your freedom is not a phase, it’s the fire you came here to carry. Go farther. Get louder. Make the world rearrange itself around your next becoming.

✴︎ Pluto in the 10th House

Take your power back like a crown that fits now. Like a name spoken so clearly, the sky straightens. Let the old roles fall away, let the title dissolve if it kept you small let your authority rise from the inside, where no one gave it to you, and no one can take it. Take it back by walking like you belong wherever you decide to go. By letting your presence speak before you do. By building a life that does not require applause to be real. You are here to be known by yourself first. Own your pace. Own your direction. Own the impact you came here to leave behind.

✴︎ Pluto in the 11th House

Take your power back like a constellation that refuses to dim for the others. Like a voice that doesn’t lower itself just to stay invited. You are here to bend the future with your presence. Let the crowd adjust, let the circle shift, let the rooms that once swallowed you grow silent in your clarity. Take it back by claiming your vision out loud, by trusting the dream that no one else could carry because it was always meant for you. You are not the echo of what’s trending, you are the signal that turns the tide. You belong in every space your truth can breathe in. And the rest? Let it burn.

✴︎ Pluto in the 12th House

Take your power back like a shadow that stands taller than the flame. Like a truth too deep for language but too loud to ignore. You are not alone. You are unreachable in the best way. Let the world misread your stillness. Let them call it quiet, only you know it’s the pulse of something limitless. Take it back by listening to what only you can hear. By trusting the knowing that arrives without proof. By remembering that invisibility is not absence, it’s armor. You do not owe your inner world to anyone’s understanding. Your power is not seen, it is felt, like fate. It is the force that shifts everything, silently. You are the keeper of the unspoken and you remember everything.

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