#linked magic dots

[52gifweeks]

This week I kept exploring with the magic dot and pushed it a little further by linking them with lines. Another fun experiment with motion courtesy of Alex Grigg :)

[summertimemusician]

Linktober 2024, Day 1, Mirror (Self)

Alright here we go again.

Technically a sneak peak of a bigger thing to come in the future that I'm repurposing, and the result of my final playthrough and readthrough before EoW dropped being Four Swords Adventures and that made me sad about Shadow Link again.

Note that this is for the Four Swords Adventures iteration of Shadow Link that might evolve into an LU Shadow, not Dark Link in either LOZ or LU, I have other plans for him.

This one shot was brought to you by Scars by The Crane Wives, Ribs by The Crane Wives, Ruin by The Amazing Devil and Two Minutes by The Amazing Devil because the author's playlist decided to be incredibly cheeky when they blacked out to write this like an ancient seers being cursed with visions and then called mad and hearing they've been put up for execution.

As always the nature of the relationship can be romantic or platonic, mostly due to the author's time constraints and further plans.

Anyway enjoy the reading!

It was cold.

The sort of cold after a wildfire, when everything's turned back to ash, the sort that left burned your vision white after the flames licked through your veins and left an ache in your bones. He shuddered, coughed black onto the stone floor, shaking with a muffled whimper.

It never got any easier, being dragged from the Dark World and into the Realm of Light, the goddesses' world itself revolting against an intruder, wanting the wound torn asunder into their oh so precious realm cauterized. To purge the intrusion and smite it where it stands.

Too bad for them (and for him), his master didn't particularly care about what the world wanted. Didn't particularly care that he hadn't grow accustomed to the pain or the cold, he had to stand up. There was work to be done.

(Shadow gritted his teeth, willed himself not to think about the prophecy of a golden haired princess- because whether he liked it or not, it was prophecy. As those with divinity running through their veins are wont to spill from their throats so carelessly- of violet eyes and a smile a third moonlight and hands holding a hammer.

It always hurt more, after one of the heroes liberated one of the maidens, or the jewels, the pain lingering for days afterwards and carving a home in his metaphorical bones. But just this once he'd take the cold bite of the Four Swords over the pain in the hole in his chest that Vio's betrayal had left, something that felt so much worse than every other time before.

Just this once he wished that maybe, just maybe, the hurt would be too much to bear, that he wouldn't wake up again-

Why? Why does it hurt so much but he's still here? He already knew the Light was uncompromising and unforgiving, but he thought them at least above curses.)

His ears twitched as soft, almost silent footsteps came up to his side. Someone crouching by his fallen form, setting a cautious hand over his own that Shadow couldn't help but draw away from with a hiss, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the world again, to your face, carefully blank as you guided him to lean against your side, a silver choker with a crimson gem winked mockingly at him, the shade closing his eyes and going boneless against your side.

Shadow was so, so tired.

He heard you quietly sigh, plucking his cap from his head and running your fingers through dark amethyst, smoke and mist made hair. "I told you so."

"Shut up." He grumbled, nuzzling further into the crook of your neck. One clawed hand curling against your free wrist, digging into the skin. Absentmindedly noting there were new scratches just above the metal.

It was routine by now, the warmth of your existence against his own a welcome balm, not quite of the Realm of Light where it's unpleasant, not too close to the Dark World where he felt like melting back into the embrace of the darkness, only to howl in agony at being dragged out.

Memories not quite his own bled into his mind all the time. How you'd shape ice into flowers for the princess in winter with nary a though, of blinking and from one second to the next you'd have whatever sword he had hostage if you though it was time for a break with a smile brighter than the sun.

His master had changed that though. It took months for you to stop trying to claw the collar out and to stop trying to fight Vaati.

(Funny how holding a mage's dragon as a bargaining chip is just as effective as kidnapping a ruler.)

Your gaze flicked to the polished obsidian of the Dark Mirror, to the gold, ornate frame. "The offer is still open, you know. Let me take the suffering from you."

"No." He scowled, leaning back to glare into your eyes, a hint of fangs poking out from a maw struggling to keep the shape of a human jaw, "You helped him. Helped them." Shadow spat, there is that hurt again.

You shrugged, a movement that's just slightly awkward as you flinch, "That I did." You confirmed simply, it almost made Shadow see red as he leaned away, knocking your hand from his head in the process, but if there's anything him and the heroes shared, was a lack of a desire to hurt you. It was a little grating to be honest, "Vio even offered to take me with him, to be honest."

"Then why didn't you leave?" He demanded.

Why did you stick around?

Your eyes shuttered, a hint of conflict in your pursed lips. Before you found your words, they come out softly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you why. You'll just have to find out yourself."

You tug your wrist from his grasp, and Shadow lets you go.

(Stubbornly pushing down on memories and emotions that arearen'tarenotanymore quite his.)

You stand and turn away, pushing the curtains away from your sight, you turn your tired eyes to Shadow with an emotion he can't put a name to. "Just keep it in mind that there's more than one way to end this. Nothing is truly inevitable."

Shadow watches you go. 'There's nothing that can be done. He tells himself, hand hesitating above the Dark Mirror, briefly, it curls into a fist. The hero's original self stares back at him.

'… Does he really believe that?'

He shakes his head, and focuses on willing the Dark Mirror to show him his counterpart.

His chest still hurts.

[thelastgaywarden]

The Veilguard will morph into a (good) archdemon megazord/voltron style and the final fight against the evanuris will be dragon v dragon

[lascvitae]

ON MY MIND ✵ NISHIMURA RIKI.

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ alt. YOU MAY BE ON MY MIND

EVERYDAY BABY, SAY YOU’RE MINE .ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ you ask your boyfriend to narrate your makeup video and he says yes, but you don’t expect what he leaves in.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. gamer bf!niki x fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. fluff ᝰ.ᐟ warnings/tags. teasing, you do vlogs/make videos, established relationship, domestic fluff, niki lowkey bullies you

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 1k

(🎧) now playing — cool with you by njz.

masterlist.

NIKI SLIDES ONTO YOUR DESK chair like he lives there. (he kind of does at this point.)

you left hours ago, sending him a link to the footage and a simple message:

“do my voiceover plz haha”

he sent back a thumbs up emoji and a picture of him playing valorant at your setup with a bowl of dry cereal.

but — finally — the video’s up on your editing laptop. you’re centered in the frame, lips already glossy, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder like you didn’t plan that. he rolls his eyes and hits record.

“alright. this is my girlfriend. she’s about to spend thirty minutes proving she doesn’t need makeup by putting on a full face of makeup.” he says, voice flat.

you hold up your primer and flash a peace sign at the camera.

“step one: mystery goop. i think it makes your face sticky. which is apparently good. don’t ask me why.”

you start patting it in with your fingers, totally focused.

“she’s acting like she’s doing heart surgery right now. it’s not that deep, bro.”

a moment.

“okay, maybe it is. her skin looks good. whatever.”

next up is foundation. you dot it on with practiced precision.

“here comes the skin colored lotion. as if her face isn’t already smooth.”

you blend quickly with your sponge, mouth moving like you’re talking to yourself off camera.

“she’s definitely complaining about something right now. probably the sponge. or the time. she’s never on time.”

concealer comes next. you do a triangle under the eyes, and a to the chin.

“she does this everytime like she doesn’t sleep whenever she can. like it doesn’t make sense.”

you lift a brow at the mirror. he mirrors the look automatically, smirking.

“she makes that face every time. like she’s surprised it’s turning out cute. babe. it always turns out cute.”

you do your brows now. you go in with small, controlled strokes and niki hums under his breath.

“this part? she zones out completely. i could be talking to her and tell her i crashed the car and she’ll make faces then respond ten seconds later.”

then eyeshadow. you hesitate. consider. then go for the neutral and pink shades.

he nods like he predicted it.

“she does this every time. pretends she’s gonna experiment with brighterer colors and then picks the same color she always uses. at this point it’s muscle memory.”

eyeliner next. you draw a clean wing with one hand, barely blinking.

“i can’t look. i always think she’ll poke her eye.”

you pick up your lash curler and glance at the camera like you already know he’s going to say something.

“yep. the torture device.”

you clamp it, curling your eyelashes upward.

“why are you not even scared? like you’re not squeezing metal near your eyeball right now. couldn’t be me. actually, literally wouldn’t be me.”

you curl the other side with the same calmness.

“she does this in the car sometimes. i don’t know how she does it while moving. and i just have to sit there and pretend i’m not witnessing some shit out of final destination.”

you reach for your mascara next, open it and apply it to your lashes.

“this is the lash grower. like it’s literally magic.”

you pause mid swipe, mouth open, brows slightly raised like you’re trying not to mess up.

“this is the mascara face. you know the one. mouth open, eyes wide, like a fish.”

you finish one eye, then the other, blinking carefully toward the ceiling.

“honestly? she ate that. i’ve never seen someone do this without stabbing their own eye. i flinch just watching it.”

then blush. you apply it to your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

“she’s obsessed with this part. but i like watching it. it makes her look pretty and soft. and the way she uses like, nothing, and it still spreads out—“ he catches himself, laughing under his breath.

“yeah. i like this part.”

you smile at something off camera now. probably at yourself. or maybe at the joke you were thinking of when you were filming. whatever it was, it makes his heart squeeze.

“she smiles like that and i forget what i was talking about.” he says quietly.

highlighter next. it’s just enough to catch the light and you tilt your face toward the window.

“there it is. that little head tilt. she does that every time too. look at her trying not to smile. she knows she looks good. i hope she trips on her way out. just kidding. i’ll catch her.”

you’re reaching for your lip liner now, dragging it gently along the edge of your lips with precision.

niki squints.

“okay, now we’re doing… outlining. this part’s lowkey a scam. she lines her lips just to fill them in again. but i’m not allowed to question it.”

you lean in a little, still focused, overlining the top lip slightly.

“look at her. just casually redrawing her face like it’s a coloring book. i said something about it once and she was like ‘it’s called enhancing.’ okay then. my bad bae.”

you cap the liner and grab your lipstick next, a nudey pink, your go to. you tap it on lightly, almost like a stain.

“this one’s always in her purse. i don’t even know what shade it is but i like it.”

finally: lip gloss. his real enemy. you swipe it on, press your lips together, and pout a little.

niki sighs dramatically. “this part ruins my life. i go in for a kiss and she’s like, ‘nooo you’ll mess it up.’ like girl. you just spent thirty minutes turning into the human version of an angel and i don’t even get one kiss?”

you pose and he continues to talk.

“then when i finally get to kiss her i become one of those sticky mouse traps. but it’s okay. i secretly like it.” he admits.

you laugh at yourself then reach to cover the camera and the screen cuts.

he leans back in your chair, hoodie sleeves half pushed up, hand hovering over the stop button.

the room’s quiet again. the file’s done. he could stop recording.

but he doesn’t.

not right away.

he exhales, taps the desk once with his knuckle, then mutters under his breath, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s still talking into the mic.

“she’s so pretty it actually pisses me off.”

he pauses.

then speaks softer. more to himself than anything.

“…i’m so down bad for her it’s insane.”

click.

taglist — @saysirhc @blissfulflw @yuyuy90

[thatonegreenleaf]

here is a resource list of *most* of the cc/mods I use to make my sims/ the amazingly talented creators that create them!

⤞ g e n e t i c s ⤝

🍃 - @northernsiberiawinds (face/body overlays, presets, skin details. maxis match/maxis mix/alpha.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @obscurus-sims (face/body overlays, presets, sliders. maxis mix/alpha.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @sims3melancholic (face/body overlays, skin details, eyebrows, contacts. maxis mix/alpha.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @nesurii (face/body overlays, skin details. maxis match/maxis mix.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @luumia (sliders, body hair. maxis match.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @golyhawhaw (masculine face/body overlays, facial hair, skin details. maxis mix/alpha.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - misc: teeth by @magic-bot, face details by @okruee, eyelashes by @mmsims, wrinkles by @miikocc, belly overlays by @sammi-xox, non-default eyes by me.

⤞ m a k e u p / p i e r c i n g s / t a t t o o s ⤝

🍃 - me (eyeshadows, and some eyeliners and lipsticks) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @pralinesims (extensive collection of earrings, facial piercings, and makeup.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @reevaly (large collection of tattoos that range from everyday to grunge to fantasy.) some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡ <- tsr

🍃 - flowers and dots tattoos by @starrysimsie, dragon and snake tattoos by @ms-marysims, body blush by @plumbheadsims, face blush by @/virtygo.

⤞ h a i r s ⤝

🍃 - @simandy (wide variety of everyday/fantasy/alternative hairs. m/f body frames. maxis mix.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @wistfulpoltergeist (masculine hairs of varying lengths. mostly m body frame. maxis match.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @simstrouble (everyday/formal hairs. most feature a fun accessory! m/f body frames. maxis match.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @johnnysimmer (shorter & masculine hairs. m/f body frames. maxis mix.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @sheabuttyr (wide variety of natural and protective hairstyles for textured hair. m/f body frames. maxis match.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @thekunstwollen (everyday/formal styles. straight, curly and textured. m/f body frames. maxis mix.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

⤞ c l o t h e s & a c c e s s o r i e s ⤝

🍃 - @nucrests (casual clothes and accessories with many options for variations. m/f body frames. maxis match.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @sforzcc (themed sets of casualwear with a large amount of variations. m/f body frames. maxis match.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @ooobsooo [KK's sims] (casual to formal masculine clothes, lots of layers and patterns. mostly m body frame. alpha.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @gorillax3-cc (wide variety of casual/formal/alternative clothes and accessories. m/f body frames. alpha.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @serenity-cc (many styles of everyday clothes and accessories in themed sets. m/f body frames. maxis match.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - @sentate (variety of clothes and accessories ranging from casual to high couture & avant garde. f/m body frames. maxis match.) - some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

⤞ m i s c e l l a n e o u s ⤝

🍃 - more columns mod by @/weerbesu

🍃 - hide CAS UI toggle files by @vyxated

🍃 - most poses I use are by @helgatisha. some faves: ♡ | ♡ | ♡

🍃 - reshade preset by me.

🍃 - tidy CAS organizer icons by @yoruqueenofnightsims

there is so much CC I use that it would be impossible to include it all here, but this covers the majority! If you're looking for something specific, check my wcif tag, and if it's not there, feel free to send an ask, and I’ll try to get to it when I am able! also, if anything above leads to the wrong place, please let me know! there's a lot of links 😅

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part one

wc: 12.5k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART TWO HERE

summary: rebuilding your life, chasing cans, and hitchin’ a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

to my pedrostories secret santa recipient @katiexpunk: this was a challenge for ya gurl to be srs (and it’s not a tentacle gangbang, i lied in ur asks babe i’m srry) i hope i hit the mark on a handful of the prompts though, i had high hopes that i could really challenge myself and deliver some breeding kink cowboy but i fear it’s more of a creampie kink—i hope that still hits, i have horse knowledge, but only rodeo adjacent experience so if any rodeo queens find glaring mistakes pls forgive me — but happy holidays bb, i really hope you enjoy-- EDIT: I MADE IT TOO GIRTHY (or something?? sorry!!) and had to split it into two parts, the second part will be up and linked as asap as possible, and i'll add the full text to ao3 so it'll be in one spot

tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, guilty yearnful joel, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin’ that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta–mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am 

thanks: to @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, ideas, etc.

The sun beats down on the gravel driveway as you pull your truck toward the old house. It looks almost the same as it did the summers you spent here as a kid when it was your grandparents–the peeling white paint on the porch railing, and the barn standing sturdy, but weathered further down the driveway. The fields stretched on as you rolled down the driveway, dotted with occasional wildflowers and critters dashing into the denser brush.��

The air blows warm through the window, same as you remember, but the weight of the memories feels different now. The summers used to feel endless here, the fields seemed endless, as did the sky. It all used to feel so liberating. It’s not an endless summer now. Everything looks smaller and more weathered. 

Except for the shiny white PVC fences on the other side of the driveway and the modern-looking house and barn built on the same soil you used to spend hours patrolling with your pony, Clover. She’d search for the best bits of grass as you laid across her back coming up with stories—some days you were an old-timey cowgirl traveling west or Clover was a wild horse you were training or you were on a quest to a magical kingdom together. 

But now it’s a new home for whoever bought up the parceled land your dad sold to cover the updates on the house when he inherited it. Someone with enough money for a fancy barn and shiny truck. You pull to a stop and hop out of the cab, still scanning the neighbor's property, making your first impression. 

Your dad emerges from the barn, wiping his hands on a faded rag. He gives you a smile and a nod. “About time you showed up,” he calls, his voice warm and teasing. “Thought maybe you had changed your mind.” 

You shake your head softly, rolling your eyes. “Nope. Nothing worth staying in that city for.” 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you round the bed to grab one of your boxes. All your belongings fit into a few boxes. At least, everything that mattered to you, everything that was still you. “Where do you want this?” You wonder how you’re going to manage living in the same house with your dad now that you’re an adult. 

“Just set it inside,” he said, gesturing to the house. “We’ll get you sorted after we have something to eat.” 

As you followed him toward the house, the outline of the neighbor's property loomed large. The barn caught your eye. It was close. A pair of horses stood in the near pasture, swishing their tails in the afternoon heat. The contrast was stark. Where your dad’s place still carried the scrapes and scuffs of decades–theirs looked new and polished. Smug even. Can a house be smug? 

“The neighbors are closer than I thought.” You cross the porch, the nostalgic screen door squeaking as your dad ushers you inside. 

“Don’t mind it. We look out for each other.” He points to the room you stayed in as a kid. “He damn near built the place by himself, and helped me with the new roof on this place.” 

You shoot him a sharp look. “You said you were gonna hire roofers instead of climbing around up there at your age.” He shrugs you off. Always stubborn. Convinced he can do it better and cheaper. Despite the toll on his body. 

“Paid him to help,” he argues, “wasn’t up there by myself. You don’t gotta worry about me like that.” 

You set your box down at the end of the twin-size bed, the room falling quiet for a moment. Your dad stays planted in the doorway, but his brows pinch and lips purse briefly before he lets out a breath. You scan the room, gaze landing on the floorboards, waiting. 

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, he says, “You hungry?” 

You grin at that, letting out a shaky breath. Your father’s daughter, neither of you likes to dig into your feelings. He taught you to show love through actions, like keeping you fed, taking on hard labor jobs without a complaint, or changing your windshield wipers before the rainy season starts and you’re cursing yours out. 

“Yeah,” you say, brushing past the knot in your chest. “Starving.” 

The rumble of a diesel engine jolts you awake the next morning, the deep growly sound reverberating through the walls like thunder on an otherwise quiet morning. You groaned, stretching and blinking blearily at the pale light filtering in through the old curtains. It was barely dawn yet, which explains the dull headache you’ve got. 

Sleep had been restless. Tangled thoughts, ruminating on what you’d left behind. A failed engagement, the job you hated, the mix of excuses you had rehearsed for why you’d come back. You’d hoped coming here would ease the ache, but just when you were finally falling back asleep—the truck from hell pulled up to the house. 

The engine is already cut off, but now you can hear voices on the porch. Your dad’s, low and steady, just a hum, and another unfamiliar drawl. Whoever it is, they’re carrying on like the rest of the world wasn’t still trying to wake up. 

You drag yourself out of bed, wearing your soft sleep shorts and a thin shirt. The worn fabric clings to your body in places it shouldn’t, but you’re not thinking about being presentable, you aren’t really thinking at all yet. You drag your feet crossing to the kitchen to pour yourself coffee, for a brief moment you miss the coffee shop you used to stop at on the way to your old job, but the familiar roast your dad’s been loyal to has its charm. Like the free coffee at an AA meeting. It’s there and you need something to keep you going. 

You push past the squeaky screen door, stepping out onto the porch. Your dad sits on the worn bench, coffee in hand. Next to him, leaning casually against the railing is a man you don’t recognize. His black Stetson gives him a classic cowboy silhouette, the morning sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw and the scruff on his cheeks. His plaid shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, his jeans are worn and dusty in a way that speaks to more than just appearances. 

He straightens when he sees you, pulling his hat off with one hand in a fluid, effortless motion. “Mornin’,” he says, voice low and rich. “You must be the daughter. Joel Miller.” 

You take a sip of your coffee. “Morning,” you mutter, voice still thick from sleep. “You always roll up this early, or is today special?” 

Your dad shoots a look at you, but Joel just chuckles softly. 

“Guessin’ you’re not a morning person?”

Your eyes are narrow, defensive. “I’m just fine in the mornings,” you say in a clipped tone that doesn’t support your statement. “Just not when I’m woken up by a jet engine at the asscrack of dawn.” The chill in the brisk morning air causes you to shiver for a moment somehow making you look more irritated. 

Joel glances at your dad with a faint smirk before tipping his hat to you. “Noted.” 

Your dad laughs. “Should’ve heard her when she was ten,” he says leaning back. “Wouldn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Still doesn’t take shit from anyone I guess.” 

“I’m right here,” you mutter, glaring at him.

“Just sayin’,” your dad replies, raising his mug in mock surrender. He turns back to Joel and they resume their conversation about fence posts or something equally riveting. You let your eyes roam as you wake up, drinking the rest of your coffee, tuning in and out of their conversation about their plans for the day. 

The easy camaraderie between the two of them was clear. Like a friendship forged through shared labor and quiet mornings. They flow between their plans for work and that subtle gossiping that men do–convinced it isn’t really gossip–as they share updates about other folks in town and a few of the local businesses. 

“What about you?” Joel asks, turning to you and pulling you out of the fog. “You’re back for a while then?”  

It’s an innocent question, but it grates at you anyway. You stiffen. “Yeah, just taking some time,” you say vaguely. 

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push for a real answer. You can feel the weight of his curiosity in the air between you. He looks to your dad, who doesn’t elaborate, letting something unspoken pass between them. 

“Well,” Joel drawls, “good timing. Lot of work to do this time of year. If you’re up for it.” 

The comment makes you pull a face. “I’m familiar with hard work,” you reply, your voice sharper than intended. 

Joel’s lips quirk again, into something like a smirk this time. “I’m sure you are,” he says with the faintest edge of a challenge. 

He takes a long swig from his stainless steel travel mug, trying to fix his eyes on the horizon. But damn, if it isn’t a challenge to see you standing there, looking every bit like you’d just rolled out of bed. In a shirt too damn thin for a morning like this, leaving too little to the imagination. 

He knew he shouldn’t be noticing something like that, shouldn’t look at you like that–especially not while you’re standing next to your dad. Hell, he shouldn’t want to look at all, but his eyes betray him. Darting for just a moment to your soft curves and the evidence of the chill in the air–the impression of your stiff nipples protruding in the soft fabric. 

Christ. He swallows hard, landing his eyes back on the scowl you wear on your face. You’re his friend's daughter. It just ain’t right. Sweet young thing like you. He battles the devil on his shoulder that reminds him you aren’t a kid. You’re a woman. A grown woman with your own life and clearly your share of grit, if the sharpness in your voice was anything to go by. 

He shifts on his feet, forcing his attention back to your dad who was still chuckling softly at something. Joel didn’t catch the joke, head too full of thoughts about you–or how to not think about you. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, unsettling him in front of your dad. 

You and him made loose plans for the day while Joel’s mind continued to wander. He shouldn’t have asked about why you were back. Your answer was vague, brushing him off like it was a privilege he hadn’t earned. For some reason that lodged it in his head further. He wanted to know more, even if he shouldn’t. 

Your dad stood up, stretching and declaring that all of you have work to do. You take that as your cue to head back inside, leaving the screen door swinging behind you. Joel lets out a low breath, shaking his head as he turns back to your dad. 

“She’s a spitfire,” Joel comments, keeping his tone neutral.  

“She is,” your dad agrees, adjusting his hat. “Good to have her back.”  

Joel huffs a small laugh, “S’pose we could use a strong woman around here. Keep us in line.” 

“No doubt she will,” your dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. The whole exchange stuck with Joel though. Something under that edge of yours, something unpolished that has him curious in a way he isn’t used to. He shakes his head knowing it isn’t his place to go digging. 

Your dad starts down the front steps. “Let’s get moving, then.” Joel moves mechanically, boots falling in line with your dad’s, but his mind is half on you—in that t-shirt, with that scowl on your face, and that faraway look that he’d like to unravel. 

You were used to hard work but your muscles weren’t exactly dialed in for the functional conditioning. It was humbling as you found yourself aching and exhausted by the end of the night. However, the fatigue did make it easier to fall asleep once your head hit the pillow instead of spiraling on about your failures until the birds started chirping. 

The next few days gave you a jump start into the rural routine. In bed early, up before the sun. Hot showers before dinner to wash away the layer of sweat and sweet-smelling dust from the pine shavings and hay. You found yourself looking forward to the strong coffee and the cool morning air before you started with your day. 

Your dad, and Joel, learned quickly to let you wake up rather than ask questions as they caught up on their plans before heading out together or splitting up. You didn’t mind listening, but you could feel Joel’s eyes lingering on you now and then. It made your spine straighten, determined to hide the sore muscles in your shoulders from him. If he was waiting to hear a complaint from you it was never gonna come. 

Despite getting more rest and having an endless list of labor to keep you moving–you often found yourself working solo and in silence during the day. A silence that your mind was more than happy to fill. You rehashed memories and dissected those little moments from your relationship with your ex-fiance that you wish you had seen more clearly at the time. 

You’re deep in one of those memories, mindlessly stacking bales of hay onto the trailer for a delivery your dad is making tomorrow when Joel enters the other end of the barn. He leans against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you work. The warm scent of hay fills the air, grounding and everpresent in his life. 

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a common chore he’d do without thinking twice. But watching you was a whole different story. Your shirt was damp with sweat as you leaned into the work like you’d done it your whole life. You climb up a stack of bales and toss down some from the top of the next row, unaware of his presence. 

He is mesmerized by you. The sharp look on your face like you were mulling over an argument, the fluid movements as you worked, and the determination radiating off of you as you worked at an urgent pace. 

His gaze drifts lower as you climb down and bend to heave another bale onto the flatbed trailer. The muscles in his jaw tense as he lingers on the curve of your back as you bend to grab another. The way your legs shift as you work. The outline of your body in that shirt, the soft grunt you let out as you hoist another bale had him thinking indecent thoughts before he could stop himself. 

Joel drags his hand over his face, fingers brushing his scruffy jaw. Heat burning within him that has nothing to do with the Texas sun transforms into irritation. He was considering copping out and disappearing before you even noticed him when he was outed by the damn barn cats. 

The orange cat comes sprinting towards him, but it’s the black and white one meow-yelling at him down the aisle that catches your attention. A dull thud echoes through the barn as you drop another bale and watch as Joel squats down to give the cats the attention they demand. You watch, catching your breath. He’s gentle with them, murmuring something you can’t hear before he stands and strolls toward you. 

“Afternoon,” he greets you in his deep baritone voice. Joel grabs the two-string bale of hay in front of you and drops it on the trailer with ease, grabbing another before you can interject. 

“I can handle it.” You huff as you resume your task. 

“Never said you couldn’t,” he replies smoothly, setting another down. “Thought it’d go faster with two sets of hands.” 

“I wasn’t in a hurry.” You eye him warily for a moment before slipping into a coordinated dance like it was natural. Tossing the rest that needed to be loaded up into the aisle for him to grab. You work in silence, just the sounds of hay shifting and boots scuffing against the barn floor. 

You break the silence first. “Dad says you and your brother hit the rodeo circuit in the summer. That true?” 

Joel huffs a soft laugh. “True.”

“You compete?”

“Team roping,” he says, his voice warming slightly. “Me and Tommy hit most of the circuits within a day's drive from here. Keeps us outta trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Hard to picture you in trouble, cowboy.”

Joel’s smirk returned, faint but there. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” He matches your playful tone. 

His words linger as you work, stirring something you don’t quite know what to do with. Your mind drifts to the idea of rodeoing, the adrenaline of it, the discipline it demands. You forgot how much you missed it, how much you gave up chasing a life that didn’t pan out the way you hoped. 

Joel shifts beside you, the faint scrape of his boots pulling you back to the present. You glance at him, catching the way his shirt clung slightly to his back, the easy strength in the way he moves.

For a moment, the quiet feels comfortable. Easy. The steady rhythm fills the space. But eventually, Joel speaks again. 

“Your dad said you used to spend summers out here,” he says, in a low and easy tone. 

“Yeah,” you say, a little out of breath from the exertion. “When I was a kid.”

Joel brushes some loose hay off of his shirt. “Guessin’ it’s different now.” 

“Everything’s different now,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. 

His brow furrows slightly. “What brought you back?” 

You hesitate, not looking him in the eye. You’re searching for an answer in the dust particles caught in a beam of sunlight. “Just needed time to…rebuild.” It’s still vague. 

“You runnin’ from something?” 

You tense at that, before covering it in sarcasm. “I’m not an outlaw,” you jest, earning you a small smile. He doesn’t press further, but you feel his eyes on you, steady, and patient like he’s waiting in case you offer more. 

“It’s not as simple as people make it sound,” you say finally, the words slipping out before can stop them. “Starting over, that is.” You sit on a bale and pull your work gloves off, running the back of your hand over your forehead smearing sweat and dust in a most unsatisfying way. 

“No, it ain’t,” he adds quietly. 

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten, but you ignore the sensation. “What about you? How’d you end up here?” 

“Had to start over myself, I reckon,” he muses, dusting off his hands before sitting down next to you. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. He doesn’t look at you, instead, he watches the cats play with a piece of baling twine. “This place made it easier—focusing on getting the house built and getting the business running. Your dad helped too.” 

That catches you off guard. “My dad?” 

Joel nods, finally meeting your eyes. “Just seemed to understand, I guess.” 

You stare at him. You’re disarmed by the softness in his tone. Like there’s more beneath the surface if you ask for it. 

Joel feels the air thicken. He takes in the way your sweat-damp shirt clings to you, and the heavy rise and fall of your chest. For a split second, an image flashes in his mind—your chest heaving for a very different reason, your skin flushed and shining. His throat tightens, and he looks away quickly, cursing himself for letting his thoughts slip. 

The cats weave between your legs, easing the silence. But the air between you still feels charged. Your thighs are nearly touching. The proximity feels overwhelming for some reason and you're suddenly caught up in the details of his profile as he stares down at the floor. The lines at the corner of his eye, his nose, his lips.

He clears his throat and slaps a palm on his thigh. “Well,” he starts, standing up rather abruptly. “Just came by to check-in. See how you’re settling in.” 

“What?” You frown. You miss the grimace that flashes on his face, your eyes drawn to the cats darting away from the two of you. “How I’m settling in?” 

“Yeah, you know…” he gestures vaguely around the barn and your brows furrow and your eyes sharpen at him. Irritation flickers behind your eyes. 

“I told you I’m not afraid of hard work,” you snap, jumping to your feet in front of him. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbles, like you’re misunderstanding him. 

“Did my dad send you to ‘check in’ on me? Or did you want to see if I could keep up?” 

“It ain’t like that.” He says lowly. 

“Right.” You cut, crossing your arms. You’re over this rollercoaster of a conversation. Your eyes catch on the deep crease between his brows and the glint in his dark eyes. Something flares in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s indignation or something else entirely. “Then what is it?”

His jaw tightens, gaze locked with yours. Something unspoken flickers in his expression. But instead of answering, he straightens, stepping back. “Doesn’t matter,” he says curtly. 

Your stomach twists at the coolness of his tone, the connection you just felt snapping like a wire. 

“This was a mistake,” Joel mutters to himself. 

“What was?” you asked, your voice deadly quiet. 

Joel only shakes his head before striding toward the far door. His boots echo on the floor and the cats follow after him like shadows, their tails swishing as they dart out into the sun. Joel pauses in the doorway, glancing back with a look you don’t understand. 

“Don’t work too hard now.” His voice carries easily before he stalks off.

Your thoughts have you spinning. “The fuck is his problem?” you wonder out loud, sharp in the warm air. In the space he left. 

But deep down, you can feel the edge of something else. Something more than frustration, curling low and unwelcome in your chest. The weight of his gaze was still lingering, and try as you might, you can’t ignore the way his presence had pressed into every corner of the barn, or the faint scent of leather and bourbon that still hangs in the air. 

Your routine locks into place, and the days begin to pass in a blur. Joel stops by for coffee and acts like the conversation you had in the barn never happened. The stoic, gruff cowboy thing works just fine with you.

Except for the moments you catch him staring at you like he’s trying to find an answer to something he never asked.

If you’re honest, though, despite your hostility, you seem to catch yourself studying him with the same frequency and intensity. You’re loath to admit you catch yourself hung up on his obnoxiously broad shoulders, his arms sculpted from the physically demanding work, and that gravelly morning voice he has before he finishes his coffee.

Aside from whatever Joel’s problem with you is, everything else seems to be falling into place. You catch up on your dad’s list of projects. You pick up a part-time job at the feed store in town, keeping yourself too busy to have idle time and too tired to dwell on the past or the future. You get to know folks in the town while you work at the register.

The town seems smaller than it was when you were a kid, but there’s also a charm in the simplicity that you find comfort in. The regulars keep you up to date on the town gossip, and you’re laughing loudly with your boss, Linda, one day over a joke she’d never admit to teaching you when your neighbor struts up to you with a list in hand for a bulk feed order.

You’re cordial to him and the man at his side who gives you a flirty wink that has you raising your eyebrows in disbelief for a moment before you put it together. “You must be Tommy?”

He grins brightly and offers his hand. “And you must be the neighbor?” You give him your name and a polite smile. Your eyes flick to Joel, taking in his neutral expression. His hands rest in his pockets, but his posture is loose, his broad shoulders back in a way that draws your eye before you can stop yourself.

As you enter the details of their order into the prehistoric computer, Linda chats both of the men up, asking them about their horses and when their next rodeo is.

You give Joel his total and take his payment, trying not to roll your eyes when he doesn’t make eye contact with you. You’re ready for the interaction with him to be over when Linda puts you on the spot.

“This one’s been talking about looking for a project horse of her own.” She nods her head toward you. “You boys have any leads for her?”

You can feel your face heating up as they both look at you. It’s not like it was a secret, but you weren’t planning on making Joel privy to your plans. You still haven’t forgotten the way he said this was a mistake after having one conversation with you. Or the way he is always looking at you. Like you don’t belong here or something.

“I’ll do you one better,” Tommy says. “We’ve got a couple of colts just getting started under saddle. They could use the miles, and they’re real sweet-tempered if you wanna come by during the week.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” You give him a genuine smile. “I’m actually going to take a look at one that’s got potential this weekend. Marilyn from the post office said her cousin’s got a six-year-old quarter horse she’d sell for a steal.”

Joel lets out a dismissive laugh under his breath. “You mean that Hancock gelding? The blue roan?”

“Yeah.” You confirm, slowly growing more confused by the reactions on all of their faces. “Why?”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open like you said the devil was gonna sell you his horse. Tommy gives you a modest smile like you’ve told him two plus two equals eight, but he’s too polite to correct you. Joel’s expression remains unreadable, but the crease between his brows deepens.

“Am I missing something?” you ask, hoping for an explanation. You do not like feeling like you’re being played for a fool. 

“She’d sell that horse for a dime and a handshake,” Linda says. “Her cousin broke her jaw getting bucked off that horse. That’s why he’s been out to pasture ever since.”

You’re quiet for a beat before the familiar challenge and determination wrap around your heart. “Can’t hurt to look,” you say with a shrug.

“Hancocks are notoriously stubborn and broncy,” Joel adds, his tone low and edged with warning.

“They’re also incredibly smart, loyal, and full of try if you earn their trust and ask ‘em the right way,” you shoot back, meeting his eyes for just a moment too long. Why does it always feel like he thinks you’re out of your element? Does he think you’re incompetent? It only strengthens your desire to prove him wrong.

Joel’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his gaze doesn’t waver, and it stirs something uncomfortable low in your chest.

“So I’ve heard,” Tommy cuts the tension simmering between you and Joel. “Offer still stands if he doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks.” You pointedly direct your appreciation to Tommy, not looking back at Joel. “We’ll give you a call when the order’s in.”

They take that as their signal to move along. You think that would be the end of the drama for the day, but Linda’s got one more tidbit in store after the door closes behind the two men.

“God, those two are so hot it’s unbearable,” she sighs. It catches you off guard, and you blink at her. “Too bad they’re cowboy Casanovas.”

“What?” You give her a scrupulous look, shifting on your feet as she leans against the counter.

“Oh, yeah,” Linda says with a knowing smirk. “Every buckle bunny in a three-county radius knows those two. I hear they have a sign-up sheet at the trailer.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head, but the image comes unbidden—Joel, shirtless and panting, sweat glistening on his chest, his jeans slung low on his hips, every muscle taut as he leans over some woman. His gravelly drawl slides through your mind like warm honey as he murmurs something low and dirty, but you can’t make out the words. Your thought derails violently, and you scowl at yourself, heat rushing up your neck, but Linda’s still talking. 

“I’d stand in line for either of ‘em if I were single,” she adds with a shrug.

The image morphs into smug Joel tipping his hat, a self-satisfied grin on his face as some random woman climbs out of his bed. Your throat tightens unexpectedly, and you shove the thought away, scowling at the knot of irritation it leaves behind.

The trailer rocks faintly as you haul it slowly down the driveway toward the barn. Blue shifts inside, and the loud thud of him pawing at the floor, anxious to get out of the small space, echoes loudly in the driveway as you ease to a stop. You cut the engine and hop out of the cab, you can hear your dad’s boots on the porch steps before he’s striding toward you. “You actually brought him home, huh?” 

“You knew I would.” You grin. Your dad unlatches the trailer door and you slip past the divider to untie your new gelding and back him out of the trailer. Blue’s ears flick rapidly and he snorts like a dragon, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings, but you steady him with a calm voice and wait for him to drop his head before coaxing him backward. 

His hooves hit the solid ground and he blows out a sharp breath, shaking his neck to de-stress. “He’s gonna be perfect,” you say, running a hand along his neck. “Just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

Your dad gives you a look that says he knows he couldn’t change your mind if he tried. His gaze flicks over Blue’s body, taking in his confirmation and conditioning, the scar on his back leg, the brand on his flank, and the stocky ranch horse build. “Linda said he’s got a bad reputation.” 

“Linda says a lot of things,” you shoot back, leading Blue toward the barn. “He was misunderstood. Had a rough start, that’s all. That girl who got bucked off never shoulda had him to begin with—not after he’d been out to pasture for so long. She was scared, and he felt it.” 

Your dad hums, the kind of sound that tells you he’s skeptical but not enough to argue. “Well, he’s in good hands now.” 

“And we both know I like a challenge,” you say with a steady voice, edged with something sharper. 

The sound of boots on gravel draws your attention and you glance back to see Joel strolling over from the direction of his property. His hat tipped low as his dark eyes flick between you and Blue. 

“Afternoon,” he calls, steady and smooth. 

Your dad turns and gives him a nod. “Joel.” 

“That the Hancock gelding?” 

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, adjusting Blue’s halter. 

Joel steps closer, his expression unreadable as he studies the gelding. Blue swishes his tail before shifting his weight, resting one back leg like he’s already starting to relax. Joel walks a circle around Blue, before pausing next to your dad. “Well-built,” he comments. “Is he sound?” 

You can barely hold back your eye-roll. “I had Barb meet me at the farm for a pre-purchase exam. Passed with flying colors.” You swallow down your irritation. Once again Joel thinks you’re a fool? That you’d go off and pick up a horse without a vet inspection?

Before you give Joel a piece of your mind you take a steadying breath, grounding yourself and whispering into Blue’s ear. “He might doubt both of us but he’ll be eating his fuckin’ words real quick once you and I get started.” With that, you turn away and lead Blue to the barn. 

Joel watches the two of you walk off, resting his hand on his hip. “She got a death wish or somethin’?” he grumbles.

Your dad crosses his arms, both men still watching the barn door where the two of you disappeared. “She’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got more patience than the two of us combined—for animals that is. Lord knows she’ll let us have it just for looking at her sideways.” 

Joel grunts, ignoring the heat crawling up his neck at the thought of you telling him off. “Hope you’re right.” 

“It’ll be good for her to have her own project. Haven’t seen that light in her eyes since she got here. S’about time she started moving on.” Your dad’s words eat at Joel. He still wants to know what you’re trying to rebuild from, but he doesn’t ask. Letting the silence stretch before your dad continues. 

“Plus, she’s got the right touch for it,” your dad drawls, tone laced with pride. “Always drawn to the ones that seem a little rough around the edges.” 

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His eyes narrow on the horizon, but his gaze flicks back to where you walked off, the sway of your hips lingering longer than it should. The deeply twisted interpretation of your dad’s words messing with his mind. 

In the barn, Blue seems less concerned about getting the lay of the land now that there’s food in front of him. He munches greedily, tearing hay out of the net tied in the stall. You’re buzzing with a mix of emotions, already imagining the next steps for the two of you. 

Your thoughts fall back on Joel and your dad, their low voices carrying faintly in the warm air. You can picture Joel still standing there, one hand on his hip, eyes fixed on you, that infuriatingly unreadable look expression he always has. 

Your chest tightens, heat rising in your cheeks as you lean against the stall door. You hate how Joel looks at you like that. Like he’s waiting for you to fuck up. To prove him right. Like he’s already decided you’re in over your head. 

“He doesn’t know me,” you mutter under your breath, “doesn’t know you,” you tell Blue, “doesn’t know shit.” 

Blue snorts softly, and you take that as his agreement, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Days blur into a steady rhythm—early mornings with Blue, afternoons at the feed store, and long evenings under the arena lights. Each ride sharpens your connection with him, his turns growing tighter, his strides more confident. Progress comes in small, steady victories, each one lighting a spark of hope in your chest.

One afternoon, when the sun hangs low in the sky, painting the fields with warm hues of orange and gold. From his spot near the fence of his own property, Joel leans one arm against the top rail, his black felt Stetson shading his eyes. Across the way, you’re working with Blue in the makeshift round pen. 

Joel can tell from the way you hold yourself that you’re tired. Your shoulders seem stiff and your jaw tense. But you don’t stop. Your voice carries in the breeze, warm and steady as you encourage Blue to make another pass. 

The horse resists, throwing his head and stomping at the ground, but you don’t flinch. You give him the space to settle before asking again. Joel’s lips twitch, with a hint of a smile. You’ve got grit. 

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re working off more than just the horse’s rough edges. You move with purpose and focus, but with a weight that doesn’t seem entirely about Blue. 

From where Joel stands, he can’t make out every detail, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from lingering. You draw his attention with a pull that he can’t resist.

Against his better judgment. He traces the line of your spine as you step forward, the way your hips shift when you pivot. He knows better than to look, knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop himself. 

Blue gives in, his steps evening out as he settles into a steady rhythm circling you. Joel watches as you slow him to a halt. The tension in your posture releases and you reach out with ease and satisfaction to stroke Blue’s neck. 

That invisible pull between you draws your eyes to where Joel is standing. Your face hardens when you catch him observing your training session. He gives you a nod before pushing off the rail and heading into the barn. 

He catches glimpses of you working together in the mornings and evenings. He tries to stop himself from watching, but it’s useless. He catches himself inadvertently timing out his schedule to be able to keep an eye on you. Tells himself he wants to be sure someone’s keeping an eye on you in case something goes wrong. Or that he’s curious about your progress. 

He can admit he admires your perseverance and the skill you have. He would never admit the way he finds himself waking up hard and aching thinking about you and what it’d feel like to have your hips rocking on his lap instead of a saddle, your tits bouncing in his face, and your sweet blissed out smile. And when trudges up the steps of your porch in the mornings to see if your dad needs anything from town—he prays neither of you can see the remnants of his sins in his eyes. 

He can’t stop himself from trying to talk to you, though. One morning he asks straight up, “How’s the project horse coming along?” He tries to sound casual, averting his eyes as he sips his coffee. 

Your smile flickers, equal parts excitement and hesitation flashing across your face. “Good,” you say after a beat, sitting on the wooden bench. “He learns quick, got good stamina and drive.” 

Joel hums, tilting his head slightly. “He give you any trouble?” 

Your jaw tenses, though you try to hide it. “Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, tightly. 

Joel nods. “Good,” he says simply, but he still looks at you, like there’s something else weighing on his mind. 

Your dad clears his throat, breaking the tension. “She’s got him started on the pattern already.” 

“You gonna run barrels?” Joel asks, curiosity sneaking into his eyes. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Joel hums, taking a long pause. “You wanna run him in a real arena? Bring him over to get some practice in with the right kind of footing and see what he’s really got for a motor?” 

Your eyes narrow and your shoulders tighten, straining with disbelief. A real arena? It’s like nothing you do is ever good enough for him. “We’re getting along just fine as is, thanks.” The words are dripping with venom as you slip back into the house letting the screendoor slam shut behind you. 

Joel’s brows furrow. “Didn’t mean no harm, by it,” he says to your dad. “My mistake,” he adds gruffly. 

Your dad looks a bit miffed at the sharpness of your rejection but gives Joel a shrug back. “She’s always gotta do it her own way.” 

The conversation with Joel sticks in your mind. You’re still chewing it over that evening as you run Blue through some drills, working on his lead changes and corners. When you finally bring him down to walk to cool down you hear the sound of hooves hitting the dirt across the field. Sharp and rhythmic. You walk Blue along the fence line. Pausing when you catch sight of Joel and Tommy in their outdoor arena. 

Their horses move like extensions of their bodies. You loosen the reins, letting Blue’s head sway with every step as you stay transfixed on the two men. Tommy’s bay gelding moves with a quick, snappy stride. His hindquarters tucked under him as he spins on a dime at Tommy’s commend. You can feel the thrill and see Tommy’s grin from where you sit. It’s infectious. You roll your eyes as he tosses his rope catching the dummy steer in a single fluid motion. 

You make another lap before you let yourself study Joel. 

He’s riding his big red mare, her muscles rippling in the sun as she powers forward at a lope. Joel’s hand is steady on the reins, his posture relaxed but exact. Every movement he makes is calculated, and deliberate, yet to an untrained eye seems completely natural and fluid. Like he and his horse were born to do it. He barely shifts to ask the mare to pivot. Her body arcs beautifully, bending around his leg as they make a sharp turn toward the roping dummy. 

You’ve seen good riders before, but there’s something different about the way works. He doesn’t just ride—he leads. Every muscle he moves is a quiet conversation between him and his horse. It’s seamless and controlled. And damn if it isn’t mesmerizing. 

He leans forward slightly, and your mouth goes dry watching his arm flexing as he tosses the rope with precision. His red mare halts instantly, kicking up dirt around her hooves. Joel adjusts his hat with a smooth motion, you can see the focus on his face. Serious and competitive.

You swallow hard as you change directions, still walking on a loose rein very aware that Blue’s sweat is long dried by now. You feel warmth burning in your core that has nothing to do with your tired muscles. He looks good out there. Too good. The kind of good that makes you think about things you shouldn’t be thinking about. Your eyes drift, taking in the way his jeans hug his thighs, the line of his back as he shifts in the saddle. You imagine his hands, thick, precise fingers. Something coils hot and tight within you. You shake your head at yourself. You are not having those thoughts about Joel Miller who thinks you don’t know your ass from your elbow. You swing your leg over the back of the saddle dropping to your feet. Loosening your cinch and still trying to shake your thoughts out of your mind when you hear Tommy hollering at you. 

“Watch and learn, neighbor!” Tommy calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You glance up, cheeks burning as Tommy tips his hat your way with his charismatic grin. Joel follows his gaze, dark eyes locking on you for a moment. Tommy gives you a demonstration of his prowess with the rope–as if you hadn’t been watching–but, Joel says nothing before turning his mare and heading in the opposite direction. 

His cool look sends a shiver down your spine. 

You walk back to the barn, and the sound of their horses fades behind you, but that image of Joel sears into your mind. His commanding and maddeningly attractive exhibition just stoked a fire you’re desperate to ignore. 

You have the same stubborn streak as your father and you’d be damned if you’re gonna cave and ask Joel to use his facility. You find a summer barrel series in a nearby town with low entry fees.

You start hauling Blue out to get some experience. At first, his runs are clumsy, but as you get your miles in, his turns get tighter, his confidence grows, and your times get quicker. And you quickly feel like the two of you are ready to enter your first rodeo.

The air smells like dirt and livestock, as you unload your horse and tie him to the side of your trailer. There’s a hum from the generators, buzzing conversations, and the occasional whinny of a horse or thud as one paws at the dirt.

You had made a point not to ask if Joel and Tommy would be attending, but you catch his familiar shoulders tapering to his slim waist, with one boot on the lowest rung of the fence a few yards ahead when you head toward the warmup pen before your division gets called. He isn’t even facing your direction but you instinctively square your shoulders and raise your chin. You wonder if he’s just here to see if you’re going to fail. Or maybe he’s just watching to earn some other woman’s favor. 

Something ugly simmers in your blood and your chest feels tight. You attribute it to irritation, refusing to acknowledge any alternate reasons. You’re going to prove him wrong. 

You’re still staring at him when he turns to say something to the man standing next to him. You grit your teeth. Superstitious–as every cowboy is–his usual salt and pepper scruff is neatly trimmed, he’s got on a pair of deep blue Wranglers–nicer than you figure he owned, and a crisp long-sleeve pearl snap. Dressed to earn Lady Luck’s favor. 

The devil on your shoulder whispers a thought in Linda’s teasing voice. He doesn’t need to do all that to get lucky. You take a deep breath and peel yourself away from the sight. You’re here to focus on Blue, not your asshole neighbor and his conquests.

Despite trying to let go of your issues with Joel, a scowl stays plastered on your face throughout your warmup. Blue picks up on your distraction and he’s a little hot, as you head him toward the alleyway when it’s time for your run. Against your will, your eyes search for Joel. A wash of heat floods your veins when you find him already watching you. He mouths good luck at you and you can only manage a curt smile before you’re pushing Blue to a lope, making one tight circle before you cross the start. The sound of his hooves pounding into the dirt matches the blood pounding in your ears. The burst of adrenaline is instant. The run isn’t perfect. He breaks his stride around the second barrel and you lose time nudging him back into rhythm, but you finish the pattern without knocking anything over. The announcer calls your time as you slow to a trot, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It’s such a blur you don’t think to look for Joel. You don’t think about him at all until you’re untacking Blue at your trailer, brushing sweat marks from his coat when movement near another horse trailer catches your eye.

Joel stands close to a woman with long, shiny dark hair. She flashes a wide smile, leaning toward him and resting a hand lightly on his arm. The sight makes you grimace. You shove down the feeling. “None of our business,” you mutter to Blue as you keep brushing. But, your eyes flick back despite yourself. She tilts her head, laughing at something he says, or doesn’t say, you can’t tell. He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets. You can’t see his face from your angle.

The woman reaches to touch him again, and you feel a headache brewing in the back of your skull. Joel glances away from her, landing in your direction for the shortest moment, before his weight shifts and he takes a small step back. You scowl again, tossing your brush back into the tack room shelf with more force than necessary making Blue toss his head. Your heart thuds louder than it should and you run a hand over Blue’s cheek, murmuring softly to calm both him and yourself. When you glance back, the woman is still talking, but Joel’s looking at you again. His dark eyes are sharp under the brim of his hat. He nods, barely noticeable, before turning away from the woman entirely. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to take another deep breath before loading Blue back into the trailer to head out. You weren’t sticking around to watch any of the other events. Especially not the team roping. 

You smile when you pull onto the highway. You count the day as a success and feel ready to enter a bigger rodeo. The idea makes you glow. Finally feeling like you’re getting back to your true self. You feel like a new woman compared to the version of you that showed packed up her truck desperate to put miles between your ex-fiance and your corporate nightmare.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, crossing your arms as your dad leans against the truck with a skeptical look. “The hell it’s not,” he replies, gesturing toward the trailer. “That’s floor is one step away from dropping your horse onto the damn highway.” You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “I know,” you grumble lowly, disappointment sinking in your stomach. “I was just hoping you’d see something I didn’t.” “Sorry kid,” your dad says. “S’fine. I’ll figure something out. Or just eat the entry fees I paid.” “Or,” he says pointedly, “you could ask Joel.” You glare at him, fire burning in your chest. “I don’t need his charity.” “Ain’t charity,” he interrupts your sour attitude with a gruff tone. “He’s practically family. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your goals.” The words stick, heavy and uncomfortable. You’ve got half a mind to keep arguing. Joel might be your dad’s best friend, but he’s nothing like family to you. But before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re dragging yourself up the steps of Joel’s front porch. 

You realize as your boot hits the last step that you’ve never been to his place. He always offers to have you and your dad over for a whiskey or for a fire out back, but you always brush him off. You see why your dad takes him up on it though.

It’s beautifully made with stunning wooden chairs and a bench for seating on the porch. You’d consider complimenting him on his craftsmanship if you weren’t already dreading what you’re about to say. Joel opens the door, his hat already in hand like he’d been expecting you. “Somethin’ wrong?” “Yeah,” you admit, trying not to hesitate. “Uh, trailer’s shot,” you point your thumb in the direction of your dad’s place. “Was wondering if you’d have room in your trailer to haul Blue with your horses.” 

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. The gleam in his eye makes you want to say never mind. You brace for a smart-ass remark. “‘Course,” he replies. You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Of course?” 

He leans back into the house to grab something, then he’s handing you his keys. “Load your tack up tonight, and get your bags in the living quarters.” “No need,” you shake your head, leaving him holding the keys between you. “I’ve got the truck. And a tent.” 

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. You pointedly avoid how his sleeves strain around his biceps. “You’re ridin’ with us. Not riskin’ that truck dyin’ on the highway.” You glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, you’ve got a trailer with a busted floor and a truck with more miles than you’d like to admit on it—while Joel has a shiny truck from this decade and a horse trailer with a tack room and living quarters. Probably has AC and everything.

You catch the glint in his eye, realizing you’re the one asking for a favor and you steel yourself, reminding yourself to bite your tongue.

“Fine,” you grit out, holding your hand out for the keys.

The truck hums beneath you, the steady vibration doing nothing to ease the thick tension in the cab. Tommy’s passed out in the back seat, his hat tipped low over his face, leaving you alone with Joel and the steady drone of the country ballad playing through the speakers.

“You always listen to this?” you ask, breaking the silence as you reach toward the radio.

Joel glances at you, one hand resting casually on the wheel. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”

“Didn’t know you were a ‘sad songs for sad cowboys’ kind of guy,” you mutter, flicking through stations before he can answer.

Joel doesn’t stop you, but when you pause on something irritatingly upbeat, his hand moves toward the knob just as yours does.

Your fingers brush his, and the contact jolts through you like a live wire.

You pull back instinctively, your breath catching as your heart slams against your ribs. Joel pauses for half a second before retreating, his knuckles tightening faintly on the wheel.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Joel stares ahead, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiral. He knew telling you to ride with him was playing with fire. But he can’t stay away from the heat. You glance out the window, pretending the spark you felt wasn’t real. It’s just Joel, always better than you, always an ass. The charged silence stretches on though, every shift of his hand on the wheel drawing your attention. Every shallow breath reminds you of his proximity. 

“This’ll do,” you say tightly. Joel huffs softly, but says nothing, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. Neither of you speaks again for the rest of the drive, but the weight of the accidental touch remains, thick and suffocating. The rodeo grounds are already alive with motion by the time you’re parked and unloading the horses. The evening sun casts an amber glow over the circus of trucks, tents, and trailers. You help get the portable fence set up and the horses settled before the three of you head off to check in at the visitor's tent and get your meal tickets. 

The smell of barbecue wafts through the air and you get in line to fill your plate. Folks chat eagerly. Tommy strikes up an easy conversation with a group of riders near the picnic tables.

You watch as some folks head back to their campsites, hesitating on whether you want to do the same or find a table. Joel passes you and sits at a nearby table and before you can debate any longer a voice interrupts your thoughts. “Long travel day?” the wiry cowboy drawls, tipping his hat and gesturing to the bench next to him. “Take a seat.” 

You give him a quizzical look, but you’re hungry enough to take the opportunity to sit and eat. 

“Name’s Cody.” He introduces himself while you eat. He tells you he’s a bull rider. Asks if you’re runnin’ barrels tomorrow. He’s chatty with a smooth and easy voice and a playful look on his youthful face. You answer his questions, politely, suddenly keenly aware of Joel’s gaze boring into the back of your head. It makes your spine prickle with something you can’t name. The heat of his stare burns into you, fierce and unwavering, making every laugh at Cody’s jokes feel like defiance. Cody continues on and you find it easy to listen to his stories, but you can’t help feeling compelled to glance over your shoulder betraying the distraction you’re trying to ignore. Cody points out some of the other riders he knows and invites you to come hang out at their campsite and have a drink. You’re still searching for the right words when you catch sight of Joel walking swiftly past your table. He mutters something to Tommy–who seems to be proving Linda’s rumors true with a woman wrapped around his arm and batting her lashes at him–and stalks off. Your stomach twists as you watch him go, irritation flaring hot and fast. “The fuck is his problem?” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your plate. Cody shrugs, clearly oblivious. “Who knows? Anyway—” But you’ve already tuned him out, your eyes following the path Joel struts down before he disappears.

You joined Cody and his friend for one drink, hoping it would ease your nerves. He had a kind group, a little rough around the edges, but tough as nails like you’d expect bull riders to be. They kept your mind distracted with their wild stories, but you decided to head back to the trailer before anyone got drunk and stupid. The walk back to the trailer feels longer than it should, every step weighed down by something stirring within you, something that has you on edge. You check on the horses before pulling the door open and climbing into the living quarters. The cool night air hasn’t soothed the heat that’s been simmering within you since dinner—or since that moment in the truck if you’re honest. You toe off your boots before looking up to see Joel, leaning against the wall, his jaw set tight, and his eyes sharp as they snap to yours.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, realizing it’s just the two of you in the small space. “Reckon he’ll be out til the sun's up,” Joel says in a quiet, low tone. “Alright,” you nod. Another point goes to Linda for that one, you figure. Joel’s jaw remains set in that infuriatingly unreadable way that seems to be his signature look. The dim light in the trailer casts sharp shadows across his face that darken his gaze. “You enjoy yourself? With your new friend?” he asks, his voice raw, edged with something you can’t place. You stop short, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” He steps closer, reaching past you to hang his hat on the hook by the door. “Took your time gettin’ back.” He says, his eyes flick over you, dark and assessing.

You’re acutely aware of the scent of the campfire on your shirt and beer on your lips. It swirls with his leather and bourbon musk like they were designed to enhance each other. His words sink in, cutting and daring. “What’s your point?” “Did you fuck him?” The bluntness of it knocks the breath out of you. Your mouth falls open. Shock and fury battling for control as you glare at him. “What did you just say to me?” “You heard me, sweetheart,” Joel says, his voice calm but razor-sharp. “Just wondering if that cowboy got what he was after.” It takes everything in you not to slap him across the face. “What the fuck,” you hiss, stepping closer, your fists clenched at your sides, “makes you think you’ve got the right to ask me that, Joel?” 

He shrugs his shoulders, but his expression remains cold. “Lookin’ out for you. Your dad’d kill me if I didn’t.” You laugh bitterly. “Bullshit.” His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. Silence fanning the flames within you. “You aren’t my dad,” you snap, voice trembling with rage. “And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t fuck.” Joel’s eyes narrow, his shoulders stiffening as he steps even closer. “That’s not what I—” “Save it,” you cut him off, word sharp as a whip. “I don’t know why you think I’m so weak or clueless all the time. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid you’ve gotta babysit.” 

Joel’s expression hardens, his dark eyes flash with something that looks like hurt beneath his anger. “That’s what you think I see?” his words come out like a dangerous growl. “That’s how you’ve acted toward me since day one,” you fire back, stepping toe-to-toe with him. “If you don’t respect me, Joel, just stay out of my business.” His chest rises and falls sharply, his breath warm against your skin as the air between you thickens. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he grits, voice tight with frustration. “Explain it to me then,” you challenge. Shaking with the force of everything you’ve been holding back. “Or stay away from me if I’m such a thorn in your side.” He works his jaw, and for a moment you’re glued to the corded muscle in his neck and the exposed golden brown skin of his chest. He glares at you, making no move to back off. His voice drops sinfully low and quiet. “You really wanna know?” “Yeah,” you breathe, heart pounding like it’s trying to break through your ribcage. “I do.” His hand moves fast, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he accuses in a rough and uneven voice. You blink. “What?” “You heard me,” he rumbles, dark eyes locked on yours. “From the first day, you showed up here, lookin’ at me like you had somethin’ to prove.” Anger burns in your veins. “How does that make me your problem?” His grip tightens, his body presses closer. “You ain’t my problem,” he mutters. Guilt twists into his words, “Shouldn’t even be lookin’ at you like this. S’wrong.” He swallows thickly, only sharpening the edge in his voice. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, and it’s pissin’ me off.” His confession hits you like a brick over the head. The trailer is silent, but the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, and your ragged exhale seems deafening. 

“Then stop,” you challenge, voice trembling with defiance. “If it’s so wrong, just leave me alone.” Joel’s eyes darken, his other hand settles on your hip, fingers digging into you. “Can’t,” he says,  voice so thick with frustration, it sounds like it hurts. “Don’t think I want to.” 

Silence stretches and time feels thick and warped. Your ragged breaths fill the space. His eyes search for a reason to stop, but he finds none. 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he drops your wrist to wrap a large hand around your jaw, pulling you into a feverish kiss. Nothing gentle about it. It’s raw and desperate, equal parts frustration and hunger. Your fingers curl into his shirt as if you could pull him any closer as your teeth scrape over his bottom lip, in a sharp, biting challenge that makes him groan low in his throat. He angles your face so he can kiss you deeper, harder, until your knees feel like they might give out. Your mind goes blank, flashing white with anger and need. All you can process is the hot slip of his tongue against yours and the sharp bristle of his facial hair against your tender lips. Your back hits the cool metal wall of the trailer before you realize your feet had even moved. Joel’s hips press into yours, pinning you against his body–solid and unrelenting. His lips trail down your jaw to your neck, the edge of his teeth scraping at your skin. The rasp of his stubble sends sparks to your core, and you dig your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. Pulling him toward you, needing him in a way that verges on painful. He lifts his mouth, breathing hotly against your damp neck. “This what you want?” he says, his tone matching the burning desperation coursing through you. “You want me to fuck it outta you? Til you can’t keep runnin’ your mouth at me?” “Shut up,” you snap, but the way your body arches into him betrays the hostility in your voice and the subtle stretch makes you keenly aware of how wet and needy you are already. He makes a low, guttural noise in his throat that makes your cunt throb. His hand slides down to grip your thigh, hitching it around his waist as he grinds into you. The hard ridge of his cock pressing into you makes you gasp. The sound you make sends heat ripping through him like wildfire. We can’t, he thinks, but the words die on his tongue. The thought of how wrong this is flashes in his mind, but it’s drowned out by the way you’re looking at him. The way your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, your breath hot and shaky against his cheek. He can’t think. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Not when you’re so soft and warm and furious beneath him. He’s helpless. His hand slips under your shirt, rough fingers brushing over soft skin, leaving a searing trail that grounds you as your mind spins. He pushes your shirt up, baring you to the dim light of the trailer. Time slips back into the warped, syrupy dimension as you absorb the unbidden lust and awe in his eyes. You’re the one exposed, but you feel like you’re seeing something just as naked in his face. Time catches up and you pull your shirt the rest of the way over your head, committing to sin wordlessly. You shiver at the sudden contrast between the heat radiating off of his body and the cool air hitting your flesh. “Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back as his mouth closes over your nipple like a wet furnace. His teeth graze the sensitive skin causing you to spew breathy curses over the top of his head. They only spur him on. He sucks hard enough that you tug him off you by his hair, but he only switches to your breast, delivering the same delicious punishment as his fingers roll and pinch at the wet, puffy, flesh he abandons. 

It’s like he can predict your needs before your mind can, biting down harshly enough to pull you away from the angry, hissing thoughts and keep you desperate to stay lost in the physical sensations. He palms the full weight of your tits, gliding his thumbs over both, slick and shining with his saliva. He presses them together before releasing them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, taken by the way they bounce more perfectly than he could’ve imagined. It’s wrong to have you topless and panting beneath him, but his name falls so sweetly from your lips that it doesn’t matter. The heavy-lidded look you have makes him feel confirmed. When you moan lowly as the pain melts into pleasure when he kneads your soft, slippery skin, his cock aches and weeps for you. He needs more. He needs everything. Needs to wreck you, to see you so fucked out the only thing you can say is his name. 

It’s an exquisite brand of torture. 

You hate how good this feels, how badly you want him to keep going. To show you every move he knows. To break you down with his hands and mouth. You should push him away, tell him to fuck off. But your body doesn’t want that. You don’t want that. You roll your hips against his, begging wordlessly for more, as you tug at his hair hard enough to pull a throaty groan from deep within him. The sound he makes nearly has you short-circuiting, but he doesn’t give you the respite to fall apart. His hands are everywhere, frenzied like he’s losing control. Hasn’t he already lost it? You wonder distantly. Slowly, you realize he’s littering dirty little threats and filthy promises into your warm flesh. You hate the way his words make you shiver, how much you crave every pledge he makes. “You’re gonna feel me for days, sweetheart,” he husks hotly, just behind your ear. It’s a commitment you unwittingly pray he keeps. Some part buried deep within you blooms at the idea of feeling every memory of his touch as you go about your day tomorrow. “Get to it then,” you snap, hands reaching for his belt with urgency. Joel doesn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slips between your legs, teasing you through the soaked fabric of your underwear, and the sound you make at the pressure—the breathless, needy, whimper—makes him forget how to breathe. All he knows is that he needs to hear it again while he fucks into your soft, warm cunt. 

He wrenches your jeans open and works them down your thighs as you tear at his shirt buttons. He’s barely able to let you go long enough to pull his shirt off; watching you kick your pants off the rest of the way makes him nearly trip over himself. 

The air between your naked chests is sticky and warm. He dips his hand beneath the hem of your underwear, fingertips gliding over the soft hair on your mound making his eyes roll back. 

The edges of your vision blurs when he prods two big fingers between your slick lips, but you’re glued to the way his dark eyes are nearly black now. He looks every bit possessed by a beast, and fuck if you aren’t driven by the sick desire to make him snap. 

“You like having me touch you like this, don’t you?” His voice drips with need underscored by the slick sounds coming from between your legs. 

“No.” You rasp, as you grind your clit against his palm. He pumps two fingers inside of you, curling them just right to make you moan. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawls, thick like honey. You grip the muscle flexing in his arm to steady yourself. His concentration and competence makes your walls flutter around his fingers. 

“You’re gonna come for me, right here.” He declares. 

You shake your head. “I’m not—fuck—I won’t.” 

“You will,” he interrupts. Dark and calm. His pace quickens, fingers focused on the spot inside you that makes you a mindless wreck. His thumb draws circles around your clit. 

“Can feel how close you are.” Your hips rock and your muscles all pull taut. “If you’d quit fuckin’ fighting me.” He somehow crowds even closer to you. You feel like you’re about to snap when he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling empty and ragged. “But you’re too fuckin’ stubborn, ain’t you?” 

“Joel,” you whine, angry and devastated. “I hate you.” 

You grip the back of his neck with one hand, and both of you watch as he finally takes himself out of his jeans. 

The view makes you salivate. 

Everything about Joel is rugged and masculine. The muscles carved into his arms and chest. The trail of dark hair leading down his stomach that thickens around his base. The deep flushed color of his thick cock. The ragged inhale he makes when he presses the blunt tip against the drenched fabric that clings to your swollen folds. 

“Say it,” he growls, rubbing along your barely clothed seam. 

“I hate you,” you whisper unconvincingly, digging your nails into the back of his neck and arching off of the wall. 

“Tell me you want it.” You can’t tell if it’s a demand or a plea. This strain in his voice and the muscles tensing across his broad frame make you tremble.

“I don’t.” You lie. You snake one hand down your body, peeling your ruined panties to the side so he can slot his tip at your dripping entrance. You tilt forward, impatiently, stretching around him just enough to override your filter. 

“Oh, fuck,” you start. Unable to stop the stream of whispered curses from rolling off your tongue. 

“Yeah,” Joel rasps, inching deeper inside of your tight, warm walls. He feeds himself into you slowly, the overwhelming fullness as you adjust makes your thighs shake. He pulls out and you whine, unable to say a word before he’s moving, dipping you onto the thin trailer mattress and slipping your underwear down your legs. 

“Gonna fuck you full,” he mutters. You spread your legs, making room for him to settle above you. He draws his cock back through your lips, coating himself in your arousal before driving into you with a powerful stroke. 

Your lips part, sucking in air as he sets a pace. He fills you deeper than you’ve ever felt, relentlessly making room for himself as he saws in and out of you. It’s powerful and primal, but refined by his athleticism. Fluid rolling hips and his strong core make you see stars as he fucks into you.

“That’s right,” he rasps above you, and you realize he’s responding to you. 

“So good,” you’re murmuring, “so full.” 

“Taking it like you were made for it,” he says to himself. The intensity of your tight, warm pussy coaxing him deeper makes him spill his thoughts. Unfiltered. 

He sets a pace, slow and deliberate at first, each stroke filling you completely before pulling back, leaving you desperate for more. The friction is maddening, plunging his length into your sensitive walls as he pins you beneath his hard body.   

“You feel that?” His breath is hot against your neck. “Feel how deep I am? How I’m splittin’ you open?”  

You nod frantically, your nails digging into his shoulders as you whimper his name.  

Joel’s control falters at the sound of it, his hips snapping harder, faster, as his desperation takes over. “Thought about this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Fuckin’ hell, I’ve thought about this too damn much. But you’re better than I ever imagined.”  

His confession sends a jolt through you, but you’re too far gone to process it, your body tightening around him as pleasure builds again, sharper and hotter than before.  

“Joel, please.”  

“Fuck,” he chokes the word out, his pace faltering for a split second before he slams into you harder, deeper. “Say that again.”  

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as your release breaks through you, leaving you gasping and cursing.  

Joel’s hips snap erratically, pinning you into the mattress with a tight grip, as he buries his cock as deep as he can inside of you. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mutters, his voice ragged. “Every drop, sweetheart.” Make you mine, he barely keeps the last thought in his head. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chant as your body jolts with each collision with his. 

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, cock driving deeper and swelling at your words. “That’s it. Take it all, sweetheart.”  

Your release hits again, your body trembling violently. Or maybe it never stopped—he only drew it out of you in waves. 

Joel curses low, his hips slamming into yours one last time before you feel him pulsing inside of you, hot and thick. 

When he pulls back, his eyes linger on the mess between your thighs. “Look at that,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent. His wide hands slide up the back of your thighs, bending your knees to your chest so he can watch the mix of your releases glistening and dripping from you. 

He takes one hand and drags it through the mess, pushing it back up inside of you. You squirm, sensitive to the touch, but fixated on whatever is burning behind his eyes. 

You wait for him to say something characteristically Joel.

To dismiss you as naive, to rub it in that he broke you down. That he had you crying his name. That you shouldn’t have done that. 

But it never comes.

You’re convinced he was trying to put you in your place. To give you another reminder that he thinks you’re useless and clueless. You’re too wrapped up in the thoughts to speak or move. 

He doesn’t say anything at all which nearly makes it worse.

Instead, he pins you under a heavy arm, holding you against him until you both doze off. Succumbing to exhaustion.

-> PART TWO

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤠🤎

tagging the usual babes in case you want some cowboy!joel for christmas too:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @magneticecstasy

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed @bbyanarchist

@94namkooksworld

[wishyoudwell]

Because Four (Linked Universe):

- has an education (went to school, which is a minority for the Links)

- has/will have a stable job with good income (smith)

- has a family (living grandfather hes pretty close with canonly + maybe a father based on the manga)

- Is childhood best friends with the Princess of Hyrule (Dot)

- Is really well loved by the royal family (eats with the rich) (His Grandfather is very close with the King) (Did you know the King will fuse Kinstones with you? How sweet)

- Grew up in/near Castle Town and is therefore (probably) well socialized

- Made the Four Sword (Not on his own.) (And magic carried him. As well as the Minish) (But still cool!)

- Has a pretty good life overall and is a really loved boy by many, many people and Minish (maybe not counting shadow dying as happiness but he was so full of love even his Shadow turned good)

—> He also gets the pleasure of: Being Palace of Four Sworded and Probably Dying Young and Maybe Being Cursed

( Side effects of his karma nerf include: Short genetics, terrible funky fashion sense )

[n0tamused]

︶꒦꒷‧₊˚Ashes of Honor︶꒦꒷

Summary: King Eurypon has sent out many of his people to hunt down the members of the outcast army, and rumors of dragons and beasts have brought in promises of honor and riches. Will you be the one to return successful and reap the rewards of honor, or will you meet a 'glorious' death like so many others before you? Contents: very canon divergent, Dragon Mydei AU, GN! Kremnoan reader, some violence/blood, use of you/your but also Y/n. Words: 4172

A/N: I am so happy to present this piece to you all! I don't remember the last time I wrote this much for a fic, or this happily tbh, I was really brainstorming this to find the best plotline and I really went on yapping. As you may notice once you read through, there is a chance I may end up writing pt 2. I already have a lot of notes written down, so we'll see how it goes. Tysm for the people enabling me with my dragon propaganda lol Ily! I did my best to keep this consistent so I hope all that work paid off. Please enjoy! Art in the header is done by me!

-Also, if you'd like to see how I've drawn Mydei as a dragon - here's the link to that post!

Rock and dirt sat still beneath the gold painted skies, sashes of red swirling like silk scarves discarded as the earth came alive with each sparse breeze. The air was stale and smelled of iron and old bone. And the sun, a giant orb held on the back of the distant titan’s back, was dipping beneath the smoke. The smoky fingers were swallowing the horizon whole, turning the world into bleak chaos beyond the expanse of those colors meant to symbolise triumph. 

It had been days since you last saw a proper face. And even longer since you had a taste of home, or any proper food for the matter. You were no poor hunter by any means, but game was scarce in these lands. Yesterday you stood over an edge if a mountain, taking in the view of Castrum Kremnos. A small anthill in the distance with two smaller anthills beside it, marking the smaller cities. 

There is blood on the ground now. Dotted in small splatters here and there, almost as dark as the earth itself; were it not so glossy you would have missed it. The smell of iron mingled in the air, intertwining with the sea of moving fog. Or smoke. Or perhaps it was magic? The question was as abrupt as it was absurd, making you huff a faint laugh; you wanted to scold yourself for feeling so pathetic, for thinking that way, but the rapid beating of your heart and the ache in your legs swallowed up any sense of ‘you’. Whatever was tracking these footsteps was simply following commands and instinct, a dangerous concoction that was currently leading you to possible doom. ‘Glory’, you hastily reminded yourself, ‘it is leading me towards triumph and a way back to honour ‘.

People of Kremnos were no strangers to trials and the ways of combat, and it was only natural they would develop various ways to test their very souls to see how far they can really go, even if it meant destruction of the self. There was no room for frailty, no room to wiggle out and turn back to come empty handed - such a fate would be worse than death. 

Perhaps that is why you kept marching on, your aching legs eating up the steep incline that led to an open mouth of a cave. Jagged teeth of rock lined the entrance, a piece of cloth hung off one, fluttering in the dying breeze. It was the same color of cloth of the man you were hunting, his traitorous blood speckling the ground. It was so dry, your throat was dry, and the earth seemed to breathe beneath your sandals as if it were alive. There was a distant light somewhere further in the yawning darkness, just around the corner as you made your way inside. The first few steps into the cave showed it to be narrow like a hall of a home, a slithering path that curved and would have posed a good advantage even to a dying man, were he to be interested in such an ambush - but it seemed he had no interest in such schemes. 

A small piece of you felt like smiling at the thought of him being too fearful to confront you, but you did not allow yourself to feel triumphant just yet. His soul still clung to its mortal shell and until you separated the two, you could not rest. The task suddenly seemed too heavy to think about, and where a smile would have graced your features, a frown took place instead. An odd lurching feeling was tugging at your stomach ever since you saw him turn on his heel and run. You had caught him by surprise upon a cleft on a hill, overlooking the valley below, but he was quick to flee after you landed a blow on him, cutting off a brooch pinning his short cloak to his shoulder. A token of where his loyalty lay. The brooch of outcasts. Traitors. They were all just traitors.

The word was spoken more oft than not in Castrum Kremnos, and it would seem that the King’s every speech began with the same. You wondered many times what his own son could've done to earn such foul words from his own father, that young boy you once glimpsed in the city with big golden eyes. Now that same boy led a rogue army outside the walls of Castrum Kremnos, bowing to no one. And with every speech, King Eurypon showed you a side of the Prince you could not even imagine, him and his lackeys pillaging towns and taking as they pleased.

It was the King’s wish and the King’s order to see their heads on spikes, especially the Prince’s head. And anyone who succeeded in bringing even one head back would be rewarded handsomely. Just like lions were hunted for their pelt and teeth, they were being hunted so one could prove themselves able in defending their honor and their people. But the feeling it gave you was odd, overripe and bitter on your tongue. The King spoke of the Prince’s transgressions, betrayals and murders, the sacking of villages and petty crimes. He spoke of every thing that could hate a man, but too much of one thing is bound to stir a person, and it was making you suspicious. 

There were many questions you no longer knew how to answer as the darkness ate your vision when you were made to crawl through a small passing, only to enter a large section of the cave - still poorly illuminated, with the only light coming from an opening in the ceiling several dozen feet above.  Specks of dust flew in the lone, fading lance of light.

A large hole stood in the middle like Mother Earth's open mouth, a gateway to a place much darker and more painful than a shadow. Where did he go, did he fling himself from the edge? 

A blade sprouted from the shadow, flinging itself at you from the hand which held it. It whistled overhead and down into the gnawing abyss. You spun around and met the assailant head on just as he put his weight into the spear which seemed to have emerged from the sandy underfoot. His step was lame and his skin appeared pale, his side stained with blood. While a spear was an excellent weapon to use to run through someone with the small point of it, it made it all the easier to avoid. Whatever force guided you felt not your own, your blood was running thin and boiling with all the years spent sweating underneath the scornful eye of your tutor. 

“An attack from the shadows?” you growled. “Suits you just right, you vermin” you spat with venom you did not know you possessed. His other hand came down upon you, mailed and heavy and it sent you reeling back from him, yet your grasp on his spear remained steady, pulling him stumbling along with you. Pain shot through your nose and up the side of your head, and the next blow you landed on him held less power than you anticipated, yet it left him breathless nonetheless. 

He grunted and stumbled, staggering before putting his entire weight into his shoulder to ram you into the cave wall once he felt your grasp pull again on his, now useless, weapon. He took the opportunity of your shock to wrench the spear free of your hold and prepare for another chance at using it. Your knees had given out from below you and you found yourself on the fleeting sandy ground, dry and shifting. 

With your heart drumming a deathly beat in your lungs you lurched for his knees in an embrace full of ire that it sent him tumbling back on his back. Not knowing whether to grasp for you or you or his spear first, the man was caught unprepared. He grasped for your wrists, discarding his spear, feeling blindly as you went to grab the bone hilt of your dagger to wrench it from its sheath, the sound as loud as a whistle to your ears, even over the thunderous beat of your heart. Adrenaline never tasted so sweet as survival hung on by a golden thread of light. To kill or be killed, to kill him or return empty handed to the city. 

“You of the rats that crawl over these lands, what name do you bear?” you questioned, his grip strong around your hand even as you inched the tip of the blade closer. Closer. Right there. Above his heart. His calloused hands seized your wrist, looking for ways to wrench the blade from your hold.

“Leonnius.” He struggled with the word, blinking rapidly as sweat beaded down his brow. He gave an angry huff, pushing back but you only put more weight over him. The sandy ground seems to yearn to swallow him with how it embraced him the more weight you placed onto him, hugging him like a lover. “And who are you?”

The light shone in his eyes like an orb containing his very soul, staring back at you with hope or desire akin to a burning flame eating at dry wood. Poison bubbled up your throat, you could taste it as you grit your teeth, your eyes swallowing the sight underneath you like a pill too large. 

You pried your hand from his hold, raised it high and spoke with the voice you only recognised as that one of the King:

“Death” the blade came rushing down. But the target was missed as the entire earth, the cave, suddenly roared to life. From the yawning darkness came a sound so shrill and loud it rattled your bones, like wind through the hollow of the trees. Even Leonnius winced at the sound and shivered. 

Leonnius pushed you away in haste, knocking the air from your lungs after he had twisted your own blade from your hold, slicing you across the arm and boiled leather you wore for armor. 

Through the shaking of the ground you could only land a punch on the man, and this time he went over the edge due to the thunderous quaking of the world, falling into the abyss that was waking up. A shout, a sickening thud, and more groaning of the cave did not serve to ease your racing heart. If the ground swallowed him, you'd have no proof to show for your quest. 

Yet, whatever thoughts of the quest you had vanished when the chasm moaned with ire again.

Then came the breaking, the growl, a heavy sound of something clawing its way out from the depths of Tartarus itself to tower over you. Whatever light there once was, was no more as the shadow stood above you, balanced over cliffs and edges that surrounded the deep pit in the middle of the large cave room. The shadow had eyes of molten gold, otherworldly… and angry.

There was no word for ‘fear’ in Kremnoan, but the feeling of your heart seizing at the sight of the towering beast might have given it a name in that very moment, a word even more terrifying than fear itself. Death bowed its thick neck and opened its maw, the moment flowing as slow as sand on even ground, and you stood frozen where you stood. Gold and red light filled its throat, and the large sword-like teeth glared at you, wondering how they’ll look stained with whatever remains of you. The beast was colored in shades of red and peach, great curling horns a deep red and the great beast wore pieces of iron shields and chains as ornaments along its upper body.

You found your back pressed against the rocky wall, the sharp edges digging into your back. If you had returned empty handed, you would have been humiliated, ridiculed and left to live in shame - a fate worse than death. 

Blood pumping, you pushed yourself off the wall in the very last moment before the fire came to lick up at the rock and sand, narrowly dodging the heat. Screams filled your head, fighting to win over the choice of to run or fight. The voice wishing to fight had a strange tone, as if multiple people spoke all at once, and you recognized one voice as that of your tutor. The other side was your mother, begging you to return. 

You flung yourself forward, picking up your blade and launching it up at the dragon’s head. The blade bounced off of the hide, of its brow, clattering down the abyss.

“A Kremnoan..”

Was it death’s servant come to collect you that spoke, or Death itself? Your lungs were burning, muscles taut as bow strings and aching. Suddenly, you were all too aware of your frailty, of how small you were.

“This one found me by the east point, scouting, I never thought they’d give this much pursuit”

It was Leonnius who spoke now, although you did not see him, he was somewhere below. His voice was distant, almost weak.

“Yet another foolish one, to come after you this far..”

Your heart sank to your feet as the beast drew closer again. There was a distinct smell of flesh and char in the air which had turned too warm, something you internally told yourself that you can handle - it is the sharp swords for teeth you were worried for, staring right at you.  

Your mother's voice was heard again. What is disgrace beside a mother's love for her child? Return to the city. ‘But the King and the others will be furious..’

Suddenly, the earth gave way beneath your weight and you went stumbling back through a small archway of the cave, tumbling over a ledge that led to the small path concealed from the dragon, and soon your feet found the quick rhythm needed. There was a blast of flames that lit up the hidden section, the heat licking at your back and sending you speeding further up, climbing until your lungs threatened to light the way forward. The ground rumbled all around, and when you inevitably came through the exit point, you were met face to face with the dragon again, his head peering at you over the edge before he pulled himself higher up. The sight of those molten gold eyes peering over the edge made your heart leap into your throat. Those great claws scratched and sang an eerie rhythm over stone and thickly packed dirt, once threatening to undo an entire section. You would find no exit here, and the darkness encroaching on the sides of the cave gave no sign of the tunnel you crawled through in the first place.

“It is the King’s orders you are obeying. That weak excuse of a king sent you here to kill on his command” there was no question in the beast's gravely tone, but certainty.  The heavy muscle of his tail swished behind him in slow but powerful motions, and for a second you thought you glimpsed not one, but two men looking up at the event unfolding from the cliff below. 

“Yes! He has!” you proclaim with the last strong grasp of courage, steeling your tone to sound less frail than you felt. The gaze of the dragon was alluring, hypnotic in a way that gave you pause, even if your heart throbbed for the open skies. There were rumors of the Prince having strange pets on his side, but a dragon was not the rumor you had ever believed in, until now “And I surely will..”.

That last part earned itself a great bark of a laugh, and the edges of the dragon’s mouth drew up, twisting and revealing the glistening teeth once more. 

 “A brave, but a stupid thing to be said by one so…” his head bowed down, looking as if he tried to make himself level with your height, “-small”. He was the foot of a man over an anthill, huffing in your direction to send you hurrying along.  A golden glint overcame his grand eyes while he watched you side step in half-calculated and rushed steps, coming near yet another tunnel, or what you believed was another tunnel Yet, on another glance, it was revealed to be a fireplace casted in shadow, burnt wood sitting dormant in a pile of ashes. The dragon did not speak now, but he could sense you swallowing your unease, watching how your mind raced and came up empty of a solution. 

He did not unleash another blast, instead he seemed to have listened to something another man had said from below, something having mentioned your name.. Kremnos..King Eurypon... Was that the Prince?

“And how do you propose you’d get through me?” he began, but gave you enough pause to have you want to respond, before he continued.

“My scales are like steel armor, no blade can penetrate it, and even if you managed to stab your toothpick through it, you would not kill me. How do you propose to reclaim your honour?” 

You found yourself swimming in doubts, torn between the voice of your mother on one side and your people on the other. But your fate was tied to this cave with no exit. No one will even know you've died, or how you died. 

“Your master is Kremnoan as much as I - and we both know all living things can die, and that includes you. Surely he taught you lessons of your own mortality. One way or another.. you will die. Even if I must die by the end of it, it can be done. It matters not to me if it takes days or months or years” a resolute step forward was your display of courage. 

This time around, the huff of amusement did not seem so cheerful as before, perhaps sensing your lack of passion, or perhaps he was reading your mind this entire time.  The dragon adjusted his grip on the nearby ledge and rose a few feet up once more. 

“What has that mad king promised you? Lands..riches..titles..? I do not disagree that I'll see a day where one such as you kills me, but it is a shame it will not be you, you will not be here to see it” he grumbled with a long breathy sound of the last words, then, he hissed: “The man you call your King has weighed the value of your life, among many others before you, and found it worth nothing”. 

What you felt was not anger, as you expected, not disbelief, you did not feel offended, but a deep sense of disappointment filled you, rejection. What for exactly, you could not say, or did not allow yourself to acknowledge. “Are you mad?” you spat, willing yourself to fight even if felt futile, unwilling to let yourself fall for such schemes. Dragons were known for their mischief and lies, their mind control, you reminded yourself, hands curling into a fist. You inhale swiftly in a hiss, stepping forward until your heavy footsteps cast pebbles and sand to fly over the edge as the Beast sighed and pulled himself back from you.

Rejection was a hard pill to swallow for anyone, but rejection of a battle, for a Kremnoan? It felt worse than death. The Beast who could dispose of you with a simple opening of his maw was backing away from giving you the combat you so desperately needed, and pulling away his life along with it from your reach. 

“You are being used, Y/n. Do not bother denying it” he said as he went back down to the level you initially made contact with him, retreating in slow, measured steps. The light from above seemed brighter now again, when he was no longer blocking it. The light briefly illuminated the red stripes over his large body. His wings were twice the size of the average dragon, or what you imagined they'd be anyway - they looked awfully large. He had to bend them and keep them close to his body when shifting; he used the great clawed thumb on the wings to grasp at the walls around him, painting an image of a large, muscular spider, horned and a thousand times more terrifying. 

A hundred things ran through your head, ranging from anger to sadness to relief - but it did not change the fact you would need to return to the city empty handed and disgraced further. That is, if you could even find a way out. Given his retreat, did he mean to watch you starve? Wither away like a flower with no water? No, that can't do.

“You toy with me” you said through grit teeth before you were made to go down the tumbling, dark tunnel once more to catch up to him. You could no longer see where the other two men went, nor did you care much. They were there,  prowling in the shadow.

“You humor me with your soft talk. For a castaway Prince infamous for his bloodthirst, I expected more of his lap dog! Is your master so scared that he even denies me his audience?!” You growled at him as you went running to the edge of the ledge again, sneering and grasping at straws. Along the way you plucked up the discarded spear.

“Is this what has become of you, oh great Prince?” You shouted into the void so the runaway Prince may hear your words, but your voice wavered as the dragon froze in place, his head dipped in shadow, save his eyes.

“I give you the choice to leave and you do not take it.. You are either naive or stupid to think you have any grand to stand on. But brave or honourable, you are not. For a honourable one would see the folly in this matter and turn away from it. You cannot kill me even if you do have to…” he swished his tail angrily, stirring sand and rocks as he adjusted himself on another ledge, but he still seemed to fill in the cave. “I do not fight uncertain vermin, for that would bring dishonour to me”. He spoke after a moment, as if thinking his words over. There was a melody of humor and melancholy simultaneously mingling between those words in a sound that grated your ears from within, so much so that goosebumps rose over your skin - something you were tempted to blame the cold of the cave for. Your prior altercation with Leonnius seems to have not gone unnoticed by the dragon. 

“Be gone, Y/n of Kremnos”

Silence overtook you like a silent vice. Squeezing your throat until it threatened to turn blue and purple but you were standing at the edge of the world with your feet planted in drying concrete, overlooking the chasm that wished to reject you. It was a long way down the mountain, and even longer way back to rock bottom you had hoped to avoid returning to. 

His shaking footsteps began to recede again, moving away from you. His head dipped and his body turned to face away from you to dive back into the abyss.

Shame swam into your lungs like a slimy eel and you wished to weep. The flame of hope you had clung onto was gone and all you could do was stare at the spikes and fins in the middle of the dragon’s back, moving in an odd, hypnotic way similar to a jagged wave lapping at a shore. Was this it?

The Dragon churred an angry melody once you landed on his back, small feet padding across the vast expanse of his spine before the tiny tip of the spear began poking at his scales. He groaned and his mouth filled with smoke, belly full of fire as he turned his head to snap his jaws at you. 

The scales were tough, impenetrable, marked by countless other scratches and scars and broken arrow points. The Beast snapped his jaws, once, twice, and the question of why he had not outright blasted you with a wash of flame did not dawn on you as anger blinded you. Every action was driven by anger, grief, envy - why could you not be like the other warriors, soldiers, like him.

“I will not go back! On my mother's name, I will not!” 

Suddenly, the dragon roared, a sound so shrill and terrifying it shook the cave and golden blood splashed across your face as the spear found its way between broken scales. He stumbled, and then you were falling. He had breathed a great puff of flame into the air before you had found yourself groundless. And that small flash of light allowed you to see the figure now falling with you, below you. His eyes, golden, glowing, and surprised. You knew those eyes. And now your heart filled with dread. 

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[fatphobiabusters]

August is Fat Liberation Month!

[PHOTO ID: A white and orange image reading "FAT LIBERATION MONTH PROMPT LIST". With "#FLAugust on tumblr" beneath it. Inside a white outline is the list of prompts transcribed below. Text is white and in font of Open Dyslexic. END ID]

To celebrate, we've created a prompt list for anybody who wants to create art of fat people in August! We've put two prompts for each day, so you can choose which prompt you like better or even do both if you want to!

Here's the list:

Merperson/Futuristic

Fairytale/Autumn

Country/Magical girl (any gender)

Lolita(fashion)/Goth

Summer/Masculine

Gender swap/Body type swap (thin to fat)

Runway/Identity

Space/Historical

Gijinka/Music

Androgynous/Sky

Nature/Time machine

Zodiac/Nostalgia

Party/Self portrait

Books/Fat athlete

Cultural/Academic

Centaur/Dragon

Scene/Punk

Burlesque/Preppy

Cyber/Favorite color

Decora/Retro

Polka dot/Comfy

Steampunk/Rockstar

Pastel/Neon

Rockabilly/Beach

Other's portrait/Sculpture

City/Mountain

Dancer/Hero

Halloween/Masquerade

Hobby/Animal

Decade/Vacation

Healing/Weather

If you'd like to show us your art, you can @ us somewhere on the post, including in the replies, or you can use the tag #FLAugust. We'll try to reblog as many people participating as we can. Please note though that we won't be sharing fat fetish art, and we'll be reblogging according to our discretion. If you'd like to, you can link to this prompt list on your post so people inspired by your art can participate too!

Happy Fat Liberation Month!

-Mod Worthy and Mod Squirrel

[thelien-art]

Lesbian orc woman please uwu

Thankyyyy

I might have gotten a bit carried away because I have made a lot of HC for orcs as a whole now and these two too... just a bit...

Anway, here are two lesbian pretty orc woman :) Búrzgûl & Durb-Naglur

Also I forgot tumblr doesn´t allow women's breasts so Búrzgûl´s dress/shirt?? might look a bit weird as it was a last minut thing :´)

🏳️‍🌈CELEBRATE PRIDE WITH ME🏳️‍🌈 - send in a character or a ship with a pride flag and I´ll draw it (read link for rules)

HC for Orcs and these two ladies down below

Búrz means dark in black speech, and Gûl means magic/dark shadows (in Sindarin it also means knowledge/magic), so small HC drop that the shamans/priests of Orcs have adjective names :) Durb is the start of words that include "force/dominate" and Naglur is an orc name in a draft of LOTR

Búrz is a shaman/priest, which is why she has most of the tattoos she has, especially those on her arms and hands. She is from Rhûn (maybe Khand?) and comes from a manish orcish tribe. Naglur´s tribe shows their lives through tattoos on the arm. The life before marriage is depicted on the left arm, which is why there´s some kind of sun near her elbow, because she married Búrz and now has begun her journey on her right :) (the small rim of dot scars is a marriage ritual from Búrz tribe) She is from a group of orcs who have come from Utumno and later Angband (I haven´t figured out if she´s born in the first age or later) and now lives near the Forodwaith.

Anyway, I have already made a sketch for a full piece of them XD so here they are just at home, and then when the other is finished, you guys will see their public more formal clothes too

Also, also, also, scars are attractive for ALL orcs, therefore most rub mud into their bigger wounds and hope to get a big impressive scar. I also HC them as an extremely clean society, because what is more humiliating than to die from infection??

Naglur is elf descendent, therefore more or less immortal, and Búrz orc (elf) and some part man and I haven´t decided if she is mortal or not😬 the angst possibilities... but also I think it would be extremely holy for orcs, especially shamans and priests, to be mortal with the way Melkor speaks about it, he fools the men into thinking it a curse but it´s made clear that he knows he is lying so what are the orcs opinion on it?

[shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck]

Anyone wanna see a Dark Link/Shadow Legend

Well you get to see him anyways :)

From an AU idea I had where the Shadow is a future dark version of Legend trying to prevent the events that cause Hyrule's well hyrule going magic nuclear fallout. Via taking control of monsters (black blood)to fight other monsters to solve the problem. This does not work. Also Fable is Aurora in this au and Legend is the prince from the legend surrounding the whole sleeping princess debacle. The legend of course has been warped a bit by the time Hyrule hears about it and has somehow split from the stories about the Hero of legend. Making The Prince from the legend seem like an entirely different person. And Shadow Legend is the shadow Hyrule fights before obtaining the triforce of courage. Looking the same bc Legend got summoned through Hyrule's shadow. Anyways it's a whole weird time paradox situation and shadow Legend Is mentally screaming the whole time while also being in very deep denial and unaware he is in fact THE Shadow until he ends up Injuring Twilight in the Sunset arc(?) i think. Ends up connecting the dots then. Think mistaken identity except It's Shadow legend mistaking his own identity. very angsty I think. And in the drawing i did Legend is in fact holding a Corrupted-damaged fire rod. Also wearing fable's crown. I thought of all this listening to Fallen Kingdom. And Outrunning Karma but that was kind of after the fact.

[psykheofthestars]

My favourite hc about prophetic dreams in the royale bloodline is that they came from Sky

Artemis: *wakes up in a cold sweat with a very terrified expression*

Aurora: prophetic dream?

Artemis: prophetic dream.

Dot: Those dreams are both a blessing and a curse!

Lullaby: I'm genuinely so glad that Time also gets them, I know I'm not insane!

Flora: I only recently started getting them and I can confirm that they're *TERRIFYING* do you know how many times I've seen scenes of L-Wild being put into danger and having to deal with the fact that I can't even intervene!?

Tetra: I HATE when that happens! It happend so many times while me and Sunshine were seperated during the War of Ages!

Fable: Sunshine.. your denial of your feelings is a river in the desert..

Artemis: Goddesses.. I still remember how you would barely sleep until you two were reunited

*more Zeldas other then Sun telling stories about prophetic dreams*

Sun: wait wait.. They're really that bad? I guess I can manifest a quick vision of my Link but they aren't as terrifying as how you're describing it!

*silence*

Fable: You.. You don't get the dreams!?!?!?!!!?!

Dawn: Even I get them and I barely have any magic!

Dusk: I.. I'm at a loss for words-

*meanwhile*

Sky: *wakes up after having a very vivid prophetic dream*

Four: prophetic dream?

Sky: very vivid prophetic dream.

[connoisseursdecomfort]

The Stories and Symbolisms behind the Garden Codenames (1) The Sleeping Beauty, its origins and its symbolisms

[Manga spoiler alert: Spoilers after the keep-reading line]

Since Endo has given us new details about the Garden and its members (*cough* to be honest that one member), maybe it's time for us to attempt to connect the dots.

A. Dornröschen KHM50 and the Thorn Princess

Let's start with the obvious.

Yor's codename comes from the title of the Grimm/German version of Sleeping Beauty, Dornröschen (Dorn ["thorn"] +‎ Rose [“rose”] +‎ -chen [diminutive suffix used to make people, animals and things cute and small]). Dornröschen is translated to be 茨姫/いばらひめ (ibara ["thorn"] + hime ["princess"]) in JP, and Little Briar Rose in English. The princess is named Rosamund. The image of Yor, or to be exact, as the Thorn Princess, has always been associated with roses, too.

(Source)

B. The Eddas and the warrior goddess

While I was trying to reverse-engineer things and google いばら姫 (Yor's JP codename), I found this essay about the origins of Brothers Grimm's on the first page. Something on P.2 caught my attention: "戦死者の霊をヴァルハラ天堂に導く戦いの乙女" (the warrior maiden who guides the souls of the fallen soldiers to Valhalla, "the Hall of the Slain".) Guess who's also interested in 戦うヒロイン (heroines who can fight)? Endo.

(Source: Eyes Only, P.199)

The Sleeping Beauty has its origins in Nordic mythology and Germanic heroic legend. There is a similar scene in the Eddas where the hero, Sigurd, wakes up Brynhild from a magical sleep and marries her. Except the more interesting fact is that Brynhild is a valkyrie, a warrior goddess/maiden. Brynhild's story does remind me of Yor: "Odin stuck her with a sleep thorn and declared that she must marry." (Source)

The other thing about valkyries that are quite Yor-like is that with the connection with Odin, valkyries "existed in an earlier role as "demons of death'", but as they "became popular figures in heroic poetry," they "were stripped of their 'demonic characteristics and became more human, and therefore become capable of falling in love with mortals […].'" (Source) In the most recent Jump+ exhibition, Endo has said that Yor is the character that has the most character development since the start and he uses the exact same phrase - "she has become more human". (Source)

Ch.108 Yor being the "demon of death"

The Edda has continued to be inspirations for modern culture, such as Tolkien's The Hobbit, and Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen. And I mean, Wagner. Germany. War. *cough cough*

C. The Sleeping Beauty, the Eddas, and Greek mythology

Of course everything is related to the Greek mythology and the epics. Some claim that the good and bad fairies in Sleeping Beauty are based on the Moirai and the Norns. Not only because of the spindle, but also because they are there to "tell" the fate of the princess. Brynhild also has the ability to prophesy.

Ch.108

Other than Melinda, the Shopkeeper actually has all three symbols of the Moirai on him: the spinner (the needle), the apportioner (his role as the Shopkeeper), and the one who cut the thread (the scissors on his button).

Ch.115

It is also suggested that the bad fairy is based on Eris, the goddess and personification of strife and discord. She has initiated the Judgement of Paris by dropping the golden apple. Eris is "the rouser of armies", but she "does not participate in active combat, nor take sides in the war." (source) There's a theory suggesting that the soccer game between Westalis and Ostania is a metaphor for the conflicts and competitions between the SSS and WISE. By refusing to join the soccer match, it could be a way to show that the Garden doesn't want to take sides.

We do have tonnes of sxf characters which seemingly have been linked to some sort of Greek culture. We have Anya's chimera, the Desmonds' griffin, Sugmund Authen's "Eureka!", Barbara's and Demetrius's name, etc.

Yor's name has its Greek origins too. Endo originally wanted to name her Yolanda and it's later shortened to Yor. The Greek form of Yolanda is Iolanthe. There is an opera titled Iolanthe, and if you go to Wikipedia, literally the first sentence describing the first act says, "The beloved fairy Iolanthe [...] committed the capital crime (under fairy law) of marrying a mortal man." Interesting.

D. The Garden and the Beauty Sleeping in the Woods

Let's circle back to the story of Sleeping Beauty. The other Japanese name of the story of The Sleeping Beauty is 眠れる森の美女 (The Beauty Sleeping in the Woods). Where is the Garden located? In the woods. In Lin's tweet about M115, he calls the meeting "a secret meeting deep in the woods" (森奥の密会).

Ch.115

For Yor's character, we could interpret the transition of "being more human" to be "being awaken". However, it seems like there's another "thing" that is "sleeping" in the woods.

Ch.115

According to the story, when the princess falls asleep, the whole kingdom falls asleep with her, too. The good fairies try to reverse the effect of the curse - as a result, the princess won't die. She will only be asleep for 100 years.

Remember the theory about how once upon a time Westalis and Ostania used to be of the same country/nation/empire, but there's a split? If that is really the case, is the unification sort of an "awakening"? And frankly, that's probably how the Forgers can stay together without further complications? Anyway.

E. Others

Endo is from a prefecture called Ibaraki-ken 茨城県. Yep, the same ibara as Ibara-hime. His hometown, Koga-shi 古河市, is known for garden roses バラ/ばら "bara". Some think that "ibara" (thorns) is a transliteration for "bara" (roses). It's common to use the Chinese words 薔薇 to name/call the roses, too.

Now we've finally come full circle. Do you remember what the JP title of Dornröschen is? 茨姫/いばらひめ Ibara-hime. Some scholars think that Ibara-hime is a confusing translation - the ibara here doesn't mean only the thorns, but the rose bushes with thorns. (source) And therefore Yor's codename is not about the thorns, but the roses.

[esamastation]

Hello, here follows a bit of original LITRPG writing in the form of a forum post. I have no idea how to explain or what to title it. It is a thing.

In which the origin of System is pondered upon.

-

Theories of Apocalypse forum

The System - is it human made? by the Witchess of Londonium, 1st of June, 20xx

Guys, I figured it out, I connected the dots. 

The System wasn't created by the IFAR. 

I know, I know, there's like a billion theories about this, and of course everyone knows what the Elves say. The System is a Gift to all of humanity. Sure. And then there's that crackpot Mayfeather's theory about it being inheritance from ancient aliens that bred with humans thousands of years ago. Personally I think that's just because he wants a harem of furries, but each to their own. And then there's the stuff about american military experiments that went rogue, but that seems a bit too much of a coinkydink for me, what with the apocalypse happening at the same time.

Though, now that I think about it, a weird human program would go rogue during the apocalypse, wouldn't it. And I actually kinda do think that's close to what happened - though not that it was secret military drugs or nano machines or whatever.

I think it's something bigger - something we all knew and loved, in the old world. Something… ever present, that was part of all our lives. Something utterly beyond IFAR's comprehension.

I mean, think about it. This thing is huge, in like, cosmic, evolutionary, technological revolution sense, huge! This thing is like the dawn of information technology but times a hundred, with, I don't know, genetic engineering and all of weight loss and bodybuilding industry thrown in the mix. This is the "next step in human development" level of stuff!

And weight loss and bodybuilding industries of old wish they had what we have now. We can literally level up now, and with each level we get stronger. And that's just on the base level. We can change our species now! I've seen people transform themselves completely with the System. One chick, she's a dragon now, just through the System. This guy I know, super into calisthenics, yeah, he can bench press cars now, through the System. I've seen people with wings, tails, horns, with multiple arms - and there's rumours about this one old lady, she can just transform herself into other things. And all we need to do to make all that possible… is level up and get some exp.

… which, okay, it isn't that easy to get exp, you really gotta work for it, and sometimes it's so damn hard to get ahead you just wanna cry, but still. 

Why would they ever give this thing to us? 

Here's the thing. I don't think they did.

Just think about it - why would they give this thing to us? It makes us stronger, it powers us up - it gives us magic. And okay, yes, it also, consequently, spreads magic around, which helps them, making things more magical and more chaotic and dangerous - but seriously! Why would they want to empower us? They're here to subjugate us! How does giving us all this power and opportunity benefit them in any way? 

It doesn't, it just doesn't - just look at the Dragon Battle of Paris. You can bet your probably by now feathery butt that those guys who ate it in the Boulogne-Billancourt wish we didn't have the System.

So here's what I think happened. I think it was a complete freak accident. 

When the Veil was breached and the Aurora Magicalis happened, those particles changed everything they came in contact with, right? We got magical people and creatures and trees and houses and lakes and, I don't know, magical damn water towers now. And those were like intrinsically linked changes too - the thing with the metro proves it! One thing changes by magic and everything that's a copy or similar enough of the original changes too.

And that's why we have giant centipede trains all over the world now.

Which is still terrifying.

So, what happened to the internet when magic particles hit it? What happened to all that knowledge just interlinked all throughout the world? People think it vanished with everything else electronic - but we know you can't vanish things by magic. You can only move things… or change them.

I think the internet got whammied, guys, the same as the rest of us - and like everything else that got whammied, it gained a life of its own. But the internet isn't like a train or, I don't know, a taxi cab that's suddenly alive, it doesn't really have a specific territory where it exists. It's everywhere in the world and it's got no one specific spot where it starts from and we just accessed it with our phones and computers and whatever. 

(Yes I know the internet has physical forms on servers and data centers or whatever, shut up, I'm thinking magically here.)

So, the internet gets magically whammied. Where does it go? It goes where it's always gone - to us. It was made by humans, for humans, for sharing of human discovered and developed and intended information. So it just… attached itself to us. And it's still doing the same thing it's always done - sharing information.

And why is it running out of lives like a videogame now? Well, have you ever wondered how much of the internet bandwidth in total was taken by online videogames? Okay, it probably wasn't that much - but it was still kinda significant amount! Or who knows, maybe the first bit of the internet that got whammied was someone's Steam account, who knows.

Either way, I blame the evils of online videogames, as many concerned aunties have before me. Heh.

Or maybe I'm talking out of my ass and it's all a plot by the Elves to Stockholm Syndrome all of humanity - but isn't it a bit weird, how none of them have this thing? Isn't it a bit of a hell of an inconvenience to them, that we do? Did no one else notice in the early days how shocked they all were to see some of us flinging magic right back at them?

And isn't it a little bit more comforting to think that this Awesome thing that now unites us all wasn't made by our enemies - but that we ourselves made it?

Because, guys, I definitely don't think they were expecting it. When I ran into goblins the first time, they totally thought they could just roll right over us. Orcs too. And the Elves, man… I'm definitely not the only one with a bad first impression. I don't know what they were expecting me to go, bend over, lick their boots, beg for my life, maybe. They were definitely not expecting a fireball to the face, lemme tell you.

Between you and me, I don't think they would've given me, or anyone, that skill if they had a choice in the matter. 

Also it just makes sense though, right? I mean, it's not like Elves even know what videogames are. They don't have computers, they never developed, like… Dungeons and Dragons or anything like that. I bet some human had to explain to them what levels and upgrades even are - because that's, that's really weird and really niche human knowledge, in the grand scheme of things, right? It hasn't been a thing for more than maybe a hundred years.

I don't actually know how long the concept of a "Character levelling up and getting more powerful" has been a thing - feel free to let me know because I am kind of obsessed with this and I suddenly need to know.

Anyway, The System. It's definitely been to the benefit of all of us using it in this bullshit apocalypse, right? And the IFAR… Yeah, I don't think it's been to their advantage at all.

Also, like, come the feck on. When you really think about it, the info the System gives us… isn't it kind of familiar? Boil it all down and what we have are chats and forums and wikis at our fingertips! What kind of invading force gives the people they're invading a communication tool like this? Like, sure, it took a while to get here and it takes effort to use it, it has a cost - but so did the internet.

This is nothing new to us, human peoples of the Earth. Such as it is, right now… invaded and transformed and on the brink of being conquered by damn fantasy Elves… 

So, that's my pitch. The System is the sentiment and magical new form of the World Wide Web, with an online RPG twist.

What have you been doing with it?

336 credits, 759 replies, 163 awards.

-

Tadaah, the thing. Relating vaguely to this Isekai based DND campaign idea I had, which was originally an original story which I wanted to write, which I think is this?

Also IFAR is short for "Invaders from another reality", lol.

Anyway. The thought won't leave me alone but I have no idea what to do with this. Maybe I could do prompts based on this? Idk. Some sort of RP thing??

[aiscapades]

dissecting the lost in limbo demo and speculating about literally everything!!

this is just me being insane and connecting dots that probably don't actually connect. assmaster made similar connections i did so i feel a little less silly abt this! :)

just. hear me out

the seer

firstly,

amon is that you

who is the one between? pride? or the tower entity? is the seer on pride's side or the tower's??

now what the hell does our grandma have to do with any of this. does she actually know anything or is she just superstitious and kinda sorta suspects something. she's been working for DECADES to dispel the darkness that hangs over faybourne? FOR DECADES? do you mean trying to convince mc to leave? because she knew all along something would happen to us? + if another dialogue option is chosen, the seer says "life has tried to bend you to the ways of others, and still... you have prevailed." which in my mind basically translates to "even though you moved away, you came back. as you were destined to do." mc says they think they're here by pure chance. the seer says "the one between doesn't believe in such a thing... that you are here today before me, just like they predicted... it can be nothing if not divine [...] providence." so we are absolutely destined for this by some higher power.

oh,, WERE we torn between two worlds. OH WERE WE NOW-

brother (lysander) sees a curse. seer (lazaro) sees a blessing. does the brother see faybourne as cursed bc it suffers unwanted effects of the tower ? or is it simply a curse (i.e nuisance) bc it is producing wanderers for pride (or the tower)? whose side is lysander on? whose side is lazaro on??? does the tower want to consume limbo? also the firstborn (human realm)?? is this why the seer views it as a blessing? do they want these worlds to merge or fall apart all together? is the connection between faybourne and limbo the source of their abilities? i just assume they're originally from limbo, but maybe not. i just wonder why one sees it as a curse and the other sees it as a blessing. (i'm rlly simplifying these characters & their possible motivations lol)

interesting. so the town of faybourne is directly related to limbo. linked. parallels. reflections.

"the scar in limbo's chest" is that the tower? or could it mean something else more metaphorical, like a betrayal?

"for the benefit of both realms" interesting....... is lazaro limbo-born but residing in the firstborn?? is lysander a capitalist

ALL THIS TIME, i'm thinking the seer is on pride's side. but here he is telling us to fight against him! and the seer says "this wasn't supposed to happen! this wasn't part of the deal!" did pride betray them by telling us to fight? we were sent to limbo--was that not their goal? (were they instead trying to disconnect us from the tower? magically protect us? what else was this ritual for?) or did they just not expect to be hurt in the process? * this is all assuming ??? is pride. more on that later

limbo

when the realm turns red w/ hatred, the silhouette almost resembles envy (the hair!) before returning to the original style. young pride? envy? ?????

FURTHER... the tower entity (the narrating voice mc hears) calls this silhouette (represented by ???) the betrayer. pride has betrayed the tower in some way. more on this in a moment.

+ envy is also a traitor (via treason, iirc)

is this a connection? is this why nobody cares about our wound. are we gonna be healed. or was that a one time thing?? were we simply being stitched back together from the inside even after entering limbo? freaky nonetheless..

i speculated a lot on WHO wanted us sent to limbo. but what's interesting is that it seems we land just outside the borders of the woods beyond--a dangerous place clearly marked by the red ropes. mc wanders downhill, however, too close to this border, maybe even going past it and deeper into danger. + later on, it's mentioned that the voidbound have unexpectedly wandered past this border. if we are sent here by some godlike being, be it pride or the tower, why have they sent us into danger? was it pure chance where we'd fall out of the sky? or did pride want us somewhere safe and isolated enough, but we wandered away + the voidbound situation has worsened? did the tower want us in its reach the moment we fell into limbo? the tower wouldn't want us to die. right?? pride wouldn't want us to die! he scolds us when we do..... right???

the voidbound (this is where i get crazy)

now i watched fullmetal alchemist brotherhood as a kid and it forever defined the rest of my life. the themes of creating new lifeforms from scratch, humans trying to attain godhood in this sense, homunculi and other half-formed monstrosities gross me out and scare me in the best way. when i first saw the voidbound in the demo, i immediately thought of the mannequin soldiers (gore warning!). this is why the line "it holds itself like a scared little kid" stood out to me so much. are these voidbound, these disgusting creatures made of melted flesh and mismatched body parts, the children of the tower entity? did the tower entity try to create children the way pride did? did pride sabotage them? is the tower a scorned lover or a sibling (parallel to lysander & the seer)? FURTHER... did pride create limbo in the image of the firstborn (the human realm)? is this why he is called father pride? we know envy isn't their real name, so is it some kind of dishonor or punishment to be named after your greatest sin? did pride see himself a god and therefore create life? did the tower try as well and failed?

the one between

OK SO he did not like that. but i cannot tell if it's bc HE IS "the one between" or if it's bc the TOWER ENTITY is. i thought that because it's his silhouette guiding us to limbo, reforming our body, bringing us back to life if we die to the voidbound, he must not be "the one between." bc if he is, he'd know the seer was sending us to limbo. he'd know about the ritual. instead of an interrogation, there would've been celebration. "guys my new wanderer just got here!! check 'em out!!" but instead we were threatened, questioned, and treated like a prisoner. like we were the enemy. so who was the silhouette? who is the one between? whose wanderer are we? does he know mc is under the influence of the tower? i don't think so. it seems only xal knows (unless pride is hiding things). does he not expect his wanderer to be under the tower's influence? is this where the ritual went wrong? were we meant to be sent to limbo all along, but pride didn't know about our connection to the tower? did the tower plant this seed decades ago, waiting for the moment we found ourselves in limbo? to use us as a weapon against pride? is every wanderer connected to the tower? is that what makes them the wanderer? is every wanderer the fabled "wanderer of worlds" ara talks so highly about, or are we the only real-deal hero?

this bit of dialogue is so interesting to me. obvious god makes humans and garden of eden corruption via humans committing sins references here. pride wanted to create a world in the image of the human realm but free from sin. a perfect version of the firstborn. he was only meant to keep watch over the universe and he thought himself god enough to create a whole new world. does his name make sense or what also interesting they used the word "watchtower" ..... and they pronouns for the one between. but maybe that's just to keep the identity of them secret.

we are not the first wanderer. and if mc continues to die, it's clear we will not be the last. but the game ends when we die. the story ends. this wanderer has to be under the influence of the tower. this is what makes us different from all other wanderers. this is what allows us to not only make it to limbo but to survive in limbo. because we are enacting the will of the one between.

interjection: going back to my fullmetal alchemist connection... if wanderers come to limbo and die immediately, and we as the newest wanderer landed just outside the tower, and when we die, we are dragged into void goop... are the voidbound the reanimated, cobbled-together remains of past wanderers? i want this to be true going off this idea, we as the wanderer are a child of the tower :) so it's like romeo and juliet when we fall in love with one of pride's children! <3

back to regularly scheduled programming: is this why pride reacts in FEAR when we mention the one between? not offense or pleasant surprise. "his calm countenance is shattered by the grip of fear." we aren't supposed to know this name, are we?

if ??? is pride, then he knows his wanderer is under the tower's influence. he knows we are being sent to limbo. if ??? isn't actually pride...

he wouldn't know our intentions. is it just a past manifestation of him? a younger him? like a flashback, caught in time? is it (one of?) his god form(s), while the pride we meet in limbo is his physical "mortal" form? or is it the tower in disguise? WHAT IS GOING ON?? also.. "breaking into my sacred chest"? remember the seer mentioning "the scar in limbo's chest" earlier? i cannot tell if this is just chest (box)/chest (body part) and i'm reading too far into it or if this is very very clever writing to disguise smth.... is chest referring to faybourne in one and limbo in the other? we've already established these two places are intrinsically linked so it's not strange they'd be referred to with the same word. adding onto this, i also noticed the human realm where mc comes from is referred to as the firstborn and the city mc lived in is faybourne. i think that's a clever way of helping players understand they're the same realm--if that was intentional :)

this post is like 98% questions bc honestly idk what is going on (in the best way). the characters' motivations seem obvious one moment then i think way too hard abt it and suddenly everything is flipped. i just wanna know who the good/bad guys are bc that'll clear up a bunch!! honestly it's rlly fun not knowing who to trust/what side MC is actually on. i hope the tower's influence makes us do some questionable things :3

if you made any other connections or have any theories pls lmk!!!

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

✨ New Patreon Upload! ✨

Hey everyone! I’ve just uploaded a brand-new one-shot on my Patreon, (I present to you the long-awaited dad!Kylian fic) and you definitely don’t want to miss it!

Head over now to check it out and show some love! 🙌

📖 Link in bio! ✨ Let me know your thoughts after reading! 💬

Happy Life

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — I give you....Dad!Kylian (with a bit of spice)

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Husband!Kylian Mbappé x Wife!you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 9.2k

Warnings! FLUFF, DAD!Kylian, their bond is so sweet, best dad ever, sweet husband Kylian, Angst (but only a little bit for the plot), reader is stressed, pregnant!reader, NSFW! SMUT (18+), oral sex (f receiving),

Preview

**********

Kaila sat cross-legged, her brow furrowed in concentration as she spread her own peanut butter onto a cracker. Kylian watched as she scooped up a small handful of strawberries and grapes, placing them precisely atop the creamy spread. A few stray seeds stuck to her fingers, leaving pink smudges on her cheek when she wiped them off. The sight sent a warm pang through his chest, and he smiled softly.

"This good, Papa," Kaila said, holding out her masterpiece for his inspection.

"It looks delicious," Kylian replied, accepting the proffered cracker and biting into it with exaggerated relish.

Kaila beamed at his praise, her face lighting up as she turned back to her work, the rest of their lunch spent in companionable quiet, munching on snacks and watching the clouds drift lazily overhead.

By the time they finally tumbled onto a blanket beneath the sprawling shade of an old oak tree, flushed with a light sheen of sweat, and their breaths came in happy, uneven bursts.

"Papa," Kaila began, her voice serious despite the crumbs dotting her lips as she munched on a cookie, "do you think flowers can be magic?"

Kylian paused, brushing a wayward crumb from her cheek with his thumb. “Magic? Absolutely,” he said with a soft smile, melting at his daughter's sweet innocence. “But only if you truly believe they are.”

Kaila’s brows knitted in concentration, her little fingers plucking at the grass until she found what she was looking for—a dandelion, its bright yellow petals vibrant in the sunlight. She held it up to him with a shy look on her face. “Then this is magic for you, Papa,” she said, her green eyes shining with sincerity.

Kylian felt his chest tighten, a warm, almost overwhelming swell of love washing over him. He took the flower carefully, as though it were the most precious thing in the world. “Merci, ma princesse,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll keep it safe forever.” And he tucked it behind his ear, winking at her with a grin that made her dissolve into giggles.

**********

-Bianca🌻