#Fence supply shop

[blackcatplushie]

Yandere in an Apocalypse

warnings: gun, blood, some violence

male yandere x reader

You run as fast as you can into the forest night. It's so dark outside you can barely see what's in front of you. Your feet hurt so much but you can't stop running, not while he's not far behind. It's colder outside than you remember. Or maybe it's because you're only wearing your pajamas. You didn't have the time to worry about dressing appropriately. 

Your lungs burn from running so hard. It's been a while since you've been so active. Hope springs into your chest as you see the fence come up on the horizon. You quickly throw your bag over and climb over not being aware of the jagged rocks behind the fence. You slip and slam your leg hard against a sharp rock. 

Blood oozes out and spills over your leg like a curtain. It's a large cut, from the middle of your calf down to your ankle. You whimper in pain and sit on the ground for a moment, cursing at the world for being so unforgiving.

Panic starts to rise as you look around for signs of any ghouls nearby. Zade went out often to "clean" the area and look for supplies but you weren't so sure about that anymore. The familiar groaning and stench of rot grows near as you struggle to get up.

You quickly try to wipe the blood away with your shirt but it's too late. They wander towards you with lifeless eyes and their jaws unhinging unnaturally, ready to devour. 

Your legs move before you can think. You try to run, ignoring the burning pain in your leg and the gush of blood that comes every step you take. You have to get to the edge of the forest no matter what. You remember seeing a motorbike rental shop there when you and Zade first came to this forest. It wasn't the greatest plan but maybe you could take a bike and get away from here. 

As you run, the smell of rot doesn't seem to go away leaving you confused. You realize too late that you're being surrounded by ghouls. They had been coming from ahead and behind you. They crowd around you hungrily. A crooked and manged hand shoots out towards you. Before it can touch you, a bullet whizzes past, shooting the ghoul in the head. 

You tremble and look behind you to see the man you've been running from. "Get down!" Zade yells. You get down and cover your ears. Bullets rain down on the ghouls taking them down quickly. You shake in fear hearing the gunshots. When did this become so commonplace? You wish you could go back to life before all this mess. When things were normal and you didn't have to spend everyday on edge. 

The bullets stop and you look up slowly, still trembling in fear. Not because of the ghouls but because now Zade is here and you know he isn't happy with you. His footsteps trudge towards you and you can't help but look down again. He sighs deeply before crouching in front of you and yanking your injured leg towards him. 

You yelp in pain and surprise which he scoffs at. "So fucking stupid. You did all this just to need me to save you. Do you know how pathetic that looks?"

You look away, not able to say anything. If he notices your fear, he doesn't mention it. Or maybe, he just doesn't care anymore. His rough fingers trace the edges of your wound. "Shit... I think you might need stitches," his eyes soften and the edge in his tone lightens after seeing the look on your face. "Don't worry, I'll fix you up as soon as we get home."

He pulls out a cloth and wraps it tightly around your leg. It hurts but you try not to let it show. He notices anyways. "It needs to be tight so you don't lose too much blood."

"I-I know..."

"You're so clumsy, how could I ever let you out?" he mutters to himself. "You could've died."

"What's that?"

"...Why can't you just let me go?" you mutter bitterly. 

"Why do I have to live like this? E-everyday I'm stuck waiting for you that facility for you to come back like some sort of dog... Or even worse I have to play nice and sweet so that you don't get upset and punish me!" you begin to sob, the resentment overwhelming you. "I'd rather die, but that's not allowed either! I hate you... I hate you so much!"

A unfamiliar expression appears on his face. At first it looks like anger and then guilt. He sighs, getting up slowly. "... Let's just go home. If you want to throw a tantrum right now, do it at home where the ghouls can't get you," he says. 

There's a rustling sound to the side of you and Zade. A ghouls stands up among the pile of bodies. Zade reaches for his gun, about to shoot but stops and looks back at you with a strange expression. "Huh, I guess I left one alive..."

He steps away from you leaving you confused and scared as the ghoul creeps near you following the scent of fresh blood. 

"Z-Zade? W-what are you doing? Hurry! It's coming closer!"

"Hm? Yeah... So what?" he says blankly. He tilts his head to the side smiling. 

"Please..! I-I'm sorry, just please kill it already!"

Your mind races, thinking about what he wants to hear. There's no time to think about being shameful right now. You want to get away from Zade of course but getting mauled by a ghoul is a painful way to go. Your pleading eyes dart frantically between the ghoul and Zade. In the end you spit out whatever you could think of, "Please help me, Zade! I'm sorry for running away, I-I just—Please I-I love you!"

"Hmm, okay, but only if you say what I want you to hear. I'm feeling a bit petty. You were just so mean to me." He puts his hand over his heart with and looks at you with a deep frown while wiping his nonexistent tears. You can't believe how annoying he's being right now. You're about to be mauled by a ghoul and he's sitting there joking around. 

In a swift motion, Zade pulls out a pistol and shoots the ghoul in the mouth right before it could chomp down on you. Its blood splatters on your face. You shake and sob, feeling tired and miserable from this whole mess. Zade comes down next to you and wipes the ghoul blood off your face with his sleeve. He's smiling down on you, a warm and satisfied look in his eyes. 

"Oh, you poor thing," he says softly, "Let's get you home, yeah? Get you a nice warm bath and some rest."

He picks you up and holds you tight for a moment. His brown hair tickles against the crook of your neck. You can feel him trembling a little before kissing your cheek and making his way back home. "I love you too... more than anything."

You lift your head slightly and see that the sun is starting to rise. Trails of ghoul bodies are littered across the trail. Ignoring the bodies, the forest looks beautiful in the morning. "Am I going to be punished?" you ask Zade tearfully. 

You sniffle, your cries easing into shudders as he carries you home. You can't help but feel comforted as he holds you. He's the only one you have left after all. The people you loved and the world you knew before has withered away into nothingness. You wrap your arms around him and cry into his shoulder. He pats your head softly. 

He laughs softly, his dimples showing. "Of course you are."

[ratcash-wasgud]

Farmer!Mizu x reader headcanons!!! (yay)

About Mizu:

Hence living in the countryside her whole life, she grew up with a small accent, but since Akemi didn't have one, she secretly practiced to speak withouth it.

She grew up alongside Eiji, who owned a farm, and her mother who sometimes visited, but not really out of love.

She never really had friends, since the farm was kinda isolated, exept for Ringo was the son of a noodle shop owner, and bought supplies from the farm.

Akemi moved down to the country side when Mizu was already 17, and she was the first "city-person" she interacted with.

Taigen was the son of the sheriff of the town, who loved to accuse Mizu to be a criminal or low life of some sorts, since she was usually covered in dirt from helping Eiji.

Mizu inherited the farm from Eiji, who just randomly decided to retire one day and move to small cottage. That man does whatever he wants.

Mizu quickly got the hang of the farm life, and by 22 she became used to everything and learned to love the hard work too.

She keeps chickens, cows and horses on the farm, along with a dog.

The dog's name is Stew and she got him from Ringo, claiming she needs someone around to not feel lonely. Nowadays Mizu talks to Stew about random things when she feels bored.

She also got a favourite chicken named Braces. She named it that because of it's crooked beak.

She also has a guy who reguralry comes back to the farm to train the horses she keeps, named Mikio. Her mother really likes nagging her about marrying him, since "she needs a husband soon and he's a man with money", but Mizu isn't really interested.

She doesn't like the idea of being a housewife. She likes doing the hard work herself, and caring about her farm.

She also mostly grows corn, carrots, tomatoes, and pumpkins. She can get really excited when it's time to harvest, and always brags to Stew about how good her crops look.

You and her:

One day though, a random van parker just outside of her yard, and stayed there. And a big one at that. Big enough for someone to live in it.

Mizu usually knew how to mind her business and enjoyed doing it too, but this time she got pretty curious.

She stayed outside longer that needed, fixing a piece of fence that could've held out even withouth repair, just to catch a glimpe of this mysterious new neighbour.

And there she saw it...you.

A woman who was very obviously from the city, wearing hipster clothes (or that's how she'd call them) and a having weird haircut.

She then, after thinking she calmed her curiousity, shrugged and went inside.

The problem was that she caught herself staring at her ceiling at night, thinking about how much she doesn't care.

The next morning she decided to put out this itching feeling in her brain about this mysterious person, and cut out a generous piece of cheese out of a big wheel she just finished and walked to the van.

You opened the door casually, and the smell of hyacinth punched her in the face. She had to blink a bunch to pull herself out of her head.

"Hey there. Uh...can I help you?" You ask, casually leaning against your van's door. Mizu had to quietly clear her throat before she spoke up after shoving the cheese into your hands.

"Here. Take it." She says, a little harshly, even if she didn't mean it like that. "Name's Mizu. I live in the farm next to ya. We're neighbours." She said, deadpan. You nervously accepted the girft with a chuckle.

"Well, thank you." You smiled at her. "That's very generous of you. How should I thank you?" You ask, casually putting the cheese on the counter next to you.

"No need...is' just cheese." She mumbles She can't help but feel a little nervous. You seem very carefree, and casual...but you're also very different from what she's used to. She likes looking at you, and hearing you soothing voice...and that hyacinth isn't a bad smell either.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that." You playfully bump her shoulder with your fist. "Come in, at least let me make you coffee."

Mizu then withouth even notcing it, walked inside the van, following you. She took in it's cozyness, and also...your form from behind too.

Through her time of sipping some "machine made coffee", she managed to have a nice conversation with you.

She learned that you've been hired in the town's saloon as a singer, and you sing there every other night. It pays well. plus at least you're living your dreams even if you live out of a van. You're an artistic spirt.

She also learned that you are indeed from the city, and you left behind everything to come here, which she admired. She had this stable life on the farm ever since she was small, and she could never imagine just leaving it behind.

She observed you during that conversation, noticng the little chime of your giggle, and the way you lean onto everything that's next to/behind you instead of sitting down, for some reason.

And somehow...she just felt drawn to you.

After she finished her coffee, she bid you goodnight and returned to her farm.

When she arrived she kicked off her boots on the porch, and took off her big hat as she simply sat down on the steps, staring into nothing. Stew came running to her, making himself comfortable on her lap.

"Ya're not gonna believe this." Mizu started to Stew. Ringo was right, Stew was indeed very nice to talk to. "The girl who moved there, in that van...she's pretty nice." She says, petting Stew as she stares at the sunset. "Did ya know she likes music with like...noise in it? That's crazy. She sings at the bar too." She murmurs. "Maybe I should visit one night?" She looks at her dog, who just nudges her head with his nose. "Ya're right, that would be too forward... Ya think she fancies ladies though?"

The way your lives melted together (nsfw warning!):

After that, Mizu started bringing you her produce every other day, varying from cheese, eggs, milk, to even mayo and oil.

She noticed that you never let her leave withouth something in return, let it be a cup of coffee, or even a whole slice of pie, maybe a discount ticket for the bar.

She thought she was laying it on thick, even though was just shoving stuff in your hands with a deadpan expression, then listening to you talk about random things and your day.

Until one day, she decided to get a little bold. While you were cooking pancakes, and she was sipping her coffee just a meter away from you, she suddenly stood up and hugged your waist from behind, pushing her hips against yours.

You didn't say anything, but you didn't push her away, and she could see your cheeks reddening too. That was enough for her after months of pining.

Things let to eachother, and somehow you ended up sitting on the counter, with Mizu standing between your legs, agressively making out for the last thirty minutes.

Her hands kept feeling your body up through your clothes, grabbing at everything that's soft, while your hands slowly wrapped around her neck, slowly untying her bun.

"I'd be so good for you...I promise." She whispered breathlessly into the kiss. She sounded depserate, and honestly? She was. She was pining after this woman for months now, not having the guts to even imagine them being together, so now, that she had opportunity take her, she needs to give everything she's got. "I'd take good care of you...you'd love it on the farm." She says, as she pulls away lightly to start kissing your neck. She slowly lifted your shirt, letting her hands snake inside your bra too, feeling herself melt into your skin. You were so warm and welcoming, like your body soft body was made to be touched.

Made to be touched by her calloused hands though? That one she wasn't sure of. But she wanted it to be like that. Her rough hands grabbed at your soft breasts, kneading them while she listened to your gasps. The only thing you said during the whole eccounter was her name, and "please". Oh, and pleased you got.

"I know, I...I don't have one. A...dick, I mean, but believe me..." She started a little nervously, looking longingly at you as she started to pulls off your pants. "But I could make you feel good withouth one..." She says, and you can feel her calloused fingers on your abdomen, crotch then folds. You body shook a little when you felt her teasing your entrance with her index, and clit with her thumb. You reached out in an attempt to try and undress her too, and maybe give some pleasure back, but she gripped your wrist with her other hand.

"No...I don't want you to. I want to focus entirely on pleasing you now..." She says, and you can feel her almost playing with the juices that dripped out of you. After she made sure her hands were wet enough, she started to slowly push her finger inside, and that alone drew a moan from both of you.

"That's so nice...you feel so warm. You're squeezing me." She whispers right into your ear, as she gently kisses your earlobe, using her other hand to support you, and not letting you just simply slide off the counter. She started slowly moving her fingers in and out first, but only a little, to let you get used to the feeling.

Mizu wanted to do this for a while, and she always imagined what i'd feel like, so she practiced on herself a couple times. She wanted to learn how to please a woman, and she was the closest one to herself, so...

When she heard you whisper her name once again, she started to curl her fingers inside, managing to perfectly rub against your g-spot. She went deeper and deeper, and just like that, the louder you became too. She herself started to pant a little...it felt so good to feel you like this. When she physically started to feel you throb around her fingers, she pushed in as deep as she can, and moved her fingers in a way that could've sent you into a coma.

As she felt you nearing the edge, she pushed her lips against yours, invading your mouth once again, her brain melting as you came on her fingers while moaning inside her mouth.

Aftermath:

After that, you fell alseep in her hands, and Mizu carefully set you down on your bed before she left in silence.

She went home, absolutely giddy, and gushed about it to Stew, whispering the lewd parts, as if anyone else besides her dog could hear it.

She even added "It's a secret though" at the end.

In the following days, when Mizu brough over the produce she sually does, somehow you always ended up sleeping together, and Mizu sometimes even stayed the night.

You both knew it wasn't just about the sex though, since you needed to talk about something for at least two hours before every session, and Mizu always remembered everything new she learned about you.

After thinking about it for weeks, and having two silent breakdowns in front of your door, she asked you to come live with her. The answer was an obvious yes.

You parked your van in her yard, and moved your more important things inside the house.

When anyone asked why Mizu suddenly started supsiciously living with the city girl, Mizu just said things like "Out of conveniece, since she loves to cook and I don't have time for it", mainly to her mother, and mainly to just brush her off. Only Ringo knew the thruth.

And they were roommates, lmao.

[raspberrybesitos]

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Chapter 1 - Stitching Serenity

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.5k

Chapter summary: As he adjusts to life on Nevarro, Din Djarin ventures into town with his son, Grogu, to gather supplies to finish settling into their new home. While shopping, he has a chance encounter with you - a local seamstress. The two of you make an instant connection, as he's drawn in by your beauty and kind heart. After striking up a deal with you, Din heads home after a long day, where suppressed feelings of loneliness and desire arise.

Chapter warnings: slow burn, domestic!Din, dad!Din, mutual pining, yearning, loneliness, bit of flirting, inaccurate star wars info, male masturbation, Din Djarin is referred to as Din and i’m not sorry, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: happy mando monday! we’ve got another series, babes! buckle up - we’ve got mega pining incoming. Din is a very special character that i hold close to my heart. 🩵 he is so complex, and i want to handle him with so much love and care. i hope y'all enjoy this introduction to the series! feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments or in my asks/dms 🫶🏼

Divider by @saradika

Light blazes through the cracked window, his room rapidly warming up from the brutal Nevarro heat. Din stirs as he hears his son babbling from his room right next to his. Rising to his feet, he pads into the next room, greeted by an excited Grogu. Din scoops him up out of his bed, and carries him into the kitchen.

Grogu’s been babbling a lot more, Din is curious if he’ll say his first words soon. He fixes up Grogu’s breakfast and sets him in his chair at the table along with the food. Making sure his son doesn’t choke while eating, he makes a mental list of things they need to get today at the market.

Beams, wire, fence lining.

Grogu spills some of his breakfast on his tunic, eliciting a sigh from Din. 

New clothes for Grogu are added to the list.

After breakfast, Din changes Grogu out of his messy tunic into a spare one he keeps in the drawer for laundry days. Settling Grogu back into his tiny bed, which Din so proudly made himself, he places his favorite ball and a stuffed frog Greef Karga had gifted to him inside to keep him occupied while he gets ready.

He trudges into the refresher, turns on the shower and strips down before stepping into the water. While scrubbing, Din makes another mental list of chores he needs to do around the farm. 

Tend to the yard, give the starfighter a tune-up, begin building the fence around the pond.

He steps out of the shower and dries off. Dressing in the refresher, he slips back out into the hall and back into his room.

He’s still adjusting to this new life, never knowing such tranquility and domesticity before. They haven’t got much yet, but he’s trying his best. Wanting to give his son a new, calmer life after all they’ve been through.

Sliding on his helmet and tacking on his remaining equipment, he slings the sack Grogu likes to occasionally ride in over his shoulder. He pads back into Grogu’s room, scooping up his gurgling son as he’s entertained with his toys, and placing him into his pram. The clan of two sets off on a long day of gathering things for their new home.

Sauntering into the markets, the clan heads in the direction of the hardware stand. Buying a few beams, wire, and a few sheets of metal fencing to build a fence surrounding the pond in his front yard. Din efficiently packs the supplies together and slings them on his back.

The fabric stand catches his eye, noting that he and Grogu do need more clothes, and even some new bedding.

As Din peruses through the selection of handcrafted items, picking up a new set of sheets for himself and garments for him and his son, Grogu wanders off in his pram to the stuffed animals.

Din perks up at Grogu’s babbling, seeing that his son has picked up a stuffed bantha. “No, Grogu. Put that down, we’re only buying things we need right now.” Grogu’s ears droop as he whines. “We’ll come back in a few days. I promise, kid.”

“Do you need help with anything?” A sweet voice breaking through the bustling air.

You appear from behind one of the cloaks that are hung up on display, kindly smiling at him and Grogu. Din’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight of you. You look radiant, ethereal - your beauty rendering him speechless for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Uh, no, ma’am. Is this your stand?” He asks, feeling flustered.

“It is. Do you like that one, baby?” You ask, crouching a bit to get on Grogu’s level, who’s cooing at your words. “Take it, sweetheart. It’s okay,” you gently tell him. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry. We’re only buying necessities today. Will you have any more next week?” You smile up at the mandalorian. “Nonsense, it’s on the house,” you tell him, giddy as a toothy grin plasters your face. “I’m afraid I can’t accept, ma’am. Thank you for your generosity, but-” 

“You mandalorians are always so cordial. I insist it’s on the house. It’s alright, sweet boy. Go on, take it,” you say. Grogu squeals and squishes the stuffed bantha into a bone crushing embrace, your heart melting at the sight of the little green child. 

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you. Could you at least let me pay for it?” You playfully roll your eyes. “Is your helmet sound proof or something? It’s on the house,” you smile, winking at him.

Thank the stars Din wears this helmet, or else you’d be able to see how red he is underneath. 

“I surrender. You drive a hard bargain. I’d at least like to pay for the clothes and these sheets. Are you the seamstress in charge, ma’am?”

You perk up at his question. “I’ll allow you to pay for the clothes, and that I am!”

You’ve got a bit of a spunky personality, from what Din can gather.

“Do you happen to take commissions? These shirts will fit him fine, but if it’s not too much trouble, could I possibly ask for some smaller ones that’ll fit him a little better? I’ll even pay double whatever you normally charge,” he rambles. A twinkle glints in your eyes, your face hurts as you can’t stop smiling at the flustered mandalorian.

“I do take commissions. And no need to pay me double, I’m more than happy to help at whatever price works for you,” you kindly respond. The mandalorian huffs out a modulated chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thank you very much, ma’am. Could I stop by tomorrow with him to get his measurements? We’ll be in town again gathering more supplies for our new cabin. We’re still settling in and I want him to have enough clothes,” he tells you.

“Sure! I’ll be here for the next week until dusk or whenever I sell out, whichever comes first. Are you liking Nevarro so far?” You curiously ask, wondering if he’s got a spouse at home.

“We are. It’s a much quieter life than our past one, but… it’s a nice change. Just want to make sure the kid has everything he needs.” 

You nod at his answer, unable to stop the next words tumbling from your lips. “Does your spouse need any custom garments as well, or just your son?” 

“No spouse. It’s just me and my son,” he quickly blurts. Your smile reappears at his answer, silence brewing amongst you two. Grogu’s gurgling cuts through the air, both of you turning to look at the excited child in his pram.

“You’re a good dad,” you softly tell him.

“Thank you. You’re a very kind woman. Thank you for being so kind to my son,” he quietly says, fondly staring at Grogu who is occupied with his new toy. “Of course. I can tell he’s a sweet kid. Also helps that he’s adorable. I can fold those by the way,” you say, hands out awaiting his items.

“Oh, thank you very much,” the mandalorian says gratefully, intently watching you fold his purchases as he searches for his next words. Not wanting your conversation to end just so he can hear your sweet voice.

“Do you make those stuffed animals as well?” The mandalorian asks you. “I do.” 

“You’re very talented,” he compliments. Now it’s your turn to feel flustered, heat surging throughout your body - and it’s not from the blistering Nevarro heat.

“Thank you very much,” you gracefully tell him with a bashful smile, silently asking for the items in his hands

“I might just have to commission you for one of those as well,” the mandalorian says as he hands you the credits for the sheets and garments as you fold them.

“Apologies, as well, for not introducing myself earlier. I’m…Mando. It was nice meeting you,” Mando says, trailing off at the end while packing everything into his bag. 

The market bustles now, making you shuffle a bit closer to him so he can hear you, as you timidly give him your name. He quickly repeats it, burning it into his memory. The gap between you both having grown smaller. Catching a whiff of your sweet perfume, Din’s knees nearly buckle.

Of course you’re the embodiment of sweetness - and he longs to have a taste.

Flashing him your dazzling smile, you stick your hand out, awaiting his grasp. His face grows hot as he shakes your hand, both of your touches lingering. You gaze deeply into the slit in his helmet, hoping he can sense a sliver of desire from you.

You shuffle even closer, nearly fully flushed against his beskar. “It was nice meeting you too, Mando. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Your voice hushed, your words only meant for him to hear. 

“Yes, we’ll be back in the morning,” Mando says just as quietly. Your smile softens as you glance down to your conjoined hands. You pull away, realizing your hold on his hand lingered for a tad too long.

He clears his throat before turning to his son. “Come on, Grogu. Let’s go,” he barks, causing Grogu to snap his head up and look at his father.

“Bye, baby! Oh, hold on a second!” You say, fishing in your pocket and pulling out a piece of candy. “Here you go!” You squeak as you hand him the sweet treat. His eyes light up and he gurgles in excitement. He hurriedly takes the candy from you, unwrapping it to shove it in his mouth. 

“Grogu, what do you say?” His father sternly asks him. Grogu looks up at you and babbles what you think is his version of ‘thank you.’

“You’re welcome, Grogu. Bye bye!” You giggle as you wave off the clan. 

Din makes one last stop, purchasing some things to make dinner. He carries his bag of garments and sheets in one hand and the bag of ingredients in another as his hardware rests on his back. He lugs everything back home as Grogu entertains himself with his new toy.

Opening the door, Grogu rushes in first in his pram as Din trails behind and shuts the door. He tosses the bags onto the couch and settles the hardware in a corner of the living room. Grogu babbles as he plays with the bantha you gave him, giving Din the perfect opportunity to quickly cook him some soup for dinner.

It’s different not living out of ration packs, and actually having time to cook a real, hot meal. Domesticity is so foreign to him. The thought of sharing this new life with someone - with you - quickly infiltrates his mind. His mind swirls as recalls his encounter with you today while making dinner. 

How did you become a seamstress? What’s your story? Do you give away stuff for free to other customers? Or was it because you’re interested in him? Is that why you had asked if he had a spouse? Or were you just being polite? Why does he care so much? He hadn’t thought about the other merchants this way, but there is something about you that has pulled him into your orbit, making him unable to shake you from his mind.

Grogu’s cooing pulls him from his trance, the soup he’d prepared had boiled over while he reeled through his thoughts. Din exasperatedly cleans up the mess and serves Grogu dinner, who scarfs it down the second it’s placed in front of him. As his son eats, Din continues reeling.

He’d been fine with being alone all these years. Why is he starting to feel this way? He and Grogu have been living here for a few months now, so why is he suddenly feeling a sense of desire? Longing? Even loneliness? Could it be the paternal instinct to provide more for his son? Or could it simply be you?

A tiny burp drags him back into reality. Grogu tiredly yawns, his belly full after a long day at the market with Din. His eyes droop, along with his ears. Din scoops him up and heads to Grogu’s room. He places the green child in bed, placing the stuffed bantha you’d gifted him alongside him.

Din shuts the door and walks into his room next door. He continues to think of you while stripping his armor. He’d suppressed his feelings of loneliness for years now, but something about you had brought them to the surface.

Perhaps it was the way you treated Grogu with such sweetness, so maternally. Or perhaps it was your divine beauty which shines so brightly, penetrating from within your kind heart into the external realm. Whatever it may be, Din could not seem to shake the overwhelming feelings of yearning and loneliness - needs craving to be fulfilled by someone, by you.

Sighing as he removes his helmet, he changes into sweats and opts to sleep shirtless tonight. Padding into the kitchen, he puts the dishes from dinner into the sink, grabbing a glass in the midst of everything.

He knows his son is a Jedi and can overpower him at any moment, but Din still places his spotchka on the top shelf of a cabinet. He just hopes for the best and trusts Grogu won’t get into it.

Swiping the spotchka from the high point, he pours himself a hefty helping and chugs it. Helping himself to two more glasses, he begins to feel the effects, his eyes glazed over and heavy.

Placing the spotchka back on the top shelf and his empty glass in the sink, he walks back to his room and pulls his blanket back. Settling into bed, he still can’t get you out of his head.

His cock twitches at the thought of you, palming himself through his sweatpants. Images of you flash through his mind as he takes himself out of the confines of his sweatpants. His length springs out and bounces onto his stomach, thumping in the processing. 

Din spits into his hand and winces as he strokes his cock. He’s so hard it hurts. Closing his eyes, he sighs as he strokes himself up and down, gathering the bead of precum that has dribbled from his tip and smearing it along his length. 

The memory of you smiling as you appeared from thin air has him thumbing at his sensitive head. Your sweet scent lingers in his nose, smelling of florals, candy, and a hint of musk. He picks up the pace at the recollection. His breathing grows ragged as he remembers the glint in your shimmering, kind eyes. A fire burns in his veins, balls throbbing as he nears the edge.

He recalls how his skin felt electric beneath his glove as you shook his hand. The thought of your lingering touch sends a jolt of lightning through his veins as he replays the sweet sound of his name fluttering from your lips.

He wonders if his real name would sound just as sweet.

At that thought, he teeters off the cliff and plummets into his orgasm, painting his stomach with his spend while he groans your name. There’s so much cum, he’s definitely going to have to use his new bedding tonight.

He swims through the treacherous waves of his climax, sweat sheening his body. His hair sticks to his forehead and the back of his neck, a heady bliss crashes over him as he tries to catch his breath. He hasn’t cum that hard… ever.

He pants as he throws an arm over his face. Attempting to steady his breathing, he exhales a deep sigh. He’s never been so frustrated with himself. He’s always had more self-control, more discipline when it came to his desires. It’s unbelievable, and downright embarrassing, how quickly he caved at the thought of you. He doesn’t even know if you’re interested in him that way. It’s not like he could give you everything you deserve either, so long as he follows the Way.

Rising to his feet, he pads into the refresher to clean up the mess he made on his stomach. He heads into the living room, rummaging through the bags he carried in earlier. Slipping into the new pair of pants he purchased from you, along with grabbing the new sheets, he trudges back into his bedroom. He strips the bed and replaces the sheets with the ones you crafted and sold to him.

Groaning, he plops himself onto the mattress and stares at the concrete ceiling. Scintillating moonlight shines through the cracked window while the embarrassment and guilt sink in.

How is he supposed to face you at the market tomorrow?

An exhausted sigh rumbles from deep within his chest. He's never been more eager to wear his helmet ‘til now. He turns on his side before nodding off - hoping for a dreamless sleep, one free of you.

thank you for reading! may the yearning begin 🫡 i’m setting these two up for a slow burn hehehe

we will learn more about reader and her story in the next chapters!! i just wanted to introduce Din’s mindset after settling into a calmer life with Grogu

i want to delve some more into Din’s mind and examine his loneliness since we only catch very brief glimpses of it in the show. we know he gets lonely though, an example being apart from Grogu for 2 years. he’s a human after all underneath all that armor. a complex one at that with being an orphan and having to hide himself all the time.

anyway, i hope you enjoyed! let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters <333

tag list: @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @tinygarbage @party-hearses @bastardmandennis @nostalxgic @pascalpvnk @javierpena-inatacvest @mandoisapunk

[januaryembrs]

SUCH A PRETTY HOUSE | Joel Miller x Reader

request: Can you do Joel miller x reader no surprises by radio head angst fic

description: Joel remembers that one summer he knew her, and the ten year scar it left him.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: Pregnant!Reader, major character death (canon to TLOU and also reader dies, not explicit,), guns, death, violence. Joel feels unworthy, mentions of Sarah.

authors notes: em tries not to write something heart wrenching challenge, go.

There weren’t many things that meant something to Joel anymore. The day cordyceps took over the world, it took almost everything in him with it. Whatever was left made room for anger and resentment to curl inside him, make its home in his bones, make him lash out at everyone who wasn’t Tess. 

But he felt himself make an exception the day he met her. 

He’d been entirely sceptical when Tess told him she’d been able to find someone on a radio channel who could help them with supplies. It would mean sneaking out of QZ, a dumb move even on a good day, and trusting a stranger that was all but promising them candy if they climbed into his van. He wasn’t a stupid man, not by any means. But Tess had this way of bending his resolve, pushing him further and further if it meant they could come out better in the end. 

When they’d arrived to Frank and Bill’s for the first time, they were gobsmacked to see an entire street of houses cordoned off with barbed wire and explosives, as if it had never been touched by cordyceps, as if they’d catapulted into a time before people were eaten alive and before the world ended. A quaint little town with dusty cars and clean streets and houses and empty shops and gardens full of wildflowers and strawberries. 

Joel felt like he might be sick, but perhaps that was something between jealousy and caution just playing on his tongue. 

A spritely man a little older than him bounded down the stairs to the first house on the left, piercing blue eyes looking over them with the same excitement of a puppy being told to play fetch. There was no way a man so jolly could have done all of this himself. 

“Tess?” He called, and Joel remembered the way Tess smiled sweetly, because she was just as stunned as he was that they were in some sort of utopia, a little fence and a gate the only thing between them and how things used to be. 

“It’s Frank, right?” She guessed, and it was then that Joel heard the caution, “Didn’t you say there was two of you?” 

“Yes, Bill, my-” He stopped himself short, as if he didn’t quite know what to call him. He breezed over the hesitation quickly, buzzing in on the remote the combination, looking then to Joel, “You must be Joel,”

Joel gave him a nod, his fingers tightening on the shotgun in his hand. It wasn’t even a split second after the gate started to slide open that another man emerged from the house, his face thunderous as he barrelled down the stairs and towards where they stood. 

“Frank, didn’t I tell you to wait,” He snapped, his brows strained into a frown, a gun of his own in his palms, “We need to make sure she’s ready, they could be infected-”

“She?” Joel cut in it a biting tone of his own, “Who’s she? You said there was two-” 

“Bill,” Frank warned, as the shorter man produced a scanner out of his pocket and ran it over both of their necks. Joel knew this Bill could feel the heat of his glare on the side of his head, though as soon as the screen lit up green for both of them, he saw him take a sigh of relief. “We’re never going to make any more friends if you keep shoving them away,”

Joel couldn’t really blame him for worrying. 

It wasn’t until they saw the door opposite theirs swing open that he understood even more why Bill was so unwelcoming. 

He should have seen it before, the sweet hanging baskets full of lupines and primrose, the luscious lawn trimmed and primped, lined with tended bluebonnets and sunflowers beaming at the woman that emerged from the fresh white house with a bright grin, like she was their sun and they smiled back at her in awe.

She wore a white sundress, long enough to touch her knees, and it flowed with the warm breeze as they stepped past the threshold to the town, her feet bare save for some little brown sandals that seemed in better condition than he’d expect. Her face glowed with excitement, gaze switching between him and Tess, and her figure was full and soft at the same time. 

It wasn’t until she got closer he could see where her stomach pulled against the fabric obtusely and it was like a sadness washed over the two of them as she finally got close enough to talk. 

She was pregnant.

“You must be Tessa! Frank told me all about you,” She said, pulling the woman in for a warm hug Tess didn’t seem to have much of a choice in. 

“It’s Tess,” His companion corrected, though she gave her a light squeeze back, and her face softened out as if she didn’t seem to mind the intrusion, nor the new name. 

Bill froze up at the sight of her tugging Joel closer the minute she'd released Tess, ignoring every boundary his standoffish expression could possibly set, and it was like he understood why the flowers twinkled up at her. She was warm, incredibly so to the point even when he didn’t return the gesture, he felt himself conscious of how rough his skin was and how hard the gun must have been pressing against her chest where it squished in between them and how he hoped to god it wasn’t hurting her or the baby. 

He felt cruel the minute she pulled away, crueller than he usually felt, but his frown never wavered, not even when she simpered at him, despite Bill saying her name in a worried tone. 

“Just ignore him, he would bubble wrap me if he could,” She whispered to Joel, and her laugh was a tinkling bell in the wind. She grabbed Tess’s hand in a quick and gentle motion, walking her up the pathway back to her house, and Joel could have sworn he heard the promise of ice tea leave her lips.

“I’m so pleased to have another woman around,” She said to Tess, who looked as if she was fighting back a feathery happiness of her own around the woman who seemed too good to be true in a world so harsh as this one. 

Joel knew he would have his work cut out for him trying not to get attached. 

-

Ellie knew she was on thin ice already. For a girl of only fourteen, she was incredibly perceptive of people’s feelings, especially the grumpy, grey haired bastard that had just lost perhaps the only woman who meant anything to him. She had to admit Tess’s death made her feel like she was some sort of unlucky charm, like anyone who so much as got close to her was doomed from the word ‘go’. 

She hated herself for it, and she assumed from Joel’s silence and the way he’d stormed out of Bill and Frank’s house as soon as she’d read that letter that he hated her too. 

That was until she saw him walking across the street to the house with dead flower beds and smashed windows and no sign of life that she thought perhaps she wasn’t entirely the problem. 

She found him in the bedroom, laying on the double mattress with his eyes closed, though she knew he wasn’t sleeping. The walls were a pretty sort of posy pink, the sheets an intricate pattern of doves and white lilies, and a little painting on the nightstand of two women smiling at one another, one so clearly being Tess while the other remained an enigma. 

It wasn’t until she spotted the cradle next to the bed that her heart sank into her stomach. 

“Bill and Frank weren’t the first ones to die, were they?” Ellie asked softly, and he shook his head wordlessly, “Was it yours? The…”  The baby.  

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She wouldn’t put it past him to yell at her for prying. 

He lay there like a wounded animal, and he shocked her when he actually spoke. 

“It wasn’t mine,” His voice was gravelly, hardened, yet worn out all the same, “But we were going to-” He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath, “We were going to raise it together, the two of us. Tess was supposed to be godmother,”

He remembered the way she used to call her Tessa, and how Tess didn’t seem to mind it so much once she saw how truly sickly sweet she was to her core, and how she said it so full of love, the way you could only love your best friend. He remembered how he kissed her, a few months after that first time he’d seen her, how he’d kissed her and pulled her close and how they’d slept in that room together, and how he’d promised her everything was going to be okay because he was going to protect her and that baby. 

Joel remembered thinking that was his second chance. How he knew it wouldn’t bring Sarah back, nothing could ever, but maybe his sweet girl and that baby would be his chance to prove that he could save someone, that he could do some good. 

“What happened? Where’s the baby?” Ellie asked too intrusively, hoping he didn’t shut her out entirely after this, but she had to know. She had to know who the pretty woman in the picture was, and why Tess, even the little splotch of paint she was now, looked at her so besotted that Ellie had to have answers now. She had to know why they had never spoken about her and why Joel seemed to be giving up on her now. Like Tess had pushed him over the edge of a sadness years in the making. 

She didn’t think he would reply, but then; “One night, raiders came while me and Tess were getting her supplies from the city. Few weeks before she was due.” She heard his voice deepen into something dark and angry, “She didn’t stand a chance.”

And Ellie never brought her up again after that day, only once to ask her name, and neither did Joel. He left his sweet girl and whatever he could have been in that pretty house, put her in a box in his chest right next to Sarah, until it didn’t hurt so much to think about her.

[g1rld1ary]

Hi! If you're still taking Lockwood and Co requests, can I plz request an imagine where Lockwood finally becomes vulnerable in front of the reader and he lets his emotions out in front of her and she soothes him 🥹🥹🥹?

reaching out - anthony lockwood x reader

wc: 1664

cw: canon typical death mentions, family trauma

thanks for waiting lovely! hope this is what u wanted xxx

Lockwood was a puzzle. You'd been working with him for a while now and still couldn't truly understand him.

As a boss, Lockwood was great. Never too hard on you whilst still pushing you to further your skills, but always putting your safety first. As a friend, he was similarly brilliant. The perfect listener, he always had a smile saved up for when you needed it. Even as a housemate he was perfect; Lockwood never took too long in the bathroom or left messes around even though it was his own house.

As a boy? Lockwood was indecipherable. Always gentle but never vulnerable. Always a listener, never a talker when it came to personal truths. He was your best friend but you knew nothing about him.

It was definitely an atypical relationship you shared, but you weren't unhappy with it and it seemed that neither was he. You proceeded in your usual way for a year while you were in the company until one particular case.

Lockwood had been off all week and you weren't sure why. You were in the middle of a case; a tragedy where all but one in a family had been killed and were haunting their own home. It wasn't one you needed a whole heap of research for, but George still wanted to take the precautions of getting the building layout and checking for the possibility of any other ghosts, and for once Lockwood didn't fight him on it.

George and Lucy had gone to the archives to get the research while you and Lockwood were doing all the other errands; stocking up on supplies, doing a daytime tour of the house then getting groceries on the way home.

Shopping for supplies and weapons was totally fine, the both of you chattering away as normal. It was only when you approached the cast iron fence of the Victorian-style home that Lockwood grew quiet again, retreating into himself. You spared him a puzzled expression but didn't dwell on it there.

A sad-looking woman met you at the front gate, draped in black. She introduced herself as the deceased wife's sister, explaining her red-rimmed eyes. She led you both through the garden up to the house, sniffling quietly as she explained what had happened, a horrific freak accident that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

Stepping through the threshold into the house, you could feel the gloom as if it were a tangible thing. What clearly used to be a loving home was already dark and lifeless, the photos on the wall mocking instead of nostalgic.

You could hear noise from down the hall, glancing curiously in its direction. Your host picked up on what you were looking at and explained it was her nephew, the only survivor.

"Will," She called, "Come here." Moments later a little boy came waddling up the hallway, toy truck in hand. Your heart clenched as you took him in, he couldn't have been older than six or seven, far too young to be orphaned like this.

"We're packing up his stuff today, he's living with me right now. I'm not sure he understands his family aren't coming back." Your eyes felt hot like you were going to cry just listening to their family tragedy. A glance at Lockwood said the same thing. You took the lead for the rest of the house tour, unnerved by Lockwood's silence.

As the two of you were leaving the house Will chased you both down the stone path, tugging on the tail of Lockwood's long coat.

"Please help my mum and dad and my sister," He said, eyes still wide with youth and innocence.

"Of course," Lockwood replied, ruffling the boy's brown hair gently. You thought he sounded uncharacteristically choked up.

"You alright?" You asked a while later, far from the house. You were both on the way to the grocery store, your hands shoved in your coat pockets to hide from the cold.

"'Course," Lockwood replied shortly, eyes straight ahead on the street. You tried to catch his gaze but he refused to look at you, changing the topic to what snacks you could sneak past George. You indulged him reluctantly, not pleased to move past his clear struggles so quickly.

You wandered home in near dusk, not doing much to get home before sunset. The groceries had been spread between the two of you so neither of you was carrying too much of the burden, but you suspected Lockwood was carrying enough emotional weight for the pair of you.

Silently, under the light of a ghost lamp, you looped your arm around his, providing a comforting touch. He didn't say anything, but you could have sworn he was leaning into you more than he ever had before.

You made it back to Portland Row in good time, only braving a few minutes out in the darkness.

Hours later, you crept through the house, painfully aware of each creak of the old floorboards. You peered around the door into the library, watching Lockwood sit in his armchair, bored as he flipped through a gossip rag.

"Hey," You said as you sat, curling up on the couch and surrounding yourself with a blanket. He smiled in response, greeting you quickly before turning back to what he was reading. "Are you okay?" You knew you were coming off intense but you were really worried about him.

"Yeah, 'course. Why?"

"I don't know, you've just seemed really off today. Down." You studied your fingers to avoid making uncomfortable eye contact.

"I'm fine," He said, almost aggressively. Realising his tone, Lockwood backtracked, "It's nothing, just--" Silence.

"Just?" You urged him, braving the jump to look in his eyes. It was immediately intense, a profound sadness replacing what was usually jovial charm.

"I was him," Lockwood said and you were immediately confused. You tilted your head, trying to work it out but Lockwood continued, explaining it for you.

"Will. I was the leftover. My whole family is dead, and I am the one left alive."

"Oh God, Lockwood," You whispered, patting the spot next to you. He followed you over, taking the blanket you offered.

"My parents died when I was really young, about the same age as Will. They were the first ghosts I ever fought." You couldn't contain your soft gasp, hand creeping over your mouth as you took in what he was telling you. "I had an older sister, too, Jessica. She was six years older than me, died when I was nine. An accident with some of my parents' old supernatural artefacts. I've been fighting ghosts ever since."

Somehow you'd started holding his hand, rubbing smooth circles over his palm with your thumb. You could hardly believe what you were hearing, you had no idea Lockwood's life was so devastating. All you'd learnt while working at Lockwood and Co was that his parents had probably passed away, given the house was his. You'd never heard about a sister.

"I'm really sorry," Was all you could say, not taking the risk of misstepping.

"It's fine." His voice broke on the second word, tears rolling down his red cheeks in a moment. You'd never seen Lockwood cry. It was devastating, but also unfairly beautiful. Crystal tears in honeypot eyes.

Before you knew what you were doing you were holding Lockwood, arms keeping him close as he shuddered through sobs. All you did was embrace him for a long time, letting Lockwood express the emotions he kept so close to his chest all the time.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when he pulled away, clearly embarrassed and rubbing furiously at his eyes.

"Sorry," He mumbled, looking anywhere but at you. You put a hand on his thigh to pull him back down to earth.

"Don't apologise. I want to be here for you. You're my best friend, Lockwood, I love you." Lockwood smiled at that, unlike his usual thousand-watt grins, more muted but undeniably genuine.

"Thank you," He said, the warmth seeping back into his tone.

With the moment mostly passed you suggested it was probably time for bed for both of you.

"And you stay home tomorrow. Lucy, George and I will go put Will's family to rest. Take the night off, okay?" While you firmly believed it was in Lockwood's best interest to avoid what was a clearly triggering event, it was also for your own safety. Lockwood and Co was disorganised at the best of times, having Lockwood lose it because he was thinking of Will and his younger self would only endanger every one of you. It was for the best that he stayed home. To your surprise, Lockwood didn't fight you on the order, despite being your boss. He just nodded, lost in thought.

"You remind me of her," He said suddenly.

"Who?"

"Jess," He replied, "She would have liked you." You smiled softly at that, a warm glow igniting in your chest.

"Goodnight, Lockwood," You said instead of addressing the scary genuine feelings blooming. He didn't reply, instead pulling you into a tight hug. His arms around you were warm, holding you in place as his head rested in the crook of your neck.

You realised suddenly how few hugs Lockwood had given you in your time at the company. Partly because it was a little unprofessional, mostly because Lockwood was typically too repressed to manage his emotions in such a healthy way. You enjoyed it though, it kind of felt like you two were meant to be like that, two halves of a damaged whole. When he pulled away his smile was just for you, bathing you in the love he'd never been able to express.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Flamyangelwings; Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids.

Ma and Pa store the wreckages of both of their ships in a building that Kara thinks is a barn and cover them with thick, heavy fabric. She takes the crystals out of the ships first, obviously. The ships are little more than scrap now, but they’ll need the crystals one day. 

Not yet, but . . . one day. 

She and Kal both wear alien clothes and eat alien food and she does her alien work, and he plays with his alien toys, and Ma and Pa . . . Ma and Pa fuss, Kara can’t help feeling. 

Sometimes other aliens visit, or they go into Smoll-Veel for supplies or to eat at the restaurants or visit places Kara doesn’t always understand the purpose of. There’s a park, and a shop for textiles, and a . . . library, she thinks? Ma and Pa don’t exchange money for the things they take from it, anyway; just scan a card, and then bring them back later. Kara thinks they’re some sort of . . . paper records, from what she’s gathered–sheets upon sheets of paper, all bound together on one side. Some of them are slimmer and have pictures, and Ma and Pa like to take turns reading those to Kal. Some of them are thicker and don’t have pictures, or at least not many, and those they either read in silence or read to each other or even Kara.

She doesn’t understand them, obviously, but . . . it’s . . . nice, she thinks. 

She actually thinks they might be stories, not just records. Especially the ones with pictures in them. 

So it’s very nice, that Ma and Pa are sharing those with them. Very . . . very kind. 

In the settlement, Ma and Pa introduce Kara and Kal by slightly different names, and everyone calls them Mar-Tha and Jona-Than, not Ma and Pa. Kara thinks maybe this planet has private names on top of their public ones, though she’s not actually certain. 

They call her “Ka-Lair” and call Kal “Ka-Lum” to the other aliens, though they pronounce them a little oddly–“Claire” and “Callum”, more like. Or that’s as close as Kara can get, anyway. Sometimes they say “Ka-Lair Zo-El Kent” and “Ka-Lum El-Ot Kent”–Kara’s not sure why Kal gets the Laborer title attached to his name too, but supposes it must be because children on this planet are associated with their guardian’s guild until they’re old enough to choose their own–though again, the pronunciation is a little odd. More like . . . “Claire Zoelle Kent” and “Callum Elliot Kent”, she thinks. 

Most of the other aliens in Smoll-Veel are kind, but none of them are as kind as Ma and Pa. Ma and Pa are . . . they’re so kind. Ma teaches Kara how to make her “pye”, and Pa teaches her how to play a catching game with a small white ball and a peculiar webbed glove and sometimes a stick to hit the ball with, and they both teach her how to work on their little farm and help her take care of Kal. They’ve even gotten him his own little bed, with tall fenced-in sides so he can’t roll or climb out of it, and set it up in a bedroom for him and her to stay in together, with a closet full of clothes for them both and a box of toys for Kal and a shelf of thin paper records with pretty pictures inside of them that they read to him from every night after “supper”. 

She thinks Ma is female and Pa is male, now, and is mostly certain that they’re either mated or married or whatever this planet does, not related or just friends. Definitely not just coworkers, either way. They still call Kal’s toy dog “Krippo” instead of “Krypto”, but given Kara’s problems getting her own tongue around their language’s words, she’s not going to hold it against them. Kal understands what they mean when they say it, so that’s all that matters.

She feels vulnerable and uncomfortable whenever they’re off the farm, and sometimes even on it, but . . . but Ma and Pa are so kind, and it’s hard to feel uncomfortable with them.

Vulnerable, maybe, but not quite in the same way as she does out in Smoll-Veel.

[cathkaesque]

Statement on Israel’s Use of Starvation as a Weapon of War in Gaza by the Union of Agricultural Work Committees, Palestine

For five days, Israel has attacked Gaza with the aim of total destruction, and the situation is at an unprecedented level of urgency. Israel’s actions have amounted to a humanitarian catastrophe of unfathomable proportions. At the time of publication, the Palestinian Ministry of Health reports 1,055 martyrs and approximately 5,184 injured.

Israel has declared a total warfare stance on Gaza, imposing a ruthless blockade that denies over two million Palestinian residents of Gaza access to electricity, water, food, fuel, medical supplies, and any humanitarian aid. Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant explicitly stated this strategy on 9 October 2023, saying: “We are imposing a complete siege on [Gaza]. No electricity, no food, no water, no fuel – everything is closed. We are fighting human animals, and we act accordingly.”

Israel’s deliberate use of starvation as a weapon of war demands the international community immediately respond with unwavering urgency and resolve.

Israel is indiscriminately decimating hospitals, schools, mosques, markets, and entire neighborhoods. Further, Israel threatened Egypt that it would bomb humanitarian aid deliveries to Gaza, prompting Egypt to withdraw its aid convoys. The Rafah Crossing into Egypt, the sole international exit from Gaza, has been bombed by Israel three times in a 24-hour period. This calculated assault severs Gazans’ only means of escape from ceaseless bombings or access to essential humanitarian aid. With Israel cutting off Gaza’s source of electricity, the only source of power was the Gaza Power Plant, which has just run out of fuel. In the case that it receives more fuel, Israel has threatened to attack the plant.

Israel’s assault is deliberately destroying any infrastructure that allows Gazans to support themselves. Vital agricultural and fishing infrastructure, crucial for food production, have been mercilessly attacked. Fisher folk cannot access the sea, into which sewage is spilling. The seaport is damaged, and tools are obliterated. Farming areas, often near the fence, have become vulnerable targets in Israeli airstrikes, and farmers whose land has not been destroyed cannot access it for daily agricultural practices. The Ministry of Agriculture reports that the bombing has done immense damage to agricultural areas and poultry farms, but the conditions make it impossible to precisely assess the situation in the field. There is a catastrophic decrease in food stocks, with shops across Gaza reporting severe shortages. The land and sea will face unimaginable environmental damages following these attacks, further preventing efforts to rebuild livelihoods.

Israel’s strategy aims to ensure that those who survive the bombs are condemned to a future without sustenance.

OCHA reports that the assaults have disrupted the UNRWA food operation, impacting at least 112,759 families. The poultry and livestock sectors are on the brink of collapse due to the severe shortage of fodder, endangering the livelihoods of more than 1,000 herders and affecting over 10,000 producers. This jeopardizes the provision of animal protein and the availability of meat and fresh sources of protein for Gaza’s entire population. Transportation of poultry to markets has virtually halted, and dairy cattle milk cannot be refrigerated nor marketed to factories, resulting in an expected daily spoilage of 35,000 liters of milk. More than 4,000 fisheries are at risk due to the closure of the sea. Gaza’s agriculture, poultry, cattle, fish, and other products are suffering from a lack of refrigeration, irrigation, incubation, and other machinery due to electricity cuts, causing spoilage.

Israel’s use of these tactics is not new by any means. Before Saturday, around 65% of the Gazan population was food insecure. More than 46% of the agricultural land in Gaza was inaccessible, and the fishing industry was severely struggling since fishing off the coast of Gaza has been restricted by Israel to 3 to 6 nautical miles.

Food insecurity is a human-made crisis, and Israel is manufacturing a mass starvation of the Gazan people.

It is the moral and legal obligation of the international community to intervene and end this crisis immediately. Food, as a basic necessity, must be allowed to reach the people of Gaza, and the deliberate targeting of civilian infrastructure must cease without delay.

We call upon the international community to take immediate action to stop Israel’s massacre of the Gazan population, demand the lifting of the siege, and establish humanitarian corridors for entry of aid.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 13

PREVIOUS

“I can’t believe you would go out on Black Friday to grocery shop but I guess thanks for going out on Black Friday to grocery shop.” Aaron greets him with as FF moves over to the table.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently went out shopping.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently come back and have been in Andrew’s room for the past couple hours.

“Josten probably wanted to go to Excites for some gear. I don’t know what my brother sees in that Exy-obsessed jerk.” Aaron says as he eats his own smiley eggs and bacon. FF hears the sound of a hammer and a drill from Andrew’s room.

Heart in his throat he forces himself not to think about what Andrew and Captain Neil COULD be building.

(A guillotine, an iron maiden, that weird wedge thing that splits people in half at the groin, He should NOT have taken that Spanish history class. Oh god it’s probably a fence so he can’t escape whatever hunting ground Andrew is going to drag him to if he can’t buy his continued existence via baked good.)

“Shut up, they’re actually really sweet to one another.” Nicky chastises before turning to FF, “Because of that your final serving goes to Smithy. He deserves it more than you.” Nicky says and slides the final plate of eggs and bacon.

“He’s just as bothered by it as I am!” Aaron scowls.

“By what?” FF asks because there are a lot of things that bother him so Aaron is going to have to be more specific.

“By those two being all close. I’ve seen the way you turn and walk away.” Aaron reaches across the table for his bacon but FF just pushes the plate closer to him. The two plates he had already eaten were more than enough, especially after the full dinner that they’d had the night before. “You’re grossed out by it too right?” He asks as he goes to stab the bacon.

FF slides the plate away and Aaron stabs the table.

FF is NOT HOMOPHOBIC.

His gran raised him better than that.

“I don’t agree with you.” He says because he doesn’t but can’t bring himself to say anymore. He’s in Aaron’s house, he stole Aaron’s keys that morning to lock up the house.

(it was so rude but what if someone broke in because he left the house unlocked? What if someone got hurt just because he wanted to ensure his own survival? Isn’t it better that he just borrowed Aaron’s keys to make sure that no one in the house got hurt? Does FF still believe with every fiber of his being that Andrew Minyard is trying to murder him in this exact house? Yes. Can these concerns coexist peacefully? Also yes.)

If anything he finds Captain Neil and Andrew to be an incredibly nice couple. They talk about things together, they make plans about their future, their PDA was actually pretty minimal (especially in comparison to Aaron), and he had figured out the weird code Andrew talked in so he was pretty sure that Andrew and Neil loved one another.

The only issue he has with the couple is that they are out at a store probably buying supplies to torture and then kill FF.

Otherwise they were perfectly fine.

Aaron scowls, “You can’t be serious. You walk away faster than you run on the court when you see the two of them getting all gross.” He points with his fork and tries to grab the bacon again.

FF frowns deeper.

“I walk away even faster from you and your girlfriend.” He returns because Aaron and Katelyn are the couple who have been the MOST guilty of initiating something in front of him when he was in ‘Visible only when the sunlight strikes him at the exact right angle on the summer solstice’ mode.

 He had tried to clear his throat to get them to quit quite a few times but…well…he has heard Katelyn mention that one of her and Aaron’s favorite ‘hang out’ spots might be haunted….so he hadn’t been overly successful.

“PDA makes me uncomfortable in general. Captain Neil and Andrew are a very nice couple who you shouldn’t talk bad about.” He defends as one of the only people who would know exactly how thoughtful the two were to one another.

He hopes his Gran is proud of him for saying something.

Aaron looks at him with a twisted mouth for a while before relenting, “Fine they’re not that bad. It’s just a big brother thing.” Aaron rolls his eyes.

FF swallows down some acid in his throat and pushes the smiling eggs and bacon over to Aaron who smiles back at the breakfast and proceeds to eat it.

A big brother thing.

FF gets up and heads over to the final bag that Andrew had left out on the counter. FF had bought some additional offerings for his mortal soul to tide Andrew over while he made the brownies. It’s also where the incense and his latest two five hour energies should still be.

He finds the incense, wonders if he hallucinated the five hour energies (very possible), and hands Nicky a box of sour patch kids to distract him when he comes over.

“Smithy, why the hell are you lighting incense?” Nicky asks because the sour patch kids were NEVER going to be enough to distract Nicky. That would take something on the level of Swedish Fish but he’d been more focused on avoiding the candy thrown by an irate woman towards a member of Target staff because the grocery department couldn’t get her the redemption coupon for one of the flat screens in the Electronic department so he had FAILED to procure them. He’d even seen a box sail through the air is bullet time because his brain was too hopped up on Five Hour Energy but he’d let it go believing he could just grab a box at check out. THEN HE ZONED OUT IN THE CHECK OUT LINE AS HE STARED AT BOTH THE FUTURE AND THE PAST AND FORGOT HE WAS IN THE PRESENT WHERE HE HADN’T GOTTEN THE DAMN SWEDISH FISH.

“I’m going to make my Great Grandma’s brownies.” He says in response, “I’m hoping to channel her so I don’t mess up.” He says.

“Oh! More grandma baking goodies?! I can be your assistant baker! What do you need?” Nicky says visibly vibrating with excitement at the prospect. “We can listen to Mariah and I can lick the spoon!”

There is a noise of revulsion from the kitchen table.

“Don’t let him lick the spoon Smiths! He gets WEIRD about it.”

“That sounds like what someone who wants to lick the spoon would say.”

“Oh shut up!”

“That’s not a NO!”

The cousins continue to argue about spoon licking rights as FF gets started checking to make sure that the kitchen has all the necessary equipment to even make his brownies. He’d been so tired (last night? This morning?) that he hadn’t thought about even checking that the cousins would have things like a glass bowl, an baking dish, pie tin, etc.

Thankfully FOR ONCE luck is on his side and FF does not have to walk back to the Target.

So he finishes pulling out everything he’ll need, getting the oven pre-heated, and pulling out the ingredients for the brownies from the fridge.

He lights some incense with the stove top burners sends a quick prayer up and wonders if maybe a ouija board would have been better but if the Home Goods section had been a dangerous spot then the toy section would have been like walking into an active war zone. There are no laws as far as parents are concerned when it comes to getting the ‘it’ toy for their kids. FF has watched the highs and lows of humanity in the Barbie aisle more than once.

So he melts chocolate, he sifts flour and sugar, he separates eggs, and he uses every muscle that Kevin’s insane work out regiment had given his arms to whip those egg whites into stiff peaks. He knows his great gran is with him when Nicky and Aaron continue to argue (they are now talking about the ethics of licking the spoon vs. licking the bowl? He doesn’t quite get how they got there but alright) so Nicky doesn’t hear him say “Stiff Peaks Acquired” to himself because he knows Nicky well enough to know that he would have NEVER heard the end of it.

He uses all of the delicacy his gran had ever tried to teach him to fold those egg whites into the chocolate and then to fold in the flour and sugar. There are more steps, more ingredients, but unless you are family then those are CLASSIFIED.

Great Gran had always been the suspicious sort.

The oven beeps to let him know it’s done pre-heating as he’s carefully transferring his great gran’s life’s work into the baking dish.

He was so focused that he hadn’t even realized that Andrew was back until he turned to do the dishes and found Andrew holding the bowl and running his fingers through the scant remaining mix and shoving it into his mouth.

He is surprise that the scream remains in his head. He’s even more surprised that he stays upright. Maybe the nap did him some good even if it let Andrew and Captain Neil build whatever torture device they were intending to use on him.

He really needs to drink some pepto. He doesn’t think that Andrew will pause their ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ recreation to let FF manage his ulcers. Andrew is staring straight at him.

Andrew offers him the spoon.

FF declines. Raw eggs, sugar, and chocolate? With THIS stomach? He’d almost prefer to be chased through whatever enclosure Andrew is going to drag him to.

“When did you wake up?” Andrew asks.

“Hour ago.” He answers.

“Hm.”

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow.” he ventures trying to extend his life by another day.

Andrew shoves the spoon into his own mouth after that and walks out into the dining room. FF hears both Aaron and Nicky’s cries of anguish.

FF looks at the brownies in the oven at the incense burning on the counter and wonders if that was Andrew’s way of confirming his stay of execution.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

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As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something switched around in your  settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[hom3landr]

bonfire night! sounds so cozy 🥹🥹

Gonna warn right out of the gate that I teared up writing this one. Jury is out on whether or not it counts as cozy

I Bet On Losing Dogs

CW references to animal abuse

I bet on losing dogs

I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place

By the ring

Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down

I'll be there on their side

I'm losing by their side

- Mitski

He shouldn’t have done that. He really shouldn’t have done that.

Fuck

Despite the fact that the thud of the slamming door had long faded, it felt like he could still hear it thundering in his ears. So he’d lost his temper? So what? You were just being so fucking chipper about the whole thing. Trying to involve him in the “spirit of the season.” It made him want to choke with suppressed rage. All his fucking life he’d dreamed of having a domestic life to come home to. He’d dreamed of the white picket fence and building jack o’ lanterns with his kids, even before he knew he could have them. But even in his most self indulgent fantasies, he was still him. He had the suit and the strength. He was Homelander.

Now he had chance at domesticity but he definitely didn’t feel like it was worth the trade. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He should have been able to mindlessly split the wood for the fire with nothing but his bare hands. But no, he had to bear the shame of you watching him struggle with the ax for ages before he managed one uneven split. He had to swallow down the bile when you offered to chop the wood instead. He should have been able to bring you any supplies you needed in the blink of an eye. Instead, he watched you pull out of the driveway in the blinding rain, to pick up the marshmallows you’d accidentally left off of your shopping list. You never complained because for you it was normal. He was supposed to give you better than normal.

So yeah, when you’d practically forced all this indignity on him, he was going to snap. He wasn’t going to be magically fixed because he tried a fucking s’more for the first time. He wasn’t going to wake up a new man because he mangled a pumpkin. All this insistence on providing this life he hadn’t been able to live felt more like a slap in the face than a kindness. He was never going to be good enough like this. None of this fucking mattered when he was forced to realize that the most isolated he’d ever felt from humanity, was when he got the chance to truly be part of it.

He hadn’t laid a hand on you, but the ruthlessly cruel things he said likely hurt just as much. If he was forced to feel inadequate every day, it had seemed more than fair to make you feel lesser as well. He wanted you to bleed so his own dripping wounds would no longer be the focus. It wasn’t until the tears came and the door slammed that he realized what he’d done. He used to have his powers to ensure that people couldn’t just get away with leaving him. But you could abandon him in the cold and he’d be forced to stay behind knowing that he did it to himself. He couldn’t hide anymore.

His attention was tugged away from his thoughts by the soft sound of pawsteps in dirt. He might not have super hearing any more but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still attentive to noise. Sometimes he almost fooled you into thinking he kept his hearing simply from how much he was still able to pick up.

His eyes stung from the smoke as he watched the grumpy dog slowly make itself a place to rest by his boot. The dog looked like he’d spent his entire life in hell and from what you’d mentioned about his past, it sounded like he actually had. He’d been locked in a cage since puppyhood. Homelander could relate.

It was a Shiba Inu, lifted from a raid on a nearby puppy mill and quickly deemed unadoptable due to aggression. He’d never be fit for a home and it wasn’t even his fault. How was the feral thing supposed to go from near complete isolation to getting bombarded with human attention without getting a little bitey? Goodness knows Homelander hadn’t. He supposed that he wasn’t exactly adoptable either.

Homelander took a closer look at the grizzled pup curled up beside him. The dog's ear was still tagged from the puppy mill. He was nippy and rude and you’d had to fight to save him when the pound wanted to put him down. According to the vet, the dog had an unprecedented number of bite reports from shelter staff. Homelander wondered how many “bite reports” had been in his file. After what he just said to you, he mentally added another one to the tally.

The dog seemed to sense the attention and fixed Homelander with a glare. He scoffed but his heart went out to the mangy thing. He reached out to give him a pat and was rewarded with a low warning growl. He removed his hand, respecting a boundary he’d never had the chance to have.

“Guess we’re both a couple of bad dogs. They were gonna put me down too”

His chest ached as he remembered.

They’d put him back in the bad room. After all those years he hadn’t escaped it.

All he could hear were voices in his past ringing around in his head.

“The thing about cross-breeding dogs, you get the right genes, you can get a perfect creation. But it doesn’t matter how perfect they are. It’s not enough.”

“You cannot be bad”

“Just bad product”

“You’re my greatest failure”

“Gaping pit of insecurity”

“From the start, I hated you”

“You’re a fucking disappointment.”

He laughed mirthlessly, which caused the dog to lift his head in surprise. Damn thing didn’t even have a name yet. He knew he was losing it if he was getting worked up over a fucking dog.

Homelander reached out again, letting the dog sniff his fingers first. It was a handsome dog underneath all the wear and tear. Your tender attention had some some of its fur growing in again. You risked your life every time you applied the medicine for its mange but you never hesitated. Just like you’d never hesitated to take care of him.

The dog didn’t growl and Homelander pushed his luck and carefully stroked the dog’s forehead. Miraculously, the dog stayed calm. The only response was a half-hearted wag of its tail. So he tried again and got the same response. Homelander didn’t know if it was because the dog was too drowsy from the fire to care or if it somehow sensed a kindred spirit. He avoided the tender patches that were still in the process of healing.

“I don’t think you’re a bad dog.” Homelander whispered, words tight in his throat. Unwanted tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he continued petting. “You’re just scared.”

The old Shiba closed its eyes.

The sound of the door had his head whipping around towards the cabin. Your head was held high as you marched down towards the fire with a plate loaded high with goodies. Your jaw was set and you had that firm look in your eye that you always got when he was being difficult. You were still angry, that much was very clear. But you hadn’t left him.

You sat on the log beside him, body drawn tight, back ramrod straight. The plate balanced in your lap was piled with chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. It was the s’mores that you’d been so excited to share with him before he’d lashed out. You’d just wanted to help him feel better.

He knew he should apologize but the words caught in his throat. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, even if the old dog no longer existed.

“I love you,” is what he said instead.

You sighed heavily, fingers clenching and unclenching as you gripped the rim of the plate.

A tense silence filled the air as he waited for your response.

“If something I’m doing is causing you any kind of distress, you have to tell me. I thought you’d like it. I wouldn’t have suggested making them otherwise.” You didn’t look at him as you talked, wanting to make sure you said your peace before emotions took over. You knew you’d crumble if you saw his sad eyes now. “I know things are hard right now. I don’t want to diminish that. But I’m not the enemy here.”

He stayed quiet, focused on petting the dog to calm the urge to get defensive. He wanted you to hurry up and get to the part where you said you loved him back. You must still love him if you hadn’t left.

When he didn't respond, you finally turned to look at him but your eyes grew wide with shock when you saw the dog. It had shifted to rest its head on Homelander’s knee for better petting access and if you hadn’t seen what the dog was capable of, you’d have mistaken it for a normal house pet. Homelander swallowed thickly as you stared.

“He’s not a bad dog.” He stated, finally breaking the silence. Your gaze flitted between back and forth between the two of them as though you couldn’t make yourself believe what you were seeing.

“I know he isn’t” You replied, voice heavy with surprise and confusion. You reached out to lay your hand over Homelander’s free one. You didn’t know what his point was but you could always tell when he needed help saying something.

“He gets overwhelmed and lashes out but he doesn’t mean it.” Homelander’s voice cracked. “He’s very sorry.”

Your eyes glistened wetly in the firelight as understanding dawned on you.

“I know.” you whispered shakily. You squeezed his hand tighter.

“He appreciates everything you do for him. Please don’t take him back.” A tear escaped the corner of his eye only to end up caught in the rough scraggle of scruff that he hadn’t had the energy to shave. He tried to turn his head so you wouldn’t see but his voice would have given it away regardless.

Something in you shattered and you pulled him into a hug as tight as you could manage, carefully placing the plate to the side. You could count on one hand the number of times that you’d seen Homelander cry but he was sobbing into your chest the moment he felt your arms around him. His shoulders heaved and it was all you could do to keep your composure so you could comfort him.

The Shiba whimpered as though in sympathy and rested a paw on Homelander’s thigh.

“Don’t worry, he’s found his forever home with us. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll fight for him every time.” You pressed fervent kisses to his temple as he shook in your arms. You both knew you weren’t talking about the dog anymore.

Homelander didn’t know how long he clung to you but his tears gradually began to ease and his head throbbed from the force of his sorrow. He thought he would hate it but there was something cathartic about having his hurt mirrored physically. It made it feel real. It made it feel valid. You held him firmly but tenderly, strong in a way he could never be, strong in a way that Vogelbaum would have never been able to understand.

“I’m going to take care of you both but I need you to trust me.” You made him look you in the eyes. He nodded, sniffling just a bit. He did trust you. It was himself that he didn’t trust.

You reached out to give the dog a pet too but quickly drew your hand back at the flash of teeth.

Homelander winced sheepishly.

“C’mon Champ, you’re embarrassing me.” He chastised the dog as it cocked its head. “After all those nice things I just said about you. Did you even look at your talking points?”

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh as he gave the dog his signature point, something the Shiba was thoroughly unimpressed by. For a split second he sounded like himself again. Something about this angry dog reached him in a way you couldn’t and you would forever be grateful to your past self for taking it in.

The two of you never ate the s’mores but Homelander had no problem sacrificing the marshmallows into the ravenous jaws of his new buddy.

“We should put some names in a hat and have him pick one” He grinned as another marshmallow disappeared. “He deserves to choose his own name.”

For the first time, he sounded excited for the future.

[quickretain]

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[deluxewhump]

Whumptober day 1: Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

Zee

Alex was good in these situations. Cam was better, but Alex was good. He was a solid, reliable structure, a cool pair of capable hands. He was wearing a light jacket with an unfamiliar logo over the breast pocket that Zee focused on like a touchstone as Alex placed a peppermint into his mouth for him. Someone was staring. Alex didn’t notice— never noticed. Who could make Alex Clair feel bad by staring at him on a bus? His BMW was in the shop, he’d probably never take the city bus again.

“This is us,” Alex said softly as it hissed and rattled to a stop a block from their building. “Wanna go home?”

His legs were tingling with misplaced warning. His chest was tight. The contrast was turned up too high in the center of his vision and the edges were gray and dark, but he nodded and slid out of the seat after Alex. He’d been following Alex out of places he didn’t want to be for years. The alternative was to keep riding the bus, and he wasn’t going to do that. If it meant they’d be alone, he’d let Alex take him anywhere…a walk-in freezer, a supply closet. Past the broken chain link fence at the edge of the parking lot and on into the woods until there was no more halfhearted footpath with cigarette butts and plastic cup lids strewn about the underbrush.

Home sounded even better.

[sleepymoonlady]

Roevember Day 2: Roots

Vermilion Rose had lived in Ul'dah for most of her life. It was home, for better or for worse, for her and her family for almost as long as she could remember.

Almost.

She had had another home--her first home. The house she and her sister were born in. The house with grey stone walls stained a hundred colors from her and her sister's doodling. The house that would get icicles in winter, that her and her sister would break off and pretend to swordfight the other children with. The house where her mother would take her into her lap, in that cozy chair by the fireplace, and tell her stories of dashing knights and beautiful princesses and fearsome dragons. This house in a quaint little logging village in western Coerthas was her first home--but it was home no longer. Not since the little family was uprooted, and four became three.

A lot had happened since then: they moved to Ul'dah, mum remarried, and their family grew and healed. Their family put down roots again, even though they all thought that might never happen. Then, Rose had set off on her own, an adventurer, and had been through countless trials and tribulations. She saw Bahamut savage Carteneau, despite her best efforts to stop it. She left Eorzea to see the world, then returned and found herself fighting the Empire a second time. She had experienced so much love, and laughter, and loss, and sorrow. She had been triumphant, and she had suffered bitterly, but she always knew she had a home to return to.

But never, in all those years, had she even thought to visit her old home. Not until she found herself in Falcon's Nest. She hadn't even considered making the trip North at first--she was just there to buy supplies for the journey that she was going to be making with Alphinaud and Estinien. But her mind kept wandering to her new home. Ul'dah. After all that happened that night, that horrible night, she had lost everything. Did her family even know she was alive? Were they safe? Would the Crystal Braves and their cronies kick the door down looking for her, she wondered? Mama would be furious--she'd... Twelve help her, Rose hoped she wouldn't try to fight the Braves.

Rose shook her head, trying to push the thoughts out. There wasn't much she could do now. Mama and mum were smart--she had to believe they'd lay low. She had to believe there would be a home waiting for her when she could finally return. If she could return. What if she never cleared her name? What if...

"Oh, SOD this." Rose groaned. She wasn't used to just thinking. She acted! And now, she couldn't. And it was driving her insane. Against her better judgment, she decided to take a break from shopping and just take a walk, despite the frigid winds howling like a banshee across the highlands. Maybe, just maybe, that would clear her head. At the very least, it'd sate her curiosity--she hadn't seen this part of Coerthas since before the Calamity. Before it had been smothered to death by the permanent blanket of ice and frost that descended in Bahamut's wake.

She didn't intend to seek out Hemlock when she departed Falcon's Nest. She only intended to walk aimlessly, take in the scenery, occupy herself with something other than her worries. But after a couple hours of walking, she recognized what was in front of her. That was Hemlock's front gate, all right. She remembered watching carts full of freshly-chopped lumber going in and out. She remembered the heady smell of pine that they carried, that suffused the village. She remembered the bustle of lumberjacks, the yelling of children.

She smelled nothing now. She heard only the howling of the wind whipping past her. Hemlock's gate lay open, its fences scattered and broken, the wood left to rot. The small but formerly lively village that lay past it was...

It was dead. Rose had heard the term "ghost town" used before, but never until now had she realized just how real that turn of phrase was. The Hemlock she remembered was a living, breathing, vibrant thing. The place she saw before her now was as cold and quiet as a corpse. She had thought for sure, that someone must still live there, even though she knew that most of the western highlands were abandoned once the ice had set in. They were unlivable, utterly barren, the soil cracked and frozen. Logically, she knew this. But still, she half-expected old miss Jautefeaux to totter out of her home, still smiling that gentle half-smile. She thought maybe her old friend Alwault might still live there--he was always helping his father whenever he could. He had wanted to take over the family business even back then.

But there was nobody. Nobody and nothing. Slowly, she made her way to her old home. Frozen over or no, it still looked... mostly the same. Maybe a bit smaller. She traced her fingers over the front door. Had anyone moved in after they had to leave? Or would she find all of the furniture still there, lying half-rotten in the corners they were hurriedly shoved into during the family's flight from Coerthas? Gingerly, she reached for the door handle. Then she hesitated--this didn't feel right. Like rifling through the pockets of a corpse at a funeral. Her old home was gone. No matter what happened to this building in the years afterward, it wasn't her home anymore. Shakily, the roegadyn sighed, as she felt a tear freeze halfway down her cheek. There was nothing for her here.

As she turned to walk back to Falcon's Nest, she couldn't help but feel strangely grateful that she had seen this place again, despite it all. Hemlock may not have been her home anymore--nor anyone's--but Ul'dah still was. Once, the Inquisition had torn Rose from her home. But she had put down roots in Ul'dah, despite everything, and in Azeyma's name she was not going to let those thrice-damned Monetarist pigs do the same.

Resolved, Vermilion Rose spoke an oath into the icy winds--a promise that she would not lose another home.

[snowywinterevenings]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). I was tagged by @bluemaskedkarma!

A bit from witchy-Wan and vampire Cody:

“Will ordering pizza for dinner stop your fussing?” There was no way he was hunting down the boxes of kitchen supplies or going grocery shopping until at least the following day. They would make do with a delivered dinner for the evening.

Anakin gave him a sideways look and shrugged. “Might delay it for a bit.”

The GPS directed Ben to take the next right, and they pulled onto a street lined with old trees. The moving truck was awaiting their arrival at the house at the end of the street, and Ben was glad to see it looked just as it had in the photos and videos with a decent sized yard and a fence. The gardens and the house would need some work, but it would give them something to do in the evenings and on the weekends. Ahsoka had already expressed her excitement at having space to garden, and Ben knew Anakin would appreciate the lengthy driveway where he could put up a basketball hoop.

“Oooooh we’re haunted. Can’t wait to meet them!”

Oh good. That was just what they needed. Hopefully it was a pleasant spirit and not one they would have to remove. “Remember to keep quiet about such things in front of the movers. You can introduce yourself to the spirit once we don’t have company.”

Absolutely no pressure tags to: @smoosey @raphaerolo @frostbitebakery @anaclastic-azurite @dontbelasagnax @merlyn-bane and anyone who wants to participate!!!!

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part eight

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

hope is a dangerous thing.

a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.

You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.

“Let me through the gate.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.

She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,” she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”

They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”

She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.

Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”

You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”

“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.

“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”

“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”

“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”

The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”

“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”

“Bat’s not enough for you?”

“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”

Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”

He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?” 

You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”

You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”

“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”

“No. Second.”

“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”

“Have you done this before?”

You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”

“Did he live?”

You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”

He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”

“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.

“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”

“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.

“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”

“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”

You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”

“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”

“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”

He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”

“Good.”

You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”

+

They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.

He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.

He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.

But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.

Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.

But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.

Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.

That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.

You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.

He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?

Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.

God, he loved you so goddamned much.

A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.

It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.

He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”

He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.

+

Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.

There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.

The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.

“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”

Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”

The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about;  Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.

“Are the kids okay?”

She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”

Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.

“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”

“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”

You lift a brow. “And?”

He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”

“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”

Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”

“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”

Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.

“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”

He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”

You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”

McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”

You swallow hard. Shit.

+

The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.

They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.

The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.

Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.

And you’d been eating the same things they had.

The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.

“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.

A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.

And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.

But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.

They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.

You wait for nightfall, and you run.

You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.

Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.

The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.

There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.

You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.

Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”

“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”

You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”

“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”

“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”

His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”

You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.

He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”

You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.

“What is this?”

There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”

“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”

She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”

“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”

You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”

There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”

PREV | NEXT

[adaptacy]

Survivor!Leland Dad Headcanons

i am so so so so head over heels for this gorgeous ball of fluff i cannot even explain. literally spent the past like 4 hours rambling about him i cant get over him hes so MMM

Cw: mild angst, i'll make the angsty paragraphs purple so you can avoid them if you just want fluff :)

!!WARNING!!: you will get baby fever.

Leland is a country boy at heart, and he definitely chooses to settle down with you on a small ranch complete with a few acres of property, just in case you ever want to have livestock or expand, but also because he wants room to build playsets and make sure his kids are getting out and have space to play outside.

He'd buy the wood to make a playset, and he'd get all of his dad's tools together and stand out back, staring at the pile of scrap, trying to figure out what to do with it. He wasn't all that familiar with it, but he wanted something handmade- he wanted to be able to build a play set so he could tell his kids about it. You'd go out back and chat with him about it, and every time he explained his vision to you, it was something different.

After about a month, you ended up just purchasing one of those store-made play sets and gave him some of the supplies as well as the instructions. However, he used the wood parts he'd gotten for the bulk of it. The playset ended up looking a little strange- most of it was natural wood, but then the roof and stairs were plastic, and the slide, and the railings, but it had a bit of charm to it. And Leland loved bragging about how he built it himself. You still remember the large grin he wore when he presented it to you, and then leaned down, speaking to your stomach and telling your baby how about all the fun they were going to have on it.

He spent the next two-weeks baby proofing it. Padding everywhere, he managed to static-proof the slide, he added extra stability to the fences, and it ended up looking even more... unique. You teased him about it, telling him that kids were going to find a way to get hurt no matter how much he baby proofed it, but he was stubborn that some was better than none. You let him get away with it, until...

He started baby proofing the house. Some, you understood. Outlet covers. Cabinet locks. Baby gates by the stairs- that was all fine. But then he started putting rubber softeners against every sharp surface, he moved around all of the silverware so that it was out of reach- out of your reach, too, and hardly organized. You put an end to this really quickly, and although he was clearly anxious about your kids finding a way to hurt themselves, you'd tell him that- yeah, they were kids. That's what they were great at. He was just making your lives harder without really doing anything. So, he took it back a notch, though you did notice him sprinkle in random rubber rounders on sharp corners. You didn't call him out on it, and he eventually was satisfied, and stopped, leaving it to rest.

He dresses his babies in overalls and cow-print onesies, the fabric always has some sort of pattern on it, whether its small horses or sunflowers- whatever it was, it had a pattern on it. He wasn't very good at picking out outfits for them, as they very often clashed and he didn't understand that you can't just mix patterns, but with a bit of guidance from you (and you supervising him when you shop for clothes), he slowly got better at picking out outfits for them, and also started getting a bit better at picking out his own outfits as a bonus.

While it wasn't a terrible case, you did suffer from a bit of postpartum depression, especially with your first, and Leland felt awful about it, like genuinely gut-wrenchingly bad, so he did everything possible to make things easier on you. He always offered to be the one on wake-up duty, refusing to let you get up out of bed when the baby started crying. If you wanted, he'd go and get them and hand them off to you, letting you hold them for a little while and let them fall back asleep before he returned them to the nursery.

One night, you'd waken up to the baby crying, but Leland reassured you that he'd take care of them, so you went back to sleep. When you woke up about an hour later, Leland still wasn't there, and you grew a little worried. You got up out of bed and checked the nursery, and both of them were gone. You immediately went into a panic, and you headed down the stairs, only to find Leland on the living room carpet with your baby, leaning against the couch as he dangled a foil toy above them. He yawned; he looked absolutely exhausted, and he was dozing off as he bobbed the toy up and down.

"Lee?" "Huh-? I'm awake, I'm awake, where is she?" He jolted awake, looking around until he spotted your daughter reaching up for the toy above her head, and he let out a breath of relief. "Sorry, she just would not go back to sleep. I came down to start the coffee, and set her down here, and.... Guess I just dozed off." You laughed, walking over to him and sitting next to him, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Do you wanna go get some sleep? I don't mind starting some coffee and watching her." "Are you sure?" "Positive. Go get some sleep, babe, you're all good," you reassured. He kissed your cheek, and then kissed his daughter's forehead before heading back upstairs.

Especially for your first kid, he got really anxious when they'd cry. He'd try all sorts of things- tried burping them, tried feeding them, tried playing with them, anything he could think of. And it took a lot of persuasion for him to realize that, no, your kid was not dying, they were a baby, and babies cry. He got a lot more accustomed to this idea by the second, and then the third, and was pretty much a pro by the fourth kid.

Oh yeah, four kids. Three girls and one boy. He is SUCH a girl dad and I will not be accepting criticism on this.

Every single time you gave birth, you'd hold the baby for about fifteen minutes before passing it off to Leland, who refused to give it back for at least an hour. He'd tell you to just get some rest, you deserved it, and he just wanted to take the trouble off your hands. "Our baby is not trouble," you'd remind, but he'd shush you, and as time went on, your kids started chiming in, telling you "Just get some sleep, mom!", and you'd pretend to go to sleep, and Leland would sit on the floor with them, letting them see their new sibling.

He wouldn't let them be held by any of your kids, he didn't want to risk the worst, but he'd talk it through with the kids, explaining the story that Mom worked really really hard for their new sibling, so they needed to be gentle with them, and be patient. The older ones understood it, but the younger ones had a little trouble grasping the fact that babies could be loud, and annoying, and frustrating, but he'd explain to them that babies can't do anything else because they don't know much. Exactly the way that you'd first reassured him about his anxieties with the baby crying.

Another thing that never changed were his occasional anxiety attacks, usually after a bad nightmare back to the event, or when he couldn't sleep despite his meds, and he paced in the bathroom, running his fingers through his hair over, and over, and over again. Thinking about the what if's. Thinking about all of it. And he'd get on the edge of tears, the edge of really breaking down, before he'd go into the nursery and sit next to the crib. He'd set his hand inside, and the moment that his baby's tiny fingers wrapped around one of his, he'd let out a tense exhale, managing a smile. Even when they were grown, he'd stand in the frame of their door in the middle of the night, reassuring himself that he'd done fine. That he'd made a life for himself. Made a family for himself. That they'd be proud of him. And while it never got easier, he got better at understanding it, at calming himself down, at reassuring himself.

As his kids get older, they start asking about his scars. You overhear it from where you're cleaning in the kitchen, and you step closer, listening in. At first, you worry that he'll shut down- you know how sensitive subject it is for him, and there's silence.

"Daddy?" Your daughter asked, and you could hear a sniffle. He let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, see, you aren't s'posed to know about 'em. Stuff you don't wanna know about your daddy, kiddo," he'd respond, and you could practically see the pout on her face. It was his fault he spoiled them so much. "C'mon, daddy, tell me! Please? I promise I won't tell anyone else," she hummed. "Nobody? Not even your brother?" "Nobody," she assured, and he sighed. "Well, before you were born... I went on a lot of adventures. Me and my friends. See, we had to fight these real bad guys. During the battle, they got a good couple of hits on me, and that's what the scars are from." "Did you win?" There was another pause. "Yeah, sugar, I won." "Where are your friends now?" Another pause. "They're out there protectin' others. They don't have kids like me and your mom. I had to retire from kickin' butt," he teased. "You're still my hero, daddy." You smiled, and you could hear his voice break as he replied with, "I love you, baby. Don't ever forget that, alright? No matter what happens." "I know, I love you too, dad."

It wasn't long before your kids started to touch his scars in passing, when they were playing with him, or when he was sitting on the couch next to him. They'd lean against his shoulder and touch the ones on his forceps, ones that you knew were far too small to be sensitive. But then they'd touch the ones on his back, and you'd hear him let out a quiet grunt, trying to shift- not shift away, but shift so that his back faced them, and they'd ease up their pressure. He'd remind them to be gentle, and they'd oblige, gently tracing the scars on his back.

He understood that they were curious; they were young, and touch was how they explored. He would've been curious too, at their age. So he was patient with them, and understanding. Even when they'd accidentally poke at a sensitive spot, and his jaw would tighten, but he never got angry at them. Sometimes, he'd give you a look, and you'd understand immediately, and distract the kids with something else so he could have his personal space.

It wasn't long before a lot of his scars were named. The ones on his back were Billy and Jessie, and the one on his chest was Hugh. The others had names too, but they changed pretty often. Those three remained the same, though. Sometimes the kids would line them with colorful markers, drawing wings around them or drawing faces on the scar tissue, and he got used to them messing with the scars, and it started to affect him less.

From the minute they grasp the concept of walking, those kids are dancing. Or, at the very least, bouncing as Leland danced around them, singing to whatever was on the radio at that moment. He loved having dance parties with his kids, and you'd join in, and he'd twirl you, your kids acting as a hype squad as the two of you danced. He liked letting his kids pick out something from his vinyl collection and putting it on, dancing along to his favorites and teaching them how to dosey-doe and square dance.

The first time his daughter fell off of her bike, he cried way more than she did. She was already back on the bike, asking for Leland to help her, and he was practically bawling, talking about how he was so proud of her for being so strong. You'd laugh, and step in, helping her out while he collected himself.

The moment that his daughters have enough hair to clip a bow on, he's doing it for them. He does it for every outing, all the way until they graduate. Every prom, he set up one of the bedrooms as a sort of salon, and he did all of their hair for them, even the ones who weren't going to prom that year. And every year, he was teary-eyed as he did it, rambling about how much they've grown up.

With his son, most people expected him to go hog wild with the sports dad thing, but he was entirely the opposite. he didn't want his son to get hurt, so he never even encouraged the idea of sports.

"Lee, you were in football in high school. Don't you want that opportunity for him?" "I knew a guy who was paralyzed from football." "You knew a guy, or you heard it on the radio?" "..................I'm not takin' any risks."

He swears your hormones are contagious. If he walks in on you crying, he starts crying, and he never cried before you had kids. And then both of you would be crying, and neither of you would know why, so you'd start laughing, and then you'd go back to crying again. He didn't understand it in the slightest, but he was fine as long as you and his kids were.

Speaking of hormones, you had to sit him down when your oldest daughter got about 12, and you gave him a very in depth discussion about how periods work, what he should expect, and what he can do to help.

The next time he came back from the store, he had a box of every single brand of pad and tampon. And he assured you that it was important because you never know what might work. Well, what worked was the first box that they tried, and now Leland was left with a lot of boxes and a lot of period products. So, what did he do?

He broke down the boxes and took out all of the period products. And he made a fort with the boxes, using the pads as adhesive and using the tampons as decoration. You and your two daughters stumbled across him working in the living room, laying on his back as he used a pad to tape two boxes together.

"Dad...? What are you doing?" Your eldest asked, the three of you exchanging a glance. "Are you okay, daddy?" The younger one added, and he sat up, turning towards the three of you with the happiest, most proud-dad grin on his face. "It's a period palace!" He laughed, showing off his work.

The kids didn't play in it much, but he and Jacs had their fun with it, and before long it was thrown out, probably for the best.

When referring to him in conversation with your kids, you'd refer to him as Dad, or Daddy, and he'd refer to you as Mom. However, when he was being more affectionate, he'd refer to you as Mama instead.