#Private jackson

[bumpkinbitch]

Alright so.. I don’t normally do this but the lovely @southernbelllle charmed me into it so here we are.

Miller is returning home!

(I kill off the entire squad cause I’m evil and hate happiness lol you’re welcome!)

I didn’t proof read this so…..

Dedicated to the beautifulest Miller fan, Ms Belle

Without further ado:

Rosebud

Yeah, he’d been gone long enough for the fear that he’d forget what being back at home was even like to creep on into his conscience, right beside the tick that shook his bones and blurred his eyes.

Ah, home. He never thought he’d make it back, never thought it would be him who’d be walking down the red dirt road, beneath the apple and oak trees, following the scent trail of a cinnamon-apple pie - same apples from the greenery that engulfed him. Oh, how pleased he was. So pleased he figured he must’ve died on the field, alongside Jackson, or maybe Horvath.

“M’alright Cap’n! Just a fuckin’ poke.” Horvath’s last words, as his palms squeezed his punctured liver deeper into his body, ruby soaked fingers curled with each other, the same red sputtering from his lips that were pursed into a reassuring grin. Why should he live to see the sun and sky, not choked in dust, ash, and blood? See, in some part of his shattered mind, he was pretending that it was in fact Horvath, Jackson, Caparzo, Mellish, Reiben, and Wade, going home to their missus, their mothers, their dogs, their rosebushes, and their apple trees. But that wasn’t the case. He was very much alive and - damned if he didn’t say - well, making his way back to the place his heart had been calling to, all those years amongst the smoke and death.

He wondered what teaching would be like, if his weekend afternoons in the countryside, where the baseball diamond sat, twirling around the clayish dirt into the grassy air, would be any different. After witnessing boys as young as - some younger - than the kids he had taught to read and review Shakespeare, or the proper way to hold an old baseball glove, cry out to for mothers and fathers, gasping for one more little jar of morphine, one final breath of life. It sure would be different.

But that didn’t matter right now. He trudged along, cigarette in his shaky hand - this time just from the uncertainty of what would become of his life - with one goal in mind; get back to her.

His worn boots kicked along the gravel, the air was hot and sweet with the lush pollen of summer, and he could see it, he could see his rooftop peeking through the canopy of trees, the spice of ground cinnamon, tart green apples, and homemade pie crust, now dancing on his tongue.

Miller wiped the sweat and grime from his forehead, the weight of his rucksack starting to pull his - already heavy with war - shoulders, sure that the water in his canteen had grown warm and likely adopted the stale taste of metal - something he had grown accustomed to during his time overseas.

He turned the corner, greeted by a bluejay who had been perched upon a dusty, pink mailbox that read “Miller.”

He brushed his fingertips across the letters, the gate of the picket fence closed, behind it sprawled a vast, cared-for lawn of wildflowers and grass so green, you couldn’t forget it if you tried. The leaves of the oak shimmered and sang in the heat and the hum of the watering hose sent a pang to his tender heart.

He knew exactly where she was.

Calloused hands unlatched the gate, slowly passing through, he shut it behind him, his other hand clasped to the strap of his rucksack. The walk to the side of the house felt like an eternity. Miller’s heart pounded in his chest, deafening him. All to be heard was his breath, his heartbeat, and the quiet tune of her singing.

And so he turned the corner, coming to a stop, his hand now bringing his helmet off his head, pressed against his chest.

Maybe he did die and go to Heaven, maybe Jackson prayed so hard he got him a spot there. Yeah.

There she was. Honey brown hair soaking up the sunlight, soft skin blemished with moist garden dirt, clad in coveralls and gardening gloves that were engulfed by thorns and grime. The hose that was saturating the walkway with hot, rubbery water, was now soaking his boots, but he didn’t even care. He just stood still, blue eyes taken aback by the rosy angel, humming a familiar melody that he just couldn’t be damned to remember.

“Honey-“ Miller calls out, his voice soothed with the quiet buzz of hot July.

Even after all this time, she was in the exact same spot, at the exact same time, tending to the exact same roses that - amongst the spitting bullets, screeching chains of the Nazi tanks, the boyish weeping of men he had gunned down, and men who were his brothers - he had grown to long for, every single fucking day.

[theverystrangegirl27]

. ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁

I'd Tell Them Put Me Back In

. ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Summary: Daniel, being just a week away from leaving for war, devotes your body and soul to memory.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, praise kink, light breeding kink

Daniel makes love to you like you're something holy, something divine. He carves his hips into yours, cradling your head so your face is tucked up into his neck.

He lives for the soft, wet gasps for breath you let out as he buries himself inside of you.

Daniel kisses your temple.

“I know, pretty girl, I know.” He coos, sweet as ever.

“Danny,” you whimper, mouth hanging open around sharp, breathless pants.

Daniel shushes you, thrusting deeply.

“Feel so good, made f'me, angel.” He grunts, teeth grit as he moves to press his forehead to yours.

“Look at me, Y/N, c'mon baby.”

You try, eyelids fluttering as they struggle to stay open. His pretty blue eyes have you captivated, and you roll your hips to meet his next thrust.

He smiles, lazy and loving.

“There she is, there's my girl.”

You feel too fucked out to respond verbally, flushed pink all the way down to your chest. All you can do is lock your arms around his neck and pull Daniel down for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss.

He groans into it, lost in the very sensation of you. If he could, Daniel would make a home for himself between your legs, a place of worship in the spread of your hips. God made you for him, the dip of your waist fitting perfectly into his hands.

Your cunt pulses around him, and you let out a beautiful high cry that sounds like a chorus of angels welcoming him home.

“Fuck,” He moans into your neck, his hips working faster. “God almighty, baby, fuck!”

Your legs are wrapped around Daniel, keeping him pressed tight against you, and you stroke his hair as he chases his own orgasm.

“Please, Danny, I want it,” you whisper, voice trembling and soft as his hips begin to stutter. “Give me your baby, please, please -”

“Y/N-” Daniel gasps, breathing hard as he fills you up. You moan happily, kissing across his face as he catches his breath, hips stilling as he presses into you as deeply as he can.

With another soft moan, he rests his head in the crook of your neck, kissing the sweat-salty skin there. Daniel's hands hold your waist, gentle and kind, as you both take a moment to collect yourselves.

You watch his face, how his eyelashes flutter across his cheek bones, the way his lips part. You stroke Daniel's back, fingernails raising goosebumps in their wake.

“I don't want you to go.” You say softly.

He lifts his head, eyes immediately softening when they meet yours.

Daniel reaches up, cupping your beautiful face in both hands.

“You know I have to.” He says, though you can tell it pains him to say it. You nod, smiling though it doesn't reach your eyes.

“I know.”

He leans in to kiss you. Daniel's so gentle with you, like you're the most precious thing he's ever had the privilege to hold. You know he'll make a fantastic father when he comes home.

If he comes home.

That thought makes you tear up a little, and you sniffle as he pulls away.

“Hey,” Daniel soothes, wiping away the lone tear falling down your cheek. “Hey, pretty girl, none a’ that now.”

“I'm sorry,” you whimper, embarrassed but so scared for your man you can't help it. “Just, what if something happens and you're all alone and I can't-”

“Y/N,” He interrupts gently. He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. “I'm gonna do my best to come back to you, honey.”

Daniel kisses you briefly before continuing.

“I promise you that.”

You nod, looking up at him with those pretty tears stained eyes that drive him wild. He can't help but kiss you again.

“‘Sides,” He says with a small smile. “S'long as I got the good Lord on my side, I think I'll be just fine.”

You smile back, fingers going to the golden cross dangling from the chain around his neck.

You bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to the heated metal.

“I love you, Danny.”

Daniel gathers you up in his arms, his softening cock pulling out of you as he rearranges you both. Once you're lying on his chest, he kisses the top of your head.

Staring up at the ceiling, he thinks about the future, how he'll be halfway around the world by next week.

“I love you too, angel.”

[southernbelllle]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Private Daniel Jackson x Reader

Prompt: Jackson snaps at you...

Word Count: 1.8k

AN: Writing Jackson angst is so fckn funny bruh imagine getting yelled at and bro starts reciting scripture.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The lake was shimmering white dots of light as the sun began its daily descent. The heat was prickling at your shoulders as you watched Daniel’s pole bob up and down into the water.

His beautiful blue eyes were trained on the small red and white bobber, unmoving for large amounts of time.

“Damn” you heard your inner monologue sigh. The steel lapis of his irises put the clear blue water to shame. He sat on the dock, shirtless in the sun. His ragged blue jeans were cuffed around his calves, his toes gently nipping at the water’s surface.

His brows were tightly furrowed together in concentrated dread. No bites all afternoon. He was biting the plushy blush colored corner of his bottom lip.

“Still nothing?” You leaned beside him, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Nope.” He stated bluntly. His eyes stayed glued on the bobber.

You had noticed all morning that your Daniel hadn’t been himself. When you woke up, the side of your bed in which he usually smothered you in kisses, was empty. He was standing outside on your deck facing the water, watching the blue heron fly away from its nest. You had offered to cook him his favorite, a full Saturday morning breakfast, he didn’t want it. He said he wasn’t hungry. In fact, you had to follow him out to the dock in order to get a word out of him. He never liked fishing alone, he told you constantly that your conversations made up for the boring parts of fishing. The excitement in your voice when he’s reel in what felt like a good catch was enough to fuel his ego for weeks, and yet you weren’t invited this time.

Daniel scoffed as he reeled in his rod. Not a single fish caught in two hours.

“Sonofabitch.” He got up and headed to the small wooden table where the tackle box sat.  He threw the plastic lid off the container of worms he’d gathered that morning.

You sprang up beside him, “Oh, Daniel!” You followed him with bare feet. “Let me bait the hook for you!”

He turned his back to you as he fiddled with the hook. ”Nah I needa do it.” He mumbled.

“Oh, c’mon Danny let me do this for you, you been out here all afternoon.” You pleaded. “Let me help you somehow.”

“Nah, I got this. I can do it.” He shot in a tone that almost felt…mean? Judgy? Upset with you?

“Are you sure Daniel I don’t mi-“ You were interrupted by a guttural yell.

“Dammit woman I can do it myself!” There was no mistaking his tone this time. You had never seen this side of Daniel before.

You shrank downward into yourself as you stepped backward from him. You were, to be quite honest, in shock at him.

“Sorry…” you mumbled to no one in particular. “I’ll just be going back up now.” You turned to walk to the rocky path that led to your kitchen door. You felt a few tears fall and escape your eyes. You let your hair fall down beside your face so he wouldn’t see you cry. You needed some time alone.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

You threw yourself into your cooking as means to distract yourself from the snarling dog that stayed behind you on the dock. You had been planning a nice dinner for your boyfriend all week. You had been secretly slipping to the supermarket with the extra change you’d collected. You’d buy the fancy herbs and spices to add to the juicy salmon that you assumed your Daniel was soon to catch. You remembered what they say about assuming, now.

Tears began to fall once more as you moved the small bottles you’d bought into the cupboard. You guessed you wouldn’t need them anymore, your Daniel had very clearly grown not only tired but annoyed by you.

You never imagined that this was a possibility for your relationship. You could’ve sworn that he loved you, loved you like one day he’d get down on one knee and ask you to be his forever. That dream felt lost to the wind right now, there was no hope.

He was probably going to leave you, He was going to find him another nice girl he went to church with, and discard you like an old hubcap. It was the most painful thing you could imagine.

You were holding your arms up against the cupboard doors, starring into the empty void that had just sucked up all of your most precious memories when you heard heavy footsteps rutting against the rocky path. Daniel was coming back, and you had damp eyes the color of Jupiter’s great storm. You wiped your eyes and once again brought your hair down to curtain your face and busied yourself by cleaning the coffee maker.

Daniel walked in with steps much lighter than you’d heard before. You felt his eyes scan you up and down, never once daring to turn and meet his gaze. You picked up the wet yellow sponge and brought it to scrub the inside on the glass coffee pot.

Quietly, he approached you like a rabbit to an eagle. You cold see his advances in your peripheral vision through your hair. You turned the faucet on to rinse the pot.

He unexpectedly reached his arm out toward your shoulder, causing you to jump and drop the glass pot into the sink. It shattered into a million tiny pieces with an echo that sounded far too similar to his earlier outburst.

The straw that broke the camels back, you drop to you knees and bring your hands to your face. You open mouth sob, completely disregarding the man who stood behind you.

“Aw nah” he sighed remorsefully. “Aw nah baby,” Daniel whispered, wasting absolutely no time to scoop your shaking frame into his strong arms. “I’m sorry, Darlin’” he repeated over and over, rubbing small circles atop your shoulder blades. “I’m awful sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to bark at ya.”

You continued to sob into his shoulders. Bracing him for dear life, as if you were to physically stop him from walking out the door to find a girl that would grant him more independence, and not insist on doing menial tasks such as bait a hook for him.

Your cries broke him into more pieces than the shattered coffee pot. He, as your man, was to eliminate any reason that you’d cry, and now look at him. He was the reason your tears were now dripping down his shoulder. “I’m so so sorry, baby.” He gently rocked you back and forth as you both still sat on the ground.

You lifted your head up to look at him, it was the first time you’d seen his face all morning. Even when he was miserable, completely drained from hearing your painful sobs, he was still beautiful.

“No,” you said. “I’m sorry. I should never have offered to bait your hook, I know you’re perfectly capable of doing-“ Daniel quietly shushed you as he pulled you back into  a soft hug.

“No,” he interrupted. “No, I’m sorry. I never shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He kissed the tip of your scalp. “I been strugglin with somethin for a while and I took it out on you.” He pulled you in tighter. “I failed my duty as a man.” He whispered under his breath.

You broke free from his hug, “what’s been bothering you?” You asked, bringing your hands up to cup his face. All insecurity fading as Daniel grew vulnerable.

“Truth is my darlin’” His big eyes met yours, “I been called to duty.”

Your mouth hung open, eyes the size of dinner plates. “You what?”

“I gotta call from a recruiter late yesterday afternoon. Theyn’t a single man inna whole military who can snipe worth a sheeyt.” His palms rested in the curve of your hips. “They need me, darlin.”

You knew this was Daniel’s dream. God gave him this miraculous talent for a reason, and he’d been praying over the foot of you bed every night for an opportunity for his talent to arise.

“Ya know I been talkin to the Lord about it all day,” he shared. “I been so wrapped up in deciding whether I should take it or not, that I took allat frustration out on you.” You could tell he genuinely felt nauseous for snapping at you. “I made my little wife cry. I’m so sorry,” he began to silently cry into his hands.

“Aw baby,” it was your turn to comfort him. You understood where he was coming from, why he felt the way that he did. While serving a greater cause and devoting himself to the honor of his country was Daniel’s ultimate goal, that meant leaving you, his girlfriend, (who he had just referred to as his “wife.”) He was clearly being torn apart by two giant life altering decisions. It was a reasonable thing to get upset over.

“Daniel,” you felt your eyebrows bend in sadness, “I forgive you, I really do, I always will.” You brought his blonde head down to your chest. “I’ll love and stick by you no matter what. Whether you’re an hour or an ocean away. I’ll be there.”

He sobbed harder into your chest, bringing his arms to pull around you in a snake like embrace. “I didn’t mean to bite, I just know God put me here to defend my country, and I was terrified that meant sacrificing you, my ass was on fire and my head was catchin’.”

You felt your heart melt like butter in a hot skillet, but with a light chuckle. Even in the darkest of times, Daniel still shined through. “Baby,” you whispered into his ear. “If you go, I’ll miss you every single second.” He got worried again. “But” you stated, “But I know that this is your talent. I know that God didn’t give you the skill he did just to have you sit at home shooting squirrels.” HE looked up at you like an abandon puppy. “If you want to go, I’ll be here when you get home.”

“Really?” He whimpered.

“Really.” You kissed his cheek.

He hugged into you once more, breathing in your scent and committing it to memory.

“Now, I need something to cook for dinner…” You teased, motioning to the lake that glimmered outside of your living room window.

For the first time that day, the sun came out. Literally and figuratively. The sunlight danced across his face as the corners of his mouth traveled upward.

“Oh, my darlin, I’ll catch you the biggest, baddest, juiciest fish that there river has ever seen.” He stood both of you back up and brought your arm up to kiss your hand. “C’mon back down and sit beside me hot stuff I gotta give you something to remember.” He laughed.

“Well, on one condition…” you trailed off.

He knit his brows together in worry again, “Anything. Anything at all my love.” He stated with a genuine heart.

“You let me bait your hook?” You tried to hide your smile by biting your lip.

He felt the color wash back into his face. “Yes,” he laughed. “Yes, of course.”

You giggled as he grabbed your hand and led you to the rocky path. “Now I gotta ask you something when we get down there,” his fingers slipped into his back pocket of his jeans to fiddle with the small velvet box holding his mother’s wedding ring. “Somethin’ real important about this idea I have after I get home.”

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

And he comes back home alive and well and puts a ring on it and has 10 babies with you praise Jesus Hallelujah

[baldurswifey]

Posting this here for the tumblr babes, I wish there were more edits on tiktokkk😭😭

Made sure to tag them all, long ass list of tags

[yourspeirs]

Blessed be the Lord my strength which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight: My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and whom I trust; who subdueth my people under me.

[stargiirl27]

[kingshook1]

[z0mb13pyr0]

i made an animation :)

[lyledebeast]

Jackson's reciting Bible verses while he shoots Germans is the perfect encapsulation of what Robert Rodat thinks Christianity is

[poppitron360]

I love the Lost Trio bc you’ve got Piper, who grew up with immense wealth and fame and could have everything she ever wanted, Jason, who was revered for his parentage, looked up to and respected as a leader and even raised aloft on a golden shield and proclaimed Praetor, and then you’ve got Leo, who lived under a bridge and had to fight off racoons for leftovers in dumpsters.

[hermemescabin]

Times Percy could have told Annabeth he loved her for the first time:

When they reunited after 6 months apart.

When having a private romantic snuggle sesh in the stables.

When he’s saying goodbye to her as she leaves on her solo death quest.

When he refuses to let her fall into Tartarus alone.

When he’s trying to convince her to leave Tartarus without him.

When he actually chose to do it:

After making out with her in front of Piper.

[bumpkinbitch]

✧༺ ༻∞

nothing’s gonna hurt ya, baby

✧༺ ༻∞

one must imagine wade happy

[brainrot28]

"CJ is private school, CHB is public school" SHUT UP

saw something that said Camp Jupiter is private school and Camp Halfblood is public school on crack but I disagree !!!

private school kids are good at acting perfect when adults are looking, then release an insane amount of pent up energy when adults aren't around

kids in private school don't wear their uniforms right and get written up for it all the time

the doors leading into the bathroom are all padlocked open because of vaping and other stuff

teachers used to stand outside the bathroom to deter students from vaping

I witnessed a drug deal in the bathroom freshmen year

kids have shown up to school high

they nonchanlty talk about getting lit on the weekends

most of the school shares the same braincell

after the [very small] earthquake, kids were running through the halls screaming that the world was ending and that it was the rapture and Jesus was coming to take your soul [most of them were very serious]

final argument: Camp Jupiter kids are super organized and well trained when in battle or formation, but I bet they're crazy when their off duty

[southernbelllle]

not anonymous cause you’ll know it’s me

Bae give me private Jackson ANYTHING

Private Jackson Headcannons

Private Daniel Jackson x reader

AN: During this I laughed, I cried, I went the bathroom, I drank 400mg of caffeine, I probably hallucinated Jackson at some point. It was a whole lotta fun though! I also go back and forth betweeen calling him Jackson, and Daniel. Hope that's ok !! This one's for u princess Diana 🙂‍↕️.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

I like to think that this boy grew up in a log cabin on bumfuck mountain Tennessee with upwards of seven siblings. Like his parents were under the impression that meant one child to love for each day of the week.

Due to this, Jackson never really had any privacy as he grew up.

So, when he moves in with you after the war, he has a giddy teenage sense of "Oh we can do whatever we want now 😏."

And I mean are you going to turn him down??? No, you aren't bc I've seen this tag!!!

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

Anyway... Church on Sunday is a non-negotiable with him. Mainly because he's excited to show you off to all of his friends!! Bonus points if you went to the same church and essentially grew up with him there.

In this scenario, he walks in with you on his arm (saving room for Jesus ofc) and all of the elders are like, "we just knew you too would hitch up one day!" Or "God really did cut y'all from the same cloth!"

It boosts his ego bc he has quite literally dreamed of this day since he was a little boy.

His family would sit a pew behind your family's every Sunday and he'd watch your ponytail swing behind your neck as you sang along to the choir.

He'd started off by daydreaming about the day you two would stand on that same stage and saw your vows. It got him through the boring part of the sermons.

That same dream single handedly brought him home from the war too, you were just too good to be left alone at home, or worse, with someone who didn't love you as much as he did.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

He is very much a "HEY SUG, WATCH THIS" boyfriend.

He would begggg for your attention just so he could show you how he could balance a glass coca cola bottle on a fence and then shoot it to shards with one hand and one eye.

The war robbed him of most of his innocence, but he never lost that child-like glimmer in his eye when he managed to impress you.

(It really wasn't that hard though, you'd hype that boy up for anything, but he didn't have to know that 😉.)

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

I believe that after the war, Jackson went to work some insanely blue-collar job. More specifically, I think he either worked as a brick layer or a stone mason.

I also believe that you two live in a small mountain community with only a handful of people and very VERY few neighbors and a longggg winding dirt driveway.

So, when he'd be walking home from a long, hard day's work, he'd have his sweaty work clothes shed by the time he got to your doorstep.

You'd be cooking supper in the kitchen and hear the screen door swing open and would see Daniel in his work boots and underwear walking toward you.

He'd engulf you in a tight hug. His skin still glistening and his short blonde hair sticking to his forehead as he squeezed you into him. He'd plant a big, wet, sloppy kiss to your cheek, and it'd make you giggle. It was as endearing as it was disgusting❤️.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡

As far as dates are concerned, you two only have a few places to choose from, but Daniel always makes sure to make it a memorable experience!

His favorite place to take you is Granny Fish's Catfish kitchen. They give you a fishing pole and a tiny cob of corn. The whole point of the restaurant is that whatever you catch, they'll cook.

So, he stands, fishing pole feet deep in the river, and asking you question after question about your day. Like a puppy whose owner just returned from a day trip, he listens intently to your answers.

Honestly, he's just happy God let him live to hear your voice.

He is such a southern gentleman, just like those guys in gone with the wind!!

He'll push out your chair out for you, and you'll watch his blushy pink lips curl into a sweet smile.

He'll even reach his arm across the table and intertwine your fingers.

Looking into those ocean blue eyes, completely love drunk on you is not something you should take lightly. That man loves you DOWN.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡

Love this man

Absolutely no hate to this man

But he is an absolute HICK.

Like there is no other way to put it. The country bumpkin is so key to his being that sometimes his mannerisms are just the tiniest bit inexcusable.

FOR EXAMPLE

One afternoon, you were inside painting a portrait of you two to hang above the couch in your living room, and you felt a swoosh of wind pass you.

You looked into the hallway and saw Jackson walk past your room with a bottle of "Mane and Tail Horse Shampoo."

"Hey baby?" You called out. "Where are you heading with that??"

He back tracked to the room you were in only to quip a short, "bath," and head back over to the screen door.

With your face scrunched in confusion, you paced toward the window to follow the man with your eyes.

You watched as Jackson slipped into his birthday suit and jumped in the river that ran through your back yard. Once he got himself all wet, he squirted a dollop of the shampoo in his hair.

You were watching the absolute love of your life, a decorated war veteran, bathe himself. In a river. With horse shampoo.

Congrats girl! This is your life.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡

Yall I hate to have to do this but it must be said.

Jackson may be living his dream life with you, but the war still very much haunts him.

He's gotten pretty good at managing his pain throughout the day. Whether that be by thrusting himself into his work, or spending quality time with you, it doesn't dominate his life anymore.

But those nights, those nights where even though your in bed beside him, he's truly alone in his head.

You could sing him lullabies and wake him up with a breakfast in bed fit for a king, but when he's unconscious, it's just him and his memories.

You'd be awaken from your sleep to find a whimpering Jackson with wet under eyes.

He'd be reciting under his breath the prayers that he'd prayed on the battlefield.

Begging Jesus to save the souls of his fallen brothers. Even if they didn't believe in him, he'd ask Jesus to make a little extra room in Heaven for a good man who deserved it.

"Please.." He'd cry. "I know he wasn't baptized, but please God make a little space for em'." He was pitiful.

You'd carefully roll over to bring your arms around him in a soft embrace. You'd also bring the palm of your hand to delicately lay against his bicep to gage the decline of his once racing heart.

Rubbing small circles against his back with the other hand, you coo calming whispers into the shell of his ear.

You'd repeat this cycle as many times as you needed to if it meant he'd finally get a good night's sleep.

Usually, Jackson would awake to stare at you with big, sleepy eyes. He'd press a kiss to your lips and hug into you as you both lulled back to sleep.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

His time in Europe is not something he actively seeks to talk about. So, you don't normally get to take the armchair therapist route with him. You let him know you'll always be there for him in other ways like leaving a loving note in his lunch box you'd have gotten up early to pack, or making sure the medals he'd earned never gathered even a speck of dust.

Of course, he knows this. He'd also let you know he's thankful for your support by working his hind tail off to give you a life you'd be honored to call yours.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

He's a poor country poor who got dealt a bad hand in a lot of different parts of his life, but he thinks himself rich because of the life the two of you have built together.

It's pretty safe to say that he loves you in a way that could only be rivaled by that of Orpheus and Eurydice, except if you asked him, he'd never screw up his life with you the way Orpheus did.

Anything there is to face, you'd face it together.

⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

[noyzinerd]

Sterek Rival Lawyers AU

It's A (Court) Date

Imagine, high-class, Ivy League, hot-shot, attorney Derek comes back from New York to the family firm to take over as partners with his sister after his parents decide to step down. He may not be on the level of his mother yet, but he's cut his teeth against Wall Street wolves and ruthless white-collar sharks. Derek's more than proved himself, so he just can't fathom these small criminal court cases his family is making him take "before he's truly ready" to be a part of the family business.

Enter in his first case. Right out the gate, the state assigned defense is, not only late to court, but also arrives in a flurry of limbs and papers, tripping all over himself, and profusely apologizing to the room as a whole. "Sorry! Sorry! Car trouble!"

The guy is out of breath, tie crooked and hair a mess. It makes Derek wrinkle his nose at the unprofessionalism and the blatant disrespect to everyone's valuable time.

The presiding judge, the Honorable Ms. Lydia Martin, only sighs a heavy sigh, as if this sight is nothing new, and says "Mr. Stilinski, I suggest you don't let it happen again."

Derek is honestly getting annoyed by how easy this is going to be. He could've been doing literally anything else right about now rather than being here going against a common rent-a-lawyer with some Podunk community-college degree. The opening statement for the defense is laughably inept. Full of nervous stuttering, backtracking, running tangents, and babbling. He's still apologizing, trying to assure the jury that he's just having an off-day today.

It's embarrassing to watch.

Nonetheless, Derek goes through the motions, practiced and poised. Examines all the evidence, presenting times and dates, prior arrest records, the works.

During this time, Mr. Stilinski is frantically (and VERY LOUDLY) flitting through a cartoonishly large stack of papers and whispering to his client. Derek has to fight to grit his teeth through his presentation.

Finally, it's time for Mr. Stilinski to cross-examine Derek's client and, unbeknownst to him, the beginning of Derek's long, long spiral of madness for the rest of his career.

"Judge Martin, I would like to move to have this case thrown out."

"Oh?" asks Judge Martin. For some reason, there's an amused smirk, almost fond, tugging at her lips "On what grounds?"

A giddy, almost manic, grin takes over the defense attorney's face just then. "On the grounds that the prosecution's client is full of bullshit."

The judge rolls her eyes and an exasperated "Stiles," slips from her lips, seemingly against her will. (Derek's not really surprised by the familiarity between the two of them. With how often state-assigned lawyers are called to the courtroom on small cases, it wouldn't be too big of a leap to suggest they might be chummy.)

"Respectfully, of course." Mr. Stilinski--er Stiles?--winks back at her.

"Objection. Your honor, this is ridiculous."

"Overruled. Make your point, Stilinski."

"Mr. Davis says he saw my client at 12:30 P.M., on August 4th, attempting to take his back-right hubcap outside his apartment. Mr. Davis' apartment complex at that time, on that particular day, would have cast a huge shadow over the back lot as evidenced by the gaudy sundial-art-installation outside the courthouse. Meanwhile, my client's picture, when taken in for questioning, has a sunburn on the entire right side of his face. This would corroborate Mr. Lyle's story of walking home alone, down the upper, unshaded side of Elmore Street, during one of the hottest days of the year, for an hour straight. Also, the fact that Mr. Davis has no realistic idea how long it would actually take a person to steal a hubcap should be evidence enough."

"Uh-huh. And this wouldn't happen to be something you've ever had any expertise in, would it, counsel?"

"I plead the 5th."

And just like that, Derek's case is thrown out so quick, he's still reeling about it all the way home.

For the next two years, this becomes Derek's life. This man, this Stiles Stilinski, keeps showing up like a whirlwind and absolutely puts him in his paces.

Stiles, as he insists Derek call him, is a powerhouse. Relentless and unstoppable. That mouth can filibuster for literal hours (which, for those unfamiliar, is when someone legally cannot be forced to give up their time on the floor as long as they can keep talking), that brain quick as a whip, with a hunger for research, a mastery of the English language svelte enough to trip up even the most well-rehearsed lie, and an attention to detail like nothing Derek has ever witnessed before. It's like he knows every law inside and out. Lives it. Breathes it. It's like he had been raised on the law his whole life. Not only that, it's like Stiles enjoys it. Every case is a new game to get excited about.

All of it makes Derek's blood boil.

However, it's not always about losing to Stiles all the time, because, honestly, that might be less humiliating.

In truth, when faced against Stiles, Derek's bound to win about 60% of the time. Out of that 60%, only 5% of those wins actually feel earned. As for the other 55%?

He knows Stiles is letting him win.

Derek can't prove it, but he knows the asshole is holding back on purpose nearly half the time. Knowing that Stiles could have beaten him if he wanted to, but didn't, is somehow more frustrating than just losing.

He hates Stiles.

He hates that the guy is so chipper and playful all the damn time. He hates that Stiles could probably work at any firm he wanted, could make enough money to get a decent car that doesn't shit out all the time, could buy a proper-fitting suit, but instead CHOOSES to stay here "watching out for the little guy", as he so put it.

He hates that facing Stiles in court is the most challenged, the most motivated he's ever felt in his entire life. He hates that Stiles brings out in him the spark of passion and drive Derek had long thought had died. He hates that Stiles always tries to banter with him during recess or whenever they have to exchange evidence.

He hates finding out that Stiles only loses cases on purpose when his endless amounts of research points to the defendant actually being guilty of horrendous crimes, because Stiles is a good fucking person.

He hates Stiles' constant teasing and he hates that Stiles is somehow able to bring Derek down to his childish level to tease back. He hates how much he looks forward to court-dates with Stiles now. He hates being invited out by Stiles over and over to grab a bite together after a long day, as if Stiles hasn't been wiping the floor with him on this case for the last month. He hates it even more that he always accepts and that now they have their own designated booth at the diner across the street. Derek's so unbelievably frustrated, it makes him want to bite Stiles at the neck just to hear that smartass mouth squeal.

"Hey, I ever tell you I was thinking of quitting before you arrived?" Stiles asks one night as they're walking to their cars.

Derek's head immediately snaps to him at that. "What?"

Stiles smiles distantly at the thought. "Oh, yeah. Things had started feeling like being trapped in a cubicle, y'know? There wasn't any challenge in it anymore."

"What made you stay?"

"Well...you did. You were the first, serious competition I'd faced in a while. It wasn't a matter of winning just to win, anymore. Going against you always reminded me of the reason why it was important for me to win. It gave me stakes, because now there was an actual chance I could lose and an innocent person could go to jail. You, I don't know, kinda reignited my passion for fighting the good fight, I guess."

Derek can feel his heart thumping hard in his chest. He wants to say 'You did the same for me!' He wants to tell Stiles that he didn't think his life could ever be this fun or happy or messy or chaotic or exhilarating or challenging or fulfilling before coming to Beacon Hills.

But just as Derek goes to open his mouth to sing Stiles' praises, he instead finds himself roughly shoving him up against the Camaro and biting hungrily at that mouth and tongue that's been the bane of his existence. There's a surprised little squeak that Derek quickly swallows up, but it isn't long before they're both tearing at each others' clothes and fucking each other dirty in the backseat of Derek's car.

What's crazy is, after they get together, nothing in their careers really changes. The only difference is now they get to fuck each others' brains out after an intense battle in court (and the sound Stiles makes when Derek bites him is exactly what he always imagined it would sound like). They still face against each other on opposite sides in court. They still give it everything they got, no conceding even if they are dating now. Not to mention, Derek wouldn't dream of tempting Stiles over to his firm. Not when he knows Stiles is at his best staying where he's at.

The day Derek's family finally decides it's time for him to take over the firm with Laura is the best day of his and Stiles' lives.

Not only does Derek tell them he's declining, he hires Stiles as his attorney to negotiate terms against his entire family of well-seasoned lawyers.

The entire month-long negotiation results in Derek, not saying a single word, but absolutely beaming as he watches his boyfriend run circles around his mother, his father, his uncle, and both of his sisters on contracts. It's so unbelievably hot, they're banging on whatever flat surface they can get their hands on every time they leave the boardroom. There's even one very memorable blowjob in the empty hall outside the boardroom when Stiles somehow manages to get Peter to agree to a (most likely illegal) clause dictating the firm will pay Stiles a finder's fee for any pro-bono case Stiles takes on outside of Beacon Hills that strikes his fancy.

And, no one says it, but they all know Derek definitely, 100%, dragged his own firm through this negotiation just to show off how incredible Stiles is to his family and preen about it.

--

Fast-forward, Derek is going to be in the audience for the first time for one of Stiles' cases.

While waiting in the hall, Derek sees a familiar face from his New York days. The prosecution has hired the eighth best lawyer money can get, Jackson Whittemore. He's sporting a Rolex, sunglasses indoors, and the face of someone who thinks he's above literally every other person in town.

Well, at least until he sees Derek.

For some reason, Jackson seems to think Derek is all the way out in the middle of nowhere to 'watch a master at work' (which...well...is technically true...).

As Derek goes to sit in the audience, Jackson tells him in passing, "This'll be over so fast, probably won't even get a chance to learn the other guy's name."

Derek chuckles and says back, "Ooh, buddy, you have no idea."

Before Jackson can think more on that, a whirlwind of limbs and papers suddenly hurls through the doors.

Derek sits back, gets comfy, and waits eagerly for the show to begin.

My first moodboard. Hope you enjoy. AU based on a discussion with @casually-eat-my-soul (I suggest checking out their version). This was kind of like a divergence from that (the brain juices just started flowing).

[weel-solace]

Every time Will and Nico go out on a date, Will drives his old dusty truck

It doesn’t matter if Nico has a personal death chauffeur, Will would work on his truck and fix it and do idk fixing truck stuffs so he can drive because it was a gift from his grandpa and he’s honouring his legacy by keeping it moving

Meanwhile Nico is over there crying because there’s no AC, the window’s stuck and the seats are uncomfy