#THAT SHITS MUST'VE BEEN TRAUMA

[anonynewsroom]

ALFENDI LAYTON OH MY GOD ARE YOU HAVING A FUCKING IDENTITY DISORDER MY GUY

[idkirdkok]

I don't know why some people blame stolas for how things went...He literally just confessed that he has feelings for blitz and, from his pov, not only got rejected and got the impression that it's always been only a sex thing (he saw blitz write it off as a sexual roleplay and even jokingly said "i love you sooo much" man,,,that must've hurt), he also GOT YELLED AT and INSULTED, in the same fashion his toxic, abusive ex used to constantly do and it was the first time he actually heard how blitz thinks of him.

WE as the audience know it's blitz' defense mechanism because he went through a lot of shit, that he actually wanted to Talk about it (and he did talk (or tried to, at least). He asked for a minute ro think/process and actually said how he feels, that's a great improvement. He also immediately tried to apologize once he realized stolas didn't yell back at him and that his words actually hurt stolas. I'm not blaming him at all. He has his own shitload of reasons and trauma for why he reacted the way he did), but stolas didn't know all that. His pov is dry ass responses to his texts, and blitz not showing up to neither save him nor visit him in the hospital. He saw blitz treat his confession as a joke, and then yell at him for "dropping this feelings bullshit" on him (again, WE know it's because Blitz thinks so low of himself that he convinced himself it must be a joke, and that someone like stolas couldn't possibly genuinely like someone like him). Then basically got told he's a terrible person. It's all too much to deal with.

I think had Blitz been more gentle in saying all those instead of kicking the door and yelling, it probably wouldn't have gone as bad as it did. Stolas literally FLINCHED when blitz yelled and called him a bitch. So yeah, they needed to have a longer, two sided convo, he should've heard blitz out, should have given the poor guy some time to process everything before making a decision. BUT!! he can't be blamed for not doing that, it was a hard fucking moment for him.

I also think the reason he immediately teleported Blitz away instead of waiting to hear his apology was not solely because it was the first time he realized how Blitz views him, but also because Blitz unknowingly confirmed what Stolas was worried about. "If he's only here as a prisoner, then what kind of monster does that make me?" And then Blitz went and called him a rich, pompous asshole who thinks he's more important than others.

Man...I can't wait to see what happens in apology tour

Tl;dr: neither of them are fully right or fully wrong. They both reacted based on their own circumstances, trauma and assumptions

[ctrlhope]

I need a Spider Jimin in my life. I have a fear of them and had a giant one in my room, I couldn't kill it or move it, so I just stared at it, hyperventilating and crying. Couldn't look away because if I did, where would it have gone! In the end, my roommate got it after I called for them.

I need Jimin to tell them to leave my space alone or for me not to see them 😔

NOOOOO!!! I used to be so scared of spiders too <//3 like once there was a spider in my room and i stg i looked like i was working in a meth lab with the gear i put on to grab it and take it outside AJHBJSB like had a hoodie tied tight around my head, my old lab safety goggles on, gloves, and a face mask armed with cup and paper in hand. I don't know what i thought it was gonna do to me bro 😭😭 now they don't scare me (i'm now the designated spider-taker-outsider lol) but it must've not been fun at all for you :(((( i'm glad your roomate was there to help you out!! Little spider jimin blurb under the cut to help you cope with the trauma 😔😔

— Dangerous Predator

wc: 1.7k

genre: fluff, hybrid au, soft yandere

content: soft yandere!jimin, hybrid!jimin, spider!jimin, fem!reader, manipulation, kisses, jimin is a good actor, and he’s really sweet <\\3 -> the pitfalls of silk drabble

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

Oh god. Oh god what is that– that thing?! 

If your eyes were a second slower, they would’ve missed it. If your reaction speed was just a feather more hesitant you would’ve never noticed the massive creeping brown arachnid skittering across your floor. Legs longer than you’ve ever seen, a massive thorax sticking high in the air making it look all the more menacing, as if it was actually threatening you. As if it had its sights set on you.

The yelp that tears through your throat makes its way out faster than you can stop it, your body jumping high as it tries to scramble on the kitchen counter– plant itself high off the ground, away from where the predator lurks. Ready to do… do whatever it was thinking of doing… yeah. 

Okay, maybe you don’t exactly know what its plans were, but they can’t be any good! Not when it was moving towards your foot like, like that! When your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen, hiding away, sulking in the basement, pretending the food you're cooking doesn’t smell as amazing as it does. 

Sure, you can handle the small spiders– the little ones that appear as no more than dark spots in the corners you can’t see. The ones that cohabitate peacefully, giving you your space and keeping theirs. Two lives nearby yet never crossing paths. But the big ones, the big ones are a struggle no matter how hard you try to adapt. Especially when they move so close to you, disrupting the peaceful environment you’ve created. 

Jimin normally handles this, is normally the expert on dealing with 8-legged creatures you’d rather not share your domain with. But right now, he’s nowhere to be found. A disagreement only a few hours ago putting a halt on all communication with him. Rather feeling the urge to  stew in your own feelings.

But now, right this very second, you could not give less of a shit about the petty argument. Can’t even remember the cause of it in the first place. The only thing you do know is the rush of adrenaline through your veins, the way your eyes lock onto the predators on the floor. The way it takes slow steps in your direction, moving ever so slowly to where you sit pressed on the kitchen counter, lettuce in hand– the perfect defence. 

If you truly believed what Jimin told you about his ability to talk to spiders, if you thought any deeper about them then you do right now– you would think that it’s actually mocking you in the way it steps. Each slow, careful movement as it keeps its eyes locked on yours deliberate and teasing. 

Fucking prick. 

“Jimin!” Your voice calls before you can stop it, another yelp leaving your lips as you helplessly toss your leaf of lettuce at the mighty beast, completely and utterly missing. It’s almost ironic, really, that the biggest spider of all is the only one that can save you at this moment. 

No more than a second passes before you hear his legs bounding up the stairs, scurrying as fast as he can to meet you. To see what the problem may be. Faux nerves taking over his being as he hears the fear in your tone, calling for him. Wanting him above anybody else. 

He wants to laugh once the scene in the kitchen comes into frame. He really does. He almost feels bad for it, honestly, but you just look so cute as you try to struggle away, eyes not leaving the arachnid below. 

But he’s supposed to be your knight in shining armour. He can coo over how adorable his mate is later. 

“Pretty? What happened?” He asks in a hurry, concern buried deep in his tone as he quickly approaches your shaking form. Arm reaching out, gently taking one of your hands in his own. He brings it to his face, using your palm to cup his cheek as he presses a gentle kiss into the surface, gaze burning with worry over your tied expressions. 

You wish you could say you were soothed, that his presence alone brought peace to your quivering heart but it couldn't. Now that the predator was out of your vision, blocked by the very man you called for, you couldn’t be more alarmed. Your body twisting against him, head trying to poke past him to see the beast still lingering nearby. 

“Min! Min there’s a spider! You have, it’s going to eat me!” You shout, pointing over his shoulder with the other hand. How could he not see how urgent this is! This is a matter between life and death!

The gentle annoyance that finds its way into his veins is quickly washed away, discarded into his brain for later. The only mention of it being the quiet narrow of his eyes, ever so slight that no one would notice it. How could you still be concerned over a little spider when he is right in front of you, saving you? 

Did you forget that he is a predator, too? He can’t believe he’s jealous of a spider right now. 

Mmm, but he knows how humans can be. When they get all scared like this they can’t help themselves but to clamp up, frozen out in fear. One of the reasons he never wanted to be the cause of it. The misfortune that bespoke your mind every waking minute. No, he wanted to be the sunshine on a beautiful day, a field of flowers to dance in. Maybe even a handsome prince on a horse, ready to carry you away. 

So that is exactly what he’ll be. 

Soft eyes looking up into your own, half lidded and dangerous with affection, “Well that just won’t do, will it?” He pouts, lower lip jutted out in a cute expression that can’t help but take your breath away. Mince your mind in half, one side still focusing on the obvious threat while the other causes your heart to pound. Causes a fluttering to erupt from deep within. 

Your pretty boyfriend spins on his heels, placing his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest in a manner that can only be described as the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. His cheeks blown out in much the same way, forcing your brain to think about nothing else other than kissing him.

“Now listen here!” He tuts, admonishing the spider. Somehow, he even seems to make glaring cute. “You better leave my pretty mate alone! This is my territory so unless you wanna mess with me, I suggest you leave.” He huffs, yet can’t hide the playful undertone in his words, only half serious. 

You know he probably isn’t taking you seriously. Can never truly understand your fear of the same arthropod you're dating. And you know the spider probably doesn’t even understand a single thing going on– but at the same time you can’t help the battering of butterflies in your stomach at his words. That he’s going these lengths to make you feel protected and safe. 

“She doesn’t like you around here, and she’s the most important in the world to me. So, if you don’t leave right now and tell all of your friends you're not welcome around here, I'll have no choice but to do it for you.” The spider takes a hesitant step back, suddenly lowering its body closer to the floor, almost as if…

Shit. Maybe he really can talk to spiders. 

“Get out.” And with those final words, the spider quickly turns around and scurries out of the kitchen and into the yard, practically waving a white flag all the way. Your eyes widen in shock, mouth hanging open as your legs drop against the counter walls. Fanning either side of Jimin in his embrace. 

A cute smile is on his lips as he turns around– the cocky, proud kind that you normally roll your eyes at. But this time you can’t help but stare at him in shock, blush dusting your cheeks. Even as he leans closer, planting a gentle kiss against your lips as a reward for himself.

“There.” He smiles, hands coming to rest against your thighs. Any thoughts of dinner completely abandoned. He’ll just order take out once he has you in the nest. “All better.” 

“How– you, you!” You hesitate against the sound of his adorable giggle, his hands pulling you closer to his body. Legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. 

“Mhmm, they won’t come around here anymore. I promise, baby.” He hums, lifting you as if you were nothing more than a stuffed animal clinging against his body. “What do we say when your handsome mate helps you out?” 

Your eyes narrow into a glare at his teasing, but you can’t help wrapping further around him. Pulling him close as he ensnares you further into utter devotion. Becoming your safety net against all things scary in the world. 

“Thank you.” You grumble quietly, a gentle peck against his too-soft lips given as a token of your appreciation in that moment. Stopping yourself before you melt into the feeling of his fangs pressed against your lips. “I appreciate it Min…” 

As you’re finally able to hide your face away in his neck– snuggling against his skin and blocking your vision from any other scary things that might exist in the world, you completely miss the way Jimin tosses a small pile of bugs near the window. The same window that was left open just a crack too wide. The same window that he allowed a spider to crawl inside.

The same spider he may have made a deal with.

He hates when you’re mad at him. Hates it more than anything else when you take away the single thing he craves most– you. So could you really, really blame him for hatching a little plan? One he knew would send you into his arms. Make up for your whole little argument in a second. 

Never, ever wants to be the cause for your fear. But every once and awhile it can serve a purpose, he supposes. Especially when it gets him out of the dog house. Gets you nestled into his web, watching movies for the night. Curled in his embrace, gentle words and soothing hands warming you. 

[vtomleni]

I feel really bad for girl Jeri. Call me low on reading comprehension/media literacy or whatever, but like. If she got pregnant young (maybe even teenager) and was hiding it, she wouldn't go for any medical help, nor would boy Jerry... which means that she gave birth without any anesthesia and medical help!! It must've been fucking awful, horrid, painful and overall traumatising experience.

Also, like, the way she starts to sob whether sex and pregnancy mentioned, the way she screams "Stephanie! No!!" when Steph and Pete about to have sex. She warns Steph, not Steph and Pete, she specifically tries to stop the girl from having sex. The way she says "Teen pregnancy is not a joke! [...] You're gonna end up with the child before you're ready! You will have to dropout of school! Your parents will disown you!" and looks dead serious, sad, and...idk worried, rueful, remorseful. And, i think, the most obvious one, "where you will raise the child? In the woods?!" She's clearly projecting onto Steph. Jeri associating sex with pregnancy and pregnancy with da baby and it's murders. It's a chain of associations and literally almost every link is traumatizing to her. She feels responsible for her son's murders (because she does enable him), she is the one to try calling into police, she is the one who doesn't want to lie to child's parents, and she has to be coerced, lied and threatened into cooperation by boy Jerry. She, not surprisingly, got sexual trauma from these events, she even responds to sexual advances of a guy that blackmailing her and degrading her! (I'm not saying that ppl cannot have these kind of kinks without trauma, but it's not talked-about-before-consensual kink here, she's stunned and overwhelmed by discovering bodies, feeling guilty for hiding bodies, feeling horny and feeling guilty and ashamed for feeling horny to truly process and being able to consent to things.)

By the way, the fact that boy Jerry doesn't give shit about her also makes me feel bad for her. Like, he very clearly projecting and tells his own thoughts and feelings when "scolding" Pete, so that means that he feels jealous over, and is sexually attracted to Jeri, but looking at Jerry's actions he doesn't respect or trust Jeri, he threatens and blackmails her, he constantly takes control of the situation and assumes that she will obey him, simply put - he's awful to her. And something i noticed when listening to "Hatchet town" from Npmd on repeat is that there's line when citizens accuse boy Jerry and he LITERALLY says "no! it's girl Jeri! that dirty girl!" and like, that could be written in just for a joke but in character it would render boy Jerry as a fucking traitor and a coward. Not too surprising considering all that he does in abstinence camp, but goddammit, he is despicable.

I'm not saying that what she done is okay or morality right, but i empathise with her, like she literally GAVE BIRTH IN THE GODDAMN WOODS.

[unabashedllamamusic]

Yk what's fucking great about Mass Effect? In my two playthroughs so far (both femshep, one with a Traynor romance and one with a Liara romance), Shepard wants a normal family life. With Liara, it's lots of "little blue" kids, and with Traynor it's a house, white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. I feel like 99% of the time when a badass female lead wants children it takes away from their badassery or their independence, it's a way to tie them down and make them seem more domestic. Somehow (I credit Jennifer Hale's incredible voice acting), instead it feels more like Shepard wants to be normal. She spends three games getting thrown into insane situations that she didn't ask for, losing friends, literally dying, having an entire galactic war on her shoulders, going into a mission expecting to die TWICE, and all that on top of whatever trauma her background leaves her with. Bonus points if you do colonist + sole survivor, because that woman must be so far beyond PTSD. But even after all the shit she's gone through, at the end of the trilogy she can say with absolute certainty that she wants to experience a normal life- something she's never gotten before, no matter your background. The best part is she doesn't mention retiring, there's no reason she can't keep her rank and have kids at the same time, she was raised by active-duty officers in one background so it's definitely a possibility. This isn't the "female lead wins by giving up her powers and becoming a mother" trope, it's proof that she's still a normal human despite everything. That's also why I prefer Traynor's romance to Liara, Shepard opens up to her more and seems more human. The mix of flirtyness and honest vulnerability is incredibly normal, through all the galaxy's insanity.

In general, Shepard's trauma is often mentioned in passing but never really shown. No matter the background or choices you make, they've been through hell to begin with and go through it a dozen more times throughout the trilogy. Everyone around them is like "oh wow that must've been tough" but Shepard usually just brushes it off, or gives a line or two about how much they miss whoever it was that died. She definitely had a lot more nightmares than the game let on.

I've walked through a destroyed city once, and it's haunted me daily for five years. I can't imagine being in multiple cities, on multiple worlds, as they're being destroyed, and knowing stopping it is your job, not to mention losing a shit ton of friends + family, your unit, or just the occasional comrade (background depending)

[multifandomwhore-003]

Random Hazel Callahan headcanons that have been rotting my brain for the past couple of days:

Pairing: Hazel Callahan x female! reader

Summary: Not needed

Genre(s): a little angsty at first, after that's it's just pure fluff

Warnings: mentions of trauma and maladaptive daydreaming

A/N: I'M GONNA WRITE MORE FOR HER BECAUSE I NEED IT SO STAY TUNED, also I listened to False God by Taylor Swift the entire time I wrote this.

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk , join tag list here

• She has horrible listening skills, usually her house has been a pretty noisy and chaotic place, even before her parents divorced, so she's learned to mute the outside world.

• It tends to annoy pretty much everyone else outside the fight club, the only exception being PJ, she perhaps got annoyed more than anyone.

• When you first noticed you had to repeat yourself at least five times whenever she was around, you tried to come up with different ways for her to keep up, like texting her as you spoke so she could read it as much as she needed to.

• Later on you found out it wasn't just about losing track of a conversation, as you asked to borrow one of her headphones one time, you were shocked her ears weren't bleeding right then and there.

"Fucking hell, Hazel! Are you trying to break your ears or something?" your ears hurt for a second.

"It's not loud at all" She placed them on her neck.

"Baby, I can hear the music coming out of those things like a concert speaker,"

• You decided to invite her over to your house as often as possible, demanding a no-headphones rule.

"Why not?!" she complained.

"Because you're gonna be completely deaf at the age of 40!"

"And you'll be there to teach me sign language, right?" she hugged your waist.

"You're saying you prefer not hearing my voice for the rest of our lives?" you lifted a brow.

• The realazation dawned on her.

• To this day she hasn't worn headphones a single day in her life.

• Maladaptive daydreaming is also something she struggles with, not as much now as she used to in middle school and the first two years of high school, but it still happens sometimes.

• You found out when you decided to surprise her by coming to her house one day

• Mrs. Callahan said she couldn't get in contact with Hazel, for whatever reason.

• Most likely her phone turned off since it was out of battery.

• So she texted you she was gonna be missing all night, permitted you to stay the night, and told you to take care of Hazel.

• You found her in the kitchen yelling, it sounded as if she was yelling at someone.

"Are you ever gonna choose me over a booty call?! How is it that Jeff's dick is more important than me?! Your daughter! You fucking pushed me out and you still can't even ask me how my grades are doing and shit!"

• Your first thought was —Her mom's plans must've been canceled—

• As you approached the room as quietly as possible, you looked through the rim of the entrance, there was no one.

"Hazel," you spoke quietly through her screams.

A shiver went down her spine, he face turned white, she blinked a couple of times before turnind her head, "How much of that did you hear?" she avoided your eyes.

"I've never heard you like that," was all you could mutter as you approached her slowly and then embraced her in a hug, "I know you're not insane by the way," you whispered in her hair.

She began to cry.

• She didn't want to talk about it for the next few days

• When she did, she stumbled upon her words, talked too fast, and teared up every once in a sentence.

"Call me first," you cupped her face, "I'll never judge you for whatever you have to say,"

• She wanted to kiss you right then and there, but just rested her forehead on yours, an act of ultimate intimacy.

• I could get into the divorced parents' trauma for hours because same

• But for now I'll move on to the happy part

• Physical touch is the absolute most pure form of love she can give

• If she's not hugging your waist at all times, she's holding your hand, resting her head on your chest, shoulders, legs, etc. pretty much everywhere she can

• If you have long or medium hair she'll attempt to braid your hair, keyword attempt

• If you have short hair she'll buy little elastic ponytails to tie them around your head everywhere she can

• Her reasoning behind this is that her favorite plants are cactuses

• That's it, that's all the reasons she needs

• If you happen to be bald she'll rub your head while singing the chorus to Diamonds by Rihanna

• She plays ukelele

• She knows how to make a few origami figures and if she tries a new one, as crumbled and sweaty as it is she gives it to you

• You have a whole shelf in your room dedicated to every piece of folded paper she's ever done for you

• If you're more of a fem! girl, she'll try something of yours whenever she comes over and stare at her reflection for hours

"Good thing, god didn't make me straight, she knew I would be a menace,"

• You can only roll your eyes and laugh at her twirling and pretending to dance ballet in your dresses and skirts

• If she happens to go shopping without you, she'll try something you'll like and send you the photo after

"If it looks this good on me, imagine how AMAZING it'll look on you,"

• She once asked you to put makeup on her, she'll say she was just curious how she'd look

• She wasn't lying, but she also didn't mention she just wanted to recreate this picture:

• If you happen to be more of a masc! girl, you'll trade clothes as often as you can think

• More than once you have arrived at school with something she likes and just drags you to the bathroom to for you to make the exchange

• It's not her clothes and your clothes anymore, everything you own is hers and vice versa

• More often than not you're no longer sure what used to be only yours

• This goes for accessories and shoes as well, even if they don't fit her, she'll fill them up with toilet paper until they fit just fine

• You'll match AT LEAST once a week, as per her request of course

• She tries all kinds of chips (or crisps for my British luvs) she has tried every flavor and seasoning, but her favorites and the flaming hot ones, even if she ends up chugging your waterbottle after finishing the bag

• Although her parents are rich and taught her from a young age to be a precise wine taster, she's a tequila and vodka girl

• She hates gloomy and rainy days because they bring down her mood, but spending the day binge-watching cheesy movies and stuffing her stomach with all the snacks o her house makes it up

• She's ABSOLUTE SHIT at Karaoke, but my god does she have the spirit

• Her go-to song is Lies by Fleetwood Mac, but if she's drunk enough to gain confidence she'll request Easy On Me by Adele

•  If she insists for long enough and you decide to sing with her, she 100% will try to recreate the following musical numbers:

• Lay all you love on me -Mamma Mia

• Every duet there is in Teen Beach Movie, her favorite childhood movie

• The cellblock tango -Chicago and Ex-Wives -from Six, if the rest of the fight club joins as well

• Popular from Wicked, strangely enough, she's Glinda

• Seventeen -Heathers

• Candy Store -Heathers featuring Isabel as Heather Mc Namara, Josie as Martha Dunnstock, and PJ as Veronica (She was heavily forced to after Brittany suggested it)

• Smooth Criminal -The Glee cast cover

• If you're a good singer, or at least a decent one, at the end of the song she'll hype you up more than anyone in the crowd, even carry you (this also applies to my plus size! lovelies, DON'T YOU WORRY, she has muscles)

• If you're a bad singer, then you'll be shit together, the worse your voices sound, the better you'll enjoy it

• Onto the kissing and overall more stereotypical relationship stuff, aka the not-so-comfortable part of my asexual-spectrum girlies.

• As previously shown in the original material

• Kissing is slow and passionate, she likes to enjoy your lips as much as possible, taking in every movement, taste, and breath

• Hands on your jaw  and neck EVERY FUCKING TIME

• The first few times you offered her some chapstick or lipstick, or lipgloss, or lip oil, or anything, she would kiss you making you chuckle in surprise

• Now you don't even need to ask, she'll just be like

"Hey, your lips look beautiful," and peck you on the lips

• If you're alone it definitely turns into a whole makeout session

• She just claims it tastes too good not to do it

• Every once in a while she'll hug you from behind and aggressively kiss your cheek

• Good luck kisses before every test

• Her favorite kind of dates are picnic dates

• She takes pictures of the sky whenever she feels it matches your vibe

• She takes A LOT of pictures of you ANYTIME, ANYWHERE, she even went as far as to buy a film camera because they make everything more magical

• She reads A LOT

• She obviously knows too much about social injustices and everything regarding that realm, but she likes other things as well

• Avid fantasy reader, I DON'T MAKE THE RULES,

• Going back to this need for escapism, she was heavily raised by George R.R. Martin and Leigh Bardugo

• Definitely screamed, jumped, and overall looked like she was in a sugar rush when both Game of Thrones and Shadow and Bone came out

• She wasn't exactly allowed to watch Game of Thrones at the time it came out, so she watched when she was 16 instead

• Shadow and Bone, however, oh boy, it was whole event

• She cosplayed Sturmhond and made you cosplay as Zoya

.

.

.

That's it for now children, if I come up with anything else I'll do a part two or even better write something more complete

[xxlea-nardoxx]

When editing the Halloween episodes for the past few days, I realized just how much gut-wrenching angst happened to these kids and how fricking happy-go-lucky the ending is.

Looking at this frame without never watching these episodes, you'd never think how dark and angsty they were. The turtles must've been TERRIFIED.

Like, first the city gets run over by monsters and April and Casey get turned into vampires, then they nearly die to traps in a pyramid. As if that wasn't bad enough already, their strongest allie and literal protector of the group gets turned into a vampire as well and they have to helplessly watch.

Then more insane shit happens, they meet Frankenstein and have to fight off evil monsters and their own fucking brother. At this point they must feel so utterly terrified and helpless, but it's not over. They return to New York with a chained-up Raph, need to charge Renets staff and somehow save the city, but they don't really know how.

Well, shit hits the fan for the umpteenth time and Raph escapes, Donnie gets bitten and turned into a vampire in front of his remaining siblings, who are once again helplessy watching and then need to flee and run for their lives. I don't wanna know what the frick Leo and Mikey thought at that moment, because now they've lost two brothers.

And while everything ends well, it's crazy just how misleading this last frame is. That's just more trauma for each of them. Four got turned into vampires - which I cannot imagine does not leave scars - and the remaining ones are terrified and uncertain about ever getting their family back.

Just something to chew on, honestly. And the show just ends this four-parter like:"HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY-"

[conanssummerchild]

lukewarm takes with conanssummerchild time ‼️

in solaricks when rick goes back to dimension C-137 he seems just about ready to start at least trying to move on from hunting prime, he admits that he can't find him and even goes on to tell "diane" about their grandkids

yet this is him less than a season later

so, what changed?

well, this, obviously:

not to mention how traumatic that episode must've been for rick in general, having to revisit his past like that, the diane ghost ai. well, rick makes it pretty clear he's not exactly thrilled to be alive

so think it's pretty safe to assume that this was the first step to the rick prime relapse, especially since we know he went back and managed to snag a killbot

one could also argue that rick wasn't ever really over it, so it took very little to push him back, and while i don't think he was over it either, he did seem to start to want to be, morty saying this:

was all it took for him to step away from the base, though it's likely he returned in another moment, but still, that could've been later on

okay, anyway, into the actual point of this post, i think rick took small steps into falling back into finding prime, because even when he seemed to want to be bettering himself things kept going wrong, so eventually he decided, what was the point?

this is how i see it:

obviously preceding solaricks we have rickternal friendshine of the spotless mort, which i'm not gonna go into too much detail on rn despite it being one of my fav lore episodes bcs i wanna look at post-solaricks (but for pre-solaricks rickmurai jack is also worth mentioning due to him having to revisit his backstory with the citadel which is very closely linked to his time looking for prime/killing ricks) but go ahead and check out this post by dirty-bear-rick-sanchez for the best explanation i've seen on it and its effect on rick

anyway, so just 2 episodes after solaricks we have bethic twinstinct, and i've gone into this in a past post how this might have taken him back to his past so i'm just gonna copy paste it from my other post (summarised) bcs im lazy:

a lot of ppl theorise rick and prime knew eachother before he offered him the portal gun so if thats true what if beth and space beth reminded him of them and how he was (hypothetically) cheating on diane and then lost her forever at the hands of the man he was having an affair with and also lost his beth

which is why rick said "remember, its not just your ice cream you're forgetting, it's your family's" or smth. because he forgot his familys ice cream too much, and all that happened

also look at all the similarities between prime and SB's outfits

then 5 episodes after that we have analyse piss, where we see that rick relates to pissmaster, sympathises with him

i will never not reccomend this fic by abed-with-a-knife about how rick was taken back to his own struggles with suicide and such, but it's not only that, so many features of pissmaster's experience are things rick can relate to, his rocky relationship with his daughter, everyone hating him, i think in general it's pretty clear that this episode was made to link rick and pissmaster

anyway, the next episode after analyse piss is immediately a rick in king mortur's mort, and this is quite clearly rick's breaking point, obviously we know this is when he replaces himself with rickbot, following this scene:

rick tells morty not to take the sword and morty doesn't listen

morty says rick's boring and calls him a "drunk cranky fuck" which does seem to bother rick

despite him shitting on a similar insult in the previous episode

in ricktional mortpoons rickmas mortcation, the following episode, he says the reason he replaced himself was because of this, because he feels like morty doesn't respect him any more, and that:

so first the show wears away at his friendships and his past trauma and self hatred with rfotsm, rickmurai jack goes even further into his past, his relation with the citadel, his "crybaby backstory", etc.

then solaricks forces him to confront his past, specifically his relationship with diane and accept his future and his new family, while giving him a small clue to prime.

then bethic twinstinct, provided he and prime really did know eachother previously (which im a little on the fence on if i'm honest), reminds him of his guilt for diane and little beth dying and how he feels responsible for it by mirroring the situation with older beth and the "edgier" version of herself. after that, analyse piss continues to dig into his current relationship with a beth that isn't his own, and takes a shot at his suicidal tendancies and how he feels like "god hates him" or the universe is against him or whatever.

and lastly akikmm takes all of that that rick is already carrying on his shoulders and adds morty not respecting him or caring about him to it, and it clearly cause rick to finally snap. if all of this was building and the only thing keeping rick afloat was his codependant relationship with morty (as seen in solaricks when morty gets him to not go after prime just by showing his care) then morty (by no fault of his own) seeming to dismiss rick must make him think "what's the point anymore?" if no one cares about him, then he might as well complete his life-long revenge plot, even if it destroys him again

because no one cares about him, right? (dramatic old fuck, get him psycological help)

anyway it's almost 2am so my thoughts aren't as coherent as i would like and i'm too lazy to read over this post and check if everything is right and good

most of what i've said in this post is probably pretty obvious, i just wanted to lay it out neatly with images and everything (im so classy ik /j) it accidentally came out a LOT longer than i intended. what can i say i just love yapping on about rnm

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, language

Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

February 2004

Des Moines, IA

You gripped your knife tightly in your fist, the blade pointed towards the ground as you crouched silently forward, choosing your steps very carefully. About 5 feet away from the runner, you stupidly stepped on a piece of glass you didn't notice embedded on the thin carpet. The runner whipped around with a scream, lunging towards you snapping its teeth in the air. You sidestepped it at the last minute, kicking and making it fall face first onto the ground. You jumped on its back and jammed your knife deep into its skull, blood dripping down to absorb into the floor as you panted heavily.

"What the hell was that?!" Joel yelled, whipping the back door open. You felt the cold blast of air hit you, even from all the way across the restaurant. You tugged on your knife, removing it from the runner's head and wiped it on the back of its shirt before putting the knife back on your hip.

"There was one left, must've missed it," you called back to him, brushing yourself off and walking towards the back of the room.

"Shit, I swore I got 'em all. You good?" He said, looking you over with his flashlight as you approached. You held up your hand to your eyes to block the beam of light.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I fucked up," you said, lowering your hand when he aimed his light down, satisfied you were not harmed. "I stepped on some glass, had to get creative. You think we can stay here the night? I think these cushions come off the booths. Not sure we can find any extra blankets here, though."

"We can put on layers, we've been through worse," Joel said, already yanking on some of the booth cushions, pulling a few out on the floor to sleep on.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, then check the kitchen. I'll be right back," you dropped your pack on the ground and strolled off towards the women’s room in the corner. Once you were done, you stared at yourself in the mirror over the bathroom sink, shocked to see how different you looked. You hadn't seen a mirror in several weeks. Your face looked more hollow, you definitely had lost some weight. You pulled your hair out of the ponytail you typically kept, realizing that it was the longest you’ve seen it since you were little. You tried running your fingers through it to manage it a bit, but it seemed hopeless. You gathered your hair back behind your head and slid the hair-tie over it once again.

You didn't find much left in the restaurant kitchen, which was a huge disappointment. You were running low on food, having walked through thick forests and then open prairies for the past two weeks, not coming across any shelters to raid. Joel had purposely redirected you to this city in the hopes of restocking your food supplies and taking a short break from sleeping in the freezing cold wilderness. Luckily, your bow and arrows proved very useful, and kept the two of you fed when you had barely anything else to survive. Joel had never used a bow before yours, so you had taught him the basics from what you could remember. He seemed to have a knack for survival. He caught on very quickly and soon became better with it than you.

You sighed as you opened the last cupboard door, finding it just as empty as the rest. You were about to close it when a colorful wrapper caught your eye, shoved all the way in the back behind some pots. You reached your arm in as far as it could go, your fingertips barely grazing the item before you managed to pull it forward a smidge and grab it. You could have cried you were so happy with what you found.

“Joel!” you called out as you walked back into the dining room, heading towards the small lit up area he made for the two of you and your sleeping bag already rolled out on your cushion. “You’ll never believe what I found!”

He turned around from adjusting his own sleeping bag. He immediately spotted the jar in your hand and groaned. “Peanut butter!” he exclaimed with relief, “Fuck yes.” He sat down on his cushion to dig out the spoons from your packs. You both ate in silence, enjoying eating something other than rabbit or squirrel for the first time in weeks. You still had some provisions in your packs that lasted you about a week after you left Chicago, but as you traveled more out west, the options became limited, and the weather slowed you down significantly, causing you to eat through a lot of your food. You had become dependent on the wildlife for sustenance, and you got lucky, but it was getting old.

Joel had been kind enough to bury your parents before you moved on. He didn’t want you to have to help carry their bodies, so he had to make do with burying them where they were killed. He found a broken shovel about half a mile down the road in an abandoned mechanic’s shop, and it took him the rest of the day, but he made sure they were taken care of. He even found some large rocks to mark their graves. He was worried about you for a long time after that. You were distant and didn’t speak much. He didn't know what to do, other than giving you space and time to process your grief, while taking on as many of the responsibilities he could to keep you both alive. He insisted on being the one to hunt as often as possible. He sought out as many safe places indoors to set up camp as he could, even if it meant wasting half the day’s sunlight, he would sacrifice it so you would be more comfortable. He stayed in those places a day or two longer than he wanted, just so you could possibly sleep a little more soundly. It hardly mattered anyway: he wasn’t convinced he would ever find Tommy, or even if he was still alive. There didn’t seem to be much rush to your journey anymore, but it gave you something to fight for, so he kept pushing forward.

Then, one day, he did something to make you laugh. He couldn't even remember what it was, but hearing the sound made him desperate to make you do it again. So, the next day, he tried telling you a shitty joke, and you laughed again. Every time he heard it, he felt his chest loosen and his breathing eased. You seemed like yourself again, but he could tell the deaths of your parents changed you. You became more hardened, more focused, and angrier at the world around you. He noticed the way you took down infected with such ferocity, such disdain. It used to bother you, but now you could kill one without blinking an eye. He knew it was foolish to expect your innocence to remain intact, but every night he still wished he could somehow shield you from it all.

Somewhat full, you laid down on your cushion and wrapped yourself in your sleeping bag, exhaling softly and closing your eyes. Joel gazed at you a little longer than he should have before he leaned over to turn the lanterns off. Tomorrow, he knew you would have to venture back out into the cold and find some more food. He had hoped this restaurant would have had more than enough, but someone before him must have thought the same thing. He turned his head to glance over at you again in the darkness, listening to your steady breathing. He still ached for you, desperately. He hoped he didn't read the signals wrong that morning in your bedroom - there was no way he could have - but the more time that passed, the more unsure of himself he became. He was so close. So close to tasting you again, holding you in his arms, protecting you from the evil surrounding you.

He stared up at the ceiling and focused on falling asleep. He needed to be alert and well rested so you could finally find some food and get back on the road.

The two of you were walking down the street the next morning after having eaten the rest of the peanut butter and not much else. This part of town seemed to be abandoned by people, but you did come across a few infected. Most of the time, you heard them clamoring about in a closed up building you passed, but a few did cross your path that you had to take down. Joel had a theory that the infected slowed down in the colder months, that maybe they went dormant, or it was just harder for them to move. Whatever the reason, he seemed to be right. Even when you did come across one, they seemed a lot slower, making your job much easier.

As you made your way towards the end of the road, the houses and trees cleared and you could see further ahead, smiling when you saw a familiar logo. You turned to Joel, who seemed to notice it, too.

"I don't think I've ever been so excited to see a Walmart before," you said, smiling in his direction. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"It's a big store, we gotta be real careful. Ain't no way we can clear the whole place by ourselves," he told you as you entered the parking lot. "Gotta stay close together and be silent. No guns. Let's just stick to the grocery section, take what we need, and get the hell out." You nodded, looking at the building as you approached it from the outside, trying to listen for any noise coming from within. Joel put his hand out on your arm to stop you, making you twist around and giving him a confused look.

"I mean it," he said, looking serious. "Could be a whole hoard in there. And it'll be dark. It's risky."

"I know, I'll be careful, I promise," you gave him a look just as serious to prove you were paying attention. His eyes shifted back and forth between yours before nodding his head in the direction of the store.

You both stepped quietly inside the store through the broken sliding door, clicking on your flashlights and looking at your surroundings before making a move. Your attention went up to the signs hanging above the aisles, spotting the grocery section was straight ahead past the cash registers. The two of you crept forward, careful not to step on anything that would give away your position. You walked through the bakery, surrounded by moldy bread. So far, the place seemed quiet, but that didn't necessarily mean it was empty.

The store was reasonably picked over but there were a few things left on the shelves you could use. You packed your bag with rice, chicken broth, a few cans of dented soup, and a jar of pasta sauce. For the sake of being extra quiet, you motioned with your finger for Joel to step forward, and you stretched to whisper in his ear.

"We should check out the stock room," you said quietly, your breath tickling his neck. It wasn't the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to him, but that didn't matter. He nodded and suppressed the urge to shudder. He picked up his bag and led you to the end of the aisle, looking both ways before leading you to the swinging doors on the wall. Joel held out a hand for you to stay put while he pushed the door open a crack, sweeping his flashlight across the room. It had aisles, just like the store, but it wasn't as neatly organized. Once he confirmed it was safe, you both entered, scanning the shelves to pinpoint where the groceries were stocked. Your flashlight landed on a corner of the room where you recognized boxes of crackers and cans of vegetables. You nudged him with your elbow, and you both made your way over, checking down every aisle before advancing.

Your jaw dropped at the amount of food that was left. Someone had the same idea as you, it wasn't fully stocked, but it was much more well stocked than the shelves out front. You hurriedly packed your bags with as many useful items as you could carry. You were so hungry, but you had to resist the urge to rip into anything right then and there, afraid the noise of a wrapper would possibly draw attention.

You were just finishing up when Joel wandered towards the end of the aisle, his flashlight settling on something shiny the next aisle over. He squinted and bent down to get a closer look through the shelves. By the time he realized he was looking at blood pooling around a dead clicker, it was too late. A pair of arms reached out behind him, yanking him backwards. A hand covered his mouth and an arm squeezed around his neck, making his vision go fuzzy. His eyes shot over to you in a panic. You were still crouching over your backpacks, facing away from him, and zipping them closed. He brought his hands up and laced them together before driving his elbow behind him, hitting the man right in the diaphragm. The grip on his throat instantly loosened and the man doubled over coughing. You whipped around now, your knife already in your hand. You watched as Joel brought his knee up to the man's face twice, blood bursting from his mouth and nose, staining Joel's pants. Joel drove his knife into the man's eye, his body twitching before slumping on the floor at his feet.

Joel looked up just in time to see you dodging the knife of a second man, kicking him in the groin before shoving your knife between his ribs. He ran down the aisle to you, hearing the man's raspy breaths as blood filled his lungs. You pulled your knife out and stabbed him again, this time closer to the heart. The raspy breathing stopped, and his body relaxed against the linoleum floor. Joel sighed in relief, slowing his pace, his heart pounding.

Then he felt something hard hit the back of his head, causing him to fall forward, his vision narrowing as he fought the urge to pass out. Joel felt the heavy boot of his attacker sticking to his back as he tried to push himself up, but his head was swimming, and he couldn't find the strength. He collapsed back on the floor with a grunt, blinking his eyes frantically trying to clear his vision. He was struggling to breathe with the weight of the man's foot pressed on his back, and once again raised himself up to try and roll over when the pressure on his back was suddenly gone. He gasped for breath, pulling himself into a seated position and shaking his head wildly, his vision finally clearing.

You had tackled and pinned Joel's attacker on the ground, sitting on his chest as you struggled with his knife between the two of you, the blade pointed downwards towards his throat as you gritted your teeth and pushed down with everything you had. His feet kicked wildly underneath you, trying to roll you off, but you weren't budging, your eyes burning into his as the blade scratched at his throat. Joel stumbled to his feet, still dizzy, as he struggled to make his way towards you. With a loud grunt, you put all your weight onto the hilt of the knife, lifting off his chest and finally piercing through his skin until you could feel the tip of the knife make contact with the linoleum. He laid underneath you gurgling as blood poured from his neck, his eyes wild with fear. You panted heavily, letting your muscles relax after the strenuous fight. With your weight off his chest, the man was able to grab a second knife you hadn't noticed from his belt and stabbed frantically at your side, which you tried to swat away before his arm grew weak and he stopped breathing.

Joel's arms wrapped around you and lifted you off the dead man, turning you around to look at you closer with his flashlight. Your face was splattered with blood, your hair wild, covered with sweat and still gasping for air. He aimed his flashlight lower and noticed a big red circle of blood staining the side of your t-shirt. His breath caught in his throat and the adrenaline sharpened his vision as he lifted your shirt up gingerly. You winced when the fabric peeled away from your skin, not realizing you had been hurt until that moment.

"Oh, fuck," Joel whispered and his breathing picked up as he glanced around for something to stop the bleeding. You had been stabbed along your ribs and down your side. He couldn't tell how deep the wound was in the dark, but it was enough to cause you to bleed heavily. He grabbed a used rag from his jeans pocket, pressing on your wound firmly, making you cry out in pain. He wrapped your hands over the rag and instructed you to press as hard as you could. He ran back to grab your packs, slinging both backpacks, the rifle and the bow over his shoulder. When you saw him trying to pull everything onto his back, you held your hand out to him.

"Give me my pack," you rasped. He shook his head, still trying to find a way to carry it all. "Give it to me!" you raised your voice in a harsh whisper now, giving him a look that meant were serious. He relented, gently putting the straps over your shoulders, then pulling out a new rag to wedge between your side wound and the strap of your backpack.

You leaned on Joel as he led you out of the back room, pausing briefly to make sure there weren’t any others, then headed back towards the front door. It began snowing while you were inside, and the wind was picking up, making it difficult to see. He looked around, desperately trying to find a safe place to take you.

Across the street he could make out a strip mall, and one of the buildings looked like it was a dentist's office. It was a long walk across the big parking lot, but he moved as fast as he could while you leaned on him for support. He propped you up against the building to catch your breath as he used his knife to work the lock of the office open.

"Stay here," he instructed. You nodded weakly; your eyes half closed. He pushed the door open and checked to make sure the small office was empty of threats before taking you inside. He helped you sit down in one of the exam chairs, pushing it back so it reclined. You stared up at the ceiling and at the lamp dangling over your face. Joel pushed the curtains open in the room and looked down at the wound on your ribs, noticing the amount of blood increased due to the walk across the street: it was now trailing down past your hips and nearly touching your mid-thigh. He took the soiled rag from your hand and replaced it with a fresh one while he went to work ripping open drawers and cabinets. He finally found a needle and thread and a stack of stainless-steel bowls. He set the needle aside and picked up some of the bowls.

"You keep pressin' as hard as you can, you hear me?" he said, and you nodded as you draped your other arm across your eyes. "I gotta go out and get some snow, I'll be back in a minute. You holler if you need anythin'."

Joel stepped out the door with the bowls in his hand, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. He scooped up snow into the bowls, grateful it had begun to storm since it would hide your tracks and keep any raiders away.

He came back into the room and saw you had nearly bled through another rag. He set a couple bowls aside to melt into drinkable water and took a handful from another, pressing it against your wound. You hissed at the contact, but after a minute the numbness from the cold made your muscles relax.

Joel dug around in his pack to find some rubbing alcohol he had taken from your apartment months ago. He found another clean rag to drench the alcohol in and removed the snow from your side.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you, this is gonna hurt. You need to hold onto somethin’?” he asked you, trying to hide the tremor in his hand. You shook your head, turning your face away from him and gripped the arm of the chair anyway. He pressed the alcohol-soaked rag onto the stab wound, finally cleaning some of the blood away to get a better look at what he was dealing with. You groaned and your body tensed, but you remained as still as possible while he cleaned you up. He could see a stab wound between two of your ribs. It didn’t look very deep, but it was wide. He made his way down your side, cleaning the blood up as he went with the snow and then the rag, refreshing it with alcohol when he needed to. There was a longer gash down the length of your side, maybe about five inches long. It was wide, but it was shallow. There were a few other scratches as well, but those would be fine to heal on their own. He gauged the main problem would be the wound between your ribs, and the long gash.

He turned around to prep the needle, filling a bowl with some rubbing alcohol and pulled out more rags. Turning back to you, he was startled to find you looking at him. He swallowed, bringing the needle and black thread towards you.

“Are you ready?” he asked you, and you nodded steadily, but he could see the fear in your eyes. He laid a hand on top of one of yours reassuringly. “I got this, I got you,” he said. You turned away from him then, staring at the wall opposite you as you braced for the pain. The first few times he pierced you with the needle hurt the most, then as you got used to the pain and knew what to expect, it got a little easier to handle. He took his time with the stab wound, he wanted to make sure he didn’t have to redo that later, then let you have a break before starting on the long gash. He told you it would only need a few stitches, just where the wound was the widest so it wouldn’t scar too badly. That part ended up hurting the most since it was closer to the bones of your ribs and there was less fat to cushion the pain.

Once the stitches were done, he rinsed everything with the rubbing alcohol from the bowl, his hands and needle included. He made a mental note to keep that needle in his pack in case one of you got hurt again.

“You hungry?” Joel asked you, and you nodded eagerly but then winced at the pain the movement caused. He dug around in his pack for some of the food you had grabbed from Walmart and set you up with a few things to eat, then went to explore the rest of the office in hopes of finding some medicine. He got lucky in the dentist’s actual office, finding a few bottles of antibiotics and some pain killers in his desk drawer. He made sure you took two antibiotics with your food before finding something to eat for himself. He sat hunched over against the wall in the room, looking down at his food and avoiding eye contact. You adjusted yourself in the chair so you could look at him and let out a whimper when the movement was too much. He shot up to help you, but you waved him off.

“What’s going on?” you asked him directly, staring him down. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with grief and anger.

“This was my fault,” he said bluntly, a clipped tone to his voice.  “I wasn’t payin’ attention, I should’ve seen that guy comin’, and it got you hurt. If somethin’ worse woulda happened, I never would’ve forgiven myself,” his voice broke at the end of his sentence, looking away from you so you couldn’t see the emotion in his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault. We got jumped, don't beat yourself up about it. Please," you told him, trying to catch his eye again but failing. "Joel?" you said, but he turned away, rubbing his hands up and down his face like he always does when he's frustrated. "Joel!" you called out again, this time more firmly. He stilled, and slowly turned to face you, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Us or them," you said, staring intently at him, desperately trying to communicate the words you couldn't say.

He let out a shaky sigh, and nodded, breaking eye contact with you and gazed out the window at the snow fall. "Shoulda been me," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well," you grunted as you struggled to sit up in the chair, "I'm glad it wasn't because I couldn't carry all our stuff and you out of there," he turned his head to look back at you, then giving him a smirk, added, "I would've left you for dead."

His lips twitched as he tried to hold back his grin at your joke, not ready to forgive himself yet. He cleared his throat and leaned over to sling your backpacks over his shoulders.

"The dentist had a couch in his office. C'mon, grab my shoulder, lean on me," he said, bending forward so you could get yourself into a standing position. It took a few tries; the pain was worse than you had expected now that you were moving. You slowly ambled down the hall with Joel, and he got you stretched out on the couch before he unzipped your sleeping bag and rested it on top of you like a blanket.

He rolled his own sleeping bag out on the floor next to you, grateful the couch came with two pillows. It had been a long time since either of you slept on one. It was still daylight out, but the blizzard made it darker outside. Joel let you rest while he went around the office to see if there was anything else of use now that he wasn't so frantic. He had completely missed the small break room towards the back of the building. He found some unopened bottles of water, snacks, a couple cans of soup and crackers. He spread all the usable food out on the table but brought the crackers back with him to check on you. You were still laying stiffly on the couch and staring at a stock photo of a beach on the wall, looking uncomfortable.

"Are you in pain? I got some pills from the drawer," Joel dug out the bottle and read the warning label. "They sound pretty strong." You shook your head, not wanting to dull your senses in case of another attack, but now that the stiffness was setting in, the pain was getting worse. You glanced out the window, seeing the storm outside. Deciding it was unlikely anyone would be out in the snow and find you, you changed your mind and stuck your hand out to him. He dropped two pills into your hand and gave you a water bottle.

"Here, have a little somethin’ more to eat with those, don't need you gettin' sick," he said, offering the crackers in your direction. You took the sleeve from him and munched on one slowly as you waited for the pills to kick in. Joel walked around to the desk and collapsed into the leather chair, kicking his feet up on the desktop and mindlessly flipped through open patient charts left on the desk. You shoved another cracker in your mouth and watched the snow coming down outside. You sat up a little more on the couch. The movement made you feel dizzy from the pills, but you hardly felt a thing at your side when you moved. Your eyes drifted lazily to Joel’s broad figure sitting behind the wooden desk. It brought back memories you hadn’t thought about in months. Memories of a different time, when you would sit on the other side of his desk all flustered and nervous.

He looked up and caught you staring at him. “What?” he asked, a bemused expression on his face. You shook your head but couldn’t stop the stupid smile from spreading across your face. Goddamn pills.

“Nothing, it’s just funny…” you started, trailing off and then giggled, causing Joel to raise his eyebrows and grin.

“Those pills must be workin’, huh?” he asked, his grin widening. You nodded, stifling your giggles and took a deep breath.

“I was just thinking, everyone used to be so scared of you in the office, they would warn me to steer clear of you, that you had a horrible temper. And look at us now,” you let out another giggle before continuing. “What the hell happened?”

He smiled at you again and tipped his head back on the top of the leather chair to look up towards the ceiling, remembering life the way it was before.

“Yeah, I was an asshole, wasn’t I?” he said, making you laugh harder now, then you clutched your side with a small wince. “Hey, take it easy, you might not feel anythin’ but you can still pop a stitch.” You quieted your laughter now, knowing he was right, and chewed the inside of your cheek thoughtfully, reminiscing about those days just 6 short months ago. Joel rolled his head to the side to look at you. “I didn’t scare you, though,” he said quietly, not sure why he was encouraging you while you were in this state.

You glanced back at him and shook your head, then held up one finger. “Only once,” you said definitively.

He stared at you and held his breath. He knew exactly what you were referring to: the argument the two of you had that was never brought up again. The day he called you a whore and ruined everything. He was the first to look away, casting his gaze back down on the desk before him. He should have apologized by now, he should have explained himself, but he always found an excuse to avoid it. Today’s excuse was you were too loopy on the pain pills and that conversation needed to happen when you both had a clear head. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as you waited for him to say something. Anything to take back what he said. 

“I think you should get some sleep,” he finally told you, dropping his hand and looking up at you. You knew he was going to avoid talking about it, but you were still disappointed. The pills had really taken effect now as you felt your eyelids grow heavy. You sighed, scooting down to lay flat on the couch and pulling your sleeping bag over you. You closed your eyes but couldn’t resist saying one more thing.

“I would do anything for you,” you whispered before nodding off. Joel’s breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut as he tried to hold back the tears that unexpectedly sprung to his eyes.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he whispered back, but you were already asleep.

The storm let up after another day, which was just as well since it allowed you more time to heal. Joel didn’t want to stay long at this place, worried that the attackers had a larger group and would come looking for you. Once the snow stopped and you had replenished your backpacks with more rags, first aid, and the food from the break room, you were off at first light. You both realized quickly that you were making terrible time since the snow was knee deep and you were already struggling to stay balanced due to your injury. After a very slow mile, Joel had found a sturdy fallen branch for you that he broke down into a more manageable size, allowing you to use it like a cane in the snow. You had to admit that it made traveling a lot easier, but you were still fighting to hide the throbbing pain at your side. After another hour, Joel agreed to let you rest. He made sure you took your antibiotic and ate some more crackers. Your feet felt numb, even though you had 3 pairs of socks and thick hiking boots.

"Joel," you whined, looking up at him standing guard as he surveyed the thick forest around you. "How much longer are we going to walk? This snow is so deep, and my side is killing me."

"I gotta find us somewhere safe, then we can stay there til you're all healed up and we'll wait out the rest of winter, I promise," he said, looking down at you now and meeting your gaze, "I'm gonna take care of you."

You sighed and regretted complaining almost immediately. You could tell he was still beating himself up over how you got injured and you didn't want to keep reminding him of it. He was shouldering too many responsibilities and you could see the worry and anxiety behind his eyes.

"Alright, let's get moving, I'm good," you said, using your stick to pull yourself back up into a standing position. Joel glanced over you once more to make sure you were, in fact, 'good' like you claimed. Satisfied, he turned and led you through the woods. The trees were thick, mostly pine trees that kept all their needles in the winter. It was good to keep you hidden but it was also bad because it could keep someone else hidden, too.

After another few miles, Joel paused a moment to examine his map. He had a general idea where you were, but he didn’t exactly have a destination in mind. He just figured he would know it when he saw it, and it turned out, he was right.

His head was down examining the map in his hands as he walked through the forest and approaching a clearing. Now he wasn’t sure he knew where you were, since the location on the map still showed greenery up ahead. He was mumbling to himself about getting turned around when you gasped, and his head shot up.

You had stumbled across a small neighborhood of about ten or twelve houses, all surrounded by the lush forest you had just hiked through. He had to blink a few times, feeling like he was looking at an oasis in the desert. As you approached the neighborhood, you passed a sign that read 'Hidden Springs - lots starting at $200,000'.

"Man, they really knew what they were doing when they named this place," you joked as you walked side by side down the abandoned street. The houses were all finished except for three which were partially constructed, forever frozen in time.

"This must be a new neighborhood, that's why it ain't showing up on the map," Joel said excitedly as he spun around to make sure you were still alone. "I haven't seen any tracks or smoke or nothin', this place is off the grid," he turned to smile at you. "We can work with this."

You grinned happily, so relieved to finally have found a place where you could rest for more than a couple nights.

"Well, which house d'you want?" Joel asked, looking at all the houses up and down. They were mostly two-story houses, but there were a couple of small ranch homes interspersed. You spotted one in the middle of the neighborhood on your right-hand side and pointed to it. it was a white two-story house with blue shutters and a red door.

"I've always wanted a wraparound porch," you said. "What do you think?" He couldn't keep the smile off his face, the whole place seemed too good to be true and best of all, you would be happy and safe.

He made his way up the front porch to peer inside the windows. He didn't see any movement, and fortunately it looked like the previous owners had a chance to move in, spotting the fully furnished living room. He had insisted on making you wait outside until he could be certain the place was abandoned before letting you in. The house was beautiful and practically brand new. You drifted from room to room to get a feel for the layout: the stairs and a hallway leading to the kitchen faced you right as you walked in the front door, a living room to your right and a den to your left, and a half bath attached to the hallway. The kitchen had a small mudroom attached, which led to the backyard. Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The master bedroom was the only room that had windows facing the front of the house, so you chose to stay in that room, both of you slipping into the king size bed without even questioning if you should sleep apart.

Chapter Thirteen

Taglist: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777

[campbenji]

*JWCT SPOILERS* very messy first thoughts

OH BOY here we go

-ben and darius's dynamic was epic. the hug. the roadtrip scenes. "is your friend okay?" "no 😊". ben getting darius out of his isolation cabin and darius grounding him in ep2. the parallels with s3ep7. "you kiss your mother with that mouth?" i'm gonna be thinking about that scene for days. their ship is still a swim to me but please they better keep whatever the fuck they have going on in s2 because it's fucking wonderful

-i love that they took the chance to give more light to duos we didn't see much in jwcc. teamups we didn't often see like ben and sammy, THE B-DUO, and darius and sammy got very special moments here

-the amount of pictures/videos from the six years in between??? the brooklynn flashbacks??? we were so well fed

-BRAND!!!!!! i got so happy when i heard him the first episode, he's clearly been checking on his brother and i'm glad he's ok

-bowman family FEAST. brand and darius talking over the phone. the pictures on the cabin. kenji saying he calls mrs. bowman once a week and all the nice things he said about her. the whole mess between kenji and darius. "we're brothers, right?" i died dead. i love this family your honor

-sammy. she's got so much going on and we desperately need to talk about it. i'm so worried about her, she's desperately trying to avoid confronting what happened with brooklynn, with yaz and her own trauma, and then they casually dropped on us that her family isn't speaking to her and never elaborated on that?? sammy, who's love and care for her family was her biggest motivation in jwcc?? i need to know what happened because it must've been big

-mateo!! i liked him a lot, he definitely doesn't want to get into any of this mess but still dabbles around a bit to help the kids, which i respect. also i hope we get to meet his daughter hiraya, she sounds really cool

-MS MICROBANGS (or the handler, or whatever name we're calling her). what is her deal. who is she working for. she's so uncanny, literally almost robotic i need to know more about her

-brookenji over i cheered. don't take this personally i've never been a fan of this ship and a part of me knew they weren't going to last long

-the animation increased in quality so much. the scene after ben, yaz and sammy get out of the sinking van is so well done it's so pretty to look at. and the t-rex with the explosion behind her? it reminds me so much of toro in the tunnels in s1ep8, and i haven't tested this out but i feel like if you put them one next to the other the improvement would be so noticeable.

-also related to the point above: that thing when a character's eyes start filling up with tears but they don't cry just yet? 10/10. chef's fucking kiss

-sure jwct has the same tv-y7 rating as jwcc, but from minute 1 it's obvious it's not the same audience they're talking to. it's not a big change in tone, like for example adventure time/distant lands/fionna and cake, but it's there, you can tell they know it's not little kids watching anymore

-BUMPY IS HAVING A BABY BUMPY IS A MOM NOW they had me shit scared for her and then they pulled a freaking egg my heart was literally pounding. anyways i hope they get both bumpy and the egg somewhere safe and that they name the new anky "speckles" (i've gotten so attached to that name in the last 24 hours it's insane)

-YASAMMY THE QUEENS THAT YOU ARE. their relationship was stellar this season, i was scared when i saw that they were apart but their issues felt organic to their relationship and i just love how they were written in the show, they are still so in love with each other and i can't wait to see where they go next season. they're everything to me

-yeah they were apart for half the season but. benji crumbs. the egg cradle scene. kenji helping ben after he got hit with the stun gun. basically all they did was act like they knew each other but idc. we are so back.

-the brooklynn reveal was... meh?? it could've been more rewarding if they waited until s2 to reveal she's still alive, but at least i hope they take their time before reuniting her with the rest of the camp fam. also i can't believe ppl even guessed what arm she was going to lose y'all have prophetic powers or smth

-bringing daniel back to kill him the same episode was an insane move btw. i would've normally complained but it's all worth it for causing the panic attack scene in ep7. kenji's reaction felt so genuine, i'm forever in awe at how well this show writes grief and trauma

-i'm so conflicted about darius's confession. i like dinostar, but i feel like it wasn't needed for darius to be in love with brooklynn to explain the voicemails and the way he was dealing with her death. she was one of his closest friends, his grief made sense even with them being platonic. on the other hand, i love how he admitted it to kenji and the fact they didn't turn it into a huge fight between them; also, "i didn't know i could even feel that way" aroace/acespec darius truthers never lose

-maybe it's just that i need to rewatch, but i'm lost as to where they're going next season?? i know they're getting on a boat but where does that go?? what are they trying to do?? there's so much happening my head is spinning

-ben... he kind of felt like the comic relief for most of the show, the first episodes showed him as being really paranoid again and struggling with being alone, but halfway through the season they just sort of forgot about it?? idk something was off

-bring back kenji's old latin spanish va idk who this guy is but that is not kenji i can't do this. i'll survive the loss of ryan potter but i won't survive this

anyways yeah i think those are most of my uncooked thoughts, overall i really liked the season, i can't believe we got to see the kids again this is still so unreal to me

[alpaca-clouds]

Astarion on the Graveyard

Can I just talk about this scene for a moment because of one thing?

I was a bit confused by my second playthrough. Was the possibility to just say: "No sex for today" always there? Because I feel on my first playthrough it was not there.

But yeah, I loved to have the ability, because I just kinda hated the idea of fucking with our dear vampire in that scene. My Tav would have hated it too.

Personally I just feel in that scene that he is mostly just trying to cope. Because the day before must've been so traumatizing for him. Going back to the mansion, finding out his former victims are undead now, confronting Cazador, nearly getting killed in that ritual, and then killing Cazador.

And yes, I am sorry, but killing Cazador is going to be traumatic for him, too. No matter how much you hate someone, having them die (or actually killing them) after such a long time of being dependent on them is going to be traumatic. (Speaking from experience here - not in killing them, but in having abusive care givers suddenly die.)

So, when Astarion propositions the player for sex in that scene, I am like: "No, darling. You need a hot cocoa, a blanket, a hug, and then cry yourself to sleep."

Though I guess the game also runs into the issues in general of the limited scope. Especially if you play the characters' romances. Because generally speaking I think that at least half of these characters are technically too traumatized to have a healthy relationship at the end of the game for a while. Which is not me saying: "You cannot have a relationship with them." Just that it will take a while to get actually healthy. Because at the very least I think quite a few of them would end up being dependent. And I absolutely see some Tavs and especially Durges, who basically come pre-packaged with their own trauma and issues, ending up co-dependent with them. (My own Tav very much included. His relationship to Astarion is absolutely not healthy on either side, even though it does help them. It will end up at some point being healthy, but it takes them a good two years to get to that point.)

But yeah, the issue really is that... Most of the characters end in their good ending in a place where they can start to heal from their trauma. Which very much includes Astarion.

I mean, shit. These characters need so much therapy lol

[smokerswifey]

Oh honey no....

This is not a good look on you Jericho, being a predator is not a slay 😭😭😭.

I feel so bad for Lance like imagine your older sister figure disappears on you for like two years with no explanation and the whole time you blamed himself because you thought you annoyed her just to see that mf reappear two years later, on the ENNEMIES side, the SAME ENEMY THAT WANTS TO KILL YOU😡😡😡.

And if that wasn't worse enough his older sister figure tells him that she has been attracted to him since he was ten and she abandonned him to join some creepy psycho who can give him a weird magic version of himself were their relationship is normal 💀💀. She legit traded her bonds and ties to Ban, Elaine, Lancelot, Guila and all of Liones and her other friends for a Lancelot s£x puppet 😭😭.

Like GURL COME ON NOW, ALL THAT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN SDS AND YOU JUST FLUSHED IT DOWN THE DRAIN 😭

Ma boi LANCELOT is LITERALLY a VICTIM like poor kid has to fight off both GROWN ASS WOMEN AND LITTLE KIDS LIKE GIVE HIM A BREAK 😭

And I feel like his trauma is barely talked about cause poor kid has went through some traumatic ass shit between :

• Leaving Benwick and his parents accidentally

• Being spirited away into some creepy ass upside down ooky kooky shit .

• Being terrified without his parents and being alone with his Master in some unfamiliar place .

• Maybe his relationship with the Lady of the Lake cause we don't know if it was positive or not ?

• Jericho LEAVING him ALONE ( LIKE WTF HOW COULD YOU)

• Him feeling tremendously guilty about it despite the whole ordeal not being his fault .

• FORCES himself to not see his parents again till he bring that bitch home cause he wants to reunite his family, and wants his parents to be proud of him and wants that whole traumatic experience to be WORTH something .

��� DISCOVERS THAT BITCH IS A PREDATOR AND SHE ABANDONNED HIS ASS TO CREAT A WEIRD SEX TOY VERSION OF HIMSELF (he must've felt so disturbed 😭)

• FAILS TO BRING HER BACK

• LOSES HIS BEST FRIEND AND LITTLE BROTHER ( PERCY AND LANCE R BROTHERS IDGAF )

• Comes back home in tears and embarrassement, without his Master and locks himself in his room without even looking at his parents in the eyes .

Like godamn the fact that half of this list is Jericho's fault makes me mad 😒.

I rlly hope she's being manipulated or some shit cause how can Nakaba just BUTCHER one of his best written character like that SMH 💀

[lizdonnelly]

bodyache

Pairing: Elizabeth Donnelly x f!reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, smut, a dash of mommy kink for good measure

Summary:

You said, you said "Turn the lights down, I wanna be alone" I read your head away I couldn't stand how it pleaded, I needed to take Take a break, take me down, take me down there I wanna stare at the tears, how they watered your years

Based on a request for f!reader reassuring a vulnerable Liz.

---

"Santa leave her in your stocking as an early Christmas present? Wouldn't necessarily say you qualify for the nice list, Elizabeth," Arthur Branch chuckled, motioning towards you with his glass.

You felt Liz's grasp tighten on your hand. From the corner of your eye, you could see her head tilt in the tell tale manner it did whenever she was preparing to unleash a verbal ass beating.

"Pleasure to meet you too, Counselman. Heard you're quite the saint, yourself," you piped up with a facetious smile. "Curious how your daughter is staying back in Georgia with her mother again this year. Can't imagine why. Airfare must be too expensive these days."

Lena Petrovsky snickered.

Figured. Corporate types loved when an outsider said what they all couldn't. You were thankful for the bits of gossip Liz fed you over your coffee dates, as it was easy to weaponize them in times like this.

Next to her, a taller woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She adjusted her narrow black frames and studied Liz, as if judging whether or not it was safe for her to laugh as well. Out of all the suits stuffed into the swanky bar that evening, she somehow looked the most out of place, ducking out of the way awkwardly whenever a waiter slid by.

"What's it you do again, Miss? Are you one of the ladies that takes my blood when they wheel you into the ER?" Arthur jabbed. "I thought you had to be at least 16 to get a job around here. Mercy General must've fallen on hard times."

Ah, the good ol' age joke and a sexist joke to boot. What a BOGO. You knew his back was against the wall now.

"Really now, Arthur," Lena said, rolling her eyes.

"No, he has a point. I often confuse phlebotomists and trauma surgeons," you said lightly. "I'm sure it was an honest mistake."

---

Later in the evening, you found yourself sat in a booth across from the leggy blonde.

Snowflakes were beginning to fall outside, flurries catching in the light of the streetlamps. The music in the bar had quieted down, replaced by the sounds of the Manhattan DA's office trading stories and looking for any opportunity to climb the corporate ladder.

Your attention, however, was caught by Liz. Typically bold and brash, she seemed to hang on the periphery of the crowd tonight, sandwiched next to Lena. She said very little.

"Don't beat yourself up, you should be proud of the way you handled Branch."

You turned to face the woman, whom you learned was named Alex.

"How do you do it?"

"What, deal with him? Lots of Ibuprofen. He's that way with everyone."

"No," you paused, gesturing to the crowd with a loose straw you picked up off the table. "All of this. This whole ecosystem. It'd drive me nuts."

"The type of people who get to this level fought to get here, fought for nights like this. It's why we put up with law school, all those pro bono service hours..." she trailed off. Alex picked at her salad. "Liz isn't any different."

"She can turn it off, though."

Alex's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Sorry, I'm only used to the Liz Donnelly who breaks down the door to my office whenever she catches wind that my position on a case differs from hers."

You grinned, thinking about how her short, blonde locks bounced whenever she was marching around the brownstone in a tizzy over something that happened at work earlier in the day. It occurred to you that the cause of those occasional outbursts must've been the woman sat across from you.

"I'm glad she's found someone," Alex said softly. "For all the shit she gives me, I've heard she's had it rough in this business."

"What lawyer doesn't, besides the ones that scoot by on family ties?"

Alex bit at her bottom lip.

"I assume the past 30 or so years haven't been the kindest to women, let alone those that... go against the grain."

---

"Yo, you catch the babe in the dress over there? Heard she's the one 'doin' a Donnelly' now," the paralegal snorted. He adjusted his quarter zip with a swell of pride as the other young men around him laughed.

Something in the pit of Liz's stomach turned at the phrase that still circulated around the halls of the DA's office.

She feigned interest in whatever Lena was rattling on about next to her. Gardening, her English bulldog Petunia, the new developmental milestone her grandson had hit a startlingly early age. Take your pick. None of it mattered.

"What's a chick like that doing with Donnelly? There's gotta be a good 20 year difference between them, at least," another one chided. "In it for the cash?"

"God, you couldn't pay me to deal with all that feminist, liberal bullshit."

"I think you're safe, man. Everyone knows that cougar's not coming after you," the other snickered.

Liz snapped her head around. Lena paused.

"Elizabeth?"

"Have a good night, Lena. I have to go make a call."

Liz slipped through the crowd towards you, leaving the judge confused, but altogether indifferent.

---

The ride back to the brownstone was unusually silent.

Typically, the drive back from one of her work events consisted of Liz recounting how "that motherfucker was saying an awful lot for a man who cheats on his wife with his clerk", or how "that public defender at the bar is the one I told you about who keeps getting hit by her repeat offenders". They were boisterous little getaways from reality that you loved sharing with her, thankful for a glimpse into what her world really held.

Not so much this time.

Liz's arm was limp around your shoulder, and as you studied her face, you noticed her wide brown eyes preoccupied with watching the moon from outside the town car.

It hung high above the city, fat and pale.

Snow crunched underneath the tires.

You squeezed her hand.

She gave you a half-smile, a million miles away.

---

Once inside, Liz flicked the lock on the door, took off her coat, and retreated into the depths of the hallway that led to her home office.

Your eyebrows rose.

Although there hadn't been any fighting you'd witnessed break out at the bar, something must've transpired. It was unlike Liz not to be pressing you into the wall, eager to shuck your dress off as soon as you both made it back. Stranger still, the attorney was rarely one of few words.

Badgering her to open up didn't strike you as a method that'd be successful. Years of learning how to maneuver through conversations with resistant patients throughout medical school and, more recently, residency had taught you better. Elizabeth Donnelly would be yet another test to your bedside manner, you thought as you padded up the stairs.

So be it.

When you reached Liz's bedroom, you headed straight for the bathroom, collecting some of the tea candles you'd brought over a few weeks earlier. Soon, they littered the surfaces of the end tables on either side of the prosecutor's bed and along the ledge next to the tub. After lighting each of them, you rifled through the drawer she had started letting you keep your clothes in.

You searched with the aid of the wavering flames of the tea lights until you felt terrycloth slide through your fingers. Your bathrobe. Liz would have a black silk one somewhere in her closet, which proved easier to find in the dim light than you thought it would.

Off came your dress. You missed the feeling of Liz pressing up against your back, her breath heavy against the back of your neck as you heard your zipper come undone. As you discarded your bra on the floor along with your panties, you felt yourself ache for the way she'd slide her hands around your back to cup and massage your breasts.

You steeled yourself.

No matter how much you missed her touch, you wouldn't be feeling it until Liz crossed whatever bridge she was stuck on.

You folded her robe neatly at the end of the bed, and headed into the bathroom to draw a bath.

---

Liz sat in front of her computer, scrolling aimlessly through a redlined document that wouldn't matter until the following week. Her eyes scanned the paragraphs, watching the words slide off the screen.

Anything to keep her mind off the feeling in the pit of her stomach would be a welcomed distraction, even if it meant numbing herself to her surroundings.

The ghosts of the voices from the douchebags at the bar whispered at the edges of her consciousness. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Fuck.

"Honey?"

Liz opened her eyes. The words on the screen blurred together into a tangle of symbols.

You reached over, thumb swiping at the power button on the monitor.

Liz felt her office chair spin.

She looked up at you, mascara and eyeliner smudged. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"Come on," you said softly, gently taking hold of her hands. "Let's get you upstairs."

"I'm not in the mood tonight, sweetheart, I'm sorry..." she trailed off. Her voice was hollow. Worry grew in the back of your mind when you noticed she couldn't hold your gaze.

"I know. I'm not expecting anything. I think you need to wash up. It's getting pretty late," you said slowly.

Liz withdrew a hand to wipe at her eye, nodding.

---

You led her upstairs, grounding yourself mentally once more when she was quiet at the sight of the candles.

Wordlessly, you handed her the silk robe, and began easing her arms out of her blazer. You could tell she was confused, but she didn't resist.

"Thank you," Liz muttered.

You pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. She shuddered.

Confidence growing, you pressed your palms against her shoulders, and walked her into the bathroom where the tub waited.

"You're an angel, really," she sighed. "I don't know why you put up with someone like me."

That was it.

"Someone like you?" you played along, watching closely as she slid into the warm water with you. You moved to sit behind her. Had she been herself, you knew she'd fight you on that, but here and now she allowed you to wrap yourself around her back and pull her into your arms as you shifted up against the wall of the tub.

She sniffled.

You ran a warm, wet hand through her hair. Liz leaned into your touch.

"Someone my age."

"When has that ever been something I said I didn't care for?" you asked without any edge to your voice. You pressed your thumbs into the muscles that lined her shoulder blades now, massaging at the tension you felt rippling under her skin.

"Doesn't mean you couldn't be thinking it."

You laid your forehead against the back of her head.

"Liz, you're better with words than I am. I know there's nothing I can say to prove to you that I really don't care about that."

She hummed as you rolled your hands over her shoulders.

"Well, your tactfulness is proving exactly why they all loved you tonight."

"You know how honored it makes me feel that Arthur Branch likes me, my entire night hinged on winning him over," you teased.

Liz's body trembled slightly in your arms as she laughed at this.

"He's a jackass, Liz. I don't care if he or the judge thinks I'm too young."

"I know," she said, her voice quieting again. "It's just that...seeing you light up the room does make me wonder."

Instead of responding, you leaned down to press a kiss to either of her shoulders, allowing her space to finally speak her thoughts.

"There was a group of boys eyeing you up while I was talking to Lena."

"A group of twentysomething year-old Vineyard Vines proto-lawyers, wow. Just about the only thing more enticing than talking to Branch," you snorted. You could tell Liz smiled to herself at that.

"We have those types at the hospital. It's funny, there's a lot of crossover between your world and mine. Well, in terms of the undesirables."

"That why you're not with some other hotshot young doctor?"

She stiffened. You planted featherlight kisses across her jaw.

"I like my food well-seasoned, so to speak. And female, at that."

"You like your food 'female'?" Liz snickered. She still kept her eyes shut. You could tell that although a few bricks had been removed, the wall she built around herself still remained.

"Hey, I told you you're the one who's good with words here," you giggled. "But I know a better way to show you what I mean."

---

You led Liz, legs hot and leaden with exhaustion, to the bed.

Knowing that she wouldn't cooperate with being pushed onto her back, even in the state she was in, you patted the edge of the bed.

She acquiesed.

You leaned down, cupping her cheek. Her lips met yours hesitantly. You pressed deeper, teeth tugging at her bottom lip before you dropped to your knees.

Liz's breathing grew heavier. You trailed kisses down her chest, stopping to pop one of her nipples into your mouth. She moaned at this. Soon, her fingers wound their way into your hair. You move to suckle at the other nipple, watching as she pivoted to help ease it into your mouth.

"Mmmph..." you groaned, mouth full of her.

She kissed at your forehead.

With a wet pop, you released her nipple from your mouth, trails of saliva dribbling down her chest and your chin as you continued your way down, peppering her body with open-mouthed smooches. Feeling her shudder and groan caused the ache that throbbed between your legs to grow.

"Goddamn," Liz swore from up above you as you began lapping at the wetness you were glad to find between her legs like a kitten before a warm bowl of milk. You moved to let her drench your face, never able to get as close as you wanted to be to her. Your nose rubbed at her clit, which in turn led her to tighten her grip on the back of her head.

You looked up between her folds to find her staring down at you fondly behind heavily lidded eyes.

Getting closer.

Not looking away, you moved to wrap your lips around her clit, tongue stroking along the length of it.

"That's it, sweetheart," she panted now.

You tongued and sucked at her eagerly, pressing into the hips she began to roll against your face, until you felt her body freeze as her orgasm rippled over her. You moaned, moving to lap up as much of her as you could.

Rising to your feet, you wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled.

"Well-seasoned, told you," you teased, chest rising and falling.

Something shifted in her gaze, and the attorney tilted her head towards the bed.

"Lay back."

You listened.

Soon, you fixed your eyes to the ceiling, head comfortable on the pillow you knew she preferred sleeping on. The waning flames from the candles danced along the walls, the smell of sandalwood and lavender from the tub still heavy in the air.

She nudged between your legs, moving to climb atop you.

A wave of anxiety floated across your mind, almost as if you were making love for the first time all over again. It was something in the way she regarded you. Tenderly, hesitantly. So unlike what people knew her to be.

You steadied your breathing as she leaned down to kiss you. Surprisingly, her tongue slid readily into your mouth. You felt her begin to stroke at your nipples. You reached up, pulling her head closer to you to deepen the kiss, your thirst for her mouth all over yours something she hadn't quenched.

She pulled back, smiling at your sounds of protest.

"Greedy," Liz teased.

"I can't help it," you groaned from beneath her. "I want more of you. All of you."

One of her fingers busied itself between your folds now.

"All of me?" she countered. "You don't want some young gun bedding you?"

At this, she slid it inside of you, slowly beginning to pump. For as much as you were trying, you felt your grasp on what remained of your patience slip.

"Lizzie, come on..."

"And what?"

You groaned, feet running up and down the sheets. Her movements were maddeningly slow, never quite full enough, deep enough. She knew this.

"Fuck me. Hard. Claim me like I know you want to," you panted.

Liz shifted.

You gasped as you felt her lift your legs up onto her shoulders. It was nothing, though, like the way your brain spiraled like the suds around the drain when you felt her run the tip of her strap along the edge of your hole.

Liz leaned forward, pinning her hands to your wrists and pressing them into the mattress. She bucked her hips forward, and a moan escaped your lips as she filled you.

The attorney thrust in and out of you with a ferocity you hadn't felt from her yet, let alone from anyone, despite how hot-blooded she had been with you in the past. Not allowing either of you a chance to catch your breath, hers came in hot, ragged puffs over your face. You couldn't break away from her gaze, which poured over you with an intensity edged with a certain sense of resolve.

She needed this. Needed to know you were hers to hold, hers to bed.

With each stroke, she nailed at that spot inside you that melted your brain, deep and heavy. There'd surely be bruises in the morning, but you weren't able to think that far ahead anymore.

"I'm the only one..." she huffed, "the only one who gets to do this to you."

Your heart thumped between your ribs, threatening to snap them apart and claw its way out of your open chest.

"Say it."

You could barely hear her above you.

"Say it for me, darling," Liz repeated, appearing to be riding close to her own orgasm as well, no doubt from the way the base of her strap was rubbing against her.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Blood thumped in your ears.

"Fuck...please, mommy...please...Iet me cum..."

Your heart dropped as you felt her studder in her motions. Eyes snapping open, you realized those words you whined weren't kept within the confines of your own head.

"Oh god, Liz, I'm so sorry, I-"

Something behind Liz's eyes darkened.

She covered your body with hers, tongue cutting you off as she roughly bucked once, twice, three more times to send you both careening into the waves of pleasure that erupted across each of you. She bit at your lip hard, drawing blood. You groaned. Hands groped across sweaty expanses of flesh, unable to grasp enough.

When you finally parted, the fog had cleared.

The prosecutor's shoulders were set firmly. Though her chest still rose and fell, the look in her eyes was wholly her again, albeit with a certain eagerness blooming within their depths.

"Don't apologize for that. Ever."

A weary grin spread across your face.

Relief, sweet relief.

Your heart bounded happily. She picked up one of your hands, kissing each knuckle.

"Satisfied?" you asked, shifting to slide beneath the sheets.

She patted your thigh.

"More than you know."

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

8/9 God's Away on Business

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

I'm 20 minutes away. You home?

Sure! You're always welcome.

Simon never told her if he was a minute away. Something was different here.

The key turned on the lock of her front door sharply 20 minutes after he had sent that text, and she went to greet him.

Their hug lasted longer than usual, and she could feel the relief and sadness just pour from him. He embraced her like a 200-pound shadow, then kissed her gently on the cheek, not mouth — that kiss spoke of companionship rather than lust, and her heart melted against his chest.

He looked like hell. Not only drained but like he had been through hell. Something awful must've happened if a man like Simon couldn't conceal the emotional maelstrom he was evidently in.

"You just got back?"

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

She didn't usually ask How was work. It wasn't really work. It was something else.

Simon didn't answer, he just took off his jacket and shoes like he was sleepwalking. He continued that sleepwalk to her couch. It had become some sort of a safe place he had carved out from the world to curl in, even if he never curled in anywhere, simply sat down with a manspread that usually made her mouth water. But seeing him stare off into space like he had just seen a mushroom cloud in the distant horizons didn't make her want to jump his bones. It made her want to close him in a hug and shelter him from all the pain in the world.

"I lost people yesterday."

"Oh. Oh shit."

Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Her first feeling was relief from knowing that Simon had survived unscathed from whatever horror he and his team had been through.

"That's… I don't know what to say."

Now that he had poured some of that exhaustion on the floor of her hallway, she noticed that he was enclosed in a shroud of latent need for revenge. The air seemed to thicken around him: of course he would deal with heartbreak by silent wrath. His eyes reminded her of the Antarctic stare; they just kept staring off into the void while also appearing sharp and aware, like he might burst into action from the slightest little threat such as a sudden sharp sound. Her tiny little home, soft lights, and messy book piles seemed childish and nonsensical compared to the ominous man who had seen too much.

"23."

"What..?"

"23. The number of people I have lost in total."

Shit… Fuck. She tried to remember something useful from the psychology books she had gobbled up not too long ago. But she couldn't turn into a therapist and offer him treatment. He might only laugh at such tries, anyway. Surely they offered counseling services or trauma therapy in his workplace for these kind of situations… But Simon probably steered clear of those, too.

"Is Soap alive?"

"Yeah. Wounded."

Compassion took over, and she finally walked to him, sat down, and reached to place a hand over his.

"Sometimes I wonder if thousands of people are worth one good man," he said with a deepening, impending fury, a tempest barely held in confinement. "Not to talk about three."

Thousands of people…

That meant… Wow. Okay.

He was definitely working on preventing missiles or some shit. Saving the world.

Sweet Jesus… And she had just joked about it.

"This world could use another flood."

The shroud turned into a whole cage that prevented her from comforting him. The hand underneath her palm seemed to tingle and burn as if it was coated with tiny spikes.

He was always so dramatic, but it didn't make him sound whiny or childish. It was actually scary. He was the weapon of mass destruction, an atom bomb in one man, about to detonate and level a whole city with a blast and nuclear winds.

"Have you ever thought about… quitting, you know? Doing something else?" She offered him a choice like someone would offer a doughnut to a murder victim, hoping it would make the pain go away.

"I was an apprentice to a butcher before I enlisted."

"Well, that's… a bit different from what you're doing now."

"Is it?"

Another sliver of information about his past, and she wasn't necessarily surprised. The worlds they lived in were like night and day. She had a safety net, friends who didn't kill or fear being killed, she had a degree, access to education, a promising career in the culture field ahead of her. Simon had a rough childhood and a dark past; he had chopped corpses of dead animals for money and then pursued a career in killing humans. He had lost 23 and killed God knows how many people.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You got any food?"

"Sure. Um, no. But I'll order something."

She moved to rise from the couch, but he turned his hand and seized her by the palm. The warm fingers closed around hers and gave her a soft squeeze.

"I like that pasta sauce you make."

"The Bolognese?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what you shall have."

There wasn't much else she could do. He wouldn't, or couldn't talk about it, so she ran to the nearest market to grab minced meat and some fresh herbs because dried ones simply wouldn't do right now. She made him food and seasoned it with as much love as she could while he put up a floating shelf she had gotten for books that didn't fit in her bookshelf anymore.

The scene was domestic, almost traditionally so. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would happily cook for a man. A man who put up her furniture for her. But then again, she had never thought she would date a man like Simon in the first place.

She suggested they watch a few episodes of a new tv show she was binging while they ate. Then he went to the shower, and she soon stood at the door, asking if he wanted to be alone. There was no answer, which in Simon's case meant it was safe to proceed. He was facing the cascading water as she stepped in to hug him from behind.

Perhaps it was the simple things. Even when the world was burning or war was raging or families were being torn apart, it was the simple things even then: some good, homemade food, some distraction, no matter how brainless and meaningless, some skin-on-skin connection and a good night's sleep.

It wasn't much; it wasn't a therapy session or a resurrection or anything life-changing. It wasn't much… But on the other hand, perhaps it was perfectly enough.

She gathered he might not be in the mood right now, but when he grew hard just from her embracing him, she slithered a hand down and stroked him shyly. He didn't stop her from pumping him to a release filled with weary sighs while he merely leaned on the tiles as she tried her best to alleviate his pain. He grabbed her hand after and laced their fingers together, used her hand to hug himself while a single, almost inaudible sniff pierced the sound of running water. It immediately turned into him clearing his throat — Simon didn't know how to cry.

He usually slept with boxers, perhaps a shirt on too, but this time he wore a whole set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt into bed.

"You got that Glock here somewhere?"

He checked the mag and gave the gun a routine inspection, which seemed more like a comforting procedure than having anything to do with actual necessity. He had left it to her fully operational and with a weighted note to remember to rack the slide before firing.

It dawned on her that his gift served a whole other purpose too. It had been planted in her apartment, and not just for her protection.

A bleak thought passed through her mind about whether she would die that night in the hands of a traumatized, paranoid soldier, but she crawled into his arms nevertheless. He fell asleep right away — a sign of deep exhaustion. She wanted to caress him, hold him, but he rarely let her. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was the one who spooned her as they drifted off into sleep while there was a knife tucked under his pillow and a gun sitting on the headboard of the bed.

But instead of a possible homicide victim, she felt like a sleep toy when he tightened his grip on her through sleep with a sharp, irritated rumble when she tried to change position only slightly. It was then that she cried the tears he could not.

***

The darkness woke her up with a nightmare. Not a cold sweat one, but the kind where you were free falling and woke with a jolt just before the impact.

It was a familiar dream where she tried to hide from her abuser, the one who was supposed to love her but had turned out to be a grooming hunter. The most nightmarish thing wasn't that she was being chased again. No: the most aggravating thing was that she still felt weak. She was a grown-up now, she had more grit, she should've been perfectly capable of fighting back with words and fists. She wanted to voice her will, shout at him to leave her alone, even hurt that man, find some weapon to stab him with, just fight back somehow — but her muscles never worked, and time was running out: he was getting inside the building she was hiding in.

This time, it was different. With ecstatic thrill, she realized she could call for help. This time, she had a weapon called Simon. But the rotten thing was that he didn't answer the phone. He didn't come to her aid even when she sent distressed texts, and she was alone, weak, nothing but trash to the man about to come and bend her under his will again.

It was just a dream, but waking up was always a relief. She was breathing like she had just been saved from drowning. To her surprise, Simon was fast asleep, probably too spent to stay vigil, which was both unsettling and heartbreaking. He was hard against her, and she realized it must've bled into her dream, adding to its menacing nature.

Still, the relief was immeasurably sweet as she noticed Simon was physically here, holding her. Trauma was a bitch, but it didn't get to her this time. Nothing could hurt her. No one could come and take her away from the heavy, safe cage of his arms. The ripples of the nightmare slowly turned into something entirely different. How she could get wet just from feeling him thick and pulsing against her back after such a night terror was… well, it was new.

What had happened in the shower before they retreated to bed was fucking hot. Despite the evening full of grief and loss, that simple, urgent, shiver-ridden handjob in the shower was so beautiful that she could've cried from that alone. He was so done in that she finally got past the wall that seemed to prevent her from touching him. The connection was so pure that she didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.

She had never felt this kind of bond with another human being before. She hadn't even known that there were men like Simon, and perhaps there weren't. He was one of a kind.

Curling up together amidst a burning world, a selfish world, a world sinking like a ship, was so utterly beautiful that it was breaking her heart into pieces.

She shifted, sure of Simon waking from her turning around, but he only stirred a little and fell back asleep. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it found its way under his pants and caressed him. The thick flesh pulled against her palm, calling her to give him more of that stress relief, to drown him in love. Surely he would only be pleasantly surprised if she woke him up with her mouth.

She didn't get far before a hand shot out. Fingers scraped against her scalp and grabbed, yanked her by the hair, then raised her from between his legs.

Fuck… Of course.

How could she be so stupid?

"That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said with a sleepy, slightly alarmed grunt. "Even though I appreciate the gesture."

He gentled his grip on her as if it had only been something naughty that had accidentally, in the spur of the moment, turned into too rough a treatment. Her scalp was burning, but what shocked her more was witnessing how quick his reflexes could be.

She was dealing with someone who had gotten used to being touched only with violence, with pure intention to cause harm. The darkness was the time for phantoms; they appeared in her bedroom as if she had called them forth with her mouth. The nightmare was still fresh on her mind, giving ground to having another talk about things neither of them wanted to discuss… But she had wanted to ask a certain question from the moment she had seen all those scars.

"Have you ever been tortured?"

The hand caressed her hair now, and she cursed that they almost always made love in the darkness. She wanted to see him, needed to see him, to make sure that that hand belonged to Simon instead of a ghost.

"Just ask how many days."

"How many days?"

"98."

She had expected the answer to be something like two or three days. That Simon had survived full-on torture without breaking for a week, at the very maximum.

98 days covered over 3 months.

He took her hand and brought it to his ribs, on a protruding scar she had seen many times. It wasn't the most prominent, but it was, apparently, one with the meanest memory.

Shouldn't have asked… Shouldn't have asked…

"Got slapped up on a meat hook like those pigs back there in the butchery. You believe in karma?"

"Simon.. Jesus Christ."

"Nah, the hook was the nice part. It's the brainwashing that really gets to ya." He rubbed himself with her hand as if to relieve a long-forgotten pain.

"If the mind breaks, you're done."

Simon wasn't living in the same world as her. He lived in the same realm as Roman slaves who were slaughtered for entertainment in the Colosseum, as soldiers freezing to death on the Eastern Front of World War 2, as political prisoners tortured in North Korean internment camps.

"This is horrible."

"What's horrible is you wakin' me up like this and not finishing the job."

Shivers of ice seeped down her spine. He was so unfazed… and it wasn't just denial or a defense mechanism. He was simply in terms with what had happened to him — what had been done to him. He didn’t turn his gaze away from the abyss. She wouldn't call it healthy or normal, but it was mature as hell, something so profoundly self-sufficient and fearless that she knew she would never meet a man like Simon.

Feeling both scared and aroused, she granted his wish and took him back in her mouth. They had just talked about meat hooks and psychological torture, but he was hard as a rock. The moan that left him as she went deep and flattened her tongue against him was an exhausted and deprived sigh, and she felt tears welling up.

He was broken and perfect and beautiful, he simply wouldn't yield. Not in any storm, not before a hurricane, not amidst a fallout, not in the thick of whatever apocalypse would come and rain upon this world. The least she could do to honor such a man was to make him sigh like that.

The moans that left him were different from when he was fucking her. They sounded fragile, arduous, and brought pain to mind. His enemies had tried to break him for nearly 100 days and failed. She couldn't stop thinking about where all those scars had come from — mutilation, beating, cutting, flagellation, not to mention being suspended on a meat hook…

Had it ended in him being buried alive? Or was that a whole other story? And who had been in the coffin with him? An enemy or a friend?

He said the physical torture wasn't even the worst of it…

She thought about how he always looked so incredibly tired, was so paranoid about someone coming to get him. He had most likely been subjected to sleep deprivation and constant interrogation, other slow methods meant to break someone psychologically. Methods that escaped her imagination.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed against him, like a pathetic woman who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. A killer's hand found its way in her hair again, this time with the gentlest caress.

"Dove… C'mere."

Whatever test this was, she felt like a total failure when releasing him and letting him pull her into another staunch embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said softly while petting her hair like she was a child who had had a nightmare.

He shouldn't be sorry for anything. He shouldn't be consoling her for his own torture. Her own past seemed like a walk in the park compared to this, her depression was laughable. Even when she knew these kinds of things shouldn't be compared.

"Sometimes forget that you're a civilian."

How on earth he could forget that was beyond her. What Simon had forgotten, though, was what civilian life was like. What ordinary, day to day life looked and felt like. Why would he want to continue his job after everything he had been through?

Unless he didn't care if he got killed.

Unless he wanted to get away. Had been wanting to get away for years now, just like her…

The tears were running in streams now, and her nose was stuffed, broken sighs passed through her mouth as he kept her in one piece with a simple hug.

"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while she was crumbling under the weight of their darkness.

"You're always so cocky," she sighed, trying to get air through her mouth because her nose was clogged from the tears.

"Isn't that what you like about me?"

When she wouldn’t speak, he turned her around to lie on her stomach and started to caress her back. Slow and steady, purposeful. He cherished her from neck to waist, rubbed the knots between her shoulder blades, soothed tension in places she didn't even know she had any. It was the gentlest touch she had felt since childhood, a caress of her entire being.

How poetic, that a butcher was the only one to have touched her with such mercy.

She should be the one doing the comforting, but here they were again. All those psychology journals, all those books, all that education, and he was the one who knew what to do, how to handle his shit. And her shit too.

"C'mon... Tell me you like it."

The callous hand cupped her ass, slid down her thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to her. It was just an inspection due to her not having said a word, and he must've taken it as a sign of her being proud and stubborn... And then the night laughed at her with a gratified haze as his fingers met her wetness.

"Alright, have it your way. But you're always drippin' for me… That's how I know ya like it."

He relished in what he found, spread the moisture all over her folds, causing her hips to rise up to present her pussy to him — like it was normal that she was soaked after such a sad evening and a fright of a night.

But Simon didn't seem to regard it as perverse at all. To him, it was quite natural, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of her like a god of war about to get a taste of bliss after a hard day on the battlefield.

The bulged tip found her entrance with a familiarity that was only sublime. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with her before going straight in.

"Got your eyes and your cunt wet for me. If that ain't love, don't know what is."

Words escaped her again as he stretched her wide, and she could feel his hunger, both their hunger. He simply had more patience than she did to not act upon it right away. He set a pace that was sweet and slow, so greedy that it made her grab the sheet in a tight fist.

"You're hopeless," she sighed while her back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm they had established long ago was the most divine for both of them. Perhaps he wanted to feel alive too, especially on a night like this. His hand found hers, the one grabbing the sheet, and she opened for him, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a lazy, warm pool of love and arousal, even euphoria.

"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you like me."

It was never straight-shooting with him. She couldn't just say that he was driving her insane. It had been embarrassing enough to spill all that love in the air when she had been drunk, with him between her legs like a bloodhound that had caught scent.

So she told her what he disliked about him. Those things happened to be the ones she absolutely loved about him as well.

"You talk too much," she offered, already out of breath.

"Never hear that at work."

"Probably because you don't fuck your co-workers."

He laughed at that, so uncharacteristic and unbridled that it made tiny bubbles brim all over in her, too.

"Know a few dolls who wouldn't mind if I did."

Jealousy bled instantly. No — it clawed at her insides. Simon had women on his team? He had discreetly left them unmentioned up until this point.

It crossed her mind that maybe he was the lovesick one now. But that couldn't be true… He was just being arrogant, as always.

"Don't worry darling. I'm all yours."

That husky purr drove her only more nuts. He even sent his hands down to her waist and held her steady while making it known to whom she belonged.

"Think you can handle me?"

The next thrust was punctuated, his balls pressed against her clit, rewarding him with a tight moan she simply couldn't hold back. The appeased rumble above her told her that he only got a kick out of this childish boasting.

"I don’t know. Your ego is too big for me," she tried to sound dry during yet another delicious fucking.

"Got somethin' else that's big," he bragged, voice covered in molten gold. "Right? Just for you."

On that, she refused to entertain him. He knew perfectly well just how big he was. Simon didn't do relationships but had surely had his fair share of women who had run into his arms more than gladly. Far more eagerly than her, or at least, with far less dignity. It was despicable, but she was jealous of his past too and envied every single one of them, whether the women he'd had amounted to dozens or hundreds.

"You like big men?" He brushed her hair aside from her cheek as if wanting to see her face to read the answer from her expression, even if it was too dark to see anything.

"I like men who know when to shut up," she blurted.

A laugh, rough but hearty, echoed in the bedroom.

"Marry me."

Her eyes went wide, her jaw opened, a quick gasp passed through…

"Or don't. 'S not worth the pension."

A joke… He was joking.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but her mouth was left hanging open; then it slowly but surely curved into a quivering little smile. This goddamn man would be the end of her.

He caressed her again, then brushed a thumb over her lip in a soft, yearning gesture that told her he wanted to kiss her but couldn't from this position. The gentle lovemaking in the dark thick of night was sweeter than any pain, and she did something rebellious: she reached for that thumb, captured it in her mouth, and sucked.

"Fuck…"

It was a surprised huff. Completely taken aback.

She swirled her tongue around it, gripped it tight, mouthed it like it was his cock — and could feel his hips buck unexpectedly.

"Not gonna last long if ya..-"

The hurried explanation ended in a lengthy groan, and the body above her went rigid, then shuddered. He came without warning, the thumb was pushed even further into her mouth, and he was buried in her to the hilt, hissing and moaning like it caused him pain.

He was always a gentleman when it came to her pleasure, never chased his own before she had gotten hers first. It must drive him a bit mad to spill so soon — especially when it wasn't even the first time today.

It was the softest cataclysm she had ever seen, another stealthy peek behind those high brick walls. His body crushed her, the massive arms closed in around her, he rubbed his face somewhere in her neck… and he was trembling. Perhaps it was his way of weeping since he couldn't cry actual tears.

He was finally speechless, gathering himself after an unusually weak moment. He swallowed, panted, then swallowed again. Struggled to regain control, snatched it back like an injured soldier. But he wasn’t angry, nor was he ashamed, he was pretty damn delighted.

"Now look at what you did," he scolded, but the tone was playful. He slipped out of her mouth, the heavy chest was throbbing against her back, and she mourned the fact that her skin only met cotton.

"You had it coming."

Arousal made her voice thicker than usual, and he buried his face further in her hair.

"Really…"

And again, he wouldn't pull out. She was just gathered in his arms and dragged to lie on her side. Her back met a solid chest, and the hand traveled up her throat, making her expose her neck for him to wolf from behind. It was probably her weakest spot – and as soon as he noticed it, he took advantage of the knowledge. He even used teeth on her, made love bites like they were some horny teenagers. She would have to wear high collars for classes next week…

"Does that feel nice?" The attentiveness was nearing unbearable proportions, his voice so close to her ear that her eyes rolled back. He was big, even when soft, and continued to rub against her after slipping out. Another hand dove down to assist her reach her own peak.

"Judging by how wet you are, it does."

He was right, as always. The tears were dry, but her pussy was not; she was so wet that it was a miracle how he was able to be as precise as he was.

How the hell could one man be so good at everything…

"You're too sweet for your own good," he whispered when she shattered against that chest and those fingers, her own flexing against his arm as she came. She let him carry her to the shore, break on it like a wave. The broken cries were such a signature, the music of them such a tell, that it really didn't matter that she didn't, couldn't use words with him.

This was the best therapy either of them could get, no matter what any book or professional said. They were wildly alive, they had found each other through horrors and blood and tears. Somehow, he had found his way to her orbit, collided with her in that dark, grimy, degraded place where she danced for money for a tortured killer like him. Her job was a good workout, and it paid the bills, but it had also brought Simon to her, and she had never been more grateful for deciding to go on those pole dance classes years ago.

"I have to wear high necks to school again," she said afterward in his arms, all snug and prepared to glide back to sleep.

"Serves you right."

He was hard again while she was feeling sore and puffy and content — and slathered, with both of their juices, which he used to lazily guide himself through her folds.

"Ready for another round if you are," he offered.

That would be his third one already… The ungodly amount of stamina on this man was frightening.

"I- I don't think I can."

It was mostly an acknowledgment of his size, and they both knew it. Simon just tightened his hold on her, appearing quite pleased with this outcome. Won another round, the gloating, lovable bastard.

"Alright, dove. Let's get you some sleep."

***

The next morning, when she was making him an omelette he suddenly began to speak.

"I usually fuck everything up when shit hits the fan, no matter the cost."

She turned off the stove and moved the pan away to stop the hissing sound threatening to drown his voice.

"This time, I just wanted to get back."

It was a confession of another kind… A compliment. Might even be the highest compliment she had ever received from this man. Simon wanted to stay alive and return to her rather than avenge his fallen ones.

Still, there was bound to be recoil, some survivor's guilt — or a bitter self-reflection moment of a superior.

"Are you blaming yourself?"

"I don't know. No, that's not what I meant."

"I realized…" His brows drew together in an attempt to search for the right words. "I realized there that… You might be the only person I can trust."

She was moved, ripe for walking to him right then and there and relieve that tension in his shoulders. Freaking finally give him that massage he had yearned for since autumn. There was something profoundly wrong with her that she hadn't done it yet.

He always attended to her. It was supposed to be a display of authority, but she knew that the best leaders didn't lead with fear; they served. It was high time someone served him.

"It's not a good sign," he muttered.

"I would see it as a great sign," she said with a shy smile, but it died on her lips as she saw how he only appeared to fall deeper into misery.

"Right? Simon?"

"I thought I already dealt with this shit 10 years ago."

That sentence sent ice down her back. Her skin broke into goosebumps, they seemed to travel all the way up to her head. Her palms were already sweating by the time he spoke again.

"You see, everyone I trust either dies or…" Simon was staring inwards into some distant memory she knew nothing about. She went to sit on the small piece of furniture that could almost be called a dinner table. Not necessarily because she wanted to get closer to him, but because her stomach was churning and she feared she might faint in her little kitchen.

"Everyone I love, dies."

She forced a hand reach out to grab his as she tried to call him back to the present moment and back to her.

"That can't be true. I mean, that can't be set in stone kinda true."

"Who knows."

The walls were suddenly so high that she couldn't get to him even when they were holding hands like this.

But this was the most precious thing in her life. She would fight for it if she must.

"I'm willing to take that risk," she said without fear.

"I admire your courage."

He didn't say he was willing to take that risk too. She hadn't quite prepared for that, nor for what came after.

"I can't do my job if I'm…"

"If you love someone?" She offered when he wouldn't continue.

She fucking hated his job at this point. She hated his dead father, and she hated the Manchester slums, she hated everyone who had hurt him and betrayed his trust. But it was like peeling an onion when it came to Simon: there was always a new layer underneath the one that was shed away. Who knew what was hidden at the core, or if she would ever even reach it?

"Well, what about… your mom?"

"Dead."

"You have siblings?"

"Dead."

Holy shit. Things were even worse than she had thought.

"What about friends? Like, off work?"

"Not anymore."

Terror began to swell and roll inside her like a tidal wave. A menacing calm before the storm, an eerie silence a split second before the explosion.

"You have nobody?"

He stared off into space, telling her with that look alone that he had no one. He released her hands, or rather, forced her to release him. Then he dropped the atom bomb.

"I didn't mean for things to go this far."

All her fears, long since lulled to sleep, crawled through the earth to suffocate her.

It was true after all: she had been just a bit of fun, a one-night stand that had turned into a plaything. A plaything who had latched itself onto a man who didn't want extra baggage.

"What a nice thing to hear." Her voice was metal, and Simon wouldn't say anything, proving her worst nightmares true.

He had had enough of her and now wanted to end things. The beautiful dusk had rolled into a knifelike dawn, and it was time to finish the show.

"Then why are you still here?" She finally dared to look up at him, and he looked confused, like he didn't know the answer to that question.

Things spun out of control so fast that she felt faint in the head. It was hard to think rationally when all their shared memories were suddenly covered in a wicked haze of shallow fucking, noncommitment, and her being an absolute fool for having believed that Simon would want her for the rest of his life.

"I get it that you're a super secret soldier spy, that you have to sneak around and give me a heart attack every other week. I get that we can't be together as much as I would like. But if you don't even want this, then what the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes were wide, his throat worked an arduous swallow. He looked more hurt than ever, more in pain than he had been last night due to the death of his teammates.

But to her, it was the look of a poker player who had got caught red-handed in cheating.

How dare he joke about marriage and elaborate on how sweet she was during the night, only to set everything on fire the next morning?

She was just a sweet little stray cat he liked to pet and pamper and fuck when he had the time, a nice little vacation from work filled with excitement. Everything needed to be exciting to him, he needed a dose of adrenaline and knife play and showering bullets to make him hard so he could fly back to grey London to get a go with his pole dancing little school girl.

Putting up shelves, seeing pictures of her spending Christmas with the family, tea and omelette in the morning were too mundane, too boring. She had been another kind of adrenaline shot.. But now she was only a dry syringe with the words I love you spoken in the air.

She got up and took a few steps back, tried to cut off a love that she already knew wouldn’t die, would never, ever die.

"This is so fucked up. If I'm just some momentary lapse in your life, then…" she shook her head at a loss for words. He had been silent for the whole outburst, but at her last suggestion, he cut in.

"No. Never. You're–"

She was so riled that she couldn't even hear his words. "You know what? Go do your job then. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come home to me, only to hear something like that. God…"

He snapped his mouth shut after she cut him off and simply raged on, all the longing and confusion of whole months streaming out of her mouth with an annoying high-pitched account. If she hated her voice right now, she could only imagine how it must sound to him. Her irritating hysteria only worsened the situation, especially when Simon remained so fucking calm.

"This is just…" She laughed through tears she didn't want him to see. With sheer willpower, she fought those tears back to the abyss. He would probably just get off on seeing her cry.

After all, she was the sweetest girl there was. Too sweet for her own good. The most gullible, naive piece of shit.

"I don't know how this is gonna work."

He stared at her with chest heaving, then his breath settled into a calm, ordered roll, his expression turned to stone. The rage was directed inwards before it could lash out at her. The man called Simon turned into Ghost, a professional killing machine, so quickly amidst a raging storm that she could hear the eye of it reach them, the whole world around her go silent. Or perhaps she was momentarily deafened by that cold-hearted stare that turned away from her with a final, lingering tinge of sadness. Even that was gone by the time he rose from the table and walked to the hallway.

Her heart was struck with a blade; she bled dry before she could even take a step to follow him. She saw him put his shoes on, then reach for his jacket, which he flung on with heavy shoulders and a broad back turned to her like a shield.

Simon was resigning.

He was fucking leaving.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He reached for his pocket and drew out a cigarette and a lighter, the flash of cold steel stinging her eyes although there was little sunlight because the day was grey. The Zippo was something she had found for him from a thrift store, and it had the tusked Snaggletooth logo of Motörhead on it. It felt like the perfect gift after noticing Simon had played the band's music from some old, burned cd when he had taken her on that shooting trip. He had ruffled her hair when receiving it, evidently pleased. "Knew you were a keeper," he had said when she told him she loved Motörhead too.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the cigarette was sent between his lips, and he wouldn't look back, only marched to the door with heavy steps.

The fear wouldn't die even when she tried to tell herself that he was only going for a smoke to calm his nerves from her sudden fit. They would talk things through when he got back.

Which was why she never said anything, didn't follow him.

The door slammed shut, and she swallowed and turned to get a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaking, the coffee was cold, and she realized she had just basically told him to get out. That cold-blooded stare still haunted her, and she wanted to go check if Simon was truly there, smoking on those steps and being a wall, her wall, against the cold, uncaring world.

She played the conversation over and over in her head, what was spoken, and the frost of horror turned her senses sharp, her ears started to ring from the silence. Simon had told her he trusted her and she had just freaked out — hadn't even let him finish what he had tried to say.

She wanted, needed to tell him right this second that she was sorry for being such a lunatic. She turned for the door, then walked back, forced herself to remain calm.

He needed space, and she didn't want to upset him more than she already had. He was older than her, used to nuclear seasons and warheads and blunt trauma, he was sharp as a whip. He wouldn't get rattled so easily. He would come back, smelling of fresh smoke, he would tell her what to do. That they would make it work no matter what. Flesh out a plan.

Because that’s all she wanted to hear. That he was serious and wanted this to work as much as she did. That it was just some miscommunication.

But her instinct told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Minutes passed, and she finally went to open the door, and there was no one there. The streets were silent, the grey clouds even darker still, hanging over her like doom. She was feeling nauseous, a shudder went through her whole body, then her teeth started to rattle.

She closed the door and turned and tried to take a step, but her knees gave in and she slumped somewhere on the floor of her hallway filled with shoes and dirt and emptiness.

#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x oc#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon riley fanfic#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon riley x female reader#ghost x female reader

[trulycertain]

Blech

Karlach guesses she shouldn't be surprised when she's popping off to the river for a quick dip, and halfway into the woods, finds Fangs and their mighty leader snogging furiously.

In which Astarion gets his groove back... and is deeply obnoxious in the process. Based on the arse-grab in the Patch 5 kiss, that banter with Lae'zel about he and Tav barely being able to keep their hands off each other, and the fact that even if Halsin's not involved with them, he's noticed Astarion and Tav having sex again. Because they're clearly That Damn Couple.

Tav/Astarion, background Karlach/Wyll. 2.6k. SFW - some mild accidental voyeurism and mentions of Astarion's canon sexual trauma, but all the bedroom business is implied.

Ao3 link

Something's different, after Lora and Astarion sneak out of camp to do... whatever they did. Karlach probably doesn't want to know. Honestly, she thinks it's got more to do with the fact that his old bastard of a master is dead. Finally being able to take a proper breath for the first time in two hundred years... or the dead-guy equivalent, anyway. Must be a hell of a feeling. Invigorating.

Sure, Astarion still has times when you reach out to touch him and he gets that face, the one that says he'd flinch but he's too well-trained. And sometimes he gets that haunted look in his eyes, the one that makes Karlach think of blood and fire and something getting shoved into her chest; she's only been able to see the edges of his nightmares, but she guesses for him they're probably torture and sex he doesn't want to have and being so. damn. hungry all the time. (Like being lonely, like wanting to be touched so much it aches, and suddenly being awash in a wealth of it. Wyll must've spent most of the journey since her engine got fixed up hugging her - and that's after they spent what felt like three days in her tent. For Astarion, she guesses that it's blood and not getting staked. Sudden scary kindness, all the same.)

But he doesn't snap anymore - not unless he thinks you're doing something really stupid. She offered him a fist and he actually bumped it the other day, while Wyll cackled in surprise (and then coughed when he realised he was doing it). Miracles never cease.

Astarion and Lora have always been, well, weirdly soppy, once you got past the sniping. They'll tell jokes about blowing up hags, disagree on everything, call each other idiots with fancy words while laughing at each other's annoyed faces... and then you'll find them by the campfire, Astarion sewing some frilly thing with his ankle absentmindedly wrapped round Lora's. They hold hands, when they're at the back of the group and think they're being sneaky about it and can pretend it’s just their shoulders bumping; Wyll gave her the eyebrow-nudge the first time he noticed it, and it's been hard not to see ever since. And if you're looking for one of them, it's usually best to knock on Lora's tent so they've at least got time to spring apart and pretend they weren't cuddling.

But something's new. Something obnoxious and... kind of hilarious, if Karlach's being honest.

Lora eats stew in the Elfsong while trying to keep a straight face, but Karlach spots Astarion smirking into his wine glass in that way he gets when he's being a little shit. On impulse, she checks under the table and... she recognises that fancy gold-embellished shoe. And the fact it's sneaking up Lora's shin. Sure enough, there's a far less fancy boot hooked round Astarion's knee.

Karlach snorts when she comes back up. "Footsie? Really?"

Lora seems like she might be blushing, if it was dark enough to show up; Astarion just looks innocent, but his eyes are gleeful, crinkling at the corners.

Gale sighs, "Do you mind?"

He just gets an even louder, more dramatic sigh in response from Astarion, who says, "All perfectly innocent, I assure you. I hadn't even managed to get above the knee." He mutters into his wine, "Spoilsport." Swallowing, he adds, "And no-one's saying anything to Karlach, considering she's had her tail on Wyll's arse for the past half-hour."

Wyll jumps.

Karlach says, "Snitch."

"Coming from you, darling? Really?" But he's smiling into his cup.

Karlach guesses she shouldn't be surprised when she's popping off to the river for a quick dip, and halfway into the woods, finds Fangs and their mighty leader snogging furiously. Except Lora's paused to laugh and go, "Really? Really?" Probably referring to his hands on Lora's arse, unabashedly getting a good grip. (Karlach can't especially blame him. That's a whole lot of woman.)

Astarion's voice is cheerfully haughty. "What, I can't appreciate art?"

"You're ridiculous."

He rubs his nose against hers. "And you're beautiful." Karlach waits for the punchline or the sting in the tail, but it doesn’t come. His voice is soft and silly, like he’s just been hit round the head with something heavy. Fuck. Is that what Fangs in love sounds like? Sure seems like it. At least he’s put his hands somewhere less enthusiastic.

"Sweet-talker." Lora's voice is low, that soppy teasing way that lovers get with each other.

"...Yes, so I've been told. Except this time I get to mean it.”

Yeah, much as a formerly-pent-up part of her would really like to see this, Karlach also isn't paid enough for this shit. Even if she's not a merc anymore. She stares up at the trees and whistles a tune, pointedly. 

Lora actually jumps.

Astarion turns his head and says, “Karlach? I thought that might be you.”

Karlach rolls her eyes. “Just looking for a bath. Not… this. Cute, though.”

Astarion gives a tiny half-grimace, and Karlach realises it’s the closest he gets to embarrassment. “Yes, well. I’d thought I was decent at finding a secluded spot.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, I bet you are. But there’s a whole camp trying to do the same.”

Lora tugs at his hand. “Come on. Let Karlach spend some quality time with the river.”

Astarion throws a jaunty wave Karlach's way as he saunters off. “Later, darling."

So yeah. That's... either not been a thing before, or they're being way more obvious about it.  Which gives everyone full licence to tease, in Karlach's opinion. Especially later, when Astarion won't lace up his stupid frilly shirt, and he has like... wow, are those three lovebites on his neck? Pretty impressive ones. Even Wyll and Gale are staring.

Shadowheart says, "I thought you were meant to be the vampire here."

Lora suddenly pokes the rabbit on the fire with a lot more force; Astarion takes his nose out of his book to give Shadowheart a sharp look, but his mouth's twitching when he gets back to it.

Karlach's even less surprised, somehow, when she goes to answer a call of nature and finds him pinned against a tree with his legs around Lora's waist, mouthing at her neck like he's about to try for another snack.

Karlach says, "Nice," cause it is, and cause it'll annoy them enough to let them know she's there.

Lora freezes; Astarion seems totally unsurprised. And makes no move to get himself on the ground, just opens an eye and says cheerfully over Lora's shoulder, "Why hello, Karlach. I always had you down more as the 'getting stuck in' type than liking to watch." And then the bastard winks. Astarion's always acted like a massive perv. A massive perv and happy? He might be even more of a pain.

Karlach says, "I wasn't watching. Some of us poor fuckers are trying to find a place to piss. You don't own the woods, you know."

Lora puts her face in Astarion's neck like she wants to die a little, but somehow still doesn't drop him. It's kind of impressive.

"I'm gonna find a good hedge. And take a different path back." Karlach gives them a nod. "Soldier. Fangs."

Lora mumbles, still muffled by smug vampire neck, "Thanks, Karlach."

Astarion, being Astarion and tactful as a very pointy brick, cackles so hard it follows Karlach out into the woods.

Not that whatever they have going on isn't hot; neither of them's exactly ugly. But she's not actually trying to know about that much of it. Especially not the big stuff, the real stuff.

Sometimes you don’t manage to dodge the real stuff fast enough.

She hears one night, as she's heading back to camp, "You've gone somewhere else." Lora. Sounding worried.

"Don't be ridiculous, darling. There's nowhere I'd rather be than - all right. No, I can't do it. Don't - We don't have to stop."

"Sure we do. My thigh's killing me, anyway. Oof. Move over." That fidgety sound you get when someone’s shifting bedrolls and a vampire’s stupid-huge pile of cushions around, now Lora’s finally got him to sleep on more than a damn board. (Karlach doesn’t care if he says it helps his back. She’s got enough problems of her own to know that’s a load of shit.)

His voice is fainter. "My sweet, I..."

"Astarion, what's my name?"

Karlach’s trying to head fast to her own tent. Really, she is. But hers is next to his and it’s… hard, when you’re worried for a friend.

"I…" A pause, and he swallows through such a dry throat you can hear it click. "Lora? What - For a moment I thought you were someone else."

"There you are."

"I'm so sorry, I..."

“Why?” Lora asks – gently, but she’s never good at being bullshitted.

“Because it shouldn’t be like this.”

Karlach heads over to her own tent, sits and tries not to listen; strokes a hand over Clive’s fuzzy head. Wyll’s still sleeping in there, bedroll carefully a ways from hers but close enough to hold her hand – she can hear him. She’ll head in given a sec, as subtly as a seven-foot flaming tiefling can.

Astarion says, unsteadily, “He’s dead. They’re all… they’re all dead, or down there in the dark. I’m free. I’m with you. I want to be with you, not… every ghost I’ve ever lain down for. You deserve better.”

Teddy bear fuzz. She can touch fuzz now, and Wyll, without the singeing. She’s here. She’s here, and there are owls and trees and Wyll making those little snoozy breaths behind her and no flames other than a damn campfire. Fuck. She knows Astarion would bite her if she even suggested it, but sometimes she really wishes he had a Clive. Something. She’s seen that ratty old blanket he insists on carrying round and tucking ashamedly into his tent; maybe that’s something similar for him.

Lora says easily, “You’ve got that one wrong.”

Astarion mumbles, fancy cut-glass syllables muffled by a bedroll, “Why didn’t you pick someone easy?” He laughs bitterly. “Well, I’ve always been extremely easy. Isn’t that just the problem. Why didn’t you pick someone normal? Someone boring, with a cottage and a dog and – someone who could fuck you without losing himself.”

Lora says, “Because that’s not my type. I want you. The fucking is secondary.”

He snaps, “It’s never secondary. It’s all there is. It’s all people want me for.”

“Hm. I want you for your sewing, and the way you grin with all your fangs, and your shit taste in books.”

 “It’s better than yours.” Astarion sniffs – the haughty kind. Better than the kind he was verging on before.

“I want you for the way you hold me when I’m afraid, and you get so damn angry when someone hurts me.”

“That’s just common sense. You’re our leader.”

“Hmm. Tactical cuddling’s a new one. …I want you for your gold thread and your sunrises and your little presents you sneak me when you think I’m not looking, and the way you pretend to hate puns but you laugh at them. All the tiny things in life you hoard like treasure. I’ve been free all my life, but I’ve never enjoyed it as hard as you.” There’s a pause, and a shuffle of fabric and bodies. “…I like the way you hold my hand, too.”

“Thank you,” Astarion says, very quietly.

Karlach manages to sneak into her tent without setting Wyll on fire. And she gives him, and Clive, a quick squeeze.

Karlach manages three days before she gets done by a bunch of sneaky-bastard nettles in the woods, and hobbles back to camp. She keeps setting the fucking dock leaves on fire.

“Lora!” she whines, because Shadowheart’s deep in scary intense prayer – she’s switched it to a moon goddess now, sure, but she still looks like she’d stab you in the kneecaps if you interrupted.

“Karlach!” Lora says brightly, even if it’s all muffled, from her tent.

There’s a very posh sigh from the same tent.

Oh. Well. Right. Karlach tries, “You decent in there?”

Astarion drawls, “I was trying very hard to get her indecent, actually.”

Lora groans, “Ignore him.”

“Oh yes, please do. As usual. It’s not as if a man can find any privacy in his lover’s tent.”

Karlach says, “It’s a tent, mate. Privacy and tents aren’t a thing in the same sentence. You can keep it in your trousers ‘til we hit an inn tomorrow, right?”

Astarion mumbles something that sounds like it’s into a pillow. Karlach makes out something about “two hundred years” and “freedom.”

She says, “Yeah, yeah, I get that, but my arse is stinging something fierce.”

Astarion sits bolt upright so obviously the tent moves. “Wait, wait, I’ve changed my mind! Now this I have to see.” The tent flaps swiftly get undone by hands that are obviously way too good with knots, and then he crawls out into the camp, still shirtless and wild-haired, shit-eating cat’s grin all over his face. “What happened, darling?”

A dark brown foot follows him out, and gently prods at the side of his thigh ‘til he moves over.

“Nettles happened,” Karlach says, miserably.

Lora says, “Ouch. Let me see what I can do.” She stands and heads over to Karlach.

Astarion, still outside the tent but now sitting cross-legged, squints at Karlach’s leathers; he’s about knee-height, after all. Not that he ever gets much taller, when he's standing next to Karlach. “Are those brambles? Here I thought they’d all just burn away.” He looks up at her, and the smile in his eyes is less sharp-edged, now; he's trying for comfort. “Do you want to keep them? They really do add something. Like the studding.”

Yeah, the brambles were what she was trying to avoid when she landed in the nettles. “I want to forget all this ever happened,” Karlach moans.

Which is how she ends up sitting on a few borrowed foofy plum cushions outside Lora’s tent in her pants – look, it’s a camp and modesty is a distant memory – while Lora heals her thighs and the side of her glutes (and her shoulders, and that bit under her chin from when she tripped), and Astarion sits with her trous in his lap, picking out bramble after bramble with some fancy little tweezers he’d got stashed away. “Is that better?” Lora says, checking her over.

“It really, really is. Thank fuck. Thank you, soldier.”

Lora beams at her, all sweet and pretty, the way that makes you get how Astarion fell for her – he does have a weakness for sunshine.

Astarion neatly folds Karlach’s battered leather trousers and hands them back to her without a word, even a snide one.  

“Thanks, Fangs.”

All right, so they make her a little sick. But they seem like they’re getting better at subtlety, lately. And times like this, she’s glad that her friends are a weird little couple. Seems like they're good for each other.

Astarion claps her on the shoulder – a rare thing, for him – and gives her a broad grin full of fang. “Marvellous. Always glad to help a friend in need. Now, would you mind being elsewhere, so we can ravage each other?”

No, Karlach takes it all back. She’s gonna feed them both to a beholder.

[140smashedguitars]

Martha Jones deserved better. She was really just stuck in Rose's shadow and it felt like she couldn't be her own person enough. The Doctor didn't appreciate her enough. Like I get it, he just lost his only friend and it must've been very hard for him. But he has this wonderful woman, who he kissed, who he waited for in an alley (oh god, that sounds bad out of context, doesn't it?) and asked her to come with him, and he extended Martha's trip. He even admitted later that he was too busy showing off to get to know Martha.

The Doctor constantly strung Martha along telling her "just one trip" "one more trip" "i'll take you home tomorrow" "i wonder what rose would say now" (Also note the fact that with Rose, Donna and Astrid, The Doctor asked them to travel with him, with no time frame, the first time he met them, whereas with Martha it was initially only meant to be one trip and he told her he'd rather be on his own). He effectively left her to her own devices in the early 20th century where people unsurprisingly treated her like shit, she had to watch The Doctor fall in love with someone else and at one point The Doctor was racist to her. Martha had to abandon most of her immediate family and her friends to be kidnapped and tortured for a year to risk her life to save humanity, not even knowing what happened to her brother and not being able to look for him (and can we spare a thought for Leo here; his entire immediate family has a shared trauma of an event he will never fully understand and probably won't be able to properly help them through, that must be really hard).

I'm so glad Martha was able to get out and move on from The Doctor and find love, further her career and just live her life.