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tetzoro · 1 month ago

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☽◯☾ - SMOKIN' ACES

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : The ASL brothers know how to throw a good party and tonight was no different.

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. portgas d. ace x f!reader ; dubcon as they are high, descriptive weed use, shotgunning, surprise voyeur alert (someone might be listening...), unprotected sex, dry humping, use of pet names (baby, good girl), impact play if you squint — WC : 3.4k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ Full Moon ! ꒱ — Kinktober Masterlist

The basement was a cozy little spot that only the members of the house and certain special guests could be privy to. During the notorious parties, it was a safe haven, a place of refuge- Somewhere to get some air, get away from the noise, and regroup with the people who meant most to you.

It was full of little touches from over the years. A series of disjointed chairs and faded couches all in a circle with a busted coffee table in the center that either had a bong or hookah on it, ready for community use.

Always playing chill music, full of wondrous paintings and vibrant murals that various friends have done — it was the clubhouse of all clubhouses and all run by the ASL boys themselves; Ace, Sabo, and Luffy.

The first member, the self-proclaimed founding member, is currently sitting next to you with a triumphant smile on his face, grinding up some weed. After the exhausting day at the beach, everyone has decided to go out to the bar instead of staying in for the night.

A part of you had wanted to go with them and maybe do a couple of shots and make out with someone for a little while. A night where your head was as fizzy as a champagne bottle and maybe you could get your mind off of a certain someone.

But then Ace had given you the look.

That look with those big brown puppy eyes of his that never failed to have you cater to his every whim — annoyingly so.

So you find yourself here, in the still smoke-filled air basement that was full of character from a group of the rowdy young adults you’ve come to know so well next to the man you’ve been pining over since the day you met him.

“I can't believe you dressed up like the dude from Magic Mike.” You flick his cowboy hat up, knocking it back and giving it a slightly disheveled look.

“Not just any dude, I'm dressed as Dallas.” Ace shakes his head, focused on rolling another joint in his favorite strawberry-printed rolling paper for the two of you to share. The one you had earlier burned out with the group and Ace had promised you another if you agreed to stay behind with him

“You just wanted an excuse to be shirtless.” Not that you were really complaining.

“First of all, I'm not shirtless.” Ace patted the unbuttoned vest that loosely hung over his taut frame. “Second of all, I did it for the hat that you so rudely hurt.”

“My apologies then.” The sarcasm drips from your tone and Ace casts you a sidelong glance, sticking his tongue out at you before using it to lick the joint.

“At least I was creative.” He says, his dark eyes trailing along your body. Even though he’s clearly appraising the outfit and not you, a chill runs down your spine. “Weren’t you a cat last year too?”

“Shut up, you know that Luffy ruined the angel wings I was going to wear.” Ace hands you the joint in surrender, motioning for you to go first as he fishes the lighter out from between the couch cushions.

You put it in your mouth, lips wrapping around the filter as the sparks fly. It illuminates the small space in front of you and casts a soft glow over Ace's freckled face.

Suddenly, he felt a little too close. You take in the way he carefully lights it for you, his tongue peeking out as he focuses on the task at hand. As soon as the flame catches the paper, his eyes flicker up to yours.

You inhale, begrudgingly taking in some of the smoke of the wrap before it cherries at the end, an influx of weed hitting your lungs harsher than you intended.

“Easy now.” Ace tries to stifle his laugh as you cough a little, your head still reeling from the close proximity. He takes the joint from your fingers, gently brushing his against yours before taking a hit himself.

Ever the show-off, the smoke barely leaves his lips before he begins to inhale it through his nose. He smirks at you as he does it, effortlessly inhaling the thick flume of smoke.

“You’re so lame for gatekeeping that trick by the way.” You huff at the man across from you, taking the joint back from him to continue your sesh.

“I gotta have something to impress you, right?” Ace leans back on the couch a little more, eyes growing hazy and red as he watches you. His tattooed arm dangles off the back of the couch while you try not to take what he says to heart. But he looks back at you, head tilting a little so he peeks at you from under his hat. “But I suppose I can teach you something else.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Taking another hit, you let the smoke rush through your lungs and let it saturate every bit while it screams in protest the longer you hold onto it. Ace shifts ahead, leaning in so he’s closer to you and spreading his legs so his thigh brushes against yours.

“You really wanna know?” His warm breath caresses your ear as he speaks, his nose barely nudging the lobe. The sudden seductive shift in his voice throws you off your axis and plummets you into his gravitational pull.

“Yes.” The approval slips out of your mouth with the rest of the smoke.

Ace moves his face so it's in front of yours, his eyes scanning your features as he takes a hit. You’re not even sure when he grabbed the joint but you don’t question it. not when his fingers cup your jaw so sweetly.

“What’re you—“ The question dies out as he shakes his head. Everything feels tingly but the way he’s cusping your face makes it ten times worse, setting your skin on fire as your face heats up.

Carefully, he tilts your head toward him before he leans in. Your breath hitches as his lips brush against yours, his fingers pulling on your jaw so your mouth opens a little more.

With a direct softness you’ve never gotten from him, he blows the smoke out from his mouth and into yours. The weed coats your taste buds before his tongue slips into your mouth to steal it all away. His eagerness rivals the hit in a silent contest of who can take your breath away more.

Ace's hand doesn’t move from your face and he uses it to his advantage to kiss you further. If you thought your mind was fuzzy before, it was absolute static now as your twirls swirl together.

He grins against your lips, humming approvingly as you begin to kiss him back. But it was over far too soon and it takes everything in you not to chase his fleeting lips.

“So?” He smirks and pulls away from you, taking another hit as you try to catch your breath.

“What the hell was that?” Your thigh was still pressing against his but you couldn’t find it in you to move. Part of you longed to push further, to lean into him and melt into his searing touch. But your mind was still trying to play catch up from what just happened.

“Shotgunning.” He blows the smoke out straight into the air and your heart pangs with a strange jealousy. “Did you like it?”

“Yes.” You bite your lip. Maybe a little too much. You pause, tasting the words on your tongue before you utter them. “I wanna try it again.”

Ace sucks in his breath, the smoke plummeting to his lungs as he takes in your wish. Coughing slightly, he sits up straighter on the couch and tries to gather himself.

“Yeah?” The gravely rasp in his voice swirls with the underlying desire and draws you in further.

There’s no going back now.

“Yeah,” You nod slowly. Neither of you bat an eye as you slide into his lap, accidentally rolling your hips against his lap as you do. Ace lets out a choked groan of your name, shifting underneath you. “Ready?”

Galaxies bloom in his eyes as they light up, eagerly tilting his head up in anticipation. The joint sits on your lips before you take the hit, watching him under you as he looks up at you from beneath his dark lashes. Desire pools in your abdomen and before you can think about what you want, your lips meet once again.

It’s a blur between tongues as the smoke fizzles out. You’re not even sure if you did it right, but then again, it wasn’t really your main objective.

The joint disappears from your fingers and you can feel Ace shift to ash it out on the side table. Unburdened, his arms wrap around you and his hands splay across your back, pulling you closer to him and deepening the kiss.

Your lungs beg for reprieve but the taste of Ace’s sweet tongue is too addicting to let up. But he shows mercy and pulls away, suffering from the same affliction.

Everything felt fuzzy around the edges, your brain fully saturated in something syrupy sweet that had your hips involuntarily moving again as soon as your foreheads pressed together.

The faint aroma of sea salt still wove itself in the tangled curls of Ace’s hair, filling your senses despite all the smoke that currently clung to the thick air.

“Ace.” You gasp softly, the faint outline of his hardening cock coming to life right between your thighs.

“Yeah? You feel that?” To further his point, he pushes his hips up against your overheating core. “Feel what you do to me?”

“Yes.” With every slow grind of your hips, you can feel him growing harder beneath you. The friction was rolling over your body like a wave hitting the shore, but it was fleeting. “I want more.”

“Can you handle more?” The smirk that dangles off his face has you wanting to roll your eyes but you relent. The craving for him was too much, threatening to boil over and fully consume you.

“I can.” You nod, lips hovering over his. “I want to try.”

Ace closes the distance, unable to curb his own carnal urges that run rampant in his body. The way your lips mesh together, tasting like weed and strawberry-flavored chapstick becomes something he knows he’ll get addicted to.

Your fingers dance along his chest, teasing under the vest before landing on the buckle of his belt. All the while he reaches up your skirt, tugging on your panties and dragging them down your legs.

The rest is a blur of motion, but the messy way his lips move with yours is vivid. It’s almost jarring how much you can taste him, how much his grunts of approval seep into your skin and run through your veins

You pull back at an absolute loss for breath, panting against his mouth as his tongue pokes out to trace your parted lips. The bottom half of your clothes are gone and his are haphazardly halfway down his thigh.

Ace's hand grips the base of his cock as you hover over it, pumping it and squeezing his tip as it leaks with pearly drops of precum.

“You're gonna be a good girl and take it all for me?” His knuckles brush along your soaked slit, running along it back and forth, absolutely mesmerized as he waits for your answer.

“Yes, I'll be good.” The words are nothing more than a breath of air, your lungs squeezing in protest.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” His tip prods your entrance, both of you throbbing as the last thread of self-control burns like a stick of dynamite. The slow, sparkling crawl of anticipation before everything explodes, lighting each other aflame in a whirlwind of desire. “You turn into such a little slut when you’re high, don’t you?”

“Ace.” You whine, watching the slow spread of his signature boyish grin take up his face. Warm palms rest on your hips, fingers gripping into your skin as he soaks up the absolute need in your voice.

“What?” He chuckles lowly, his voice still raspy from the smoke. “All I'm saying is that — ohh shit…“

The rest of his sentence melts into a groan as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock.

“That’s it.” He groaned, his palms sliding to rest on your thighs to help guide you. It takes everything in him not to push you all the way down, letting you take your time as you adjust during your descent.

Everything stands still as he finally bottoms out, filling you up and stretching you out in ways no one has ever done before. The pressure is insurmountable yet it brings you a wave of pleasure that has your body singing for more.

“Holy fuck, you feel like heaven.” Ace practically moans at the way your silky walls clamp around him. His fingers move once again to grip your hips in a bruising hold, stilling himself from spilling into you immediately.

“Of course, you talk a lot during sex.” You let out a scoffed chuckle, clutching onto his shoulders as you spread your legs a little more and letting him sink in even deeper.

“Aw, complaining already?” He gives you a lazy grin, slowly grinding his hips up against you. The steady throb of his cock melts your brain more than the weed did, the residual high becoming overshadowed by the man under you. “Or let me guess, you just can’t take a compliment?”

“Shut up.” You huff, rocking your hips before raising yourself back up. His cock partially slides out of you and glistens with your essence, coating it completely. Ace's eyes zero in on it, drinking in the sight before you ease back down.

“Fuck.” Ace's head hangs off the back of the couch as he gazes at you through half-lidded eyes. The hat he was wearing falls behind him, completely forgotten. His palms glide along your sides, sliding them up and down before cupping your ass and trying to speed up your movements. “Please, you gotta move faster.”

“Do I?” The gravity of the situation sets in, albeit a little delayed — blame it on the weed. But he was completely at your mercy. The pleading look in his eyes speaks volumes despite the cocky words he so rapidly fires off. You lean down, lips brushing against his ear. “Let me guess, can’t handle it?”

Ace's attention snaps back to you, almost fully alert now. The fog from earlier clears from his head as the words he uttered earlier echo from your pretty little mouth. A new challenge fires off inside of him and he was never one to back down from a fight, no matter the position. With a wicked grin, he thrusts his hips heavenward.

“Oh, I can handle it alright.” He murmurs, rubbing the plushness of your ass before giving it a subtle smack. Your body jolts and your chests crash together, almost every part of you is touching him.

The ever-steady rhythm of your heart spins on its axis, thrown off by the rapid beating that sets in syncopation and you can’t find it in you to care. Not when everything you’ve ever wanted is finally clicking into place.

Your bodies move in a euphoric sync, the ebb and flow of the melody you two orchestrate fills the room in a symphony of bliss. You were drowning into Ace’s very essence and in return, he did the same.

“Shit, baby.” Ace groans at the almost lazy pace. Each delicious drag of his cock had your eyes rolling back to your head. Anytime he twitched inside of you was like another jolt of pleasure — knowing that he was getting just as much enjoyment out of this as you was driving you faster to your end. “I've wanted this for so long.”

“What?” You’re completely breathless now. The confession takes away the last shred of oxygen and rips it out of your lungs. The languid roll of your hips doesn't stop though; your mind, heart, and body all chasing what you want in different ways. “Really?”

“God, yeah.” Ace's fingers slid under your shirt as he grabbed your bra-covered chest. “We need to take this off.”

Impressively, his pace doesn’t falter as he rocks up into you while his hand glides to your back and unhooks your bra. It only takes a few seconds for your chest to become completely bare and his head to find its home in the valley of your breasts.

His tongue trails everywhere. Your body burns under it, relief only pooling in the spot between your thighs and wherever he decides to lick away the flames. It cools you off, the words he said earlier filtering back into your mind as the smoke clears.

“I've wanted this too.” You gasp, bouncing a little quicker to prove how much you’ve needed this — him. Ace groans, teeth grazing the swell of your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth to muffle the noise. “You feel so good, Ace.”

The candy-sweet praise has his head popping back up from where his tongue was swirling around your pert bud and looks at you, eyes trailing over your blissed-out face and the hearts that swirled in your eyes.

“Come here.” Ace roughly grabs you by your ass, leaning further back into the couch as you tumble on him. He couldn’t hold back anymore, fucking up into you without abandon.

“A-Ace!” You gasp, trying to squirm away a little but the hold he had you in was too tight.

“Take it for me, baby. You said you would.” He moans. Both of your impending highs are heightened by the weed you inhaled only minutes ago. Pleasure rips through your body, sending it into tremors as your thighs shake. “Let go f’me.”

Your high washes over you immediately, body locking up as Ace continues to pound into you and chase his own release.

And it’s beautiful when he reaches it.

He comes with a choked moan of your name, his body tensing up and his fingers digging into your skin. His cock pulses before he completely empties himself into your greedy cunt with sporadic, shallow thrusts.

Both of you slump against each other, melting into the couch as your mind floats down from the clouds and into his warm embrace.

You pull back a little to admire his freckled face and can’t help but unleash the giggle that bubbles from your chest. It was contagious, as joy often is when you’re around him, and he can’t help but mirror you.

The two of you giggling in each other's arms under the shoddy string lights in the basement that has grown to mean so much to you — even more so now.

The distinct squeak of the floorboard by the basement door sounds off, snapping you both back into reality.

“I thought we were the only ones here.” You sit up, hastily reaching for your clothes and throwing them on. Ace lifts his hips and slides his back on before kissing you on the top of your head and getting up. “Ace–“

“Stay here.” He turns around the corner and out of sight as he starts to go up the stairs. After a few steps in, the door opens and you straighten up. “Oh, it’s you. You little fucking perv.”

The sound of Ace’s boisterous laughter sounds off as two pairs of legs start coming back down. Every nerve is set on fire, anxiety ripping into your chest at the thought of seeing the person who had been listening in on you and Ace fucking.

But the familiar sight of blonde hair snuffs all the worries away, the dastardly pair smiling at you with devious intent.

“I had to pick up so I couldn’t make it to the bar tonight,” Sabo said with a grin, holding up the bag of weed he must’ve scored. “Must be my lucky day.”

“Must be.” Ace scoffs, making his way back to you. He plops back down into his spot next to you, immediately mouthing at your neck before his voice curls around your ear. You don ’t break eye contact with Sabo as he stalks closer, placing the bag on the table before taking off his gloves. “What do you say, baby? Wanna let him smoke us up and show him exactly what happened down here?”

tags: @bontensh0e @autumnstuffs

#☆ 𓂃 Kinktober !#dividers by cafekitsune #◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#cw dubcon #cw weed #ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #ace smut #portgas ace smut #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece smut #op smut

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bubuslutty · 2 months ago

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fluff, fluffy, sweet sugary fluff!!!

thinking abt how 141 will accompany their captain and his wife on a family outing with their little girl who's a year old.

they go to a shopping mall, that has a trampoline park inside, and end up getting themselves tickets for the toddler session in the morning.

it's sort of funny, four massive military dudes sitting down and changing their socks into trampoline appropriate socks and wearing their little wristbands with a tiny bundle of joy already excited to go join the party inside.

John's wife doesn't feel like jumping so she picks a table and sits, the men leaving their shoes and things with her. Before going in, John hands his little one to Simon to hold while he goes and gets his missus a drink and whatever slice of cake she wants to have in the meantime. When she's all set, he kisses her and goes back to his men.

They get checked in by an employee who asks them to show their wristbands and socks and says hello when he sees John's little one, already giggling and clapping, kicking her legs.

It's pretty noisy, the music they're playing on the speakers is loud, not obnoxiously so, and there's a parent with every single toddler in sight. It's adorable, how many little ones try to jump and bounce and end up falling.

John decides to put his darling down and see where her tiny legs take her, she immediately starts to waddle, holding onto the edges of some higher, flat, platforms, trying to bounce but when she can't seem to do it she looks for her daddy and calls, "Dada !"

Gaz laughs, "She wants your help, go on."

And John bends down and holds her little hands in his, using his knees to make the trampoline go up and down, not too much, she's too tiny and may fly away if he does it too hard.

That's how the rest of the 1h session goes, they follow her like hawks, actively circling her in such a strategic manner that no rogue adult accidentally jumps on her. They take their job very seriously, and it looks like even other parents have noticed as well. Some mums smile at them, while others when they accidentally bump into them when backing away say, "I'm so so-- Wow, you're huge!"

The trampoline park even has two basketball areas, which are empty, and so the boys take advantage of the fact and goes to throw in some hoops, and it takes nothing for everyone to get competitive. Which they're busy competing against each other, John takes his baby back to where mum is and gives her a drink to hydrate her a little bit, she was bouncing and bouncing and running a mock after all.

Meanwhile, the boys move to a place called airbags. It's a high platform with stairs on the side, right below it there's trampolines and a massive airbag where you land. It's empty, so it's safe for them to go with no fear of accidentally stepping or jumping on a little one.

There's three trampolines lined one next to the other, so they each take one, jumping at the same time. Johnny somehow manages to do a backflip and lands on his belly, Kyle a front flip and Simon just lands flat on his back. They laugh and go up the stairs again, this time Johnny looks at Simon and glances at Kyle, whatever silent communication happened between them went right over Gaz's head. So they both grab him and throw him into the airbags and he lands with a scream, "Oh, fuck off!"

Johnny laughs his ass off until he has to escape Simon's arms wrapped around his waist, trying to throw him over, "Oi, no !"

Johnny doesn't want to full on wrestle his friend up in a trampoline park full of babies so he allows the giant of a man to lift him, spin him and chuck him in the airbag, sinking down down until he has to make his way out on all fours.

John comes back with his baby and they keep playing with her until she gets tired, and eventually their 1h session ends and they have to make their way out of the trampoline park. John's missus is laughing at them, because they're sweaty and looked like they had way more fun than their baby. They all plop down on the chairs to drink water and dry themselves with some tissues, change their socks and wear their shoes back on.

John's little one is tucked in her pram, little belly rising up and down as she sleeps with her little hands balled up into fists. John gives her a little kiss on the head and kisses his wife right after, thanking her for giving him this, for giving him everything he ever wanted. It's sappy but true.

When they're ready to leave, John pushes the pram out of the park, his wife locking one arm with his and the other with Kyle as he talks to her about some series they both like.

Simon walks on the other side, his shoulders sometimes brushing against his Captain's when he peers down and check if the baby is still asleep, and it makes John warm everytime.

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rekisgay · 2 years ago

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HIII IDK IF U WRITE FOR MULTIPLE CHARS OR NOT IGNOTE PLEASE IF U STATED IT IN UR RULES I DONT REMMEBWR SHIT WELL

adult trio hxh platonic headcanons with a reader whos very chaotic in general, not in the hisoka way. but in the way where "how did you even get to that amount of power and be so stupid???" they rival in power ig!

hello! yes if they are max 3

and uhh I read your request wrong and didn't write them as rivals💀 but i think it's better like this. kinda cute

Adult trio hxh with a chaotic person

hisoka:

-hmm yk he has a thing for powerful people

-you are a person who has piqued his interest, bc you're both powerful and at the same time so dumb??

-flirts with you, but you're so dumb to realize

-he found you so funny and entertaining, can't take you serious at all

-he likes hearing you say the dumbest things he has ever heard

-i mean, if he wants he CAN kill you even if you're so strong, but something stops him bc he feels like wanting to see how far you can get with that little brain.

- you once were fighting and stopped bc you saw a bear and wanted to pet it??!

" HOW CUTE!!" you had a big smile on your face too , fearing nothing. hisoka was like 🧍🏻🧍🏻🧍🏻

illumi:

-he hates you. tries to go away from you bc you get on his nerves

-how can someone so careless have such a power. it must be a divine gift.

-kinda envies that bc he had a rough past training every day bc he was raised an assassin.

-tried to kill you but you didn't realize and thought he was playing with you bc you dodged so easy. you were like 😁😁 and he was like 😑😑

-doesnt need help , but if you wanna help him he doesn't say no. he doesn't care anymore ,you would become even more annoying.

-after all you're really strong

- you're probably the only person (apart hisoka) who can talk with him without being killed immediately.

-gets used to you by the time and talk a bit more. only a bit, maybe now he doesn't say a single word but a whole phrase.

chrollo:

- rivals? not at all , he wants you by his side.

- i think he sees you like his little sister, part of his family

- 100% you are a member of the Phantom Troupe bc of your immense power and everyone is shocked that chrollo asked you to join.

-they initially didn't take you seriously, but after a mission where you killed everyone in 2 seconds without a blink they all start to respect you more.

-but now chrollo , he sometimes can't stand the fact that you're so noisy, but yeah he's a a really patient person, he'll just tell you to compose yourself.

-no matter how old you are , even if you're the same age he probably sees you like a little girl/boy.

-smiles at your dumb action, you're so cute to him

-yes, he has a heart , but only for the troupe members.

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scrumptiousstuffs · 1 month ago

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Hii~ I'll say firstly I'm keeping things strictly speculative and I'm NOT diagnosing anyone since I'm not a doctor.

I've noticed this for so long and just wanted to out this in the world asgdjdjfkf but khaotung gives me MAJOR adult with undiagnosed adhd vibes. The messy car (bottles in the front seat?!), always messy room, extremely creative hobbies and passions (song writing/ composing/singing/ acting), impulsive purchases !!!, frequently getting lost even with maps, engineering major but cant math, has a hard time rmring past events even though he's in the same location (timeblindness). I have ADHD too and I can see such a striking resemblance in me and him it’s crazy. (Ofc everybody presents with stuff like this but when it's excessive that's when you know)

I've watched and rewatched interviews and content enough to see how he tends to be a little spacey and needs to ask things twice to make sense. (People with ADHD struggle usually with too many thoughts, attention going everywhere instead of just the task at hand) And oh when I saw that gifset where he's like he asks first's help to organise his tasks for him my heart just died cz yes!!! (That's troubles with sequencing and work ordering that we folks struggle with and there's his bestie just calmly helping him out oh it made me heart hurt sm but anyway-)

He's my little aloof baby girl with 26739 facial expressions cz he cannot for the life of him calm tf down. He's so reactive and expressive and in the moment, yet he falls over his words (not all the time, yes, but A LOT). My boy is doing his fckin best and has grown so so much and I adore him for that.

His sleep habits??? Classic adhd. Can't fall asleep cz his brain wouldn't stfu. (He said that himself in one radio interview)

His shopping addiction is just him boosting his dopamine every chance he gets. And I get him. So much.

Somewhere he also talked about how he got burnt out and couldn't get out of bed and I just. I just wanted to hug this boy bcz- oh. Oh it all makes sense. (ADHD folks are notorious for burning out cz they already run on little to no fuel. They have to work extra hard for things others do without effort and that gets so goddamn hard)

Manager can’t reach him. Hyper aware of his surroundings (hence attuned and caring to everyone around him). He frequently gets distracted by fans screaming while he's talking (cz of the external stimulus) - and first has spoken on his behalf to not misunderstand him 🥹 (Again bcz ADHD makes your attention go everywhere and you can't regulate that shit)

But why am I even going on about this? There's plenty of people out there who don't have/require a diagnosis bcz they're doing just fine.

YES. YES.

This makes me all the more emotional bcz yes, people, community, friends, family when all of them pick up on your lost pieces life just gets so much bearable.

First is that person for Khaotung 100%.

He literally called First his second manager, he asks First to organise his work for him, answer for him. He looks for him everywhere because he needs him like genuinely, genuinely needs him to be there. (Like that one time he won't let him go off stage bcz he was taking pictures and didn’t want to be alone aahdhajsk)

Like we call First as the one who clings to Khaotung, let's be honest the whole company says it. But when I see Khaotung with First it's like he turns towards him like he's the sun. Pre-FK, in interviews he used to be so shy and struggle at articulating things, but with First taking the reigns he got the space to become better at his own pace and that's what I love about them sm :(

Okay I'm done. I'm just saying he might (again, keyword MIGHT) have ADHD. It's a whole spectrum and having friends around who aren’t judgemental and willing to share the load for you makes life easier and bearable and First is that person for him which just makes me admire and love this pairing even more aaagsfhjdk :((((

So, finally, what do you think about this? Sorry if this is in any way unsettling you don't have to answer it I just wanted to get it out haha

Wow anon, this is certainly a long post😅. You must have thought about it hard.

I have no training to diagnose ADHD. However, I'm glad you identify with Khaotung and sees yourself in him.

That's why most of us love the boys, yeah? In some ways or another, they are relatable and we connect with them. (On top of their kind, sweet nature, amazing acting skills plus beautiful faces of course!!!🥰🥰🥰)

Either way, some of the habits you listed above can easily be considered annoying to a lot of people. Clearly, First just finds everything Khaotung does adorable (but can you blame him? 🥺🥺🥺…look at this pookie!)

They balance each other superbly well. Yin and Yang if you want to call it ☯️

So, I agree with you when you say First is the person for Khaotung (just as Khaotung is for First)

(Khaotung towards First during an interview) ☝️

And you are absolutely right when you say that it's very easy (from the outside) to see First appears to be the "clingier" of the 2, but I suspect privately, Khaotung is just as sticky (he is just not as open about it like First, and I'll be addressing this on a different ask I got).

There is a quote by Walt Whitman (American poet) - "Keep your face towards the sunshine, and shadows will fall behind you."

And so, your statement of Khaotung looking at First like he is the sun, oh yes... he does it all the time!! (be it in official photoshoot, concerts or events)

#asked and answered #sticky codependent soulmate bestie #we all inspire to have what these 2 have #khaotung thanawat #first kanaphan #firstkhao

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years ago

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AAAHHH! I can't choose, so I'll let you do it. I like "you’re really good at that." ; "you don’t have to be gentle. i won’t break." ; or "take off your clothes" for cutie patootie Mr. Robert "Bob" Floyd. Pllleeeeeeeeaseeeee!

AN: 18+ only. Smut-ish.

You’re the one that broaches the subject. You and Bob are sitting on his couch, watching a movie half-heartedly as you snuggle up against him. He has an arm around your shoulders, his fingertips tracing abstract shapes against the bare skin of your upper arm. Every so often, he turns his head and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

It’s still pretty new, this thing between you and Bob. He had been content to admire you from afar, and you might have never even known about his crush on you if Bradley hadn’t intervened. Now here you are: six months into your relationship with Bob Floyd. Comfortable, but still learning about each other.

You love your time with Bob, but you wish he wouldn’t treat you like glass. You know much of it is just his polite nature, raised to be a gentleman…but he’s so precious when he touches you. So careful, so deferential.

You wonder what Bob Floyd might be like if he loosened the reins a little.

“Movie’s almost over,” he murmurs against your head.

“Bed then?”

He hums in agreement, and you take a breath to steady yourself. Still facing the television, not quite brave enough to look at him, you say, “Bobby…in bed? You don’t have to be gentle. I won’t break, you know.”

His tracing fingertips still at your words. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you wanted to try new things, we can.”

He splays out his hand, shifts to cup your shoulder. “New things like what?”

“I dunno.” You shrug against him. “What about something like roleplay?”

“Huh.” Against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat quicken. Just a little. But then he says, “like teacher and school girl? I don’t think I’d like that. It’s kinda gross, isn’t it?”

You snort and turn your face against his side. “What about something where everyone is an adult? Like….I don’t know. Patient and nurse? Or professor and student?”

“Huh,” he says again. There’s a long moment of quiet, and you know he’s turning it over in his mind like he does a lot of problems. He’s examining it from all sides. “I could be a state representative and you could be my disgruntled constituent.”

It’s one of the things you love best about Bob. He’s quiet by nature, and people infer that to mean he’s weak or perpetually anxious. He’s neither of those things—he’s actually quite adventuresome, willing to try new things. He just needs a minute to mull it over. And he usually—like now—addresses it with humor.

You giggle against him. “Stern librarian and patron returning overdue books.”

“Cop and criminal, but the cop is a parking cop and the criminal is someone whose meter expired.”

“Dentist and patient who is clearly lying about their flossing habits,” you say, and it makes him chuckle.

“That’d be a good way to work in an oral examination,” he adds, and you gasp in mock-outrage, pull away from him and place a hand over your heart.

“Robert Floyd, you are a pervert,” you tease.

He reaches out with both hands and squeezes your waist. “You’re the one suggesting role-playing, sweetheart.” He leans forward and kisses you, a loud, playful smack, but there’s heat behind it.

You grip his biceps, dig your fingertips into the hard muscle there. “So….what do you think? Want to try it?”

People often infer that Bob Floyd is some sort of innocent, a sheltered boy instead of a career military man who graduated from TOPGUN, an elite training program. You think it’s his big blue eyes, but if people could see how dark his eyes get, how easily his pupils go wide with desire, they’d rethink their innocent baby Bob image.

His big blue eyes go dark now. “Absolutely,” is all he says.

*****

Bob doesn’t want to oversell it, and he plays it as cool as he can, especially around Nat and the other Daggers—but he loves you. A lot. He thinks someday he’ll have to pay Rooster back for asking you out on Bob’s behalf. He can picture naming his son Bradley someday in thanks.

Because you? You’re the coolest, nicest, funniest girl he’s ever known. And for some unfathomable reason, you’re with him.

Bob’s had girlfriends and lovers before, and he’s always enjoyed sex, but he never realized how…well, how fun it can be. How light-hearted. Sex with you is deep and meaningful and special, sure, but it’s also fun.

You laugh in bed with him. You make him laugh. You joke around, and all that merriment and laughter makes a lot of space for playing around. For trying new things. Released from the terrible pressure of perfect performance, Bob has the latitude to play in the bedroom with you.

Like this now: role-playing.

“Okay,” you say as you stand near the bed. He’s sitting on the edge, watching you with a grin at your obvious glee. “I got it. You’re an admiral with the navy, and I’m a private with a lot of disciplinary problems.”

His grin widens. You aren’t military and you know little of it aside from what he’s taught you or what you’ve seen on TV or movies. “The Navy has seamen, honey. Sailors. Not privates.”

“There you go! I’m so bad at the Navy life that I don’t even know what I am.” You try to put a pout on your lovely mouth and add, “that’s why my admiral needs to set me straight.”

“Alright.” He leans forward. “I’m Admiral Floyd.” He takes a breath and tries to slip into the role. He has no desire to ever be an admiral, but he pretends. He needs to be stern. He needs to be decisive. Maybe a little mean, and that might be difficult when it comes to you.

He also needs to keep it understandable. He has to simplify the language—otherwise your natural curiosity will ruin the role-playing and he’ll find himself explaining JAG and military disciplinary procedures instead of losing himself in you.

“You’re out of regulation, sailor,” he says, and he drops his voice a quarter-octave. “Your shirt is untucked and your hair is too long.”

You try. Goddamn, but it’s cute how hard you try. You stand up straight and salute him (wrongly) and say, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Admiral.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral.”

He shakes his head, stands up. He stalks around you, pretends to study you closer. “You’re a goddamned disgrace to the United States Navy,” he says. “It’s a sorry goddamned state of the military that we accept recruits like you.”

You turn your head (wrongly) and shoot him a contrite look (also wrong). “Is this because I stole that boat and crashed it into a sandbar?”

Bob has to bite the inside of his cheek at your idea of Navy sins. His voice comes out, shaky with suppressed laughter. “That’s the least of your problems, sailor. And eyes forward. Don’t you dare look at me.”

Your eyes do slide away from him and fix on the far bedroom wall. “I’ll take whatever punishment you see fit, sir….Admiral.”

He scoffs. “Yes, you will.” He comes to rest in front of you, and he peers into your eyes. You’re a fast learner, though. You refuse to meet his gaze. “Take off your clothes, sailor.”

That draws your eyes. They stutter on his before they return to watching the far wall.

You’re a fast learner, though. You lift your hands and start to unbutton your shirt, then shrug out of it. Then you unbutton your jeans, unzip the fly and push them down your legs, giving a little wriggle as you work them over your hips. You kick them away and then pause in your lingerie until Admiral Floyd adds, softer, “all of your clothes, sailor.”

It takes another moment to undo your bra and draw it down your arms, then to bend down and push your panties off of you. When you’re finally naked in front of him—your eyes slipping to his for a beat—he orders you to undress him next.

Which you do. You go slow, easing his shirt off of him, undoing his belt. You kneel down to work his pants and boxers off of him, and you shoot him a curious look while you’re at his feet. A question in your eyes. Which Admiral Floyd answers for you.

“Not that, sailor,” he says with a stern shake of his head. “You can’t get out of your list of infractions that easily.”

The problem is, you’ve sprung this on Bob. He’s game to play at this, but now that you’re both naked—and you took your time stripping him, let your fingers linger over his bare skin as you did it—the fantasy falls away. He can’t quite think of anything he wants to do as Admiral Floyd because he, your Bobby, just wants to toss you on his bed and make you laugh until your laughter turns to sighs and moans.

You sense it. Maybe you see it in his expression. You stand up and tilt your head as you study him, then you say, “we can stop, if you want.”

“It’s fun. Really. I’m just…my thinkin’ kinda goes out the window when you’re standing in front of me lookin’ so good.”

You give him a heated look, pointedly scanning him from head to toe and back. “Likewise, solider.”

“Sailor. Lieutenant. Weapons Specialist, actually.” He grins as he bridges the distance between you, takes a step until he’s right in front of you.

“Hmm.” You move towards him too, press the length of your naked body against his. His hands find your waist and pulls you firmer to him, and you lay your palms on his chest. “Would Sailor-Lieutenant-Weapons Specialist Floyd be interested in taking me, a mere civilian, to bed?”

He pretends to think about it. He screws up his face in concentration until you swat him, and then he answers you.

“I think Sailor-Lieutenant-Weapons Specialist Floyd would be honored, ma’am.”

“Ah.” You tilt your head up at him, and then you lean forward and kiss him—slow, lingering, the tip of your tongue tracing along his lower lip. “Then take me to bed, sailor.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He breaks his hold on you quick, scoops you into his arm and then walks the two steps to the bed, tosses you onto it. “As you ordered, ma’am.”

#ask game #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #top gun maverick #tropes and tales

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writingquestionsanswered · 6 months ago

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I think my ego is getting in the way of my writing. It's confusing, because I doubt my ideas and writing, but I still feel competitive in a way. I don't like reading about others' WIPs, I avoid reading the genre I want to write, and I automatically dislike authors who's already published a book similar to any of my WIPs. I quit the ACOTAR series because the themes were too similar, and I'm scared of Priory of the Orange Tree because the worldbuilding has intense good praise. I need an egodeath.

Case of Strong Ego or Low Self-Confidence?

If you're doubting your ideas and writing, I would question whether it's actually your ego getting in the way and maybe not just good old-fashioned low self-confidence. The reason I wonder is because your dislikes and aversions all sound fear-based to me. For example, if your ego were an issue, you probably wouldn't dislike or avoid authors who did something similar... you'd more likely scoff at their relative inferiority and boast that you did it better. You wouldn't be afraid of a book because its world building received good praise... you'd roll your eyes and say you don't know what people are going on about, because your world building is so much better.

Dislike and aversion instead seem to indicate jealousy and self-doubt. The good news, however, is that low self-confidence is actually pretty typical for writers and it's something that gets better with time.

Here are some things I hope will help boost your confidence, or at least give you hope that it will get better:

1 - Writers with big egos probably aren't as great as they think they are. In reality, storytelling is a craft no one can truly master, because reader appetites, story material, and even mechanics to a degree all evolve over time. What makes a good story is also very, very subjective. There are people who consider Jane Austen one of the best writers to ever grace the Earth, and there are people who think she's one of the worst. I think truly good writers can know that they're good without thinking everyone else is beneath them.

2 - You can't doubt your ideas and writing without understanding where you want your ideas and writing to be. In other words, you know what good ideas and good writing sound like to you, which means your taste and style are intact... you just have a little bit further to go to get your own ideas and writing where you want it to be, but that's okay. Going back to #1 a bit, writers don't hit some magical peak early on and level off at greatness. There's a lifelong upward trajectory with each book being a little bit better than the last. And sure, it's not a perfect upward trajectory. You can have periods of leveling out or even dropping off, but most writers will continue to get better over time. So, again, it's okay that your writing isn't quite where you want it to be, because it's that feeling that drives us to get better and better and better. This shows you're on the right track!

3 - Those similarities aren't the big deal you think they are... I've been at this a long time, and I'm going to tell you right now: stop worrying about "similarities" in other books. I've posted about this a lot because it's a common concern, but similarities are a dime a dozen in fiction. For every book about a high school girl who falls in love with a vampire, there are a dozen more. For every book about a woman who quits her big city job after a divorce, moves home to her small town, and falls in love with her childhood nemesis, there are at least twenty others. There are countless stories about young women getting wrapped up with fae princes, sad boys/men whose lives are invigorated by a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, murder mysteries set in quiet fishing villages, horror stories set in dilapidated old mansions someone just inherited from a long lost aunt, kids or adult who learn they've secretly been magic all along and get roped into fighting a Big Magical Bad. There are over 100 million books in existence, and that number increases by hundreds of thousands every year. You're never going to write a book that doesn't have similarities with dozens of other books, so stop worrying about it. Remember, it's not the similarities that matter... it's everything else... all the things that only you can do.

4 - Similarities are actually a good thing. The truth of the matter is, similarities are actually a good thing. That's why you can look back through cinematic history and see major trends... monsters, westerns, musicals, disasters, sci-fi, action, epic adventures, rom coms, superheroes... It's why when a book about a young woman toppling a dystopian regime becomes massively popular, dozens of other dystopian books hit the shelves the following year. It's why we gravitate toward favorite genres and tropes and comfort shows. Its why we go to the same restaurants and stores over and over again instead of going to a brand new one every time. Humans like a bit of repetition, and if your book has similar world building to Priory of the Orange Tree, that's a bunch of readers who are going to gravitate toward your book.

5 - There's only so much material to go around. I was interested in the fact that your concern about ACOTAR was that the "themes were too similar," but I promise you, those themes are in a million other stories. When it comes to tropes and themes and character arcs and magic systems and settings and... all of it... there's only so much material. Themes aren't something that are created from nothing. You can't make up an original theme that no one else has explored. Themes are inherent to human existence. They're truths about humanity that beg to be examined and explored. It's not the themes that matter so much as how they're explored and what you say about them, and even if there were similarities there, odds are there were far more differences.

I hope this resonates and helps. I hope I was right that it's more of a self-confidence issue than an ego issue. And if I was wrong, maybe something here will still resonate. You might spend some time in the "writing-related fears" section of my Motivation master list to see if anything there resonates, too. ♥

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fandomfluffandfuck · 2 years ago

Text

Okay, I admit defeat, I cannot keep myself from writing a little something based on this post from @howdoyousleep3

You gotta read the original post, but, essentially... trust fund baby Buck hiring a Daddy because he wants to be taken care of 🥺

For visuals:

This Bucky

gifs by @/fucklinski

With this Steve

Something about this AU just gives me sweater-wearing Daddy, okay?

Aaaand this got out of hand (as every "short" drabble I try to write does) so:

Warning for hurt/comfort, slight homophobia, drugs/alcohol use (drugs are all in the background though), explicit sexual content, semi-public play, daddy kink, fisting 👀, dirty talk, feminization, breath play, etc., etc.

Anyway, this is like fucking 5k words oops...

Hey, Alexa? Play “Life Of The Party” by The Weeknd then "National Anthem" by Lana Del Ray

Trust fund baby Buck spends all of his time at clubs, parties, events, and any sort of socializing event that is required for someone of his status--of his family's status.

All in all, though, he genuinely loves people. He loves the over-the-top parties, he enjoys the decadence of expensive drinks--most of them alcoholic ever since the second he turned 18 (because it's the European thing to do)--and he flourishes in these spaces. The attention. The social butterfly-ness of it all

…Usually.

Usually he loves it all.

Yet, as he’s grown into his own adult person a little more he’s begun to realize one thing; it’s not as lovely and shiny as it used to feel.

Bucky knows, in part, it’s because he’s simply not a child any longer.

But he also knows it’s because he’s gay. And because he’s lonely. Yes, he’s lonely in part because he’s gay and old money leans more… well, it isn’t called the Grand Old Party for no reason, so, yeah, he’s a little lonely because even within the group of trust fund babies his age, they’re lagging behind pop culture. They’re not, like, spitting on him or swearing at him out of homophobia. And good ol’ pops isn’t disowning him or denying him of their fortune, but… no one has ever asked him if he’s seen any cute boys. No one asked him--when he came out--if he’d even kissed a boy yet. No one asked him about his crushes. No one suggests, oh, look at that dashing (equally rich and) young man, you should go talk to him--you could marry him! Bucky gets nothing of the sort. His sexuality is ignored. The best he got upon coming out was a tight-lipped smile and a nod.

More and more Bucky yearns for community.

Also, Bucky’s lonely because he can’t exactly see a future here. How’s he supposed to find a partner like he wants if everyone is lowkey(?) homophobic?

Also ×2, he’s lonely despite the excess of this lifestyle because… he’s probably always been lonely. Not to blame his parents for all of his problems, but, when your parents are too rich, too busy, and too good to raise their own child--always handing them off to the help with a poorly disguised face of disgust for a child that is simply crying and drooly and snotty because, well, it’s a child--that does something to said child.

No matter how lovely the help is, no matter how bonded he felt to the help, they cannot replace parents you can’t reach. And parents you can’t ever reach, you can't impress, and you can't please since they’ve had everything they could wish for from the time they were young is also problematic for a growing human. At least Bucky was always good at socializing. That (sometimes) seems to please his parents. And it's been very beneficial to Bucky over the years.

Ever since Bucky was able to talk, he’s bounced around any event he was taken to, conversing with everyone and, without even meaning to, ending up with a string of girls behind him. His mother says it’s his smile and his eyes--what girls won’t do for a boy with blue eyes and dimples! His father says it’s his conversation and thanks himself for it, patting Bucky on the shoulder as he roughly and proudly guffaws, “just like his father! Can talk his way out of anything! Could sell a breathing man air!”

Any interest in the people he strung along, without meaning to, faded fast. Every time.

So, he’s lonely.

He's craving companionship.

And since Bucky came out when he was 17, he has been looking for a partner. He’s gotten lucky here and there with hook-ups (most fueled by too much champagne, some drugs he'd rather not admit to having taken, or charged by the fact they were sneaking away to do it somewhere they DEFINITELY weren't supposed to), one-off dates (all his dates comprised of people he met at galas or whatever and always the same social class, never lower), and even a couple handful of months-long relationships (done mostly for show even if Bucky did like them… he really wanted to show everyone he was capable of settling down!).

But by this point, this many tries deep, none of them have been The One and, hell, none of them have even been that good.

Bucky's just tired of prancing around searching blindly for what he wants when he damn well knows what he wants--what he wishes for, eyes shut, sliding down the inside of the door to his brownstone, sighing, day-dreaming and what he craves when he curls up in his massive bed, alone, surrounded by an ocean of sheets with too many pillow islands, eyes shut, beginning to breathe heavily, waking up certain parts of himself… hands wandering down his own body… night-dreaming 👀

He knows what he wants. It's so hard to find though.

And he’s about to throw in the towel (yes, he’s aware he’s still in his early- to mid-20s, and yes, he’s that dramatic) when…

He goes to a bar after another event.

He just needs to be around “normal” people, feeling especially tired that night of lofty, wealthy people. (He’s also a little sick of himself since he knows he isn’t always that much better when it comes down to it)

And at this bar, he sees Steve--he sees this man at the other end of the bar. The man is larger than life, sitting on a bar stool at the counter, the other end of the bar from where Bucky sits, with broad shoulders swathed in a thick, dark sweater and big hands wrapped around a glass. As he lifts the glass to drink, he chats with the bartender.

This stranger is older with handsome crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and grays beginning to come into his beard as well as spreading back through his hair from his temples.

The man laughs at something the bartender says after swallowing, big and loud and full of obvious enjoyment. It sounds good.

Bucky almost wants to shoo the bartender back over to the mystery man when she comes to refill his sugary cocktail later. He would much rather she make him laugh again.

But, instead…

Bucky buys him a drink, tipping her exorbitantly yet again to make sure it’s the best he can get. Bucky would buy the handsome stranger what he’s having already but doesn’t recognize what’s in his glass, nor that particular type of glass, and he’s feeling more creative than just asking her so he just bluntly asks--

“What’s the most expensive drink you have?” The bartender looks at him funny but tells him regardless. “I’ll get that then," he doesn't even wait for her to say how much it costs, "just not for me--” Bucky tips his head in the mystery man’s direction “--give it to him.”

She does as he asks, sliding the glass across the table to the other man and saying something he doesn’t catch but she looks over to him after. The bartender and Bucky make eye contact again.

Bucky looks away, from her and the man. He's unable to watch the older man refuse it. Bucky doesn't even know if he's gay. He doesn't know why he did it… he just…

Bucky hopes it’s good alcohol. Not to be a picky brat but… his cocktail isn’t very good even with the alcohol hidden behind juice and lots of sugar, so he can’t imagine most of their drinks must be good. It’s just a little neighborhood, almost a dive bar anyway. The more expensive, the smoother the liquor. He knows as such. High-quality champagne goes down like candy.

He hopes this guy appreciates the smoother taste. (If the guy doesn't come over and punch him for being gay.)

Bucky swallows another mouthful of his unsatisfactory cocktail. He barely has it down when the guy approaches him. He has scooped up the new drink in one of those big hands. He must've finished or abandoned his other. And--

He’s smiling as he approaches, apparently as easy-going as he looks in that thick sweater and worn baseball cap.

Handsome and easy-to-please sits down next to him. Playfully mentioning that it looks like things should be the other way around, he should be buying something for Bucky--if Bucky is even old enough to drink? How’d he get in here anyway? It's not the glitzy, flashing-light nightclub he'd expect for a young person.

Bucky internally sighs, if only this was the most debauched place he’s been… but, externally, Bucky tells him, of course, I'm old enough. I've just always had a baby face.

Well, then, even if you're old enough, I'm still right! He grins. Steve--he gives Bucky his name finally--should be buying him a drink instead! Not that it’s hurt Steve’s pride or anything, he just is pretty sure Bucky’s got more important things to spend his money on than buying strangers drinks, like, student loans, partying with kids his age, or actually starting a savings account.

Bucky laughs, harder than he means to, at the examples. He feels lost tonight. The laughter means he ends up having to explain himself, who he is--rather who his father is and who his grandfather was. He doesn’t need another savings account, he already has too many. He bites his tongue before saying he has too much money, which is true but… he's never said that out loud before.

What is going on with him tonight?! He's not even drunk or high!

Steve, however, is obviously taken aback, blue eyes widening. But he tries to hide it. It’s sweet. He continues to treat him like a regular person after he admits it.

It feels real.

Bucky feels like it's not a big deal. Steve even shrugged! If only it was real… not just one night. One moment.

Except…

They talk for a long time.

Bucky buys Steve more drinks. Bucky assumes Steve’s going to take him home or at least back to the bathroom. He wants it. Steve looks like he'd be good at holding and grabbing and fucking. Bucky wants all of that. Steve doesn’t ask though.

And when Bucky asks--would you like to get out of here? Steve cocks his head and says, “we’re drinking.” his eyes also say, I'm so much older than you, are you sure? Am I sure?, but he doesn't voice it.

“Yeah? So?”

“I’d rather not be a drunk hookup.”

“I wouldn’t have to be drunk to hookup with you.”

“You’re sweet,” he says as if Bucky has given him a genuine compliment rather than telling him he’s fuckable, “but still, you’re tipsy. I’m tipsy, so…” He shrugs like that explanation is enough.

Bewildered Bucky asks, “really?”

“As much as I want to take you up on the offer, yeah. We're not really in any state to decide to do that. I don’t think I am at least.”

Huh.

Bucky’s never encountered someone so… responsible? Bucky doesn’t actually know if he's being responsible, but it feels that way. But… okay, sure, not how he thought his night would go, although that's been his entire night, so he might as well keep the punches rolling.

They talk more.

They talk about everything.

And, suddenly, the bar is getting ready to close! Bucky doesn't know where the time has gone. All he knows is that he unthinkingly pays Steve’s tab plus his own. Steve blushes a little in the low bar lighting. And he ends up cracking a few more unserious jokes about role reversal. Their ages. Their income. Their savings. Their lives. The way this should be the other way around if anything.

His jokes give Bucky some ideas…

Ideas that come out of his mouth rather than staying inside his mind because Bucky is only now actually tipsy (he may be young but good, expensive alcohol since he turned 18 will give anyone a high tolerance… especially someone who indulges as often as Bucky does).

Steve might be drunk or humoring him massively because he agrees (with some convincing (less convincing than Bucky expected though)) that they could try that. If Bucky is serious. But not while they're drunk. Again, not while they're drunk.

They exchange phone numbers instead.

Bucky calls his driver to pick him up--he could pay the ticket for driving himself home, no problem, but he's not that much of an ass (or that dumb). He also offers Steve a ride but, apparently, this bar isn’t too far from the place he calls home. And he wants to walk home. Sober up some. Breathe some fresh air so he doesn’t have quite the hangover when he wakes up. Right, hangovers. Another difference in age. Bucky doesn't really get those yet despite how much he drinks.

Anyway, Steve promises to text Bucky later. When he gets home and then even later, about that idea.

I made iit bacj

Bucky recalls the encounter in the morning, waking up with the stale taste of cheap alcohol in his mouth and a single text in his phone. But, he doesn’t know if Steve remembers, beyond that misspelled, drunk text. So he waits.

And waits.

And waits…

Steve does not text him.

Steve does not text him for the entire day after their encounter. And you can call Bucky a spoiled brat who has never had to wait for a goddamn thing in his life, but that wouldn't stop Bucky from being a little upset and impatient. He felt something with Steve! Or he thought he did and--

He wants to believe, desperately, that Steve felt it to.

So, Bucky texts Steve first. He waits a day and a half before caving.

Steve responds: Honestly, I didn’t text you because I couldn’t convince myself that I didn’t dream up last night. Plus, if I didn’t dream it, I hadn’t yet convinced myself that you were serious. Sorry to leave you wondering.

He might just be charming Bucky, calling him a dream, to get at the money that he offered him--Bucky’s had plenty of people do that, use him, trying to get at his wealth, but… he doesn’t care. Let Steve use him for the money if that’s all this is going to be. Steve was just so warm. And Bucky wants more of it. He was freezing. He is freezing, maybe even more so now that he's felt just how good that warmth is.

So…

Over the coming weeks, they text back and forth, explaining themselves, getting to know each other, then arranging a time and place to meet to discuss an actual arrangement.

Companionship for money.

Bucky was serious. He's more serious now. He doesn't want Steve to fade away, he likes him too much, but what else can Bucky offer him than money? Steve seems happy. He's old enough he has his own life with a job and purpose. Not like Bucky.

So, Steve will provide the companionship and Bucky will provide the money.

It takes a while to meet up again, after the bar, because everywhere Bucky suggests they get together, private places, are all places Steve can’t get into (country clubs, lavish nightclubs) or hasn’t ever been to (expensive hotels, secretive businesses off the commonly walked path, whatever). Steve asks, eventually, if he might just come over to Bucky’s house after Bucky shoots down Steve's idea of a cafe because, no, too public. Too high of a risk of paparazzi. Bucky is embarrassed he didn’t think of the simple things. Starbucks. Someone's apartment. A park. God. A country club? That was the best he could come up with?!

Either way, they meet and discuss.

An agreement is made.

Weekly allowances for Steve in the form of money that goes straight to one of his bank accounts (a flat rate with additional “bonuses” depending on how much time Steve spends with Bucky), all his to do whatever he pleases with, and money that goes into an account Steve controls but that is meant for Bucky--money meant for Steve to use to buy things for Bucky. It’s not Steve’s money, not really, but they pretend it is.

Extra money will be added for private events, public events (if Bucky decides he wants that), or other "large" things.

They also discuss what companionship will be exactly. Texting. Phone calls. Breakfast/lunch/dinner dates. Cuddling. Binge-watching shows. Maybe outings to spas or events or parties--if Steve will come with him. And…

Steve, this time, is the one to bring up sex. “Is that going to be a part of this?”

“Can it be?” Bucky asks, blushing and helplessly flicking his eyes down to Steve's body. Those shoulders. That chest. His thighs and what's between them, packed into his slim-fit jeans enticingly.

“Let me think about it,” Steve says steadily, unembarrassed. Once he texted Bucky, in a very non-judgemental way, but I'm not a sex worker, as if he were puzzled that he ended up here. Or puzzled that Bucky wasn't just going for a sex worker. But… he seems to be figuring his own emotions out. Bucky lets him. They move on. Discussing other things.

Eventually, Steve goes home.

A week passes.

Steve agrees that sex can be part of it via a phone call. Bucky tries to not react too strongly and wires him money to go and get an STI test even though he knows Steve can afford it himself. Bucky gets one too for himself.

But, when the results are in, both of them infection-free, sex doesn’t happen immediately. It’s more PG-companionship at first.

~~~

Steve comes over after he finishes work to eat dinner with Bucky, prepared by the help. They chat. They drink with dinner. Bucky soaks in every moment of it. Steve doesn't compliment his non-cooking but he does compliment Bucky's outfit. (He does tell the help they've done wonderfully when they come to collect the plates though.) Bucky wants to roll around in his voice, rumbly and perfect. He resists the urge to immediately have Steve over again the next evening.

He limits himself to bi-weekly at most for the first month. But… he can't keep it that sparse for too long. Steve's company is incredible.

So, dinner happens again and again.

They get comfortable around each other.

They move beyond dinner soon enough. And Steve goes shopping with Bucky, dutifully complimenting every item he puts on and how good he looks in it. Bucky watches Steve pick up things he likes--Bucky can see it on his face--and put them down immediately after seeing the price tag with a horrified noise in the back of his throat. Bucky blurts out, "just fucking get it," the sixth or seventh time it happens. Steve laughs, raising an eyebrow at him, and makes another joke. Something about having unknowingly acquired a sugar daddy. Being allowed to buy exorbitantly priced things. Luxury things.

Then, it's Bucky's turn to make a horrified sound in the back of his throat. This is just companionship and some sex and--

He wasn't ready to admit to that!

Steve senses something is wrong and apologizes without even knowing what he supposedly did. Bucky brushes it off quickly though. At least, Bucky tries to brush it off but he can't.

He can't shake it.

Hearing "Daddy" in Steve's voice… Fuck. Bucky wants to hear him call himself Daddy again. Bucky wants to call him Daddy.

Goddammit.

Despite his self imposed rules to Not Cross That Boundary With Steve…

Bucky ends up enticing Steve to fuck him for the first time in the high-end brand's dressing room. It'll be fine. He can control himself. He can get fucked without moaning for Daddy, right? He's done it before!

Yet…

With his legs tight around Steve's solid waist, his hands squeezing Steve's biceps tightly, and his teeth biting down on one of those huge shoulders as Steve's thick cock makes room for itself inside him, carving him open, hot and fast and good, he can’t muffle himself fully. One tiny gasp of, "d-daddy!" slips out of him.

And it's over.

Steve hears it and his next thrust is punishing. It's harsh. It fucks his cock right up against Bucky's sweet spot.

Bucky's mouth falls open with an obscene moan.

"Again," Steve whispers, pinching his side at the same time, adding a flicker of pain to their fucking.

Bucky doesn't hear it. He's too busy being fucked.

Steve won't stand for that though. He presses Bucky harder against the dressing room wall. Bucky smacks the back of his head happily on the wall. And, "say it again," Steve whispers again, voice harsher this time. Gritted out between his teeth.

Bucky moans louder.

And so Steve cups a hand over his mouth, squeezing his face with one of those huge, powerful hands, heavily whispering, "you better be quiet, baby. 'Cause you don't wanna get caught with your Daddy fucking your pretty brains out, do you? Don't wanna get banned from this store when you like their stupidly expensive clothes so--so fuckin' much, do you?"

Bucky's eyes roll. back. into. his. head. as he whines, muffled, against Steve's palm.

"Do you?"

Bucky shakes his head as much as he can with his jaw being squeezed like this.

"Didn't think so, no, sweet boy wants his Daddy all to himself. Doesn't he?"

The rush of Daddy calling himself Daddy and calling Bucky sweet boy has him spilling between their bodies.

Fuck.

Bucky ruins their clothes but he doesn't even blink. They'll just wear some of their clothes out of the store. Steve is floored. Jaw dropped. Bucky's gonna buy all of that? A whole new outfit? Did he even look at the tags? Did he even look at how much it costs? Bucky shakes his head. Nope. It doesn't matter. It can't be that expensive.

"Jesus Christ, boy," Steve murmurs, shaking his head and chuckling.

Bucky, playful and high on such a fantastic fucking and orgasm, leans in reeeal close to Daddy. He stretches up onto his tippy-toes. And he bites that beard jaw, purring, "welcome to the high life, Daddy."

Steve groans, his soft cock twitching in his new, expensive slacks.

~~~

And suddenly it's like hearing Bucky say that once, then hooking up and using it, makes everything click in Steve's head.

It's like he suddenly can read Bucky's thoughts. Because somehow he knows exactly what he craves now.

And Steve fucking steps. up. his. game.

He goes from just your average paid-romantic-partner to dream fucking Daddy.

Steve feeds Bucky dinner, balancing the younger man in his lap, telling him he’s good and pretty and everything Bucky knew he craved to hear but also what he didn't know he wanted--he needed to hear. It's a damn religious experience.

Steve gets a key to his brownstone and lets himself in before Bucky returns home to start a bath for him. A bath complete with fancy products that he buys with Bucky in mind and the peachy smell the younger man likes. Once Bucky arrives home, Steve brings him into the bathroom to strip him, jerk him off until he's crumbling into Daddy's chest, weak at the knees, and lower him into the bath he's made. Daddy washes him limb by limb, massaging him as he goes. Then… Daddy lifts him out of the bath and dumps him on his bed to fuck him. Bucky cannot do shit after his bath. God. His head is lolled back, his muscles are all melted, and his noises only come out as puffed, breathy, and overwhelmed things. Daddy teases him affectionately for being a spoiled princess. But, shit, with the way Daddy puts his back into fucking him… it doesn't seem like he minds.

Steve lets Bucky pull him around social events. Wide-eyed and trying not to be the entire time. He often leans into Bucky throughout the night, covertly asking him what the fuck is that? What should I order? Why is it all in french, what the hell? How the fuck do I eat that? What fork again? Which glass? Disguising all of his questions are sweet nothings that make Bucky blush, doted on by his older partner.

~~~

Bucky knows he’s whining the second he starts talking into the receiver of his cell phone after the beep indicating that he needs to leave his message or hang up, “Daddyyy, I hope whatever you’re doing is important enough to excuse you not picking up,” he can't help but huff. He’s had the, like, worst day ever. Already. It's barely 1:00 pm and he has an event to attend tonight. “I just Venmo-ed you your extra allowance-" that's what they've taken to calling the money that Steve gets to spend on Bucky, "-for this week and with the day I’ve had..." he sighs, pinching his brow and forcing himself over the embarrassment of actually asking for what he needs, once in his goddamn life. His cheeks are pink. At least he knows Steve likes it. Him asking for shit. “I want something really nice, please, Daddy? Something that'll help me blow off steam." Bucky blushes more intensely, finishing off with, "I'll see you Friday, Daddy--don't forget my driver is coming by to pick you up--but it'd be good if you could maybe call me before then. Bye-bye”

Steve calls back after work. He must've sped home to call so soon. Bucky smirks, thinking about maybe having to pay for a speeding ticket. Which shouldn't turn him on but… he's been known to have a thing for bad boys here and there 😏

Daddy has good timing with his call, he's just getting changed for tonight's event.

Steve's rumbling voice greets him the second he picks up the call labeled 💖🔥Daddy🔥💖 “tough week, huh, sweet boy? That's okay, Daddy's here to make it better."

Bucky sighs. Already, he feels better. Already, he can feel his brain begin to fade away into a pink, cotton candy haze he seems to always soak in when around Steve.

Yet, Steve's voice gets more mischievous now, "Daddy bought you some pretty things like you deserve but Daddy also bought himself something… you wanna know what he got?"

Bucky nods, frazzled enough to forget Steve can't see him. When he remembers suddenly though, he forces his voice to work, "y-yeah, wanna know."

"There's Daddy's sweet boyy," he coos. He swallows, then, "Daddy bought himself a Rolex."

Oh, oof.

There's another thing that shouldn't turn Bucky on but does… high-end brand names coming out of Steve's plush lips. Something about hearing it makes Bucky's dick hard. He doesn't know what and he doesn't really care to know so long as Steve keeps doing it.

"But you know the secret about what Daddy bought himself today?"

"No," Bucky breathes.

"Well," Steve pauses dramatically, "this watch isn’t just for Daddy. It's for you too, baby boy, 'cause as cute as you are… I know you're a dirty boy too."

Bucky dramatically flops back onto his bed before he can collapse where he had been pacing in his bedroom, in front of the huge mirrored walk-in-closet doors. Knees starting to buckle as his head swims with arousal.

Steve hears him move and chuckles darkly through his next few words, "I know as innocent as you look, you like it rough."

Bucky squeaks despite himself.

"You like it rough and want Daddy to call you sweet names and tell you sweet things, but you want Daddy to fuck you like he hates your guts."

God. Bucky whines, clutching his phone harder. It's true. It's really fucking true.

"And I know better than a collar you'd like Daddy's hand on your throat."

Fuck. His eyes squeeze shut tightly.

"So, what do you think? You think my hand around your throat with this new watch on will make you look extra pretty?"

Bucky's breath stutters. Oh.

"'Cause Daddy thinks you'll look even prettier with a Rolex near your throat. All shiny and sparkly over that blush you always get. Turning red 'cause you're hard for Daddy but also red because Daddy decides when you breathe. Isn't that right, baby?"

Bucky cannot speak. This is entirely unexpected and incredibly perfect. A punch to the gut of pure arousal.

"Daddy decides everything--his pretty boy doesn't have to think when Daddy's home."

"Daddy-" Bucky gasps.

Daddy doesn't even acknowledge it. He doesn't give him room to breathe. He just goes for the kill, "but Daddy also bought something just for you, y’know?"

"No?"

"Mmm, well, let Daddy tell you then. Daddy bought his pretty boy something pretty. You wanna guess what pretty thing it is?"

"Uhh, yuh-yeah?"

Steve pauses. He waits. He prompts, "what then, sweets?" when Bucky can't kick his head into thinking.

Bucky sputters, "uh, jewelry?" He takes a shot in the dark, only thinking about the press of an obscene priced watch, cold and hard, to his throat and chest, Daddy's fingers squeezing his neck tight.

"Nah, try again."

"A toy?"

"Nope." He sounds smug.

"Clothes?"

"Mm-hm, it's some kind of clothes, yup."

"Pretty clothes?"

"Duh," he playfully admonishes.

Bucky breathes a little harder. Clothes, clothes, clothes, what kind of clothes could it be? "A suit?"

"Smaller than a suit."

This game is getting him more wound up than he cares to admit. He's all hot and squirmy on his bed. "A shirt?"

"No. Smaller still."

"Um, okay," Bucky licks his lips, "wh-what about… underwear?"

"Try another word for underwear."

Bucky whines. Oh.

Oh, no.

He--he can't. He can't say that out loud! He knows--he thinks he knows what Daddy bought him--but…

"Daddy wants to hear you say it, c’mon, kitten. Say it for me."

Those words sound like pure sin coming off of his lips, so, of course, he can't resist obeying. "P-panties?"

"Not just panties, baby boy. Daddy got some special panties for his boy."

Oh.

Bucky--

Bucky doesn't know what to do with himself. Jesus. He's so hard. From just talking. He's aching from just talking over the phone. Christ.

"Daddy bought you easy-access panties. And if you fuckin' ruin 'em from being too excited and eager for Daddy, then I'll just have to buy more... 'cause I've got plans for your little body in these little panties."

The way he says these little panties lets Bucky know he has them in his hands. He's touching them. Bucky wants Daddy to touch him. He wants--he, he…

Fuck.

The image of Daddy jerking himself off with panties meant for Bucky wrapped around his hard cock knocks Bucky off his fucking rocker. He moans like he's being fisted. He moans like he's not just lying back on his king-sized bad being dirty talked so, so thoroughly.

"Wanna hear the plan Daddy has for you?"

Bucky nods frantically, making a ridiculous uh-huh sound. He already sounds fucked out.

"Daddy is gonna put these easy-access panties on his boy and slide his fingers into that pretty little cunt. One finger at a time, using that strawberry-scented lube you like, sweet boy. 'M gonna finger you, all without your new, lacy, pink, easy access panties coming off because you're desperate for Daddy and desperate for how filthy and pretty you feel in panties, you dirty boy."

Bucky can't breathe.

He hoarsely whines.

He can't process how hot that sounds, so he has no idea how he'll be able to live through it.

"And even if you clench down on Daddy's fingers and cum we're not stopping. Daddy isn't stopping. No. Daddy's not gonna quit touching that pink, pretty cunt until it's split open on Daddy's fist--"

Bucky instantly pictures those huge hands. His thick, long fingers. Bucky's mouth waters.

Shit.

"--'Cause Daddy wants his new watch on his wrist to touch your greedy, twitching, and wet rim."

Bucky doesn't even… he can't even think. He, his--his lips just move, reckless and unbearably needy, "fuck the fucking party Daddy. You. Here. Now. Please, please, please. Need it. Need you. You hav'ta get here! Daddy!"

Steve chuckles evilly, "okay, okay, Daddy's on his way, sweetheart. Just sit tight. Oh, and, baby-?"

"Wha--"

"Don't you dare touch yourself, Daddy wants your pleasure all to himself. Hands off." He orders.

Bucky whines like a kicked puppy. That's not faaair!

Anyway I hope that was worth the read lmao 🤘🏻

#fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #au #stevebucky #howdoyousleep3 #reverse sugar daddy

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thehopelessexception · 8 months ago

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is it just me?

i've been observing a tendency surrounding women —mostly between 20 and 26— where we can't find anything close to love (from men). women are not dating, nor living a normal life, developing a femcel-like point of view. and im saying this because i want to be loved just like anyone else, but are we the problem? or is there something wrong with boys? i mean, ofc there's something wrong with boys; but every year pass by and every time is harder and harder to find someone willing to put the effort to make you feel loved and understood. was it like this 50 years ago? 100 years ago? i am very much aware that our mothers and grandmothers suffered in the world they lived in, generally with sexist husbands and mandatory tradwife lifestyle. but i am also sure that there was some exceptions, way too many more than today.

and we tend to romanticize the past, probably there's something to do with our generation. nor millennials or gen z, the ones in the middle. the girls who grew up with enough technology but not so much. the ones that went crazy over boybands and fanfiction and hung up posters in our walls. the ones that went crazy in 2018-2020 with deranged feminism just to realise, later on, nobody really cared and it maybe was a little over the top. the ones that filled our beds with stuffed animals repeatedly every time we woke up just to throw them on the floor at night so we could sleep. the girls who spent their teenage years on tumblr writing code (before men took that away from us) and making playlists of marina lana and the 1975 so everyone on the internet could see how cool we wanted to look like. probably the ones that suffered some kind of bullying in highschool or some health problem related to how we didn't fit in or how bad we looked at ourselves in the mirror (yk what i mean). we weren't the cool kids in real life or it was just me?

now i'm observing how hard it is to adapt that teenager to adult years. and maybe it's me but i don't feel like an adult. i am a tiny ball of anxiety. i suffer too much stress. i am trying to finish my degree but i don't know if im worthy of anything because i dont have money, and i don't have time to work and study at the same time because i spend too many time thinking about it and feeling a fraud and a failure.

i don't know how to talk to boys either —nor girls, in that way—. and until some days ago i was quite sure i was willing and capable of spending my whole life alone. i've given up to anything because i felt it imposible to be loved. but lately my mind goes up and down with that scene of jo monologue in little women by gretta gerwig. and it also goes with the hot priest monologue of fleabag. and today i rewatched the classic he's just not that into you. are we condemned to be the tedious rule? am i?

i've seen all of my girlfriends suffering the same mysery. and i've seen the extremes. women giving up the love they deserve —because they accepted the fate of being the rule— by dating a jerk just because they are afraid of loneliness. and i've also seen women giving up everything else just because they are not willing to give up love. those are us. hopeless romantics who watched way too many romantic comedies and somehow still expect to find someone willing to die for us just like dicaprio in romeo + juliet. —or at least a patrick verona—.

what i've never seen was actual love. all the couples i met... they don't look happy. they don't look in love. they don't look like they enjoy their own company even. they look exactly like a picture of instagram. they exist just to make us feel miserable even when it's obvious they are not gonna last. i've seen couples of what? 7 years? gone. broken up. they grew tired of each other and of course they never looked like they had anything close to sparkles in their eyes. chemistry? none. and maybe it is my anxiety speaking but i don't want that. i refuse to have that. i want all or nothing. i want always and forever. i want everyone to look at us and think "if i don't have that i'll kms". i want family —even tho im not sure i want to get pregnant, what am i a childbride?—. i don't want to change anything to fit in with the standards of a boy. i want marriage even tho im not sure i want to be legally married. i want the posibility, the future. i want the emotions surpassing myself. i want to not know me anymore and then knowing me again. i want to doubt myself. i want my heart beating so fast i could kill someone for them. i want to believe god exists. i want to laugh of happiness without they making a joke. i want my sundays to not be deppresing because i can hang out with the love of my life and have fun. i want to be the "and yet" of someone willingly enough to fall for me every single day even if i am kinda insane all the time. i want someone who cares. someone who fantasizes with spending the rest of their lives with me and is going to put the effort to get to know every single thing about me and stay because he's blown away. and aparently that's setting the bar "too high" because we are the rule and not the exception.

people always assume that by being a romantic i expect flowers every day and cheesy comments about how beautiful i look; and that would actually make me want to puke because i can do that myself. i am confortable with myself, i like myself, i love myself, i have the ego. i am not really asking for that much i just want someone to love me with every single thing that's probably wrong with me. what i want is someone curious and smart. someone who pays enough attention or wants to. i want the chemistry off the roof.

and contrary to anyone's beliefs the bar is too low about everything else. every single girl probably wants the same thing. is it that hard for men to understand that women want to feel loved?

lately —worldwide— it's all a competition of genres as if humanity doesn't need us to interact to survive. it's a loop that opened up in 2013? with the tumblr-4chan gate and right now got translated to the real world because pick-mes are back and being a man is cool. and suddenly that's how nature works!! because apparently women are boring and just a hole. maybe they all need to go all alexander the great. but it's getting boring. and we as women deserve love as much as respect.

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askbensolo · 1 month ago

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Kashyyyk Travel Log #5: Ryloth

It was definitely a good thing I had Threepio with me, because while my Shyriiwook is—well—bad, I've never studied Twi'leki at all.

Still, most people on Ryloth know Basic, at least a little bit. And if you show up on Ryloth and you're a human like me, most people will just speak Basic to you automatically. (Amalia says she never wants to go to Shili, the Togruta homeworld, because everyone there would assume she can speak Togruti, and she can't.)

I actually had the coordinates of the Pentarra estate already, because before everything happened, Fannie and I had been talking about me visiting maybe in November or something. I had no idea how I was going to get in—it's not like a normal house—but, I figured I'd just cross that bridge when I got there.

It wasn't my first time on Ryloth. I've been a lot of places, having tagged along with my mom on a lot of diplomacy trips growing up. But it was my first time being there as an adult, and all by myself, and so I guess I was just a little nervous about it.

I took a landspeeder taxi there. On more developed planets, the taxis are all droid-operated, owned by big galacticorps—but on Ryloth, the taxi speeders are driven by people, and the people talk to you, and sometimes the people are nosy.

"Pentarra?" asked my taxi driver, with a thick Rylothian accent that made the "r"s sound kind of phlegm-y. "What's a kid like you going to see him for?"

"...I'm going to see his daughter," I said. I didn't know what else to say.

"Ah, so you're one of those," he said with a chuckle. "Lucky boy. Lucky boy." I didn't know what he meant by that, and I spent like ten minutes puzzling over it and trying to figure it out, until I finally gave up and let it go.

Pentarra's estate is located far away from any of the surrounding villages, distanced from them geographically as well as socioeconomically. The taxi driver dropped me off outside the gates of a massive sprawling property, one with a bright green, somehow-artificially-supported garden that looked so unnatural against the rough and rocky Rylothian landscape, and a massive manor in the backdrop, and that was when the thought finally occurred to me that—huh!—I just might be way in over my head.

Threepio and I stood outside the gates for a good solid minute, and I checked my holopod to kind of pretend like I knew what I was doing.

"There does appear to be a visitor's comm at the gate," Threepio offered helpfully. "Shall I ring?"

"Um...no," I said. "I don't know who would answer. Nobody here knows me, except for Fannie."

"Perhaps you could comm her?" Threepio suggested.

...You know, sometimes I think giving droids the ability to speak was kind of a mistake. Because, making droids feel like people makes it so that you can feel embarrassed in front of them, and—ya know? I don't think we should have given them that.

"I...I don't know," I sighed, and sat down on one of the decorative boulders outside the gate.

Some twenty minutes later, I heard voices coming from inside the gates, and I stood up, and I saw a girl that I thought I recognized from holos as one of Fannie's sisters, walking arm-in-arm with another Twi'lek guy. She was tall and shapely and had kind of bluish-green skin and she wasn't wearing a whole lot.

Thing was, I couldn't remember which sister it was. So I just started cycling through names. "Connie!" I shouted. "Ginnie! Pennie!"

The girl turned abruptly and looked me over like "who the hell is this guy?"

"Coneeyla," she said. "My name is Coneeyla. Who are you?"

"I'm Ben Solo," I told her. "Is Fannie home?"

"Fannie? You mean Fa’nakhra?"

"I...maybe? Yeah?"

Maybe I'm an idiot for this, but I had never once considered that "Fannie" might be a nickname.

Can you blame me, though? I mean. My name is Ben for crying out loud. That's literally just my given name. Every nickname that anyone has ever given me was longer than my real name.

So...wow! What a loser I was. I'd just showed up here, couldn't get in, and didn't even know my girlfriend-not-girlfriend's full first name—

But I didn't have any more time to beat myself up, because then Connie turned over her shoulder, and yelled, in the way that only a little sister can. (I have one. I should know.)

"Fa’nakhra! Nu'sola ke'vahl dosu ahk meeh! Va'cha dosu Ben Solo!"

Wait, Fannie was here? My heart started beating faster all of a sudden, and I wasn't sure if the feeling was good or bad.

Well, she was here. Because then, I heard her voice—and I kinda got the shivers, 'cause by this time it had been weeks since I'd last seen her face-to-face—

"Goodness, Connie! Nu'vaahn ti sehni, ahk'la ri meeh—"

And then...there was Fannie, coming from behind the trees, walking with another one of her sisters behind Connie and her beau.

We made eye contact at the same exact time, and she dropped the basket she was holding.

You know in cheesy romance flimsibacks, when the guy looks at the girl, and everything else fades to black 'cause she's the only thing he sees? Yeah. Super cringe, I know. But...that's how that felt.

"Ben...!" Fannie said. And I put an exclamation point on there, because she did exclaim it...but, also, her exclamation was as soft as a breath.

I waved a little and tried to smile.

"...Hey, Fan."

#askbensolo #written #fannie #ryloth #connie #ben's diary #ben tells a story #the pentarra house

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mamuzzy-creates-stuff · 10 months ago

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FEBUWHUMP 2024 DAY 3 - "Bite down on this"

@febuwhump

Daddy's little boy

Republic Commando fic (under the cut)

Word count: 480

Characters: Ordo Skirata and his "demon", Kal Skirata mentions

Warning: Mentions of sex

Character study about Ordo and his inner turmoil. In the books Ordo refers to his inner darkness and anger as a demon that needs to be repressed constantly. I gave this inner-demon a body. Child-Ordo. His anger. His jealousy. His overprotective nature. His desire to love and desire to destroy.

Ord'ika, that was so embarrassing. Calling you a little boy in front of a pretty girl. Now you can't come back here without everyone thinking, you are Kal'buir's precious ad'ika. Yes, you are. Daddy's little boy. The only thing that proves you are an adult that you are capable of growing out a beard, otherwise you are just a little child. I would say being able to engage in coitus also makes you a man, but every living breathing being with at least one braincell can reproduce, why do you think there are so many dumb people here on Coruscant? Well, Kal'buir says compared to you, everyone is a brainless pile of banthaosik. Daddy's little smart boy. But that's the thing with reproduction, you know who can't sire a baby, Ord'ika? Well... little boys. Buir's little ad'ika. That's you. Come on. Say it. Say it out loud. Say that you actually checked the bosom of the waitress and you are interested in ffffff- fffff... having sexual intercourse with that lady! Say it you don't want to be called "ad'ika" in front of girls! Say that you don't want to be Ord'ika in front of other adults! SAY FUCK, DADDY'S NAUGTHY BOY!!! Mind you, if you try, you will break Buir's heart. Break into teeny-tiny pieces. You will break his heart so much, he is going to be sick and die. Or gets aneurysm. Or a heart-attack. BOTH! All because of you. Because you were angry, you were so beyond control. Say you don't want to be "Ord'ika" and Buir will die, BECAUSE OF YOU. And your brothers will pretty much hate you for it. Worse, if Buir dies, the Republic is going to get rid of you. You will be the cause of your brother's demise. So in the end, you don't say anything, do you? He is smiling at you. He loves you, you know that? Daddy's precious boy. You pretty much like to be his precious little boy, are you? Being pampered and spoiled. Being the favorite. You won't say anything because you are afraid you will lose the ad'ika privileges. Like being by his side. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. He loves you. Daddy's dearest boy. Or... Maybe he keeps you at his side because he is afraid, if he take his eyes away from you just for one second, I'm going to come out and wreck havoc in your name. You are ugly when I take over your body. You are ugly when you are angry. How can you be a good boy, when you are angry? Daddy's dearest psychopath. But hey. Buir is going to forgive you until you play along. Being his little boy who needs saving. Rescuing like an abandoned, wretched mog. After all, you don't want to lose the only safest anchor in your life, do you? Then remain silent. Daddy's little boy.

The angry child in ourselves sometimes needs a hug. A big one.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday3 #febuwhump 2024 #ordo skirata #kal skirata #republic commando #repcomm #star wars #warning: mentions of sex

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seaslugdisco · 22 days ago

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venty angsty thing about being trans/queer youth in a highly conservative+ maga area atm :(

im actually really terrified tbh because what do you MEAN the newly elected leader of this country, ELECTED AS IN PEOPLE SAW ALL OF HIS ACTIONS AND SAW THEM AS MORALLY PASSABLE, what do you mean he really won? this is scary shit.

i've got too many things about me that make me convinced he'd wring my neck or something if i ever saw him face-to-face. i don't like either of the candidates that ran this year, each for their own reasons, but i wish i could feel safe living in this country that's promised me freedom for all and no judgement since i was like 2- probably younger tbh.

i'm at such a fucky point in my life right now and im really, really scared because this is not a world i want to grow up in. every single trustworthy resource i can come across is either telling me things like "the economy is terrible and will be a million times worse by the point it matters to you!!", "the world is melting!!", "everyone is in pain and you can't do anything about it!!", "this guy thinks because you wanna be a boy/girl/something else you deserve to be shocked by a fake doctor till you change your mind and says he's entitled to that belief but you aren't entitled to yours- lets give him tons of power!!", or mudslinging other resources for covering that sort of shit up. let me reiterate, THIS IS NOT A WORLD THAT I OR ANY OTHER QUEER YOUTH FACING HATE FROM POSITIONS OF POWER CAN BECOME A FULLY FUNCTIONING HAPPY STABLE HUMAN ADULT IN.

it's really freaky having to realize that your entire community, on a majority nationwide scale, values your rights as a person that little. anyone i see on the street might clock me and stomp my fucking head on the curb before i even get a chance to really live like an adult. my parents and their parents and even my cousins got that, why don't i? because i want someone to use a different word when they talk about me??? fucking oh my god. i can barely trust anyome i meet anymore because there's a decent chance they disagree with the whole concept of me as a fucking person.

i know this will probably do nothing at all, i mean the guy's president already, but maybe one of you can relate to this. and if so just know i'm struggling and really really scared too, and you have to stay alive and power through with me because if we all go, they win and whoever's left behind feels so completely alone. if we can both keep it together, and help whoever we can who's dealing with something like this too, we won't be so alone and i think we can make it together. i love you all, and you deserve that love from many other people as well.

#you deserve love #vent #donald trump #kamala harris #trans #queer #maga #trans youth #queer youth #2024 election

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sephirthoughts · 4 months ago

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sliding more snacks into your inbox > A-Z ask game: O(tailored) bc I'd like to put a song in your hands[And Then is Heard No More, Library of Ruina], W, X please!

O - Choose a song, what ship or character does it remind you of?

You chose the song and let me tell you what happened. I accidentally opened it in two windows, asynchronously, offset by almost exactly 42 seconds, and then i didn't shut the second window because it blew my fucking mind. Now I can't stop listening to it like this. 😂 It clashes in a couple places but that just feels appropriately eerie because it's such a weird fucking song. Like if i didn't look at the windows, i couldn't tell you when one ends and it's only the other winding down. I'm pretty sure it only works so well because the vocaloid's cadence and intonation are all so bizarre. Anyway that's where I'M at.

The song SCREAMS Sephiroth/Cloud to me. The lyrics just go right along with their whole story, plus the fact that its weird and kind of disembodied fits their mental states really well.

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

hoooo boy, there are many of these. i stuck with my top two for the sake of not being here all week. also, before i dive in, i wanted to say that if a trope is done really well, i will likely enjoy it anyway, and i LOVE subverted tropes, especially for comedy purposes.

1: Woobified badasses. I really dislike seeing characters who are grown-ass adults who Have Seen Some Shit de-fanged, de-clawed, and behaving like teenaged girls (unless it's forced feminization for BDSM in which case we can talk as FUCK). Anyway, we are all free to play-pretendsies however we like and i'm not offended—it's all fiction—i just don't really want to read it. i don't mean tough-guys having soft moments, i actually LOVE that (give me sephiroth gently carrying a kitty cat to safety before he goes back to finish immolating nibelheim any day). however, oftentimes i see this particular trope happening and it's clearly because the writer has too little scope or empathy, and can't inhabit a character's actual perspective enough to write them in-character. which is perfectly fine, but not for me. i don't demand rigorous adherence to canon (obviously considering every single character i write is trans and/or gay and/or pansexual) but i like the fictional characters i like to at least be recognizable.

2: Pregnancy. Ugh. First of all, it's never done well. Second of all, I am not interested in it whatsoever, even if it was done well. male pregnancy is even more of an ugh. two reasons...three reasons. 1) pregnancy is an eldritch horror beyond my will to contemplate, let alone write or read about in fiction, which i write and read FOR FUN. 2) mpreg is almost guaranteed to be some deeply misogynist shit redirected at male characters (i'm talking to you a/b/o) OR plain ol fetish stuff (which is great have your fun but it's not a fetish i have, so it's not for me). and before anyone says well transmasc people can get pregnant, welcome to reason 3) if it's not omegaverse, it's the transmasc character being made to pop out babies for people's heteronormative family-dynamic fantasies. which sucks. because why must parenting be biological to be valid? why is adoption less worthwhile? why must trans men be forced back into female gender roles to serve as baby machines? i don't speak for everyone on earth and have fun with that if it's your bag but i can't hang with it, so no thank ye. in this house, boypussy is for sexy fun times ONLY.

X- A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

enemies to lovers enemies to lovers enemies to lovers, or just enemies to enemies who fuck, either way i cannot get enough of hostile sexual tension

sunshine X dark and scary sunshine protector. even better if the dark and scary one is actually protecting everyone else, because the sunshine is secretly a walking apocalypse

our souls are bound together in eternity and i will find you in every universe you stupid bastard

character A: i am unworthy to even think of B so i shall secretly worship them from this respectful distance whilst wasting away from lovesickness because i respect admire and adore them far too much to ever let them know of my disgusting perverse obsession with their angelic self character B: when the hell is A gonna fuck me?

Thank you so much for the ask! Sorry it took so long to get to! I am slowly working through my inbox between family stuff and no-lifing every FF7 game.

#asks #inbox games #abc ship ask game #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy #tropes #ship tropes #sefikura #sephiroth #cloud strife #CW: mentioned pregnancy #CW: mentioned mpreg #CW: mentioned a/b/o omegaverse

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boygiwrites · 1 year ago

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Harley D. Dixon 19

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Our first (AND ONLY!) pov switch between Harley and Daryl. It jumps back and forth.

Please enjoy this chapter!

Daryl pushes a stray branch out of his way, ducking under it and carrying on down the beaten path. Homeward and empty handed. After searching tirelessly for Sophia for about three hours and coming up empty, all he wants to do is get back to the farm, eat some leftovers for lunch, and take a damn nap. All this searching business, combined with that no-good bastard Shane. Been one Hell of a time, that's for sure. 'Course, Harley's gonna be askin' him why he didn't find the girl when he gets back. He don't blame her. It's been almost a week since they last seen her. To an adult like him, feels like months. To her, must feel like years. If he could take some of that pain away, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

Seems he'll just have to keep going out every day to search.

Amy, Morales, Jenner. Hell, her own Mother. That poor girl's seen too much death, and he knows it. This time, God, he hopes it's different.

He steps out from the treeline and slowly makes his way up the driveway, rehearsing in his head what he's gonna say to her.

The closer he gets, though, the faster he realizes something seems wrong. He picks up his pace, jogging up to where everyone's gathered around the gate, feverishly arguing over one another. Can't believe, Anywhere by now, are the little snippets he can make out, Leaving right now, Are you ready, Yes. Already, he's trying to pin-point Harley in the crowd, but all he comes up with is a crying boy and a bunch of worried faces.

With dread creeping up behind him even quicker now, Daryl calls out, "Hell is goin' on here? Where's Harley?"

Heads turn in his direction and eyes go wide.

Hand held over her heart, Jacqui gasps, "Oh, God, he's back."

When Rick spots him over Andrea's shoulder, he nudges her to the side and marches straight over to him.

"Daryl." He's never seen him this frenzied before. "Daryl, we got a problem."

Worry-wart Dale's hot on his heels, adding, "It's Harley."

"He took her." Lori cries. "Shane, he took her!"

"They're gone!"

He comes to a stop in front of Rick.

"What?"

All at once, red-hot anger. Red-hot anger burning everywhere.

"He left five minutes ago." Rick's focus is sharp and deadly, a knifepoint. "Listen, we're goin' after him and we're doin' it now. You comin'?"

Daryl knew Shane had some crazy thoughts, but this is beyond that. He honestly wishes he could say this is a shock, but it ain't.

"Gimme that gun." He seethingly demands. He snatches a rifle off Dale and checks the chamber as the rest of the group come to surround him. It's already full. By the looks on everyone's faces, they're not planning on talking things out this time. "Which way?"

"We reckon he's gonna skip town." Rick explains, motioning with his gun. "He knows that's the first place we'll search, and he's smarter than that. And he's got provisions, so he won't be in need of a shoppin' trip anytime soon. So, I'm thinkin' he'll be headed for Fort Benning."

"He's had his heart set on that place for a long time." Glenn nods in agreement. "It's as good a guess as any."

"Guessing's all we got. Which car you takin'?"

More rifles are handed out like hot cakes.

"Maggie's offered hers. Fastest one we got."

"Who else?"

"Glenn, T-Dog, and Andrea."

"I'll take my truck." The chamber bolt clicks back into place as everybody splits up. "Let's go chase this slimy sum'bitch down, then."

"I'll take shotgun." Rick nods, storming toward the truck alongside him. "He's really done it this time, hasn't he?"

He barks, "How the Hell did he get away?"

"It was the barn. We found Sophia." He doesn't even have the chance to ask the most important question there is, 'cause Rick answers for him. "Dead." His stomach sinks at that. That's a loss he'll have to feel later. He can't afford to think about anything but his own little girl right now. "Bitten. God, I had to shoot her. We all had our heads turned at the right moment, and next thing we know, Shane's already up the hill with her. We tried to stop him. Hell, I even shot the car up."

Daryl sends him a barbed glare. "You ain't—?"

"No. I made sure." He shakes his head, expression severe. "I saw her in the window at the last minute. She wasn't hit. Just the back window."

He takes a sigh of relief. A small victory. They're gonna need a lot of those today.

As they reach their camp, Daryl snatches up a spare box of bullets, sarcastically ribbing, "Would'a been nice of you to hit the tyres, Grimes."

He tosses the ammo to Rick, who catches and stashes it in his pants-line.

"Yeah, very funny. He was drivin' that thing outta here like a drunken maniac. Not even The Terminator could'a hit those things."

"Just sayin'," He lilts as he grabs the keys from his bag and rounds the truck. "Bein' a city cop an' all."

"Shut up, Daryl. You wanna go kill this bastard, or what?"

"With pleasure."

They both climb into their seats and slam the doors shut. Before Rick even has time to get his seatbelt on properly, Daryl's got the engine on and is swerving out the small clearing, tearing up the grass as he goes. They make the speedy, bumpy drive back to the main gate, where T-Dog and Glenn, with Andrea at the wheel, are idling on the driveway in Maggie's green Subaru.

He pulls up next to them, window rolled all the way down.

"Y'all ready?" He calls out over the sound of the truck bumbling.

"We're followin' you, got a full tank of gas." Andrea nods. "Just lead the way."

"Be careful." Carl pouts worriedly from nearby, wrapped up in his Momma's arms. Then, shyly, "Bring her back, please."

The engine revs under Daryl's foot as Rick promises, "We're not comin' back 'till we do."

"And Shane..." He hesitates for a moment. A hardened look replaces what had once been a soft little boy. "Do what you have to do."

Do what you have to do.

Without another word exchanged, they set off down the drive, a posse of anger honed on a single target.

This is not how Daryl was expecting his afternoon to start, but he sure as Hell knows how it's gonna end.

Only once they hit the highway does the rage melt away into pure, sickening anxiety.

Welcome to Talbot County, says the weathered sign on the side of the road.

As I'm readin' those big, bold letters, the car comes to a crawl. Shane steers it into the emergency lane, muttering to himself about gas. He said about two hours ago we'd run out at some point today. Guess he was right. I lift my head from where I been resting it against the door and peek out the window. Yellow fields and impossibly tall pine trees surround us on both sides, bordered by two wonky, rickety fences.

I don't recognise any of it, but I've gotten used to that feeling by now. I've had more than enough time to.

Shane sends me a half-smile from the driver's seat. "Looks like we're walking from here, kiddo. Grab yer things."

Walking. Hopefully that'll make us easier to find.

But knowin' Shane, he'll take us through the woods and it'll only make it ten times harder.

After putting my bag on and hopping out, I meander over to the nearby gravel outcrop while Shane organises the rest of the supplies. Feels nice being up high. I can pretend I'm a mountain explorer. In the distance, two black dots are weaving their way through the wheat. Walkers.

I hear the car door slam shut, and then Shane stepping up to my side with a thin sigh, clutching the straps of his pack.

"Whole lotta country out there." He muses thoughtfully. Then, quieter, "Whole lotta places to get lost."

I fix the horizon with a look, muttering, "Like Fort Benning."

He turns to me, confused as to how I knew to mention that.

"I saw it circled on the map." I deadpan. "And I know we're headed West, 'cause the sun's on that side. 'Sides... We all know it's been yer dream."

I never understood the fuss around Fort Benning. S'prolly just another empty building filled with dead people and old promises.

But Shane seems to like it.

He looks amused. "Observant thing, ain't you?"

"Comes in handy." I shrug, scuffing the ground.

My boots. Yellow with ladybug print. Makes me miss Glenn. The scrape on my knee from playing at the pond. The soup stain on my sleeve. Carl's purple marker streaked on my hand. Amy's hair lackey... Little signs. I miss everyone. Dad most of all, but also everyone. I wish I had some type of plan, but I don't. I'm only eight. No matter how many times I glance at the map, it still won't get me home.

Shane takes in the relaxing view, his brow free of wrinkles, his shoulders free of tension. He seems happy, I think. At least, happier.

When those two little walkers start to gradually gain numbers, Shane grumbles, Horde's catchin' up again, and decides it's time for us to get a move on. I say goodbye to this little moment, and to the car, and follow after him just as I thought, over the fence and into the trees.

"Alright, comin' up on 86 soon. We bear left when we reach it."

"You're sure this is the route he's taking? 'Cause if it ain't, I'm killin' you next."

"I'm sure. Trust me, this is the one he talked about the most. He'll take this one."

Daryl guesses all them nights spent planning road-trips with Shane was worth it, then, if Rick is right about this. He better be. They been following this route for almost half an hour now. If only cars left footprints like turkeys and squirrels did, then maybe he'd feel a little better.

When Rick looks over and sees Daryl's knuckles going white around the wheel, he reassures him, "We're gonna find her, Daryl."

He shakes his head. "I should'a seen it comin', man. I know men like Shane. I been to prison for killin' men like Shane."

The beating, the shooting, the stabbing, he could take; he could live with. He knows how to live with scars. But this? Taking another man's child? That's a line Daryl knows all too well that some men are willing to cross. But he killed the last one, and he'll kill this one, too.

"Maggie told me about that." Rick says, not a trace of judgement in his tone. "Last night. Said Harley told her, thought I might wanna know."

"What, in case you decided you wanted a two-for-one deal?"

"You gotta understand what a story like that must sound like to outsiders. She was concerned after what you did to Shane."

"Yeah, well, she's about to get a whole lot more concerned. I'm gonna let you know right now, man, I ain't sorry for it."

"Which part?"

"Everything. I've never killed or hurt a man that ain't deserve it. Shane... Well, I guess he ain't any different. Shot me, and I deserved it."

"Well, I'm not askin' you to be sorry. Nobody is, nobody will. We've all done what we had to survive, even before the world ended."

He jokes, "You ain't gonna throw me in a cell once this is over, are ya, Deputy?"

A bitter laugh. "No, I will not."

An intersection splits the road ahead.

A small patch of it seems to glitter in the sunlight.

Daryl murmurs, pulling in close, "What's that?"

"The glass." When they stop beside it, Daryl opens his door and peers down. He's right. Shattered glass. Right route, then. "I wouldn't wanna be drivin' around with all that, either, especially not with a kid in the back. I'm guessin' he cleaned it out. Anyway, there's 86. Hang a left."

"Wait a second." Not only glass, but also tyre marks, arching in a curve to the right. He points to them. "Look. He went right."

Rick follows his finger, perplexed, before checking the map again. "Right? Why right?"

God damn it. "He's tryna throw us off."

"Shit, he's sneaky."

"Yeah, no shit." He says dryly. "This makes things harder."

Daryl closes the door and raps the side of the truck to get Andrea's attention, then motions right. She nods and tails him when he turns.

It takes five long hours of getting lost in the hills before they find any sign of Shane and Harley. Rick's car, abandoned on the side of the road. Daryl almost breaks a window when they realize they're not here. Lit by the setting sun are the words, Welcome to Talbot Country.

We travel for hours and hours until the forest goes dark. When Shane notices I'm startin' to get a little nervous, he offers to hold my hand and I take it without hesitation, 'cause this way I can pretend it's just another hike with Dad. I keep asking when we're gonna stop and make camp, but his answer is always, not yet, even after the moon slides directly over our heads and I can hardly keep my eyes open anymore.

It's only once I'm so sleepy I trip over a twig that he apologizes for waiting so long and agrees to stop for the night.

He finds us a rocky overhang we can rest under, hidden between the trees. He rolls out his sleeping bag for me on the hard ground.

"Didn't have time to get yours." He murmurs, regretful. "I'll just use my pack as a pillow tonight. Can't imagine I'll sleep much, anyway."

As I settle on top of it, hugging my knees, he pulls two cans of beans and some bottled water from his pack.

Quietly, I prompt, "Shane?"

"Yeah?" Peeling the lid back, he hands one of the cans to me. Then some water, too. "Here ya go."

"Do you think what Herschel said last night is true?"

He tilts his head. "What? About bein' sick?"

"Yeah. Not the walkers, but the people. That they can get better. That we can re-billah-tate 'em."

Dad says dead means dead, and sick means sick. He says there was never gonna be a good endin' for Momma, but I saw Shane's smile today. Something about finally being free from the group has made him seem more like his old self again, combined with having me, maybe.

I think he can tell quite easily what I'm trying to get at. "I think it's true." He says. "Startin' over. That's all we need."

That's all he needs.

I can't watch this happen again. I just can't. Torn up inside, I blurt, "But they're gonna kill ya, Shane. You know they are."

"They can try." He shakes his head, scooping a spoonful of beans into his mouth, chewing. "I'll protect us. I've done it before."

I almost wish it could've gone some other way. None of us are innocent in this, but none of us are entirely guilty, neither. We're just a bunch of people caught up in somethin' that's too big for any of us to understand, and like always, it's gonna end the only way it can, with death.

Shane knows perfectly well that I'm right. It's like he said, he ain't an idiot. He's just a hopeful, doomed idiot.

"Whatever's left, Harley, I want it. It ain't in my nature to just roll over. So, we're gonna keep goin'. Freedom's worth that." He takes a deep, steadying sigh and gestures to my untouched food. "Eat that up, now. We got a long journey ahead of us, and you'll need the energy."

That night, I have that same nightmare again, the one where Shane dies at the end.

We set off again in the early morning, so early in fact I can't even tell it is morning. The sky's black, the forest on the verge of waking up. As we make our way through the rolling lengths of rural country, Shane teaches me how to load a gun, using his. It's a little like mine and Dad's game of poisonous or edible, except it's a little more advanced. I've never learnt to shoot before. Dad always said I weren't ready.

"Magazine goes up through here." He tells me, smacking it into the grip. "You hear it click. That's how you know it's nice and snug in there." I nod along with him, paying close attention. "Then to get the bullet in the chamber, you yank back on this. That's called the slide."

"Merle used to tug on some handle to get the bullets in the chamber."

"That would'a been a bolt action rifle he had. This one, though, it's more simple." He unloads the clip and hands the pieces to me. "You try."

"Woah," I gasp as I take them. "It's heavy."

He chuckles. "Yeah, that's what everyone says when they first get their hands on a firearm. They make it look easier in the movies, don't they?"

"Nah, you make it look easier." Slot the magazine into the grip, grab the slide, yank back. "Like that?"

"Perfect. Now unloading, you just press that lil' button, there. It'll fall right out, be ready to catch it."

I press it, and the magazine drops into my waiting palm. "There."

"Well done." He smiles. "Remember, always aim for the head. When it gets brighter out, maybe we can try shootin' some targets."

The sky is back to jewel-blue by the time we run into more walkers. Just like before, it seems like they know where they're going.

"What're they doin?" I ponder under my breath, watching 'em stumble single-file across a grassy ridge in the distance.

"Might be some type of migration." Shane guesses. "There's definitely enough of 'em out here for that."

"What's migration?"

"It's when animals travel in a group together to get someplace warmer, or colder. Probably someplace with more food, in these guys' case."

"You think they're headin' toward town?"

"Well, they're comin' from the direction of the highway, so I'm guessin' so. Some Hell-good senses of smell they must have, then."

"Or memories."

"You wanna have a go hitting one of 'em?"

I sure do. "From here?"

"Nah, we'll sneak up a bit. Too hard from this distance. Up there, it'll be easy."

Keeping out of sight, we creep up the incline until we make it to the peak, ducking down in the grass together.

"Okay, safety's off. It's loaded." Shane whispers, passing me the gun. My heart beats like a wild animal as he manoeuvres my fingers around the grip. "You're gonna hold it like this. Firm. Confident. You're the one in control, here." All the times I've killed a walker, they've had the jump on me. Not this time. He reminds me to load a bullet into the chamber, and I pull back on the slide again, getting more familiar with the movement. "Good girl. Now line your eye up with the sight, just like that." I squint down the barrel of the gun. "Breathe." In and out, slowly. "And squeeze."

Always aim for the head.

I place the little head of the closest walker on the tip of the sights. In and out. When I'm ready, I squeeze the trigger.

The bullet flies out with a bang, but it lands somewhere in the trees.

Shane encourages, "That's alright. Try again."

I can do this. Line it up, nice and careful. In and out. Squeeze.

This second bullet lodges itself into the walker's skull. It flinches before simply dropping to the ground like somebody pressed its off button.

The others happily continue on without it.

Lowering the gun, I turn to Shane with a giant grin on my face. "I did it."

"Told you it'd be easy." He looks proud of me. "Try hittin' the next one."

"It's so much farther. Can I even hit it?"

"I believe in you."

This time without any guidance, I line up the next target best I can. Squeeze. It hits the walker's ribs. Damn. I take my time and try again. After two more shots that don't quite hit their mark, the fourth bullet finally nicks it on the side of the head and it, too, falls to the ground.

"Good work." Shane gestures for the gun, and I pass it to him. "I'll get the rest of 'em."

He aims at the group with expert precision. Three exact shots, and they all go down. One day, I'm gonna be as good a shot as he is.

He nudges me, standing. "Come on. Some reason, seems like this way's clear now."

Giggling, I follow him into the open and through the littering of bodies, the thrill of two walker kills coursing hotly through my veins.

"Just fold your thumb over like this and blow. It's easy."

Shane holds his hands up to his mouth and tries blowing air through the gap between his thumbs, but all that comes out is a tortured screech that sounds like a dying elephant, and I giggle hysterically. It's meant to sound like a bird call. He taught me to shoot, so I'm teaching him this.

Instead of attracting the little woodland birds perched above us in the trees, they all go flying off in the opposite direction.

He jokes, "That's supposed to be easy?"

"Welp, I guess ya can't be good at everything."

Instead of making a retort, he just rolls his eyes.

Daryl has never been this tired in his life. He's worked many long hours in mechanic shops, stayed up a lotta nights, and raised a child all on his own for five years, and yet, as he drives along the highway without a wink of sleep, he can safely say he has never been this tired in his life.

When Rick offers to take over for a while, he promises himself he won't fall asleep. Despite his best efforts, he does.

When he wakes up, they're still driving. He insists he get back behind the wheel, and Rick, being a man with self-preservation, lets him.

They're planning on cutting Shane off. They're on foot now, sure, but the destination's still the same.

They're gonna have to cut back onto the highway at some point. It'll be somewhere near Oakley, two hours out. They did the math.

They'll be ready.

At the hottest point of the day, we stumble across the highway again. With sweat dripping down our backs, we squint against the mean glare of the sun. Up ahead, there's an old gas station. Shane thinks we might be able to find a working car there, which seems to excite him, but only worries me. After making sure there's nobody else along this stretch of road, he nods us forward and we cross into the parking lot.

"We shouldn't linger." He says, looking around at all the abandoned cars. "We need to get back on the road soon as possible."

I try my best to sound nonchalant when I say, "We been doin' okay just walkin'. Maybe we don't need a car."

He throws me an unimpressed look over his shoulder. "Harley, I thought we already talked about this."

We did, but I don't want another car. I don't wanna put any more miles between us and the group than we already have.

"I know, but... I like the fresh air."

"Don't gimme any of that." He lilts, as if a playful tone will change my mind. "I thought we were havin' fun, huh?"

Not anymore. I guess I got caught up in pretending that everything was okay, that we were safe and I was happy, but we aren't and I ain't, and I got people who I gotta get back to. I got a life I gotta live. But Shane, I don't think he accepts that. He wants a reality where he isn't alone.

"L—Let's just keep walkin'." I reach out and grab the bottom of his shirt. When he stops and turns to look at me, I add, "Please?"

"Look at that sign over there." He points to the road. Oakley, it says. "Fort Benning Military Base, forty miles West from here. Now, I don't know about you, Harley, but I'm gonna tell you something. I hate liars. I hate 'em. We got somethin' good, here. Don't let me find out you're a liar."

Suddenly, I wish I'd never opened my mouth. "I ain't lyin', Shane, I swear." I'm just not tellin' the whole truth. "I wanna walk."

"Yeah, I bet you do." He crouches in front of me, painfully close, eye level with me. "And you think I don't know why, huh?"

"W—? What is it with you?" I cry, then, giving up on taking the subtle route. "Why don't you get it, huh?"

"Get what?"

"It's ruined!" If slapping sense into people ever worked, I'd do it right now. "You ruined everything, already. We got nothin'!"

This is what I tried telling him last night. Even if sick people can get better, and even if he's happier out here, this was over before it started.

"Hell you mean, we got nothing? We're free, Harley. Everything's over. We have everything. We got the whole world."

"No." I argue desperately. "We don't. You just think we do."

"Don't say that to me. This is the first time in my life where I'm certain about what I'm doin'. I got a lot to regret, but not this."

"Rick was aiming for you yesterday, Shane. And Dad, he already tried to kill you. I've wanted to kill you. M— Maybe a long time ago, this could'a worked, but y—you— you ruined everything. S'gone, already. We ain't doin' nothin' here but— but waitin' it out. You're gonna die, Shane." I shout as I give him a hard shove on the shoulders. "Just like Amy and Morales and— and Sophia. Just like my Momma, you're gonna die."

"No." He grabs my arms. "No, it's different this time. We deserve for things to go differently."

"Don't matter what we deserve. We didn't deserve for Sophia to die, and look what happened."

He argues, "She wasn't a fighter like we are, Harley,"

"She was my friend."

"She was weak."

"How can you say that? She was only twelve!"

"Rick's pushin' thirty five and he's still losin' sense like it's his job. Age means nothing. All of 'em, Harley. They're weak."

"I don't care. I'd rather be weak. I'd rather be dead than be with you."

His frown darkens. "You don't mean that."

I've never meant anythin' more in my life.

"I'm not gettin' in that car, Shane." A threat. "I'm not. You're gonna have to throw me in again if you wanna leave this place with me."

Angry, heavy breathing, and then a petty, "Guess I'll have to."

As he stands and leaves to continue searching the cars without me, I plop onto the tarmac like a heavy anchor and cross my arms over my chest. I'm good at being stubborn. When I was littler, Merle used to say he'd seen mules with less attitude than me. If he ever saw me pulling a stunt like this, he'd whip me black and blue. But it's like Shane said, he's never and will never lay his hands on me. He'll sure do everythin' else, though.

I watch him take off his dog tag and loop it around the rear-view mirror of the last car he checks. That must be the one we're taking, then. After doing that and throwing his pack in the truck bed, he faces me with a reluctant, patient look on his face, but I don't budge.

"Told ya I ain't a liar, Shane." I call out to him. "I mean it. You're gonna have to throw me in."

"Yeah," He mutters wearily, rubbing a hand down his face. "I believe ya."

"Ya gonna do it, then?"

He drops his hand. "Y'know what? I'm gonna go stock up on some things inside. I'd say don't move, but... You got that covered."

I spend a while just staring at the sky, being stubborn. But after a certain point, my curiosity wins over. I decide to go check up on him, to see what he's doing. I make my way through the cars, up the steps, and jump a little at the little ding-a-ling that comes when I open the door. Stepping inside, I spot him straight away by the registers, distracted by something he's turning over in his hands.

As I approach him, I wonder, "Whatchu doin' in here?"

He looks up at me. Instead of answering, he holds the thing out to me. It dangles, small and silver. A locket. 'Bout the size of a coin. Confused, I take it and bring it close to my face, running my thumb over the little bird engraved on it, the metal leaves, the branch. I find myself smiling.

"A brown thrasher." I muse quietly. Georgia's state bird. "Native American mythology says they're like guardian angels."

He smiles, too. "Yeah, I thought you might know what it was. He's yours, then."

I ask, "Help me put it on?"

"Sure, sweetheart. Turn around."

He takes the locket from me and I do as he says, sweeping my ponytail out the way.

"It would be nice if you had somethin' to put in it." He hums as he clasps it around my neck. "There."

"You know what, I got the perfect thing already." I wiggle my backpack off and set it on the ground, digging through everything until I find what I'm looking for. I grab Dad's wallet and flip it open, holding up the photos for Shane see. "Look. 'Bout the right size, too."

"Well," He chuckles. "I guess that works out, then."

Pulling out the last photo, the one of Momma smiling, I very carefully tear a small oval shape around her upper body.

Watching on, he gently asks, "Who's that?"

"My Momma." I toss the scraps aside and slot the important part into the locket. "I promised Dad I'd look after her. She'll be safe in here."

He sighs, then. "Listen, Harley."

Admiring her through the little window as I stand, I chirp, "Yeah?"

Whatever words he's got on the tip of his tongue, he struggles to get out. His gaze darts to the locket, to my waiting expression, back to the locket again, the little bird perched on the glossy surface. He was right about today. I suppose we did have fun, shooting walkers, practicing bird calls with laughter in our lungs.

He finally opens his mouth. "Harley, I—"

He happens to glance outside, then, the words stolen out from underneath him. The color drains from his face.

I'm about to ask him what's wrong, but when I turn around, the sight of two cars swerving into the parking lot is the very last thing I see before a deafening BANG rocks the earth. The entire front window shatters to pieces. Shane grabs me, throws us both to the floor. The glass rains down across the store like sparkling, white ash. Oh, God. They're here, aren't they? That was Maggie's car, Dad's truck. This is it. It's happening. My heart lodged in my throat, I peek over him. In the wall we were just standing in front of, a bullet hole, black and smoking.

"Shane!"

A hair-raising roar. Dad. That's Dad.

"We're here for ya, buddy!"

I turn to Shane. He's white as a ghost, lips parted.

The car doors slam shut one by one, heavy footsteps slowly spreading out across the tarmac.

"What are you gonna do?" I frantically whisper, my fingers tightening around his arms. "What are you gonna do?"

He's so caught off guard that he can't even answer me. He unholsters his pistol, holding it at his side.

"We've already seen you, Shane!" Rick. "We know you're in there. Pack's out here, too. This the car you're plannin' on taking?" He tries to get a look over the lip of the window but jumps back down as another bullet pierces the back wall. Damn it, Rick's fast. I wanna ask who else is out there, what's going on, what they're doing, but there's no way for him to know. "This is it, Shane. No way out, now."

He seems to force himself to regain composure. "You come to kill me, brother?"

"I've come for Harley. Whether you force my hand or not, that's your choice. Just know it's four against one. A risk I wouldn't take."

Four. Who else? Glenn? Someone else don't deserve shooting?

"Please, Shane," I whimper as he switches the safety off. "Please. You can't. Don't shoot nobody. Just— Just tell 'em you'll come out."

He completely ignores me, taunting, "What about you, Daryl? You out there? Today's the day, huh?"

"Today's the day." Dad parrots from someplace nearby. "Come out."

"You know I can't do that. You know Harley can't, either. I won't allow it."

"Guess we'll see what you allow once I got your brains splattered across the floor. I want my daughter back, Shane!"

"This can still end well for you." Rick butts in, his tone lighter, now. It's the tone you might use to lure an animal in close before you grab it, twist it, snap its neck. I see his shadow stalking over the tiles, pressing up against a car for cover, stretched out by the high-noon sun. He motions for someone to move around the building. I think they're surrounding us while he distracts him. I think time is running out faster than we ever thought it might. "You're headed to Fort Benning, right? Yeah, they got good walls there. Food, water, vehicles, protection. Only forty miles from here. It's a solid plan."

His head's bein' messed with again. "Thought you always said it was a lost cause, Rick?"

"Maybe for us." Rick hums. "Big group, runnin' low on gas, a hundred miles back. But not for you."

Shane humors him a moment, buying himself some time. I don't think he has a plan. "No?"

"Your car's out here." Rick beckons. "Supplies, gas. And you sure as Hell got my permission to leave. I meant it. If there's one face I never wanna see again, it's yours. You're free to go. Hell, Fort Benning's practically just around the block. You made it quite far, huh? Well, it's all yours. But not if it's with Harley. Not if you fight. Let her go. Do that and maybe you can make it on your own. Maybe I won't have to shoot you."

"I know you never thought much of me, Rick, but you really expect me to believe that bullshit?"

More shadows creep past the windows.

"I expect you to understand that this has gone too far. You need to come out, now."

He doesn't answer. In a desperate break for freedom, he grabs my hand, hauls me to my feet, and we shoot out from our hiding place. We make it not halfway across the store before another bullet is fired. I shriek as it hits a shelf this time, forcing us both back down into cover.

His chest heaving, he peers around the shelf, keeping his gun at the ready in his sweaty grasp.

Two more bullets skim past his head.

"Shane," When he meets my gaze, I see fear there, for the first time, ever. We both know this has to end. We're pinned in here. Whatever this is, he has to let it go so he can live. "What if he's not lying? What if you can still make it out?"

"I'm not leaving without you." He shakes his head in refusal. "I'm not livin' if it's not with you."

"Shut up. You don't need me. But me, I-I— I need my Dad. I need to go back."

"Harley—"

"Please. I can't watch you die." He glances at the locket, my dead Momma. "Listen to him. I can't watch anyone else die."

"I know you, Shane. You get to Fort Benning, and then what? What's the plan for after? For the things you gotta live with? How you gonna sleep at night, knowin' the girl ya got callin' you Daddy belongs to someone else, huh? What kind of life is that? For you, for her? She's not yours, Shane. Never was. You and I both know that. She knows that. If you care any little bit about her, you'll let her go. You'll let this whole thing go."

There's a way that this can end well. I need it to end well. "Please. Just listen to him, Shane."

"All of us. All of us can walk away from this. Harley will come back with us, and she'll have more people than she could ever have out here watchin' over her. Carl will have his friend. She'll get to say a proper goodbye to Sophia. She'll get to grow up with a father."

"Some fathers ain't worth growin' up around, Rick. You must understand that more than any of us."

"I do. That's why I know, when I look at Daryl, I see a worthy man. He knows he's done wrong. Not many of us can be so brave to realize that."

"You say brave, I say pathetic." He spits. "I say I've gone and done the world a favor, taking Harley from him."

"Well, we don't see it that way. No judge, no jury, would see it that way, either. You know how this would've gone in the old world, Shane."

"World ain't so old, now. There's a new order to things."

"An order where a man can take another man's child, just 'cause he wants to?"

"Oh, spare me the philosophy lesson, Rick. You don't know the first thing about any of this. I know you don't. Look at Lori and Carl."

"This isn't about them right now."

"You got a broken woman. You got a weak boy. Thing is, you're too stupid to see. That thing you got back there, it won't work. Everything ends, man. You gotta fight for what you want. This— Harley, Fort Benning." It ain't in my nature to roll over. "This is what I'm fightin' for."

"You're fighting for something that doesn't exist. Fight for something real." He offers. "Fight for your life while you still have it."

"Now, why would I do that?"

"Because of everything we've done to get here. The quarry, the CDC, Amy, Morales, Sophia. You draw your gun, it'll all have been for nothing."

"Maybe I don't care so much about that anymore."

"Well, you care about Harley. That's about the only thing we can all agree on. That's why you're out here. That's why this has to end."

I can see Shane wrestling with himself, with how to end this, his heart torn between two different things. Living for himself or dying for me. I love you so much it's gonna kill me. Is he gonna draw? Is he gonna surrender? Will he get to live, or will he die just like everyone else?

God, I hope Rick isn't lying.

"I don't wanna shoot you." Shane warns. "That's not how I want this to go."

"It's the way it's gonna have to be if you don't come out right now."

I hear the back door being kicked down. Thud, thud, thud. My heart races, flooded with terror. He has to make a decision right now.

"Rick said he'll miss you, y'know." I quickly tell him, my eyes filling with tears. My words seem to pain him. "Said it just this morning."

Thud, thud, thud.

"Please, Shane, believe him. You can make it. Fort Benning's so close. It's always been your dream, remember?"

Thud, thud, thud.

"And— And I won't be there, but that's okay. I'll be somewhere else. I'll think of you. 'Cause— 'Cause I'll miss you, too."

Thud, thud, thud.

I shake the confusing thoughts from my head. "Or— Or my memories of you."

Thud, thud, thud.

"Don't matter. I still hate you for what you done, b-but not enough to want you dead. You gotta go. Please, Shane, you gotta live."

"What is it, then?" Rick calls out. "You gonna stay in there, get shot down like a dog? Or you gonna do the right thing? Give us Harley?"

I want what's best for you, he once told me. I won't ever do anythin' to put you in danger. Remember that. All this time, he kept that promise. I might'a been scared, and I might'a not agreed with some of the things he's done, but I have never, ever been in danger because of him. He helped save me from the highway when it got overrun. He searched for me just as tirelessly as Dad did when I got lost. He pulled that walker offa me, saved me from getting bit. He held my hand when it got dark, and he lent me his sleeping bag, and he gave me the prettiest locket I ever saw just because it had a bird on it I might like. Even right down to shooting my Dad, he was doing what he thought was best for me.

I need my Dad. He knows I do. He held me when I cried that night, when I thought he was gonna die.

He knows Rick's right.

I can tell what he's chosen.

"Come out, Shane! It's time!"

This is it. He sends me one last smile. Relief overwhelms me. He's surrendering. He's gonna live. It might not be exactly what he wanted or what he planned, but he tried and I think he's okay with that now. He got his last wish. He spent whatever time he had left with me.

"Alright, Rick!" He shouts, "I'm gonna stand up, now. I won't shoot if you won't!"

Holding his hands out to his sides, he slowly stands, making no sudden movements. When he steps out into the open, the sun beams down on his face through the broken window, his body exposed to whatever mercy his brother has left. He opens his mouth to say something.

No words ever come out. Time seems to fracture around me as he flinches backwards, as if punched in the ribs.

His gun goes off from the impact.

A spike of blood, shooting out from behind him.

A scream ripped from my throat.

"No!"

The door finally breaks down. Shane staggers backwards into to the display shelves, a trembling hand clutched over his bleeding chest, coughing weakly like an animal that weren't put down right. I rush to go grab him, help him, anything, but Rick rushes through the front doors, and as soon as I'm on my feet, I'm trapped again when he grabs me. I fight against him, but then Andrea's here too, holding me tight.

Dad comes forward and swings a fist down onto Shane's cheek. His crippled body whips to the side, toppling over onto the ground.

No. No, no, no! He was surrendering! We all saw it, it was over!

I screech, "What're you doing?!"

Blood spurts from his mouth as Dad kicks him in the stomach, hard, over and over again, until he's shoved up against the wall, struggling to breathe. He tries to pull his gun on him, but Dad snatches it from his fingers and throws it across the room, grabbing his shirt collar.

I can't even hear my own cries, anymore. A terrible, piercing ringing noise has replaced my head. It's all I can hear. As Dad stomps and beats and agonizes Shane into a pulp, taking out months' worth of anger on his muscles and bone, Glenn and T-Dog make a sweep of the rest of the store, and my ear keeps on ringing, and the blood keeps spreading, and I keep on crying.

When Rick passes me fully over to Andrea and starts taking off his outer layer of clothing, his button shirt, I'm confused. He rips it off and balls it up tightly and crouches, pressing it against the side of my head.

Can you hear me, I think he's saying.

No. No, I can't hear him.

Why can't I hear him? Why is the ringing gettin' louder?

Glenn, get over here, I think he's saying, now, his brow set low, tight, worried. Get over here.

He quickly comes into view. Oh, it's so good to see his face again.

As Rick pulls back the bunched-up shirt, which comes away bloody, his eyes go wide. He places it back over my ear again.

It's my ear. Something's wrong with my ear.

Over their shoulders, Shane's still on the floor, still bleeding, but he's not moving, anymore.

It's so awful, but I think he's dead.

Shot then pummelled until his body gave out.

Dad gives him one last kick, this time to the head, before turning to join the rest of everyone else, shaking out his bloodied knuckles. T-Dog falls in as well, glancing uncomfortably at Shane's body. As soon as they're within arm's reach, Dad picks me up off the floor, setting me on his hip, speaking to me mutedly and peeling back Rick's shirt. My ear's burning, now, hot as lava, like I've fallen head-first onto a sizzling stove-top.

I lift my hand to touch it, but all I feel is blood and hair, but no ear. My ear, it's always been right here. Where'd it go?

Dad takes me outside and sets me on the hood of the first car he sees, holding my face in his hands.

As my hearing starts to come back, I can pick up on what they're all saying.

"—Alk to me, baby. Can you say somethin' to me?"

"Damn it," Glenn gawks, "He shot it clean off."

God, it stings so bad.

"You killed him." I manage to croak, the horrifying realization sinking in that Shane really is dead. "Both of you. Y-You killed him."

He was supposed to make it to Fort Benning. He was supposed to live. It was supposed to end well this time.

"I know." Dad croons, "But don't think about that right now. Think about yer head. Are you dizzy?"

"You killed him."

"She might be in shock." Rick suggests, taking a bottle of water from Andrea when she comes running up to us, offering it to him. He unscrews it and pours it over the left side of my head, apologizing when I cringe at the pain. He frowns. "Yeah, there's nothin' much left there."

"When'd it happen?" T-Dog distresses, keeping his distance. He's never been good with blood.

"He must've pulled the trigger when I hit him." He answers sourly. "Grazed her head."

Andrea scoffs. "Even in death, he's still a giant, fucking asshole."

Patting around my hair again, I feel it, now.

My ear. Shane shot my ear off.

The top half of it, it's gone.

"Well, it's a nasty souvenir, alright." T-Dog utters. "Won't be forgettin' this day anytime soon..."

It's a final, permanent reminder that I was stupid to think things could've gone any other way.

I will never make that mistake again.

At the sound of growling in the distance, we all turn our heads. Walkers, much, much more than usual, approach us through the trees.

"We gotta get her to Herschel." Dad grunts as he hauls me onto his hip again. "Let's get outta here."

Glenn winces. "You think that's the horde, again?"

"You wanna stick around and find out?"

I whimper, "Dad it hurts."

Not just my ear, but everything.

"I know, baby." He soothes, tucking the shirt back against me. I put my hand over it. "Just hang on a little longer. I gotcha."

As we head over to the cars, I look behind at the gas station, the broken window, and the battered body tucked away in the corner, laying in a puddle of tarry blood. I turn away from the grisly sight, glancing down at my locket. A brown thrasher.

"You wanna take that truck he had?" Rick offers, gesturing to it. The pack's still in the trunk, ready to go. "Waste of a good vehicle, otherwise."

Dad agrees, "Yeah, sure. You take my truck. Keys are on the seat."

With a nod, Rick walks off with the others.

He opens the driver's door and places me carefully onto the middle seat before climbing in next to me. I've only been away from the farm for two days and one night, and yet I feel like I'm returning from war. He slams the door shut and steals the keys off the dash. I pull Rick's shirt down. Blood. I'm so tired of seeing blood. As the engine rumbles to life, Dad takes the shirt from my lap, slings his arm over my shoulders, and secures it snugly against my ear — stub, now, I suppose — with his hand. With the other, he pulls out the parking lot, onto the highway.

This has all been a blur. The barn, being taken, making it to the hills, the gas station, the gunshot, the blood, Shane.

I rest my wet cheek against Dad's side. As the hills roll by, I gaze up at the dog tag dangling from the mirror.

When he notices the name engraved on it, he snaps it off and throws it out the window.

It lands in some forgettable ditch on the side of the road.

I swear the world seemed bigger before.

Author's Note.

Shane is dead.

AAAAAh do you feel like you've been hit by a semi-truck, because I feel like I've been hit by a semi-truck. This chapter took a lot out of me.

I know you guys have mixed feelings about Shane — Some of you hate him, some of you don't — so I made sure everyone got their piece of satisfaction from either Harley, who was quite sympathetic, or Daryl / Rick, who were definitely uuuuuh not very sympathetic.

And yes, Harley has no left ear anymore. I wanted her to have a physical scar as well as just emotional ones from this, because Shane's death is the second biggest tragedy she's ever experienced after her Mom. I wanted her to carry it physically, if that makes sense.

Trust me, I wanted her to be ruthless toward Shane just like Daryl, but I let the poor girl live for a minute. Gave them both a little taste of what could've been, because I fit the trope of the evil writer wanting my characters to suffer, mwahaha

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was an insane ride writing it. Next up is the season finale, I guess!! Got some things planned for that.

As always, thank you for your support! 💙

#fanfic #angst #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #rick grimes #daddy issues #ao3 fanfic #reader

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