#a SHIT tonne of gifs

[masgwi]

Just over a thousand pages of legislation left to read from the study list for the July exam

[mouse-mcnuggets]

wow, what a fucked up looking gentleman! I wonder if he regrets anything

I think we can all agree that he would apply an eyeliner, like a shit tonn of it

also here's sketch of the dude I made during class and accidently turned it into a gif with ridiculously stretched text (which only makes it better imo)

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Can u please do smut or fluff of this with rooster or hangman:

Y/n: hey can you zip me up?

R or H: Sure!

...

Y/n: I said zip me up not down

Ooh thank you for this sweet request, I had so much fun with this one!!

The Zipper Incident

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're running late and need some help zipping up your dress. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing you all dolled up, Rooster is more than happy to assist.

CW: Fluff, angst, swearing, a pinch of smut. You stand up your date, which is shitty of you, but it's probably worth it.

I’d like to think that this little drabble could be a prelude to this fic but it’s absolutely not a necessity to read it first. I just had this particular dynamic in mind while writing this.

You rush out of the locker room in a panic, whipping your head around to see if anyone is still around. Your date is imminent – t-minus twenty minutes and counting – and you’ve spent the last forty-five on your hair and makeup only to suffer a devastating wardrobe malfunction at zero hour.

You’re sure that everyone is long gone but you nonetheless shuffle over to the guys’ locker room on the off chance that perhaps somebody might still be in the building.

Just as you’re coming up on the door, Bradley walks out and you nearly collide with him in your haste.

“Woah!” he yells, holding his arms out in case you wouldn’t be able to stop in time.

“Oh my god, Rooster! Thank god!” you shriek.

Now that he’s had a moment to process the situation, Bradley is blinking at you oddly, his eyes slipping briefly to glance at your dress before reverting to your face.

While you’re flattered that your outfit has rendered him speechless – the guy’s never seen you in anything but a uniform – you hardly have time for this kind of delay. “Rooster, can you do me a favor, please? Can you zip me up?” You turn your back to him promptly and twist your arm behind you to point to the zipper that’s gotten stuck halfway up.

“Uh.” Bradley stalls and you look over your shoulder to see his gaze trailing down your bare back as he tentatively lifts his hands.

“Bradshaw, today!” you urge, bouncing slightly on the spot while you hold up the front of your strapless dress.

You feel his fingers graze your back as he pulls gently on the zipper. “It’s jammed,” he says a little hoarsely.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “No shit,” you reply. “Look, I’ve got a date in” – you close your eyes and whimper desperately – “fifteen minutes. Could you maybe put those big, strong muscles to good use?” You throw him a deriding look before glancing pointedly at the arm that's taking up approximately half of your field of view. His bicep is even more pronounced than usual in the tight, black t-shirt he’s wearing.

Rooster exhales slowly, tugging more deliberately on the zipper. “I don’t want to break it,” he says.

This statement gives you pause and you spin around sharply, nearly taking Bradley’s hands with you. “You can’t break it!” you exclaim. “I have nothing else to wear!”

Bradley watches you steadily. “Well,” he says with a small smirk. “Don’t rush me, then.”

You eye him warily before turning back around. “Okay,” you say. “But you don’t have all day,” you mutter when he starts to fiddle with the zipper once more.

His hands stop moving and he clears his throat. “We had a deal.”

You sigh, starting to tap your foot, when your feel his hands close around your shoulders.

“You’re wiggling,” he says.

“I’m anxious,” you retort sourly.

Bradley steps closer until his chest is brushing lightly against your back, and leads you out into the center of the corridor. “I need more light,” he says.

You close your eyes. “It’s a fucking zipper, Bradshaw. You operate a fifteen tonne, seventy-million-dollar government vehicle fifty thousand feet off the ground but this is somehow a struggle?”

Bradley’s hands stop moving. “That fifteen tonne vehicle came with an instruction manual and five years of training.”

“Oh, hang on,” you say. “Let me just pull out my zipper manual. I don’t go anywhere without that thing.”

Bradley snorts. “You’re distracting me,” he says, yanking slightly on the zipper and, in the process, pulling you closer.

You hang your head defeatedly, trying to stay still while he works to fix your dress.

After several moments of silence, Bradley speaks again. “You have a date, huh?”

You stare at the space where the floor meets the wall, taken aback by his question. You and Bradley have but a smidge of history; you met a few months ago when you were brought in for a mission together, and have since been assigned to the same squadron. You’ve flirted here and there, exchanged a few meaningful glances, but nothing more than the occasional tease has ever come to pass. You’re both professionals and, as such, are amply aware that any sort of romantic entanglement would quickly dissolve into a logistical nightmare fraught with more paperwork than either of you would care to complete. And yet, the insinuation in his tone, paired with the intermittent brush of his hands along your back sends a quiet thrill through your body, resulting in a soft blush that heats your cheeks and creeps down your neck. You nervously pat down your hair, making sure it obscures your reddening face before you respond with a casual, “Mm-hm.”

“Anyone I know?” he asks, his thumb sweeping over your shoulder blade as he takes a break from wrestling with the zipper.

Suddenly you’re extremely aware of how short your dress is and how very loosely it hangs around your sides as you clutch it to your chest. “I doubt it,” you say quickly, wondering how you hadn’t noticed the obvious draft coming from the vent overhead until right now while firmly pressing the material of your dress against your rapidly hardening nipples.

“Well, you look nice,” he says, his voice a little rough as he resumes his efforts with the zipper.

You bite down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the shiver triggered by his words. “Would be nicer if I were fully dressed,” you respond flatly.

“Debatable,” Rooster counters.

You swallow uneasily as Bradley continues jerking at your dress. He’s flirting with you now? Ten minutes till go time? After weeks of avoiding every instance of physical contact, including that time you sprained your ankle and he called Phoenix over to help you get to medical instead of taking you himself?

Suddenly, you feel the waist of your dress release as the zipper gives. You gasp, pressing the fabric against your body as it starts to glide.

“Bradshaw!” you yelp. “I said ‘zip me up!’”

“Sorry!” Bradley fumbles with the dress. “It slipped.”

“Sure,” you say with a note of cynicism in your tone.

Bradley chuckles, sliding the zipper back up. “I promise, it was unintentional.” He pauses for a moment, his fingers still holding the clasp even after having completed the task you’ve given him. He runs his palms along your shoulders before they come to rest on your upper arms. “You’ve got a nice back,” he says quietly.

You freeze, trying to come up with an adequate response to the most unexpected of compliments, but you can’t bring yourself to face him because you’re blushing anew. You take a second to gather your thoughts, close your eyes to savour the moment. You’ve completely forgotten about the time and how much of it you might have left because all your concentration is devoted entirely to the gentle sweep of Bradley’s fingers as they slide down your arms.

“First date?” he asks.

You’re furious. You’re livid. Where was all this attention four weeks ago when all that glorious flirting amounted to absolutely nothing. “Second,” you respond curtly.

“Getting serious,” he says wryly, his hands trailing all the way down to your fingertips before they finally fall to his sides.

You chuckle and, although it’s becoming increasingly difficult to restrain yourself from turning to face him, you mutter a quick, “Thanks, Rooster,” while smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of your dress.

Bradley walks around to take a look at you from the front and now you have no choice but to meet his gaze. You give him a tight smile and do a little curtsy and he laughs, shaking his head.

“That’s a hell of a dress,” he says.

You give him a serious look. “It’s not the dress, Bradshaw. It’s the model.”

He grins at you in amusement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You nod slowly, slightly lost in his eyes, when you suddenly remember that you’re running late. “Shit! What’s the time?” You lunge forward to grab his forearm so that you could check his wristwatch. “Fuck! I have to run!”

You drop Bradley’s hand, glancing up at him sharply. He’s watching you with a bewildered expression, as though he wasn’t expecting you to actually leave. “Okay,” he says. “Have a good time.”

You nod and start to draw back, finally turning and escaping down the hall and into the women’s changeroom. Once the door is closed behind you, you sink down on a bench, bringing a hand to your unsettled stomach. The interaction with Bradley has resulted in a revival of that ridiculous crush you had on him when you first arrived on base. You’ve been fairly successful at quashing those feelings, right up until ten minutes ago when Bradley was able to effectively resuscitate them with a vengeance.

You let out a frustrated sigh and start putting away your belongings. You step into your heels and sit back down to do up the straps. Walking over to the mirror, you fix your hair and take a moment to admire your makeup. No wonder Bradley was flabbergasted. He’s never even seen you wear lipstick.

You pick up your purse after shoving your backpack into a locker and head for the door but, when you walk out, Bradley is still there, waiting for you.

You waver on the spot upon seeing him while he hesitates slightly before approaching you. His eyes rake over your figure before finally resting on your face. “I can’t let you go on that date,” he says, his rasp more pronounced somehow, perhaps because he’s trying to keep his voice down.

You gulp nervously, blinking up at him as your cheeks flush. “Why not?” you ask quietly.

Bradley bites into his bottom lip as the corner of his mouth curls upward mischievously. “Because even thinking about you on a date with someone else is making me angry.”

You let out a shallow breath as his eyes focus briefly on your lips. “Why?” you whisper.

You feel Bradley’s hand cup your waist, pressing you gently into the wall at your back while he takes another step forward. He lowers his head and you lift your gaze as he towers over you, as he places the palm of his other hand on the wall behind your head. His breathing is heavier than usual but he comes closer still, caging you in. “Because it should be me,” he says hoarsely.

You lower your gaze but soon feel his fingers under your chin, lifting your face to look at him. “You didn’t ask me,” you manage to say despite the distracting pounding in your temples. “Are you only interested because I’m unavailable?”

Bradley slowly shakes his head, bringing his forehead to rest on yours. The hand that’s been leaning against the wall slips down to your shoulder as he takes another step closer and his body brushes yours. “You know that’s not true,” he says.

You put a hand on his abdomen, pushing him away half-heartedly. “I know that you’ve had plenty of opportunities to make this happen and chose not to.”

Bradley brings his hand down on top of yours on his stomach. “Maybe I was intimidated,” he mutters with a grin.

You roll your eyes. “Am I less intimidating in a dress?”

He shakes his head, his smile widening. “More.” His fingers close around yours, still pressed against his rock-hard abs. “But you left me no choice. I had to just bite the bullet and go for it.”

You glance up at him reproachfully. “I’m late,” you say.

Bradley pulls his lips into a frown as his eyebrows crease. “Stay,” he pleads.

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Bradley,” you say. “You’re late too.” You start to peel your back from the wall, forcing him to back away from you.

He takes several steps backward, the disappointment evident on his face. “You don’t want to go,” he says quietly.

You raise your eyebrows. “How the fuck do you know what I want?” you ask, offended.

He watches you piercingly. “I can tell you want to stay.”

“If you can tell, then why didn’t you ask me out before?” you say angrily.

“Because I’m an idiot!” he responds heatedly.

“Well, at least we agree on that,” you say.

Bradley sucks in his cheeks, nodding contemptuously. “Now what?” he asks. “Ball’s in your court.”

You stare at him crossly. “Now nothing, Bradley,” you say. “You didn’t start anything because you knew that it would be a conflict of interest. That, if anybody found out, one of us would end up being reassigned.”

“Who has to find out?”

You close your eyes briefly before giving him a withering look. “Well, now we know where your head’s at.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just want to fuck,” you say matter-of-factly.

Bradley stares at you, speechless for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry, Bradshaw,” you say. “That’s not my style.”

But when you turn to leave, Bradley springs after you, grabbing your arm and pulling you back around. “You’ve got it wrong,” he says. “I promise you.”

You eye his fingers, still wrapped firmly around your arm. “Come on, ‘Nobody has to know?’” You glance up at him disdainfully. “You obviously don’t see a future here.” You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, recognizing how unreasonable it is to expect him to see much of anything with someone he hardly knows. But his words have caused quite a sting which, in turn, has made you slightly irrational. “You know this is a bad idea,” you say finally, reluctantly.

Bradley takes a step forward, simultaneously pulling you closer. He takes a moment to study your features before speaking. “I know that if you go on your date right now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind,” he says with a small chuckle.

You watch him carefully as he brings a hand up to brush some hair away from your eyes. “I’m really late,” you whisper, your hands moving of their own accord to rest on his hips.

Bradley brings his face down to meet yours, his nose brushing along your cheek. “I really want you to stay,” he says in a low voice, his grip loosening on your arm and his fingers gliding gently up to your shoulder.

You lift your face slightly to let him brush his lips with yours. After an excruciating pause during which his mouth hovers tantalisingly over yours, Bradley finally bridges the gap, confidently capturing your lips in his. His fingertips dig into your shoulders as he presses his body against yours, directing you backward into the wall. He leans into you eagerly, his kiss overriding each of your senses as you adapt to its unpredictable rhythm. Slow and deep, then soft and sweeping, evolving with your every movement. His hands twist rabidly into your hair, rough but restrained as he paces himself while you breathe unevenly against his mouth.

He's warm; swathed around you almost possessively; protectively. You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. You pant when he finally releases your lips, struggling to steady your heartrate.

Bradley lowers himself slightly to diffuse kisses along your jawline, the pressure of his lips on your skin quickly escalating as the two of you sink into one another. You open your mouth to sigh against his ear when his hand slips underneath the hem of your dress. “Bradley,” you whine as his finger drifts along the line of your panties.

“Yeah baby?” he breathes, his finger tracing circles into the already saturated lace.

“This is a terrible idea,” you whimper as the most torturous desire pulsates through your body.

“Yeah, baby,” Bradley agrees, continuing the gentle strokes of his finger over your soaking panties.

You bite your lip trying to suppress a moan, fevered and nearly shaking, sweating and breathless, unsteady in your heels. You feel transported but unsettled, euphoric but wanting. You nip at Bradley’s earlobe in response to which Bradley presses his mouth into the crook of your neck and releases a muffled groan. You continue sucking on his ear and kissing his neck and the hand that’s been hovering between your legs suddenly grips into your thigh. You let out a soft cry and Bradley stifles it with a passionate kiss. His hand coasts upward, cupping your ass cheek as he presses himself against you, pinning you to the wall. “Bradshaw,” you murmur against his lips. “Can you do me a favor?”

Bradley’s teeth catch your bottom lip before he starts gently pecking your swollen lips. “Anything,” he responds in his grating rasp.

You let out a shallow breath. “Can you unzip me?”

Bradley’s mouth curls into a smile against your lips as his hand glides down your back. “I’ve got you, baby,” he says softly, pulling on the zipper. “I’m an expert.” You chuckle as your dress comes loose but, a moment later, Bradley mutters, “Fuck,” right into your open mouth.

You pull back to stare at him mutely as he gives the zipper a few more tugs. “Don’t tell me,” you say in disbelief.

“What is it with this thing?” Bradley says in exasperation, spinning you around to inspect the contraption. You giggle, resting your forehead on the wall resignedly but, the next moment, Bradley grabs you by the waist and pulls you in. “Fuck it,” he says, lifting the skirt of your dress. “I can work around it.”

Rooster Tag List:

Please feel free to let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in Rooster fics/if you no longer consume Rooster content <3 The rest of the tags are in the comments!

@simp-for-fictional-people

@ollyoxenfrees

@iamabeautifulperson18

@living-in-my-imagination88

@wintercap89

@mavrellover91

@gingerbreadandpaper

@lonelywitchv2

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@kindablackenedsuperhero

@everything-i-love-in-life

@malindacath

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@bcon24

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@daydreamingalways

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@olivethenerd16

@kaitlynw011

@l-rexter45

@xoxo-lyss

@beebslebobs

@dracosluvbot

@peoniarose

@annedub

[wizzdot]

Sunshine

Description: just an idea I had. Might make it a series. Might not. Reader’s callsign is “Ray”. TW - Reader is depressed and has been through some shit.

Not decided who I’m going to make the main love interest, if anyone at all. Hell, not even decided if it’s worth continuing. Hit me up with ideas if you like what you read…

The rain hammers against the living room window. The window of your shitty, little rented flat in a dodgy, shitty area. It was cheap though. And it was a roof -albeit a temperamental, leaky one - over your head.

It was your decision, after all. You could still be slaving away as a soldier. Giving your all, with no reward. What had you even been fighting for, anyway? Oh yeah! Arrogant men wanting to play a game of chess with your life. Nah. You’d choose your shit flat and shit job, thanks.

The bottle of cheap wine looks real nice right about now, what with the rain not letting up. But you hadn’t done a food shop for two weeks, and you’d used your last packet of instant noodles last night. Shit.

Your jacket is still damp from this morning, you notice, feeling regretful for not hanging it up over the radiator as you zip it up. It’s not as if you allow yourself the expense of using the central heating anyway. You tuck the stray bits of hair, that were poking out, underneath the hood and brace yourself.

“Once more into the void” you tut lamely to yourself, before stepping into the rain, on the hunt for dinner. ‘Goin’ fuckin’ mad, talking to myself now’ you roll your eyes at the voice in your head, sick to the back teeth of your failing life.

The familiar, chipped door of the local corner shop jingles as you enter. You stamp the wet off of your boots on the dirty mat at the door, not that it made a jot of difference to the trail of wet you left in your wake.

“Hello you!” Ravi, the (overly) cheery, elderly shopkeeper shouts. I nod, sending a tight lipped smile in response to his greeting. “This rain, eh! It’s pouring down! Madness out there!” his accented voice says chattily, as you try to disappear behind a shelving unit stacked with tinned soups.

“Yeah, mad” you grit out, monotonously.

“Chatty as always, eh?” - “yep” good god, please stop talking to me! Not in the mood..

You grab two tins of soup, and three 29p noodle packets and head back to the counter to pay. Ravi scans your selection through and looks up at you with a raised eyebrow, awaiting something else. You sigh. “The norm, Ravi, if you will” you say. “Thought you might have quit! Bad vice to have, a young thing like you..”

You choose to ignore that comment, as he slides the packet of cigarettes over the counter. “£16.49”. You pull the slightly soggy twenty from your pocket and hand it over and he quickly counts your change and you’re on your way, the ding of the shop door sounding your departure.

The rain has somehow worsened, so you decide to run the mile and a half back to your flat, pissed off that you’d had to put any effort in, whatsoever. You’ve kept your fitness levels up since your military days. You huff a laugh at your own expense. Knew the morning jogs before work were worth while.. you think to yourself.

Work. Fuck. You’d not finished until 5am this morning, hence the wet jacket. Drunkards had crawled in after winning the football match, refusing to leave until gone 3am, and leaving a shit tonne of mess behind that needed cleaned up. You got decent tips though. Tips that your landlord would snatch off of you thanks to the fact that you were a month behind on rent payments. Easy come easy go, you thought to yourself, as you jog back to the flat.

You get back in record time but halt abruptly when you reach the door. The rain has, by this point, soaked completely through your jacket, but something else has caught your attention. The door handle (which lost its spring a while ago) is slanted down. Someone has visited while you’ve been gone.

“Fuck” you whisper to yourself, before quietly shoving the pack of cigs down your bra to try and keep them dry, and gently stacking the tins and packs of noodles into your post box, for safe keeping, while you investigate..

On second thoughts..

You grab one tin, and carry it as a weapon. Just in case, right? Old habits die hard…

You step in, silently, and notice the wet footprints leading to the kitchen. They weren’t even trying to be subtle, what the actual fuck?!

Slinking towards the kitchen, acting every bit the trained operative that you once were, you round the corner, ready to beat the intruder to ever lasting shit with your soup can, when your eyes meet something - or someone, for that matter - that draws the breathe from your lungs.

“Get out” you all but growl.

The intruder huffs a confident laugh.

“You’ve not changed much, apparently.. a ‘hello’ would be polite, Ray” the figure, with their back turned, lounging on your one remaining wooden chair, that you use to hang your washing on to dry, teases.

“I don’t go by Ray anymore. Now, get out” you spit, marching back to the door to grab your remaining tin of soup and packs of noodles, no longer threatened by the unknown, but instead, utterly pissed off at the fact they’re wasting your time.. You return to the kitchen, intruder still unmoved, and slam the tins down on the counter to try and convey the fact that they weren’t welcome..

“You’ve got about 10 seconds..” you warn.

“Until…?”

“Until I call your superior..”

“He knows I’m here..”

“I’ll call his superior, then” I threaten.

“You’ll call Kate? T’was her decision to send me..”

“Look, Lieutenant. I don’t give a single, steaming shit about whatever it is that you’ve gotten yourselves caught up in, this time. And if you think I want to be involved, you’re heavily mistaken. And it’s laughable that Kate chose you to try and retrieve me.. didn’t even think to send Gaz…? The only one of you wankers that I actually, borderline, tolerated?” You laugh bitterly.

“I really mean it, Ghost. Get out.” you practically spit his callsign, wanting him to understand that you really weren’t considering his, yet unspoken, offer.

“We’d have sent Gaz…” he pauses “but he’s broken. So I’ll have to do…”

Your stomach drops at that and Ghost almost almost sees the break in your facade.

*18 months earlier*

You’d gone through your entire military career with Gaz by your side. You’d class Gim has a friend, even though you were detached and fairly closed off. He was always determined to bring down your walls.

The pair of you were eventually split up when he was headhunted for the formidable taskforce, the 141. You didn’t see him for months, maybe even over a year, until your unit, which you labelled as ‘the Donkeys’, because they were all so shit, crossed paths with the 141 in Russia.

You, and Shepherd, you came to find out, who had been acting as the temporary commanding officer, visiting from America on a joint op, were the only survivors, not that Gaz knew.

The 141 didn’t stick around to check how us Donkeys got on. Just left us behind to do the grunt work, while they, along with Shepherd, moved on. Yeah. Still a bit bitter about that…

Mission accomplished, in their eyes. Necessary losses and all that.. the Donkeys were just collateral for them.. you included.

You returned to base, under your own steam, injured and forced to practically hitchhike back from Russia. When you limped back through the base security, flashing the dented dog tags, confirming that you were, in fact one of them, you were hailed a miracle.

Laswell called within the hour of your miraculous return and wanted to promote you to Lieutenant of your new unit, of strangers, that you’d yet to even meet. Hell, you were even ready for active duty, with your injuries. You decided that it was all for show. Or out of pity… you guessed that, seeing as the rest of the donkeys, and the existing Lieutenant, had been killed, they needed a replacement.

The day of the ceremony rolled around a couple of weeks after, the big names in the SAS, in their fancy suits covered in silverware and ribbons, turned up, to ramble on about what important work you’d all been doing and rewarding medals to hundreds of other soldiers. It was all bullshit.

When it was your turn to receive your medal of distinguished bravery, and to solidify your promotion to the rank of Lieutenant, you stepped up to the stage slowly, and glanced around at the huge crowd, dressed in their formal uniforms, and caught eyes with them. The 141. Gaz was smiling at you, sending a thumbs up your way, mouthing ‘proud of you!’ toward the stage.

You furrowed your brow, thoughts running rampant in your head. Proud of what, exactly? Proud that my entire unit were wiped from existence? Proud that, for some reason, I came back to base?

You froze on the stage. You don’t know for how long. You just remember gulping, trying to make your inner voice shut the fuck up.

Autopilot took over for a few seconds, and you step forward again, towards the important guy, holding the medals and sashes. “Y/n y/l/n. I present to you…” all you hear is your name, and then his muffled voice.

You take one final glance around the ceremony, and take the Lieutenant badge from the silver tray, earning a few gasps from shocked spectators.

“Fuck your promotion. I quit”

And you left the stage, head held high, and walk away. Away from the SAS. Away from the chess game of life. Away from the danger and greed of those in charge. You were done. Even the donkeys didn’t deserve their fate. They were someone’s child. Someone’s parent. Someone’s brother. And they were gone. Without a second glance. But they were oh so thankful for their service, right?

Bullshit.

Canon fodder. That’s all you were sent in for that day.

Pawns to be banished from the board for the next step of the game. Bigger picture. Greater good. All that grandiose bullshit.

You remembered rushing to your old room at the barracks and hastily packing whatever you had left. Hoping you’d be gone before someone detained you. Surely what you’d done was some sort of illegal, right?

What you didn’t expect was for Gaz and his Captain to come knocking on your door.

“Y/n? You in there..?”

“Piss off, Garrick” you snapped in reply.

“Soldier, open the door” the Captain’s, you’d assumed, rough voice commanded.

“Sorry Cap” you popped the P, immaturely, “no can do, don’t take orders anymore, remember? I quit..”

There was one heavy crash at the door, followed by some splintering sounds of wood, and then the Captain, followed by a sheepish looking Gaz, invited themselves into your room.

“Ray, is it? You don’t need to do this... You’re a valuable asset. You have so much to offer. I’ve read your file. You show a lot of promise. Garrick, here, backs that up. Says you and he came through the ranks together, said that you were the only one who could beat him in your year. Is that true?”

You kept your back to the men, continuing to blatantly ignore them and stuff your belongings into bags.

“You don’t have to rush, Ray. I have my other two men blocking the hallway”.

You remember furrowing your brow at that, not that he could see. Why was he protecting you? Why was he being… nice… about it?

“All due respect, Captain, but I’m out. Done. Finished. Yeah? Understood? I’d love to think up some more words to try and get through to you, but I need to get off base asap, before I’m detained. Hell, they’ll probably decide that what I just did is some sort of war crime. Now.. if you’ll excuse me..” you said, pushing past the men and out of the door.

“Ray!” Gaz shouted.

“Here, at least take this..” he presented his wallet.

“Help you find somewhere, yeah?”

You recall being caught off guard at his offer before nodding, sending a tight lipped smile his way.

“Thank you”

*now*

That was the last interaction you’d had with Kyle Garrick. Probably the last act of kindness thrust upon you since, hell, since you can remember...

And now his Lieutenant is in your shitty little flat, that Gaz’s money helped pay the deposit for, telling you that he is hurt.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the scraping of the chair against the wooden floor, and the massive Lieutenant, skull covered face and all, standing from said chair, his head practically touching the ceiling light.

“I’ll pass on your regards to Gaz” he grumbles, heading to the door. “Enjoy your soup, Ray.”

You wait until his back is turned and he is out of earshot, before gulping and scratching your damp hair. I hope Gaz is ok.. I - I wonder why they’ve came to me..? What the hell has happened..

More thoughts run through your head, and the squeak of the springless door handle jolts you again. Christ, hasn’t he gone yet..? He’s taking his time..

“Good bye, Ray. Trackers in the wallet. If you want to disappear again” Ghost speaks quietly, as if to himself, before stepping out into the curtain of rain.

Your eyes flash back and forth, furrowed brow. That slimy little prick, they’ve known where I was this entire time.. probably kept an eye on me.. what the actual fuck..

You rush to the door, opening it and seeing the Lieutenants broad figure stalking away into the darkness, the splashing of his steps the only thing you can hear over the pounding rain hitting the street.

“How hurt is he...” I shout into the darkness.

You don’t see, but Ghost smirks under his balaclava, before turning to face you.

“He’s not taking visitors, Ray. Let’s leave it at that..”

Cunt. Fucking bastard. He knows what he’s doing. Dangling a piece of string in front of a cat..

You growl.

“Arghh! FINE. Fuckin’. Fuckin’ FINE. You win. You happy? You fucking win, Lieutenant. Give me 5 minutes..”

He smirks again, and this time you swear you can see the smugness shine through his eyes. It won’t take you long to pack anyway. Not like you’ve unpacked in the 18 months you’ve been here.

You rush back into the flat and grab the two loaded rucksacks, untouched since you left base for the, what you thought would be, final time. You grab the door handle, and rush back to grab your tins of soup and noodles. Oh - and the wine!

What? It’s a waste not to use them..

You join Ghost back on the street.

“Welcome back, Ray..” the Lieutenant says in a cocky voice.

“Don’t call me that” you snap, bitterly.

“Need to have a name, woman. You’re the newest member of taskforce 141…”

“Piss off…” is all you can muster for the time being.

You wrap your soaked jacket, tighter around your body, and pray that the cigarettes in your bra are still dry.

You’re gonna need them…

[alloftheimagines]

joel miller | left behind

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 2.9k

warnings: angst, angst, angst. so much angst. ep two spoilers. tess's death. grief. loss. infected stuff. reader is tess's younger sister. age gap. more angst. so much angst. slightly violent reader.

synopsis: in which joel honours a promise he made to tess that means he must force reader to leave your infected sister behind in boston. resentment and a bit of hurt/comfort ensues as you head to frank and bill's.

sibling!tess x reader, reader x joel, little bit of reader x ellie

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld

“Holy shit. She’s infected.”

You didn’t think the world could fall apart twice, but you look at Tess as Ellie's words settle in and realise you were wrong. Here you are again, losing everything. This time, you don’t know if you can survive. 

“Tess…” you whisper, shaking your head slowly. “No. No. No.” 

Beside you, Joel is deadly still. He looks at your sister with such detachment that you want to scream. This is Tess. Fucking Tess. 

But you know him. You know he’s good at switching off when things get tough. Not like you. You wear your heart on your damn sleeve, and you can’t fucking do this. You look at her again, heart breaking. You feel every tear, every shard slipping through your ribcage. Tess is motionless — resigned. She wears sadness, but no fear. None anybody but you can see, anyway. You grew up with her. You can see the fading light in her eyes in a way the others won’t. 

And you don’t know what to do.

“Let me see it,” Joel orders quietly.

“Joel…” Tess pleads. 

“Show me,” he growls. 

Bitterly, she tears down the collar of her shirt, revealing the infection blossoming across bruised veins. Your knees threaten to buckle, nausea rising in your throat. 

“No.” Tears slip down your cheeks, and you’re already searching the room again for some hint the Fireflies might have left, some sign that it won’t end like this. “No. The girl is a cure. If we can just—”

Tess is saying your name. You’re not listening. If you listen, it will be real. If you listen, you will have to say goodbye to the only family you have left. 

“Joel,” she’s saying now. “This kid… this kid is real, okay? You gotta get her, get them both, to Tommy’s. He’ll know where to go, what to do.”

“No. No, I’m not doing that,” he replies. 

You’re still rattling around, searching old papers and nooks for something, anything; as though you’ll find a miracle in the shadows. 

“If not for the kid then for her.” Tess’s voice rises. You squeeze your eyes shut, your back turned to her. “She needs you, Joel. This is the end of the road for me, but you need to keep going. Promise me."

“I’m not leaving you here!” you shout, throwing the first thing you find against the wall. It smashes to dust. “We’ll find a way out of this, Tess. We always fucking do. Let’s just stop and figure it out!” 

“There is no figuring it out.” Tess marches over to you, gripping your face in her hands. You try so hard to fight it, so hard to stay in denial, but you look at her drawn face and know she’s already half-gone. You know the worry furrowing her brows isn’t for herself, but for you. For what will happen to you now. She practically raised you, toughening you up or else cradling you through the bad nights, never any in between. It made you both strong and so unbearably weak. Not like Joel, who has never let anything touch him. 

You choke on a sob and close your eyes. “Please, Tess. Please. This can’t be it. I need you.”

“I need you. I need you to be safe. I need you to keep going. Please, sweetheart.” She softens, brushing the tears from your eyes. “Please. For me.”

“No—” 

The sound of moans and the shuffling of uneven footsteps interrupt your protest. Joel goes to the window and curses, readying his gun. “Infected. Shit tonne of ‘em. We gotta go.”

You grab Tess’s wrist without thinking. “Come on.”

But she slips out of your grasp, stepping away from all of you. Ellie has tears in her eyes, but she says nothing, looking for the first time not to Tess or Joel, but to you. 

“I can buy you some time, but you have to run. You have to go,” Tess whispers. 

You shake your head again, ferociously this time. “No. No, I’m not leaving. If you stay, I stay.”

She snaps her head away. “Joel. Get her out of here.”

You fight back a bitter scoff, fists curling at your sides — but then hands lock around your arms, nudging you away. “Come on," Joel grunts. "We have to go. Now.”

The betrayal stings. This is fucking Tess. Of all people, he should want to help her. He shouldn’t be giving up on her. 

You snarl, “Fuck you if you think I’m going anywhere!” 

He doesn’t let up, face carved from stone. “We can’t stay,” he hisses, ducking his head to meet your eye. “You want us all to die?” 

“You go! I’m not—”

“Now, Joel!” Tess is yelling. “Get her the fuck out of here now!”

He swears under his breath again and then his arms are like a vice around your waist, your feet lifting from the floor as he drags you away, kicking and screaming. 

“No!” You’re shrieking now, vocal cords ripping apart as you try to reach for your sister. "Tess!"

But she doesn’t reach back. She turns away, and you know with certainty it’s the last time you’ll see her face. 

“Tess, please!” Sobs erupt from you, and you fight harder now, but Joel is too strong, too broad, too heavy-handed to let you go. “Please! Please! Let me go! Let me stay with her! She's my fucking sister, Joel!” 

The fresh air hits you all at once. One moment you’re there, watching your sister get smaller and smaller as infected scratch and rattle the doors, and then you’re back in the rubble of the drab city, the gold dome of Massachusetts State House dwindling. 

And then exploding.

As your feet finally hit the floor and you try to nudge Joel away, the earth cracks with black smoke and you’re thrown to the ground. Joel’s warmth shields you, and you feel Ellie trembling at your side. 

Silence blankets you like ash. It takes a moment for your brain to comprehend it. Any of it. 

You shove Joel to look back at the State House. The building that is no longer a building, just debris and fire. 

The building where your sister was standing not a moment ago. 

“No.” You say the word differently now. Softer. Devastation pierces through it, through you. She’s gone. Tess is gone. 

“Darlin’...” Joel puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes, and fury sparks through you. 

“You did this!” you scream, hitting his chest again, and again and again. “You took away my choice!” Because the truth is, you would sooner have died in there with Tess than carry on without her. “You took away my fucking sister!” Because he’d gotten her into the jobs, the smuggling. He’d done all of this. 

Joel doesn’t react, barely even budging as you slam into him. His jaw is set, trembling, throat bobbing, and finally he catches your hands and locks his fingers around your wrists. “Look at me.” 

You can’t. You can’t look at him, or anywhere else. You want to vomit. You want to disappear. 

Instead, your chin wobbles and your ribcage opens up and everything pours out of you as you wail. 

He catches you as you sink to the ground, pulling you to his chest, and you’re too weak to push him away now. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, rocking you gently. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sweetheart. There was nothing else we could do. Nothing else I could do. But look at me. Please look at me.” He grips your jaw just as Tess had, and you flinch. You hate him. You fist his shirt between your fingers and you want to destroy it, destroy everything around him. 

Except you don’t. He’s all you have left, and the realisation makes you numb. Joel fucking Miller is the only goddamn person you have. 

You do as he asks. You look at him. 

“She bought us time," he says. "We can’t waste it now. Do you understand? We can grieve her later, but right now, we gotta go. We have to get up and keep going. For Tess.”

You hate that he’s right most of all. As you begin to shut down, shock taking over, you look back at the smoking State House and stand. And then you clutch Joel’s collar and bare your teeth. 

Ellie stumbles towards you, eyes round with fear, but you’ve lost the will to care about her presence. You’ve lost everything today.

“Don’t you fucking say her name again,” you snap. “You lost that right. I blame you. I blame you for who she became, who we’ve all become.”

Anguish curls across Joel’s features, but you refuse to feel guilty. You let him go roughly and grab your backpack off the floor, the same one you’d clutched during the outbreak just after you’d watched your parents get savaged by your infected neighbours, Tess dragging you to safety. You’d been thirteen years old, and your sister had gotten you through hell and back, that night and every other one that came after. 

“It shouldn’t have ended like this,” you whisper into the wind, swallowing your own tears. 

It’s the last moment you allow yourself to have, and then you wipe your damp cheeks and glare down at Joel again. 

“Get up. Let’s go.”

He does, looking winded as he rises from his knees to his feet. You allow him to lead the way only because he knows the city, knows his way around, far better than you did. Tess rarely let you do jobs out of the QZ, protective until the bitter fucking end. 

You wish more than anything you could have protected her. 

***

You don’t get the chance to catch your breath again until you get to Bill and Frank’s — which is empty. You never met them yourself, but you know Tess warmed to them, so to find them dead too… it feels like the last piece of good in the world is truly gone. You slump onto their couch still wrapped in numbness as Joel and Ellie gather supplies, reluctant to so much as look at you. Later, you hear them talking about showering, and Ellie thumps up the stairs, leaving the place quiet. You should wash, too. You should eat, drink, prepare for whatever comes next, but you can��t move. Can’t do anything. 

After minutes, or perhaps hours, of silence, Joel kneels in front of you with a plate of food. “You need to eat, darlin'. I know it’s hard, but you have to.”

You hate him calling you that. He never used to call you that. He barely addressed you at all, stubborn, grumpy old man he is. But he’s been family for a long time, and the three of you… 

You got by together. Until now. 

You glance down at the food and your stomach turns. 

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. It surprises you, that vulnerability bleeding into his words — and it seems to surprise him too, by the look on his face. You’ve never seen him like this. Not once. 

You take a bite for that alone. It’s dry in your mouth, and you find it hard to swallow, so you push the rest away. He sighs and puts it down on the coffee table, swapping the plate for his flask. You take a swig, whiskey burning like vinegar in your throat. 

“If I talk,” he asks, “will you listen?”

“No,” you answer honestly. “No, I don’t feel much like listenin’, Joel.”

Still, he takes your hand. You glare at your intertwined fingers but make no move to pull away. Perhaps part of you still needs to be coddled, taken care of the way Tess might have.

And maybe you need to know you’re not alone. That he isn’t going to give up on you the way he so easily did with Tess. Which is sick, you know, but you’ve never much been able to help the way you feel about him. The way you have always wanted to peel away his layers and understand him. Tear away his self-hatred, guilt, grief, for whatever horrors he faced before. 

“I didn’t want this. Not for Tess and sure as hell not for you.”

“I told you,” you bit. “I told you not to say her name.”

“I made a promise to her a long time ago.” He continued as though you hadn’t spoken, his brown eyes pleading. “I promised that if something happened to her, I would always protect you. That’s what I did today. I was honouring that promise, and honouring your sister. If you need someone to blame, someone to hate, if that makes it easier, go ahead. But don’t think for a second that this was a choice I wanted to make. I cared about her. I care about you. And even if I have to drag you kickin’ and screamin’, I’m getting you to Wyoming, to Tommy. You and I still have a job to do.” Slowly, as though unsure how you’ll react, he tucks your hair behind your ear. “That kid needs us, but we need her a hell of a lot more if the cure is real. And I… I need you. I need you here with me, safe. I ain’t losing another…”

He bows his head, words thickening.  “I ain’t going back on my promise to Tess, so you can make it difficult as you like. You can never lay your damn eyes on me again. But I’m getting you through this.”

A tear drips down your cheek, your entire body trembling as the sorrow, the grief, finally takes over. 

“Oh, baby,” Joel whispers, voice full of the same loss, the same pain. 

A whimper escapes you as you put your head in your hands. You can’t even hate him now, because you can imagine your martyr of a sister asking Joel to do just that. To protect you above all else. Still, you despise it — despise that your choices were taken away, your voice ignored. 

“I should have been with her,” you say. “She shouldn’t have died alone.”

“She died knowing you were being taken care of.” He squeezes your knee with rough hands. “She died knowing she saved us. It’s the best anyone could’a done. I wish it could have been different.”

“I don’t know how to do this without her,” you admit, because how can you keep it all in? All the love you had for her, all that grief… where will you put it when it’s spilling out of you without warning? 

“That’s something we’ll figure out,” Joel responds. He’s drawing circles into your lower thigh now, the pad of his thumb wearing down your denim jeans slowly. Wearing you down slowly. “You should take a shower then see about finishing your food. That hot water… it’ll help. And I won’t be mad if you use it all before I get my turn.” He offers you a small smile.

But you can’t imagine anything ever helping. You close your eyes, sinking back into the couch. “In a minute. I just need…” You don’t know what you need. If you’re being honest, you need Tess. 

As though knowing it, Joel rises, the couch cushions dipping with his weight beside you. He lets out a soft sigh, fidgeting with his fingers. You feel the weight of his gaze on the side of your face. 

A moment later, he’s draping a blanket over you, and your lids flutter open again in confusion. 

“S’okay,” Joel says. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

You don’t need to be told twice. But when you try to nod off, you only see Tess burned on the inside of your eyelids. Her face the last time you saw it. The bite. Her pleas for you to go.

You give up quickly, aware Joel is still beside you, unmoving. It isn’t like him to not be moving. 

Rubbing your face, you sit up, pushing the blanket off. “Joel…”

“Hmm?”

“Blaming you... it doesn't make it fucking easier. I understand why you did what you did, even if I don’t like it. But if you ever take away my choice again… I won’t go on with you. I can’t. I know you and Tess still see me… saw me,” you correct with a wince, “as a kid, but I’m not. Not anymore. And I sure as hell ain’t your responsibility.”

“I don’t see you as a kid,” he says quietly. “And I don’t see you as my responsibility, either. Honestly?” He purses his lips, tapping on the arm of the couch before he continues, “I see you as the only damn thing worth going out of my way to protect. Make of that what you will. Just… don’t expect me to let you die if that’s your choice. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I won’t apologise for it, either.”

You’re not sure what to say to that; what it means. Why Joel, of all people, is the one to say it. You always thought he and Tess… 

“Why? That promise mean so fucking much?”

“Yeah." He looks at you as though for the first time. "Yeah, it does."

You don’t have the energy to wonder what it means anymore. Instead, you pull yourself up on unsteady feet. Your mind is racing, and that shower is sounding better as reality sets in. Just in time, Ellie returns with damp hair and fresh clothes. She offers a small, reassuring smile, and you ruffle her hair, feeling guilty that a fourteen-year-old was subjected to everything you went through in Boston. Whoever she is, whatever purpose people want her to serve… she’s just a kid, and you couldn’t hold it together for her today. That makes you a shitty chaperone.

“My turn,” you mumble, glancing at Joel a final, wary time before heading upstairs. His expression doesn’t change, but you see something new in it now. Something strange. 

Something that looks an awful lot like care.

[gracieblood]

it’s about fucking time i made a new intro post, so hi

last edited: jan 5th

ive gone by a shit tonne of fake online names in the past just to avoid using my actual name because i hate it. rn i mostly use red (because im a redhead. creative, i know). if you’ve known me for a while then feel free to just call me whatever ur used to i literally do not care whatsoever. i change this basically every week, but it really doesn’t make a difference to me.

currently matching icons with @cringelordofchaos (the silly) 😽😽

i am fully aware that i am probably autistic (thank you to the many people who informed me. i got the hint.) but i don’t wanna self diagnose

the only pronouns i use are they/them so please do not call me anything else.

this is mostly a fandom blog. i use it as my main, so sometimes there’s other stuff, but don’t expect much else. if you’re interested in my other blog dm me, but be aware there’s a chance i won’t share it depending on who you are.

music i like: destroy boys, msi, icp, weezer, femtanyl, muse

games: class of 09 - all games (fuck sbn3), mouthwashing, the stanley parable, cooking companions, omori (not finished)

shows: south park, uzumaki (as well as other junji ito creations, but i won’t list them all here. you know them), scott pilgrim takes off, tokyo ghoul, moral orel, the walten files, skins uk, arcane (also not finished)

theatre: heathers, book of mormon, school of rock, ride the cyclone, dear evan hansen, blood brothers, wicked

movies: scott pilgrim vs the world, superbad, orgazmo, heathers, team america, baseketball, cannibal the musical, fantastic mr fox, the corpse bride, nightmare before christmas

feel free to dm me or send an ask but be warned that i’m apparently quite mean sometimes 🤷‍♀️

[itsrlymine]

mini success storyyy!!! soo on jan 1st i scripted and wrote down how i wanted my 2025 to be and I wrote down I have my dream wardrobe bc before my wardrobe was like pretty trash like there were no like statement peices or whatever and thats bc nothing in store is anything I want. But anyway today I went shopping and girlll i have a shit tonne of clothes now and theyre all SO CUTE and ALL OF IT WAS CHEAPP WHEN ITS USUALLY EXPENSIVE AFF THEY WERE ALL ON SALE

ugh yess i love this so much babe yes!!!!! you better work babe and you better come back here with more successes this month bc i know this is just the beginning!!! i'm so happy for you!!

[red1culous]

Glass Castle

Rolling onto your side you groan curling up into a fetal position. It seemed the best one to relieve the stabbing pain in your stomach. Once the worst wave of pain passed you wiped the tears from your eyes and grab the remote control deciding to distract yourself with something, anything on the telly. 

Water and medication would have been beneficial but you had no energy and the thought of getting up sounded like a form of medieval torture. Part of you wished you could call someone for help. If only your phone wasn’t out of charge. A self berating wave of self pity washes over you as you finally fall asleep, rigid and spent. 

You were so out of it you barely hear the front door opening 22 minutes later. 

“Y/N? Y/N?” Her voice filters through the fog of your brain. Your eyes flicker open but they feel heavy, like lead. The lights are bright forcing your eyes closed. You will them open again and a blur of dark blue and red hair move in front of you. You feel yourself being shifted. A light shines in your eyes. 

“Nat?” you groan when a light sting spreads across your cheek. 

“C’mon now you need to drink some water” she says leaning over you helping you get upright. 

The minute her hands are on you, you remember you hadn’t showered in days and probably looked like death personified. 

“You shouldn’t be here. You could get infected” you try but fail to hide the numb, somnolent panic to your plea. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says calmly, staring her determination into you. Her green eyes blazed, indomitable, and she was never more beautiful than she was right then. 

She hands you a glass of coconut water. “Drink” she instructs.

You gladly accept it taking a generous gulp. A little trickles down your chin and you quickly wipe it with the sleeve of your shirt. You notice that your clothes aren’t stiff with your own crusty dried vomit. The realisation hits you like a tonne of bricks when you look down and see yourself in a fresh set of joggers and matching tee. 

“You changed me?” you ask. 

“Yes.” She nods as your face turns a beet red. “I also gave you a sponge bath well because…” she trails off before quickly adding, “Why? Self conscious?”

“Urgh,” you groan loudly and she chuckles. “Only that I shit myself and was covered in vomit. Not exactly how I pictured you seeing me for the first time, you know?”

“You pictured that huh?” she asks smirking.

You screw your eyes shut and wrinkle your nose realising that you had just exposed one of your deepest secrets to her. 

“You’re not a good person, picking on a dying person” you say your eyes still closed. 

She starts to laugh and you feel the whole bed shake with her. “You’re not dying. And I never said I was a good person” she says enjoying herself. 

This makes you look at her. And once you do you’re trapped by the foliant blaze of her green eyes. She doesn’t look away. You watch each other. Her eyes were softer, far softer than you had ever remembered them. 

She then pushes a lock of hair behind her ear with her thumb and forefinger. You find that you liked the hard-edged cleverness of her conversation, and the easy way she held your eyes until the precise moment when it stopped being comfortable, like right now, and then smiles, softening the assail, but never looking away. 

She knew. She had to know. 

-----

I have a taglist if you want to be on it.

@arcturusseer @readings-stuff @blackwidow-3 @justyourwritter69 @cutelittleakira @jareguiromanoff @sk1nnyftt @official-clint-barton @nattysredhair @black-kittycat18 @owloftheshadows @angryalpacachaos @iliketozoneout @marvelonmymind @wastdstime @lovelyy-moonlight @beholdagaywriter @inluvwithfictionalwomen @33-mrvl

[heartofbusan]

TLDR: re-entry into the bangtan gravitational field at your own pace in 2025. Guilt free!

2024 was such a re-set year for me when it comes to engaging with bangtan. Can I be fully honest and say that their enlistment has been relaxing for me? Sure, we had a shit tonne of content to wade through, but without the members themselves being present for any of it, it meant a less direct engagement with the work during their 2024 releases. For me, that meant fewer feelings of guilt towards 'being present' with them. Does that make sense? It's like I got room to engage at my own pace and on my own terms. Or I might just be getting older, lol. Not discounting that possibility.

The music we got still had great impact on me. It felt sensual to engage with it as if it was a new discovery and less of an obligation. Time constraints sometimes meant it took me weeks to watch an mv, or listen to an album without distractions. Quite a different way of being army than I was before.

I became an army during the pandemic, right at the very start of our first lockdown. I allowed myself to delve into something that had only existed in my periphery. With their amazing music, which was second only to their interactions and personalities, came a whole boatload of content to wade through. All the while, Dynamite was being launched as my first official comeback. Growing up with that juggernaut meant feeling deeply invested and also responsible for their success. The results were very much a shared success. The perfect fertilizer for the parasocial relationship I'm currently involved in with seven Korean men I've never even met.

It took me away from my own life. Kept me in that state of detached social contact that was created thanks to the pandemic. Yet, I felt sated, my joy became engaging with these men, their art. What need did my surroundings fulfill that couldn't be met by army as friends and by bts as my sole purveyor of art?

Fleeing the horrors of Twitter and learning to navigate this platform also meant a deeper focus into one aspect of army that I never felt fully comfortable doing there. Jikook.

What can I say? They have my full attention. I lost some, what at the time I thought were some very good friends in this process. I barely gained any new ones. Yet, in this year, I did discover the power of a restful thought written into sharp observation. And nothing compelled me to write as much as jikook does.

But, all good things must evolve in order to be sustainable in the long run. I don't want that period to sour, to become just a hyper fixation. BTS' enlistment period meant I could take a step back and re-evaluate what it all meant to me and how I could keep it for the long run. As we roll into the sanctified year of 2025, the year that means the end of bangtan's mandatory enlistment period, we'll being sucked back into that vortex. I want to do it on my own terms.

My personal goals for 2025.

More: engaging with new content in my own time. Less: obsessive streaming and the feelings of guilt others put upon behavior that might be detrimental to your peace. Sorry, but this behavior is not sustainable in my life as it once was.

Less: buying dopamine. More: buying with intention, whether it be music or merchandise. Those tickets will not come free of charge, i hope you have been saving up ☺️

Less: engaging with content as it drops. Yes, even lives! Argh. As much as it pains me to feel like I'm ignoring someone. More: Being present in my real life.

No one gets to dictate who is army and who isn't. These are arbitrary rules set upon by some who are willing and able to direct a lot of time and money to a singular goal. I know as I write this that I'm making excuses for myself. Yet, I need it to be true. I want to carve a place for bangtan into my life, not the other way around. Let's not let a corporation dictate our genuine feelings for the sake of capitalism.

Most of all, I hope health and general well-being are what carry us all into 2025. Nothing is certain, but love is a very powerful feeling. One which can move mountains. Sometimes to great personal cost. Yet, it is worth it in the long run. Wouldn't you agree?

I hope you have a very calm and enjoyable end of year. Be safe and tell your loved ones how they make you feel. It's important to hold on to the things you have control over and to let go, nay, expell the things that are beyond your reach.

[kitkatscabinet]

Being from Miles's universe and meeting Peter when he's at his lowest hcs.

(Gn reader so all my lovelies can enjoy)

Instead of Miles running into Peter first, you do. You're walking home and find what at first you think is a homeless man unconscious face down in the snow.

You aren't stupid, armed with pepper spray and a pocket knife you quickly but carefully walk towards him, nudging him with your foot when he doesn't respond.

Turning him over, you then worry you've stumbled across some idiot deciding to try and fill the void of the recently deceased spider man that then got his ass kicked.

you go to call the police but are stopped by a surprisingly strong grasp your wrist.

What happens next is what feels like supporting a drunk elephant back to your apartment. The man weighs a metric shit-tonne and is so uncoordinated it takes what feels like an eternity to make it back to your shitty run down apartment

More than once you have to dissuade people from calling the cops on what looks like a suspected kidnapping/murder and it leaves you even more furious at the deadbeat you now wished you'd ignored.

You're covered in sludge and snow and now your sheets are too, but you find it a little easier to ignore when you pull off the mask to find a boyishly handsome face

You can tell he's seen better days, but then again, so have you, and there's something endearing about the wet cat qualities he seems to possess

It's him that wakes you up in the morning, a shriek leaving your throat and a soft toy hurtling at his face as you register there is a man you don't know in your living area before the night's memories come rushing back

"Eggs?" you blurt out and that's how the two of you end up spending the morning. eating breakfast in silence and staring in confusion at one another

This is also the day you get introduced to the multiverse. Causing a freak out that lasts even longer than realising the man - Peter Parker with a striking resemblance to Spiderman was indeed A Spiderman.

He stays for a week before you run into one Miles Morales and Gwen Stacey.

Somewhere along the way, your nights turn into late-night conversations commiserating over life. The man is so pathetic, but what started as pity quickly turns into genuine empathy and friendship

During that time you learn all about MJ and about Peter's fears of being a dad. You are quick to assuage his fears, pointing to how good he is with teens as a reason

It's after one of these conversations that you start sleeping in the same bed. You wouldn't let him take the couch and he felt bad taking your bed for so long.

Peter wakes before you the next morning, having pulled you into him during his sleep, and for the first time since MJ he truly feels at peace.

It's selfish of him but he decides to pull you closer and go back to sleep, not noticing the fact you'd woken up too.

you both know he has to leave soon, but neither of you can quite stop yourselves from indulging in the little fantasy you've created

[sleepymccoy]

I think it's a shame that Cecil dies at the end of the ep. Are we sure he doesn't want to move to Melbourne, Australian in 2024 and be like maybe 32 years old? I think that would round his character arc out very well

I'm part way through season one of x files (I have seen some eps, but never watched it all) and this ep starts and I'm just like... that looks so much like Mark Sheppard with bad facial hair.

Then I'm thinking, as someone gets set on fire, I vaguely remember a spontaneous combustion episode from my childhood Mark Sheppard obsession. Can't remember what show it was, but I remember fire. I watched all his stuff at some point my life

Then, of course, the credits say Mark Sheppard and I'm gonna enjoy the next 45 episodes of my afternoon!

[narcolini]

open wounds

frank castle x gn!reader, ex dating, hurt/comfort, 2404 words

for day 6 of whumpril : salve | painkillers | bad coping mechanisms

warnings for burns, implied suicidal intentions, terrible first aid probably

a/n: yknow when you love a character so much that you dont even know where to start with writing about them?? no?? just me?? im shaking in my boots... also huge shout out to @ashlingiswriting for helping with this!!

tagging: @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa @cositapreciosa​ (five times as requested)

He’s dripping wet. Frank, back at your door, for the first time in half a year, and dripping wet from head to toe. His jeans, his hoody, his boots—which must weigh a tonne, if they’re as full of water as the rest of him. He’s scrubbed his face dry, clearly, because the front of his hair is sticking upright, brushed up by the rough of his fingertips, and his cheeks are cleaner than the rest of him. Bare of the grime he’s covered in. If it wasn’t so obviously a bad thing—him being here, him being anything other than his usual self—you might’ve laughed. Might’ve joked about him choosing the worst church for an over-due baptism.

‘What the fuck happened?’ you scoff, bypassing all other greetings. You don’t even spare the thought to be annoyed at him, to tell him to go away, get out of here, before someone sees you. You just balk, and frown, and hang off the door as you look him over. ‘You look like you went free-diving in the river, Frank.’

He doesn’t respond, just sighs and tilts his head as if to say—

‘Oh my God.’ He did. He jumped into the fucking river. ‘That explains the stink, then.’

‘Yup.’

It’s pouring off him. Stale water, oil spill.

‘Look, I gotta ask you a favour,’ he says, awkward about it, though you’d thought as much already. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.’

And you wouldn’t let him in, either, if you didn’t have to.

‘Come in.’ The less time he spends in the corridor, the better. ‘Do I even want to know what you…’ The words fizzle out once you’re behind him, door closed and facing his back.

The material of his hoody has been singed away, not entirely, but across his shoulders and in patches down his spine, the t-shirt beneath in a similar state. He’d been set alight, somehow, long enough for it to burn all the way through. Two layers of cloth and then skin. Red, raw, skin.

‘Jesus, Frank.’

‘Had to put it out somehow,’ he shrugs, ‘seemed like the quickest option.’

‘Do you even realise how much shit is in that river?’

But he must do, of course, because he’s here. He’s not at home, self-medicating, slapping soap and water on it and hoping for the best. He’s here because he’s smart enough to realise bacteria will kill him easier and faster than any bullet would. Which isn’t usual, for most, but he has a knack for surviving no matter how many holes they put in him.

‘Bathroom, please,’ you tell him. You remember where it is.

You watch him nod in front of you, hands tucked in the sodden pockets of his hoody. He’s holding himself rigid—tense arms, straight shoulders—to hide the shakes, you realise. The wet has gotten into the bones, chilled him deep enough to send shivers through the muscles. Why he’s bothering to try and cover it, you don’t know. You’ve seen him in worse shapes.

When he reaches the bathroom, you in tow, he turns and waits. In front of you, on the curling blue bath matt beneath. It’s been a long time since you’d done him a favour. A long time, since you’d been alone with him, for reasons other than why this doesn’t work, why the two of you won’t work.

You sigh, close your eyes. He knows as well as you do what’s coming.

‘Am I in danger,’ you ask, feeling the sick twist of regime in your stomach, the edge of familiarity in the question, ‘by you being here? Is it putting me in danger?’

‘No, no, I promise.’ His head shakes. ‘No-one knows I’m here.’

‘You’re sure?’

He pauses, swallows. Nods. ‘It’s just me.’

‘And is it only the burns? Nothing else?’

‘I’d do it myself, but I,’ his teeth chatter, ‘I can’t reach.’

‘Okay.’ No surprise gunshot wounds, no broken bones. You can handle it, as long as you know what to expect. ‘I’ll do my best,’ you tell him, now you know it isn’t at your detriment, and turn to look through the cabinet above the sink.

‘Thank-you,’ he begins, which you try to wave off. ‘No, I mean it, I—I know you must hate…’ The words get away from him. A drop of water shakes from the peak of his hair onto his cheek. ‘Yeah, just, thank-you.’

You know what he’s implying. He’s as wrong about it now as he was then.

‘I don’t hate you, Frank.’

‘Well, you don’t like me much,’ he grumbles. ‘Not that I blame you.’

You don’t like his choices. You don’t like his instincts. You don’t like his susceptibility to getting himself in trouble, once a fucking week. ‘Take this off,’ you tell him, tugging at the sopping wet of his sleeve. ‘You’re shivering.’

He complies, jaw-setting as he pulls both the hoody and t-shirt over his head, no doubt having to rip the burnt-fibres from the edges of his wounds. He does well to hide it—if that’s the case—removes them without a hiss of pain, or any hesitation. The wet lump of them lands on the tiles with a slap, water splattering over your socks.

You fill the sink, making sure it’s lukewarm, cool. It’d be better to douse him with hot water, really, to stop the shivers and get rid of the smell, but the burns are more pressing. The very last thing they need is more heat.

‘Jeans and socks too. Then sit on the bath,’ you instruct before leaving the room. It isn’t for privacy’s sake, but to get your blanket from the couch and a clean towel from the closet. Get him warm, get the site disinfected, then cover it in Saran wrap and hope for the best. It isn’t as good as real, authoritative, medical treatment, but it’s better than he could manage by himself.

When you’re back, he’s done as you said again, and is sitting on the edge of the bath in just his boxers. A sorry sight, long past the invitation that it used to be. You’re sure there’s scars there that you aren’t familiar with, across his chest, below his naval, but there isn’t time to inspect them. He’s shaking still, and looking up at you like he’s sorry to occupy the space at all.

‘You ever treated burns?’ he asks, as you hand him the blanket.

‘Nothing like that,’ you admit. ‘Spin.’

He does. You put the towel on the floor beneath his back, where the drips will be, as he drapes the blanket over his lap. He isn’t shy about it now, how cold he is. He pulls the edge of the throw up to his chin, tucking his arms inside it, and gives a bigger, exaggerated shiver afterwards. Like he’s purging it, and inviting warmth to take it’s place now that it’s out.

Without the clothes, the burns look dangerous. Red and angry, almost the print of a cross over his back, with the worst of them sitting in a thick strip along his shoulder blades.

‘What even…?’ You brush a thumb by the edge of it, bending down to get a closer look; it’s not just a burn, but a scrape too, a layer of skin torn off like he’s been dragged over tarmac. ‘What happened, beyond the fire?’

You don’t mean the order of events that led to it, or the reasoning behind him shouldering fire in the first place—you’re long past caring or asking about his endeavours. Anything that ends in a list of dead bodies, people he’s killed, is none of your business. That stopped being your problem, the same time he did. But the longer you look, the less it seems like a simple, standard burn. The less you know about how to treat it.

Frank grunts, head dipped. ‘Over-estimated a jump. Slipped off a, a wall, going into the river.’

You wince. ‘Yeah, looks like you left a bit of your back attached to it.’

He puffs out through his nose. ‘That bad?’

Not by his standards, you’re sure. ‘Well. I think it’s saved you from the worst of the blistering, at least.’ The smaller scalds will, no doubt, tonight or tomorrow, but the wide abrasion across the top might have saved him from something more severe. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to put cream on them,’ you say, ‘but I’ve got an antiseptic spray that I think will be worth the risk.’ And the pain. ‘Okay?’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, without hesitation, ‘do what you gotta do.’

When you start at it with the water, poured slow from a mug and onto his back, he hisses. Sucks breaths in and out between the clench of his teeth, regulates the pain for your sake alone, you’re sure, and you can bare that. You can work while he does that, quiet and dedicated.

But when you move onto the spray, he swears, low and rasping, like he hates you for a moment. Like he’s angry at you, the antiseptic, the base of the bath that he thumps with his heel.

‘I’m sorry,’ you put quickly, unable to ignore it. ‘This is the worst part.’

Maybe bad enough, really, that you shouldn’t be doing it at all. In the grand scheme of things, agitated burns are better than infection, right? Better than leaving whatever germs live in the Hudson, to fester in the scrapes of his skin.

‘Keep going,’ he insists, through the clench of his jaw—so you do, grimacing each time he swears and flinches under you.

By the time it’s done, dried and wrapped, you’re both exhausted. Him more than you, that you can admit. He sits quietly on the bath now, waiting for the painkillers you’d promised. It’s the first time he hasn’t tried to convince you that he doesn’t need them.

‘Here.’ You hand him the pills, the glass of water. Watch him swallow them both, before sitting beside him, facing the opposite way. Shoulder to shoulder. ‘I think that’s about all I can do for you,’ you say, glancing at his waiting gaze.

He’s got his head turned towards you, dark eyes only inches away. You can’t match them for long. You’re looking back at the pile of wet clothes on the floor before you speak again.

‘If it shows any sign of infection, Frank.’

He puts the glass down, head shaking in the edge of your vision. ‘I’m not going to a hospital. I can’t.’ He’s dead already, he means, and waltzing into the ER would ruin the only leg-up he has.

‘Then someone who knows more than me, at least,’ you insist. ‘You can’t do any of your righteous, vigilante bullshit with sepsis, you know.’

‘I know,’ he says, and he means it. Sounds sore about it too, regretful, even. Not because of his health, but because of what it would take from him.

You let him sit with that for a moment, watching him drop the blanket from his shoulders and put his hands over the top of it instead, pooling in his lap. The shaking’s stopped now; without the wet clothes, and in the warmth of your home, it didn’t take long to scare them away. After the ordeal you put him through, he’s sweating instead. Damp across his brow.

‘Why d’you do it?’ you ask, though you’d told yourself long ago that you would stop asking him that. Stop wasting your breath on something that would never change.

‘Do what?’ He looks like he might laugh, glancing sideways at you, like he’s itching to say, you think I toasted myself on purpose? But it’s over-compensation, really. He knows what you mean.

‘Put yourself in these fucking situations, every time…’ You sigh. ‘You had a chance to get out, Frank. To start fresh.’

But why bother saying it to him? You know the answer as soon as it comes from your lips. You know what makes him do it. You know he can’t function otherwise. If bad coping mechanisms had a poster boy, he would be it. If self-hatred and self-pity was a competition, he’d win. He would lap everyone before they’d even got off the mark.

‘You’ve got to retire at some point,’ you tell him, which sounds like a plea you hadn’t aimed to give.

He scoffs, shaking his head. His thumbs toy with the edge of the blanket. ‘You know it doesn’t work like that.’

Not for him, that’s the truth, and it snowballs in your head until you say, ‘You’re gonna keep going until something kills you, aren’t you?’

He doesn’t answer, because he can’t do that either. Admitting it aloud, to himself or to you, would make it real. Undeniable.

‘Well,’ you start, bending the conversation into something liveable again, ‘you’re lucky your ex is so good at first aid.’ You shoulder him, lightly, smiling until he smiles back. Just enough.

‘Yeah,’ he breathes, ‘yeah, I am.’ He considers you for a moment, before tucking his chin and looking to his hands. ‘I didn’t think you’d be so,’ he hesitates, searching for the word.

‘Willing?’

He nods. ‘Thought I’d have to talk you into it.’

You snort, a real smile creeping onto your lips. ‘Would you have begged if I asked you to?’

‘I don’t know.’ His brows pinch together, thick and sorry-looking. ‘Would you have turned me away if I didn’t?’

‘No,’ you realise, because you had patched him up too often to let him suffer now. The blood on your hands has to have been worth something. ‘But I’d have taken an extra pass with that spray.’

He laughs weakly. ‘Yeah, that, I’d probably deserve.’

Because that’s his answer to everything, isn’t it? Every ounce of pain he endures, is nothing but a coin in the never ending debt that he owes himself. The only person that would ever expect it of him. The only one that thinks he deserves this, burns and wounds that he can’t fix for himself.

‘I think you should go,’ you say quietly, as your heart tugs in the opposite direction. ‘It’s late.’

Late, and approaching the longest time you’ve spent with him since the two of you broke up. Any longer and you might forget why.

[collectivecloseness]

Omg some more Robin pls?! Maybe some angst or smth?

Enough Sweetness

Robin Buckley x reader

Steve tilted his head up to watch Robin, yet again laughing under his breath, at her humming to another cheesy love song blasting through the radio of family video. This time she was even dancing to it. Again!

He’d let her enjoy her happiness. She genuinely deserved it, and he was kinda living through her vicarious joy in her love life right now. But not when she was about to abdanon him during his shift, and leave him with a tonne of shit to sort. “Hey! Wanna pick up those tapes on the fooor, for the dozenth time?” Steve chirped at her, but he still shook his head as he smiled, when Robin span around to him, beaming widely herself.

Her teeth shone, dancing with the large bag of candyfloss she hadn’t realised she’d been hugging for the past twenty minutes now. “Y/n’s picking me up early. I’ll do it when she gets here!” She waved Steve off, although hopped over to his side, putting away the sugary treat and grinning up at him, so glad each other’s positive energy was bringing the other up more and more! She was still just bouncing on her feet as she stood next to him, asking him yet again if she should change into the other shirt she brought with her, needing his advice with what she should wear on her first date with you.

Yesterday had been massive. An amazing event in Robins usually perilous life. The first time her heart had beat that fast and it wasn’t because of a panic attack, in months. You had asked Robin out, on a date. You!!!

Robin had been desperately and deeply crushing on you for months, ever since you moved to town and became friends with her and Steve! Robin was so pleased you were actually gay, because she had no idea if you had actually been flirting with her when she had with you, holy shit! And thank god you’d been brave enough to make the first move and ask her out, because Robin knew she would’ve been too scared to speak up. Well, minus a trapped life or death situation. Like how she told Steve her... situation.

The entire end of yesterday’s shift, the phone call between the two that had lasted all night, and all of today’s shift, had literally just been Robin and Steve discussing your date tonight! Robin thought Steve was nearly as excited as her. She was so so so glad she could just talk with him about it! Over and over. Even when she was basically just repeating the same thing for the millionth time, Steve still got excited with her when she brought it up, even asking more questions about it that he’d thought up!

They mostly, however, talked about what you two would do, since Robin, half stupidly, said she wanted to be the one to think of the date idea, since you’d been bold enough to ask her in the first place. She panicked until Steve helped her with some ideas, and she finally had decided on a good date! Robin had it all planned out, every detail perfect. She’d even gotten you a present! Just some chocolates. One of the big selection boxes, a brand you specifically brought up liking.

Robin always remembered those things about you. Steve had teased her for an entire month, when on a shopping trip you two had tested loads of perfumes, and then Robin secretly bought the one you liked the most. She did literally douse herself in the stuff, but Steve teasing her about spraying it extra hard whenever you came in, didn’t help her red face when she was trying to get it on with the ladies! Rather, one particular lady. But... those chocolates were golden. Steve said that type of present was okay for a first date too.

Something Robin asked Steve about yet again. Her bag was by the candy section near the front of the store, since you’d be here soon enough and no customers would be at this time. She opened up her bag, showing off the selection box to Steve in person, and not just a peek through her zipped bag. “Are you sure it’s big enough? Or- or is it too big? Or-?”

“Robin it’s chocolate. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Steve chuckled. But Robin only rolled her eyes at him. “You’re a guy, you don’t get it.”

“Well I get dates, since I’ve actually been on some.” Steve teased, raising his elbow up to defend him from Robin’s shove he knew was coming, but both friends still had smirks on their faces. It’d been a part of the reason Robin was so excited anyway. She kept bringing up the last 24 hours how this would be her first proper date!

“Look, y/n will love them. I swear. You didn’t even need chocolate, she likes you.” Steve solemnly vowed, hand to his heart, and the other coming down on Robin’s shoulder. Who just started vibrating under him at the knowledge, like a puppy on a sugar rush. Steve had to physically take his hand back off, she was making it tingly. He still looked at her. Holy shit. Had she just been vibrating this entire time?

“Yeah, but it’ll definitely score points!” Robin chimed, knowingly.

“Well you know what would score points with me? Picking up those tapes I’ve asked you to clear. You said you wanted to split into sections today.”

“Luckily I don’t need to score points with you, I already know you love me.” Robin sung, Steve having his turn to roll his eyes at her now, as Robin moved back over to the wrong side of the room.

“Hey! At least take your bag to the break room. That way I won’t break my neck on that as well.” Steve teased, lifting it up for her to snatch out his hands.

“Okay!” Robin said, balancing her tray of chocolates in one hand and the strap of her bag in the other.

“Y/n will definitely know you’re a creepy stalker if she sees you just staring out the windows.” Steve teased, tidying the tapes on his side of the room, Robin not even caring about giving a comeback today, too cheerful, only a snort, as she turned her back.

But Robin’s luck did have to run out at some point. While she woke up with a great skin day, and she’d found the bottle of conditioner that always made her hair look extra soft, and her best looking clothes had dried in time for her to wear/pack in her work bag... Robin made a mistake.

Robin skipped over to the front desk, where the break room entrance would be. Only to trip over the pile of tapes on her path, and go flying into the dirty carpeted floor.

“Shit!” Steve swore, running over to where he’d seen Robin topple, only hissing as he saw her gift for you, crumpled between her hands and the floor, and the chocolates scattered across the entirety of it. It was broken. But Steve had to quickly move onto Robin, who was face first on the floor, taking her arm and lifting her up a little. “Robin? Hey. Are you okay?” He asked concerned.

Robin felt dazed for a moment, the heels of her hands slightly burning, and embarrassment flooding through her at eating shit like that. But then, as Steve helped her sit up, Robin took sight of all of her chocolates, smashed and thrown around the floor. It was ruined.

Everything was ruined!

Steve’s heart sank deep into his stomach when Robin immediately burst into tears. “Shit, Robin.” He rubbed her shoulder as he stood her up by himself, very little help from his friend, as he quickly determined she wasn’t properly hurt. She was just upset. Her face not red from bashing it, but from how her tears started to flow.

“Sssh ssh ssh ssh. Hey, Robin. It’s okay.” Steve promised, rubbing both her shoulders quickly to try and comfort her, feeling awful as she buried her hand into her face, after staring at more at her gift strewn about.

“Sssshh. I promise y/n won’t mind, eh?” Steve spoke with a smile. But it didn’t work. Robin shook her head vehemently, rubbing the back of her hand against her nose. “No. It’s all ruined!” She sobbed. Steve gave her a quick hug, murmuring a “No it’s not. It’s not ruined.” into her hair, before pulling back with his hands still planted firmly on her shoulders.

Robin only stood in his hold. “I’m so stupid. You told me to pick them up.”

Steve couldn’t have his best friend talking like this, especially not on what was supposed to be one of the best days of her life! “Nah. I’m too bossy, not surprising my words go in one ear half the time.” Steve shrugged, to which, to his glee, gets a small laugh from Robin.

“You’re not bossy.” She moans, sniffling that tiny smile away again.

“Thank you.” Steve still smiles, gratefully holding onto Robin when she pushes herself into his chest for a hug this time. Squeezing her tight in his arms as she hugged his back, his smile dimming a little as he sees the open box, crumpled on the floor. There wasn’t a single chocolate left in the red plastic of the packaging, nothing salvageable. But it wasn’t that big a deal. He just had to focus on Robin right now. Get her happy and date ready again like she was a minute ago.

But then as he pulled back, because he swore he heard her crying more, even though Robin still looked like she needed that hug, Steve’s eyes wandered down. And his face softened in empathy. “Hey... What happened?” He asked gently, looking down to get Robin’s attention on her pant leg, that was very ruffled and messed up, high on her calf.

Robin sniffed, keeping one hand on Steve’s bicep for leverage, as she pulled up her pant leg, and started to feel the small sting of pain now she was moving it about, now she’d noticed it. She had a scrape on her knee. Little dots of blood around a tiny cut, the skin all looking very flushed.

Steve hissed through his teeth, mostly to show Robin he saw it, as he rubbed his hand up her back. “Come on. Let’s go to the break room, get it fixed.”

Steve walked her there, turning on the lights before he propped Robin up on a stool, grabbing the first aid kit and gently dabbing at her scraped knee with an antiseptic wipe. As Robin used the tissues he’d brought, to clean up her snot. Although she was still crying. Steve carefully pressed a bandaid to her knee, before settling on his knees by her front, gently nudging her hand with the back of his finger. “Hey. What’s wrong?” Steve learnt to ask that more than ‘no need to cry’ after that had been ingrained in him as a child. He’d only gotten rid of it after his King Steve days, even then when he was trying to comfort people he cared about.

“It’s okay! You’re still gonna go on your date and have an amazing time. It doesn’t matter that much, really Robin.” He assured her, but he chewed on his lip as Robin didn’t respond, tears still following heavily, only shaking her head with a groan, disagreeing with him.

Steve sighed, deciding to sit down properly at her knees now, knowing that under the layer of glee Robin had for this date, she also was bursting with anxiety. “Why’d you think chocolate would be the end all?”

“It’s not about the chocolate. It’s because it was a gift for her.” Robin explained despondently, her breath hitching with cries as she scrubbed harshly at her cheeks. Who cares? Her make up was ruined now anyways!

“Okay, why do you think a gift would be that important?” Steve decides to ask instead, his own breath catching in his throat at the miserable look Robin gives him from where her head is bowed. Fringe a mess, mascara dabbed under her eyelids, skin flushed under her freckles, and eyes dejected.

“Oh jeez, you’re really nervous aren’t you?” Steve realised, rubbing his hand over the back of his head.

“It’s-“ Robin had to take a deep breath, the action immediately stuttering in her throat, and causing her to sob again. Wiping at the tears still leaking out of her eyes. “It’s not just that it’ll be my first actual date. Or that, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to date that many people. Because I can’t exactly go around saying that I...” She swallowed, tearing up further as her lip trembled. “Saying I like women.”

Steve shuffled closer, resting his hand on her good knee.

“That like, I might not get many opportunities to date. It’s not just that, I-“ Robin heaved a breath that sounded pained, spit flecking out as she breathed. “It’s that... I really, really like her Steve. Like, I don’t just like y/n, I...” This one, Robin found harder to finish. She didn’t wail more, or cover her face, She just needed help in saying it. He nodded in understanding. He already knew. Squeezing her knee, he moved until Robin could catch his eyes. “I really really really like her Steve. I like her so much. And I just... I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t like me that way. If we go on a date, and she wasn’t really that serious, or she decides I’m not good enough-!”

“Hey! Nobody could think that.” Steve shook his head as he stopped her there. Eyes serious but empathetic up at her.

And Robin nodded, taking his hand that was on her knee into both her own. Holding them tight, as she tries to come down.

Steve can tell she really does believe him, so he shimmies a little closer, his feet jammed against hers as he adds. “I mean hey, didn’t she ask you out?”

Robin laughed. A shy and excited little “Yeah.” leaving her lips, like she still couldn’t quite believe it herself. It was really a good for her moment. And she squeezes her best friends hand in excitement as she recalled the happy memory, Steve squeezing back.

“What the hell happened in here?!?”

Robin and Steve’s heads both shot to the closed door of the break room, instantly recognising your voice. And realising you must’ve seen the scene of scattered tapes and ruined chocolates all over the floor, with no one in sight.

The two both froze, before turning back to look at each other. With only knowing looks, no words, passing by the duo, Steve easily recognised that Robin wanted him to go out first, and get you.

Which is what he did, Robin watching him stand and open the door, hearing him mumbling to you about her, as she sniffed, and desperately tried to wipe at her eyes. Oh my god. How much snot did she have in her? And why could she still not stop crying??!

When you entered the break room after Steve had somewhat explained the front, your heart broke as you saw your Robin. Sitting there on a stool, looking so small, as she looked up at you with a tear streaked face, pant leg lifted and a bandaid on her knee. “Hey! Hey sweet girl. What happened?” You asked, walking towards her.

Robin looked up at you sadly, eyes blurry from her tears, feeling like her shaky lip was about to form a pout. And all she wanted to do was reach her arms up for you.

But she didn’t need to. Because you swooped straight down to her level, enveloping her in a big hug. Robin cried more into your shoulder as you did so. Not loudly, but knowing she was letting drool and tears onto your jacket and still clinging to you anyway. Little hiccups leaving her as you pulled gently away, rubbing her leg up and down above her sore knee. “Hey sweetheart, you’re okay. What happened?”

Robin took some shaky breaths, still clinging onto your jacket as you held her arms, her voice a little shaky too. “Th- the chocolates.”

“Were they for me?” You asked, with a sweet and surprised smile.

Robin nodded. Wanting to bemoan ‘I ruined it’, but finding herself unable to with that smile you were giving her.

“Oh Robbie, that’s so sweet! Thank you honey.” You hugged around Robin’s neck, swaying her a little, with your cheek pressed to hers. And Robin couldn’t help but close her eyes, and take a breath, clinging onto your arms that were wrapped so lovingly around her neck, and just letting you sway her.

“It’s okay, thank you for the gift anyway sweetie, I saw it. That was so sweet. They looked nice.” You spoke warmly.

Robin nodded, sniffing as she clenched her hands back and forth over the arms of your jacket. She was about to say, that she just wanted everything to be perfect, to prove to you, but she was cut off by you talking first.

“I don’t think I need that much more sweetness though, do I honey?” You grinned wide, before leaning up and giving Robin a big kiss to her cheek.

It made her giggle, actually giggle. Even though it was sappy. But she knew that was the point. You were trying to make her laugh.

But as Robin’s giggles died down, you gave a tilt of your head with a small shrug, saying a causal “Also” before pulling out from your bag, the exact same box of chocolates.

“Holy shit.” Robin laughed in a breath, still sounding a little congested. You wiped her tears softly with the back of your hand. “Yeah. Seems like we have a lot more in common than we thought. And we haven’t even started the date yet!” You smiled, and Robin smiled shyly but excitedly back, hiding her freckled face that was red for a different reason now. “So I think you’re doing a pretty good job so far.” You winked, and your hands dropped from Robin’s shoulders to her lap. Where Robin could pick them up into her own, and hold them.

Robin sniffed, most of her tears having stopped now at least, and you freed one hand to rub at her hurt leg again. “C’mon. Let’s clean up that pretty face, after Steve took my shining knight moment of helping your poor leg.” You smiled, taking Robin’s hand to help stand her up, and keeping a hold of it, as well as still looking at her, while you walked her over to the basin in the room.

Robin stammered out, finally able to make a joke “I might’ve bled out first, before you got here.”

You grinned at your date. “Well, did Steve get to do this?” You asked, getting on your knees in front of Robin, and kissing her sore knee.

Robin sucked her lips in with her smile as you did so, holding her hand out for you this time, to help you up. Something she felt so grateful for, to feel you holding back. “No.” She sniffed. “Bastard.”

You threw your head back at her joke, eyes shining on hers as you laughed with her hand still in yours. And Robin beamed with pride banging in her chest.

She finally relaxed as she let you wash her face up. Blowing her nose a little disgustingly, but you didn’t seem to care. You stroked back her hair that was sticking to her cheeks with the water, before giving a smiling pout, knowing her tears and your wet cloth had kinda messed with her look. “Oh your pretty make up. I know I worked hard today on mine too.”

You made Robin shy, looking to the trash can before binning her tissue, pivoting a little on her feet with a burning smile. How long had you been doing and redoing your make up? Were you freaking out about what to wear like she was? Just for your date with her?

“Guess I’ll have to freshen up your make up for you, huh sweetheart?” You took Robin’s face in your hands, wiping your thumbs on the glowing parts of her cheeks where tears had rolled before. Robin nodded at your grin, loving that you were holding her face. And knowing you were hinting at touching it more, by doing her make up for her. “Yeah,” Robin started, finally feeling the flirty part of her beat the anxious one, as her hand stroked the back of your own affectionately. “I think I still feel all lightheaded from the fall, so...”

You wanted to kiss Robin right now. You’d tell her that, later, after your first kiss. You’d tell her all the times you wanted to kiss her beautiful face. But instead, you held yourself back by nodding. Gently squeezing her warm cheeks once more, before tilting her head closer to you and kissing her other cheek this time. “Okay then. And you’ve still got to tell me where you’re taking me on our date! I’ve been so excited since yesterday!”

Robin’s eyes widened. Finally clear enough to see you again, and so wonderstruck grateful at what she saw. God, she couldn’t wait to kiss you!

[xtinyslip]

“You feel that chill, right? It’s not just me? Something’s off about this place.”

"did you say chill? chill? uh, no? but if you do then that's… a little weird but cool. totally cool." it wouldn't have been that much of a surprise if he wasn't paying full attention to everything that was going on. after all, there was a tonne of cool shit to see and look at. "i'm actually sweating like hell under this outfit so a chill would be nice about now." flashing a friendly smile from under his mask. hey, he was here because he kind of had to be but why not try to make it a good time? "you wanna' drink? why don't we go do that?" @fcrafcrtnight

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP! This might be a tough one for you.

What do you think about BigHits tactics with regards to album releases and promotional tactics for members? Hobi and Namjoon have been the only ones (not without other issues) thus far who’ve gotten proper time to promote their album and allow it to sit with Army and other fans. Today with the announcement of D-Day, it basically means Jimin had only 2 weeks to promote and allow his album to sit with Army (not counting the time that was divided with In the street by JHope).

Now the focus, as you can imagine, will be divided. It is a bit unfair to jimin but this is more a company planning issue rather than an issue with the members themselves. It could be that Yoongis album also get affected because Army just spent tonnes on buying Face 🤷🏻‍♀️

What are your thoughts around this?

**

Hi Anon,

I’ve talked about this a few times before but it seems several people still have the same concerns, going by the flood of asks I just got on the topic, in addition to yours. So let me try a different tack.

...

Fuck BigHit.

Fuck BTS.

Fuck HYBE.

Do we look like fucking ATMs? Are they trying to cause a burnout in the fandom? To see how far they can push us before we break? Do the members in BTS, those ungrateful fucktards, take ARMY so much for granted they think it's okay to push out albums one after the other like fucking pop tarts?

I just spent a shit fuck ton of money on Jimin and my wallet is still recovering. Now here comes Yoongi not even two weeks later shipping his shit out. And this is when his concert tickets are running up US$5,000 a pop on reseller sites. What does BigHit think they're doing? Writing this, I was initially going for a 'sarcastic' pitch but nah, I'm actually kinda ticked off. Fuck BigHit for their tacky, unorganized, chaotic and cluttered as fuck roll-out, and fuck BTS too for agreeing to that bullshit.

You're probably reading this and going "BigHit is the problem, not BTS", but those grown men agreed to this shit. You think Yoongi’s tour and album date was only decided yesterday? No. He and Jimin knew months before how everything would be phased, and they agreed to it. I held them responsible for agreeing to the PET and Dreamers, and I'll hold them responsible for this. You know, I actually can't believe Jimin. The actual gall to sit there and say the FACE album is very precious to him, only for him to agree to dip after two weeks of promotions. It's like he's begging to free fall off the charts. I wonder if he has a masochistic kink since he religiously keeps up with charting and social media lately. Anyway, Yoongi is the even bigger problem here since he's encroaching on Jimin's promo time. There's literally no need for BigHit to rush any of this, not even Yoongi going to the army is...

...

Oh.

The army...

Oh, right.

The military...

*

Enlistment... that thing they've been talking about lately. Yoongi has to enlist this year, and if the members all intend to do their service before returning in 2025, then they all have to enlist sometime in the next 10 months. And as the maknaes (taekook) will likely be having big debuts like Jimin, they'll need some time too. And, though it's possible he does, I doubt Jimin plans to enlist soon after promoting FACE. The guy I heard in Set Me Free Pt 2 sounds like he plans to be around for most of this year, active and trying out different projects. So BigHit will have to plan/stagger Jimin's next solo projects around Taekook's solo activities...

Hmm, now that I think about it, Joon did seem agitated when he said on his WLive, he's running out of time. Jimin and Yoongi both expressed a strong desire to return as a group ASAP on Suchwita. Jung Kook, who watched them, agreed and felt so inspired watching them that soon as it was done, he went to work and the context of his speech suggests he went to work on a solo endeavor. Oh, and if he's still working on music, that really shows how involved he is in the process, doesn't it? I mean, it's not Jung Kook who selects BTS's distributor (it's YG btw), but it's hard to say how there would be a complete album if he's still working on the song, and so he might need more time...

Enlistment is a real pressure all the guys are feeling this year, JK too even if he doesn't go, I promise you. I doubt they want these tight deadlines either. And that's all this roll-out is: tight. I refuse to call the roll-outs messy and insufficient because the guys' promotions have all without fail, even Hobi's, been thoughtfully done. And I'm saying that as someone who still thinks JITB packaging is pathetic and JITB should've come with a CD.

There’s a real possibility the fandom deals with some whiplash between releases.

Personally, I'm having the time of my life with the barrage of new music. Everything I wrote in that angry rant above is hogwash. BTS are keeping us so fucking fed, the music is incredible, they're all expressing themselves in so many ways, I can't stop gorging myself on them. As someone who has watched them for some years, it's nothing but pure fun seeing them be themselves and making great records. ARMY has already dealt with almost 20 releases since June 14th and all of them have done very well, plus it's not like BTS see themselves as competition anyway, so why should we?

That said, I can see why you think it’s unfair Jimin has likely had only two weeks to fully promote his album. I also sympathize if it all feels very overwhelming for you. Please remember it's always okay to step back and detach. In fact I recommend doing it often if you like. The music isn't going away, engage at your own pace.

*

There's also the issue of solo stans and their diet versions kicking up a stink about missed goals/targets after Jimin's Hot100 win. It's a shame and it will be annoying, but also that implosion has to happen somehow right?

If you're saying this cause you worry about ARMYs (or at least the OT7-ish core), don't worry. Those people showed up for JITB, Indigo, OTS, Jimin, and they'll show up for D-Day. Of course listenability, genre accessibility, preferences in general etc, definitely also impact what people like to listen to, and metrics will also vary for that reason. It's not always solo stans who determine these variances.

If the money is an issue for you, very understandable. It's money after all not toilet paper, it's a very valuable resource and there's a real fear fans will significantly spend beyond their means. Thus far I haven't seen this happen, and people seem to always forget the fandom has a lot of people and a lot of funders. It's just that not all of them pitch in unless it's for their biases. I have an ask sitting in my inbox of an Anon noticing that many people who had spent the last year talking about how ARMYs are 'obsessed with charts' and that people should allow music to be 'organic', those people themselves got really into charts when trying to chart Jimin's FACE. For that Anon if you're reading this, I agree with your observation but that sort of mean spirited shitposting ask is just unnecessary so I'm not posting it lol.

Anyway the point is, even the fans who don't consider themselves part of ARMY will show up to support their biases. They might dip right after, but they'll show up. That's just the effect BTS has on people. So Anon, ARMY will do what they do: enjoy the music, support the guys, and bicker.. feel free to do the same.

[josephquinnswhore]

Hiiii bub thank you soooo much for the request here’s another one I have (based on me)

TW: blood & commit and anxiety attack

May you please do a Pedro pascal x plus size reader where readers worst fear is blood and any time they see it the feel nauseous and go in to an anxiety attack. Basically I was sick last week and had the absolute worst tummy bug (I’m all better) and threw up so hard my nose bled that I almost passed out and had an anxiety attack. Basically do it based off what happen to me and if u can add Bella and Nico and Gabriela calling Pedro bc he is the only one to calm reader down from these panic attacks.

Thank you in advance

My Comfort

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Fem/Plus Size Reader!

Summary: you’re sick and Pedro’s called back from his luck to see you in a bad way.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: reader is sick, mentions of blood, panic attack, vomit.

Note: hi sun bun 🐰, I love you. We must be the same person fr cause I’ve been sick for over a month LMAO and I get so queasy when I see blood. UGH, hopefully this gives you what you need. I also throw up to the point where my throat bleeds lol it’s so fucked. 🫶🏼🥰 I made it pretty dramatic LOL. M sorry it’s short.

You told yourself you were fine, you could do the filming through the sickness. You were sipping on your water and drinking your raspberry flavoured hydralyte, even though it tasted like shit. Just to try and get yourself through the day, unable to tell yourself you’re not sick enough to show up for work. It was too important, it came before everything else in your life, well, almost everything. It was second in line to your boyfriend and co-worker, Pedro.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Just one more scene to shoot, then you can go home.” You chanted to yourself as you look in the mirror trying to convince yourself it to be true, thinking maybe if you said it aloud it would enforce some truth. Your face was losing colour with every passing minute, and the darkness around your eyes was a clear indication that everything was far from okay, that you were not okay.

But you felt guilty, you didn’t want to let the team down by going home and delaying the episode when you had one measly scene left to shoot, you may as well just tough it out and get through it as best you could. It would maybe take a couple hours at most, you could do that! Right? You started to doubt yourself at the way your limbs started to ache and feel heavy. It hurt to hold your head upright.

You turn on the tap to the cold water, letting the water gather into your cupped hands before you bring it to your face, the coolness is refreshing, you exhale a deep breath to try and relax, patting your face dry with some paper towel and throw it into the trash bin. You could do this. You couldn’t give up.

“Hey, are you feeling okay? You don’t look so hot.” Gabriel sets a hand on your shoulder, his thick black eyebrows were nearly touching as he frowned, his dark brown eyes squinted with concern at one look of you, his hand feels like it weighs a tonne on your aching shoulder. “I-I mean you are, but, you know.” He gestures to you and you raise an eyebrow at him, you didn’t wanna have to deal with this right now-as much as you liked him.

“Dude shut it, are you okay?” Bella asks, her face strewn with concern for your well-being. You swallow your spit loudly, gulping down the clump that sits in your throat, feeling more ill with every passing second. “Um…I’m ok, I think.” you can’t decide what to say, unsure of whether you even believe your obvious and blatant lies. Bella looks to Nico and they know you’re lying, sharing a look of sympathy toward you, watching as you slightly sway as you stand still.

“Why don’t you just sit down for a second, have some water.” You nod to Nico, “thanks,” you mumble in agreement as she sets a gentle hand on your back, helping you sit, agreeing it’s a good idea. The bright lights of the set don’t help the ache in your head that’s contributing to your illness. Your eyes squint as your brain throbs at how bright it is, you blink harshly, trying to rid the ache that’s set in motion, the shadow of a headache you knew would grow into a migraine.

“Wouldn’t hurt to sit for five minutes.” You mumble in an unintelligible slur, as you feel a wave of nausea coming over you, it shakes your whole body to the core, the feeling settles uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers grasp your bottle shakily with the hydralyte, desperate to rid your body of the nausea setting, but it wasn’t your bottle, and it wasn’t hydralyte. It was a bottle of soft drink, the fizz of the soda causes a rift in your stomach that feels like it’s about to explode. The feeling builds and builds until it feels like it’s going to erupt, from your mouth.

“Oh my god, someone get me a bucket.” You hunch over in your seat with one arm wrapped around your stomach, the other holding your hand over your mouth, the nausea rising up your throat that you have to swallow down the first time it attempts its exit because you would’ve just spewed all over the floor on set. You heave again, this time Gabriel is holding a bucket underneath your mouth, the taste of the liquid makes your stomach ache even though it barely has time to digest.

The same coloured liquid comes out as clear, mostly bile the first few times, until the stench of the contents in the bucket circulates through your nostrils and churns your stomach again, twisting until it shoots up your throat, this one hurt your throat badly, the sting it made coming out has you unable to breathe for a few seconds, your lash line full to the brim with unshed tears, coughing violently as someone rubs a hand along your back, trying to soothe you.

You feel something dribbling from your nose and you wipe it with the back of your hand, not caring how disgusting it would seem to anyone else. You expect to see snot or mucus on your hand associated with the tears brought to your eyes from the vomiting. To your surprise you see a bright red liquid, your blood was coating your hand in a rugged line on your hand, your nose was bleeding.

“Oh shit you’re bleeding.” Nico exclaims, panic evident in her voice, inspecting your nose and handing you a tissue, the blood filled the tissue within a few seconds, the flow from your nostril not giving up. You must’ve burst a blood vessel in your nostril with how it’s pouring out of you, you start to feel dizzy at the sight of how much blood you’re losing. You pull back the tissue and feel it leaking through the tissue, your fingertips were now stained red from how profusely it was bleeding.

It starts with your hands trembling, your body becomes stiff and you can hardly hear anyone around you. Your fingers are shaking that badly you drop the bloody tissue, your nose is now free bleeding all over you and your clothes. Your breaths are rugged and panicked. The ache in your neck causes it to fall, your whole body falling forward destined to hit the ground until Gabriel catches you, sitting you on the floor, lying you on your side.

“Call Pedro back from lunch, now. And get the damn medic.” Bella demands Gabriel who stands in a panic not knowing what to do, he rushes to get his phone and makes the call to Pedro, Nico rushes away to find the medic on set while Bella stays with you. She’s knelt down beside you, trying to pry you upright but your body is stiff and unmoving other than the small underlying tremble of your body.

The medic arrives first, she’s kneeling down beside Bella to look at you, eyeing the teenager in shock at the state of you. “Hey hun can you hear me? It’s Cas I’m here to help.” You feel a warm hand on your body as she rolls you onto your back, the ache from the touch alone causes you to whimper, your eyes are strewn shut at the brightness of the room, it was all too much, you just wanted Pedro.

She pulls out of her bag a cuff, to check your blood pressure, the tightening of the cuff on your arm was pleasantly satisfying, slightly grounding you with each notch of pressure that was released. “Okay, blood pressures a little low but nothing to be worried about. Just going to check your temperature sweetie.” She moves your arm, shoving a thermometer under your armpit and waits for it to beep. She checks it and purses her lips together on a thin line.

“Baby, oh my god is she okay?” Pedro kneels down next to you, his hands are holding your cheeks, cupped in his own large hands the warmth from them makes you sweat, a result of your ever rising temperature. “Is she okay?” Pedro asks Cas, she puts the thermometer away. “She had a reading of 39.2 degrees, she’s got a fever, not sure what’s causing it though.”

“Hey baby, hey can you hear me? It’s me baby I’m here.” You could barely find the strength in you to open your eyes, eyelids squinting to protect your eyes from the brightness of the room. “Hey.” You mutter, with the last of your strength you could muster before you fall unconscious.

-

Pedro’s leg is bouncing the whole time he’s sat in the chair beside your bed in the hospital. The beeping of the monitor keeping your reading would sometimes make a commotion in the event of a momentary spike in blood pressure, “it’s just trying to regulate itself.” The nurse offered, which didn’t make him feel any better.

“Mr Pascal, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Dr Wrent, we’ve been doing some tests on your girlfriend here today. We’ve come to find that she’s somehow contracted a deadly stomach bug, it’s rare but not unknown, we can give some anti biotics to take home and she should be fine within the week.” The doctor put your folder and hung it on the end of the bed, “by the way, make sure you enforce that she takes a break, tell her to stop working so hard.”

“Right, I’ll do that. Thanks for everything.” Pedro sunk back into his chair and waited for you to wake up, the small sandwich and juice from the cafeteria sitting unopened as you lie peacefully.

You start to stir right when Pedro feels his eyelids drooping, begging him to close so he can have a moments rest. He hears the shuffling before his brain has the chance to fully lull him into sleep, rustling around in the front of his mind to wake up, sending an alarm throughout his body that you were finally awake.

“God baby you’re awake. You scared the shit out of everyone you know that?” As if you hadn’t felt guilty enough, the worry on His face made it worse. You couldn’t look at him, avoidant in your stare towards him, looking quite literally elsewhere until he leaned over the bed and grabbed your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him.

“I’m sorry baby- I didn’t mean,” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “We were worried about you, why didn’t you tell someone you weren’t feeling well?” You should’ve just done that to begin with you knew, but you were too stubborn.

“I just convinced myself I should do it, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by delaying the season for one last scene.” Pedro’s hand caresses your hair, fingers gliding through your hair as he calms you. “From now on you put yourself forward okay? Promise me.”

You pull your bottom like between your teeth, enjoying the sting it brings when you bite down too hard, “okay, I promise.”

“I’m proud of you though, you saw that blood and didn’t die, soooo.” Pedro trails off with a small laugh and you groan and roll your eyes, shoving his arm. “Don’t remind me, that’s so embarrassing.”

Pedro stands from the bed, handing you a sandwich wrapped in a paper bag, “you know I think they’re gonna put a scene of you passing out in the show.” You stop feeling back the paper bag and look at him suspiciously, “they wouldn’t want to!”

He simply shrugs, “you didn’t hear that from me, now eat. Need my baby strong.” You unwrap and bite into the sandwich, it contained all your favourite fillings and you smile, stomach feeling settled and the ache of the emptiness was now gone as you’d managed to swallow some food. You’d sure learnt a valuable lesson; Gabriel is useless when it comes to emergency situations.