#after several years worth of fighting for his own survival

[mcskullmun]

He was kind?

[milla-frenchy]

Joel, Jackson

6k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 Summary: after years of wandering, you joined the Jackson community. Once back on your feet, you started patrolling regularly with Joel. Over the months, you ended up getting closer to that bruised man. Warnings: 18+ mdni. strangers to friends to lovers, oral (f/m), alt pov, piv, cum eating, cnc (safe word, knife play, rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare). No age specified

a/n: this is a contribution to the Jett’s Flora & Fauna challenge 🌷🪻🌻 Thank you for this beautiful event @morallyinept ❤️ Also, thank you to @cavillscurls, who kindly agreed to let me work on this anon she received, with Jackson!Joel and a cnc idea. Thank you very much, Mya 🙏❤️ Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏❤️ @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta reading, and for your daily support ily 💕💕💕🫶

Masterlist

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You and Joel met in Jackson, when you joined the community, exhausted by months, years of wandering from camps to camps, where you lost everything over time. Your friends, your family, your boyfriend. 

Tommy and Maria took you in and you rebuilt yourself, never thinking that you would find love again. That you would find it with that gruff, not very verbose man, about whom some people warned you. They told you about his violence, his ruthlessness. About things “other people” told them, and repeated without knowing him. That he only cared about Ellie and Tommy, that his family was the only thing that mattered to him. They were the only people worth fighting for. Even Maria had been  resentful towards him for a long time, holding him responsible for what Tommy had done to survive.

Once you were back on your feet physically, and more or less mentally, you started taking part in the patrols. You needed to get out into wide open spaces. More and more, you were assigned to do them with Joel. He impressed you countless times in encounters against infected. Against a few people, even. Raiders, hunters. You always felt safe patrolling with him. 

For several months, he didn’t speak much. Just the bare minimum. He wasn't exactly unpleasant, just a little gruff. As if everything that did not relate to basic principles seemed superficial to him. You enjoyed his company, not feeling like you had to talk. Your own reconstruction required a lot of energy, and you were grateful that he didn't draw on your resources. So you patrolled, each on your horse, sharing meals and surveillance. Even if you suspected him of not really sleeping during your watch. He probably didn’t fully trust your abilities, and you couldn’t blame him.

Often, during the breaks to let horses rest, you picked flowers, keeping a bouquet against your horse's rein. Sometimes he asked you what flower it was. Ultimately, it was the flowers that got you two talking about something not related to patrols, and helped you learn how to tame each other.

One day a patrol almost went wrong. You have been overwhelmed by the infected in a building. Until one of them jumped on Joel, throwing him on the ground. He was trying to use his rifle to keep the clicker away from him and his knife was out of reach. You rushed to pick it up before plunging it into the infected’s temple. Joel nodded, thanking you, then you cleared the entire building, making your way through each closed door, each room, each floor. Hiding in every nook and cranny to progress. You just killed two more and were squeezed between a wall and a piece of furniture, careful not to make any noise they could hear. Your body was against his, he made the “shh” sign with his finger, as he did so often. But that time, you saw him differently. It wasn’t Joel anymore, it was Joel, for a minute. You were so close, your eyes fixed on his beard and neck. You looked at his hairs, mixed with browns and grays. The veins in his neck throbbing and the muscles tensing under his shirt. Arousal overtook you. A strong, sudden desire for him, a physical wave, while it had been at least months, since you had wanted someone. Only your fingers had slipped between your thighs. 

And you were there, in the middle of patrol, you both had almost died an hour before, and your only thoughts were absolutely not suitable for the situation. Your brain was a mess and your core even worse. When you finally looked up, you saw Joel's gaze lowered to you and his eyebrows furrowed. Asking you with hand signals why you weren't responding to his gestures. You pulled yourself together, and finished securing the building.

You went to the outpost. Joel was tense, restrained, and you asked him what was going on.

"What’s going on? What the hell happened to you in that building? Totally unfocused and inattentive. I’ve never seen you act so stupid.”

His anger disconcerted you, even though you knew he was right, that your behavior had been totally irresponsible.

“I’m sorry”, you answered sadly.

“You’re sorry? Well I’m glad to know that.”

“Damn Joel, what more do you want me to say? Ok, I screwed up. But a few minutes before I saved your ass. So excuse me, Mr. Perfect.”

“Fuck…”

He leaned back in the chair he was sitting on, rubbing his beard with his thumb, and sighed.

“I shouldn't have reacted like that, I’m sorry. I've never seen you distracted before, and I was probably still under the effect of that clicker that almost got me. Thank you. Just…please stay focused, okay? I can’t leave Ellie without me.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You went to bed. As soon as he mentioned Ellie you had put it into perspective. Of course he didn't want to leave her alone. You fell asleep, driving away your other thoughts. The feeling of his body against yours.

Other patrols followed, and seasons passed. You discovered other flowers that you had not seen in the states you had crossed before. 

You only patrolled with Joel now. Tommy and Maria preferred to send pairs on patrol who knew each other well, their reflexes and instincts worked better. You had caught him snoring softly a few nights, which made you think that, finally, his confidence in you had greatly grown. You also slept when it was his shift. You absolutely trusted him. You knew he would slaughter anyone who came near. He was reliable, strong. He was Joel. You talked more and more, too, confiding in personal things. You learnt a lot from his life, as he had from yours.

He taught you everything he knew about survival and hunting. How to patrol effectively and secure a location. Many times, you told yourself that Jackson was lucky to have him in its community, despite what some people were still saying about him. But the negativity towards him had largely diminished. Maybe people realized you were close and didn’t want to tell you those things. Or maybe they had finally learned to think for themselves, and stop listening to gossip.

As for you...you never forgot the feeling you felt against him. And at night in your bed, your hand would often slide between your thighs, thinking about Joel. Imagining how you would feel if he was between your legs, his fingers in you instead of yours. His cock inside you.

He didn’t seem to have an affair or a friend with benefits. Sometimes you secretly watched him on patrol, when he was washing in a river, or when he was undressing thinking you were asleep. He had always behaved like a gentleman, without ever looking at you inappropriately. So at night, you dreamt. Making your imagination work, telling yourself that even if he wasn't interested in you, he was in your fantasies.

Joel enjoyed patrolling with you. You were attentive, calm and thoughtful. He hadn't forgotten the time he got angry with you. What you didn't know was that he knew why you had been distracted. He had felt your eyes on him. Felt the change in your stare. So yes, it pissed him off that you lost focus, but mainly because he didn't know how to react. Some women in Jackson showed their interest and made direct advances towards him, several times. He hadn't had anyone serious since Tess, and forgot about the emptiness in his love life by taking care of Ellie. The losses he had suffered hurt him too much. Sarah, Tess. Shortly after his arrival in Jackson, he had some fun here and there, but then stopped any rapprochement. This had undoubtedly contributed to his bad reputation, some women had taken it badly. It didn't matter to him. Getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose, like the others, was out of the question. 

And then you arrived. You were wounded when you came to Jackson, physically and mentally. Then you rebuilt yourself, slowly, patiently. He liked your strength. The patrols were going well, you were a bit like him, not talking a lot, serious. He liked it. 

And then there was that day, the patrol that had gone wrong. You saved him. Without you, Ellie would be alone now. 

And then your body against his. He felt the way you froze. Felt your breathing stop, then start racing. Felt your nipples harden against his chest. When he got angry with you he blamed himself for his disproportionate reaction. You were on patrol, but he had gone too far, unable to react otherwise. He knew only too well why. He got attached to you, over the weeks, months, patrols. He was enjoying your company more and more, and not just as a patrol partner. He considered you a friend, and he’d had few friends in his life. Actually, since the world had been in ruins, he didn't think he had any. Didn't trust anyone enough for that. Tess was…family.

He liked seeing you smile, laughing out loud sometimes. He loved seeing your eyes light up and sparkle. He liked your passion for flowers, what you taught him about them. He liked seeing your smile when you found something notable while on patrol. He loved knowing that you wanted to do your part in the community. Because that meant bringing things to Ellie. He loved that you got along well with her, that you laughed every time Ellie gave him a hard time. He used to answer gruffly on purpose, because Ellie would always bite back, and you were laughing, laughing, laughing. And he loved hearing your laugh. And he realized that he liked maybe too many things about you.

Many nights, his fist clenched around his shaft thinking of you. Desperately, he had tried to think of something else, tried to not see you that way. He felt your gaze on him when he took off his jacket, when he washed himself in a river. You did it discreetly, but he was so used to being on guard and scanning his surroundings all those decades post-outbreak, that of course he noticed.

He trusted you, like he hadn’t trusted anyone since Tess. He knew he was letting his guard down, that he crossed a line that he had set for himself: not getting emotionally invested with someone he could lose.

One night during his shift he heard you moaning in your sleep, then crying. He placed his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake, saying “shh, shh, sweetheart. It's ok. Wake up, you’re ok.” You opened your eyes and didn't understand where you were for a few minutes, before hugging him, your head nestled in his neck. For two seconds, his arms remained suspended, not knowing what to do, denying contact. And then he broke down and hugged you too, until your gasps stopped and you stammered an apology. “It’s ok, sweetheart”, he replied. Then he got up and resumed his post near the window, scratching his beard. You went back to bed, your back turned to the wall, and fell asleep again. He knew you mourned the people you had lost. Like so many people, like him.

You woke up the next morning, well after the start of your supposed shift. He let you sleep, and you told him he should have woken you up.

“No, it’s ok. You needed to sleep.”

“You need to sleep too. You won’t be much use if you fall asleep on your horse.”

He laughed, and your heart soared.

"OK, let's go. We have two days of patrol left, and no outpost until Jackson. We’ll have to sleep in our sleeping bags tonight.”

“The first quarter will be mine. I don’t want to get bitten because Mr. Miller had fallen asleep with the rifle in his arms.”

He laughed again. Your heart was beating so loudly you were afraid he would hear it.

You roamed around all day, inspecting a few buildings. The day was calm, just two infected. Finally, Joel asked you to choose the resting point, and you followed all the conditions which, for him, made a place safe and that he taught you about; visibility of any possible intrusion and a possibility of escape, first of all.

“This place looks good,” you said.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s go check out the surroundings.”

You tied up the horses, and looked around. No buildings nearby, enough to shelter you from the wind, excellent visibility.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” he confirmed. You ate the dried meat you had left. You had prepared the quantities accordingly before departure. With a safety margin in case of unforeseen circumstances. He was always considerate, and taught you to be too.

You took the first shift to let him rest. Making rounds, attentive to noises. At the supposed end of your shift, he was sleeping so well that you let him rest. When he woke up, grumpy, he grumbled “damn, you should have woken me up. It’s risky to stay up longer, you could have fallen asleep.”

“Mmmm….risky like when you let me sleep yesterday?”

He frowned, before his face lit up. “You’re a little brat.”

“Yeah, I know”, you replied, smiling.

You took the road back to Jackson. It was spring and nature was waking up. Flowers were growing again, you loved them so much. You took a few breaks, to let the horses rest after such a long patrol. At the last one, you saw Jackson from the top of the hill where you were.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah. We’re so lucky to have this place.”

When you walked through the doors, he offered to look after your horse as well as his but you refused. You wanted to spend a little more time with him before his daily life took him away from you. He devoted himself to Ellie, even if she grew up and spent more and more time with her friends. You finally went your separate ways, after he gave you one last nod. You sighed as you got home, already missing him. Although there would be a patrol soon. In your shower, your tears flowed. You felt alone.

After your meal, you made yourself some tea. It was steaming on your knees, as you were sitting on the couch, your legs folded. Someone knocked on the door and you got up to open it. 

“Joel? Everything’s fine? Is Ellie ok?”

“She’s ok. She’s having a sleepover at her friend's house. Growing up way too fast.”

You smiled and nodded.

"Can I help you? Do you need anything?" you asked him, stepping aside to let him in. He stood in the hall, his mid-season jacket on his shoulders. He took out a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back. You hadn't seen him pick them up, and your heart was coming back to life again, as a smile lit up your face. 

“Here. I know you love them. I thought you would like to have some flowers in your home, their smell in your house.” You took them and thanked him, and you put them in a vase. He was holding his hands in front of him, rubbing them gently. He seemed embarrassed and you frowned.

“Are you ok?”, you asked.

“I…just wanted to thank you. For saving my life that day. I didn’t do it properly.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome. But you already thanked me, really. And you saved mine a thousand times, so…” You smiled at him, but it faded when you saw the way he was looking at you. As if he was about to tell you something difficult. 

Time stopped. The only movement in the room was the vapor of your tea dancing above the cup.

“I know you’re looking at me. And I know why you didn’t react in that building.”

You froze. You expected that he wouldn’t want to go on patrol with you again, that the flowers were a way to say goodbye. That you were about to lose him, having crossed a line that had never been mentioned but that you had visualized deep down for a long time. You felt like you were on the edge of an abyss and about to fall. So you tried to get out of it, to do what you could not to lose him.

“I don’t know wh-”

“Please. Don’t do that. Don’t tell me I misinterpreted, that I’m wrong.”

You lowered your head and closed your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Tears pricked your eyes.

“No. Don’t be. Or I would have to be sorry too, and I’m tired of being sorry.”

You opened your eyes but kept staring at the floor for a few seconds. Then you looked up at him and read his stare. A multitude of emotions jostled there. The waiting, the despair. Desire? He was lost, too. A thousand thoughts were racing through your head. Did you hear that correctly? Was he suddenly going to walk to the front door and leave? Your gaze was lost in a blur and you didn't realize it. When you came to your senses, his eyes were still fixed on you.

And suddenly you both took a step forward. At the same time, as if everything was choreographed. But it wasn't. As if your bodies were running the dance, not your minds. Only your hearts. His hands found your cheeks, and yours his waist, as your lips met. Your heart was beating wildly but you couldn't hear it. His warmth surrounded yours, and his lips, his tongue were even softer than you had imagined. His mouth left yours, as he brushed your cheek with his beard and his hands left your cheeks and slid down your back, holding you against him. Your nose rubbed against his neck, and you loved his smell. You hugged him close, your arms still around his waist, tighter. 

And then you pulled away, looked at him, grabbed one of his hands and led him to your bedroom. Later, when you thought about that moment, you didn't even remember your walk down the hallway. Just finding yourself in front of him, next to your bed. Joel removing your t-shirt, pulling it over your head. His hands on your breasts, his palms surrounding them with his warmth as you unbuttoned his plaid shirt. Your hands on his chest, following the line of his torso, along his happy trail, to his jeans that you unzipped. Kneeling in front of him, just wearing your sleep shorts. 

You widened your eyes when you saw his cock. It was…big. And you…you hadn’t fucked in a long time. Your tongue tasted his precum. You were afraid of being clumsy after all this time. Your lips rounded around his tip, and you sucked gently, taking your time. The feeling, his taste were driving you crazy. Your head started to move up and down, taking more and more of him in your mouth, and you heard him moan softly. Until his hand gently rested on your head, and he said “sweetheart…I ain’t gonna last. It’s been too damn long since the last time.”

He took your arm to help you get up and you kissed.

You went to lie down on the bed, and he knelt on the floor. He gently pulled you towards him and  took off your shorts. 

He nearly came, just by seeing your folds through the fabric. 

His shoulders slipped between your knees. He was so broad that you had to lean your folded legs against the bed. He caressed your thighs, his skin on yours giving you shivers. He placed his hand flat on your pussy hidden under your panties, then slid his middle finger along your folds, making you whine. He smiled and leaned down, licking through your panties, from the bottom of your folds to your clit.

“God, Joel”, you whimpered.

He grabbed the sides of your panties, slid them down your thighs and removed them. You looked at him, he was so handsome. So caring. So…yours, right now. Then he leaned down again, brushing your clit with his nose, and you shivered.

“You’re ok?” he asked.

“Yeah…yes. It’s just…It’s been a long time for me too.”

“I know, baby”, he whispered. The tip of his tongue delicately brushed your folds, from bottom to top. You moaned, clenching the sheets in your fists. His hands were placed on your inner thighs. He ran his tongue again, deeper, and you rested your hands on his head.

“You taste so good”, he murmured.

He spread your folds with his thumbs, and lapped, drinking your wetness. Sucking, licking your pussy like a thirsty man. His nose sometimes brushed against your clit, and you were already seeing stars. Your fists clenched his brown curls. Then he moved back up to your clit, wrapping his lips around it, the tip of his tongue swirling over it. When he brushed the entrance to your pussy with a finger, you thought you’d faint. He pushed it in gently, eased by your wetness soaking the sheets. Your hips rolled into him and your moans filled the room. He added a second finger, and you whispered “oh god...”

He focused on your clit, pumping your pussy gently with his two fingers, just where you needed it. You felt the heat rising in your lower abdomen. “Joel…I’m gonna come”, you whined. He didn't stop, didn't slow down. He kept the same rhythm, until you exploded in his mouth and on his fingers. Clenching them within your walls. You came so hard that you were trembling. He left his tongue resting on your clit until you stopped shaking. Then he sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and crawled on top of you, helping you move up on the bed. He lay on you, careful not to crush you and said, “we don’t have to do more if you don’t want to”, but you wished to feel him as much as possible. “Wanna feel you”, you said. “Just…go slow, please. You’re…big.”

He smiled in the cutest way possible. Could this man be even more perfect than right at that moment? His body between your thighs, he took his cock in his hand, slid it between your folds to cover it with your wetness. Every time he brushed against your clit, you had goosebumps. Then he nestled it in your entrance, and you wondered how he would fit, but you didn't say anything. He placed his other hand on your cheek and looked at you, to check if you were okay. You nodded, and he pushed. “Oh, fuck”, you thought.

He pulled back, and thrust in again, just as gently. Your walls were accommodating his cock and you felt him slow down.

“Don’t stop Joel, please. I’m ok.”

“Fuck. Ok.”

He kept sinking, slowly. Then you felt his balls against your pussy.

“Yeah, oh god. Fuck. You’re fucking huge!”

He smiled again, and started to fuck you, thrusting back and forth. Slowly but deeply. Buried himself fully with each thrust, brushing against your g-spot. 

“You feel so good around me”, he whispered. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close, your face hidden in his neck, moaning continuously.

“It’s so good…god, that’s perfect”, he said in your ear. Your pelvis accompanied his. His body brushing against the perfect spot of yours. He felt your walls clenching around him, just before you came, your pussy squeezing his shaft. He stopped buried in your core, his hand still resting on your cheek. His other hand under your head and his forehead against yours. Until you stopped moving, your thighs falling back against the mattress. Catching your breath.

“Where do you want me?” he asked.

“Wanna taste you, please.”

He nodded, and stood next to the bed, his fist pumping his shaft in short strokes as you got on your knees, mouth open. He groaned, and within seconds his hot cum started hitting the back of your throat while he was whimpering.

He helped you up, hugged you and kissed you, the sweat on his skin mixing with yours. 

You both showered, your hands brushing against each other's skin, mouths kissing cheeks, necks, shoulders, hands.

“Can you stay and sleep here tonight?” you asked him once you were dried.

“I hoped you’d ask me,” he replied, smiling.

You fell asleep, snuggled up against him, his arms around you. It was the first time you slept together, and it had been perfect.

The next morning he told you his fears of losing you, as he had lost the other people he had cared about. You said he couldn't live like this. That he still had many years ahead of him, and so did you, and that refusing to be together by fear was a sacrifice not worth it. That life was worth living. He finally nodded. Almost reluctantly, as if a part of him was still struggling against this idea.

After several weeks you told Ellie about your relationship.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into with that old grump?” she laughed. Joel rolled his eyes. You smiled, and replied, “yes, I do.”

You had to struggle to make him accept the idea that you would still go on patrol.

One day, when he watched the schedule, he saw your name next to another man for an incoming patrol. He stormed into Tommy and Maria's house, saying “absolutely not!”, hands on his hips and a dark, disapproving glare at his brother. You were at their house, having coffee, and you and Tommy were laughing two seconds after his loud entrance. “What’s so funny?”, he asked gruffly.

“Just wanted to prank you, big brother. You really thought I would put her on patrol with someone else? I don’t want you to beat the shit outta me.” Tommy looked at you and said, "damn that was too easy.” “Told ya”, you replied.

Joel rolled his eyes and poured himself a coffee, before sitting down across from you in the kitchen.

“You knew?” he asked.

“Yeah, and I definitely didn’t want to miss that.”

“Jesus”, he growled.

You got to know each other even more. You talked about your lives before and your losses. He told you about his pre-outbreak life, Sarah. The years that followed, what he did with Tommy and Tess to survive. The people they had robbed, killed. Boston, the smuggling. His deals with FEDRA. His journey with Ellie. The hospital. 

You got to know each other sexually too. He was both tender and rough. His praise and dirty talk were perfect, he always knew what to say, and when to say it.

You fucked a lot, and pretty much everywhere. Your place, where you didn’t live anymore but you would use when Ellie was at home. His place. Against the wall of the Tipsy bison’s bathroom or on the sink. 

The first time you knelt in front of him in an outpost during a patrol, while he was surveilling through the window, he told you "no, no way. Absolutely not”, shaking his head.

“Lemme suck your cock”, you replied. “Keep watching, it’s hot”, you added, unzipping his jeans. After he shot his load on your tongue, with his hand resting on the window and the other clenching your hair, he said "jesus, you're gonna kill me." And he ate you against that window 30 seconds later, after you swore to him that yes, you would watch the outside even with his tongue buried between your folds.

You established a safe word. “Patrol”. You smirked when he proposed that one. He never missed an opportunity to remind you he didn't like that you were still patrolling. 

You played and you discovered each other. More kinks and more desires. Testing limits that opened new horizons of pleasure. You asked him a thousand questions about his past as a raider, and his contained violence during your patrols were making you terribly horny. So one day you told him about something you wanted to try. You wanted to see his dark side. What he was capable of. You wanted to play with your fear, doing it with someone you fully trusted. Someone who could lead you where you wanted to go, but would stop the second you asked. You didn't know where your limits were, but having a safe word was making everything easier.

So you told him precisely what you wanted. A pseudo kidnapping, where he would blindfold you and do knife play. Where he would be rough. Really rough. He listened, half amused, half surprised.

“You really want that? Wanna see this side of me?”

“Yes, Joel. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and I really want it.”

“And you’ll use the safe word the second you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me”, he insisted. “That you will not keep going with something that makes you uncomfortable, thinking that it will annoy me if you tell me to stop.”

"I promise. I know you’ll stop immediately, I trust you 100%.”

He looked at you for a long time before nodding.

"One last thing Joel." He smiled, and asked, “do you have any limits, woman?” You giggled and kissed him, saying “I’m not sure, actually.” Then you looked at him seriously and said, “I don’t want to know when it’s gonna happen. And if I say no, we agree that it's a part of the game. The only thing that should make you stop is the safe word. Or if you are uncomfortable. Do you agree with that?”

“It’s a deal, baby.”

You talked about it several weeks ago, and had done several patrols since then. You thought he would do it during one of them. You knew he hadn't forgotten. He didn't forget anything. 

Joel had been preparing everything for weeks. He checked the place carefully during other patrols, every corner, anticipating every moment so that everything happened safely. He thought about how he would do it, how he would act, what you would love. And he couldn't wait.

You were packing your things for another two-day patrol. A moderately long one, which you knew well, but during which infected were regularly encountered, that time of the year. 

You killed a few on the first day. Nothing particularly difficult, and you reached the outpost. You had your meal. You were getting ready to go to bed, and Joel, as usual, inspected the building again, then left to check the surroundings. You watched him leave through the window, with his brown leather jacket and a backpack, gun in hand. You went to bed, waiting for him to come back but sleep overtook you. You were dozing, without having fallen into a heavy sleep. 

Darkness invaded the room and the sound of the floor creaking suddenly brought you out of this state, just before you were seized. You’ve been grabbed, felt a body against yours on the bed, and a hand covered your mouth. A fabric covered your face and your heart pounded. Part of you thought about the game you discussed with Joel, and another part thought that maybe someone had caught him, maybe killed him. Panic filled you and you struggled, but soon you heard “it’s really stupid to be alone in this abandoned place.” Joel's voice. Your heart rate calmed down and your body relaxed instantly, as the arousal hit you. You relaxed into the arms that were holding you. Damn, he gave you the scare of your life. He manhandled you, flipping you onto your back and straddled you, his thighs surrounding your chest.

“Ain’t that a pretty thing?” he said calmly, before grabbing your breasts with both hands, over your t-shirt. You heard a blade brush against his jeans, and he placed the tip of his knife against your neck. Your chest rose and fell with the excitement you were feeling. He grabbed your t-shirt in his fist and slid the blade through the fabric, pulling sharply. Revealing your breasts through the torn garment. He pushed it aside, the cloth just held by your arms and slid the blade along your chest.

“Your nipples are hard, sweetheart. Does bein’ scared fucking turns you on?”

“Please, let me go”, you begged.

He sneered. “Oh no. Got a pretty damn thing, with, I’m sure, a pretty damn cunt that I’m gonna stuff really soon. Ain’t gonna let you go.”

“Please”, you begged again.

“Maybe that’s what you wanted, being alone in this place. To get caught by a raider? Mmm, sweet thing?”

He never called you ‘sweet thing’. ‘Baby’, ‘darling’, or ‘sweetheart’. You knew he did it to accentuate the game, to turn you on. And god, he was good at it.

“Let’s use this mouth for something better than whining.”

You heard the zipper of his jeans, the rustling of clothes. You heard him jerk off. Then he lifted the fabric covering your face slightly, just to free your mouth. He pressed his tip against your lips, and ordered, “suck my cock.”

You shook your head to keep him away from you and he grabbed your throat. “You know, I like it when they fight. Turns me on even more.” He squeezed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to open your mouth. You licked his tip shyly. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Suck it”, he growled. You opened your mouth wider, letting him slide in, and you blew him. Letting him impose his rhythm. Fucking your mouth until you gasped for air on his shaft. “That’s better, sweetheart. You could almost make me cum down this throat. But I wanna fuck this pussy and make you feel my cock in your stomach.”

He moved back, remaining straddling you, but this time he sat on your thighs, before tearing your panties in two with his blade and you blenched. He released his grip and you tried to pull away but he quickly lay down between your thighs, pinning your body with his.

“You really think you can escape? You won’t feel better if I fuck you after making you bleed a little, believe me. Stop this bullshit.”

“Don’t do this, please. Please, sir…”

“Sir? Fuck I like it”, he said, forcing his knee on your thigh to spread it. Your pussy was dripping, you felt your arousal flowing. He was fully clothed, pressed against your body. He grabbed his cock in his hand, sliding it against your folds.

“Shit, you’re soaked. You really want that cock,” he said, his mouth against your ear, his beard brushing against your skin and his blade against your neck. “Yeah it really turns you on. I’m gonna give you what ya want.” His voice was cold as ice.

He slipped the tip at your entrance and you begged again, “no! Please, stop it!”

“Don’t think so, sweetheart”, he said in a low voice, and sank in your core, putting his hand over your mouth just as he bottomed out. Without covering it completely, in case you wanted to use the safe word. He pulled back, and slammed into you, taking your breath away. “Fuck…suckin’ me right in.” Then he pounded your pussy with his cock, so hard that you could barely breathe.

“Yeah, found a really good cunt. You're gonna come for me sweetheart. Gonna cum on this cock.” He pulled back to cover his thumb with your wetness before thrusting in again, with deep but slow strokes now, and twirled his finger over your clit, making you moan. 

“Yeah, you’re a pretty thing, for sure”, he said. He felt his orgasm building, and was just waiting for you to come, and then he would remove the fabric from your face.

“Fucking perfect cunt”, he growled. “Takin’ me so good.”

Your walls were clenching his shaft more and more, until you came hard, whimpering, grabbing his biceps. 

“That’s it, come on my cock.” He pulled back and got on his knees, removing the garment from your face, just in time to shoot his cum all over your stomach and breasts, one hand pressed against the mattress. "Oh god...Fuck...Fuck, baby..." he said, panting. 

Then he leaned towards you, took your face in his hands and asked “are you okay, sweetheart?”

You leaned him in and kissed him, and said "never better. Fuck, you scared me at first and it was so hot and perfect!!”

You couldn't contain your joy and you saw the relief on his face. “Damn...you didn't use the safe word so I didn't stop, but fuck, you've got nerves, baby!”

“Yeah, well…that means that next time we can go a little further”, you added with a big smile.

He grabbed a wildflower, he had picked before joining you, from the bedside table. He had put it there while he had been holding you, and you hadn't noticed anything. He handed it to you and smiled. “For my girl”, he said. This man was perfect, and he was yours.

You got back to Jackson. You were behind him when you came through the gates on your horses, looking at him. His slightly graying curls. His mid-season brown jacket and his broad shoulders. His ass on the saddle. And you smiled.

Joel, Jackson.

You loved him, and you loved that place.

Thank you for reading 🙏

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@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

[chirpycloudyrobin]

Masterlist || START || Next

im just thinking abt an au where wwx actually did die at the burial mounds but him surviving long enough there and even pioneering a new branch of cultivation to do so was enough to punt his ghost straight up to wrath rank. however he is unaware that hes actually dead since hes too focused on his goal to absolutely decimate wen chao to pay attention to his bodily functions/needs or lack thereof.

everyone else gets this feeling that something is off with wwx but they figure its just heebie jeebies from the demonic cultivation. it's only until wwx went back to the burial mounds with the wen remnants that it sinks in that hes dead. but then he realises that if this gets out, the cultivation world will be hunting for his head more viciously so he keeps this very tightly under wraps. all this secret keeping and exhaustion and starvation just makes wwx a teensy bit more volatile but at least he has his own little family to keep him sane.

until shit starts to go downhill. and it just keeps on going. until everyone is gone and hes the only one left standing and he needs to destroy the stupid fucking seal and keep the others from discovering where he hid a-yuan so he takes his chances and pours his everything into destroying the seal. except this time hes a little more powerful than he wouldve been if he was mortal and he levels part of the burial mounds before he went. and thus was the last of wwx.

or was it ?

the world believes wwx to be dead ("good riddance") but actually hes still kicking and in a more incorporeal form. he had to retreat somewhere deep in the burial mounds to recover and thus was unable to see that lwj had come back and taken a severely feverish a-yuan with him. wwx thinks everyone is dead and gone and everything was all for naught so he stews in his mistakes and tries to repent while stitching himself back together.

sometime after, he ends up in mount tonglu which was reopened because the aftershocks of the destruction of the stygian tiger seal were strong enough to disturb mount tonglu's magma chamber of resentment basically. so for ~12 years wwx was in there fighting his way thru which was why he didnt answer to lwj's calls

wwx survives as the last standing ghost after the slaughter and stews in the kiln for another month and a half or so. this would be around the time mxy is preparing to summon wwx's ghost for the summoning.

so imagine wwx just came out of the thing as a newly minted supreme/ghost king and hes immediately yanked to where mxy is. wwx's soul isnt stuffed into mxy's newly-emptied physical body since hes a ghost king this time around. still, he helps mxy but in the shadows bc hes still not keen on getting yoinked just when he returned to the mortal world.

everything proceeds as canon, with wwx sharing mxy's body via possession at some points for the comedy gold and the bit (because he would !! let the man be silly)

after that he absolutely yanks mxy outta there after lwj arrives (just after he spends like 5 minutes staring at lwj's beauty of course) and decides hes gonna adopt this sad little wet cat and teach him the actual proper ways of cultivation and steer him away from demonic cultivation bc tbh it's just not worth it esp since mxy has a golden core and who knows how demonic cultivation will affect a golden core-

anyways

wwx decides to do a silly little makeover so he wouldnt be recognised by any of his old acquaintances. his new appearance ends up a weird lil mix between himself and mxy, enough to claim that theyre distant cousins and normal rogue cultivators just starting out. wwx plans on taking his new charge around the country and away from the sects after he learned the godawful way the lanling jin have treated mxy

"single parenthood will be hard, but this father will make sure you get the best life on the road, my sweet little loquat." "you barely look older than me to be my father, wei-qianbei" "shush let me have this"

their traveling is off to a good start. but then dafan mountain happens and holy shit wen ning is still alive(?? technically ??) and holy shit why the fuck is everyone from wwx's previous life gathering here and holy shit did he just insult his shijie's son and-

why the fuck are they going with the gusu lan cultivators

what the fuck just happened

what

anyways

wwx introduces himself as a golden core-less distant mo cousin ("had an unfortunate run-in with the core melting hand back then") who used to be a rogue cultivator back in the day and is now dabbling with the art of talisman making and definitely isnt practicing demonic cultivation no siree

somehow he and mxy end up separated as lwj and wwx go to investigate the severed arm together and mxy ends up going w the juniors with a lil encouragement from wwx

"youll have a better time socialising with people your age, little loquat" "wei-qianbei plz ,,, u just want to go w hanguang-jun alone dont u" "lmao hahahahah who said that"

wwx is absolutely having the time of his life roleplaying a damsel in distress while being completely oblivious to the bone chilling fear he induces in their undead opponents. he invents silly little talismans to help hanguang-jun in battle. hes a little perplexed at how much shit lwj is letting him get away with.

hes also 90% sure lwj has figured out that hes a ghost and hes sweating like a sinner in church deep inside

i havent thought of much past this but heres some more tidbits of info that i thought about

at some point wwx is made aware of his infamy as the "Devil Flute Upon Graves". his self destruction at the burial mounds wiped out most of the vengeful ghosts in that area and, as mentioned before, shook mount tonglu w enough resentful energy to bust it open

wwx has an army of ghostly corvids that are essentially made of condensed resentful energy. they are also sort of empathetically connected to him ??? so theyre also chatty, yappy things who are extra fond of lwj and the junior ducklings

actually wwx's entire being post-supreme promotion is just condensed resentful/yin energy and being in his presence should be dangerous for regular ppl and cultivators alike but (a) he has mastered the art of keeping the effects contained within himself and (b) existing within the same space as lwj and doing their everyday means that their yin and yang energy are constantly balancing each other out to the point where it just naturally and passively happens. lwj literally dampens wwx's natural heebie jeebie vibes bc of good dick

because hes made up of yin energy, this does mean that it's ridiculously easy for him to switch back and forth between a male and female form. he usually ends up walking around in an androgynous form that leans towards a healthier, happier looking yiling laozu

VERY IMPORTANT ADDITION: yes ofc wwx gives lwj his ashes. it's in the form of an ornament. idk where to hang it tho. maybe wangji-guqin ? or his belt ? still debating on it for sure

the burial mounds are regarded in the ghost realm as his territory now and the ghost realm and heavenly court wait w baited breath to see what this new ghost king would do

the answer is he gallivants all over the damn continent with his new cultivator husband and their gaggle of children. wwx really dgaf about anything else really, he just wants to be Wife and Teacher

the wen remnants are given a second chance at life by wwx himself after the second siege of the burial mounds and they now live a happy afterlife at wwx's new ghost town where their old settlement used to be

he and hua cheng get along by virtue of being former street kids who just want to hang out w their godly spouses and their conversations together are just praise after praise for said godly spouses

wwx's birbs do eat hua cheng's butterflies and it's a frequent point of contention. no harm is done to the butterflies tho, the birbs just spit them out whole bc they taste absolutely nasty/poisonous

wwx 🤝 xie lian : little to no self-preservation instincts. they just want to help people okay !!

after the entire guanyin temple ordeal wwx ends up with a worshipped godly aspect whose primary place of worship is in yiling, who still remember the yiling laozu who just wanted to help his little family survive to the next day. to them, wwx became the god of innovation, ingenuity, and protection

he also becomes the patron god of street children ??? he just finds himself helping street kiddos and taking in vengeful ghost children because it was what he needed back when he was a kid okay ??? hes just using his powers for good, thats all

mxy is taken in by the gusu lan clan where he ends up become a promising candidate as a talisman master, thanks to wwx's encouragement and guidance

also !! it turns out more than a couple of other ppl ascended into the heavenly court, namely:

- jiang yanli ascended as the new water master, while jin zixuan became a martial god. shes a goddess of abundance, the home, and reconciliation. hes a god of wealth, fortune, and justice - nie mingjue also ascended to become a martial god after his spirit was laid to rest. he was supposed to ascend naturally but jin guangyao's bullshit derailed his fate. - wen qing ascended to become a medical master/goddess of medicine and sacrifice tho shes also kind of infamous for her friendship with devil flute upon graves. but nobody can say shit cz if they do say shit then they wld also be saying shit abt hualian and they dont want to deal with two calamities up their ass

thats all i can yap abt rn but i might add more we dunno

[asliceofzosan]

sanji has always known he loved zoro.

subconsciously.

it's hidden in the steps he takes to maneuver around the sleeping marimo on the deck. it's written in the recipes he creates to account for the amount of nutrients he needs for his frankly ridiculous workout routine. it's embedded so deeply in the way he fights, back to back, one leg swinging in perfect synergy with zoro's blade. how he stands on his blind side more often on the field. but stands on his good side when they have a conversation.

so the words "i love you" come naturally to him. it's like he was always meant to say it to zoro. his presence was an appetizer. his words, the entreé. his actions, a delectable dessert that even his sweets-hating boyfriend craves for after a long day.

but sanji has never heard those three little words from zoro. not even once.

and sure, it's not like he goes around saying i love you to every beautiful lady he meets. he knows the gravity of such words. he knows how someone saying it can affect you in ways that can barely be comprehended by the human mind. it stirs something within ourselves that awakens the age old yearning to be cherished. to be held.

to be worth something to someone.

sanji can remember the rare times someone said i love you to him. once held in his mother's arms in a tender embrace that weakens with each passing second, it was whispered against his temple, frail fingers combing through his hair, and he cries without knowing that it would be the last time he hears those words for a very long time. once shaking in zeff's arms as the nightmares roar louder in his head than the storm that rattled the windows of the newly opened baratie, the older man choosing to be gentle with the child he willingly gave everything to in order to survive.

he's never heard it from someone who loved him like a partner. loved him like an equal. loved him in ways lovers are supposed to love each other.

maybe it's because he never had one of those until zoro. for the longest time, he survived on fairy tales and myths and legends. oral tradition passed down through generations of every family he encounters on their adventures out at sea. and though his life as a prince was nothing like the pictures painted in children's books, he always longed for a princess of his own. someone he could save from the proverbial tower guarded by a fearsome dragon.

he wanted someone to love him like a hero. their hero. someone who admires him for all the things he desperately projects for others to see him as worth keeping around.

zoro isn't a princess by any means. he's honestly so much more like the dragon. but also not. fearsome as he is fearful. immensely strong as he is soft hearted. a steady pillar as he is the first to crumble at sanji's touch.

and zoro never admired him like a hero. never cared about the best foot forward sanji took care to show others. in fact, he saw right through him from the very moment they met. it irritated sanji to no end how someone like that stupid marimo could read him like an open book. he took care to make sure the pages of his story that he deems undesirable were sealed away under lock and key. no one needed to know the plot points that brought him where he is. he needs to be the hero. he needs to be seen as the hero in his story.

but who exactly was he trying to save?

what kind of hero has no one to save?

it took several years for him to realize that the person he needed to save was himself. and zoro knew that.

of course he fucking did.

he never mollycoddled him. never softened the blow. always blunt and direct with him. it drove sanji up the wall once with how little tact he had. eventually, he actually started to appreciate how zoro never once sugarcoated anything with him. if he was upset, he'd show it. if he was happy, it would shine in his gaze clear as day.

and if he was in love?

well.

sanji can admit it took him much longer to realize that the love he felt for zoro was not only reciprocated but was so much deeper than what three little words could possibly convey.

there's a permanent space for zoro next to sanji, right in front of the sink, when dinner is over and the soapy water goes up to his elbows. the windows are always open in the crow's nest when sanji's watch comes right after zoro's, just enough for the smoke to escape but the smell to linger. the wordless nod zoro gives him when sanji is combing through marketplaces and dragged him along to be his pack mule. the strategically placed shoulder for him to jump off of when sanji needs to launch himself at an oncoming enemy.

the 2am fights that devolve into holding each other and apologizing without saying any words at all.

the way zoro carries him back to his bunk when he's fallen asleep in the galley writing recipes down. the kiss to his forehead. the hand that runs through his hair.

and here sanji thought his actions were the sweet dessert. for in the dead of night, when no one is watching, zoro's devotion is blinding. zoro's love shines like a beacon in a dark, stormy night.

the dragon perched on the roof of the tower, breathing fire for the lost prince to find his way home.

so sanji lets zoro comb through the pages of his story that he doesn't tell anyone else. he lets zoro guide his hand to flip to the blank pages, allows him to convince him that the parts of his story that mattered are the ones written by his own hand. and if the pages are soon filled with endless adventures of the prince and his swordsman, no one else will really understand it.

no one except zoro.

so yes. sanji always knew he loved zoro and that zoro loved him back just as fiercely or maybe even more.

even if he never heard those three little words.

what sanji doesn't know, is that when zoro is sure he is fast asleep, zoro whispers those words against sanji's ear. like a revenant prayer to a god. zoro doesn't believe in god.

but he believes in sanji. he always did.

[moxie-girl]

ASL+U Alice in Borderland AU!!

loads more lore for the AU under the cut!!!!

♠ACE

Ace entered the Borderlands alone, but soon teamed up with Sabo after seeing his skills in ♦ games. He’s aware that Sabo is probably using him for his strength, but he feels confident that he could take him if he tried anything. (Whether this is true remains to be seen.) Quick to anger, Ace has been fired from multiple jobs for insulting customers, but his temper proves its worth in keeping him away from untrustworthy ♥ players. Despite being skilled in many different forms of martial arts, Ace tends to fight dirty, which often catches opponents by surprise in ♠ games. He was arrested several times for suspected arson, and while the claims were never proven, his go-to weapons in the Borderlands include a lighter, and later, a makeshift flamethrower. While initially slow to trust, once he is comfortable around the others he becomes an overprotective and even doting big brother, not that he’d ever admit it.

♦SABO

Sabo entered the borderlands with a few of his co-workers, and was immediately thrown into a ♥ game with only one survivor. (It’s okay, he didn’t really like them anyway.) Initially, he teamed up with Ace to cover for his own weaknesses - while he’s decently fit, many ♠ games require athletics even beyond his level - but he unwillingly began to get attached. Sabo has a special knack for noticing the tricks or loopholes in ♦ and ♥ games, making him an extremely valuable player to work with. An investigative journalist before the Borderlands, he specialized in exposé articles, though many never got published due to companies paying the newspaper to keep quiet. He understands the risks of getting attached to other players, but all the same he can’t stop himself from caring for the others to the point that he’d probably trade his life for theirs, despite being a player who’d usually do anything to survive.

♣LUFFY

Luffy met both Ace and Sabo in a ♣ game that required players to work in groups of three. They tried to ditch him after the game, but were unsuccessful, and eventually decided to keep him around for his skills. While he seems incredibly trusting, Luffy has a keen eye for when someone is actually trustworthy, and survived several ♥ games on his own despite other players trying to take advantage of him. He is incredibly athletic and skilled at ♠ games as well, but his true strength is his ability to bring groups of people together and help them trust each other, even if it’s just for a short time. Luffy’s cheerful attitude despite the situation endears him to Ace and Sabo quickly, and they both find themselves getting attached to him. In the process of this, the two of them also begin to trust each other for real, although they try to deny this at first.

♥UTA

Uta is an incredibly famous idol known for her cheerful, hopeful personality. In reality, she’s merely playing a role she knows the audience loves the most, and she’s actually envious of those types of happy people. (Sometimes, she secretly wishes she was really like them.) In the Borderlands, Uta’s attitude serves her well, as does her fame, and she’s tricked many other players into doing hard work for her. The poker face of her preppy facade is another thing that makes her so skilled at ♥ games, and she’s much smarter than she lets on, playing up her attitude even more in ♦ games to goad opponents into making mistakes. Uta was saved by Luffy in a ♥ game when she was almost killed by a dealer she thought she was controlling, and under the guise of owing him, she travels with ASL for a little while. However, her plans of sacrificing the trio to clear more games are derailed almost immediately by Luffy’s endless optimism.

OTHER PLAYERS

♠KOBY

Koby was initially rather meek, despite having decent physical skills and having taken self-defense lessons for years (in an attempt to stop his bullies). However, after a chance encounter with Luffy, Koby develops his self-confidence and teams up with a group of other players including Helmeppo(♦) and Hibari(♣), realizing his abilities as a skilled ♠ player.

♣LAW

Law is the head surgeon of a prestigious hospital, and he and many of his co-workers were transported to the Borderlands at the same time. They formed a tight-knit team who all trust each other deeply. While Law is good at ♦ and ♥ games, his role as the head of the hospital group and skill at planning and directing the team means his true specialties lie in ♣ games.

♦KIDD

Kidd, despite his rough appearance, is actually an incredibly skilled engineer and one of the smartest ♦ players in the Borderlands. That’s not to say he isn’t also incredibly fit, though most of the fighting is left to his partner Killer(♠). He lost an arm trying to dismantle a piece of game tech, but he built a prosthetic and has continued trying to shut the games down. 

♥BONNEY

Bonney, at only 12 years old, is possibly the youngest player still alive in the Borderlands. Unintentionally, because of her age, more cynical players will sometimes sacrifice themselves to keep her alive. She carries this guilt with her, but doesn’t let it affect her worldview - her strong, trusting attitude makes her surprisingly skilled at ♥ games, and she’s no slouch at ♣ either. 

♠KOALA

Koala is a karate instructor who mainly stuck to herself after losing her previous group to a particularly brutal ♥ game. She has a particularly strong hatred for the game masters and wants nothing more than to give them a good beating. When Sabo gets separated from his group by the ♠K, she saves him and eventually joins his group when they reunite. 

♦DEUCE

Deuce is a medical student who took to hiding his face in an attempt to “re-invent” himself in the Borderlands. His skills as even a trainee doctor are invaluable, and he meets Ace in a ♣ game and eventually joins his group to help with ♦ games. Once he escapes the Borderlands, he plans to write a novel about his experiences, though he doubts anyone would read it.

THE STRAWHATS

I’m sure you’ve noticed that none of the Strawhats are listed here! That’s because Luffy meets them when he is thrust into yet another life-threatening accident after the Borderlands, and is pulled back into another, albeit smaller game. As the only person there who has experience with the games, he manages to keep them alive and the crew becomes close friends once they escape again. (After Ace, Sabo, and Uta beat Luffy half to death for scaring them like that.)

♦: Usopp, Chopper, Robin

♠: Zoro, Sanji, Franky

♣: Vivi, Jinbe

♥: Nami, Brook

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

Pretty sure that the reason Stan Pines, in the last act of Gravity Falls, not only falls for and fails cons, but also acts far more impulsive and self-centered and impulsively money-grabbing than he usually does...

... probably has something to do with Ford returning, effectively telling Stan to "Get your shit and get out" after summer ends.

And that's... after 30 years of Stan doing whatever he can to rescue Ford, and keep himself, afloat. After over 10 years of homelessness, scrapping buy, crossing criminal lines (..and probably going to Columbia to dodge the Vietnam Draft).

And the man is like 60 something.

Stan was probably having some severe PTSD flashbacks the entire time, made worse by age, and the additional add on that his work of literal decades, with focus on family and surviving, came out to Nothing and he was about to get thrown back to square one, do not pass go.

I'd be tripping up all over everything to. Its a testament to his skill as a entertainer and shyster that he wasn't falling apart at every hour.

==

On the Flipside....

Ford has spent the last 30 years on the run. He's wasn't just lost in another dimension, he was lost into the whole multiverse.

( Though, implied to be more akin to running into realms where the natural laws or histories are different--as opposed to parallel earths. So a bit like teleporting to Xen in Half Life.)

With the distinct implication that when he fell into another dimension... he kept falling into them.

( Think on it. It took a entire portal meant to destabilize the universe in order to dimension hop in the first place. That sort of thing doesn't just pop up at K-mart; when he went through the super-duper portal, it kept portalizing him over the course of 30 years. )

So Ford had no place he could stay long, without the possibility of him getting teleported, or noclipping or Something (we have no idea on the details--but the speculation of implication is fun), immediately forcing him to adapt to a new environment with new rules whenever it happened.

As such, we now have a guy who is good to go on a moments notice and has everything he needs on him at all times.

So if he was to return through the portal and finally find a home, a stable home, and he himself no longer has to fear getting transportalized at random moments; he'd definitely would fight tooth, claw and gods knows what else to keep that home.

And probably, again running with the implications and the world-build set up Gravity Falls had going by this point, suffering his own traumas. By going back through the portal to his own home dimension, there Shouldn't be a worry about getting grabbed and thrown into another dimension again, but after years of dealing with it--the fear and anticipation of it would also produce some serious PTSD.

( Even though we never had Ford around long enough to really explore it... or really to give him as much depth and character as Stan got. All of this about Ford is speculation by implication after all. )

It would explain why he would get so pushy about things and situations (beyond the simple "Plot Plot Plot" writing so the show can hit Weirdmaggedon as fast as possible); if you've had to get dragged into another dimension at a moments notice and at random, you adapt to lack of time and thus, push to get as much done as possible in as small time as you can.

[ It also explains why Ford is just so damn cool headed. After dimension hopping and meeting strange peoples, places, and systems--to return to this place, Earth. There is literally nothing on Earth that could possibly scare him at this point, he's already experienced the worst ]

And that isn't to mention how Ford also suffered Stan's old situation. Homeless, often Penniless (Because what's money worth between dimensions, after all?) and no possible permanent companions to speak of.

To Ford, jumping from place to place is something he's already adapted to and excelled at, so he doesn't even consider Stan's situation in the slightest. To Ford, moving around on Earth isn't anything in comparison to being flung across spacetime into new physics and new atmospheres.

==

There's prolly going to be quite a few arguments and adjustments on the Stan O War 2 before the two can fully understand where each other is coming from.

[prime-adeptus]

NOTHING IS LOST (YOU GIVE ME STRENGTH) – FUSHIGURO MEGUMI & READER

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side. Or, the one where you find your way back home.

TAGS.⠀gender-neutral reader; ambiguous relationship; childhood friends; aged-up au/canon divergence; brief smoking; angst & hurt/comfort; mental health issues, talks of death/suicide ideation, implied past suicide attempts; mild gore; near-death experiences; drifting apart and coming back together. hopeful/happy ending. SFW. 3,9k words

A/N.⠀my first work after so long and it's just a ventfic LOL sorry i have been looping phoebe bridgers and lorde for ages.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always felt things fervently.

One moment you’d feel euphoric, like you’re walking on air and nothing can get you down, but then everything crumbles and you’re left as nothing but an empty husk. It’s ironic how emptiness can feel so heavy, a constant weight on your shoulders, constant tugs at your heartstrings. 

Despite all the things you hate about yourself, there’s still one part of you that you’ll always remember with pride: there is no limit to the unconditional love you can give to people. It’s taken some time for you to decide you want to live and love as much as you can. 

But for some reasons you couldn’t fathom, these days, you feel as though your love is forced. Unnatural. Ingenuine. Like it’s just something you’ve gotten used to doing passively. Like you no longer believe, like you are living a lie. 

In a way, maybe you are. The longer you are surrounded by your fellow Jujutsu sorcerers, the more aware you become of how rotten this world can get. Plagued with death, unhappiness and turmoil on every corner, and with humans repeating the same mistakes, you’ve begun to believe that this is all hopeless. You’re well aware that it’s quite a pessimistic view to hold, but in the world that you are in, you find that it keeps you grounded. A realist. 

Or, as your beloved teacher Gojo Satoru would call you, a downer.

The sound of his voice referring to you as such makes you click your tongue in irritation. There’s not much you know about him, but the bitter part of you believes that  he  of all people should at least understand how you feel. You hold your position as a jujutsu sorcerer in high regard and with honour, but as time passes by, you’ve started to contemplate if it’s even worth it at all.

You wonder if people know that you weren’t always this way — as a child, you were bright-eyed and innocent, full of love for people and the world. Growing and going through life shattered it all, making you a husk of what you once were, and even now, you still don’t know who you’re supposed to be.

You lie and you cheat, tricking people into believing that you’re independent and fine on your own, but you are lonelier than words can describe.

And just what do you live for? You’ve survived time and time again by sheer instinct and reflex, but you still don’t know what your purpose is. You fight and you risk your life to keep other people safe at the cost of your wellbeing. Every day is a task to complete for the greater good, but what’s in store for you? You’ve grown distant from your parents — on your end, anyway; it’s difficult to read people — and your once close friends rarely contact you anymore. All you have are your peers, but you still feel so out of place among them. 

The cigarette burns between your fingers as you stare off into space by the edge of the river. At the mere age of nineteen, you feel as though you’ve lived several lives, all of which have harrowed you to no end. Nicotine flows in your system as you take yet another drag, wondering if this is what your youth was meant to be. Years of saving the city in favour of feeling like you’re wanted, needed should’ve made you feel happy. Yet here you are, alone in the streets of Tokyo, all because there’s nothing waiting for you at home.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” a voice says from beside you. It’s deep and quiet, almost monotonous, but you’d recognise the hint of concern anywhere. Megumi slightly grimaces at the sight of you exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t.” With a scoff, you put out the cigarette in the ashtray and turn to face him instead. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

He frowns. It amuses you how it seems to have been a permanent expression etched on his face since you were kids. You don’t remember if you’ve ever seen him with a different look, but that’s on you, you suppose. You haven’t spent much time with him for a while now. Time ages you and your weariness distances you from those you wish to stay close to.

When he doesn’t reply, you speak up again, “I'm trying.”

“I know.” He glances at you. As blunt as he sounds, you know he means well; that’s just the way he is. He looks like he has more to say but he doesn’t, instead opting to hand you a packet of your favourite mints. Any other time you’d take it as an insult, but you find yourself getting sentimental over the fact that he still remembers what you like. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, popping one into your mouth. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The corner of his lips quirks downward for a split second. With a quiet sigh, he lightly flicks your forehead, not reacting at all to the indignant yelp you let out. 

“Where’s your jacket?” he asks in a chiding tone, though there isn’t any venom in it. “You’ll get sick. I don’t want you sneezing on me.”

“You always take care of me, though,” you grumble without thinking, putting on the jacket that was previously tied around your waist. Another beat passes before you realise what you’ve blurted out. Were you being too familiar with him? You’re not sure if he still wants to be friends after all that isolation you’ve been doing. You part your lips to apologise, but he interrupts with a huff and a flick to your forehead again.

“Shut up.” The pink flush on the tips of his ears betrays the irked expression he wears. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the chilly air or if it’s because he’s blushing, but it brings a smile to your face nonetheless. “Let’s go back.”

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side.

You were only twelve when you started seeing Curses everywhere you went.

You’d never been the type to get scared too easily, but there was something about those creatures that unsettled you to the core. They seemed horrifically disfigured and hungry, ready to pounce at any moment, and you could only be brave for so long. You tried telling your mother and your friends only to be met with suspicious and concerned looks. 

They thought you were crazy. You didn’t blame them for that. You never believed in the paranormal, so this sudden change must’ve been quite a shock. It wasn’t until two years later did you learn what they were and that you could exorcise them, somehow like they did in the horror movies. Your memory of your recruitment is hazy, but you did remember sitting with Megumi and Gojo in the car and asking the most questions you’ve ever asked in your lifetime. Your new teacher found it amusing; your classmate, however, did not.

Your mother didn’t seem to mind sending you to a boarding school. With an elaborate lie about your full scholarship told by Gojo, she’d beamed in joy and helped you pack your bags. She’d be too busy to actually notice your absence, but that didn’t stop her from sending a message to check in on you every once in a while. At some point, you stopped responding. Not because you were annoyed, but rather, you just didn’t have the energy to.

Ironically, for a school with quite a handful of staff and students, you never felt lonelier in your life. You stuck by Megumi’s side for the sole reason that he was the only one you felt comfortable enough to approach. You didn’t talk to him much, but he was good company and you came to consider him a friend. Eventually, he started approaching you as well, and you’d spend time together like regular friends would do. It felt nice to be able to be around someone and not have to explain yourself all the time. 

In hindsight, you think it’s your fault that you’re so distant from everyone now. You don’t quite know when it all began—the depressing thoughts, the near-uncontrollable impulses, the lack of care for your safety and well-being. Every time your teachers or a peer brought it up, you’d simply dismiss it as just a ‘hormone thing’ which seemed enough to make them stop asking. Megumi didn’t believe a thing. He doesn’t have to tell you for you to know that.

But what else could you do? You’re alone, and it’s not like anyone can help with whatever the fuck is happening in your head. Your mother got you in touch with professionals to help with your troubles, and even if she doesn’t say it much, you know she’s always worried sick and thinks you should just come home. You’ve been able to keep yourself in check since then, but with the sadness now mostly gone, you now have to deal with the void in your chest that plagues you constantly.

The forest surrounding the dormitories is quiet save for the leaves rustling in the wind and the cicadas chirping their evening tune. You’re not sure how long it’s been since your last official mission. You haven’t been good at keeping track of the time for a while now. But at the very least, you know that it’s been too long.

There’s no doubt Gojo had something to do with it, you think bitterly. Otherwise, you’d be as busy as your peers right now. If there’s one thing you hate about this place, it’s the fact that no one here ever really gives you a proper reason. You feel trapped, ignored, and maybe if you were more carefree you’d look past it, but you’re not. If they didn’t believe in your abilities, you’d show them; you don’t think being the underdog is that bad, after all. Maybe they’ll finally recognise your prowess and respect you.

With your heart pounding hard against your chest, you grab your ootachi and flee, letting your instincts guide you to wherever feels the most dangerous, exciting. The more rational part of you tells you that you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t turn back now, but you find that you really couldn’t care less.

You need to feel alive. You need to feel afraid, to feel something, anything. While you don’t mind resting, you also didn’t overwork yourself to the bone just to remain stagnant. You didn’t spend weeks training with every weapon the school had to offer just to let them rust. You didn’t hone your cursed techniques only to not use them at all. So punishment and criticism be damned, you’re going to do what you want whether people like it or not.

You find yourself standing in front of a dingy abandoned shrine in the woods. Unease settles in the air as you slowly creep into the light of the moon. It’s dim, incredibly so, but you can’t afford to be afraid of the dark now —you have something to prove, and you’re not going to let yourself be intimidated by something so childish. There are blood splatters on the cobblestone steps, both fresh and dried, and your grip tightens on the handle of your sword. Your instinct to fight rears its head within your body, adrenaline and the humane need to survive rushing through your veins, but you breathe and try to rein it all in.

You have to think.

(It’s quite ironic how for someone who doesn’t give a single shit about their life, you always fight your hardest so you can live.)

You take another step. A twig snaps beneath the weight of your foot. The dried leaves crunch and rustle like someone (or rather, something) is sizing you up, keeping itself unseen to take you by surprise. Incomprehensible gargled sentences echo from within and the stench of death and decay grows stronger. Even when fear starts to wrap you in its cold embrace, you walk through the gate and into the dark shrine. Your blood runs cold and your breath gets caught in your throat, but you force yourself to face the task at hand.

You’re met with a grotesque mass of green; all of its endless bloodshot eyes leer at you as its tendrils slither in your direction. Misshapen hands protrude from those tendrils and reach for you, taunting you with the blood and entrails stuck to their skin and nails, telling you that you are next. 

Not today.

An aura of black and purple coats your sword as you withdraw it from its sheath. It’s not the best space to utilise such a long sword—the shrine is somewhat cramped and is lacking in space for mobility, much less combat —but you grit your teeth and decide that you will adapt. Electricity crackles from your blade, and without any more hesitation, you charge. Its tendrils are faster than you had anticipated; they come close to wrapping themselves around your legs until your cursed energy latches on to them and forces them to disintegrate.

The curse glares at you in fury. You can practically hear your heartbeat as you slash through its tendrils, splattering the wooden floors with its steaming blood. A guttural growl leaves the curse and the air feels thicker; it’s getting hard to breathe and your vision is starting to fade. 

Am I going to die here?

There’s a sharp pain in your gut. The sword slips out of your grasp and blood sputters out of your lips. When you look down, you realise that the curse has pierced through you.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it fucking hurts.

But you can’t die here. Not like this, not without a fight.

Shakily, weakly, you put your hands together, breathe, and with the last of your strength, you fire a powerful blast that hits the curse square in the centre, making it screech in pain. Vapour rises from its form as it melts into the ground and eventually dissipates. A relieved sigh leaves you, but then the world spins, your body hurts even more, and before you know it, everything goes dark.

You fall into nothing.

(Somewhere not too far from the shrine, apprehension crawls into Fushiguro Megumi’s system.

He doesn’t hesitate. He follows the curse residue and he runs.)

You wake with a dull ache between your ribs.

The first thing you see is never-ending walls of white. There’s a generic decorative painting on the wall along with an old clock that tells you it’s a quarter past noon. Blearily, you realise that you’re in the infirmary, and judging from the soreness that spreads through your body and into your limbs, you’re still alive.

Somehow, you’re not as happy about it as you should be.

You feel like you’ve been through hell and back. In a way, you did. You’re too tired to regret your poor decisions from who knows how long ago, and you’re not a stranger to deliberately ignoring whatever makes you feel like shit. So you do just that all while staring blankly at the wall in front of you, hoping that you’ll eventually fall asleep again and forget. Maybe even not wake up until the month ends.

(You’ve come to a realisation that you don’t want to die anymore; you just want to stop existing for a while, get yourself together then come back when you’re ready. Like pausing a game or a video being played, you don’t lose the progress, but you sure as hell forget what the hell happened earlier.)

The door slides open. You contemplate pretending to be unconscious again, but your ears pick up heavy footfalls on the tiled floor and you decide maybe you shouldn’t. 

“Hey, Ieiri-sensei,” you croak out, weakly raising two of your fingers in a peace sign. “I’m alive and moving.”

She hums, amused as she makes her way over to your bedside. “Yes, you are. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit?”

“Good. You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. Can you stand?”

She gently urges you off the bed, hoisting you up by the shoulders as you try to maintain balance after being bedridden for hours. Or days. Or even weeks. You’re not sure.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

The concerning duration of your bedridden state goes completely ignored. All you can think about is the mention of Megumi. 

You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. 

“What do you mean he found me?”

She smiles wryly. “That boy’s been worried about you. Ran off from Satoru as soon as he felt a ‘weird pressure.’ What were you fighting?”

You shrug and wince at how stiff you feel. God, you hate this. Your legs are shaky as she helps you walk out of the infirmary and on the familiar path back to the dormitories. The school is quiet, making you wonder where everyone’s gone for the day.

“Some curse thing. Had tentacles and slimy skin. It was gross.”

“Well, that thing punctured you right there.” She gestures toward your chest. “Surprisingly it didn’t hit any vital organs, but you still lost a lot of blood. Did you exorcise it in the end?”

“I did.” A beat of silence passes. “Am I in trouble?”

“Yaga-sensei’s suspended you for a month. Oh, Fushiguro-kun. Just in time.” She helps you sit on a stone bench as Megumi approaches, his fingers furling and then relaxing by his sides. “They still need some support when they’re walking, but they’re healing quickly. They’ll be fine..”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m still in my thirties, silly.” She ruffles your hair affectionately. “Be careful, hm? Come see me if there’s anything else.”

As Ieiri-sensei takes her leave, Megumi sits down next to you on the bench. His brows furrow the same way they always do when he’s thinking of how to say something nicely. He opts for silence instead, eyeing you cautiously. It almost feels offensive, but it’s only then that you’re aware of the bandages that cover essentially your whole upper body, so you brush it off. If someone else were in your position, you’d be worried sick too.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this visibly upset (well, for someone like Megumi anyway) over anything, and knowing that it’s because of you strikes you with a pang of guilt. With your lips pursed, you avoid his demanding look and glance at your hands instead. The bruises have almost faded away by now. Ieiri-sensei must’ve worked herself to the bone to patch you up.

“I’m not happy, Megumi.” Your throat closes up and your nose burns as the tears start to form and fall. “I’ve been trying to force myself to feel something. It didn’t matter what it was. I just hate being like this all the time.”

It hurts to cry. It hurts trying not to. Your state of mind is in tatters and you’re desperately doing your best to hold yourself together, but the way he’s looking at you makes you drop your guard completely.

“I know I’m surrounded by people, but I still feel so alone.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything. That’s fine, you think. The last thing you’d want to do is pressure him to speak his mind. He takes every word into consideration and thinks a lot by default, and if he’s still the same boy you knew all those years ago, he’d prefer to let his actions speak for themselves. 

“You didn’t have to come for me,” you murmur. “I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

“No.” He pauses for a moment as if he’s trying to formulate what he wants to say into words that won’t feel like jabs. He huffs quietly. “I want to stay with you.”

Hearing him say those words practically has you melting on the spot, your heart fluttering as warmth rushes to your cheeks. You reach for his hand instinctively and with the slightest bit of hesitation, he responds by lacing your fingers together. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. You don’t know if it’s because you’re still exhausted or if it’s because you’re worried you’ll upset him somehow. Either way, it takes so much out of you just to talk anymore. “I’m trying.”

He squeezes your hand softly. “I know.”

“I say that to you a lot, don’t I?” you chuckle, leaning against his shoulder. I’m trying. You tell it to him every time you don’t have anything else to say, but it hardly feels true. Or maybe you’re just overly critical of everything you do, expecting yourself to reach certain heights before you consider yourself enough. 

“You are trying,” Megumi says. “Even now.”

You smile weakly. “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He lets go of your hand and your heart sinks, wondering if you’d done or said something wrong, but then he gently flicks your forehead the same way he always used to do when you were kids. “I found you bleeding out on the ground.”

“Pretty gnarly, wasn’t it?” you joke, laughing nervously. He shoots you a glare that shuts you up immediately.

“We were worried about you,” he continues, ignoring your interruption. “I was worried about you. I thought you were going to die.”

“Is this the part where I tell you that all jujutsu sorcerers die at some point?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I didn’t know I was that important to you.”

“We grew up together.” You feel a slight weight as he rests your head on top of yours with a sigh. “You’ve always been with me. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there.”

It’s unusual for him to be this open about his feelings; he’s never been the overly sentimental type like you are, so to have him be this vulnerable with you makes you feel like you’re going to burst. The cool breeze passes by as you hesitantly take his hand again, and for the first time in so long, you find yourself genuinely smiling. He cares about you. He loves you, despite what that voice in your head tells you otherwise. It’ll take a while for you to change or get used to knowing these things, but for him, you’ll do everything you can. You’ll live — if not for yourself, then for him. And as slow and tedious as your path to recovery may be, both physically and mentally, you think that it’ll be worth the endeavour because you’re not alone. 

You are loved.

You are loved by him, and for now, that is enough to quell every anxiety in the back of your mind.

You glance at him. “Wanna watch a movie later?” 

Almost imperceptibly, he smiles back. “Sure.”

(You never end up finishing the movie.

Halfway through, exhaustion gets the better of you, and you fall into a deep sleep on the bean bag you borrowed from the recreation room. When you wake in the morning, you’re sore and aching all over, but the blanket draped over your frame and the arm around your waist makes you forget about it for a moment.

With a content smile, you curl closer.

He’s still the same Megumi you’ve always known.)

[jcbbby]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, a gift for everyone! It's a little Caleb Sykes ficlet! Enjoy. :) (I have a longer fic still in the works, btw. This is just a fun lil one off.)

“Give me a whiskey. Double.” Caleb’s deep, gruff voice barked at the barkeep as he sat down at the counter.

The man behind the bar nodded, reaching for a glass and the bottle. A wet popping sound followed by the glug of the pour was music to Caleb’s ears after a long day of travel. He had been riding across the sprawling wilderness for days, sent by his brother to attend to business for the family. There was a matter of debt owed to the Sykes, something that not only were Caleb’s skills and tactics best suited for—but intimidation was something that Caleb reveled and excelled in.

Caleb took his hat off, inspecting it briefly. He brushed a spot of dirt off the brim, setting it down next to him on the counter.

“That’ll be 25.” The bartender set the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Caleb eyed it suspiciously, glaring up at the young barkeep. “This look like double to you? It don’t look like it’s worth even 15 to me.” He growled.

“Well, I-“

Caleb stood up, moving his coat to flash the pistol on his hip. “Now, I’d think real carefully about what you say next.”

The barkeep swallowed harshly, nodding once as he reached again for the bottle. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He poured another couple glugs into the glass. “On the house.” He chuckled nervously.

Caleb glared, forcefully taking the glass in his hand and taking a swig. He spun around in his chair, leaning his back against the counter of the bar. Surveying the inside of the saloon, his eyes fell upon the unlikely pairing of a young brunette seated awfully cozied up to an older, larger gentleman.

He drank as he watched on, the brunette giggled and twirled her hair, raising a glass of ale up to his sweat-glistened lips almost forcefully. The man chuckled heartily, obviously drunk on the ale and seemingly drunk on this woman. Caleb noticed her hand inching closer to the man’s small satchel of coins, tied to his belt loop. He smirked to himself, quickly realizing what was unfolding in front of him.

The woman extended a small switchblade from the hand, distracting the man by pressing herself against him as she swiftly sliced the roped tying the bag to him. Caleb took another swig of his whiskey, chortling into the glass. Impressive, he thought.

“If you could excuse me, honey. I just want to freshen up for a minute in the powder room. Don’t you go anywhere, okay?” The woman giggled, running a finger along the man’s plump cheek.

As the woman turned around, her smile and bubbly demeanor quickly fell. She made her way toward the back of the saloon, but instead of entering the women’s lounge, she took a sharp turn, scurrying out the side door. Through the window, he watched her slink around the back corner of the establishment. He slugged the rest of his glass of whiskey back, reaching for his hat. He knew he couldn’t let this girl go.

The young woman smirked to herself, plopping down against the back wall of the saloon.

“Too easy, as always.” She chuckled to herself, working to untie the purse and count her haul.

The last several years of her life had been spent on the move, thieving; her only means of living. The comforts of home had evaded her since she was a little girl. Orphaned at the age of 10 due to Typhoid fever, all she knew was survival. She had spent some time in an orphanage, which was a horrible existence. It was overcrowded from children who survived attacks in the Apache Wars and run by strict clergy members. She learnt to steal and fight during her time there, lest she go hungry or be intimidated by the other children but was kicked out at 14 to make room for more. Since then, she had been making her own way, by any means she could.

Caleb quietly approached, rounding the corner at the back of the building.

“Well,” he chuckled. “That was mighty impressive.”

The girl quickly reached for her knife, holding it out in front of her. “Back off.”

Caleb sighed. “Woman, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to bring a knife to a gun fight?” He flashed his pistol, smiling wickedly.

The girl huffed. “You gonna kill me over a few coins?” She tossed the small purse towards him, it landing and spilling at his feet. “Fine then, give it back to your chowderhead friend.”

Caleb bent down to pick the money up. “Oh, I’m not with him, no. And I’m not gonna kill you, darlin’. No, see… I could use a girl like you.” He smirked.

“I ain’t no prostitute, mister.” She scowled.

He chuckled. “No, you certainly ain’t, are ya?”

“You sayin’ I’m too ugly?” She came to her feet, brow furrowed, offended.

Caleb let out a full-belly laugh. “My god, you sure are a feisty one! No, woman, I’m just tryin’ to tell ya I’m impressed with your skill. I watched you hustle that man in there. I think we’d make a great team, you and me.” He handed her the coins.

She slowly took the bag from him, sizing him up for a moment. “Yeah? And who are ya?”

“You familiar with the Sykes family?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re a Sykes?”

He smirked. “The name’s Caleb. And you?”

She took a beat before answering. “Violet.”

Caleb smiled. “Mighty pretty name for a pretty face. Violet what?”

Violet shook her head. “Just Violet. I ain’t got no family, and I ain’t got no family name. I ain’t got nothing.” She tucked the bag of coins into an inner pocket on her jacket.

“Well, you want somethin’?” He smirked.

She looked up from securing her pocket. “Like what?”

“How’s about you come with me, and we can turn those few measly coins into much more.”

“Keep talkin’.” She returned his smirk.

He slowly approached her, his hand reaching up to her cheek. His finger ran along the outside of her cheek and down her jaw. “And maybe…more than money. Maybe a family name to go with it.”

Violet stared up into his piercing blue eyes, icy and deep. To anyone else, they would have been cold and imposing. But to her, they were inviting. She didn’t know him, but she swore in his eyes it was like an ocean of promise.

[artbyblastweave]

hey! recently I read marvel zombies 1 and 2 because of your posts, and I loved them! as a quasi-recent walking dead fan (I read it until the end of the governor arc back then and stopped, only recently I was able to reread it all and actually finish it, what a great book) it was a lot of fun, I love Robert Kirkman's work. however, now that I know the other marvel zombies are not written by him, I just wanna know, are the other ones worth reading? thank you for your time :3

Marvel Zombies 3 By Fred Van Lente is really really good; it's set in the interquel between 1 and 2 and mostly consists of the mainline universe Machine Man killing the shit out of all the zombies that weren't explicitly shown to be killed in the Silver Surfer sequence. Marvel Zombies 4, also by Van Lente, is also a lot of fun, features a multi-faction battle on Earth-616 over the control of the severed head of Deadpool so it can be used as a bioweapon.

Marvel Zombies Return is the one that's technically meant to wrap up what happened to the surviving zombies after MZ2 and I will be honest with you, it's not that good because it's simultaneously an anthology thing and a pastiche of different eras of Marvel, and as a result it loses the unity of tone that the Kirkman stuff had; there's also some serious characterization inconsistancies, I get the impression that they might not have actually read the two minis they were writing a sequel to. I have a carve-out for issue 3, written by Jonathan Maberry, which has really excellent art. There's one more Kirkman-penned thing, the Dead Days Oneshot, which is really good. I also like the Mark Millar/Greg Land issues of Ultimate Fantastic 4 (issues 21-23) where the zombies were originally introduced, although Kirkman took the concept and ran much further with it.

Marvel zombies 5 is not good. Ignore that one. There was also a 5-issue crossover with The Evil Dead franchise, Marvel Zombies vs Army of Darkness, which is set during the outbreak and features Ash Williams fighting for his life against the superzombies. It was written by John Layman, the guy who wrote Chew, which is a comic I really enjoyed. Outside of the original MZ continuity, The semi-recent miniseries Marvel Zombies: Resurrection by Phillip Kennedy Johnson was really good. It features Peter Parker leading a small band of survivors in search of... I don't really remember, but Peter Parker-as-Rick-Grimes is a pitch that stands on its own merits I think. Important to note that for some asinine reason the first issue was released as a One-shot about a year before the other four and isn't packaged with them on a lot of the completely reputable websites where we all go to read these things, so that can be a pain in the ass.

[ariadnes-red-thread]

Congrats on 150 followers, Aria! ✨💖💕✨ you deserve all of them and more!

My request is for a Fem!Reader or GN!Reader with Wolffe. The prompt is “I thought I lost you.”

Hiiii Vee! I'm so so sorry this took so long. I never forgot about it and I wrote most of it a long time ago but the ending just didn't feel right and I couldn't bring myself to rush it. I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks for all of your love and support, darling!

Pairing: Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warning: NSFT *MINORS DNI*, Explicit sexual content, established relationship, Fingering, PiV sex

It had been almost two years since Order 66. Two years since you lost everything. The order, your master, your troops, and him. First, Master Plo fell on Cato Neimoidia. You’d only survived by sheer luck. Your own ship had malfunctioned that morning, and you’d been directing the 442nd and the 104th on the ground. After the battle ended, you ventured into the forests alone for a moment of peace. Instead, the order came down. Plo’s last call was to tell you to run and not look back. The staticky warning, followed by a vengeful rain of blaster fire from men you loved as brothers and more while you fled, still haunted your dreams.  After the battle, the 104th was torn apart and scattered among the Empire’s troops. You looked for a while after, even though you feared what you might find, but there was nothing left. No pieces to find or recover, no trail to follow. They were all gone. Even him. You told yourself that you’d long since given up hope. The focus was on the fight now, but deep within the well of your heart, you knew that wasn’t true. Hope still lurked in those murky shadows, and despite your best efforts to brick it in and let it suffocate in the rot deep within you, it crept out sometimes.

You felt its tendrils now, wrapping around your neck and squeezing. You steadied your breath, taking slow inhales and exhales as you tried to focus on the basics of the mission at hand. You counted the exits for the ninth time. There were five - six if you included the window, but that was a several-story fall that you preferred not to chance. You silently let your gaze fall to your blaster, aimed at the ready. You tilted it slightly so you could see the energy cell, the barrel never moving from its aim on the large doorway one level below. The cell was still full, just as it had been the last time you checked and the time before that.

“You good?” The comforting voice crackled over the comm and echoed in your ear, a welcome intrusion to your own thoughts even if you didn't appreciate the implication.

You let your eyes wander up the skeleton of the old building. Several levels above, you could just barely make out the captain’s outline. Rex was watching you from the shadows of the upper level of the abandoned maintenance center. Your contact chose the location, the abandoned GAR shipyard. You and Rex chose the building. It was a good location for a risky meeting. The middle of the building was hollow and large enough to house a transport ship, leaving plenty of space for hiding and good viewpoints. It helped that both you and Rex knew it well too. In another lifetime, you had walked it many times together and separately. Even now, as you looked up to where he was waiting in the shadows, you could almost see the ghosts of his brothers crawling, working, and laughing all around the rusted-out structure.

“Yeah, just tired of waiting.” You snapped back, your voice barely a whisper. “You sure this information is good?”

“Eh,” There was a muffled crackling in your ear as Rex shifted. “You heard the call. But how good is any of our information these days?”

You sighed. Rex didn’t have to put up with your testy attitude but he always did.

“Sorry, Rex.” 

“Nah, you’re alright.” The mic rustled as he shifted again. “I’m on edge too. It’s just…”

“I know.”

You both fell silent. You and Rex had been on edge since you got the call. It was an extraction request. It had been a long time science you’d gotten one of those. There weren't many clones left to rescue these days. Between the effectiveness of early missions, the elimination of the clone trooper from the Empire’s army, and the assassin program, it had been three months since Rex had heard anything about a clone trooper looking to be rescued.

Then, Senator Organa called late last night. He said he had it on good authority that an insider contact needed to be pulled out and fast. He couldn’t give any more information, only that they would be in the GAR shipyard at 0300, and their code word would be Khorm.

As soon as Bail said the word, you could feel Rex’s eyes on you, gazing over the blue haze of the holo. He waited until Bail hung up.

“It could be anyone.” The words fell halted from his lips as if he was arguing with himself. “Thousands of us fought on Khorm.”

“I know that, Rex.” You replied coolly. “Do you?”

That was the last either of you spoke of it. 

Now, Rex stayed silent on the comms, and despite wracking your brain for something to say, some way to make up for your coarse tone early, you couldn’t think of anything worth saying. It was probably better if you didn’t say anything anyways. You were never good with words. If you had been, you might have told… well that didn’t matter anymore.

Something moved in the shadows. Not a movement, you realized as you scanned the upper levels. A disturbance. You felt something in the force. Familiar but so far away. You searched the dark crevices, looking for anything that might have alerted your senses. Then you realized Rex was too quiet.

You swiftly scaled the scaffolding, moving with a speed and stealth that, if you thought too hard about it, would have reminded you of who you are… who you were. On silent feet and with your cloak wrapped close around you, you skirted around hanging equipment. You couldn't see Rex anymore, but you knew his last location.

You crouched in the darkness, staying low to the ground and keeping your back against the wall as you crept towards the corner where Rex had been. You kept your blaster trained out in front of you as you reached out through the Force, chasing that fleeting feeling from before.

You could sense Rex. He was still there and he was troubled. There was something else, a clouded presence, the same one you felt moments ago. It was near and that made you cautious. The darkness parted as you closed in on them. Endless shadows formed into shapes. You could see Rex again, but he was no longer alone.

Rex was kneeling, his hands resting on the back of his cloaked head and his elbows up in the air. Behind him stood a looming figure. Someone was waiting for you. Haar’chak, you silently cursed in Mando, a habit you picked up from the clones years ago. Dressed in black commando armor, a shrouded man stood with Rex’s blaster in one hand, pointing out into the darkness. He moved it every second or so as he scanned the shadows so he must not have spotted you yet. It was the second blaster that troubled you more. It was pointed directly at the back of Rex’s head.

You sized up the stranger. He was a clone trooper, or at least his armor belonged to one. Was this a set-up? You glanced at the carefully-mapped exits. No one else emerged. You couldn’t feel any other presence. It didn’t feel like a set-up. Not yet anyway. Before you could figure out your next move, the man moved first. His second weapon was suddenly trained on you.

“I see you.”

“Then you see my blaster.” You said, not moving from your crouch but tilting your head to ensure your hood shadowed your face. “Lower your weapon.”

“You’re no clone.” His modulated voice bit at you. So it was a clone beneath the armor, the accented mechanical voice was unmistakable. But something else rumbled deep in your chest. “This is an Empire trap. You lower your weapon, or your partner dies.”

Rex. Your heart stopped. You couldn’t see the Captain’s face under his hood, but you could guess at his expression. Stubborn and defiant. You couldn’t risk his life. You would do anything not to risk his life. You released the trigger on your blaster and held it up in the air.

“No trap.” You had to convince this man you were friendly, whether that was true or not. “Fulcrum.”

He tilted his helmet at the safe word. He waited for a moment, shifting just slightly as he decided whether or not he trusted you.

“Khorm.”

You tried not to flinch at the safe word as you holstered your weapon in a show of good faith. It almost sounded dangerously familiar as it left the shadowed man’s lips.

“Bail sent us.” You nodded to Rex, who was still held at gunpoint. “We’re here to get you out.”

Not quite satisfied, the fugitive clone trooper reached for Rex and slipped the cloak off of his head. His blonde hair shown in the light of the moons and his face was just as stubborn as you’d imagined it would be. Still, the fugitive extended an arm, and Rex accepted it.

“Should have guessed it would be you, Rex’ika.” The clone chuckled. “I always could get the drop on you.”

Your heart seized. There was no denying it now. And even if you had wanted to, the clone stripped his own helmet from his head. Two eyes, one a deep pooling brown, and the other pale and cybertronic met yours.

Your hand flashed to your blaster. It couldn’t be him. This was a trap. Your cloak fell away with the sudden motion. The world threatened to tilt, spinning around you. Only the cool durasteel felt solid and steady as you clasped the gun.

“Cyare.” Wolffe whispered, his voice instantly choked.

Your weapon slipped from grip, its clatter echoing against the empty walls.

…

Rex had long since gone to bed, sleep overtaking him as soon as you were safe on the ship. You and Wolffe sat in the hull of the ship with only a bottle of whiskey and a table between the two of you, but even as you talked into the late hours of the morning, the space felt impossible to breach. He danced around his own story all evening with an evasiveness that you hadn't felt from him since the early days of the war. The way Wolffe pressed you for stories of the rebellion reminded you of your first conversations when he would ask you a thousand and one questions about the temple and being a Jedi, all to avoid talking about himself. You didn’t mind. You just wanted to talk to him back then. Now, you could see through him.

“Wolffe,” You raised an eyebrow at him as you topped off both of your glasses. “You’re going to hear all about the rebels and then some. Where have you been? What happened? What changed?”

He sighed, looking away from you for the first time in hours. It was just for a second before he turned back to you, but you ached in that brief eclipse of a moment. His eyes locked back on yours, and he watched you as he raised the glass and tilted the warm liquor down his throat. He emptied the glass, his tongue darting out to run along his full lower lip. You waited, never flinching under his stare. Finally, he gave you a small smile and a shrug.

“It took a while, but my mind… it slowly cleared. It was too late to do anything. The Jedi were dead, the Wolfpack was gone. I almost couldn’t bear it.” His head hung as his voice became graveled. “Cody tried to get me out at first.” Cody’s alive?, You started at the revelation but Wolffe didn’t notice. “Wanted me to leave with him after we realized what was happening. But I thought, if you were gone, I had nothing else. Nothing besides getting out as many brothers as I could, and pulling the Empire apart from the inside out.”

“I worked with Bail for a long time, passing information to rebels, sabotaging missions.” He raised his head to look at you again. His eyes were narrowed and his words were hushed, as if he was afraid the Empire was still in the room with you. “You know how Bail is - plays his cards close to his chest, that one - but he let something slip one day. That there were Jedi still alive, still in the fight, and I tried not to hope, but I couldn’t help it. It started to eat away at me. Bail never let anything slip about Jedi again, but I knew I had to get out and find out for certain.”

“What made you think it was me?” A shiver went down your spine. He knew and he looked for you.

“I just knew…” His inscrutable face tilted and something twisted deep in your gut. “I knew if there was any chance you were alive, you would still be fighting.”

He looked for you, the truth hit you like a Venator. And you had given up on him a long time ago. Shame burned your cheeks even as the awe of what Wolffe had fought through brought tears to your eyes.

“If there was even a chance you were alive, I had to look. I didn't ask Bail. I knew he couldn’t tell me, so I just asked for an extraction. Said I was done. I never, not in my wildest moments of hope, dreamed you’d be the one to save me.” Wolffe cleared his throat. “I don’t deserve it. Not after… not after I tried to kill you. Not after Plo.”

His eyes fell and his hand trembled around the empty glass. It was the first time he’d said your master’s name. You reached for his hand. He jerked at your touch, pulling away from you, but you chased him, tugging his hand back into your grasp and finally crossing the chasm between you.

“That wasn’t you, Wolffe.” Your voice was quiet. You didn’t want to startle him, not while you finally were holding his hand in yours again. The warmth of his skin sent a shiver to your core as you ran your thumb over his rough palm. 

“It might as well have been.” The scorn in his voice was cutting. “If I’d been in the air or if he’d been on the ground, I would’ve taken that shot. I can’t hide from that.”

“It was Palpatine. All of it was.” You moved to clasp his broad hand in both of yours, “I know you, Wolffe.”

He returned your grasp as his achingly familiar fingers dug into your skin.

“I missed you, cyare.” Wolffe finally met your eyes again. His brow was soft in the dimly lit ship and the gentleness in his look was a sharp contrast to the hungry way his hands gripped yours. “I thought you were dead and that I would never be able to tell you…”

Your heart fluttered. He raised his free hand to your face, tracing along your hairline and down your jaw until his palm came to rest on your cheek. You tilted your head to rest into his palm, your breath light and rushed at his sudden closeness.

“I love you.” Wolffe finally said. “I always have. Even when I thought you were gone and there was nothing I could ever do to see you again. That love stayed with me, the thought of you was like a spark. It spurred me to find Bail, to get my brothers out. I just knew I had to be the man that you always saw in me.”

Tears slipped out from behind your eyes. It was far too late. You should have said all this and more years ago but all you feel was grateful that you could say it now. 

“I love you too, Wolffe.” You tried not to choke on the words.  “I always have. I should have looked harder. I should have torn the Empire apart for you.”

“We’ll tear them apart together now, cyare.” With a large thumb, he brushed the tears from your cheek.

You stood. Without another word or releasing the hand you still held, you pulled him towards your cabin. He followed like a shadow, just skirting your look but never more than a step behind you. 

When the blast door shut behind you, you spun to face him. For a moment, time stood still. You were closer now than you had been in a long time. He looked the same but the few years apart were still evident on both of your faces. Small lines and scars had etched themselves along his skin, and you could see his eyes tracing maps of the slight newness in you. But, despite the differences, the look in his umber orbs hadn’t changed at all. Cool and calm and, yet, still endless hungry. 

You stepped towards him, closing the distance between you. Wolfe lifted a hand to your waist and then stilled, as if he was afraid any other movement would startle you away. Your breath became slow as gravity tugged you towards his lips. You raised a palm to his stubbled cheek and pressed yourself to him. Your lips found his softly at first. Gentle, chaste kisses passed between you as you relearned the taste of him. His lips molded perfectly to yours still, as if he had kissed you every day for the last year. Then, as your mouth slid open and his tongue found yours, it all came rushing back; the way his heart beat against your chest, the heat of his heavy breath mixing with yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. Your teeth clashed as the kiss became anything but gentle. Both of his hands found your waist and fingertips dug into your flesh. You were used to Wolffe leaving marks. His grip had always been strong, and you liked the reminders when you were on separate missions, it was like he still held your body. Now, his hold was different. It was desperate. He clung to you as though he might lose you. And you held onto him the same way as your arms snaked around his neck.

Somehow in the tangle of limbs, you managed to guide him backwards to your bed. Gently pulling him down, his weight landed on you in a way that you had ached for on long and lonely nights. Wolffe broke your kiss for a moment. He stood at the edge of the bed, leveraging his position to find the hem of your shirt and strip it from your body. He turned his furious attention to your pants, tugging them off and tossing them aside. Wolffe bit his lip as his eyes skirted over your naked form. You reached up for him, tugging at his own shirt, silently begging him to join you. 

“I missed you,” Wolffe murmured, desperation edging into his voice as he pulled his shirt over his head.

His pants went next and your breath caught in your throat. His body was every inch as perfect as you remember. Study shoulders, the left one tattooed, his broad chest, strong legs, and his hard member already swollen and throbbing, all for you. 

Wolffe was back on you before you could reply. Any words, any thoughts at all became a low, pathetic mewl that left your parted lips as he found your neck. His mouth traced over your bare skin, pressing smoldering kisses to your flesh. His weathered and battle-worn hands weaved their way through your fingers and pinned your arms above your head as he found your chest. Wolffe nipped and licked at the soft flesh, raising your skin and bringing your nipples to sensitive points. His lips wrapped around one bud as he released your hands so he could tease the other with slow, gentle circles. 

“Wolffe.” You moaned as you writhed beneath him already. 

His hand dropped lower, tracing its way down your skin and leaving a trail of pearled flesh. Wolffe followed the crease of your hip until he brushed up against your lower lips. He softly teased your entrance for a moment before a singular thick finger sunk into your molten core. You bucked into his hand at the touch, another lewd moan escaping you.

Your vision clouded as Wolffe added a second finger and began to slowly fuck you with his hand. His eyes never left your face, his pupils dark and blown as he watched you come apart beneath him. His thumb found your sensitive mound and you cried out.

“I need you. Please.” You begged, desperate to feel all of him.

“Gods, I missed the way you taste.” Wolffe grinned as he slipped his hand from inside you and brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. Then he captured your lips again with a promise. “Later.”

You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss as Wolffe flashed a shadow of his playful side. There was so much you missed about him. So much time to make up for. Quickly though, your mind went blank with need again as Wolffe slotted the tip of his member at your soaking entrance. 

“Slowly,” you whispered to him as he began to press in. “It’s been a long time.”

Wolffe nodded, and you noticed a small breath of relief.  

“I won’t last.” He warned through gritted teeth.

“Me either.” You ran a hand along his brow, fingers dancing across bronzed skin, grazing top of the long silver scar and trailing down his cheek.

Wolffe pressed his lips against yours again. Your tongues intertwined as he inched forward slowly, entering you. He moved in sync with your body, letting you adjust to every advance before he pushed again. Finally, he sheathed himself fully within you with a throaty groan. You clenched, an involuntary reaction to how full he made you. His fingertips dug into your hips at the small movement and a whimper left Wolffe’s lips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He muttered. 

“Okay, okay,” Any pain had passed and you were quickly becoming desperate again. “Please move. Please fuck me”

All of Wolffe’s restraint snapped at your plea. His thick cock dragged across your center as he thrusted into you. You canted your hips up to meet him, any pain now replaced by a heavenly stretch that made you pulse around him. His head fell to your neck and his lips latched onto the hollow along your collarbone. You reached for him, gripping a hand into his curls as you began to tremble beneath him. His thumb found your clit, drawing rough circles and sending wave after wave of pleasure through your core.

Finally and still all too quickly, the chord in your belly snapped and you came around him, shaking and crying out. Wolffe followed you, emptying himself inside you with one last thrust.

Hours later, when the sun was surely high in the sky, but you never raised the blinds and Rex had the good decency not to knock, you traced the tattooed star map of the Abregado system. It started on his chest, over his heart, and trailed down his left shoulder to his bicep. He’d had the tattoo as long as you’d known him, and you found that every line was still etched into your memory. His eyes fluttered as you traced the ink. For a moment, this could have been any night. Master Plo could still be alive. His brothers could be in their own bunks outside the door, waiting to tease you both as they helped you sneak back to your quarters. But it wasn’t. You’d lost all that. Somehow though, you’d found each other.

“I can’t believe this.” Wolffe finally spoke as if he could hear the inner workings of your mind. He murmured into the top of your head, his hand trailing down the bare skin of your waist. “I thought I lost you.”

“Never.” You whispered as you clung to him. “You always have me.”

[siampie]

Siampie's Masterlist of Matt Murdock Fics

Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Series

Risk and Reward [Chapter list]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains smut, angst, fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, childhood trauma

After years of dedicating yourself to your family, you took one of the greatest risks of your life. You moved away from everything you’ve ever known. You separated yourself from your family and kickstarted your life across the states. You moved to Hell’s Kitchen, New York. With no ties, no friends, no family, you knew it would be hard to start a new life. But you didn’t think it would be that hard. Shy by nature, and rendered cautious by your own broken past, socializing with others was a challenge. It was daunting. Mostly, in this new life, you kept to yourself. It was easier to wake up in the morning, go to work and come back home. And repeat it all the day after. But it can get very lonely. One night, you took another risk. You said yes, to your coworkers to have a drink after work. And there, in Josie’s bar, you crossed path with a disarmingly charming lawyer. Matt Murdock. Would he be worth the risks?

The Devil's Bargain [Chapter List]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains smut, angst, fluff, comfort, hurt, canonical violence, plot heavy, slow burn

A/N: The events of this series are taking place post season 1 and before season 2. Matt is still sporting the black suit. Cause you know he’s more intimidating and is also easily more injured in it. Also, this story is inspired by Ashevillain and you can find her story on AO3: What They Wouldn’t Do . You should send her some love; her story is just epic and amazing.

As the loyal secretary to the infamous Wilson Fisk, you worked under the supervision of James Wesley. Under the guise of loyalty, you were paying off debts that weren’t your own. Protecting your family from Fisk’s clutches. In the aftermath of his arrest, and the shocking death of James Wesley, you cling to the hope of reclaiming your freedom and independence. However, your aspirations are quickly dashed when Harry Leblanc, the ambitious new CEO of Fisk Industries, along with his assistant, Octavia Turpin, tighten their grip on your life. They impose increasingly dangerous demands upon you. You find yourself trapped in a web of manipulation and control, facing tasks you could never fathom. As the pressure mounts and your situation grows increasingly perilous, you realize that escaping their clutches is not just a desire but a necessity. Desperate, you turn to the vigilante; Daredevil for help. The very man that has put your former boss into prison. What begins as a reluctant partnership soon evolves into an unexpected alliance, as you both navigate the dangerous intersections of power, morality, and survival. Together, you plot a way to sever the ties that bind you to Leblanc and Turpin. As trust is tested and secrets unravel, this unexpected alliance may just lead to your undoing—or a chance at redemption.  

Matt Murdock x OFC Series

The Devil and The Detective [Chapter List]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains smut, angst, fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, childhood trauma, slow burn, canonical violence

[Takes place in season 2] In the gritty streets of Hell’s Kitchen, Detective Mannie Hunt grapples with the chaotic aftermath of Wilson Fisk’s arrest. As competing gangs fight for control of the power vacuum left by Fisk, plunging the neighborhood deeper into turmoil. By day, Detective Mannie Hunt and Defense Attorney Matt Murdock are natural enemies in the courtroom. The latter seems to harbor deep distrust for the police, particularly after Fisk’s downfall exposed rampant corruption within their ranks. But by night, she makes it her mission to track down the vigilante, now known as Daredevil. As new players enter the power struggle, throwing everything off balance, Mannie finds herself reluctantly teaming up with the vigilante. Together, they must navigate the treacherous streets, confronting not only the criminal elements vying for power but their own moral dilemmas. Mannie must decide how far she is willing to go to reclaim her city, and whether aligning herself with the Devil is the only way to restore order.

[fatale-distraction]

How about #4 "How can you not understand how much I love you?"

More Barcus because he’s my little king. I also went into the character creator and made Lithe! Wish there were more long braid options, but alas I am on PS5, not PC, so no mods.

Also sorry the line is a little different from the prompt. I wrote this from memory during a slow point at work today, so I didn’t remember it exactly right. 🤣

"How could you ever doubt that I love you?" Lithe demanded.

Barcus gave a wry snort. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Do I look like I'm fucking laughing?" She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed the gnome with a look that had frequently sent even Astarion looking for somewhere else to cause trouble. Barcus however, held his ground admirably.

"Well, let's just see, shall we?" he tilted his chin up in defiance. "You're a beautiful elven woman who murders evil-doers for fun, and I'm, what? A useless little gnome who can't take two steps without being kidnapped and isn't even worth enough to his own oldest friend to keep around."

"Wulbren. Is. A. Cunt." Lithe punctuated each word by tapping the knife-edge of one hand into the palm of the other. "Elistraee's divine merciful tits, you're so caught up with him you can't even see your own worth!"

"Maybe he's right!" Barcus cried, throwing his hands up.

"Maybe doves will fly out of my ass," came the sarcastic retort, at which Barcus scoffed. "I mean it, you're wonderful! You're clever and funny and brave--"

"Ha!" the smaller man puffed himself up. "Brave! You're the one chasing down mad cultists and stabbing at giant monsters, or whatever it is you do. I just..." he gestured helplessly toward the little workbench he’d set up on the corner of the inn. "Sit here and…tinker."

Lithe sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could argue with him until the sun went down and came back up again, but he was as stubborn as she was. The elf took a deep breath and slung her bow off her shoulder, knocking an arrow in almost the same motion. The gnome's eyes widened a bit and he took a step back.

"See that spider on the wall over there?" she pointed.

Barcus squinted. There was a tiny dark blob on a plank across the room, just above Rolan’s head. "Sort of."

Without taking her eyes off of him, Lithe pulled and shot her arrow. Barcus followed the arrow's flight and watched it sink deep into the wall with a dull thunk. The dark blob was now a little blobbier. Several people screamed, including Rolan, between whose horns the arrow had arced perfectly. Jaheira rose from where she’d hit the deck and shouted “Stop shooting arrows in my inn!”

Lithe ignored her. “Dead center. You can check if you’d like.”

"I wouldn't like," the gnome shook his head and began to wonder if picking a fight with such a terrifying woman had been such a clever idea.

"Barcus," she said evenly as she holstered her bow again, the inn’s occupants glaring at her and muttering. "I was born and raised to fight the worst this world has to offer and then some. I've trained for this kind of thing for a hundred years. Literally one hundred. Going after monsters is what I DO. That's not bravery, that's a Wednesday."

"I don't think you're making the point you think you're making."

Lithe held deceptively small hands out imploringly. "You're an artificer. Your area of expertise is libraries and workshops, not beasties and wilderness. But you took off into the unknown anyway, for the sake of your friend. You survived goblins and ghouls and slave labor at the hands of duergar and drow and crossed through the Shadowlands, all because you love someone so much you can't bear the thought of them facing such dangers alone. Barcus, that is so very brave I can't even stand it. Very brave, and very stupid, but it's an admirable kind of stupid."

Barcus crossed his arms over his chest and leveled an exasperated look at her. "Have you often been told you're terrible at declarations of love?"

"Quite often."

He sighed. He rubbed a hand down his face and sighed again. Lithe waited patiently.

“I absolutely hate it when you do this, but..." With world-weary reluctance, he lifted his arms. Lithe squealed and snatched him up into a bone-breaking hug, snuggling into the crook of his neck. Barcus tried not to squirm too much and let himself enjoy the way her breasts smushed against his torso. "You're a good girl," he muttered fondly, stroking her soft, herbal-scented hair. He very much enjoyed the little laugh and slight shiver that coursed through her, and tucked that interesting bit of information away for later.

"I'm not a girl, I'm a lady," she insisted playfully as she set him back down.

"A woman maybe, but certainly not a lady," Barcus grumbled, making a great show of straightening his clothes out. She may have been a proper adult at 110, but he was a good thirty years her senior. Not an unreasonable difference when one lived to be four hundred or more, but at least enough to tease someone about.

"I can punt you just as easily as I did Wulbren," she reminded him with a sweet smile as she turned to wander back out into the common area of the inn. Several nosy heads disappeared from around the corners and one person had the audacity to actually whistle innocently. Apparently her show with the arrow had drawn the patrons’ attention to their little drama. Barcus shook his head.

"Lithe, wait..." he called before he could think better of it. She paused and turned with a mild look of surprise and curiousity. "I...I care about you, too. Really, I do,” he promised earnestly. “I just need a little time, I think."

Lithe smiled sadly at him and continued on her way. Too late Barcus realized time was one thing she definitely didn’t have.

[bjornironsidelothbrok]

Bjorn Lothbrok, better known as Bjorn Ironside is the firstborn son of Ragnar with his first wife Lagertha, a famous and great shield-maiden. He is the half-brother of Hvitserk, Ivar, Ubbe and Sigurd and has a father-son like relationship with the boat builder Floki, who is an old friend of Ragnar and Lagertha. He's the former king of Kattegat and lost the election for King of Norway to Harald. He is a descendant of Odin, as are his father and brothers. Bjorn is a great warrior in all respects, just like his father. As a young child he tries to keep his parents from fighting. He also wants to become a man in society so he can go on raids with his father and uncle. Norse society adheres to the belief that a “real man” is a killer, so Bjorn is eager for the chance to fight to prove his manhood. This is evident in how when he’s asked what a man does, his first answer is, “He fights.” Ragnar approves of this response, but nevertheless reminds him that they do more as well. Like all children, Bjorn has his moments of being a bratty kid. This happens especially around Athelstan. Like most of Norse society, Bjorn scorns him for being a Christian and a slave. He is shown to be indifferent and even cruel towards Athelstan. Thankfully, Bjorn grows out of it, and openly laments Athelstan’s death. He thoroughly rebukes King Horik’s cruel words about the priest being a traitor and worthless individual. At times, Bjorn seems to be the reasonable one in his family. Unlike his father, he appears to be much more in-tune with the emotions of those around him, which becomes even more apparent when he grows older. As an adult, Bjorn is Ragnar’s most trusted lieutenant and right-hand man. He shows extreme loyalty to Ragnar even after years of separation. With the death of Ragnar, Bjorn becomes arguably the most renowned Viking in Christendom aside from possibly his mother. With his own people, him merely stepping into Kattegat was enough to shock everyone. The only person who is not frightened of him is Ivar, and even Ivar will later admit to Bishop Heahmund that he is a little scared of Bjorn.Like most Viking men, Bjorn yearns for glory on the battlefield and a place in Valhalla. He is passionate about fighting and eager to battle. He is a highly skilled warrior, even when he is young. He was strong enough to match Rollo in a drunken brawl and in his first battle is fast enough to get through without ever been struck. The true testament of Bjorn’s prowess as a warrior comes during his time alone in the wilderness. He survives for several months in the icy mountains, manages to track down and kill a bear with only a hatchet and knife, and outwits and overpowers a supposedly invincible Berserker who was sent to assassinate him. He calms down a bit after. Bjorn tends to be the most emotionally stable of the brothers. He is noticeably much more mellow and agreeable as an adult than he was as a child. Bjorn has a somewhat different personal code than most other Viking men. He refuses to rape women in raids or slaves. After his time living in the wilderness, Bjorn tends to act cold and distant to most people. While he still is a lot less willing than most Vikings to kill or throw away lives without need, he has definitely hardened since he was a kindly young adult. It’s clear that Bjorn doesn’t have his father’s intelligence or penchant for outside-the-box thinking. When he realizes that Ragnar doesn’t trust him to follow in his footsteps, this prompts Bjorn to strike out on his own and do some traveling to prove his worth to both himself and Ragnar. He takes great pride in his battle scars, bearskin cloak, and tattoos. His tattoos and hairstyle are clearly modelled after the ones Ragnar had in his younger years. Bjorn’s courage, deep devotion to his parents, and unshakeable code of honor are all similar to the personality of the god Baldr. He has been the new head of the family since his father's death and, like his father, sails under the Raven Banner.

[vindextra]

My Agents

So, like a lot of splatoon people, I've got my own takes on the Agents. They started out as just a few additional character traits on top of the canon agents, but quickly spiraled out into a lot more fully formed characters.

These characters are presented as they are in the middle arc of my story Breakpoints [insert link]. The first arc retells the stories of Splat 1, 2, and OE, if you want to know how they got to where they are, check out the story!

Agent 3: Quinn

(unfortunately Quinn does not have a ref yet, though one is currently being produced!)

Quinn moved to Inkopolis to get a new start as a new squid. It admittedly wasn't going so well until he followed a weird old man through the sewers and became Agent 3 of the New Squidbeak Splatoon. (Earning himself a surrogate grandpa, and later two surrogate sisters in the process.)

Quinn is light hearted, but direct. He intends to meet problems head on, and is willing to plant his feet and be stubborn when he needs to.

Unfortunately, as a result of the partial sanitization in the metro, the connection between his brain and the muscles in his face were severely damaged, leaving him unable to emote or talk without explicit and deliberate effort.

Quinn remains doggedly committed to the NSS, staying as the only 24/7/365 active member, a trait that doesn't go unnoticed by Captain Cuttlefish.

He/Him

22 years old

Arrow Squid

Can win a blindfolded 4v1 turf fight with just a splattershot

Agency Member

1 vs Many combat specialist, Survival specialist

Known for defying odds for fun

Agent 4: Nora Sheller

Art by Nalina-nw!

Nora left her home of 5 siblings to try and make a name for herself. As a result of co-parenting her 4 younger brothers, Nora is compassionate to a fault, a trait that actually doesn't backfire when she chases a strange woman through a sewer grate. From there, she settled into a comfortable routine with this apparently famous woman, trying to save her cousin.

Nora's emotionally intelligent, save for her own emotions, which she's almost completely blind too. She's lighthearted and quick to joke around, she easily becomes best friends with Callie after she's saved. An accident on a mission leaves her leg permanently injured, which ends up causing an entire torrent of quiet self-worth issues in the background.

She/Her

24 years old

Hooked Squid

Dualies Master

Agency Member (benched due to leg)

Infiltration Expert

Known for her 'guns blazing' style

Agent 8: Clover

Art by Scratch-o!

Arai, as was her name in the domes, was a brutal, no-nonsense soldier, who just wanted to push through and get done with her service. Repeated instances of her faith being shaken in octavian society around her, as well as a particularly biting betrayal from one of her squadmates leaves her utterly disillusioned with the military.

When she falls into the metro, she loses her memory, but those negative emotions still linger. Now dubbed Agent 8, she resolved to complete the tests so that Craig can make it to the surface, but ultimately she doesn't see any worth in her own freedom. During the fight with sanitized Agent 3, nearly being perma-killed inspires a desperate need to live, which now fuels her every step on the surface.

She takes the name Clover when she reaches the surface. (Mostly) gone now is the brutal, no fun attitude from before, now Clover basks in life and all the small joys it can bring.

She/Her

24 years old

Mimic Octoling

No Weapon Preference

Agency Member

1 on 1 combat specialist

Happy-go-lucky, until it's mission time

Agent 9!?: Mavi

(Pictured here without her glasses) Art by Antsyandpantsy!

Mavi's life fell apart when her dad died. She spent several years in a mental fog until her home situation got so bad she was broken out of by sheer necessity. She still has a stutter as a result of that time, which coupled with her already timid nature paints a rather unassuming figure.

Her friends, both in and out of her turf team, helped her get her feet back under her. She lived rather passively for a while, working as a cashier at the official Squid Sister's merch store, until her close friend Nora needed her help. The world of the New Squidbeak Splatoon is revealed to her, and Mavi is left to make a choice.

She chooses to take some hold over her life, joining the Splatoon to enthusiasm all around! Now she has to learn how to catch up with the other agents, and hopefully before the octavians try to pull a new stunt...

She/Her

22 years old

Arrow Squid

Brella Master

Stand-in Agency member

New to non-turf combat

Timid and stuttering, until her temper flares

[sassenashsworld]

Hi Everybody!

On this Fallout Day, let's me re-talk a little about Silver, my OC

Mainly we can't really talk about an "OC" as Silver IS Nora. She is almost the basic characters of the game but for : her long white hairs and her eyes as green as plutonium

Nick is the person who nicknamed Nora because of the color of her hair.

At the very beginning of the Fanfiction (ao3 The path of the private), Nora remains a long time in silence just staring at Nick, then as they advance in the story, she says very few sentences and finally, Nick realizes that he doesn't even know her name. Since it’s so hard to get her to talk, he just nickname her Silver.

Even if I mainly stick to Nora main story in my game for this fanfiction, I still used the gray areas of the game to go a little in the Head Canon and I admit that at one point, I added elements out of canon (like the way it was Nora who brought the original Nick Valentine to the CIT).

This characteristic is based on the fact that the fanfiction is entirely based from my game (survival no cheat -no power armor mostly) and that I realized that the companions often spoke, made comments here and there, but that Nora hardly says a word except few dialogues… and then, the companions and NPC can go in big, long speeches, but not her.

I thought it would be fun to imagine how others perceived such a silent person, thus was born my Fanfiction.

So, if we are to talk about Nora AKA Silver :

She is a discreet and silent person. She internalizes her traumas and accepts her new reality with a taunt humor, sometimes biting, degenerate if we take Nick to his own description of it, and still according to him, absolutely inappropriate.

Ironically, even if everyone agrees that Nora is beautiful and "well rolled", she has very big problems of esteem, and due to the scars that she won in Concord by fighting the Deathclaw, she considers herself downright visually horrible…

She consumes an astronomical amount of whisky. Probably she would choke if she drank water (but in reality she has to drink it since I play survival) and she uses combat drugs…. every fight.

It’s a big deal for Nick.

She’s a great shot. Nate taught her to shoot guns before the war and she’s really a natural. She can practically snipe with a .10mm, and I’m not talking about a riffle. --even if I use the VATS sometime, I admit that I like to empty a place on the scope as far as I can. I played Unreal Tournement when I was younger and I sniped while my teammate went to get the flag. I don’t think I’m exceptional, but Nora is.

Speaking of guns, she has an excessively nervous trigger. She can shoot several bullets before people around her react --yeah, VATS… worse when she get her hands on The Deliverer.

This combination of skill makes her impressive with her shooting skills and that made her reputation.

That, and her shitty nature.

Because even though Nora uses humor to deal with her trauma (she must have had a great sense of humor before the bombs), she is very straightforward, doesn't like to waste time and has no tolerance for gratuitous acts of malice. She often tries to reason first, then shoot, but as her adventure progresses in the Commonwealth, new traumas are added that make her lose even more faith in humanity.

She is however not a bad person --eh, otherwise Nick would not be her best friend-- and she is always ready to offer a chance to someone who try. But not two, as quickly --before dying-- Porter learns.

Speaking of Nuka-World, it is worth mentioning that the excessive use of drugs + the experimental gases of Among the Star caused a seizure to Nora who developed a schizophrenia. I am not an expert on this disease, I mainly use my personal experiences having been with some people with this disease to describe her condition, and I absolutely do not recommend judging a schizophrenia person on my writings.

--One of my best friends had schizophrenia and refused to seek treatment. I had to cut ties with him three years ago after twenty years of friendships. It is a very difficult state for the person and for the entourage but a person with schizophrenia can get through it and live a normal life, even if it requires a lot of courage and effort…--

...and Nora does the opposite.

Then her state IS NOT based on a normal struggling person but based on the worse reactions my friend could have, a little romanced to make an awful impression.

In the main game, Nora leave Dogmeat at Sanctuary, but in any modded game, she always keep him with her. He is her good doggie doggy precious baby smishie little love.

As for the companions, Nora has a distinct preference for MacCready, whom she regards as her little brother (and he regards her as his big sister), Hancock, with whom she could have had an affair, in another life, another world, and of course Nick Valentine, who becomes a kind of father/best friend figure.

She often admits that without Nick, she would have badly turn. But he keeps her on the straight and narrow.

To Nick’s great damn, she also adores this cursed paladin, Danse, but to his great astonishment, he also ends up understanding the qualities of the man beyond his creed and ends up respecting him.

She also likes and respect Preston a lot, even if they sometimes have conflicts --virulent that she solves viciously-- and Sturges is like a brother in arms for her, mechanic side. They love to fix and build things together, two little tinker geniuses.

It is mentioned that Piper is her best friend but Nick rarely attends their meeting and he knows that she spends time with Deacon and likes him a lot but he knows nothing of their exact relationship (as The Path of the Private is written from Nick’s perspective, I can’t say more).

Nora absolutely doesn't know how to deal with Strong and its takes her a long time to get closer to Cait, but she refuses to let them down.

Also, she will dive head first into Kent’s delirium about the Silver Shroud.

Nora shares a secret with Kelly, the Mayor of Somerville (OC not OC, it's the settler with two kids when you first get there), Clem, and a certain Doctor Laslay (OC), but this secret is explored in more detail in the fanfiction Heartbeat of the Commonwealth, co-written with @jasmineofthecommonwealth.

So, if you want to know more about Silver, I invite you to read my fanfiction on Ao3

And of course The Heartbeat of the Commonwealth also on Ao3

PS: I admit that I was learning English at the beginning of my fanfiction and I promise myself one day to rewrite it with the experience I acquired since (mostly thanks to @jasmineofthecommonwealth), but I think it’s legible ;)

PPS : The screenshot have been taked from a modded game, not the game from The path of the Private but mostly based on The Heartbeat of the Commonwealth

Have fun!

[drippingheart]

Quieting the incessant chatter of spineless bullies, scraping skin and bruising ego with each curse hunted down, attending boring classes filled with the most ignorant people, and falling under the scrutinizing gaze of the strongest human of the modern age — a life of repetition which was not entirely humdrum, but it certainly felt lifeless. He supposed that was the inevitable outcome of living a life for the sake of someone else and not for his own goals and desires. He sat all in day in a classroom as an outsider in order to pass his classes and attend Tokyo's Jujutsu Technical school, he sought to attend a school for sorcerers for the sake of his benefactor, and he only accepted his benefactor's offer for the happiness and longevity of his sister.

Did the rules of a lifeless schedule still apply when the person he constructed his life around was comatose. We'll figure it out, I promise. Tsumiki's future was held up in front of the boy all of those years ago, and it was being dangled in front of him in the present, but who was Fushiguro Megumi to fight it — the one who harnessed the Ten Shadows technique, and all of his worth was built upon his ability. Life was not entirely pointless however, not when Tsumiki lied in a hospital bed waiting to be cured, not when his bound with his shikigami continued to be stronger, and not when he was extracurricular activities to occupy his mind.

With the famed Gojō Satoru too preoccupied to bother him in person or through text, a sore and grumpy Megumi alleviated his stressors with his daily walk through the impoverished alleys of Tokyo. He used to roam the streets at four years of age: walking to laundry facilities, walking to and from school, and checking up on resident stray animals. He no longer lived in an apartment complex that should have been condemned, but old habits did die with a great challenge. Megumi had returned home many nights littered with the scratches of not too friendly cats, and he learned from his younger self.

He, of course, still approached strays, but approached the feral animals with more care and understanding. Food was put out for the cats regardless of their behaviour, and he made sure to only pet those who displayed a friendly body language. Feral cats and Tokyo went hand-in-hand. Dogs, on the other hand, were not meant to bite and growl their way to survival. After unloading several kilograms of cat food, Megumi came across the most heart breaking of sights. Limping, sad, injured — a female dog who had recently given birth was just discarded, and there was no sign of her puppies. Did someone take her puppies and just leave the mom behind? It was disgusting.

The teenager looked for any signs of hidden puppies but found no trace of them even with the aid of his Divine Dogs. Despite everything she went through, her tail still wagged weakly when he approached slowly. It was twenty minutes before he gained her full trust and was able to pick her up and carry her. People offered him queer glances but did not bother to help as a child with blood and dirt covering his shirt carried a defenseless dog through the streets of Tokyo until he spotted the nearest veterinarian office.

She was a big dog and lied like a defeated puddle in his arms, fortunately all of his training afforded him the strength to carry her for several kilometers. There was only one other person in the office at that late of an hour ( near closing time he assumed ). The teenager did not wait around; the dog needed help as soon as possible. Therefore Megumi marched up to the receptionist desk, spotting what looked to be the veterinarian @vetvoid beside it, and gently gesticulated at the dog in his arms . . as if her injured presence wasn't already obvious.

── ❛ She needs help. Right now. ❜