#anyway looking forward to coop update

[mrkanman]

wow! what a healthy and functional family.

[sprite-writes]

gunmetal blue

chapter 1/?

Dale Cooper/Reader

Summary: Agent Cooper is saddled with a new partner–against his better judgment. She’s a mess–aimlessly stumbling her way through the FBI with a past shrouded in mystery. Grappling with this change, and a puzzling case in a small town, Cooper’s lost. He finds the path forward in the last way he’d expect. 

word count: 2,605

A/N: woah new fic! this is sort of my side project while I work on cloudy day, but it'll still have semi-regular updates! super self indulgent because I love twin peaks, even if everyone had moved on LOL. hope u enjoy <3 as with all my writing, special thanks to @lightning-writes

 Dale wasn’t the type to be needlessly anxious. He was the farthest thing from an overthinker, he was a pragmatic man, he kept his sensibility about him. So, admittedly, it was out of character the way his leg had started to involuntarily bounce, brow sweat, and chest tighten. Gordan Cole’s office had never felt so small. 

He should have known something was wrong with the way Gordan had called him into his office, hands clapping on his shoulders, guiding him into the room like a lost child. Now, with the announcement hanging in the air, he understood. 

“I’m sorry, a-a new partner?” 

“That’s what I said, Coop! Is your hearing going too?” Gordon’s deafening volume usually has no effect on him, but this time he flinches. Dale shifts, and the leather beneath him squeaks. Gordon doesn’t even look up from his computer, skillfully avoiding Dale’s appalled stare. 

“Gordon, with all due respect, I don't need nor want a partner. Has there been something unsatisfactory about my work? Or-” 

“Did you say something about a factory? Anyway, It's not up to me. She was sent here straight from the higher-ups. All I did was sign the paperwork.” 

Dale sighs, his frustration thickening in his chest. His captain's eyes flick to him. 

“I would’ve fought it if I thought it was such a bad idea, Coop. Don’t worry so much, She’s a sweet girl and a—how would you say it? A damn fine agent.”  

“Isn’t there anyone else she could be assigned to?” he asks, and it feels like begging. Windom is 3 years behind him now, but that's three years he’s spent adapting to solitude. The idea of someone next to him on the field again unsettles him deeply, drudging up feelings he’s worked hard to forget. 

“Agent, I know how you may feel about this. What, with your past and all, but keep an open mind. I think this could be good for you.” 

Could be good?

“Sir–” 

A knock on the door cuts him off, the frosted glass door swinging open without hesitation. The interruption leaves him with his complaints still sticking to his tongue. 

“Gordon! I brought you coffee – you still take it with two sugars, right? Because there’s a cane’s worth in there.” 

His vision is crowded by a woman in an oversized blue FBI jacket—besides her abrupt entry, she’s also out of uniform. Her denim blue jeans hug her waist and fray at the knees, with a jarringly casual t-shirt. The unprofessionalism rubs him the wrong way. 

Two milky-colored coffee cups get dropped on the desk. Despite the breach of protocol, Gordon seems pleased to see her. There’s an affinity in his eyes, but she's a stranger to Dale.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Blue herself! We were just talking about you.”

“We?”

Her hair flicks over her shoulder, and her eyes widen. 

“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Blue.” She sticks out her right hand for him to shake– and it knocks straight into the two coffee cups, sending one tumbling towards Gordan and the other into his lap. 

“Shit!” 

He bolts up as hot coffee soaks his trousers. He vaguely registers Gordon's laugh as if an Agent didn’t just waltz in, wreck his office, and Dale’s drycleaning. 

“Oh hell, I’m so sorry!” she shrills, peeling off her jacket frantically. The cheap polyester of the academy-issued zip-up presses against his wool-blend pants, the woman’s feeble attempt to clean the mess. 

Dale’s anger alights, but he breathes deeply to tamp it down. Patience is a virtue, he tells himself.

She continues to dab at his pants, he pushes her hands away, taking the stained jacket from her, and tossing it on the chair behind him. 

“It's fine, it’s fine,” he tells her tightly, despite the heat of his emotions, and the mild burns. When it rains, it pours, he supposes. 

She looks up at him, clearly mortified. 

“My bad, Sir,” she says lamely, and her expression scrunches up more. 

“A hand, Kid?” Gordon asks and she’s more than happy to take her attention away from Dale. Gordon wipes his desk with a handkerchief, and with her hands free, she begins moving damp papers from his desk. 

“Well, I’ll tell ya, Blue, you haven’t changed a bit since they shipped you off,” Gordon says fondly. Blue grimaces in a subtle way that Dale only notices because of the daggers he’s staring into her. 

“I don't know about-” she begins. Gordon steamrolls her, likely not hearing a thing she said. 

“Well, I suppose this is as good an introduction as any. Dale, meet your new partner, Special Agent Georgia Blue. Blue, meet Dale Cooper.”

He wanted to be surprised, really he did, but with fate’s track record, he didn't know why he would expect any better. 

-

Dale goes home late that evening. With him, a stack of manilla folders all relating to one Georgia Blue. He recognizes a level of invasion here. He justifies it simply; Blue is an invasion of his space, so this grants him a degree of invasion to hers. He tries not to think about the morality of it too much, mostly because he knows if he does, he’ll be returning the files unopened. He lets his curiosity win this battle. 

It doesn’t matter anyways; half the documents are redacted, large blocky sharpie lines interrupting every other sentence. He skims over what he deems unimportant– her physical description, age, schooling– when one thing catches his eye. Her bureau status, ambiguously labeled as ‘probationary warning: under review’ 

 The FBI files aren’t all. There are DEA reports, too, all titled Operation Architect. He whispers the words to himself, something familiar in the back of his mind, vague memories and mentions of this Operation Architect. From his understanding, it had been DEA business, just watercooler talk that had made its way down to his office. He reads what he can. 

January 10th 1988, SA Georgia Blue establishes contact with target, indefinite undercover placement to begin immediately.

Undercover placement? The rest of the paragraph is blocked out, and he’s left with more questions than answers. 

His day feels like a pill he can’t swallow. He had vainly hoped that by understanding who this woman was, it would give him some artificial control of the situation, maybe even make it easier to choke down. He doesn’t understand why the dread in his chest continues to bloom. 

He yawns, interrupting his thoughts. He supposes the rest of his investigation can wait for the morning, it wasn’t like the issue was going away anyways. 

-

There are a few blissful moments the next morning when Dale wakes up, where the nightmare of yesterday is just that - a nightmare. The redacted files are forgotten on his desk. He makes his bed and brushes his teeth, and it isn't until he’s halfway through shampooing his hair, while he’s mentally scaling down his to-do list for the day that he remembers his plans are meaningless compared to the derailment that is Agent Blue. That is, his new partner Agent Blue. Just rolling over the word in his mind causes a headache to bud. 

“Agents Cooper and Blue, partners, at your service,” he spits bitterly to himself. He gets shampoo in his mouth.

He’s bitter all the way to the station, questions and resentment swarming his mind.  

He doesn’t even bother to chirp his usual good mornings to the doorman. Anger fits him like a jacket two sizes too small, he has to squeeze his way into it.

Perhaps the comfort of familiarity would calm him, he thought. A warm cup of coffee and the sanctuary of his desk. That’s what he needed. 

“Good morning Dale,” Diane calls as he passes reception. He waves noncommittally. 

“Morning Diane, any messages?” 

“Not today, but Gordon wants to talk to you—he said to just come by when you have time.”

Dale sighs, and wonders what Gordon could possibly have in store for him this time. 

“Is that all?” 

“There’s just one other thing—I had to move your desk closer to the window to make room for the new girl – but don’t worry! I put everything back just as it was, and I was real careful too,” she smiles. 

His eye twitches. 

“Alright, Diane, thanks,” he mutters. 

His desk is a foot from the window now, approximately 3 feet from where he had it before. He recalls the day he requested it to be there—having carefully stood in each corner of the precinct to find the exact shade-to-light ratio to situate himself. 

It’s fine, he reasons, he’ll just squint. 

In the ideal 4-foot spot from the window sits a brand new desk, with his brand new partner. If she hears him approach, she doesn’t show it, eyes glued to her dark computer screen. It doesn’t bother him, not one bit. He had spent the last three years' worth of mornings enjoying his coffee in silence, and, new partner or not, he would like that to remain the same. Who cares if she ruined his wool pants–doesn’t mean she has to say good morning to him too. 

He sits down, much too close to the sun for his liking, and dives headfirst into paperwork. Still, he spares glances at her, in intervals, and mostly just wonders, why? Dale is a good agent, he knows this. His work and reputation precede him; a lone wolf, he thinks of himself. Then, out of nowhere, without warning, he’s saddled with a partner? An agent he’s never even heard of, who is apparently dipping half into DEA work. An agent who’s on probationary warning. 

Perhaps they want him to babysit, he concludes. A rookie agent with some kind of classified disciplinary infraction, and they want him to turn her around. The thought reheats his anger. He’s a federal agent, not an academy trainer, and he has half a mind to let Gordon know that fact. 

Five minutes into tense silence and deep thought, a hand smacks down on his desk. He startles but recovers smoothly.

“For yesterday,” Blue says tersely. His eyes follow her stony expression to her manicured hand. She moves and reveals a crumbled $50 bill she’d slapped on his desk. 

“Agent?” he asks, confused and exasperated. 

“For the pants, alright? Please, just take it.” 

He stares at the bill quizzically. 

“Ma’am, while I can appreciate the gesture, I assure you that it’s not necessary—“

She holds her hand up to stop him. 

“I don’t care. I’m not taking the money back.”

She returns to her desk, intentionally angling away from him, staring intently at the computer screen that he can now see isn’t even turned on. 

“...The power button’s on the back of the monitor.” 

“...right.” 

The computer screen comes to life, and she doesn't spare him a glance. 

Partners, indeed. 

-

When he finally has a moment to see Gordon, he’s gone over his speech 5 times in his head. Gordon, you know I respect you and your decision-making, but I am not a babysitter or some sort of camp counselor. I am formally requesting the reassignment of Agent Blue.

He says it again and again in his head, all the way to the door. He knocks loudly, in a way he knows Gordon will hear, and he gets back a muffled, “Come in!” 

He does. When Gordon catches his eye, his expression is uncharacteristically unreadable. 

“Close the door behind you, Coop,” he tells him. Dale shuts the door and takes his usual seat across from his boss. 

“I’m glad you had the time to talk, I’m sure you have more than a few questions after yesterday,” he says levelly. Dale notes Gordon talking quieter than normal, it gives him an odd feeling like he’s in trouble. 

“I do, Sir. I would like to firstly say that while I respect–”

“Now hang on there, Coop. First things first, I’m going to need you to return those files on Blue.” 

Dale freezes, and his puffed-out chest deflates. It takes him a moment to form a sentence again. 

“...May I ask why, Sir?” 

Gordon sighs and fiddles with the wires of his hearing aid. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong. This is all just a bit more complicated than I can tell you right now. I’m afraid I’m sort of left in the dark here, too. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s not all that much. Anything else you learn is at the discretion of the bureau - and Blue. And I don't think either of em’ wants you poking around.” 

The situation feels much bigger than him all of a sudden, even though it felt like something he could hold in the palm of his hand just a moment ago. 

“Alright,” is all he can think to say. 

“I knew Blue when she was in the academy, and let me tell you, she is bright. A little prodigy in her class, a bit like you, I’d presume. Anyway, I met her through her field training, she was a NAT here for a little while. Wasn’t too interested in homicide investigation, though. No, she’d taken a real liking to narcotics. Nasty business, I always thought, but to each their own,” 

As he talks, he leans in close to Dale. Gordon’s inside voice is still quite loud, but Dale can tell he’s straining to lower it. 

“She graduated and went straight to doing investigative work with the DEA. If I know you, and I do, I know you’ve picked through her file already. Do you know what Operation Architect is?” 

“I saw the name, but I don't know much about it, no.”

“Neither do I, that’s DEA business, but I know she was on it, undercover for over a year. And I know it didn't go great. She was relocated here after the ordeal.” 

Dale was hoping for this conversation to be more enlightening. He still feels trapped in the dark. 

“I meant it when I said none of this was up to me. My boss wanted Blue assigned to you. I’d wager it's because of your good work, you’ve got a handsome reputation, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. Regardless, she's sticking around for a while, so make the best of it. She’s not quite how I remember her, but as long as she hasn't done a full 180 in a few years, I think you two could get along pretty well.” 

Silence weighs down the room. Dale lets the new knowledge permeate his skin. 

“Alright,” he says because there really isn’t anything else to say. 

“Alright,” Gordon parrots. 

Dale sits like he’s waiting for something else to happen. The crushing finality of it sits on his chest. All the determination he came in there with is withered away to nothing, just ashes of a once burning fire. 

There’s no shirking this now, he has a partner. Cooper & Blue, FBI. 

“I know this isn’t easy for you, and I wish there was more I could do. But to be completely candid with you, I don’t think it’ll be nearly as bad as you’re anticipating.” 

Dale nods absently, drained of anything else to say. Gordon understands. 

“You’re dismissed, Coop.” 

He gets up, politely pushing in the chair. 

Before his hand can touch the knob, Gordon grabs his attention again. 

“Well, one more thing, actually.” Dale tenses, and the dread in his chest that had gone numb begins to flare up again. 

“If I were you, I’d show her a bit of kindness. This line of work is messy, and I can't imagine what the hell happened for her to get sent here.”

Dale can’t imagine either. 

[spencers-dria]

Turn for the Better

Someone To Stay Ch. 1

Spencer x fem!reader

Spencer POV:

I open my eyes and glance around the room. It's darker than I remember. I must have fallen asleep reading on the couch again. I glance down and see a pile of books on the rug. Oh yeah...I only made it through about four books this time before I nodded off. I sigh in frustration that I'm awake. Might as well get up I suppose.

I wander into the kitchen and pull open the fridge only to be met with a jar of peanut butter, week old left overs, and a half empty jug of juice. Next.

I try again with the pantry. Almost completely bare. I guess this is what happens when you stop going to the grocery store. I settle on a cup of apple juice and a bag of chips... better than nothing right?

I slump back down onto the couch and pull my green wool blanket over me. As I stare up at my ceiling, as I begin to let my mind wander. But this was dangerous territory. I have to keep my mind occupied, I just have to. So I quickly sit back up and turn the TV to one of my favorite Dr. Who episodes. They say that anxious people re-watch the same shows because they find the familiarity comforting. I could definitely understand the feeling.

It was the weekend, which meant I wasn't called into work. Cases had been slow lately, as we spent quite a bit of time doing paperwork back at the office. Unfortunately for me, this meant less distractions. Distractions were good. Distractions were necessary. They are the only way I make it through the days anymore.

Things had finally returned to normal for me back at work. I was going into the field, and it felt like my coworkers were no longer tiptoeing around me. I hate when they do that, and it bothers me more than any amount of teasing ever could. I'm not so delicate, so easily breakable. Look at everything I have been through, everything I have endured. Yet here I am, still alive, still doing my job. I didn't need to be babied. So it was a relief when I felt the regular rapport I shared with my friends return. They had gone back to the sarcastic remarks and silly nicknames. I was grateful for it. They did, however, continue to check up on me. This was something that I did appreciate. They've seen me go down a dark road once before. I have no intentions of ever returning. I was stronger than that... I think. All I know is I have held on this long without resorting to any unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Coping mechanisms...oh how I wish I had something to make the healing process easier. Having a fairly empty social calendar left me alone often. Normally I would find comfort in the peace and quiet of my solitary apartment, but not quite so much lately. I couldn't very well make plans to go out, and I wouldn't even know how to begin to do that. Who would want to hang out with me right now anyways? I'd be a damper on the fun, and everyone knows it. That's probably why my friends stopped inviting me to the nights at the bar.

There I go again, letting my mind slip into a dark hole of anxiety. Its not a safe place to be. I quickly turn my attention back to the show in front of me, letting it drown out all other thoughts.

The ring of my phone quickly draws my attention away. Finally...another case! I jump up to answer, seeing the name on my screen: Derek Morgan. That's odd. Usually Hotch or Garcia call to notify us of a new case.

"Hello?" I answer, confusion lacing my voice.

"Pretty Boy! Buzz me up!"

Well now I'm even more confused. Derek never comes to my apartment. I quickly press the button letting him into the building and opening my apartment door, waiting for him to arrive.

As he comes up the stairs, he gives me a grin shouting, "Come on man! Get dressed. We're goin' out!"

I roll my eyes and retreat back into the apartment, Derek close behind me.

I sink back onto the couch, my eyes glued to the television as I tune him out.

"Aw c'mon. Don't be like that. How long have you been sitting there watching TV? Have you done anything else today, at all?"

I don't answer, I don't even look at him.

"Oh, let me guess. You've been reading all day, huh?"

"Wow, can't get anything past you huh?" I say dryly, regretting my tone as soon as the words left my mouth.

"Alright that it. You've been cooped up in here too long. Like I said before, we're going out. And I'm not taking no for an answer" he says sternly, raising an eyebrow at me.

I finally look up at him as I roll my eyes.

"You know I can kick your ass right?" Derek smirks.

"Fine" I concede. "Well...where are we going? I don't know what to wear unless you tell me what our plans are."

"Don't pretend you don't wear the same fancy button ups no matter where you end up going."

I let out a small laugh...he's got me there.

"Dinner at Rossi's. I know pretty boys are high maintenance but, hurry up or you'll make us late!" I smile at the nickname. Same old Derek.

Y/N POV:

You let out a sigh of relief as you watched your coworker approach you, ready to receive report. It had been a particularly busy shift, and you were ready to get some much-needed rest. You walked to each patient room, giving Clementine summary of the day and the latest updates on labs and vital signs. You stepped into each room with her, checking one last time to make sure each of your patients was doing well and didn't need anything else before you left. Normally you and Clem would spend some time catching up and making jokes, but she could tell you were tired and needed to be home more than anything. You wished her good luck on her shift as you made your way to the break room. After putting away your stethoscope and the large collection of pens, pencils, and markers you kept in your pockets, you finally headed towards the elevator to leave for the day.

You opened the door to your apartment to be greeted by your dog, Juneau. She was a rescue you adopted a few months back. She still needed to make progress, but she had really warmed up to you and your friends and seemed much more comfortable in her new home. After feeding her dinner and taking her for a short walk, you heated up a quick frozen dinner and sunk into your couch.  Curling up in your blanket, you spent a few minutes browsing through different streaming services only to land on The Office, as usual.  Your mind drifts to what your next few days might consist off. You just so happened to land 4 days off in a row, but you had no idea how you would spend your time. You glanced down at your phone as it lit up.  It was your Uncle Will.

"Hey, whats up!" you chimed, glad to hear from your favorite uncle.

"Hey, (Y/N). I'm actually calling to invite you to a dinner some friends of mine are having tomorrow night. I know your schedule is real busy. But I haven't seen you much since you moved up here to Virginia! I know you haven't met many people here yet, but I think I can help you make a start. "

The kind gesture made you smile. You had always been fairly close with your father's side of the family. He had grown up in Louisiana and met your mother at a college in Texas. You spent your childhood in Houston but frequently visited the Cajun half of your family. Uncle Will had moved away once he fell in love with Jenifer Jareau, his now wife, and you hadn't seem much of him the past few years. But as luck would have it, your nursing career had lead you to a hospital in Fredericksburg, VA. You felt extremely lucky to have family nearby, or else you would have been completely alone. But sometimes you still felt that way, which is why you were so grateful for his offer.

"That actually sounds great! I am off for the next four days, and I didn't really have anything planned. Who will I be meeting at this dinner?"

"Well it's some of JJ's coworkers. They're like a second family to us, and I know they'll be just as welcoming to you. I already told them you moved up here, and they've been begging to meet you."

"Aww I can't wait to see Aunt JJ and my sweet little cousin, Henry! Its been so long since I came to visit you guys. I think Henry was barely two years old the last time I saw him."

"Well we all hope to see you a lot more now that you're here. You're like a daughter to us, Y/N. You are welcome to visit any time you like. I know nursing is a stressful job, and it can take a toll. Its important to have family and friends around you when things get tough." You could hear that this was a genuine offer and you fully planned to take him up on it in the future. Being alone in a new state was taking its toll.

"So where and when should I plan to meet for dinner?"

"I'll text you the address real quick. Everyone is planning to meet around 6. It shouldn't be too far of a drive. It's one of JJ's coworker's houses. David Rossi. He's a real easygoing guy, and he loves cooking for everyone. He loves meeting new people even more, so you should feel right at home!"

"Sounds like a fun time. Thank you again for thinking to invite me. I'm really looking forward to it!"

"Alright boo, talk to you later."

You smiled at the pet name used by the entire Louisiana side of your family. I guess the north had yet to steal his southern roots. You hung up the phone. You finally had plans. It would be nice to talk to someone who wasn't a coworker.  It would also be your first excuse to dress up since moving and starting your new job. Too excited to wait, you jumped up from the couch and began to rifle through your closet for something to wear. You didn't want to be too over or underdressed. You grabbed a black spaghetti strap fit and flare dress and throw it on with some black panty hose, a lightweight maroon cardigan, and some black heels. You snapped a quick photo in the mirror and shoot a text to Aunt JJ.

Y/N: Apparently I'm joining y'all for dinner tomorrow night...is this too much???

Aunt JJ: I heard! I can't wait!

And oh my goodness, no! You look gorgeous! It will be perfect.

Also...Henry is so excited to see you!

You smiled, more confident in your choice. Aunt JJ had great taste. You had only had the chance to meet her in person a couple times, but the two of you had clicked right away and stayed in touch over text and Facetime. Sometimes she felt more like the sister you never had.

Starting to feel the effects of your particularly difficult shift, you start to get ready for bed. You wanted to be well rested for tomorrow. You say goodnight to Juneau and crawl into bed, snuggled under all the blankets. You fall asleep with a smile on your face, with the feeling that things in your life are about to take a turn for the better. You couldn't explain it...but somehow you just knew.

[wonderland-in-bloom]

wolf!male!reader confessing to the savanaclaw boys w/ baked goods

@nikis-restaurant asked: yo yo yo! if possible i'd love to request hcs of the Savanaclaw boys with a wolf!male!reader who's in the same dorm, is v cheerful, enjoys baking sweets and ends up confessing to them with a cake (or another baked good of some kind) in their favorite flavor? i've thought this was a super cute lil' idea and i've had it in my head for weeks but w/o any idea how to go about requesting it to someone ww

this is so cute aaa!! tysm for requesting this!! i’ll do my best to make you all die over how incredibly cute the savanaclaw boys are (even though they’re supposed to be the most manly lololol)

♡

leona kingscholar

you’ve been crushing on your senpai for quite sometime now

being a first year, you didn’t see him often in classes, but you saw him plenty in the savanaclaw dorms and early magift practices 

due to having such a hard time approaching him, you decided it was best for you to bake something for him (one of your specialties!)

you weren’t too sure if he was going to like sweets or any kind of fruit pie (seeing as he hates vegetables you figured he wouldn’t be such a big fan of fruits too) and so you baked a meat pie especially for him

you delicately placed the pie in a basket along with a letter

luckily he was currently in magift club so you sneaked into his room and placed the basket on top of a table (after moving all of his cluttered stuff)

before you left, you quickly cast a spell on it so that it would stay warm throughout the day and so that it doesn’t spoil

you then quickly made your escape and retreated to your own room

that afternoon, leona came back from magift club with a sore body and honestly, he was just ready to pass out 

however before reaching his bed, a heavenly aroma filled his nose and it led him all the way to a table (which he actually forgot he had because he dumped basically all of his stuff on top of it)

he saw a basket he never saw before and just decided to see the contents inside. it was a perfectly baked meat pie with a letter resting beside it

dear: leona-senpai, you may not know me...that much...well, this is (y/n), a first year. senpai i look up to you a lot! you’re an amazing magift player! you’d do anything to reach your goals! i aspire to be like you senpai! i...like you a lot senpai! please accept this meat pie i baked especially for you! we don’t have any classes together, and i know how busy you must be being the dorm leader, so i decided to bake this for you! you must be tired so why not wind down and enjoy :)) signed, (y/n)

was this a confession? he thought to himself but smiled anyways. he folded the letter carefully (something which would shock ruggie if he saw him do this) and placed it in his pocket

all the savanaclaw students had the daily, early morning magift training and you were lined up with all the other students

unlike usual where he would just be watching by the sidelines leona stepped forward and stood in front of all the students

“(y/n) (l/n).” you flinched “follow me.” you followed him with a confused look while he left ruggie to take care of the rest of the students

once you two were in the bleachers, he sat down and pulled you down to sit beside him. “thank you for the treat yesterday. it was amazing.”

“ah, it was nothing.” “by the way...the letter...” your eyes widened. “you’re right...i don’t know much about you.”

he then suddenly rested his head against your shoulder and slowly started to drift off to sleep “let’s change that”

was that an indirect reply to your confession..? oh well, that didn’t really matter. all you could do was stay perfectly still while your crush leaned their head against your shoulder and well, of course you stared at his beautiful, sleeping figure multiple times

ruggie and jack would be like wtf but eh they’d be chill with it 

ruggie would lowkey highkey take pictures to blackmail leona lol

ruggie bucchi

you were cooped up in the kitchen, currently making donuts for your senpai and crush, ruggie

you planned to ask him later that afternoon when he’s done with all his tasks to enjoy donuts with you 

as soon as you were done with the batter, you heard the door to the kitchen creak open 

“oii! (y/n)! nice seeing you here!” your eyes widened and you tried your best to come up with a decent lie if he asked

“uwaaaa, what are you making?” “just some batter to fry some things later!” you were a horrible liar “what about you senpai? what are you doing here?” “leona-san asked for some recipe they used to cook at the palace all the time. so here i am.”

he got started on cooking the meal and left you a little confused, dazed, and flustered

the whole kitchen was quiet and it was that way for the remainder of the time you two were there

you put the donuts in the fryer and had prepared the icing, by then ruggie was almost done with whatever leona asked him to make 

when you were done dipping all your donuts in various different icing, ruggie was about to leave the room before you called out to him “uhm, ruggie-senpai! if you don’t mind...do you wanna join me for some donuts in the botanical garden...?”

he looked shocked for a while before chuckling. “sure! i’ll meet you in ten minutes!” he then scurried off to give the dorm leader his order

you started to make your way to the botanical garden and set a little picnic-like setting for both you and ruggie

“wow (y/n)! this looks amazing!” “eheh, thanks!”

you both started to munch on your homemade donuts and ruggie was complimenting you after every bite he could

“you know ruggie-senpai, i could continue doing this for you if you want. i’ll do even more things than just bake for you. i’ll be there every step of the way!! because...well...i like you...” you whispered the last part

ruggie paused before he bursted into laughter

“you sure are an interesting fella, (y/n).” his laughter died down. “but...i’ll consider...”

jack howl

being jack’s best friend all your life, you knew something was wrong with him throughout the week. he was much more moody, quiet, and distant.

you wanted him to forget whatever he was thinking about and just make his mood better

so you took it upon yourself to bake a pear compote pie especially for you best friend...and crush

you admitted that you had this ‘little’ crush on jack since you were both really young, and you decided to confess today out of all days to just hopefully make him think about something else than whatever he was thinking about

you happily skipped to your shared room with the pear compote pie in your hands. once you entered, jack’s ears twitched and his tail started wagging

this made you smile and chuckle slightly. “i made your favorite...” you took a seat beside him in your shared work table. you started to cut pieces of the pie for him and just admired him while he was eating

“what?” “eh? what what?” “you’re staring” “OH! sorry!” 

“jack, what’s wrong” he looked up from the plate. “huh?” “you’ve been kind of...off this past week. is everything alright?” 

jack placed the plate down and scooted closer to you 

“i’ve just been really homesick...” but his little frown turned into a smile. “but (y/n), you being here reminded me that...a little part of home will always be here with me. from your amazing, signature, pear compote pie to...well...you being here beside me.”

“and i’ll continue to be with you every step of the way, jack.” you placed your hand on his cheek. you took a deep breath. you were finally going to tell him. after all these years. 

“jack...listen...i really think--” you felt a pair of lips crashing onto your’s, the taste of pear compote infiltrating your mouth

when you both pulled away, jack started to chuckle 

“you really think i wouldn’t know? after all these years? come on (y/n), i know everything about you. besides, you really need to improve your lying skills.” 

“NO FAIR! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SAPPY AND CHEESY AND--” “there, there. at least you got a kiss.”

he was right. at least you got a kiss from the love of your life :))

♡

its 12.50am here and im screaming over the latest chapter of owari no seraph omg ;-; mika and yuu AAAAAAAAAAAA MY BABIESSS anyways enough of me rambling lol,, i will update ‘wish upon a star’ chapter 2 tomorrow! have a good morning/day/noon/afternoon/evening/night/early morning wherever you are in the world! and remember to stay safe!

love, a♕

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Firelight

Gerlion Rated T and up for minor swearing and minor nudity.

Also, I'm sorry I'm bad at technology and I've only got mobile and they updated it and I dont know/can't figure out how to put a read more break in.

Geralt and Dandelion reunite after a long time apart. Its fluff, complete fluff. They're so soft with one another.

This lovely piece was inspired by art created by @johix with permission I'll figure out how to link it. But I recommend checking out all the art.

It had been nearly nine months since he last saw his bard. It wasn't unusual for their paths to cross and diverge like the threads of a tapestry twinning around one another; close but never consistantly together. Dandelion was often called away to court, to Oxenfurt, or some festivity or other and he always went where he was wanted. Geralt never stopped him; though he often wanted to reach out, grab a slender and deceivingly muscled arm and say, "stay you're wanted here more than they want you anywhere else." But his lips stayed stubbornly shut as he watched the blond ride away on his muleish stead. He would turn his back and tend to the nearest contracts he could find. At first he'd been glad for the others departures, now they left him aching in a way he feared to define. So he would focus on his work, on the Path and push all thoughts of the Bard away until he was alone with inky night and moonlight for company. Then and only then he would wonder what his friend was doing.

This year he had been eager to get back on the path and left the keep far to early. The others had warned him but he was restless, concerned even. He hadn't heard anything from the bard in the three months leading into winter. It was May now. Summer had yet to grace the continent and snow continued to stick stubbornly to her. He hadn't made it to town, and that was okay. He was freezing but he'd dealt with worse. He stoked the fire up and leaned against the tree behind him. He flexed his fingers in his gloves to keep them from growing stiff.

He knows he should have found a cave or some other shelter but he'd been loath to leave the road. The more time he spent on it the more likely he was to run into Dandelion. Instead he began to meditate and wrinkled his nose at the scent of rain permeating the air. He hoped it would hold off until the morrow. He didn't mind rain when he didn't need to be out in the path. Meaning, he liked the rain if he was cooped up in an inn with Dandelion. He always tried to keep him from getting sick, despite the need to be on the oath. But tonight he wasn't in an inn with Dandelion. He was in forest clearing bustled against a dry spot beneath a tree with snow and ice all around him. The thought of being at a warm inn with his musician made his chest ache desperately. Slowly he managed to meditate. Meditation turned to sleep as soon as he chose to lie down in his bed roll. Roach shifted to his left to keep herself warm but never went far.

 

He woke cold and stiff to blue grey light. If he were a normal human and not so fucking cold he'd have probably rolled over and gone back to sleep. But instead he was a witcher and rain scented heavier on the air. That alone is enough to incline him to get a move on with the day. Carefully he stood rolling his joints, they cracked and popped at the movement sore from the last hunt and the cold. He breathed through his nose and set about feeding Roach. Then he turned to begin gathering his supplies. His heart jumped in his chest at the sound of distant music. There was a troupe, if the noise was anything to go by, traveling up the road. They were a ways off and he couldn't make out individual instruments yet. The music was to far away. Still, he forced himself to slow and methodically work through packing everything up at a more subdued pace. He had no way of knowing if Dandelion was with them, but he hoped he was. It was safer for the trabedour to travel with a group and more to his and the bards liking as well.

Satisfied that the group would catch up if he kept Roach to a walk he rejoined the road. This way he would be far enough ahead not to bother them, and close enough that if Dandelion was with them he'd be able to see him. He kept Roach at a careful pace and she seemed content to meander. His coin purse was currently full at his side, and the season was early. He could dally a little. Still he wondered at the futility. It would have been better to write to Oxenfurt or go himself. They would know where to find the poet. He listened as the music drew closer. There were several lutist. Which he could say wasn't uncommon as it was one of the preferred bardic instruments. He strained his ears none the less, Toruviels lute had a specific sound and he was well aquanited with it. He smiled and forced himself not to turn back towards the musicians. He was a witcher, he'd scare them off. He slowed Roach as much as possible. And then he heard it, the stutter of a chord gone off tune and forgotten. They way it would if he complimented the musician while he was playing. He always made the best faces.

"Geralt." He kept Roach moving, gripping the reigns hard in anticipation. Then he heard the murmurs of surprise as Dandelion ran ahead and called out,

"Geralt of Rivia, you gigantic oaf, I know you can hear me!" The indignant tone of Dandelions voice pulled him over the edge of his little game and he stopped. His heart beating a little faster, a little stronger than it ought, as it always did around the poet. He dismounted his horse and held out one hand to give or receive a hug. Something he was growing accustomed to doing with Dandelion. The bard rushed forward unabashed and wrapped his arms, one hand still holding his lute firmly, around Geralt and squeezing with all his strength. Geralt returned the favor, one armed, the other still outstretched to hold Roaches reigns.

The hug lasted longer than it ought to have, and then some. When they finally came apart Geralt raised an eyebrow and absently reached a hand out to brush shoulder length blond curls. He smiled softly amusement curling in his stomach with something far more dangerous.

"What are these?"

"Curls Geralt. You've seen them before."

Dandelion notes with brightness in his eyes. Geralt is being very tender he thinks as he flicks his eyes to the hand still in his hair.

"I know. But I've never seen them on you before. Nobles. Whores. The like."

Geralt says simply and something like sadness tugs at Dandelions heart. He was prepared with a quip but it slips from his tongue and instead he whispers out a breathy,

"You don't like it."

He looks to the ground, body language changing. Geralt smells the acrid scent of disappointment on him almost instantly. Even if he hadn't he'd have realized his mistake. He brushes his hand down and catches the lutists chin pushing it up and then dropping his hand to his shoulder. They have an audience.

"That's not what I said, nor is it what I meant, Dandelion. Introduce us?"

The poets meets his eyes and blinks. Right. Okay. He smiles,

"There isn't much to be said in introduction. I only met this lovely group last night. I don't even know all their names yet."

A short brunette in bright colors hands him his geldings reigns. They know he won't be continuing with them.

The brunette nods to Geralt and speaks softly,

"It was a pleasure to play music with you master Dandelion."

And with that the group turns down the path to the right. Geralt must have worked hard to time it so he'd be seen before they had a chance to turn down the other path. Though Dandelion would not have gone that way anyways.

Geralt looks him up and down again and and he flushes under the scrutiny and then speaks through a genuine smile.

"What is that on your face?"

He nearly reaches up to brush his hands against the white beard. He refrains barely as Geralt does it himself. He's fairly certain the man had forgotten all about it.

"Left the keep early this year. It's warmer like this."

Then he watches Geralt glare at the sky and take a deep breath.

"You'll want to put that in it's case. Smells like rain."

Dandelion moves quickly to follow his instruction and nearly jumps when thunder claps across the mountain range. He shivers and mounts Pegasus.

"Where to?"

Gerlat hesitates a moment. He shouldn't be caught off gaurde but he is. It's always this easy with Dandelion. Easy in a way it has never been with Yennefer, or with anyone else. It's natural almost to the point of being dangerous. He knows that Dandelions will follow him anywhere. Hen wont ask questions, but will walk beside him loyal and true.It eases something in his heart to see the other man beside him again. He settles something in him the way Yennefer never did. He realizes Dandelion is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin.

"That glad to see me?"

He swallows and clears his throat ignoring the second question.

"There is a village up ahead. If you're mule moves fast enough we may make it before the rain gets bad."

Dandelion laughs and the remnants of tension in him depart. They ride in companionable silence for a while before he asks,

"What are you doing all the way out here? The roads and weather are hardly fit for traveling, even for me."

He glances over and meets pools of bright blue sky. The poet is quiet for some time and it's only broken by the wind picking up around them and whispering through the woods as boughs bend beneath its force. The rain comes next and Dandelion finally speaks. Geralt remains facing forward carefully neutral.

"I hadn't heard anything about you in months. I had no idea if you even made it to Kaer Morhen. So, I thought to myself, Dandelion if you get closer to the keep you might hear something. Now, here I am hoping to find out if you're still alive. Figured being close would increase my chances of running into you too. And I suppose it worked."

He seems almost embarrassed Geralt thinks. Only embarrassment isn't an emotion he's ever seen on the musician. He was shameless and full of mirth. He felt deeply, certainly had had bouts of sorrow at times. But embarrassment… no this had to be something else. He seemed sombre. Almost sad as he fell into a silence that meant his thoughts had hold of him. Geralt shook his head, grateful when Dandelion did not ask him the same. Unfortunately he fell unusually quiet, normally he would grumble or speak his thoughts allowed. The silence upset him and he could sense the poet growing morose and gave him some space until he noted the bards teeth chattering. He looked miserable, lips pushed together to keep his teeth from chattering, curls gone limp with the rain. His fingers were probably just as cold as Geralts own. He slowed Roach.

"Wheres your cloak?"

" Forgot to pull it out of my bag."

He laughs. Gerlat could kick himself for not reminding the bard, but then, he was a grown man. Still the thought of him sick…. Absently he removed his outer cloak and handed it over. It wouldn't do to much now but it was a kind gesture none-the-less.

"Geralt, no sense in both of us being cold."

He simply cast Dandelion a withering glance and the trabedour smiled as he took the cloak. Geralt returned to his normal speed and missed the way Dandelion smiled into the fur and breathed deep. He almost missed the whispered "thank you" as well, but the wind carried it to his ears and he held it close.

By the time they passed through the archway of a sleepy little village he didn't know the name of, Dandelion was shivering from the cold. It had started as a thunderstorm and quickly devolved into a snowstorm. And while he had already been soaked through he was grateful for Gerlat's cloak around him. Though he was sorry too. He knew how cold Geralt often got, likely from having a slower heart rate.

They made their way with practiced ease to the local inn. Dandelion watched in slight awe as Geralt made arrangements with the matron. She had known his name, no one had so much as even batted an eye at the witcher. He shivered and tried to focus on keeping his feet warm.

The matron knew the witchers who passed this way every spring and winter. She'd been quiet young when Geralt had first met her, now she was a mother who had aged kindly.

"I'll have the boys tend to your horses. Jason's getting a fire going for you. He'll bring up some more wood in a bit."

As if on queue, summoned by his name, he came around the corner of the desk and nodded at her before heading out the back door. She smiled and handed Geralt the key. "Go on go get warm before your friend catches a cold "

"Thank you."

He handed the key to Jaskier who moved quickly forgetting his bag in his rush to get himself and his lute dry. Geralt smiled a toothy grin and shook his head shifting his own bags to gather Dandelions.

"Oh dear, I had better ask, will you be going out for supper or shall I bring some up when it's ready?"

" If it wouldn't be any trouble. And maybe a demijohn?"

She winked,

"Vodka?"

"Please."

"No problem, off you go. He's waiting."

He would have blushed if his biology allowed it. There was something about the way she looked between them and spoke that made Geralt feel vulnerable.

He followed damp footprints to their room and stepped in the door left slightly ajar. Dandelion had already hung his cloak up and stripped out of his shirt and boots, and was currently putting his lute on the chair a good distance from the fire to draw out any moisture.

"Finally Geralt! I was half naked before I realized I forgot them. And the fire was so nice I couldn't bare to go back and get them. What kept you?"

He stepped back as the bard reached for his bags and started removing his armor. He shook his head,

"Supper arrangments." He says simply.

"Then were staying in?"

"Yes."

"Excellent!" He watches the musician swap a change of clothes for his night clothes.

Although he was fairly dry beneath his armor and cloak Geralt was freezing. He removed his boots and looked up only to freeze. Breath stilling in his lungs as he swallowed tightly. He followed bare leg, muscled and lean, from floor to hip, over the curve of the poets ass, over the dip of his back and up the curve of his shoulders. He let out a breath and pointedly averted his eyes. His armor needed cleaning, he was sure of it.

He hadn't thought it possible to make Geralt uncomfortable at this point. But what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye told him otherwise. Though he'd only caught him looking away. He could have looked for a moment, or minutes he'd never know. Slowly he dressed in his sleepwear. The fire had been nice against his skin and he hadn't wanted to dress damp. You got sick when you did that. He dried his hair out with a thin towel from his pack. He'd need to replace that. He made his way back over to Geralt as he pulled his shirt on.

"The fire is nice." He says gently as he sits beside him. Geralt looks up at him from his armor and nods. They stare at one another for a moment then Geralt speaks.

"You seemed upset earlier. Was it just the weather?"

Oh. He wants to lie but he would never. Besides, Geralt can read him like a book, never mind the enhanced witcher senses. He'd never stand a chance. Instead he looks away, towards the crackling fire and let's silence reign while he thinks through what he means to say. The truth but not all of it. Just enough. The only noise is the wind rustling the shutters against the walls and the gentle crackling of the fire.

"I wouldn't know." He starts voice gentle and far away. "If you died. I wouldn't know. And if I ever did find out it would be from some rumor in a tavern passed through far to many drunken mouths to hold much truth. There's no one to tell me if you die while I'm not there Geralt. And that… scares me a little. I worry for you and it would pain me to never know or to find out so late. And know that I'll never know the truth of what happened." He looks to the witcher now and meets molten sun with ocean depths.

"But," he continues, "we're both here now. No sense in dwelling on something like that."

Something shifts in Geralts face like he wants to argue. He's already working out some way to change the topic so he doesn't give himself away. He loves the man next to him that's why it scares him. The knock comes loudly from the door and he moves to open it grateful for the matrons timing.

He smiles and opens the door wide.

"Thank you." He says to both the matron and her husband as he drops wood near the hearth and she places supper and a flagon of something on the table.

"No problem. Enjoy, its roast." With that they leave them to their dinner and Dandelion is grateful for the distraction. Geralt joins him at the table but neither speaks.

Geralt presses his lips together. What Dandelion said nearly ruins his appetite. He won't press but it makes his gut twist to think of the pain his friend would be in. The agony of not knowing. Though those same thoughts run through his head when he doesn't keep them in check. He knows if anything happens to his poet there would be hell to pay. He shakes his head and focuses instead on eating. The quiet of the room is unsetteling. They should be talking, reminiscing about their time apart and it's almost grating that he can't move past the last conversation. But then Dandelion uncorks the vodka and pours them both a generous amount. He hands a cup to Geralt and raises his own.

"To reunions." Geralt smiles and clinks their glasses together. Grateful that they're falling into their rhythm.

Dandelion asks how the winter went and Geralt sighs. It's always the same. His brothers are great but he always find himself missing his poets softness and sound. He wont say this of course. He wont say he lays awake wondering what he's doing in Oxenfurt. Who hes with. If hes happy. He won't admit that loneliness creeps in on him when they're apart, that he misses pulling the bard close to his chest when they sleep.

Instead he tells him that they repaired the battlements, the walls, the stables. That Vesimir had made them clean and catalogue the library. The library he knows Dandelion wants to see and would have to be forcably removed from and he knows that the poets only joking when he says "you'll have to show me one day" but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to grab him by the wrist and take him there. He talks of training and running the trail with Lambert and Eskel like they did when they were young.

"And what of you Dandelion? How was your winter?" The musician smiles and takes a drink straight from the bottle.

"Boring Geralt. This bach of students don't care. They have no heart and less inspiration. It's like they're only there to please their parents or something. To mingle. They don't care about learning what the truth behind folk tales are or why they're wrong. The composition courses are a bit better I suppose," another drink, his face flushes pink in the flickering light of the fire," at least they can make things rhyme even if it's meaningless. And it was so lonely Geralt. I missed traveling. I know it's better for my purse, retirement, and the like to work straight in the winter and travel in the summer months but honestly, I regret it this winter. Not that I could have traveled much alone."

He's rambeling now and Geralt loves it. Loves listening to him talk about nothing and everything. The way his face goes soft and his eyes grow bright and he can only be described as whimsical. How his voice dances always lulling and pulling him in. He takes the vodka and drinks a long pull from the bottle, he shouldn't let Dandelion have much more if they want to start out early. Though if the storm keeps up they might be stuck a few days.

He acknowledges the ard with a soft hum as he gets up to stoke the fire and add a few logs. It's gotten late. He makes his way back towards the bed and brushes his hand down the poets shoulder and his arm before passing on. He crawls to the far side of the bed and waits wondering if he'll understand the invitation and join him or take the other bed. He hopes that the Dandelion understood the gesture. The poet stands and looks at him.

Dandelion takes a breath to steady himself. There are two beds and he desperately wants to join Geralt, help him stay warm, bury his face against his chest, breath in leather and earth and musk. He blinks looking at Geralt for any sign of what he's supposed to do and just as its growing uncomfortable long in his slightly tipsy mind Geralt reaches out and hand and he knows he's wanted.

"It's cold."

Geralt offers quietly as he shuffles under the blankets next to him. He needn't have bothered Dandelion doesn't need an excuse. But if it makes him feel more comfortable he'll roll with it even as it feel like lead on his chest. He rolls onto his side and buries his face into the blankets between them. The bed is small for two but they'll make it work, they always do. He watches as Geralt lounges beside him thinking about how beautiful he is with shadows dancing against his skin as hes bathed in firelight alone. Then Geralt sits up so abruptly and swallows so that Dandelion joins him instantly.

"Is everything alright Geralt?"

"Yes. Just. Don't move."

And he laughs gently, breath coming out calmer now. He catches the way Geralts throat bobs as he swallows and the shadows dance across his throat. He both wants to kiss it and compose about it. Instead he shifts a leg underneath himself and leaves the other outstretched. He's not sure what's going on but he will do as told. But then Geralt moves and lays his head in his lap and when he looks down comatose pools of cooling gold meet his own cobalt depths and his breath catches. He stutters in another one and then smiles fondly. Geralts eyes flutter shut and he can't help himself as he places a hand in white hair and runs his fingers through it. He's certain it's been months since he had physical contact that wasn't violent.

He doesn't hum or sing. This moment is precious. It will be locked in his heart, witnessed only by the firefight and remembered in the lonliest of winter nights. But then Geralt looks at him again so he smiles softly and starts to open his mouth but theres a hand in limp gold locks by his face and he stops. Heart rate picking up, but not in fear and distantly he knows Geralt knows the ways he's affecting him. But he makes no move to pull away even as the calloused hand in his hair moves up to cup the back of his head and pull him down. Instead he closes his eyes and smiles. The kiss is everything he imagined it would be and then some.

[terresdebrume]

The Witcher - Favorite Reads Masterpost

So, the previous one was getting really super long and Tumblr refused to save the latest update three times, which I’m taking to mean I’ve reached some kind of length limit. In view of that, and with a poke to @nyliekeo​ who asked to be tagged, here’s the second volume of my Witcher fic-reading adventures!

(Pretty much all Geraskier, because I’m only a multishipper in the sense that I have many ships across many fandoms.)

Volume 1

Last updated: April 10th, 2020.

Non geraskier fic

Her Current Is Pulling You Closer - TheMarvellousMadMadamMim

Specs: 1 900 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Eist/Calanthe - Swimming, shameless flirting

Summary: After nearly three years of marriage, Eist Tuirseach realizes there are still things to learn about his wife.

Becoming Water - Orockthro

Specs: 3 456 words - Mature - Trans woman!Geralt, curses, happy ending

Summary:  When Geralt was a child his mother kissed his forehead, wove flowers in his hair, and let him dance around the campsite they shared with the other druids. He loved dancing, the way his body moved and flowed; he was like water.

And then she left him in the road, spilled water on his feet, and a faint trail of dust where she and the cart were no longer. And a man came and took Geralt and made him into something new.

“Were you short? Waifish? Did those witcher mutagens turn you into, you know, the hulking sexy man that you are? At least they gave you such male perfection, what with the stubble and the jaw and the--”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

(Or, Geralt is cursed with a female body during their travels. Only it's not so much a curse as a gift she didn't know she so desperately desired until now.)

of cockroaches and men - Potrix

Specs: 1 442 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Yennefer & Jaskier, Getting to know each other, BAMF Jaskier

Summary: As if being stuck waiting for her supplier in this sorry excuse for a town full of narrow-minded, superstitious simpletons isn't already frustrating enough, the first familiar face Yennefer spots when she walks into the grubby tavern is that of her least favourite bard.

Or, alternatively; sometimes you misjudge people, but there's nothing some badassery and booze won't fix.

all cooped up - alittlebitmaybe

Specs: 4 205 words - Mature - Polyamory, Pandemic 2020, Non-explicit sex, instigator Yen

Summary: Geralt's old university roommate, Jaskier, needs a place to ride out the pandemic. Geralt and Yennefer conveniently have a couch and Geralt, inconveniently, has a crush.

Cover it over and write it out - TheArcheologist

Specs: 3 214 words - Mature - Dyslexia, implied child abuse, Dandelion is a noble

Summary: There is something Geralt has noticed, after traveling so long with Jaskier. It is nothing major, nothing world ending or even warranting bringing up, but it is there, nonetheless, a funny little habit he can’t unsee.

“You’re better at this stuff than me, Geralt, you read it.”

Geraskier fics

pride - Besully (Briar_Elwood)

Specs: 737 words - Teen & Up - Trans Jaskier

Summary: Geraskier Week Dealer's Choice

He only manages to get the shirt untucked from the bard’s trousers when Jaskier’s smile disappears, and he scrambles backwards, holding the edges of his shirt down.

Do It Again - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 6 771 words - Explicit - Time Loop

Summary: By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch.

He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt.

“Fuck.”

Interlude; The End of All Things - TabbyCat33098

Specs: 3 496 words - General Audiences - Growing Old Together

Summary: Geralt realizes Jaskier is growing old and tries his best to return the rest of Jaskier's life to him. If only Jaskier would cooperate and take it.

//

How much longer will Jaskier be content with weathering the elements and contending with the uncertainty of mercenary work? How long until Jaskier realizes that in devoting himself to crafting a legacy for Geralt, he has forgotten to create a legacy of his own?

After all, he does not have a wife or children, for their nomadic lifestyle is conducive to neither. He has no home to return to between stints with Geralt, whether a sprawling mansion vaunting his wealth or a comfortable cottage replete with souvenirs from his varied exploits. How many experiences has Jaskier sacrificed because some contract or irate nobleman drew them elsewhere? How many untouched fields of snow has Jaskier never seen; how many harvests at Novigrad has he yearned to celebrate from halfway across the Continent—

“You’re staring,” Jaskier points out.

“You wanted to go to the Kovirian coast,” Geralt responds. 

a tapestry of scars - splendidlyimperfect

Specs: 7 688 words - Mature - Modern AU, Birpolar disorder, self harm, references to previous suicide attempt and car accident.

Summary: Jaskier comes into Geralt's life on a sunny afternoon in May - wide smiles and baby blue eyes; breathtaking stories and half-written song lyrics. He's mesmerizing and full of life, and Geralt can't look away. But sunshine doesn't last forever, and when Jaskier disappears, Geralt learns that beautiful things have dark and broken pieces, and even damaged people can help fix them.

Summer Mornings - The UnamazingTrashKing

Specs: 3 241 words - Mature - Fluff

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are sort of a couple. They definitely wake up together and talk about spending the rest of their lives together.

An Incomplete Happiness - BlossomsintheMist

Specs: 22 497 words - Mature - Serious injuries, injuries recovery, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension

Summary: Jaskier is traveling with Geralt when a hunt goes badly wrong and Geralt ends up injured.  Geralt soon realizes that the bard can take care of Geralt better than he'd realized, in his own way.

Hide Behind The Mound of Dead Bards - Bones (Doctorbones)

Specs: 17 296 words - Explicit - Temporary character death, Graphic depiction of violence

Summary: Jaskier is really bad at two things: shutting up and staying dead. Luckily, he can do both at the same time...for a while.

faith in transience - unconscious

Specs: 12 532 words - Explicit - Monster of the week, Service top Jaskier, attempted mind control.

Summary:  “I learn stuff about you to enrich my songs, thanks very much.”  Geralt starts.

“Like what?”

Jaskier strums a chord. “Plenty of things. You always ask the contractor if they want the head or not instead of just showing up with it, because you don’t want to shock people. You eat normal amounts of food when eating in public, instead of your usual awe-inducing giant amount. You sleep more when you’re hurt, but that’s the only way I’d ever know. You’re a bit weird about your potions and you count them a lot.” He glances up and grins. “Shall I continue?”

A handful of contracts go sideways. Recovering is easier with Jaskier there.

when midnight breaks their sleep - SummerFrost

Specs: 16 736 words - Mature - Modern setting, polyamory, polyamory negociation

Summary:   The first Snapchat that anyone ever sends Geralt is a picture of his own irritated face.

shrike_princess: can u believe this dumbass finally got a snapchat bc a cute boy asked him nicely

"It wasn't even that nicely," Geralt says flatly.

AKA: The one where Geralt is a bartender and Jaskier sings karaoke.

he, who i love - kinneyb

Specs: 1 279 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Summary: Jaskier looked forward to these nights the most; he was playing in a rundown tavern in a small town near the coast, coins gathered at his feet, knowing that at any moment Geralt would come bursting through the door.

He spun on his heels, strumming his lute with nimble fingers, the mark of a practiced player.

Jaskier had thought he’d reached his peak when he was younger. He had been proven wrong, of course, practice truly did make perfect. He was getting more attention than ever, and only half of it probably had to do with his new songs, all depicting the Witcher’s love story with a bard of the human variety.

He never directly mentioned himself, but the people had made the connection fairly easily, anyway.

Near the Coast - IantoPace

Specs: 2 164 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Dresses

Summary: Geralt finds out some of the feminine things Jaskier likes. This is inspired by the images of Joey Batey & Madeleine Hyland in the woods wearing each other's clothes.

Shoot First, Ask Questions Later - Ladivviniatravestia

Specs: 3 427 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Defining the relationship

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier fuck, then try to define their relationship.  Too bad Geralt has no idea what he really wants and Jaskier has been hiding something.

parry, riposte - plutoandpersephone

Specs: 5 230 words - Explicit - Established relationship, competence kink, power dynamics

Summary: "How about it?"

Geralt looks at Jaskier like he’s just started to speak in some long lost, foreign tongue.

"You want to take me on in the sword ring?"

-

Jaskier challenges Geralt to a bout in the fencing ring. They both get more than they bargained for.

The Coast - NinjaSniperKitty

Specs: 1 856 words - General Audiences - Established relationship, overly protective boyfriend!Geralt

Summary: Geralt takes Jaskier up on his offer to get away and go to the coast for a while. While Geralt sees danger hiding everywhere along the coast, Jaskier hasn't been to the sea in years and only sees a good time!

Sweet, Silky, Soft, and Shiny - Girl_in_Red_Crossing

Specs: 3 251 words - Mature - Inappropriate use of candy

Summary: Just a couple of bros, sucking on sweet things... sharing silky things... lying in soft beds together... (kissing)...

The Witcher Wolf 2: Geralt’s POV - im_fairly_witty.

Specs: 15 338 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Animal transformation

Summary: It's been two weeks since Geralt drove Jaskier away from him on that mountain top and Geralt's been doing his best not to think about it by accepting every contract he comes across. But when a job goes badly he find himself cursed into the form of an injured wolf and is then saved by none other than Jaskier himself, who has no idea that the animal he's taken under his wing is his own witcher. Geralt must now try to alert Jaskier to his real situation and adjust to his new life traveling with the bard, learning several hard but very much needed lessons along the way.

Shadowplay - sospes

Specs: 26 539 words - Mature - BAMF!Jaskier, Espionnage

Summary: Geralt returns to Oxenfurt on a bright May morning to find flowers laid outside Jaskier's rooms and a fresh grave in the cemetery.

Except, as Geralt is about to learn, in Jaskier's world things are never quite what they seem.

An Old Man’s Tale - NotebooksandLaptops

Specs: 1 448 words - General Audiences - External POV, Old age

Summary: At the edge of the village, in a house surrounded by wild-flowers and weeds - re-built from its former crumbling foundations – there lived the Old Man. He’d earnt the rights for the capital O, capital M off of the rest of the villagers barely a week after he’d moved into their humble world. For he had not grown up here, like everyone else did. Yet he settled and settled as if he had always been there. He wandered the cliffsides, the beaches, the streets. He strung shells together and gifted them to the ladies of the village with a wink that betrayed the charming young man he once must have been. He bought the little ceramic pots Alicja sold on the market, and he filled them with weeds as if the weeds were flowers worth showcasing. And – most importantly – he sang.

-///-

Or, Jaskier settles in a costal village towards the end of his life.

For The Joy Of It - vvitchering (Witchering)

Specs: 848 words - Teen & Up Audiences - self esteem issues, body image

Summary: After spending years on The Path together, Jaskier and Geralt finally settle down. Jaskier notices one day that his new sedentary lifestyle has changed him in ways he fears Geralt won't accept.

The Silence Between Heartbeats - anarchycox

Specs: 7 969 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Jskier knows Geralt better than anyone

Summary: Geralt faced off with a sorceress, only instead of her magic killing him, it stole his voice. But this should be an easy fix, he knew many women who could heal this. But that would mean anyone noticing something wrong. He knew he was quiet, but seriously, did no one wonder why he wasn't saying a single thing? Months he traveled silent, no one noticing and it was driving him mad.

Until he runs into Jaskier, who notices immediately that something is wrong.Because of course it is Jaskier.

Who else in the end would it be, who properly saw the White Wolf?

tailored - jeannie_tangerine

Specs: 4 874 words - Explicit - Geralt has a kink and Jaskier is absolutely into it.

Summary: in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt has a kink and is more than glad to indulge it.

oh darling please be mine - kickassfu

Specs: 749 words - General Audiences - Introspective, fluff

Summary: Geralt’s head turns to him just as he’s jumping into his arms. Obviously, he catches Jaskier, in his very strong, very big arms. Still probably processing what’s happening, Geralt’s body is tense, unmoving. Jaskier doesn’t care.

New Monsters Stories - Kathkin

Specs: 20 209 words - Explicit - Urban fantasy, mutual pining

Summary:  “So do you have a name?”

“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.

Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”

The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”

It turns out almost getting eaten by a werewolf can make your whole life go careening off in a new, terrifying, wondrous, artistically flourishing direction. Who knew?

Professor Pankratz - martistarfighter

Specs: 1 147 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Sumary:  “Come teach my class with me tomorrow.” He whispers in the witcher’s ear. He’s sporting a neatly trimmed beard these days, and it tickles Geralt’s neck in the most tempting way.

Geralt chuckles dryly, but the lack of an immediate quip tells him that Jaskier is serious. It’s a little scary how often they can read their minds by now.

“Don’t think so. You’re the teacher, Jask. I’ve got nothing to tell them.”

“But you’re the reason I’m still alive and teaching in the first place. Besides, you can just sit there, look pretty and answer some questions. My students have heard a lot about you, they’ll adore you.”

As someone pointed out, there's too much 'witcher watching out for his idiot' and not enough 'the witcher is a himbo who loves his college educated bard husband, who is qualified to teach' content out there. So I'm fixing it with a self-indulgent ficlet!

and i plan to be forgotten when i’m gone (yes, i’ll be leaving in the fall) - Stockholm_Syndrome

Specs: 18 083 words - Mature - Discussion of assisted suicide, discussion of suicide, depression, curse, no MCD

Summary: “That was more emotional than I expected.” He finally said “I didn’t think I’d have time to share this with you, and I.” Jaskier interrupted himself, as if unsure if he should continue. “I suppose I didn’t think it would upset you so.”

“Jaskier” Geralt growled, not able to express how ludicrous that idea was.

“Yes, I suppose I was wrong there.” Jaskier replied with a helpless shrug.

---- Or, Jaskier is cursed to turn into a monster. He doesn't think this is important information to mention.

Chopsticks - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 12 175 words - Explicit - Piano teacher!Jaskier, friends to lovers, modern setting

Summary: “Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--

“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

The smile swiftly disappeared.

“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”

Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.

what’s in a (pet) name? - janie_tangerine

Specs: 1 415 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, pet names

Summary:  "So," he clears his throat one evening, having just rinsed Geralt's now clean, soft white hair, and damn how he wishes the man would just take care of it somewhat decently, "I was wondering."

"What?" Geralt says after he doesn't go on for a bit. It didn't sound particularly annoyed. Right on.

"This is a very broad question, but I was just curious, no need to answer if you don't want to -" Jaskier starts, having learned that giving the man a way out is always a good bet.

"Just get on with it, won't you?"

Jaskier clears his throat, leans down, puts his elbows on the rim of the tub. "How do you feel about pet names?"

Or: in which Jaskier has a question for Geralt. It doesn't get answered the way he had assumed.

As Long As You Were Mine For A Little While - whisperedstories

Specs: 12 815 words - Explicit - Friends with benefits, mutual pining

Summary: It starts with Jaskier offering a helping hand when Geralt needs to let off some steam. The thing is, Jaskier likes taking care of Geralt—however he can—and Geralt lets him, so he just keeps doing it.

And as long as they never talk about how he's in love with Geralt, they're both happy with the arrangement, right? Right.

Of Debt and Debtors - sp_oops

Specs: 5 136 words - Explicit - Semi-public sex

Summary: Two bros, chillin' in a ta-vern, five feet apart ‘cause they—fuck, they really missed each other, not that Geralt will ever admit it—and anyway, in a minute here, they're gonna have to get closer than they ever thought possible. (Or, sometime after Episode 6, they meet again, Jaskier’s in trouble again, and Geralt saves them. Again.)

This One I Shall Choose - DorkMagician

Specs: 3 751 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Quiet pining, the exact moment Geralt falls in love

Summary: Geralt falls in the river fishing for a djinn and winds up soaked. Jaskier sees the opportunity to do as his mother told him a long time ago and takes the first step when he offers Geralt his handkerchief.

Skin Deep - Sospes

Specs: 8 935 words- Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, getting together, non consensual tattooing, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced childhood abuse

Summary: “What’s that?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks. “It’s a tattoo,” he says. “Have you never seen a tattoo before, Geralt?”

Geralt fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo,” he says. “What’s it a tattoo of?”

They say there are 5 ways to show your love (and I don’t know any of them) - Mayathelittlebee

Specs: 5 989 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, humor

Summary: May be if Geralt stopped being so dramatic for a moment he'd finally realize that loving Jaskier is not as hard as he thinks.

I don’t mind if I’m with you - janie_tangerine

Specs: 11 152 words - Explicit - In which Jaskier has to quelle his murder instincts concerning how much Geralt’s life sucks

Summary: or: five times plus one in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt is missing on good life experiences and promptly sees to fix it.

Fill Me Up - Mysticmajestic

Specs: 402 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Romance

Summary: Geralt only knows how to give, and give, until he's empty. What is he to do with Jaskier, who only wants to give back to him?

Little Things - QueenForADay

Specs: 3 315 words - General Audiences - Domestic fluff, Ciri ships it

Summary: In the first few months of knowing the Witcher, he experienced first-hand how shut-off Geralt could be with the world around him and those within it.

At some point, and he can’t pinpoint where, that shroud started to slip away. He saw how much Geralt could, and does, actually care. It’s as fierce as the way he fights.

They spend a great deal of time watching each other; when they finally fell into a bed together, they spent most of their nights learning what the other liked, mapping the plains of skin and muscle underneath the other.

But it’s the other things, the little things, that Jaskier thinks about the most.

O, Empathy - almostnectarine

Specs: 32 624 words - Mature - Body swap, friends to lovers, questfic

Summary: “How did you manage,” asked Geralt, with infinite patience and only a desire to know the facts, and not at all a little meanhearted glee, “to insult a sorcerer while his tongue was down your throat?”

“Don’t make me recount the entire sordid affair, Geralt,” said Jaskier, with a surprising note of desperation breaking through his gruff monotone. “I’m already having a rather shit day and all I’ve done so far is wake up.”

“In my body,” said Geralt.

“Yes,” said Jaskier, with the insolent cadence that was unmistakably Jaskier’s, but in Geralt’s voice, emerging from Geralt’s face and frame.

“And I’ve got yours,” said Geralt, from Jaskier’s.

and for that love to be with men - sebviathan

Specs: 6 734 words -Mature - Emotional constipation, self discovery, self acceptance, geralt is a whole ass gay man who doesn’t know what being gay is

Summary: Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it—living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling.

The enormity of Geralt's desire disgusts him.

at last, at last, at last, oh I thought you’d never ask - elegantwings

Specs: 15 040 words - Explicit - Arranged marriage, slow burn, trans!Jaskier, in this house we love Yennefer of Vengerberg

Summary: Geralt is given firm instructions from Vesemir: He is to get married to a Redanian noblewoman in the hopes of improving relations between witchers and the rest of the world. Once the ceremony is over, he plans to drop his new spouse off at their new home and carry on with his life as he always has. Little does he know, his future wife is not a woman, and not so easily left behind. He's not really sure he'd like to get rid of Jaskier, either. Over the next several years, they learn to navigate their new relationship, first while Jaskier completes his degree, and then when Jaskier insists on accompanying him on the road. And no matter what anyone else has to say about it, Geralt is absolutely not in love with his husband.

it’s what my heart just yearns to say - chasing_the_sterek

Specs: 1 071 words - Teen & Up - Slice of life, Jaskier: what if I found a way to make Geralt admit when he needs things

Summary: "If you could have one blessing," Jaskier says, eyes lit green by the fire between them, "What would it be?"

Geralt looks at him. The whetstone is smooth and friction-warm in his palm, edges rounded from use. It's been with him for a long time: almost four years.

Jaskier has been with him for even longer, but he's never done this. Geralt squints at him, but only thing different to this morning is the yellow firelight changing the colour his eyes appear.

"What," he says.

not a goodbye, a thank you - Potrix

Specs: 2 915 words - Mature - Graphic depiction of illness, near death experience, talk about death, found family

Summary: Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot.

He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.

After Summers of Fasting (I Feel Hunger At Last) - Artemis_Unbound

Specs: 3 793 words - Teen & Up Audiences - A six pack you can see is not a good thing, Jaskier tricks Geralt into Not Being Starving anymore, Love confessions

Summary: Defined six-pack abs are a sign that someone has been starving and dehydrating themselves, not a sign of incredible strength. It's just not healthy.

Jaskier sees Geralt shirtless for the first time, sees all that defined musculature, and is Horrified. He's slept with enough warriors and soldiers to know what that means. And he decides, this stops now.

Tunes Without Words - foxy_mulder

Specs: 22 021 words - Mature - Self-esteem issues, past abuse, miscommunications, misunderstandings

Summary: The plan is this:

He will note all the things that annoy Geralt, and he will stop doing them, and then Geralt will want him around. It will work.

It has to work, because Jaskier cannot be left behind.

The Path Not Taken - sospes

Specs: 40 149 words - Mature - Extraordinarily bad misunderstanding, Idiots in love, Explicit sexual content

Summary: Jaskier comes across an injured witcher in a backwoods town, months after the events of the dragon hunt. It all just sort of escalates from there.

.

[troutpopulation]

Baby updates 10

- they have almost completely lost their baby fluff and are growing their big girl feathers I'm so so proud

- I kinda get why toxic moms use their 8 year olds ad therapists now. /j I've been venting to these chickens for the past few nights to get them used to my voice because I'm. Basically constantly silent but I don't want them to get startled by human voices. It's been nice

- Prue decided that my pant leg just Had To Go and she will make it happen. It's still there. Keep trying maybe, Prudenxia.

- They're chilling under my leg rn, they were running around foraging and etc but it looks like quiet time is an order.

- They're expected to get much friendlier once they start laying which is something i definitely look forward to

- bc as much as they like to perch on me and cuddle under my arm if I try to pick them up or god forbid pet them they throw a tantrum and scream

- they're getting used to being picked up since i have to put them inside at night while their coop is a WIP

- Maggie is the chillest with being pet so far

- I'm. Assessing them on how much they're bonding with me. When i pack up and run off I'm only going to take 2 with me. They'll be fine, my family loves raising chickens and they'll be taken care of until they pass of natural causes. They abuse people, not animals lol

- so far I'm thinking I'll take Prue and Maggie. But i also want to take Miel. Olga technically doesn't even belong to me I'm just her surrogate, and Mythra i think we might need to get rid of Anyways because. She might be a rooster and those are illegal here.

- god what if Prue is too.

- i hope not but also like. I'm desperately trying to leave but I want to take them with me so bad. If it narrows down the options then god let some of them be boys.

- Olga is eating grass while laying down it's. Really cute.

- Upon further inspection I think Miel might be a rooster and I'm already grieving

- Prue finally found dust for a dust bath look at her go.

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

disney’s ‘the hunchback of notre dame’, early 2000s kid nostalgia, and other midnight musings

“What the fuck, Stina? I thought this was a blog for book reviews!” you say.

“Books, amongst other things. Hence the -ish suffix,” I say. “And all my mediocre ‘reviews’ are hit-or-miss in terms of engagement, so I’m pretty much free to post whatever the fuck I want.”

I toss my head. My hair whacks me in the face.

The first time I watched Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame was been circa 2006, in the ‘movie room’ of my preschool, huddled around a CRT TV with the rest of my five-year-old classmates. Not much about the film particularly stood out to me at the age.

Fast-forward fifteen years later; I’m cooped up in quarantine, hundreds of thousands of miles away from that first viewing. I’m living my best life, rejoicing in my introverted tendencies and having a laugh at the expense of all the suffering extroverts. I haven’t moved from my bed all day, except for the bare necessities, and I’m bingeing YouTube videos. All is well.

I discovered Lindsay Ellis’s channel quite recently- embarrassingly enough, through her videos on Omegaverse and the whole Addison Cain fiasco. I stumbled down the rabbit-hole of her channel, and here I am, a few dozen videos later, and I find her one on this film.

Which, of course, led me to want to re-watch the film, with the eyes and mind (supposedly) of an adult. And it went far beyond and above my expectations.

The film is dark, much darker than the average Disney film of today- not just thematically, but the graphics too. Except for the first parts with the Festival of Fools and the last scene, the rest seems to have a dark filter put over it all. Obviously, given its themes (I’m pulling these out of my arse; I’m a STEM major and I have zero to no knowledge about film) of freedom and equality, acceptance of those different from us, corruption and lust- all that good shit, in other words- you can’t exactly have sunshine and rainbows. But it’s such a stark contrast from what I’ve been accustomed to from Disney; Frozen has Hans about to decapitate Elsa, but the background remains bright and light; Simba sobbing next to Mufasa’s body in The Lion King is heart-wrenching, but a few scenes later, we have an anthropomorphic meerkat-boar duo singing about eating bugs and farting and all that classy stuff, so it’s not as traumatizing.

The themes are a lot more on-the-nose than a lot of other kids’ movies (forgive me if I err, I am aged and forgetful)- cue la Esmeralda saying, “What do they have against people who are different, anyway?”- you get what’s essentially the same ‘accept others regardless of their differences’, ‘prejudice is bad’ morals from, say, Zootopia, but having given the main characters fursuits makes it less obvious than in this movie.

(Or maybe I’m just a dumbass. I have no elaborate notes for this; I’m high on sugar and deprived of sleep so I might be spewing bullshit.)

Admittedly, the resolution is a bit… unrealistic. The citizens of Paris = sheep, essentially; they go from throwing fruit in Quasimodo’s face because the guards started it, to helping defeat them. Maybe there’s something about mob mentality in there, but I find it hard to believe that people who showed up to watch Esmeralda burn to death were suddenly totally cool with not getting what they didn’t pay for. But then again, this is a Disney movie, and you can’t make kids too cynical too early on. Let them have their innocence and ‘people will be with the heroes in times of peril because humanity is inherently good!’ before they realize that humanity kinda fuckin’ sucks.

The characters are some of the most human from those I’ve seen in Disney (other honorable mentions: the main characters of The Emperor’s New Groove, Moana, Tangled, Anna from Frozen). Quasimodo’s the main character (lol DUH, will I ever say anything not obvious?), and he’s so lovable, but not without flaws- he’s biased against gypsies in the beginning because Frollo’s the literal scum of the earth. To borrow from the K-pop fans’ dictionary: UwU he’s so pure!

Esmeralda sparks a bit of controversy because she’s another POC leading lady from a Disney film of the 90’s (a list including Jasmine, and, sigh- Pocahontas) who’s markedly more sexualized than the white Disney princesses. It’s not something I particularly noticed nor cared about until I saw it being brought up- I mean, the woman shows a bit of cleavage and then dances for a couple of seconds- but. I’m just putting that out there.

She’s an empowering heroine without having to belt in in your face (not me making a dig at Naomi Scott’s Jasmine from the Aladdin live action film), and I also love how her role in taking down the Big Bad doesn’t have to do with her ‘power of seduction’ (the scene in the animated Aladdin film where Jasmine kissed Jafar truly traumatized me as a kid).

Phoebus is… well, he exists. Kind of a Regulus Black archetype, but not exactly. The guy on the bad side who turns good and all is forgiven. Well, at least it’s not the ‘her love made him a better man’ trope. And he is a good guy. Even if he did spend a considerable amount of his adult years on the side of the bad guys.

Systemic oppression? Nah, it’s one or two corrupt baddies. But again, it’s a Disney film, we need everything to work out for the good guys in the end.

Let’s get the gargoyles out of the way. To reference Lindsay Ellis’s video (she’s a lot smarter than I am and breaks this down better than I ever could): yes, the comedy’s oft ill-timed and inappropriate… for an adult audience. And the primary demographic of Disney films, especially princess ones (obviously Esmeralda isn’t a princess, nor does she marry into royalty, nor is she included in the group of princesses in the dumpster fire that is Ralph Breaks the Internet, but I had a book imaginatively titled ‘Disney Princess Stories’ as a kid that included Esmeralda’s story alongside Belle’s and Ariel’s, so I’m calling her a princess), are kids. And kids love fart jokes.

Additionally, I have a theory-that-is-not-really-a-theory-but-a-pretty-obvious-thing-that-happens that the gargoyles are figments of Quasimodo’s imagination, and the, at times crass and ridiculous things they say are just the voices in Quasimodo’s head (THIS IS OBVIOUS, STINA, YOU HAVEN’T STUMBLED ACROSS A STARTLING NEW REVELATION); maybe what he imagines normal townspeople to act like.

And then we have Judge Judy Chrissy Teigen Frollo. This dude is the embodiment of pure evil. He’s bigoted and rapey and abusive and one of Disney’s most successful villains- even better than Mother Gothel, who previously held the crown. It’s rare that a villain genuinely terrifies me, especially a cartoon one. Frollo, unlike your typical fairytale antagonist who wants power/fame/fortune/to overthrow Olympus, is far more sinister; driven from deep-rooted hatred instead of plain greed. He’s so much closer to people in positions of power and authority even in the modern world, and that element of reality makes him so much better as an antagonist instead of a literal sheep who hates carnivores (seriously, Disney, enough with the twist villains- they’re not working out).

Also, Hellfire slaps. In fact, the entire soundtrack does.

Speaking about Hellfire, I love the contrast between that and Heaven’s Light; how Esmeralda is viewed by Frollo (an object to possess, “Destroy Esmeralda, and let her taste the fires of hell; or else, let her be mine and mine alone”) as opposed to Quasimodo (someone with free will, “I dare to dream that she might even care for me”).

Another argument brought up, and admittedly one I had as a child was, ‘but if the whole point of the movie is acceptance and love as opposed to lust, why didn’t Quasimodo get the girl?’ Which, years later, I realize is an extremely misogynistic way to look at it. As Princess Jasmine said four years before The Hunchback was released, she is not a prize to be won. Quasimodo is Frollo’s antithesis; he lets Esmeralda choose, and she chose Phoebus. And Quasimodo accepted that, because he is good and kind and sweet and loving. Severus Snape, take note.

On a sidenote, I’m always kind of caught out of left field when the plot in films moves really fast- I’m really not a movie-watching type; I prefer to read, and books usually indicate how much time passes from one main plot point to another, and there are little slice-of-life, filler parts that tie in to character development and moving the plot forward, but at a snail’s pace. So, whenever I’m watching a movie and it’s one important event after another, I usually haven’t had enough of a refractory period to process it.

Let’s pretend that I segued smoothly into the next part of this (already tedious and long drawn out) review.

The Hunchback is the darkest film I’ve ever seen come out from Disney. Re-watching it as an adult made me pause every so often and wonder why the hell I wasn’t traumatized by it as a kid. I mean, the whole movie kicks off with Frollo about to throw an infant down a well. And then there’s that horrifying shot of the stone renditions of the Israelite kings on the church walls. Frollo falls to his death into fire. I mean, good riddance, but still. I guess it’s because the kids’ shows of today are awfully censored and polished so kids don’t have nightmares forevermore.

Update: tried to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame 2. Exited just as fast as I clicked on it. Disney sequels really ain’t shit (yes, I’m looking at you, Frozen 2).

[uhgoodmoni]

Nothing That Lasts Forever

Summary

Jung Hoseok; in an attempt to have a relaxing weekend with Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook, he invites them to stay at a cabin he has rented. The BTS boys aren't exactly in for the relaxing weekend they hope for after a series of strange events start to occur. The three of them are terrified of an unknown horror, as Hoseok wakes up to Jungkook standing in the dark. Updates: will update every other week on Tuesdays. If you want to stay updated with my progress follow my Twitter: @uhgoodmoni or Instagram: @jooniethemooni

Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, Demons, Fighting, Verbal and Physical Abuse, Mention of marijuana, Death, Cursing, Fire, Unintentional Self-harm, Gore. Yoongi's injury

Ao3 link - Wattpad link - Soundtrack

Part One (Trailer) - ch1 - ch2 - ch3 - ch4 - ch5 - ch6 - ch7 - ch8 - ch9

Hoseok's POV

Plopping my chin on my hand I scroll through the cabin rental page. Phone number, phone number. There. My finger pokes my place on the laptop's screen as I type the digits into my cell. I smile as it begins to ring. What a blessing for this cabin to have so many openings during the season we are off. Shame we will have to wait so long for the holiday. It'll be worth the wait I'm sure. I hum as it continues ringing in my ear. If Jin were available he would love to come with us, Joon too. It's a shame that both their schedules are booked. If only all of the members could come. Then I would be happiest, but that's just not how it works.

Always busy, whether we are on our own or not. Solo work... dance practice, meetings, recordings, and much much more. I roll my head around the kitchen, impatiently tapping my foot on the chair. The metal rings along with the phone. Where are all of them anyway? There is no sign that anyone has been in the kitchen since last night, otherwise, someone's dishes would be left on the counter. The computer screen tells me that it is 12:33. Lunchtime, mhm. Yoongi is probably cooped up in his cave, maybe I'll get him something. My butt slides from the chair, my feet finding the floor. They are taking quite a long time to answer. I circle the island as it rings. Come on pick up.

"Hello, this Eun Soo?" A feminine voice sings from the speaker. Though I barely hear them over the sound of the wind howling on the other side. She must be outside if it's so loud.

"Oh, hello, I'm Jung Hoseok, and I'd like to rent one of your cabins?" The whirling stops. The line goes quiet. I stand, awaiting her response, but she doesn't, the silence wells up around me.

"Helloo?" I pucker my lips, twirling around. I look at myself in the reflection of the microwave. My fingers find the fringe of my split ends. It needs another dye soon, and definitely a trim. Mhm... what color should I do next? Army is always missing red. Maybe a more natural shade?

"Which cabin would you like to rent?" She coos, "We have many different options."

I raise my eyebrows, moving on with the conversation "Well I was looking at Cabin 189 and..."

"Oh, lovely!" She giggles, breaking my sentence. "Do you have any particular time frame?"

I clear my throat, going back to the counter, and placing my elbows on it. "Well, I was thinking about the dates 21-23 of this Septem..."

"Wow, we have those dates available!" I nod, waiting for her to continue.

"Okay well, can I confirm my dates?" I spoke up since she wasn't going to. The line went quiet again. I raise a lip, what the heck? Maybe there's some interference or something. Still a strange phone call.

"Yes we prefer to do the payment process over email, may I get yours?" "Oh yeah, It's J u n g h o s e o k 9 4 @ N a v e r .com" I sang out, "and if you need me to repeat anything I will be glad to."

"No." My eyes widen at her bluntness. Am I sure I want to rent here? She sounds nice but so strange and informal. I shrug, sitting back down at my chair, and leaning into the plastic backing. "That is fine." She finally finished making me almost laugh. Maybe she's a foreigner.

"Okay, when can I expect an email?" My foot begins to tap on the footrest once more.

"Oh, today certainly." The wind in the speaker starts once more, as she speaks. I miss what she says, only hearing static.

"I'm sorry I missed that last bit, miss."

"Oh, today certainly." The wind in the speaker starts once more, as she speaks. I miss it, only hearing static

"I'm sorry I missed that...'' I shake my head realizing I was about to repeat myself. "Is that all you needed maam?" Clearing my throat I spin around in my seat.

"Yes! We hope you will look forward to your stay." The wind halts again making the phone go quiet. "There is nothing that lasts forever in this world." My brow curls at this, but she doesn't add anything more.

"Thank you..." The phone beeps as I press the end call button. That line sounds oddly familiar, though maybe she was talking to someone else before I hung up. The strangest phone call I've had in a while, but at least I made progress on our trip. I return to my laptop, taking note of the location. Hopefully, the others will be looking forward to it just as much as I am.

[jackdawyt]

One of the most alarming statements made by anonymous BioWare employees currently working on the next Dragon Age has been the remark that the next game is “planned with a live service component, built for long-term gameplay and revenue.”

Like me, I suspect you have questions regarding what exactly a live-service Dragon Age 4 may entail. While we don’t have all the answers currently, thanks to Jason Schreier’s article on “The Past and Present of Dragon Age”, we certainly have an idea on what the next Dragon Age may look like.  

Regardless, I feel like it’s even more necessary to have this conversation on BioWare’s live service future having watched the debacle of Anthem’s post-launch content, and what BioWare hopefully learned from Anthem’s experience going forward with Dragon Age 4.  

You see, Anthem’s live service model was originally going to follow story-based content after the base game launched. The content would forward the main narrative in many different directions with new areas, bosses, dungeons, characters, stories, and of course, cosmetics.  

In pre-production, Anthem's story had been produced with live service in mind, so the developers could easily write, change and create many different plot points and narratives in future content to come.  

“They had a really strong belief in the live service,” said one developer. “Issues that were coming up, they’d say, ‘We’re a live service. We’ll be supporting this for years to come. We’ll fix that later on.’” (How BioWare's Anthem Went Wrong, Kotaku).

The game was originally planned to follow a deep content road map, that would have players still engaged with Anthem ten years after launch.  

"Anthem is a social game where you and your friends go on quests and journeys. It’s a game that we’ve been working on for almost four years now, and once we launch it next year I think it’ll be the start of a ten-year journey for us." (Patrick Soderlund)

However, Anthem’s original ‘idealistic’ live-service model didn’t come to fruition due to only 18 months of development time. The content road map we did eventually get for Anthem, didn’t prove to be successful.  

[Anthem] was in development for nearly seven years but didn’t enter production until the final 18 months, thanks to big narrative reboots, major design overhauls, and a leadership team said to be unable to provide a consistent vision and unwilling to listen to feedback. (How BioWare's Anthem Went Wrong, Kotaku).

The post-launch content was staged in acts. The first act was called “Echoes of Reality” and would last around three months, providing constant new missions, strongholds and world dynamics. The act would end on a huge update called “The Cataclysm”.  

Unfortunately, this road map was too idealistic, and was cancelled after heavy delays of “The Cataclysm” event.  

With BioWare’s first live service model not going according to plan, hopefully, the unsuccessful launch of Anthem’s live service-model speaks volume for future BioWare’s titles, and the developers have learned from that experience.

It's worth stating that Anthem isn’t dead and BioWare haven’t abandoned ship. They’ve remained adamant on working out how the game can stay afloat, as a small production team at BioWare Austin work on the preliminary design of Anthem 2.0.  

BioWare and parent company EA have been planning an overhaul of the online shooter, according to three people familiar with those plans. Some call it “Anthem 2.0” or “Anthem Next.” (Sources: BioWare Plans A Complete Overhaul For Anthem, Kotaku).

In spite of that, I know for a fact, every Dragon Age fan can look at Anthem’s style of a live-service model and say that this model wouldn't cross-over into a Dragon Age game.  

Anthem is a multiplayer game with a heavy emphasis on gameplay as opposed to story. While the game does have a main narrative with all the BioWare trimmings of lore and a codex, the general reason you play Anthem is to kill, loot and customise your javelin suit.  

This gameplay loop can be easily continued with a live service model adding new content like levels, enemies, worlds, cosmetics, etc.  

Whereas for Dragon Age, the player’s experience is deeper than the gameplay - there are many reasons we play Dragon Age - for instance my experiences have been driven by the story as I, solely, make impacting choices and consequences throughout the world.  

Anthem’s live service model reflects a very different perspective, so, what could a Dragon Age live service-model entail?  

Well, according to Jason Schreier: “we not sure about the details, and in fact they’re likely still being decided, as the game is still very early in development and could evolve based on the negative reception to Anthem. If it does turn out to be an online game, which seems likely, it would be shocking if you couldn’t play the bulk of it by yourself."

"One person close to the game told [Jason] that Morrison’s critical path, or main story, would be designed for single-player and that goal of the multiplayer elements would be to keep people engaged so that they would actually stick with post-launch content."

"Some ideas [Jason] heard floated for Morrison’s multiplayer include companions that can be controlled by multiple players via drop-in/drop-out co-op, similar to old-school BioWare RPGs like Baldur’s Gate, and quests that could change based not just on one player’s decisions, but on the choices of players across the globe."

“They have a lot of unanswered questions. Plus, I know it’s going to change like five times in the next two years.”

The trouble with Dragon Age 4 being live service is that the game is predominantly single-player, and while there is a multiplayer mode in Inquisition, no one plays Dragon Age for multiplayer. As I said before, there are many personal reasons each of us play the series from escapism to fantasy fulfilment and everything in-between.  

Diversification of a live service model or multiplayer in the fourth entry of a single-player RPG just sounds like a recipe for disaster in my opinion.  

While in theory, the idea of a drop-in/drop-out coop system in Dragon Age 4 sounds somewhat okay, everything else that multiplayer implicates is not okay.  

If this sort of coop system is embedded into the game, then Dragon Age 4 could be an always online game running on servers. If Anthem serves as an example, that means no offline play, long loading screens, and an almost unplayable launch day.

How can Dragon Age 4 follow a live service model, and at the same time appeal to the majority of the single-player fans? That’s not a rhetorical question because I have three approach's BioWare could likely follow:  

The Andromeda Approach

In Mass Effect: Andromeda, Ryder has a small unit called Strike Teams, they act like Inquisition’s war table mechanic where you can send out groups into the world for rewards. However, in Andromeda as a secondary option, the player can actually take over these missions themselves in the multiplayer mode to assume full security over the mission’s succession.  

Dragon Age 4 could have a new war table that enacts live service content. Perhaps you’re given an incentivise to take on side-missions in multiplayer with other people, however, like Andromeda’s method, if you’d rather not, you can just send NPC’s to do the task with a longer time limit.  

The multiplayer mode while connected to the single-player would be a dispatched component. This sounds like the most okay approach for the majority of fans.  

The Anthem Approach

Anthem’s approach follows a single-player hub-based world where many key choices and story scenes can play out. Then once you enter the world, or choose a quest, the player is automatically put into a lobby. While you can play the missions and explore the world solo, you can’t play offline, it’s always online play on servers.  

Hypothetically, if Dragon Age 4 followed this exact approach, the player would have a single-player based hub, like a castle, fort or camp where we could engage with our allies and further the plot. However, when continuing the main missions, or exploring the world, we’d then have to go through a lobby to continue the adventure solo or with friends on always online servers, with no offline play.  

This wouldn’t be a good experience in my opinion.  

The “Ideal” Approach  

My ideal approach to live service is, of course, way too optimistic, but I’m throwing it out there anyways because Ubisoft did it, so that means anyone can do it. I’d love Dragon Age 4’s live service model to follow many post-launch story-based DLC’s adding to the narrative post-launch.  

Perhaps smaller content added monthly like new enemies, quests, areas, etc.  

And larger, story-based content perhaps 3-4 months after launch, and onwards.  

This is exactly what live service should be, the game is kept alive with more quests and story DLC’s giving the game breathe. If done successfully, this could be a live service RPG done right, with more content coming for months.  

Final Thoughts  

I may sound cavalier about the whole live service Dragon Age 4 ordeal, but I trust in the developers and their knowledge of their games and more importantly, their fans.  

This is something I haven’t stopped talking about, but it’s worth reiterating that the BioWare developers are looking with an eye to what the fans love about Dragon Age. The main team working on Dragon Age 4 created the Trespasser DLC, that’s John Epler’s narrative direction, with Patrick Weekes as the Lead Writer.  

Yes, I do get worried when I hear the terms “live service Dragon Age 4”, and “Anthem with Dragons”, but ultimately that’s just unplaced fear. In reality, the BioWare developers know their fanbase more than anyone, and will most certainly cater to our needs for the next Dragon Age game.  

I know this topic is rather baren at the moment, we don’t have a clearer picture of what Dragon Age 4 will look like. We’ve just got to trust the epic developers who’ve been at the studio since Dragon Age: Origins and are working on the next instalment to the best of their ability.

I’m sure we’ll touch on this topic in the future, but for now, let’s just focus on supporting the people creating the next Dragon Age, rather than fear what may or may not transpire in the next game. When we know more about live service, I’ll be sure to have another chat about it with you all then.  

Let me know your thoughts on how BioWare can handle Dragon Age 4’s live service model.  

[attract-mode-collective]

Time To Fly The Coop And Say Goodbye To Tumblr

tl;dr version: Due to technical issues that are finally out of control, I have decided to stop updating the Attract Mode blog on Tumblr. From this point forward, all new posts will be published on Medium.

Here's the address "version 3.0": https://medium.com/attract-mode

And don’t forget "version 2.9 SHIN CE UPPER MAX FOR MATCHING SERVICE": https://twitter.com/attractmode

[UPDATE: 11/17/22] ... Actually, maybe not? Due to the imminent death of Twitter, am looking to maybe revive this blog, not 100% certain.

In the meanwhile, keep this handy, a list of all the other places where Attract Mode can be found: linktr.ee/attractmo.de

Alright, the full story...

Last night (or should I say, earlier this morning) at around 4:00am, after spending nearly NINE HOURS to publish what I consider to be one of the most research-intensive blog posts I've produced in recent memory, I had to throw in the towel.

Fellow longtime users of Tumblr know all too well what a goddamn mess this place has become. The final straw was an image that took (no joke) 30+ attempts to successfully upload. Nowadays, it essentially requires brute force to make changes or additions to a post for it to stick.

Perhaps I was playing with fire, composing something with so many words and so many images, 55 to be exact, all high res. And given how said quirks are not entirely new, I was maybe asking for trouble as well, by stating that said post was "a work in progress"... one that I would constantly update if new information ever materialized.

But after (once again, and I'm not exaggerating) OVER THIRTY ATTEMPTS TO UPLOAD A SINGLE JPEG, which finally stuck... only to realize that it appeared in the wrong spot (due to a bug that I'm all too familiar with, and am usually on the lookout, yet after nine goddamn hours, I let me guard down)... which of course I couldn't fix, I decided to hit that trash icon and finally call it a wrap.

Tomorrow is actually the eight-year anniversary of Attract Mode's "reboot"; it became the Attract Mode Collective and also introduced "version 2" of the blog.  Notice how the post is kinda broken? Well, 2.0 was built with WordPress, and version 2.5 signified the switch to Tumblr. All previous 2.0 posts were translated flawlessly.

Yet as time went on, things began to fall apart. Cory’s custom theme got broken, as did all the legacy content. Oh, also, the Attract Mode Collective is no more; it's just me at this point. Even Adam has moved onto other things, who was gracious enough to offer me the captain's chair; guess this point also allows me to the chance to finally make that public!

As some might recall, there exists a version 3.0 of the blog, found over at Medium, which I had been using mostly as an archival repository. Well, it's now the lead SKU as they say; all new posts will be found there moving forward. Lots of older content as well.

Meanwhile, everything on Tumblr will be staying put, but considering the current status of this platform, especially its projected long-term health, who knows how long that'll be. Hopefully I'll have archived every post by then. A full back-up will eventually be found on my personal homepage, fort90.com, as well.

It's been my plan to do a total overhaul of attractmo.de proper, but with state of things at this moment, it's hard to say when I'll find the time and resources to fully commit. Until then, please be sure to bookmark version 3.0, which includes the post that I wanted to share here, but could not: me tracing the steps, towards the creation of The Flying Luna Clipper.

And don't forget; I spend more time composing tweets than writing blog posts anyway, so please don't mind me blowing off steam. Guess I'm still just pissed about last night. Oh, so have I completely given up on this place? Not quite, there remains countless Tumblrs that contain treasures that you can't find anywhere else! It's thus a shame the powers that be are allowing it to wither on the vine, causing them to disappear as well…

[captainillogical]

Devil’s Ballroom Ch.6

A year after the events from the earth’s final attack, Little Homeworld is finally complete, and there’s a new jazz bar where gems and humans mingle and drink. - As you’re typing back a reply, someone pulls the stool out next to you and takes a seat. You see a sliver of pink out of the corner of your eye as you try not to actually Look. Oh god. It’s her. God can’t help us now.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

(have some tooth rotting fluff ya sluts)

You spend your weekend lazing about the house and playing games with Alex, trying your best to not obsess and overthink everything that happened with Spinel. The both of you agreed to hang out in another 3 days, and you’re really eager for the next couple of days to pass. She didn’t tell you what she wanted to do, so you’ve been waiting on a response for nearly a full day by now. She wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t use her phone much. You try to spend your time concentrating on building your tower in your minecraft server with your friends, when you hear a rustling noise from your headset, indicating Alex was back from grabbing food. You hear him set a bowl down on the desk and he picks his headset back up.

“Ugggghhhhhh.” He starts. “I was gone for like, 5 minutes and some creepers blew out the side wall of my fucking chicken coop..” You hear him chew whatever the fuck he was eating.

“That’s what that was? I thought I heard something in the distance but ignored it. I’m too far away anyway.” You reply. “I’m adding more floors to my tower. Wanna go get me more wood soon? Because I’m starting to run out.” You hear him scoff.

“Why do you always make ME go and get more wood? I wish Harper was here so she could be your supply bitch instead. Do I not look fucking busy here? First of all. I’m eating, Y/N, you brat. Second of all, I’m trying to repair my STUPID CHICKEN COOP. There’s like 60 chickens all LOOSE here and homeless!” He cries. “I have some acacia if you want it, but that’s all I’ve got to spare.”

“Yes, I’d totally love some ugly orange wood to break up all the NICE colors I have going on in here. Fuck off with your acacia.” You say, checking your inventory to see if you even have an axe. You hear your phone chime 2 times, and quickly grab it off your desk to see what it is. It’s just 2 texts from your dad asking you to pick up his prescription from the store. You sigh audibly.

“Whoooooo was that?” You hear Alex say. Nosy bitch.

“Just my dad.” You roll your eyes and say. “Wants me to pick up his prescriptions tomorrow.”

“Why’d you sound so disappointed, then?” He asks, and you can tell he’s up to something. Bastard.

“I’m not disappointed, stop trying to read my emotions.” You say. “You always do this when you think you’re onto something.” “I am onto something!!” He whines. “I can tell you’re hiding something from me, Y/N. You know what happens when you hide things from me? I find out, one way or another.”

“You’ll get nothing out of me, and you won’t find anything.” You say, deadpan.

“HA!!! So there is something.” He says, smug. 

“Okay you little shit,” You sigh into the mic. “It’s literally nothing. Drop it.”

“I bet I can guessssssssss.” He giggles, and you’re considering blowing up the rest of his chicken coop.

“I doubt it.” “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” He says into the mic, obnoxiously.

“Nope.” You say. Desperately trying to steer this elsewhere.

“Isssss it….” He continues, “Maaaaybeeeeeeee…. Spinel?” He asks, his voice pitching in that certain way when he knows he’s fucking right.

God fucking dammit, do you hate your friends. You can’t even hide anything for 2 days.

“No.” You argue.

“You’re a fucking liar Y/N, and I know you’re being difficult on purpose.” 

“Nooooo. Fuck you.” You give up. He’s going to be annoying until you give him what he wants.

“That’s my girl.” He says smugly, and you can hear him chewing again. 

“When you come home, I’m punching you in the face, I swear to god.” You threaten.

“Don’t be cute,” He says. “Side note, by the way, I’m actually coming home this week instead of the end of next week. Some of mom’s clients had to move their appointment forward due to some other things, so we get to go home early this year. I am SO FUCKING READY to be home at this point. Being able to only hang out with my brother blows.”

“Yesss,” You answer. “Now if only Harper got her ass home.”

“For real,” He burps. “Anyway. Back to what I was saying.” You were hoping he’d drop it. “Spinel. The gem. What's the deal with her?"

"Nothing." 

"Really? Because the other night you said otherwise. Did you even get her number?" He asks, accusingly.

"Of course I got her number, I'm not an idiot," You retort, mildly insulted. "She just hasn't texted me since our initial text last night. We made plans to hang out, since she hasn't done much around here, but hasn't given me an update on what she wants to do."

"It's been less than a day. Why does this have your panties in a bunch?" He prys.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you liiiiiike her?" He sings obnoxiously into the mic. You consider hanging up the call for a brief moment, but you know that he'd absolutely call that one a defeat, so you yield. You just sigh, again.

"I don't know. Kind of. She's funny, and sweet, and really easy to talk to. Also she's really pretty." You admit. “I don’t think I’ve got on with anyone that quickly, like ever.”

“Do you seriously have the hots for an alien?” Alex asks, amused. “You can’t judge me!” You yell, slightly miffed. “You think xenomorphs are sexy!”

“THEY’RE JUST SO CURVY, OKAY. AND THOSE TONGUES!!” He wails in reply as you laugh at him.

“I’m just saying! At least she’s fairly normal looking.”

“You mean, humanoid. She’s a gem. Don’t they have weird powers or something?” He ponders out loud.

“Not the point, and besides,” You interject, “I’m not too sure she’s even interested in anything like that, anyway.”

“Like what?” he responds, taking another bite of food.

“You know like.. dating, humans, girls..” You mumble, checking your phone absentmindedly.

“Well, ask her?” He says casually.

“Are you shitting me? No.”

“Pussy. Want me to ask her?” He asks, teasingly.

“Don’t even fucking talk to her.” You scoff. “You will fuck up everything, I’m sure.” Your phone buzzes, and you open the notification to see that it’s a text from Spinel. Oh my god finally.

    Spinel: Sooo, I’ve decided it’s gonna be a surprise. 

    Y/N: That’s unfair!

    Spinel: ;)

“What does that even mean!?” You accidentally say out loud.

“What does what now?” asks Alex immediately.

“Hold on,” You say, and take a screenshot of the text. “Sent you it. This is all I get, apparently. Cryptic. She gives me absolutely no signs.” You hear Alex’s phone ping on the other side, and then him chuckling.

“Yeah, you know what? You can figure this one out yourself, Y/N. You’re smart.”

“I hate you so much right now.” You sigh in frustration.

“And you’re gonna hate me even more, because I just remembered I promised my mother I’d help her with something. Bye!!!” He says and hangs up the call, leaving you sitting there. Ughh, this guy. Whatever, you think to yourself. You have other things to do anyway. 

But not before you blow up his chicken coop.

~

You spend the next two days at work letting the days pass painfully slow, with only the occasional text from Spinel. You’re not exactly overwhelming her with texts as is, as you also don’t want to seem too eager or desperate. So far, you only know that what the two of you are doing is casual, so to dress normal. You don’t even know when, or where the two of you are meeting.

You’re near the end of your shift that went from 6 hours to 10, thanks to Mr. Smiley leaving early and having you close up Funland by yourself. Tomorrow is the day you agreed on with Spinel, and with no answer still, you shoot her another text.

    Y/N: So when and where tomorrow?

You wait for an answer for a few minutes, double checking all the tills you closed in the meantime and wiping a few surfaces down. You hear your phone ping, and you check it.

    Spinel: Is noon good for you? Don’t worry about the where part yet.

    Y/N: You're driving me nuts. Just tell me where we're going.

    Spinel: Nope! ;)

Frustrated and amused, you finish the rest of your closing duties and clock out for the night. You grab your things, lock up, and head home. You spend the rest of the evening playing games with Alex, and have a hard time falling asleep, when you finally get around to it.

You wake up around 11:30 in a panic, completely aware you slept through your alarm. You check your phone, and Spinel's left a message about half an hour ago. You open it.

    Spinel: I'll meet you at your place around 12 ish. Okay?

You quickly type out a reply.

    Y/N: You got it.

You turn your phone's ringer on, and toss it on your bed to go and take a quick shower. You haven't even figured out what to wear. You finish your shower in like 5 minutes flat, towel yourself dry, and blow dry your hair. She said casual, you do casual best anyway, but why does this have you nervous? The fuck is she planning? Why is this secret? You're trying to keep yourself together while sorting through your clean clothes, attempting to find anything that works together. You have pants, and you're deciding between a sweater and some shirt when Jellybean jumps into the laundry pile, and you sigh out loud. 

Get it together, self. You grab the shirt. 

You put on a small bit of makeup - just eyeliner for the most part, and you walk downstairs to lounge on the couch and wait. You’re replying to a couple texts your father has sent you when you hear a knock on your door. You lay there for a moment, nervously, before getting up and heading over to the door. You check the peephole just in case - yep, it’s Spinel. You open the door to greet her.

“Hey,” You say, feigned casualness.

“Hey yourself. Ya ready to go?” She asks, leaning against the doorway. 

“Can I put my shoes on?” You step away from the door for a moment, and grab your sneakers.

“If you think they’re necessary.” She jokes, watching you.

“I could walk around barefoot, but it’s not really in the forecast today.” You lace up your shoes, and look over to Spinel. She’s got her hair up in a ponytail again today, and she’s wearing a light sweater and jeans. The collar is a bit wide, so you have full view of her neck and collarbone. She’s so fucking soft looking that you have to force yourself to stop staring. You also notice that she has a medium sized bag with her, contents completely obscured. She notices you looking at her bag, and moves it behind her shoulder. You think you see her hand shaking, but when you look a little closer it isn’t, so you dismiss it.

“No looking. That’s still a surprise.” She smirks. 

“You’ll have to tell me eventually.” You say, deadpan. You grab your bag from the table next to you, pocket your cell phone, and lock the front door. You turn to look her in the face. “Alright captain, where to?”

“Just follow me. We’re walking today.” She swivels around to face the street, her hair swishing from shoulder to shoulder. Ugh, she’s cute. You hate how easy it is for you to like her. You push down your feelings, and catch up to her side so you’re walking with her.  You pass by a couple houses, the air warm and slightly breezy. 

“So what have you been up to the last couple of days?” You inquire, looking around at the cars passing the two of you by, heat rising off the pavement.

“I fixed the wall that I ruined the other night, but only because Lapis was sending me increasingly threatening texts about it.” She replies, angling her face towards you. You catch her eyeing your hands for some reason, before quickly looking away.

“Yeah she seemed really miffed about it, almost like you committed a personal offense.” You say, laughing. You turn right at a street corner, and notice that you’re heading towards the beach. Hm.

“She can’t complain about it anymore, though, since I did such a nice job on it.” She adjusts the bag on her shoulder, and you hear a few items move against each other, but you can’t discern what exactly. “The diamonds have also been bothering me on my helping them with some homeworld event, but I’m not sure I’m keen on assisting them with it. They have the pearls for that.” 

“What did they want you to do, anyway? Don’t they have like, thousands of gems under their reign to help them with whatever they want?” You feel your hand accidentally brush against Spinel’s twice, and mumble an apology before putting your hand in your pocket. You catch her eyebrows furrowing for a second before she smoothes out her expression. 

“I honestly think they just want me there just to have me there. I don’t think they’re coping well with the fact that I actually want some space.”

“Well, they can calm down. Tell them to fuck off.” You say, joking, for the most part.

“Why don’t YOU tell the diamonds to fuck off, and see how well that works out for you.” She replies to you, grinning. The two of you are walking on the boardwalk now, by the beach. It’s pretty nice out, sun high up in the sky, a couple of fluffy white clouds around.

“I like being alive.” Spinel snorts at that, and you can’t help smiling. You feel like just being around her in general makes a permanent smile take residence on your face. “So. We’re at the beach. Are we having a beach day? I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

“No, we’re not going to the beach,” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “We’re not even done walking, sheesh. Impatient.” You continue to follow her, and soon the two of you are walking the path that leads to the lighthouse by Steven’s house. You have no idea what she wants to do up there, but you shut your mouth and continue to follow. You’re both pretty quiet on the way up, concentrating more on the steep walk than on talking, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s easy, even. 

Once you and Spinel reach the top of the hill, she sets her bag down, and turns to you.

“We’re here.” She’s grinning and looking proud that she made it all the way up here.

“At the lighthouse. You’ve never been here?” You ask, confused. Her face falls, slightly, and you panic. “I’m not saying I didn’t want to come here, it’s nice! I just figured you’d like, I don’t know, want to go bowling?” 

“Steven said I should create better memories for the places I have bad memories attached to.” She says, looking at the ground and not meeting your eyes.

“You have bad memories with the lighthouse? But wh- oh.” The injector. Her arrival. You’re an idiot. “I’m sorry, I’m dense sometimes.” She meets your eyes and gives you a /look/ like somehow, she knows this already. Okay, ow. She bends down and opens her bag, and pulls out a little knit blanket, large enough for two people to sit on.

“So, maybe I’ve wanted to do this since seeing it in a movie I watched 2 weeks ago with Steven and Amethyst..” She trails off while unfolding the blanket and putting it down. She grabs her bag and sets it down on one of the corners, and starts to pull out what looks like 6 containers of food, and a thermos. After setting everything down, she looks up at you just standing there, a bit nervously. “Are you gonna sit down?”

“We’re having a picnic?” You look at her, breaking out into a slow grin. She flushes immediately.

“Don’t make fun of me.” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest, and purposely turns her face away from you. You kneel down next to her.

"How can I not, when you always react so cutely." You tease her, feeling bold. You grab the thermos and examine it, but the contents aren't discernable from the outside.

"Remind me why I chose to do this, willingly?” She turns back to face you, glaring. “Because you liiiiiiike me.” You grin, wiggling your eyebrows at her. She sputters and her entire face reddens, and you laugh. 

“A-anyway,” She grabs two of the food containers, clearly trying to change the subject. “I made some food for the both of us. Steven taught me how to make a couple of basic things, but I didn’t taste test any of them.” 

“Oh, so you can poison us both at the same time?” You grab the container, and it has what looks like potato salad in it. “This looks fine, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.” She leans closer to you and peers into the container, shrugging. 

“I don’t know much about human food so I wasn’t sure if it looked okay. I don’t have a whole lot to go off of.” She grabs two forks and sticks them into the container. “Let me at least open the rest of these before you try that.” She unstacks the others and opens them, setting down sandwiches, pasta, some cut up fruit, some cheese and cured meat, and some cookies. Damn, she outdid herself. You weren’t expecting all of this, or.. any of this, at all really. This was actually pretty well thought-out.

“Spinel. This all looks so good, the hell.” You say, going for one of the sandwiches and taking a bite. Ham, cheese, spinach, tomato, and some mustard? It tastes just fine. “Tastes good, too.”

“Thanks.” She sheepishly pulls out the other sandwich and takes a bite, shrugging. “Kind of hard to ruin a sandwich, though.”

“You know what? I’ll let you find the truth about that on your own. Believe me when I say, you can ruin ANY kind of easy food.” You say, taking another bite.

The two of you eat in silence for a couple minutes, while you gaze out at the sea. This was a good idea. The warm breeze makes your hair tickle your face, and you push some of it behind your ear. You see Spinel staring at you, and turn to make eye contact. She turns away swiftly. Hm.

“So,” You say abruptly, startling her a bit. “I’ve never asked. What’s your favorite color?” She laughs out loud at the sheer banality of the question.

“Hmm, you know,” She pauses and sets her fingers on her chin, thinking. “It used to be pink. Now.. not so much.” 

“Your new favorite color could be like..” You trail off while looking around you, and you spot a couple of small wildflowers nearby. You point them out to her. “Yellow, like that.” She scrunches her nose.

“No, too bright. Maybe I should go for something more cool-toned.” “Don’t you already have a few other colors you like? You know, you can’t just choose a favorite color. You gotta actually like it.” You say to her, eyebrow raised. 

“I like plenty of other colors! I just don’t know yet, I guess. Ask me again in a week.” She replies. “Anyway, you never answered, so.” 

“It’s pink.” You say.

“What?” She says in disbelief.

“Yeah, you know. Like your gem.” You take a couple bites of some pasta. It’s nice and zesty. She’s staring at you like you’ve grown another head. “What?” You say with a mouthful of food. “It’s always been my favorite. Dad used to get me everything in that color.” You think you see her cheeks redden, but you’re too busy eating to really notice. After a few moments, you hear a ringing noise coming from Spinel.

“Huh.” She says, and pulls her phone out of her pocket. You glance at the screen, and it’s Blue Diamond. Spinel stares at the screen for a few brief seconds, and swipes the call away. She pockets her phone again. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood to deal with that.”

“You think she’s calling about needing you over at Homeworld?” You ask her, poking at a few pieces of pineapple. She shakes her head.

“Probably.. maybe. I have no idea, actually. But I’m in a good mood and I don’t want her to ruin it.” “Yeah.. that’s fair.” You chew your food thoughtfully, and stretch your legs out in front of you on the blanket. With the sun above you, and the food settling in your stomach, you honestly just want to lay down and take a nap. “I could call her back if you wanted, and like, I don’t know, tell her off?” You offer, and she laughs.

“I don’t think Blue would take it very well, especially coming from a human, and one she doesn’t know.”

“Offer still stands.” You say. “And besides. She's never met me, so."

"I think it's in your best interest to maybe steer clear from their bad side." 

"You don't think I could take on a couple of aliens!?" You say in mock offense.

"Do you have any special powers I don't know about?" She smirks, and uncaps the thermos. It looks like some sort of soup inside. 

"I have this uncanny ability to make people fall in love with me." You reply as she's taking in a mouthful of soup, and she nearly chokes on it, sputtering. 

"You have got to be the most ridiculous human I have ever met." She says while wiping her mouth, and sets the thermos down in front of her.

“I’d say the same to you, but I’ve spent enough time around Peridot.” At that she laughs super hard, and you grab the thermos and take a small sniff. It’s a homemade chicken soup with some vegetables, which is pretty safe by all means, so you take a sip. It’s probably the best you’ve tasted in a while, honestly. “You know, this is actually really good. Most of the people I know can’t even cook at a basic level like this. And they’re human and need to EAT to survive, which is pretty ironic,” You pause to take another sip. “That a gem is more wife material than most of the humans around here.” You kind of realize what you just said after it came out of your mouth, so you quickly shove some potato salad into your face to hide your embarrassment. You hope she didn’t pay too much attention to that bit at the end.

    You chew your food nervously for a moment, before looking up to meet Spinel’s gaze. Her face is comically blank, like she forced any expression off it, and she’s staring in the general direction of your mouth.

“You’ve got something on your cheek.” She states, and points to the corner of your mouth. You wipe off your face, and give her another look. “It’s still there.” You wipe again and raise your eyebrow at her. “It’s, ugh, let me,” She says in frustration and leans right over into your personal space, swiping the corner of your mouth with her thumb. You feel your face heating up immediately, and mutter a thanks to her. She only leans back slightly, very much still in your personal space, and smirks at you.

“W- what?” You stammer, like a complete fool.

“Nuthin’. You’re just cute when you’re all flustered.” She replies, grinning at you.

“Cute!?” You all but yell in response, and give her a small shove to the side playfully. You guess you caught her completely off-balance, because you just managed to tip her over, and she’s howling in laughter much to your distress. You’re watching her fit of giggles die down as she’s holding her sides, half of her face pressed into the grass. 

    Something deep down kind of clicks in place that you’ve been trying and failing to itch at for months now. Watching Spinel’s gem sparkle in the sunlight as she lays there, catching her breath, you think that maybe, it would be so easy to fall in love with her. And maybe you have already, just a little.

    The two of you spend the next hour or so making various amounts of small talk with the occasional bout of teasing each other, before you agree that it was time to head home. 

    The walk back is nice, and you find yourself cherishing your time with her quite a lot. You don’t really want it to end, but you do have to run a couple errands after this. You turn to Spinel walking beside you.

“Do you wanna hang out again soon?” You ask her. She looks a bit surprised that you asked again, but pleased nonetheless.

“I’d love to.” She smiles. “Do you want me to be the one who chooses what we do again?”

“No, let me choose this time.” “Mmm, yeah, okay.” She bumps your shoulder with hers on purpose, her ponytail swinging lightly.

“Also, you should text me more. I’m going to spam you with pictures of Jellybean, and you’ve got to look at all of them. Otherwise, we’re not friends.” You bump her shoulder back, and she snorts.

“I think I’m getting the hang of human tech, so.. I’ll try my best.” She replies as the two of you pass by a couple of houses leading up to yours. “Today was fun, by the way. So.. thanks for spending time with me.” The both of you walk up to your front door, and you turn to face her.

“Don’t thank me. It was all my idea anyway, and you just went along with it. I’m just happy you agreed to try something new.” You say to her, reaching for your keys. 

“You’ll keep in touch, yeah?” She nervously fiddles with the hem of her shirt, not meeting your eyes.

“I’m gonna text you in twenty minutes. Count on it.” You move to unlock the door, struggling to get the key in the deadbolt. Once you wiggle it enough it unlocks pretty easily. You turn to say goodbye to Spinel, and you feel something soft and warm on your cheek. She pulls away so quickly you barely catch it.

“I’ll see ya soon!” She shouts, already at the end of your driveway, and keeps walking until you can no longer see her.

You stand there with your door open, completely frozen on your porch. You get your shit together after a few moments so the neighbors don’t stare, and head inside. You close the door and lean against it, unable to comprehend what just happened. You pull out your phone to text your friends.

    Y/N: Can one of ya’ll bastards call life alert.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes (Chapter 24)

Welcome! Happy Friday! Kit does in fact Live! Who knew, right? I got the cold of death this week and I swear to GOD I’ve been asleep more than awake. But those who have been keeping up with the family bullshit that has knocked this to biweekly updates and killed my will to write- Cora’s getting a 504 plan so she’s promised the same accommodations she’s getting now from the teacher in the following years. WooHoo! Still some kinks to work out but I *hope* to be writing enough to get this back to weekly updates by the end of March. 

Clint x ofc, Series rating: M, Series warnings: Pretty much every Trigger warning that can exist is in this series at some point.

Masterlist 

Feed me coffee

Chapter warnings: None

Chapter 24: Going Up

The cold nipped at her cheeks and nose. The heavy coat she wore had belonged to Laura and was two sizes too big, at least. Clint had told her Laura had gotten it while she was pregnant with one of the kids. It smelled like the house and nothing more, a fact for which Deanna was beyond thankful for.  

A bitter cold snap had rolled through the area and while Clint had no trouble at all keeping the farmhouse, greenhouse shed and chicken coop warm enough, it did put a damper on their plans. She had made it clear to Clint on the fourth day that she wasn’t prepared to be a mother again. They needed to at least attempt to retrieve Elsa’s mother.  

Because of her unwillingness to wait out the cold spell, Clint made damn sure she wouldn’t suffer from exposure. Strapped to her back, under the heavy coat was Elsa. Her body heat combined with the protection of the coat assured them that the small body would be warm enough.  

Clint had driven them a good ways, circling the city in the distance. He assured her that the paths they were taking would keep them out of sight of any scouts. In truth, he hadn't expected them to have any scouts but it was better to be safe than sorry. Finally, when he had picked a way in, he parked the truck off the road and wedged it under a large pine. The sagging branches helped hide it but there wasn’t much that could be done about the tracks themselves. Trust trotted along, keeping pace at their heels, unconcerned with the cold.  

It was early in the morning, the sun had only began to rise as they started walking. They hiked through the snow for what felt like a lifetime. Clint lead the way and she fallowed in a half asleep daze. There was no sign of another person as far as she could see.

The city loomed in the distance, growing larger with each passing hour. They walked by moonlight alone. Clint didn’t want to use a flashlight and while she understood, Dee didn’t exactly have her feet under her. She wasn’t used to traversing more than her home in the dark. Snow and ice crunched under their feet as Clint guided them along animal trails.

When he reached out and squeezed her glove covered hand with his own, it reassured her. He didn’t expect her to know everything or to be battle ready. He was kind and patient with her even as he urged her forward at a grueling pace.

They walked toward a large building, the largest on the outskirts of the city. She knew what was in store for her, but Dee wasn’t even remotely excited about it.  

The glass windows were broken in on the ground floor and many on the second had been shattered as well. They carefully made their way inside. Clint carried the dog over the sea of broken glass, whispering to himself about having to find or make booties for the pooch to protect his feet in the future. Such care was enduring to Dee. He took such good care of them. She couldn't imagine a life in this new world without him.

“How far up are we going?” Deanna asked. Clint pulled open the door to the stairwell, finally clicking on his flashlight.  

“All the way. I want on the roof.”

She watched as he worked. It was fascinating, the things he looked for to assure their safety. He checked things she didn’t even think of. like dust on the ground or types of trash. As he worked, he whispered a play by play of what he was looking for. He taught her with the hopes that if she ever had to do this alone, she could.  

The flashlight illuminated the landing where undisturbed dust had settled. He shone it under the stairs, checking that no one was hiding out before shining the light up the stairs. Only when he was sure that everything he could see had been untouched for a while, did he start them up the stairs.  

“Never treat a stairwell as the only way up or down.” He whispered as they started on the stairwell leading up to the third floor. “Most of the time there is at least one more stairwell at the other side of the building. If it’s in a corner- you can almost count on there being three more- one in each corner.”

She’d never thought about that. There were so many things she had never even thought of. The thought plagued her. Even if she hadn’t hurt her ankle that day, how long would she have really survived? Would she have embraced a group like this, learned to look the other way to protect herself? Would she have been taken captive by one? Would she have tried to fight back only to end up dead on the side of the road?

How many people were killed by groups like this? She knew what was left of the Avengers team, fractured as they were, were working to restore something resembling order to the east coast. Clint had told her how their hold had spread farther and farther west but until proper order was restored, this was life for who knows how many people.

It was hard not to think about the state of things when all she had to do was climb stair after stair. Her legs burned. She wasn’t in any shape for this, though she expected to be in much more pain than she was in. Her body had become stronger over the last four months and she largely hadn’t noticed it.  

“Has there been any word for New York?” She whiskered, growing tired of listening only to the sound of their boot falls and her racing thoughts. As they reached the fifth floor, they began to feel safer in their solitude. No one was around.  

No one stirred, not even a mouse.

“They’ve located the VP a while ago. He’s something resembling stable now.”

“Stable?”

Clint shrugged. “The decimation- it was hard on everyone. He lost a lot of his friends, parts of his family. For a while it wasn’t looking like he could lead the country.”

“I guess he’s President now?”

“Yep. Rhodes is pretty much in charge of the air force for now. Not sure if he’ll stay in that position as they fill the ranks. Probably, anyway. They’ve put a call on the AM radio stations for any and all military personnel to make their way east. It’s hard to say how many will show up. I guess it’s been a small trickle.”

“That’s good though, right?”  

“Yeah.” Silence spanned for a few moments, broken only by the sound of their boots. “I’m not going though. I told them, I can’t. I won’t.”

“It’s good though, that things are getting figured out. Maybe soon people like King Jacob won’t be a problem anymore.”  

“People like King Jacob and his band of thugs will always be a problem. Always have and always will be.”

It felt like a lifetime before they reached the roof. They stopped, feeding the baby a few floors from the top. She was young enough that being settled close to Dee’s skin was enough to keep her quite. Little Elsa was staying warm and spent much of her time sleeping. When she was awake, Dee hiked her higher on her back and used the hood to shield the small head, allowing hr to look around some. The baby likely mostly had a view of hair, though. It was the thought that counted, right?

As Clint looked over the edge of the roof, Dee sat near the door and played with little Elsa. It was better to see to the child now, while she could than have the baby want attention or need a feeding while they were in a dangerous spot. There wasn’t much she could do to control the timing of a soiled diaper beyond pray that it didn’t make her cry when they needed her silent.  

“Let’s go.”  

Dee must have dozed off with the baby in her arms. Clint’s voice startled her awake. Golden morning sun shone out over them. It wasn’t by much but they didn’t leave in the ‘early morning’ like Clint had said. Just because the clock read ‘AM’ didn't make it ‘morning’ but she hadn’t argued about it. Still, half past two was ‘early morning’ in Clint’s book. It had to be something close to six or so, now.  

Just as everything that goes up must come down, they had to walk down the stairs- one flight at a time. They went faster down, having gravity on their side. Still, she never wanted to look at another stair again in her life. Ever. Clint was going to have to carry her up the stairs of the farmhouse if he wanted her to go back inside it.  

Assuming they both survived.  

She followed him, staying close on his heels as they moved through city streets. Clint didn’t tell her much about the path they took beyond that it was safe. Or rather, pretty safe but that was as safe as anything got when they were off his property. That had to be good enough.  

For a few hours, they trucked through snow as they worked their way deeper into the city using alley ways and working to remain hidden. The sun hung low in the sky still, providing long shadows for them to move through. Still, it was impossible to ignore the way her anxiety climbed right along with the sun.  

She could almost taste the relief when they slipped inside the building Clint had picked out. It was sweeter than any candy she had had. Still, Clint moved them into the building slowly. He thoroughly checked the ground floor, ensuring it was empty before leading them up the first flight of stairs.  

This building was taller than the prior, which was why Clint had picked it. Each flight of stairs was harder than the last to climb and after four flights, it became clear that she needed a break.  

Clint ordered her to wait in the stairwell, of the fifth flight as he checked the floor. She agreed willingly, causing him to worry. They worked little Elsa out of her jacket and made her a bottle of formula. It wouldn’t be warm like it should have been but the water was at body temperature at least, having been stored in an internal side pocket of her coat.  

Once they were settled, Clint started on checking the floor for any sign of use. Some windows were cracked but most were intact, keeping the bitter wind out. Fine dust covered the ground, far more dust than would be expected for how long the building had sat empty.  

He knew what that dust was. People who had been here and been lost. People he had failed. It was a toxic thought and he worked to push it away. Now wasn’t the time to think of the people that the heroes of the world had failed that summer.  

Right now, what mattered most was that he didn’t fail to protect Dee. What mattered was that he did everything within reason to protect Elsa and reunite her with her mother. What mattered was that those who were taking advantage of others were punished.  

He couldn’t find any sign of human life on the floor. Sure, rat activity seemed to be present but he expected that. Rats would be a problem in any city right now. Once he was satisfied that the floor was empty, he set to work barricading the other stairwell doors.  

They would rest. They needed to rest and eat but he would only allow them to do so once he was certain that there was no way to get on or off this floor without him knowing. Only when he was satisfied did he go back to Dee.  

Wordlessly, he ushered her out of the stairwell and into the floor. It was filled with cubicles and desks. The black screens of computers taunted her with the memory of what had been. Dust floated up around their feet as they walked. Clint lead the way to a small office, probably having belonged to the floor manager. The door was closed but the walls were lined with glass windows, giving it a view of the whole floor.  

Inside, there was very little dust. The dust in that office was light and lacked that oddly oily nature that the dust created out of people by the decimation had. When it happened, the room had been empty and the door closed. It was clean.

Dee sat on the floor and set baby Elsa down next to her. As she laid next to the baby, her back popped in places. It felt so good to be off her feet, to have the weight and strain off her legs. Trust laid down next to Elsa, keeping his side touching the small baby, providing her warmth.

Clint left the door to the office open as he sat on the floor next to them. The backpack he carried was large and heavy. It felt amazing to have the weight off his back. Soon, soon they would be in place and he wouldn’t have to keep carrying it for much longer.  

He planned to let them rest for the next hour or two. It wasn’t nearly as much rest as he knew Dee needed but it was as also far more than he wanted to give them. Opening the backpack, he set to work unpacking it. He set a foam bowl out and filled it with water for Trust. The dog had largely been eating mouth fulls of snow as they walked but was eager to get a proper drink anyway.  

On a paper plate, he dumped a can of wet dog food. That excited Trust. With the dog taken care of, he grabbed up the baby and gave her a change. She’d drank most of the bottle that Dee had given her and was now more than content to eat her toes for a while.  

“Is that safe?” Dee asked as he set out a small propane burner designed for camping and lit it.  

“Yes and no.” He answered, setting a small metal pot on and popping open one of their cans of stew and dumping it inside. “You normally use them outside, the fumes build up and are toxic. But the floor is open, the door is open and we won’t be allowing it to burn long enough to put us in danger. The exposure is worth having a hot meal.”

He was right, the meal did much more to help her recover her strength than she had expected. There was still the throbbing ache in her legs and back but she felt significantly less like death. The idea of walking up the rest of the stairs however was still something she had no interest in doing.  

After eating his share, Clint pulled himself to his feet and Dee audibly groaned. “Don’t worry Babe, you don’t have to get up yet.”

“Oh thank god.” Dramatics were on full force as she made a show of sighing and relaxing against the wall. Before, she’d never liked dramatics. She felt that they were pointless and a waste of time but somehow, with him, they felt natural and she often didn’t even realize she was doing it until later. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see what we can see from here.”

“What if someone sees you?”

“We’re too high for most people to see us unless they are looking from another building.”

“And they could be.”

“But unlikely. This lot seems not inclined to climb stairs. No one’s been in this one or the last building. Seems safe enough to assume they likely are not high in the others.”

“Safe enough?” She mocked.

Clint rolled his eyes and made his way toward the windows. While he felt reasonably sure enough of his calculation that he wouldn’t be seen, he wasn’t going to dance naked in front of a window either. “There’s going to be a glare on the glass from the sun anyway. It’ll be hard for anyone to really look for long enough to notice movement.”

“If you say so.”

He did say so. Again and again he told himself that as he peeked down through the glass. Ever calm and sure of himself on the exterior, Dee would never guess that there was a steady river of anxiety running through him.  

He knew she was right. It was dangerous to approach the window. It put him in the  open. He could be spotted. He could be shot. But there was always a risk. He had to weigh that risk against the benefit of information. Right now, he needed information to keep them alive.  

He hadn’t told Dee, but he had caught sight of movement in some buildings as they had made their way to this building. There was only so much he could do to keep them in the shadows but there was a chance that King Jacob’s gang knew that there were outsiders in the town.  

If they were lucky, no one thought anything if a couple walking through the shadows. Should he have told Dee? His mind was at war over it. It wouldn’t do any good to stress her out, to raise her anxiety levels even higher, right? But there was a part of him that knew she couldn’t be prepared to defend herself if she didn’t know there was an additional threat.  

He shook his head and pushed the thoughts away. It was important to focus right now. The binoculars were wedged in his pocket and he had to work a bit to get them out. Even as he worked them free, he kept his eyes trained on the buildings across. There was no movement in them that he could see.  

With the binoculars, he was able to take a closer look. There were clear paths through the snow that gave way what roads were most trafficked. Other roads were untouched by human footprints and mainly filled with animal tracks. People moved down below.

They were dirty people. Some were clearly injured. Most were not dressed for the unusual cold. Small groups gathered around trashcan fires, warming fingers. There was a consistent lack of women and younger children.  

Everyone he could see looked tired, thin and ragged. They were not weathering the winter well. Turning his eyes toward the city center park, it was clear where King Jacob set himself up. There was a stage built and things hanging from rafters.  

Bodies. There were bodies swinging in the wind. One had to be no older than 14.  

King Jacob needed to die.  

~~~~~<3

Tag list: @winterisakiller, @usedtobegoodfriend96, @acoholic-muffin, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki​, @toozmanykids​, @j-u-s-t-4​, @missaphrodite23​, @bambamwolf87​, @nonsensicalobsessions​, @tinchentitri​, @xoxabs88xox​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @carissime72​, @myoxisbroken​, @coyotesongwriting​, @wegingerangelica​, @faemapfae​, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​, @tnystrk-exe​

[txladyj-blog]

This Time Around - Chapter 21

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​ by request of @txladyj-blog​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 26/?

The noise beyond the infirmary door was Carol, who was deliberately making it known that her and Judith were waiting on the porch and didn’t want to barge in on anything. Jess went outside to greet her and in turn, spent a great deal of time giving her a run down of her version of events and an update on Daryl’s condition. She told her about him needing blood and her stepping up to provide it and also added that for now, she wanted to keep that minor detail from him. Her desire to play everything down and keep the dramatics at a low level was with Daryl in mind. The less there was to take in, the easier his recovery would be. They discussed his recovery and the changes that would need to be made, both of them admitting their reluctance to deal with his stubborn complaining. Eventually, Carol convinced an exhausted Jess to head to Aaron and Eric’s place and get some rest and food. Telling her she would sit with Daryl for a while and that Michonne would also be around when her guard shift finished, Jess agreed in the knowledge that he would have someone with him at all times but still had very little desire to leave his side.

From his bed, Daryl could see Jess through the window as she descended the stairs. He wondered when she would be back, not wanting her to spend her every waking moment by his bedside but being unable to deny that he was missing her being near to him already and it had only been 30 minutes since she left the room. He hated the fact that he seemed to be pining, something he thought only lovesick teenagers did. Since when was he so reliant on the presence of another person, let alone a female?

“Hey, you brought Lil’ asskicker” He announced when Carol finally entered the infirmary with Judith pinned to her hip.

“She misses you. She won’t settle for me or Rick much anymore. The only one she listens to is Carl” She said with an air of frustration. Judith was always more complaint with her Uncle Daryl over everyone else, a fact that he felt quietly smug about.

“That true kiddo? You actin up for ya ol’man and Carol?” He asked Judith who immediately decided she was going to act coy and hide in Carol’s shoulder. The change of scenery meant her shy side was activated and she wasn’t sure how to conduct herself when Uncle Daryl looked so different to usual. When Carol lifted her up and planted her on her lap, the child grabbed at Daryl’s hand and played with his fingers.

“How are you?” Carol asked.

“Gettin’ by.” He shrugged. The painkillers were still working their magic but he had done enough Oxy in his time to know that the feeling of contentment was nothing but a visage and soon, it would wear off.

“Jess said you wanted to come home” She mentioned.

“Damn right. Already hate being stuck in here. I know it's gonna be all ‘Don’t do this, drink this, go to sleep’, ain’t good with being told what to do.” He complained.

It was just how Carol expected him to be. It wasn’t in Daryl’s nature to be cooped up with a set of rules to follow. Nor was it like him to let anyone look after him when he was so used to looking out for himself. Her conversation with Jess made it clear that if she had an intention of playing nurse, Jess would soon quash them with her need to see him through his recovery herself. In a way, she was glad, Daryl could be a troublesome patient.

“I knew you’d be pretty mad about that. I got a run down from Jess. She said you’ll be fine with some time and rehabilitation. Sounds positive."

“Guess so. How you doin’ anyways?” He queried with an outright attempt to steer the topic away from himself. Judith was reciting ‘this little piggy’ as she pointed at Daryl’s fingers one by one, her muffle and badly enunciated speech melting into the background as she sang to herself.

“Fine.” She nodded. “Daryl what happened out there?”

There it was, the question he was waiting for. Carol wanted to hear his version for herself and he could have put money on her walking in and ordering him to relay the story from his perspective.

“Ain’t Rick or Jess told ya?” He asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Jess said you got shot trying to save her. Rick said you got shot trying to save Jess.” She relayed impatiently.

“Then that’s what happened.” He grumbled with a shrug

Carol leaned towards him and curled her fingers around his forearm.

“He could have killed you.” She pointed out.

“He was holdin’ a gun to her head, Carol!” He snapped “He was-he was talkin’ all sorts of shit ‘bout how she was a prize find. She just…she looked so fuckin’ scared. I wasn’t gonna let him hurt her. I had to do somethin’.”

Briefly, they both watched Judith, who had taken it upon herself to climb down from Carol’s lap and begin pulling books from a bookshelf. Carol paid her no mind, as long as she was quiet and safe, that was all that mattered. When she turned back to Daryl, he was regarding her with a wary expression.

“You took a bullet for her.” She stated directly. He could always rely on Carol to tell it like it was, no matter how much he didn’t want to hear it sometimes.

“Yeah n’ I’d do it again tomorrow.” Was his equally as clear response.

Carol slowly sat back and half smiled at him. Such a quick confession had come straight from his heart and it only proved what she’d thought all along and she wasn’t about to let it slide this time.

“Are you going to admit that you have feelings for her now?” She wanted to know.

She heard a low growl in his throat as he turned his head away and thudded it back on the pillow. She watched over him, noting the chewing of his lower lip and his shallow breathing. She knew that if she just waited, he would gift her with some kind of answer eventually.

“I don’t know what I feel.” He muttered as he turned back to her “This ain’t never happened to me before.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Judith once more before dragging her chair closer to him, leveling herself with his shoulder.

“Tell me” She coaxed.

Again, Daryl inflicted upon her a long and uncomfortable pause. Highly anxious about being asked such things, he wanted to get up and leave the room, but it was impossible and there was no escape. Accepting his fate, he resigned himself to his only option; surrender.

“She makes me crazy. When she looks at me I just-I ain’t me. I say stuff I would never say to nobody.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head and grumbled under his breath that he didn’t want to talk about it but Carol was not giving up that easily.

“Daryl, just tell me.” She ordered.

“After the party…” He bit his lower lip and sighed, the conflict raging in his mind. He needed another perspective, but at the same time was mortified and confused by the whole thing and felt it best to keep everything to himself. “…ugh, it don’t matter.”

“It does. Once you get this out and talk about it, you’ll feel better. I promise and I’ll never breathe a word to anybody. After everything we’ve been through, you know you can trust me”

Daryl had grown up not needing anyone for anything. He relied on no one but himself and where affairs of the heart were concerned, such rare occurrences were also dealt with alone or not dealt with at all. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he could have used some advice, or at least a listening ear that would take whatever he told her to the grave. She wouldn’t judge and wouldn’t poke fun at him, she wouldn’t get mad or laugh or make him feel like he should know better. It was Carol, his trusted friend and it was about time, after so much trauma that he afforded her the credit she deserved.

“Flirted with her” He mumbled under his breath.

“Well, this is new” she beamed “What did you say?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you that.” He scoffed. Full disclosure was not on the cards and some details needed to remain under wraps.

“Okay. Alright. That’s…that’s good, Daryl.”

“You’re just lovin’ this ain’t ya?” He mumbled.

“Little bit. Not going to lie.” she chuckled “How did she take it?”

“Good. I think. Dunno what got into me. I just kept thinkin’ ‘bout how she liked me before. Y’know, at the quarry? N’ sometimes, when we’re alone she gets all flustered n’ shit. Thought it was my imagination but I don’t think it is. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Ain’t got a clue what I’m lookin’ for here.”

With a wider knowledge of hunting than women, Daryl was in uncharted territory. Dangerous waters that could spell the end of his friendship with Jess if it all went wrong. Like he was walking a tightrope, he had been struggling to find the exact, right words to say to her in case it all blew up and he lost her once more. His desire to dip a toe into the minefield of flirting was most definitely a risky one and he wasn’t even sure if his effort had paid off or if they would simply move forward with no mention of it ever again.

“A lot can happen in the months you were apart. But if you want my opinion, she didn’t want you to know who she was when we first got here because she still felt the same about you. You know what she put up with at the quarry and you weren’t in a position to acknowledge that you actually felt something for her. You couldn’t make it OK for her. She didn’t want to feel like she was being rejected again.” Carol explained. She always had a way of clearing things up and adding clarity to what would usually be jumbled up and frustrated thoughts in his head. Moreover, she was right, Jess had put up with a lot at the quarry and he wasn’t able to be there for her like he should have been. Her hidden identity was a defense mechanism. But did it really mean that she still felt something for him?

“I never meant to do that to her. I’d never hurt her.” He said. “The mornin’ we left for the run, she uh, she wanted to know why I flirted with her... straight up. I wasn’t expectin’ that. Asked me if I was drunk or, if it was the dress she was wearin’. Had no idea how I was s’posed to answer.”

Carol’s face had softened to a small smile that she was holding back a little. Her heart swelled with excitement and happiness for him. She’d wanted this for him for a long time after seeing how much of himself he’d given to keeping the rest of the group safe.

“Was it the dress?” she smirked

“No.”

“She did look good in it.” She pressed.

“Stop it.” He dismissed. She smirked at him again and nudged his arm

“Fine. Wasn’t just the dress.” He admitted. The dress had some sway, he had to admit that much. But the main push he needed to adopt a more flirtatious tone was her blushing around him, her reaction to his compliments and the same, niggling idea that she still liked him as more than a friend.

“Ha. I knew it.” She grinned. “So, what did you tell her?”

“Just that I was sober n’ it wasn’t the dress.”

“I see. Then I think that’s all you needed to say.” She surmised “This is great, Daryl. You deserve this. You deserve to be happy.”

“Don’t get all excited, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen.”

Judith, having covered the floor in books and deciding that none of them quite matched up to the wonders of the book about the dog that Uncle Daryl read to her, was now hanging around Carol’s legs and trying to climb back up onto her lap. She reached down and scooped up the child, who nestled into the crook of her arm and yawned.

“Are you happy?” Carol asked in a serious tone.

It was nowhere near the linear question that it presented itself as and as far back as he could remember, Daryl wasn’t sure if he could ever pinpoint a time when he was truly happy or if he even knew what happiness was. But Jess stirred something in him and he had a burning desire to be near her. When she smiled, he smiled. Her laugh was addictive and her sense of humor gelled well with his own. He liked how she was her own person and had become independent while still retaining the vulnerability that made him want to protect her. Was he completely happy? He couldn’t say. But there was one thing he was sure of.

“M’happy when I’m with her.”

 ~ ~ ~ 

Aaron was talking himself hoarse as Jess darted around his spare room, collecting clothes and ignoring his pleas for her to just stop and get some decent sleep. He promised to wake her, to go and get an update to be relayed upon her waking up and even offered to go to the fairground and get more of her clothes. But all of his kind offers were declined. As soon as Jess stepped foot on the grass verge outside the infirmary, she just wanted to turn back and return to her bedside vigil.

Racing down the stairs, Jess flung her backpack over her shoulder and reached out for the door handle. Aaron positioned himself in between her and her escape route, defiant and bordering on angry. He tugged the bag from her shoulder and dropped it by the door before placing his hands on her weary shoulders and steering her towards the kitchen. Jess didn’t have the energy to put up any kind of a fight and simply let Aaron guide her into another room, where there was spaghetti on the stove and the smell wafted through the room, tempting her stomach into a loud rumble.

Given the information that Eric was on Guard duty and Aaron would be alone for most of the night, Jess halfheartedly sank down onto a dining chair and pushed her food around the plate while re-visiting the events of the past few hours from the beginning in order to answer some of Aaron’s questions. When, on the timeline of events, she reached the real reason why she was so physically drained, she explained that she had been the one to donate blood to replace what Daryl had lost. Aaron expressed that it was a noble and selfless thing to do and that when she did decide to tell Daryl, he was sure he would be eternally grateful. Then. She fell silent and took a sip of her red wine.

“Jess?”

“Mm?” She hummed into her glass before she looked across the table at the kind man she now thought of as her friend.

“You’re supposed to eat that” He remarked with a nudge of his head towards her uneaten food. The steam it emitted when it was first placed on the table was now gone and Aaron was sure Jess was sitting in front of a stone cold plate of pasta.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t stop thinking…what if? Y’know?” She mused.

Aaron thudded his cutlery onto the wooden table and leaned forwards with his arms braced either side of his pasta bowl. From across the table, Jess peered at him sadly.

“Listen to me, ‘what if’ will drive you insane. ‘what if’ does not matter.” He said firmly “What matters is that he’s inside the walls, under the care of a doctor and he’s going to be fine.”

His words made perfect sense but the battle of wills between emotion and logic was a tricky one, especially when she was so tired her bones were weary and her thoughts were jumbled, like a hundred people all talking at once.

“He could have died. Because of me.” She whispered.

“Stop this!” Aaron cried, slamming a hand on the table and making her flinch with the noise. “Please, Jess. I don’t like seeing you like this. You are exhausted.”

“I just want to be with him.” He heard her say under her breath.

Rising to his feet, he rounded the table and dragged out the chair next to her. He settled sideways to enable him to see her face clearly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Okay. Um, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think about it before you answer me because it’s important.” He warned, noticing her side glance nervously at him.

“Okay.” She croaked.

“Are you in love with him?”

Jess began to reply without thinking, ignoring Aarons request and diving straight into her default response.

“Huh. No” She scoffed “I mean…I care about him. Sure. I think about him a lot so I’m going to care, right? Do I have loving feelings for him...? Yeah. I suppose I do. Do I love him?” She stared at the top of her wine glass where her finger was poised. Aaron could almost see the cogs turning in her head. She took her hand away from the glass and covered her mouth with it. “Oh my god” She breathed from behind it as her eyes lift to Aaron’s face. She gradually lowered her hand and it juddered in the air as she connected the dots.

“I-I’m in love with Daryl.” She uttered.

“I know, Jess. I know.” Aaron sighed. 

 ~ ~ ~

Denise was as firm a doctor as she could be, having worked as a psychiatrist with many varied and difficult clients, she was well versed in the art of saying no and sticking to it. For three hours she had kept up her strong stance and maintained that if Daryl was to remain infection-free and on the mend, he must stay within the walls of the infirmary, where medications and equipment were at hand and she was a knock on a door away should she be needed.

But Daryl was intolerable when he had a bee in his bonnet and argued relentlessly until Denise could take no more and almost told Jess that she would pay her in shampoo and conditioner to take him away so she could get some peace. Finally getting his own way, Daryl accepted that he had to have twice daily check ins from the doctor and start physiotherapy as soon as his wound was properly healed. He was also told that he would need to agree to help from other people and that refraining from putting any pressure on his leg for two weeks would mean he needed constant help to move around.

 It was late, the streets were dark and the night guard shift had commenced. Across the still and silent streets, Rick and Jess wheeled Daryl across the road on his infirmary bed and halted on the other side. Jess handed him some crutches and when Denise hovered nearby and asked if he needed a tutorial, he waved her off in annoyance and demanded that he could do it without any help. Jess was glad he’d been re-dosed with pain meds half an hour before, because the thought of the agony that came with him shuffling from the wheeled bed and onto the crutches with only one working leg made her wince.

It took him a while, but with grit and determination, a few choice swear words at everyone present who tried to encourage him and a lucky amount of upper body strength, Daryl successfully managed to get himself into the house and up the stairs. Halfway up the staircase, he tossed the crutches to the top and used his arms to hoist himself the rest of the way up, under the watchful eyes of Rick and Michonne. Jess, who was in the kitchen with Denise, decided she couldn’t watch anymore no matter how much shameless gawking she could do at his arms. Instead, she opted to be the one to go through Daryl’s recovery plan and medications with Denise and Carol.

Jess’s attention was soon caught by Michonne who descended the stairs and sighed loudly, shaking her head and vanishing into the living room. She was closely followed by Rick, who wandered into the kitchen and swapped places with Carol after she announced she was going to take his meds to him and make sure there was nothing in his room that he could trip over. Denise wished everyone luck, knowing they’d need it if the last three hours she’d endured was anything to go by, and abruptly left the house.

Rick perched on a stool at the kitchen island across from Jess while she squinted at the label on a bottle of wine, tempted to neck the entire thing even though she wasn't much of a drinker.

“He should have stayed where Denise could keep an eye on him.” He said wearily. “He’s such a pain in the a-”

“Oh, believe me, I am not expecting an easy time. Denise warned me that all he does is complain.” Jess conveyed, pushing her lips into a thin line. “If it’s OK with you, I was going to stay the night, so I’m here if he needs anything.”

Rick picked up a jug of orange juice from the space between them and poured himself a glass, downing the whole thing as Jess watched on, sliding the wine bottle back onto the counter and pushing it away. 

“Of course, you can stay, but you don’t have to. We can handle him between us” He told her.

“I know. I want to.” She stated plainly.

He placed his glass on the counter top and studied her face. He still wore his gun holster at his waist and his brown, curled hair hung loosely over his forehead.

“This wasn’t your fault, Jess.” He assured her.

“It’s not about that” She shook her head before reaching over to the orange juice. Rick suddenly remembered his manners and poured her a glass of her own, pushing it across the marble to her. “I know he’s a miserable bastard right now, but I care about him.”

“Alright. Just don’t expect him to like the idea.” He smiled.

“I can handle Mr. Grumpy.” She chuckled.

“Yeah, you can probably deal with him better than I can,” he remarked, getting up and passing her. He paused to squeeze her shoulder “Are you ok? After what happened?”

“Mmhmm. Was pretty scary but it could have been a lot worse.” She mused.

“You did good, Jess. What you had to do, that was tough. We uh, we won’t talk about how you made the guy suffer first” he mentioned with a light pat on her shoulder.

Jess grinned and giggled slightly, feeling a hint of guilt for finding such a comment to be amusing considering it was referring to the man she’d murdered. “Thanks, sheriff.”

“I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow. Unless you’re um, going to sleep next to Daryl?” He asked tentatively.

“I’ll take some blankets. Thanks” She replied, opting for the less awkward option and telling herself that even though it was quite apparent that Rick had an idea there may be something more to her friendship with Daryl, she wasn’t about to encourage addressing the elephant in the room.

 =-=-=-=-=-=

Climbing the stairs of the house which was commonly known across the town as the ‘Grimes Home’ due to it being occupied by the three remaining members of the Grimes family, Jess waddled from side to side, balancing precariously on each, shiny step with her arms full of blankets and pillows. Picture frames adorned the walls depicting a family that were no more, ghosts of a time that once was, before the turn and before the house became a haven for a new family. Jess watched their happy faces fade past her as she climbed the stairs, hoping that one day, someone would replace the photos with happy pictures of Judith and Carl.

Unsurprisingly, Daryl’s room was at the end of the hall, away from everyone else’s and when she reached the closed door she didn’t even bother to knock. It wasn’t like he’d be anywhere else but laid up on the bed with scowl on his face anyway. Bustling through the door and getting blankets caught around the handle, Jess quietly cursed to herself and entered the room, dropping her haul onto the end of the bed as lightly as she could.

It was a typical suburban teenagers’ room. The bookshelf was still stocked and the walls boasted the remnants of band posters. Daryl had done little to make the place his own, his crossbow rested on the dresser and his vest was thrown across the back of a chair. On the top of a chest of drawers was evidence of bolt carving and partially made fishing floats. Feathers, pieces of wood and tools littered the surface. These were the only elements in the room that told her that he lived there now.

“What are ya doin? What’s this?” Daryl’s voice startled her; she had expected him to be sleeping due to the number of painkillers he was on. But there he was, sitting up with the covers drawn up to his waist. He was wearing a black vest and his hair was tousled, as if he’d tried to sleep but had given up. He was scowling at her.

“Ugh, lord.” Jess scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “I hoped you’d be asleep so I could avoid all your whining.”

“I don’t sleep much. What’s goin’ on?” He enquired.

Accepting that she may well have a fight on her hands, Jess grabbed a pillow from the top of the pile and clutched it in both hands.

“I brought you an extra pillow and I’m staying with you tonight.” She told him, throwing the pillow at him. He battled it away before it hit him and he collected it from the mattress at his side, tucking it behind his shoulders and settling back against it.

“No. No ya ain’t.” He said firmly while pointing at her. 

“You don’t have a say in this so don’t waste your breath.” Jess warned while the unfolded the blankets and began laying them on the floor next to the bed. Daryl’s hands rose before falling back to the bed in frustration.

“I’m fine, Jess!” He exclaimed. Jess whirled around with fire in her eyes.

“Daryl. Shut up!” she commanded “I’ll sleep on the floor in case you need anything”

“Don’t talk shit. Go home. I’ll be fine. Don’t exactly live alone” He continued.

Jess’s temper was beginning to rise but she bit her tongue and tried to remain composed and in control. He was so determined to be as independent as possible, that he would only end up doing himself more harm than good. Jess was aware of Daryl’s need to refrain from asking for or accepting any help, but this was an argument he was not going to win.

“Give it up. I’m staying.” She shrugged before sinking to the floor beside the bed and fluffing her pillow. "If you want me to leave, then you're going to have to kick me out yourself...and you can't do that right now."

It wasn’t that Daryl didn’t want her company. Under normal circumstances, he would have found a reason to be near her, to go on a run with her, to swing by Aaron and Eric’s in case she was there or he would deliberately cross over into her hunting territory. But having her see him incapacitated was not something he liked the idea of. Nevertheless, she had made it crystal clear that she was going nowhere and no matter how many irate sighs that escaped him or how many times she glowered at her, she was staying put.

“Fine. Stubborn ass woman.” He muttered.

She scanned the books on the shelf beside her, most of them teenage romance novels left from the previous occupants. It would do as something to pass the time and harked back to the many romance books she used to read as a teenager herself. In fact, whoever used the room before Daryl didn’t have such terrible taste in literature at all.

She selected a title referring to some kind of predictable and inevitable unity between a bad boy and a plain girl and figured it would make for some easy night-time reading. She didn’t know what time it was, just that it was late. The muffled footsteps of the rest of the house were padding about beyond the door on their way to bed and her body was almost as weary as it had been in the first few days of her setting out alone from the quarry.

Her eyes grazed over the first few words and her mind wandered. She was being watched and she could sense it without even looking up from the page. It was as plain as day that her temporary room mate was studying her from his spot up on the bed. She detected a small sigh, laced with the quietest of conflicted, raspy growls.

“Get up here” She heard him say.

“What?” She queried with both eyebrows raised innocently. Having no plans to move, and no intention of sleeping anywhere near him, confusion swept across her face and she slowly turned her head to see him peering at her with a mildly annoyed expression.

“If ya gonna stay at least sleep on a bed. There’s enough room for the both of us. Get up here” He ordered.

Jess hesitated. This was a new level of boundary pushing and one she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with. It would mean mere inches of space between them and a palpable silence for hours throughout the night during which time she was very likely to just lay there, mulling over the same thought.

I’m sharing a bed with Daryl.

“Are you sure? That’s not weird for you?” She asked.

“No. It ain’t. I’ma change my damn mind if ya keep askin’ questions” he complained.

The more she considered it, the more enticing the idea was. After all, it was a good opportunity to indulge a little in secret and after everything they’d been through, her having murdered someone and offering up her blood to aid Daryl’s recovery, she figured she’d earned it. As long as it wasn’t so strange that her insecurities and naturally awkward nature around a person so attractive forced her to ruin everything.

“OK, OK.” She agreed, attempting to sound as though it was more a chore than anything else. She got to her feet, kicked off her boots and lay back on top of the covers, dragging a blanket from the floor across her legs. Opening her book, she started to read from the first word again but her concentration was nowhere to be found. Her eyes looked over the words but nothing sank in. Before long, she sensed the familiar feeling of being watched, once more.

Daryl hated the idea of her putting herself out for him. Her staying with him was bad enough and if he was going to be forced to endure her seeing him in such a state, he just wanted her to feel restful and secure and as she read by his side, she undoubtedly was not either of those things. He rubbed at his face with one hand, wondering how he should proceed with coaxing her to relax a little more. Then, he noticed the pimpled texture of her skin. Goosepimples, she was cold.

“You’re cold, just get under the covers.” He suggested.

A rush of apprehension and nervousness settled in Jess’s stomach and for a moment, she thought that whatever the story line in her book depicted, her real-life situation was unraveling at an alarmingly more rapid rate.

Pity this doesn’t end like the book does.

“I’m fine, really.” She assured him with a small smile. But he refused to stop glaring at her and she wondered why. She was sure that she would have given just about anything to be able to hear his thoughts at that precise moment.

“Ya know I ain’t gonna touch ya or nothin’, right?” He expressed.

Jess dropped the book in her lap and gawped at him, her expression shocked and saddened. Why would he ever think that such a thing would cross her mind? There were plenty of people she could have expected such behavior from but Daryl was the safest and most protective person she could have been with in that moment and the fact that he’d even pondered something so ridiculous deeply concerned her.

“Why would you even say that?” She questioned at the same time as turning her body and laying on her side, now facing him completely to show that she was not afraid to address the huge issue he’d just brought up.

“Guess I don’t want ya to think I’m like that.” He reasoned. “I aint no asshole. Would never touch ya. Unless ya… wanted me to or somethin’. I dunno. Shit. Just-just forget I said anythin’.”

Good job, jackass. He thought. Stop fuckin’ talkin’.

Jess’s face dropped and her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy. It wasn’t something she could honestly say had ever crossed her mind. Not even once. She didn’t need to be told he wasn’t a creep, or entitled, or disrespectful towards her in the slightest. She just knew. The one thing that stunned her even more than the notion that he would ever touch her in that way, was the mention that he quite possibly would if she wanted him to. She had no idea what to make of such a statement and her hands began to fidget at the tricky subject matter. Was this true? There was the distinct possibility that the painkillers were playing a part in his loose tongue and she dared to hope that it was fueled by anything more than that.

“OK” She started with a deep breath “Listen to me.” As she spoke, she braved holding eye contact with him. The importance of her answer meant he had to know she was sincere. “I would never, ever think that of you. I feel safer with you than I do with anybody else. Of course, I know that you would never do that to me. I’m actually kinda sad that you felt the need to tell me that.”

Daryl was nibbling on his thumb, hiding his true expression behind his hand and searching his brain for a response that wouldn’t make the situation worse. He dropped his hand and looked down into his lap.

“Ain’t much trust associated with bein’ a Dixon.” He mentioned. “I never had a friend like you neither. ‘Specially female. They just tend to assume shit about guys like me.”

“Oh my god.” Jess groaned, sliding onto her back and down the bed until her head was on the pillow and her hands were covering her face. “You are breaking my heart here. Stop it!” She cried. Taking her hands away, she noted his nervous demeanor and wondered where the hell this was all coming from. It was highly unusual for Daryl to talk about something so personal, let alone be the one to bring it up. Sitting up again, she ran a hand through her hair and blew the loose side strands up into the air with an exhalation.

“I trust you. You believe me when I say that, don’t you?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t ever want you to bring this up again.”

“K” he grunted. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She scoffed. Quiet fell around them with neither one knowing how to change the atmosphere to a more tolerable one. Jess thought humor may well have been the only way and so, opened her mouth without thinking.

“At least I know you would if I wanted you to. Lucky me.”

Daryl, who wasn’t expecting to have to deal directly with his revealing and potentially dangerous comment, did something he didn’t normally do. He panicked.

“I didn’t mean that I-well, well I did. I-I just-If ya wanted…Y’know what? Never mind.”

“Yeah, never mind” She echoed stiffly.

“It’s the Oxy. I don’t really know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout here. My head’s fucked.” He lied.

“It’s fine. Let’s just brush that one under the rug.” She offered, much to his relief at the escalating horror rising in his chest. As he quelled the uneasiness and irritation at himself, he noticed Jess wriggle under the top cover, leaving the barrier of a sheet between them. A decent compromise, he concluded.

She lay on her side again, this time with her book on the bed between them. Her fingers pulled up the pages, fanning the edges over and over and creating a light flickering sound.

“There is something I wanted to say to you” She murmured. “While we’re sharing.”

“What’s that?” He inquired, worried that he would be faced with yet another conversation that was going to make him squirm.

Jess’s eyes crept along his bare arm, lit by the flickering glow of two lanterns either side of the bed. He was inches from her face and she resisted the temptation to trace her fingertips along his skin, down over his bicep to his forearm. The thought almost made her drool and she turned her attention back to what she wanted to say.

“I’m glad you saved me and all. Thank you for that. But it’s time someone told you that you need to take care of you.” She said.

Daryl hesitated, taking in her words and trying to remember a time when there was ever anyone that openly cared as much about him as Jess did. He couldn’t think of anything, because there wasn’t one. No one had ever cared like she did and the feeling was unfamiliar and strange.

“I’m fine, Jess.” He mumbled.

She pulled herself further up, forcing him to turn his head and look her in the eye.

“No, you’re not. You have a gunshot wound that could have been a lot worse and furthermore, if you don’t take care of you, think of all the people around here that need you and won’t have you. Like Judith and Carl and…and me.” She explained.

The corner of his mouth curled up and she was surprised to find him smirking at her.

“Did you just say ‘furthermore’?” He questioned in amusement. "The fuck is that?"

“Forget it. Get yourself killed. See if I care.” She bit back. Dismayed by him making a joke of what was supposed to be a genuine plea for him to at least try and place some value on his own life.

“Alright. Sorry. I get it...” He backtracked after sensing her downtrodden reaction. “…I do. But I’d still take another bullet for you tomorrow.”

It was a declaration that Jess never anticipated to get from anyone, let alone the man she had fallen for. The insistence that he would indeed put himself in death's grasp to ensure her safety. Never before had she met someone so selfless and courageous and while she was touched and inwardly emotional at the thought, on the outside she sighed with exasperation and closed her eyes briefly.

“Daryyyyl” She groaned.

She opened her eyes when she felt him touch her hand. He covered her fingers with his own to garner attention and once he had it, he quickly moved away. Peering down at her and holding her gaze, he wanted her to see it from his perspective.

“Look me in the eye n’ tell you wouldn’t do the same.” He challenged.

It was an intense moment, charged with so many unsaid things that Daryl swallowed hard and pondered over what else he could say and blame on the Oxy. But without the knowledge that she would undeniably feel the same way about him, he was not going to risk losing what he deemed to be a rare and precious connection that he never thought he would be lucky enough to have.

“Only for you.” She whispered.

Because I love you.

Then, he knew she understood his motives and reasons for doing what he did. She cared just as much as he did but it didn’t mean he would ever let her take bullets for him or even experience so much as a scratch. To him, she was a person so valuable that the prospect of losing her didn’t bare thinking about.

“Think we have an understandin’.” He concluded.

“No. I don’t like this. I don’t want to not have you around” She argued.

“Good thing you’re hangin’ round here like a bad smell then, aint it?” He commented, trying to lighten the mood by poking fun at her.

Jess could only offer up a forced huff of amusement as she looked over at his nightstand which was now home to a pile of wound dressings. There it was again. The ‘what if’ train of thought that Aaron warned her would drive her crazy. What if he’d been killed? What if she had to carry on without him?

“Jess, I ain’t goin nowhere.” He said seriously. She looked up at him and he realized that her eyes were bloodshot. A single tear raced down her cheek and she sniffed and tried to force it away. He reached out and wiped the dampness away from under her eye with his thumb. Her cheek tingled and she very nearly said it. It was on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be freed. The six little words that would change everything. But her heart on her sleeve would only destroy it all. 

I am in love with you.

“You’re tired. Go to sleep.” He cooed at her.

She nodded and snuggled down next to him. It was all she could do to hide her desire to just kiss him and explain it away afterwards. In the light of the lantern on the nightstand, he focused on her hand by his side and licked his lips as he toyed with the idea of holding it. He wondered what her reaction would be and decided to brave it, lacing his fingers with hers. She didn’t pull away and gently gripped onto him instead. After a few minutes, he thought her to be drifting off to sleep, but what he couldn’t see was that she was staring at her hand intertwined with his, a small smile on her face and a feeling of some kind of subtle triumph in her heart.

=-=-=-=-=

It was the birds that woke her. A sound she didn’t hear as much now the world was decaying. She didn’t know if it was food being scarce or migration, but there were fewer birds around than usual and so, their melodic chirping from the roof of the house was a pleasant and relaxing way to wake from what had been a deep slumber. Her eyes were heavy and her limbs felt like they were made from cement as her body slowly woke up. A soft, cushioned surface under her cheek warmed the side of her face and she snuggled against it, emitting a contented sigh.

It was a first for Daryl. He peered down at the sleepy form of Jess, nuzzled against his bare arm with a hand draped over his wrist and thought that he could maybe get used to it. Waking up next to a pretty girl sleeping on him was certainly a nicer way to start the day, if only his leg wasn’t screaming with pain. He inhaled slowly, forcing his mind away from the agony and focusing instead on Jess and her dark eyelashes and the subtle pink of her lips.

Jess wasn’t sure if she’d ever moved as fast in her entire life than she did when she opened her eyes and realized she’d been sleeping nestled onto Daryl’s arm. On the one hand, she was truly horrified and on the other, slightly smug that she’d managed to cop a feel, albeit unintentionally. She sprang up, blinked rapidly and crawled away from him, bringing her legs up and sitting back against the headboard.

“Oh, Uh. I’m sorry. I don't know how I ended up…there.” She stammered upon noticing he was awake.

“S’alright. Mornin’.” He greeted, aware of her discomfort and watching her run her hands through her hair and adjust her T-shirt. She glanced down at his arm where a fading, pink mark had occurred from her using him as a pillow.

“Did I, did I drool?” She asked.

“Nah. Ya snore though.” He said casually, biting his lower lip and stifling a grin.

“I do?! Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I-” She rambled.

“-I’m kidding.” He interrupted with a snort of laughter.

“Oh.” Was her grunted reply while she felt the panic in her chest begin to disappear.

Daryl lifted a hand and gently smoothed a thumb over the damp skin below her bottom lip, seeing her freeze and her eyes widen.

That’s the second time he’s touched me like that.

“Ya did drool. A little” he told her.

“Oh god” She groaned covering her rapidly reddening face with her hands. She could hear his gruff chuckle from beside her and hazarded lowering her hands. She was met with a wide grin, one that she would happily look at for the rest of her days. Something happened to him when he smiled. Maybe it was because it was rare and that it was only really her that he gifted with such a sight, but she thought that in those quick moments he looked genuinely happy and she could only hope that she was even a part of the reason why.

“Stop laughing.” She complained, playfully slapping at his hand. “Jerk.”

 =-=-=-=-=

The ten days after Daryl gaining a hole in his leg and the feeling of being imprisoned behind the walls of Alexandria, his relationship with Jess remained the one thing that provided him with some means of escapism. Her kindness and devotion to his recovery only built up his feelings for her to a powerful level and he had become more sure than ever that if he ever got a sign that she saw him the same way, beyond any reasonable doubt, he would take the opportunity to act on his feelings. 

But all he could do was hope and admire her while she ignored his requests for her to take some time out and look after herself. She brought him food, administered his meds and helped him to and from the bathroom when Carol and Carl were not around. Jess’s absence during the mornings was noticed by Deanna, who quickly tasked Michonne with security cover and compiled a hunting team from the other residents to ensure that food didn’t become an issue. Rick was determined to find the rest of the group that Daryl’s assailant was from and along with Glenn and a couple of the others, had been away for days, scouring the woods and abandoned buildings for anything that would lead them to discovering how much risk such a group posed.

For four nights Jess slept by Daryl’s side, careful not to end up drooling on his arm again. Her days were spent playing cards with him and discussing a wide range of topics, some of which Daryl wasn’t even aware he had an opinion on. But Jess had a knack for that; revealing things about him that he would never have previously discovered himself. It took some adjusting to let her take care of him, but she brought the best out in him and despite his sometimes low and snappy mood at being trapped in the house, he was never rude or ungrateful to her.

Denise checked in regularly and gave Daryl the all clear for any infections in his gunshot wound. Her next step was to enlist everyone to persuade him that he needed to take it easy and practice some physiotherapy to aid his recovery. Believing that he just needed to be allowed outside to carry on doing what he always did, Daryl did nothing but complain about being useless sitting around all day.

When Jess was sleeping or out of the house for some reason, Carol tried her best to ease him into the idea of doing just a few of the exercises in the book that Denise had left him. Every time, she was met with a gruff dismissal, usually coupled with a cuss laden mumbling about how it wasn’t going to work anyway.

One evening, when Jess had finished up a meal kindly cooked for her by Aaron and Eric, who were consistent in offering her their spare room, use of the shower and many meals since Daryl had been shot, she arrived at the Grimes home to find a grumpy looking Daryl perched on the edge of his bed wearing black sweatpants and a sleeveless, black button down on which he’d neglected to fasten the top two buttons. Jess rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she thought he could hear the thoughts that traveled through her head and liked to play on the fact that she couldn’t look at him without going weak at the knees.

“Carol said you refused to do your physio.” She said, dropping her bag in the corner of the room and sliding a physiotherapy book from the dresser. “Your leg will seize up if you don’t and you’ll be hopping around like a cripple for a hell of a lot longer than you would if you’d just humor us and do as your fucking told.”

It was a new thing he’d discovered about her. She didn’t suffer fools and quickly became stern with him if he dared to argue with her about anything to do with his recovery. He could tell she genuinely cared and as a result, she would shoot him down and put him in his place without so much as a blink. He couldn’t deny that a part of him liked her pushy nature when she was tested and he would have gone as far as to say he’d met his match.

“Fine” He grumbled. “But this ain’t gonna do nothin’.”

She moved closer to him, offering him her arm to help him stand. He accepted it and she eased him to his feet. He was able to apply a certain amount of weight on his injured leg which was a good start and Jess was sure that the more he complied and just listened to Denise’s advice, the quicker he would be back to his normal self.

“It will, that’s what it says in the book.” She countered.

“Fuck the book.” He snapped.

“For god sakes, Daryl! Stop acting like a damn kid and just do it!” She cried, tugging on his arm and guiding him over to the wall. He hobbled along beside her and risked a couple of glances at her face. Her jaw was pulled tight in annoyance and he knew that she was likely to get pretty mad at him if he didn’t give in.

Allowing her to help him balance on his good leg and hold onto the wall, she talked him through quadriceps stretches as per the instructions in the book and stood close by, with her hands hovering around him in case he lost his footing while he put it into practice.

“OK, good. That’s good. A little higher. Great.” She encouraged.

Obviously in pain, he grit his teeth and Jess could see sweat emerging on his forehead. Once he’d completed one exercise, she helped him through the rest, sometimes having to take his weight or help him to the floor and up again. He very reluctantly accepted her aid and tried to ignore the warmth of her body against his and had no idea that she was thinking the exact same thing. She counted him through each movement and when she tried to let go of his hand once he was sitting safely back on the bed. He held onto her and stared at her.

“Ya ain’t gotta do this with me.” He said.

Jess sank down onto the bed beside him, squeezed his hand slightly and let go.

“I knew you’d start this at some point. I’m not going anywhere. I know you, you won’t do your physiotherapy otherwise” She explained.

“Look, just get Carol to rat me out if I don’t. You don’t need to be here everyday” He told her.

Her heart fluttered with a flicker of sadness. She shoved away the notion that he was sick of the sight of her away and told herself that she was assuming the worst without having the facts. She smiled slightly and held his gaze. Despite his injury, she liked seeing him in this environment. In his room, in his sweatpants and not covered in dirt and toting a crossbow for a change. Not many people got to see him like that and she was grateful that he trusted her enough to let her be there for him.

“Do you want me to leave?” She asked.

“Naw. Not at all. Just don’t want ya wastin’ ya time stuck here with me every day” He expressed.

Glad that she’d not reacted too hastily, Jess nodded and brushed a few strands of hair from in front of his eye. She liked his eyes and being able to see them had revealed a lot more about him over the course of the two weeks she’d been spending so much time with him. More than anything, she’d learned that he said so much with his eyes without having to actually say any words at all.

“Time enjoyed is not time wasted.” She smiled.

“Enjoyed? Tryin’ to tell me you enjoy this? I wasn’t born yesterday, Jess.” He protested.

“I enjoy your company, you grouchy bastard” She replied, leaning towards him and nudging his shoulder with hers.

He gave her a thoughtful smile, his eyes scanning her features until she retrieved a small towel from the bed behind him and wiped his sweaty brow for him. He briefly closed his eyes and simply enjoyed having her tend to him, thinking that if someone was to explain to him two years back that he would be so taken in by the pretty nerd he’d met in a quarry at the end of the world and for the first time would have feelings that went way beyond friendship, he would have laughed in their face.

“Thanks” he mumbled quietly.

“I’ll put it on the tab.” She commented.

“Tab?”

“Your ‘reasons I have to be nice to Jess’ tab.”

“C’mon, like I need reasons.” He admitted. He didn’t, being nice to her was as natural as breathing. She didn’t grate on him like most people did, she didn’t make him feel suffocated or cast out or like he just didn’t belong. When he was with her, he did belong and he was sure that she belonged right by his side too. If it was as a friend or anything more, he was going to leave it up to her. “This one of the things about you I didn’t know?”

She felt a spark of excitement when she put two and two together and realized that he was referring to the flirtatious exchange they’d had after the party. The exchange she still hadn’t managed to get any clear answers about. It wasn’t like it wasn’t on her mind. It niggled away every time she saw him. She’d struggled to find the right moment to ask and, in the end, had admitted defeat and opted to leave the whole thing alone.

“What does that mean?” She wanted to know.

“Nurse Jess” he smirked.

“Maybe. But I don’t just do this for anyone.” She conveyed. As a naturally caring person, Jess was known among the few people that made up her small tribe of friends, as the one that would bend over backwards to make sure the people that she loved were okay. Some tried to take advantage of her kindness and that was when her efforts could only be pushed so far before she cut them off altogether. It was true, she didn’t do it for just anyone and in their present situation, Daryl was one of very, very few people that she would happily give up her routine and solitary life for.

“Then I guess that makes me pretty honored” he said.

“C’mon, all you do is complain about ‘Nurse Jess’.” She reminded him, part of her message being in jest and the rest of it being the truth as she saw it.

“Nah, m’complainin’ bout the situation.” He corrected very deliberately.

“Oh, glad you clarified that.”

What preceded a long pause was another big risk from Daryl. He had no idea why he had the urge to toe the line of flirtatious exchanges. Maybe it was the way her cheeks flushed pink or the shy giggle she couldn’t help. Or, maybe it was the temptation to tell her how he felt and the idea that she could possibly feel the same. He had no idea, but he pressed ahead anyway, confident in the fact that he wasn’t being obvious enough that his comments couldn’t be explained in a more platonic way, should he need to.

“Not sure nurses are s’posed to sleep in their patient’s beds” He said out of nowhere.

Jess was busying herself folding the towel in her lap and she paused and stared down at the carpet when she heard his remark.

“Yeah? File a complaint.” She shrugged with one shoulder and the smallest, yet still detectable of smiles.

“Nah” He grunted “That’s one thing I ain’t gonna complain ‘bout.”

She glanced up at him hesitantly, finding the most gorgeous of suggestive smiles waiting for her and she was sure she was melting.

“Right.” she whispered. Then, there it was, that small giggle that he wanted to see. “Okay.”

I ain’t ever gonna get tired of that.

 =-=-=-=-=

A coldness on the side of her head was a much more unpleasant way to begin the day than with the singing of the birds beside Daryl in his bed. In her fairground home, she sat up and wiped a hand over the damp mass in her hair. Then, a single drop on her forehead made her jump and she craned her neck upwards, examining the ceiling and noticing a rotting and saturated mass of paintwork right above her. It was raining all night. Dragging herself out of bed, she dressed and checked her reflection in the mirror, something she now did every morning without fail. Her appearance was becoming more important to her since she’d grown a lot closer to Daryl and the odd glance in the mirror gave her the confidence to know that he wasn’t talking to a hot mess every day when she accompanied him on the morning hunt. It was a compromise they’d made with Deanna. Jess would chaperone Daryl on the hunt until his leg was fully healed and Daryl could get outside the walls and stop snapping at everyone like a tiger in a cage. Jess had also started wearing her hair down more often, knowing that Daryl could rarely resist the temptation to tenderly move it from her vision if it blew in the breeze and each time he did, it was like a fix from a drug that she was more than happy to submit to. It was the little things to her. The way he rolled his eyes when she called him ‘stinky’ and the way he huffed bashfully every single time she was feeling bold enough to call him ‘handsome’.

When she arrived in Alexandria, she headed straight for Deanna’s place and asked if she could have some roof tiles to fix the leak in her ceiling. Deanna immediately agreed and refused any kind of payment, telling jess in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t have such issues if she were to just move inside the walls. She was even offered the corner house which was unoccupied and big enough for at least six people to live there comfortably. Jess declined once again, expressing that she’d feel like a fart in an oil drum in that huge house and that the fairground was more comfortable.

Upon collection of her tiles from the garage that housed building materials and tools, Jess set off with a ladder under her arm and headed for the gate. The sky was threatening more rain, its heavy, gray cloud becoming more ominous by the second and the wind gaining momentum. She could detect the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. There was no doubt that she had to get the roof fixed before the whole thing collapsed and she had to move into the oil drum after all.

Daryl was ambling along the street smoking the last of a cigarette when she crossed his path without even noticing him.

“Hey” he called out “That don’t look like huntin’ stuff.”

She stopped walking as he neared her and looked down at her gloved hand and the two tiles she held.

“Oh, No. I have a hole in my roof. I just need to repair it and I’ll come back and we can go.” She explained.

Although he could walk, he was limited to certain distances and still displayed a limp, much to his annoyance. Denise explained that the damage to the muscle and tissue in his leg meant he would need time and patience to get it back to full working order with no pain. He was getting there, Jess knew that much, but the progress was nowhere near as quick as he wanted it to be.

“I’ll give ya a hand. Shouldn’t be goin’ up on the roof out there by yaself.” He decided, taking the tiles from her.

“You can’t go up a ladder.” She mentioned.

“Sure I can, I’ll be fine.”

“No, Daryl.” She said, snatching the tiles back from his grasp. “If you want to help you can hold it still and make sure I don’t break my neck in this wind.”

Not giving him time to quarrel with her about it, she surged on with Daryl in tow, thanking the gate guard and marching through the woods to her home.

  =-=-=-=-=

By the time Jess reached the roof of the diner. The wind was howling through the trees and lashing at her, sending drops of rain and leaves flying at her like she was in a wind tunnel. Her hands gripped onto the end of the ladder, turning her knuckles white while she solidified her balance on the top rung. From inside her coat, she tugged out a tile having kept the other one safely on the ground as a spare in case she discovered more holes in the roof.

She wobbled in the wind while leaning over and attempting to slide the tile into place. It was a perfect fit and Jess was glad of it. But the remnants of the previous tile meant the hole needed to be cleared of shards before the new one could be slotted into place. She worked as quickly as she could, throwing bits of broken tile onto the grass below.

“Just switch up with me, won’t take long.” Daryl called up to her.

“No!” She shouted back, over her shoulder.

“Shit, Jess. Were ya always this stubborn?” He asked.

“Pot calling the kettle back, stinky! Now, shut up and let me work!”

“Stinky. Bad books. Right.” He muttered to himself.

Finally able to fit the tile, she wiggled it into the square space, tapping the edge and feeling it secure just as a powerful gust of wind overpowered her at the top of the ladder and caused her to lose her footing. She grappled for the ladders handle and missed as the roof shot up in front of her and a searing pain engulfed the right side of her ribs. Before she could make any kind of noise, she’d accepted her fate. She was falling and was likely to be injured if the burning across her ribs was anything to go by. Towards the end of the ladder, her right leg looped through one of the gaps as Daryl managed to grab a hold of her before she hit the floor.

His strong arms wrapped around her waist, bunching up her jacket and thick, armored vest. It occurred to her that she still hadn’t hit the floor and that Daryl had caught her mid-air. He was humming instructions in her ear but none of them were registering as adrenaline thundered through her body. Her hands shook and her knees were trembling as he hoisted her up with all his might and told her to pull her leg out of the ladder. She didn’t hear him but managed to figure out what she needed to do regardless. Her leg dislodged easily and when her feet hit the floor, she almost buckled and ended up crumpled on the grass. If it wasn’t for Daryl, who had spun her around to face him but was still clinging to her waist while she caught her breath, she would have been face-down in the middle of the fairground.

“Y’alright?! Ya hurt?” He fretted, still keeping his hands where they were, on her bare skin under her top.

“No, just a-just a scrape I think.” She breathed.

“Where? Show me.” He demanded, looking down at her. It wasn’t until he tried to step back that it dawned on Jess that she was gripping his forearms like her life depended on it.

“M-my ribs, where I slipped. The handle, up there. It’s probably just bruised. It’s-it’s fine” she tried to break away from him, but he held on firmly.

“Naw, hold up. Ya tremblin’.” He told her.

For some reason, her mind went straight to his injury and she began to worry about the fact that he’d been standing on it for so long and had also had to endure holding her weight on it after catching her.

“But your-your leg.” She stammered.

“Doesn’t hurt. Can’t even feel it.” He lied “take a breath.” They locked eyes and his hands slowly moved down to her hips. Sensing she would scurry away like a frightened animal if he were to let go, he softened his voice and loosened his grip slightly. “Show me where ya hurt.”

“No. There’s no need.” She quickly answered.

The wind blew about her face and the chill it brought with it was beginning to bite. Her side was stinging, aggravated further by the cold. Daryl, who was wearing a leather biker jacket under his usual vest, had dressed for the weather, but Jess had failed to do so, believing that her regular clothing would suffice and not anticipating a storm to be rolling in.

“There is, coulda cracked a rib. Just let me feel for any breaks. I spent my childhood dealin’ with broken bones n’ I had a hell of a lot of fights in my time. I know what I’m lookin’ for.”

“I know you do. I just… don’t want to.” She confessed.

Then, the penny dropped and so did his hands. It was suddenly very clear why she was so averse to letting him check her for any injuries. She was nervous about showing him anything under her clothing. He watched her vision drop to the floor and nodded to himself. It all made sense now.

“Do you trust me, or not? Because one minute you’re sleepin’ in my bed n’ the next, ya won’t let me check ya to make sure ya aint hurt.” He stated

She looked up at him with big, pleading eyes, full of worry that she’d offended him and also that she’d have to explain what was going on in her head. That her insecurities didn’t just drop off with her weight loss. That she still didn’t like what she saw when she looked in the mirror. That she was deeply in love with him and didn’t want him to think her disgusting or ugly. But she did trust him and knew he cared.

“I do. I do trust you.” She assured him.

“Then let me take a look. It’s just me. S’alright.” he soothed

When the wind blew her hair across her face, he brushed it aside for her, taking a split second to ghost his thumb over her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat and it was then that she accepted that if she was going to trust anyone with this, it should be him.

She gingerly lifted the hem of her vest, drawing it up to just under her bra. He leaned down and she observed his eyes sweep over her skin, squinting slightly which indicated that there was, in fact, something to look at. Her eyes bulged when he went to place his fingers over her ribs and she jolted away. Closing her eyes and sighing.

“I’m sorry. Go ahead. I’m just not used to being touched.” She admitted.

“Yeah, me neither” he mumbled. “It won’t take a sec”

She nodded and felt her entire body tingle with electricity when he began to gently feel over her ribs, pressing at each one and frowning.

“Shit” he hissed, tracing his fingertips over the large red patch on her ribs. She flinched and held her breath. He applied light pressure along the mark “this hurt?”

“A little” she croaked.

“Your chest or back hurt?”

“No”

He placed his whole hand against her skin and her attempt not to react paid off. The warmth of his palm was a welcome relief from the cold that was licking at her skin from the wind. Daryl positioned his other hand on her shoulder

“Twist ya body, towards me. Breathe in” He instructed. She complied with complaint, having faith that he knew what he was looking for and from what she could tell so far, it certainly wasn’t his first brush with potentially broken ribs. The thought was a sad one when she thought about why a person would have such knowledge through experience alone.

“K. Now breathe out. Any pain?”

“Not much”

“It ain’t broken, gonna have a big bruise though.” He warned, dropping his hand from her shoulder but leaving his palm flush with her ribs, only unintentionally dropping it an inch or so. Her eyes nervously found his staring right back at her and he swallowed hard. She was showing him all kinds of firsts without having a clue about any of it. Having never felt anything for a female before, the intensity of the tension between them was stifling to him. Standing there with her, with his hand on her smooth skin and lost in the uneasy beauty of her eyes, for the first time, he wanted to kiss her more than anything. His gaze dropped to her lips and in the back of his mind he wished that his knowledge of how to deal with his feelings for the pretty nerd reached as far as his knowledge of broken ribs did. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He’d already told her he couldn’t lose her again and one kiss could ruin everything.

“Thank you.” She breathed, breaking the atmosphere and moving back. The contact was broken and Jess tugged her top down. “Is your leg OK?”

“Forgot all ‘bout it” he admitted. Her beautiful, soft skin had distracted him away from the discomfort and it wasn’t something he was likely to forget any time soon.

=-=-=-=-=

Two nights had passed since Jess had faced Daryl’s warm and not altogether uninviting touch. He was right about her rib; it wasn’t broken but it was bruised enough to render her as useless as a chocolate teapot for a couple of days, during which she spent time awkwardly trying to avoid having to discuss what had happened at the fairground with Daryl by avoiding him altogether and playing board games with Abraham while he drowned himself in whiskey on Aaron and Eric’s front porch.

Her avoidance of Daryl hadn’t gone unnoticed but far from being angered by it, he understood that whatever had transpired between them both was complicated and he needed time to process it. He couldn’t be sure that Jess felt the same, or if she even felt anything at all, but he’d been pushed to the brink of an act that was so out of character he felt like she was changing every part of him without even trying.

But being away from her wasn’t an option for too long and eventually, he found himself wandering the town in the dark on the way to Aaron and Eric’s, the now mild pain in his leg humming just enough for him to notice, but being more of an irritation than anything else. As he rounded the corner from the main street, Abraham breezed past him in a cloud of alcohol and slapped him on the back, bidding him a good night in a slurred sentence that was barely comprehensible.

Jess was swaying on the porch swing, reading the book she’d started in Daryl’s room the first night she stayed with him. He climbed the stairs and noted the two whiskey glasses and a bottle on the table. The rapid and unusual change in the weather from a storm to humidity and warmth past dark meant that Jess had taken off her camo pants and wore a pair of shorts and a tight tank top. For the first time, Daryl was able to see how much her body had changed and had to make a marked effort to drag his eyes away from her. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders.

Damn, girl. No wonder Abe spent the evening here.

Hearing his footsteps on the decking, she glanced up and closed her book. Daryl wasn’t the only one that had been mulling over the fairground incident at every given opportunity. What he didn’t know, was that she felt it too, only she had no idea what was going on in his head at the time. It was the closest she’d ever come to making a move on him but the physical contact with no barrier made things difficult and brought her insecurities to the surface. Guessing his stance on any of it was nigh on impossible. All she had to go on was that she was in love with her best friend, who, she couldn’t only assume, simply liked to watch her blush every now and then with a flirty comment.

“You two drinkin’ together now?”

Her back prickled at the sound of what could have been seen as yet more jealousy concerning the friendship that had blossomed between her and Abraham. Or, was it simply an observation? She wished he was easier to read.

“Why do you ask?” She tried.

He didn’t know the answer himself. Just that his blood boiled whenever Abraham touched her, or joked with her, or made her laugh so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. He hated the way she sometimes gravitated towards him and refused to ask him to stop making suggestive comments towards her. He hated that she was so comfortable with Abraham, yet with him, she was completely different.

“Curious I guess.” Was all he had to offer.

“Right. To answer your question, he drinks and I scold him for it” She informed him as she slid the book onto the table and patted the swings cushion at her side. Daryl took his cue and sat down beside her, enjoying the rhythmic and soothing rocking of the swing.

“So, you got friends here now?” He questioned. She was different to when she’d first revealed her identity. She was more open to conversation, to teaming up for runs and actually turned up to a party. She was changing and he was seeing more and more of the old Jess peeking through. Her guard was lowering and he wanted to know if it was going to stay down.

“I’m coming around to the idea.” She mentioned breezily “You make it a little difficult to stay so stubborn.”

She shifted and bent one leg, tucking her left foot under her right thigh and draping her arm over her bent knee. She was now facing him with one foot on the floor that was controlling the speed of which the swing swayed.

“Me?” He questioned.

“Yeah, you. You’re my favorite.” She smiled.

He grunted and almost commented that actually, it seemed like Abraham was her favorite.

Jess got up and moved to the edge of the porch, gazing up to the stars and stretching her arms above her head. Through his hair, he allowed himself a peep of the appealing curves of her waist and hips. A conflict raged inside him.

Don’t be an asshole. You shouldn’t be lookin’ at her like this. But hot fuckin’ damn, she cleans up real good.

Jess was busy, wrapped up in her own thoughts for a long time while Daryl watched her every move and bit down on his lower lip.

“I could take you to my boat.” She hummed up to the sky before looking over her shoulder at him. When her eyes met his, he flinched out of his guilty but highly enjoyable daydream.

“Um…Ya boat?” He queried.

She turned and glided back to him, standing over him and gracing him with her shiny lips curved into a playful smile.

“I lived there for a while before I found the fairground. I still go there sometimes, when it’s not too cold. You’d like it. Far away from everyone…. Just you and me. You interested?” She wasn’t intending for it to sound like she was presenting him with an offer laced with sexual tension, it had merely transpired that way and she’d done nothing to rectify it. When his reaction wasn’t one of pure horror, she figured that maybe, just maybe, she could play him at his own game.

Daryl was enthralled and was gawping up at her with his mouth open. He slowly raised one eyebrow.

“Hell yeah, I’m interested.”

----- tagged as requested ----

@lilred254​ @woundmetender​

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (7)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A bit of fluff. Angst city.

A/N: We’re headed back to 1944! War really sucks and Bucky Barnes is a hopeless romantic. Their last night together in the village turns up something beautiful, but ultimately sad. The angsty stuff kicks off here...  

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

MASTERLIST ALTNL MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

Instead, her mind weaves through their love story, pulling forward a memory she’s replayed a thousand times before. The memory of his one other visit to the village, right before their world went pear-shaped. She was hesitant to tell him about that night, about the question he asked, because she knows he’s not the same. They’re not the same and she doesn’t want him to think -

But her heart beats faster.

Twisting a lock of his hair around her finger, she gropes for the right words, his fingers stroking lightly down her arm.

I wanna know it all.

In the middle of the night, watching the stars wink through the window of her bedroom, she takes a deep breath.

*****

Late December, 1944 Somewhere in France

The sky is a deep, leaden grey when she hurries from the back door. Stepping carefully over slick paving stones, she heads to the tiny chicken coop, where one scraggly chicken remains. Every day, she expects she’ll arrive to find the poor thing dead, but against all odds, the hen has persevered.

As she walks, she picks at the fraying threads at her wrist. The moss green coat is looking worse for wear these days. Where the elbows have worn through, she’s patched with mismatched cloth from one of her old dresses. It’s not ideal, but still serviceable.

It doesn’t matter, not really, she tells herself.

After five long years, the war rages on. Ravaging the countryside, turning the world to ash, leaving nothing but death in its wake. Nearly all the men who left the village remain on the front; those who returned, are buried under weathered gravestones in the little cemetery.

Letters are less frequent, but far too often, telegrams arrive. Their messengers clutch their hats in sweaty fists when they hand it over, and that tenuous grip on sanity is ripped from a family's fingers.

But here, through everything and against the odds - she survives.

And every day, she holds her breath, waiting for him to come home.

Sleep, wake, work, sleep. Every day a dogged routine. But even though the world is on fire, sometimes when she’s sliding into that sweet headspace between dreaming and awake, she starts to think about the future.

It’s an indulgence, but she has this daydream. About wearing a pretty dress that twirls when she dances. About painting her lips with bright red lipstick and dabbing a bit of perfume behind her ears. About holding a glass of deliciously fizzy champagne and seeing Bucky in a sharp black suit, the collar of his crisp white shirt open, a bowtie loose around his neck. About him pulling her onto the dance floor while the band begins a slow song, something full of nostalgia, because they made it through, the soldier and his girl. About how in the middle of the dance floor, in front of god and everyone, Bucky picks her up and kisses her breathless, his breath like honeyed whiskey. About that little bead of sweat rolling down his temple and her kissing it away.

It’s a nice daydream.

“Good morning, little lady,” she says under her breath, reaching the busted down chicken coop. Searching beneath the warm feathers, she finds a single egg and pulls it away. Stroking the bird lightly, she receives a sleepy cluck in return. “Thank you,” she murmurs, clutching the warm egg in her palm.

Standing straight, she shivers when an icy breeze cuts through the thin dress and wool stockings. Latching the door shut, she trudges back to her house.

She pulls up short.

A soldier sits on the back step, staring at his boots, his hands folded patiently while he waits.

Bucky’s hair is shaggier than her memories and a thick beard covers his face, but he looks like everything she’s missed.

When the sound of her steps reaches him, he looks up and scrambles quickly to his feet. Standing in silence, he watches her nervously, strangely unsure of his reception, despite months of sweet words and declarations of love. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he swallows hard before he finally speaks.

“Hey darlin’. You look real pretty.”

His voice is raspy, exhausted and broken, and she closes her eyes, because she’s had this dream before. It was soul crushing when she woke up.

She counts to three.

When she opens her eyes, thank god, he’s still there. She places the lone egg in the small basket she carries and sets it carefully on the ground. Bucky watches her, longing clear in his face.

And she runs to him.

Throwing herself in his arms, he catches her and lifts her up, pulling her legs around his waist and wrapping his arms around her. With no preamble, she finds his lips and kisses him with everything she has. It’s sloppy and messy and frantic and Bucky savors it. Responding with a low groan, his mouth moves against hers, desperation in every twist of his lips.

“Oh god, I missed you,” he breathes, when they finally come up for air. “I missed you – Jesus Christ, fuck, I missed you so god damn much. I’m not leaving again, not ever,” he swears.

It’s a lie, they both know it. But like her daydream, it’s so pretty, they let themselves believe it. Just for a little while.

*****

“How long do we have?” she asks, pouring him a cup of weak coffee. It’s the last bit she’s been hoarding, but he looks so tired, so utterly obliterated, this seems like a good time. When she moves to sit in the chair across from him, Bucky makes a noise of dissent and scoots away from the table. Motioning to his lap, he gives her an imploring look and she can’t help but smile. She sits gingerly on his knees and he rolls his eyes and tugs her close. So, she throws an arm across his chest, tucks her face into his neck. Bucky sighs happily, keeping one arm curled around her, the other gripping the hot mug.

“Just a couple days, then we’re back out. Had to do a fair bit of sweet talking to get them to stop here,” he says and presses dry, chapped lips to her temple. “Convinced command back in London this was a strategic stopover before we pick up the chase.”

“What are you chasing?” She wraps the chain of his dog tags tight around her finger. It leaves an impressive ring of round indentions in her skin.

“Been searching for this guy, this sci – scientist.”

He trips over the last word, body tensing at the statement and she tightens in response. She still doesn’t know what happened to him as a POW, but this type of anxiety is all too familiar.

Scientists. Yes. She knows about scientists.

Sometimes he says things like this, about his job, and the confident mask falls. His breath comes fast and shallow for a moment, but then she squeezes him hard and kisses his neck. He remains rigid, but the soothing press of lips seems to help. Clearing his throat, he keeps talking. “Running after him for months now. He keeps slipping away.”

“You’re being careful out there?”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He wipes the rim of the coffee mug with his thumb.

“Course I am,” he finally answers.

There’s a lie.

She wants to argue. Make him promise to put himself first, to be careful and cautious, to steer clear of danger in every way possible, because he’s all that she has. But it would make no difference. War is what he does. A job he never wanted but one he picked up with horrifying ease.

Instead, she simply hugs him and changes the subject. Bit by bit, she coaxes him out of his head. Bit by bit, she brings him back to himself.

Himself. Someone he hasn’t known in a long time.

*****

The next morning finds Bucky and Steve jammed shoulder-to-shoulder into a small room off the nave of the village church. Piles of hand-drawn maps litter the polished surface of the priest’s desk and Steve sifts through the mess, setting aside the most relevant, while Bucky marks notes in the margins with a fat red pencil.

Dismantling Hydra across Europe has been swift and successful, but to keep going, they need more intel. And to get more intel, they need to find Arnim Zola. The game of cat and mouse between them gets trickier every day, as he slips through their traps, infuriating Bucky and sending Steve into fits of anger.

Hours pass as they add details from the local maps, using the roads and paths and markers unaccounted for in the debriefs from London to flesh out their search strategy. This has to work. This has to help.

They hope, anyway.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Steve asks for the third time, looking up at the priest. Folding the maps, he clears the desk while Bucky tucks the pencil behind his ear.

“Take whatever you need,” the priest confirms. “Anything to help.”

Steve nods gratefully, stuffing the pile inside his jacket.

Leaving the stuffy air of the little office, the two men follow the priest down the familiar church aisle. As they pass the pew, Bucky automatically looks to where he saw her sitting that sunny Sunday. Clear as day, he recalls her pretty dress and her pretty smile and the way she peeked at him during prayers.

God, he loves that image. His dragging steps find a renewed bounce at the thought of heading back to her.

Coming into the dreary afternoon light, all three men pause on the front steps of the small church and Bucky hears the priest utter a nearly inaudible sigh. His white collar sits askew at his neck and he scratches at it absently, looking out over the dead grass in the small cemetery next to the church.

“Have you lost very many?” Bucky asks quietly. The town seems different than the first time they visited, the crushing fatigue of war bearing down harder than ever.

“Yes. We had a few boys come back last week from – from Italy. Had a hard frost a week earlier and couldn’t get them buried, there’s no way to dig through the frozen ground. Been tough on the families, having them wrapped up in the vaults below the church. They’ll have to stay there, until the ground thaws.”

This is not uncommon. This is how things work. Death in the winter is a grim affair.

Lips drawn in a tight line, Steve rubs exhausted blue eyes and looks over to Bucky; he raises an eyebrow in question.

Bucky considers him for a moment. He wants nothing more than to walk back to her home and crawl into the safety of her arms. But in war, and in life, it’s common courtesy to repay those who’ve helped you. He thinks about the maps that will hopefully lead them closer to Zola, closer to ending this madness, closer to coming back to her for good.

He swallows hard and nods.

“We’ll dig the graves for you. Least we can do for the help.”

The priest hesitates with his response. “That’s very kind of you boys, but the ground really is frozen. I don’t think you can dig through.”

Steve gives him a kind smile. “It’s alright. We’ll manage.”

*****

Bucky drives the sharp shovel into the mound of black earth. Leaning heavily on the handle, he swipes a shaking hand over the line of cold sweat on his forehead.

“M’done,” he says hoarsely to Steve. Four freshly dug graves line the edge of the little graveyard, waiting patiently for their occupants to arrive.

It took some doing, but between the two of them, they managed. Once they broke through the frozen layer, the rest was easy. Of course, it helps that Steve is stronger than the normal soldier and that Bucky is – well, that Bucky’s strong as well.

Steve tosses one final heap of dirt and stretches with a low groan.

“Go on,” Bucky urges, tugging the shovel from his hands. He needs Steve to sleep, because he hasn’t in days. “Get some sleep. You know we gotta leave first thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. He claps his hands, brushing away the dry feel of dust. “Guess you're staying with your girl tonight?”

“Course,” Bucky says with a tired smile. He toys with the button on his blue jacket. “Got something to ask her.”

Steve squeezes his shoulder affectionately. “Really gonna do it, huh? Nervous?”

Bucky squints up at the pinpricks of starlight peppering the dark sky and gives voice to the doubt in his mind. “Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking...about all the shit I’ve done, and I’m - fuck, Steve. You’ve seen me out there. I’m not exactly a good person. Not anymore.” He looks over, weary confusion in his face. “Am I selfish? Wantin’ her this way? Doesn’t she deserve better?”

Steve just looks at him. That same penetrating gaze he’s had since the day he found Bucky back in Azzano. Bucky still hasn’t told him everything and Steve keeps waiting, but he knows it’s in vain. Bucky Barnes is a master at stomping down his feelings.

So, Steve gets philosophical instead.

“You know, it seems like the world wants to romanticize this. The war. They write songs and poetry and tell all these grand stories, but we all know it’s fuckin’ bullshit. There’s nothing romantic here. I smell like actual shit and all Dugan’s toenails fell off last week and you got someone’s fuckin’ brains on your coat the other day.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “None of us are getting out of this war without changing. That includes her. Don’t go using that as an excuse. You love her and she loves you, and this world’s so god damn fucked up, but you have that. Don’t forget it.”

Bucky tips his head back up, gazing at the stars. He thinks for a moment, then looks back at Steve and gives him a serious nod.

“Every now and then you’re not a total asshole. Smell like one maybe, but - ”

He ducks when Steve tries to cuff him.

“God you’re a jerk,” Steve states fervently.

“Damn straight,” Bucky says. “Now go on. It’s your dumb ass wanting to leave at dawn.”

Giving him a mocking salute, Steve trudges back toward the make-shift camp the team set up on the edge of town. Bucky watches him walk, until the outline of Captain Steve Rogers is swallowed up in the encroaching night.

All he wants is to head back to her, but he needs a minute. Needs to clear out the dark thoughts vying for space in his head, because he sure as hell doesn’t want to bring those within a mile of her.

Setting the shovels against the bullet riddled wall of the church, he drops to the frozen dirt and leans back. Digging inside his jacket, he fishes out the last smoke from the battered pack he keeps hidden inside. Holding it between his teeth, he pats his pockets, feeling for his lucky lighter.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” he swears softly, realizing the damn thing is still in his pack. Frustrated, he bangs his head against the wall and shuts his eyes.

Someone drops beside him. Bucky hears the metal rasp and a flame appears. Looking over, he finds the tired face of the priest giving him a wry smile. He leans over, tips the cigarette into the fire and inhales.

“Thanks Padre,” he grunts in greeting.

“Sure thing,” the priest says, snapping it shut. He leans against the stone next to Bucky and gets comfortable. “You know, the last time you were here, you were pretty intent on interrupting my service.”

“Ah yeah. Sorry about that,” Bucky says with a weak smile. He takes another slow drag. “Was awful interested in someone else that day.”

“Yes, that much was clear,” the priest says with a chuckle. Stretching out his long legs, he crosses the ankles, fiddling with his lighter. “So. How is it out there?”

What a loaded question.

How is it out there?

Hell. Black, bloody, brutal. The very worst parts of his nightmares magnified by a thousand. Humans are terrible and people are suffering in ways he never imagined, because war is fucking hell on earth. He wants to pack up his shit, break his rifle across his knee, get his girl and go home.

How is it out there?

It’s motherfucking awful out there.

“It’s - fine,” Bucky says instead. He examines the bright red cherry on the tip of his smoke. Takes another long drag, blows the thin stream into the icy air. “Just gettin’ tired. Trying to find a reason to keep fighting, I guess. I know it’s the right thing to do. These rumors you’re hearing. Camps and babies and…experiments. All of it’s true. Every fuckin’ word,” he grimaces at the effortless swear and looks apologetically at the priest. “Sorry.”

The priest just shrugs. “S’okay Sergeant. I’ve heard worse. Said worse, in fact.”

Bucky gives a humorless laugh. “Sure, sure.” He tugs at a loose string on his jacket and thinks. “Guess I’m having trouble finding something to follow, you know?”

“What do you believe in?”

Staring off into space, Bucky wonders. What does he believe in? A long time ago, he thought he knew. Life, liberty. Freedom. Fighting the good fight. But now? His morals are shot to shit and he has no idea which way is up. He’s drifting along, half human while he chips away at his humanity a little more with each bullet from his gun. Each slice of his knife. What the hell does he believe in?

He can think of nothing, until he can. Until the one word that makes it all right rises to his lips.

“Love,” Bucky answers honestly. He cocks his head to the side and considers to the priest. “I believe in love. Making the world better for other people. For my family. For Steve.” His eyes drift the familiar path toward her house and he smiles without realizing. “For her.”

“Then that’s what you follow.”

“You’re telling me to follow my heart? Little corny, ain’t it?”

The priest smiles faintly. “Maybe,” he agrees. “Up to you to find out.”

Renewed, Bucky drops the cigarette and grinds it with the heel of his boot. He climbs to his feet and offers a silent hand to the priest, hauling him off the ground.

“Thanks, Padre.”

“Good luck Sergeant.”

*****

Lugging the boiling water into the bathroom, she splashes it into the old porcelain tub. It’s taken close to an hour now, of heating water over the fireplace and transferring it to the bath.

She’s in the bathroom, adding the final bucket, when the backdoor opens. There’s a rustling and she hears Bucky shrugging out of the blue coat, taking off his boots and lining them up in a military straight line. When he pads into the kitchen calling her name, the bucket slips and she hisses a frustrated curse.

“Wha – are you okay?”

She comes out of the bathroom off the kitchen and huffs out a breath. Sweat drips down her face and her arms are shaking from the effort, but she gives him a broad smile.

“You interested in a hot bath, Sergeant?”

Eyes going wide, Bucky hesitates for the briefest moment, before he’s suddenly slipping over the cold stone floor of her kitchen, stripping as he goes. His shirt goes flying, he hops on one foot to remove each sock, his fingers scrabble furiously at his worn leather belt. By the time he reaches the tub, he’s down to his drab, olive colored military issue boxers and an ecstatic smile.

“I hope you’re serious, or this is gonna be real awkward,” he jokes and she laughs. Motioning to the water, she turns around and gives him privacy, busying herself while he removes the boxers. It seems silly, considering what they’ve shared, but she doesn’t want to presume.

There’s a splash and then Bucky is stuttering out a long, satisfied moan. The sound makes her stomach somersault.

“Can I look?” she teases, her throat suddenly and intensely dry. He chuckles.

“Please do. Ain’t much fun otherwise.”

She turns to see him slouched in the water, and then Bucky takes a deep breath and ducks under, immersing himself completely. Under the film of water, eyes closed and dark hair floating around him, he looks like an angel. He holds his breath for so long, she starts to worry, until he breaks the surface with a gasping laugh. Water cascades in rivers of bright sparkles down his face and spiky clumps of black eyelashes frame his blue eyes.

“Like trying to bathe a child,” she says, a mock stern note in her voice and Bucky gives her a crooked grin.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll be good, cross my heart.”

Poking him in the ribs, he shies away and laughs again and my god, she missed that sound. It sings through her blood, a drug she never realized she craved.

Wetting her hands in the hot water, she lathers up a small chunk of soap. Bucky hunches forward and she lathers his hair, scratching her nails deep to rub away the sweat and dirt caked at his hairline, relishing his soft little moans. Scooping up the hot water, she douses his head over and over, rinsing soap from the dark tangle of hair, until the water runs clear. Pressing against his chest, she pushes him back against the tub and he goes easily, but when she tries to move her hand away, he catches it. She feels the rough bristles of hair beneath her palm and she meets his eyes.

“Will you get in here with me?”

Those blue eyes pleading with her, the hitch in his voice, it stirs a fierce protectiveness in her. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t refuse. Nodding cautiously, she steps behind him and he leans back in the bath, closing his eyes with a sigh.

She sheds her clothes quickly and observes him for another moment. He looks thinner, the lean muscle trending toward a gauntness she doesn’t like to see. Dark circles are smeared below his eyes, the kind no amount of scrubbing will wash away, and there are new scars littering his body. Thick lines of raised tissue speaking of blades and bullets, and she feels a wave of ice sweep through her at the thought of him courting death on so many occasions. His plush lips, before so quick to quirk up into an easy smile, are curved down.

He looks ravaged, by this war.

In that moment, she decides – if they make it through this thing, if Fate gives them a chance to be together, to make a life together, then she will fix this for him. It doesn’t matter that she gave it up, that she vowed to never do it again. Seeing him like this, she can’t stand it. She can help him and she will.

So many thoughts flood her brain in the blink of an eye, but then she’s stepping into the hot water and sinking down between his spread legs. Leaning against him, she pulls his arms to wrap around her and Bucky sighs blissfully. Bracketing her with his legs, he holds onto her so tightly she can barely breath, but she welcomes the pressure.

It’s nice to be needed.

Water sloshes over the edge while he resettles. Steam rises in spirals around them, blanketing her skin with an instant layer of dampness. It should be a little cool, but it is the exact opposite; everything feels scorching hot. The water, the thick porcelain tub, Bucky’s hard body, Bucky’s lips at her shoulder, Bucky’s tongue licking up her neck. Everything is full of heat, Bucky is fire and she’s melting.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispers, sucking gently at the skin along her shoulder. “Better’n anything I’ve ever had.”

Nothing goes any further. Bucky holds her tight, his hands skimming reverently up and down her arms, his fingers occasionally brushing across her breasts. His touch leaves a deep-seated ache, one she grows increasingly desperate to slack. But he seems content with this, with simply holding her.

An hour passes and the water grows cool. When she lifts her toes from the water, she laughs quietly.

“I’m very wrinkly.”

Huffing a laugh into her ear, Bucky rises from the tub, dripping across the floor to search for towels. Finding two, he gives himself a quick rub down and then slips back into his boxers. They cling to his still-damp skin and she drinks her fill of him, before raising her eyes to his face.

The laughter fades at his expression, at the lust tightening his mouth; she rises quickly from the water.

“No, wait,” he urges when she goes to step out. “Lemme help.”

Helping her from the tub, he takes a towel and carefully pats every inch of her body dry. She wonders if she should feel self-conscious at his eyes roaming over her, but there’s such clear worship in his face, her nudity is nothing. Instead, she feels a warmth in her belly that grows, spidering into the tips of her fingers as she reaches for him.

Catching his face between her hands, she lifts it to hers, gently pressing her thumb into the cleft of his chin. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

There it is. The slow smile she’s been waiting for. It’s almost like watching the sun rise, the way it arrives, nothing and then everything. He rubs the tip of his nose against hers and hums appreciatively.

“No one’s ever called me that before. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I assume, that was your way of talkin’ me into bed?” he whispers and her heart skips at the playful glint in his eyes.

“Did it work?” she whispers back and Bucky tips his head back and laughs. It bounces around the small bathroom and fills her up, happiness spreading like molten lava through her veins.

“It definitely worked,” he confirms. Wrapping the towel snugly around her, he sweeps her off her feet. Carrying her through the dark house and up the stairs, they sink together into the softness of her bed.

*****

Neither one wants to sleep. If they sleep, the night will pass and when the darkness leaves, so will he.

Instead, they lay tangled together on her bed. Even now, she still feels the aftershocks of pleasure shivering through her body, settling into her bones. Face to face, they lay sharing a pillow, silently watching each other in the dying light of the fire. She twines her fingers with his, brings them to her mouth and rubs her lips over the long, thin white scar on his right hand.

It was what brought them together, after all.

“I wish we could stay here like this,” she murmurs, her wistful voice melting into the black silk of the room. “I wish the world would come back to its senses.”

Bucky hooks his leg around hers and brings her even closer. The comforting curve of his warm body feels like a protective shield against the world beyond her windows.

“It can’t last forever,” he says and he strokes his fingers down her bare arm. There’s an edge of bitterness riding his tongue when he speaks again. “It’s gotta end someday. They’ll run out of soldiers eventually.”

All she’s every wanted in this wretched world, was to find someone like him. Someone full of passion and life, someone who could make her feel again, make her want to live again. Here in this little village, she’s found exactly what she needs, but their life is so fragile. She’s terrified it will fall apart.

Sensing the swirl in her head, Bucky rests his thumb in the hollow dip at the base of her throat, rubbing small, soothing circles.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Of course you can.” He doesn’t respond right away. There’s a longing in his face, one she recognizes - it’s a perfect reflection of her own heart. She waits expectantly, but nothing happens. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. A deep red flush is working up his neck, spreading over the apples of his cheeks. He looks nervous. “I love you,” he finally says.

“I love you too.”

“Okay, good. Okay. I want to – would you do something for me?”

“Bucky, I’d do anything for you,” she says encouragingly.

He nods at her words, absorbing them. She would do anything for him. He takes a deep breath.

“Would you marry me?”

Since the moment she knew she loved him, she’s dreamt of these words. Of Bucky asking her to stay with him forever. To wake up with him every morning and fall asleep wrapped in his arms. To fight and love and live and grow old together.

She wants to reply, but shocked hope steals her breath and the words won’t come.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quickly, his eyes flicking rapidly between hers, sudden shyness in his voice. “I know we haven’t known each other long, it’s all mostly letters really, and I don’t know, maybe it’s too soon and we still have so much to learn about each other, but – you’re it for me. I really believe that. It’s just - every day I walk out there and I swear to god, death’s riding my ass so fuckin’ hard, and I don’t know if I’m gonna make it home again and I just – didn’t want to lose the chance.”

His words bleed together, punched fast and frantic from his lungs, like he needs to release them or he’ll choke. When he tries to keep speaking, she puts her fingers against his lips, shushing him.

“Bucky. You had my heart from the moment we met. You’re it for me,” she echoes and Bucky’s face lights up at her words. “I’ll be here waiting, as long as it takes. Come back when you can and I’ll marry you.”

Burrowing into his chest, she clings to him. Tears slip fat and hot down her cheek and when he feels the steady stream wetting his skin, he rolls her onto her back and hovers above her, leaning down to kiss each one away, one by one until every drop is gone and the taste of salt burns his tongue.

Salt and sadness. Is there a more defining feature of war than these two things?

The dog tags around his neck clink softly when he shifts, sitting up on his knees. The words come effortlessly, the ones every soldier presents his love, knowing full well it could be no more than another pretty lie. He takes her hand and holds it against his heart. Beneath his hot skin, she feels the steady thump against her palm. His low voice rings with promise when he speaks.

“I swear to god, on everything I have, I will come back for you.” He squeezes her hand, his eyes burning. “What we have – I’m always gonna fight for it. Down to my dying breath. You and me, this kind of love, it lasts forever, okay? It’ll never leave. I’ll never leave. Not ever.”

Out of nowhere, the nameless fear that sits dormant in her chest perks to life at his words. Terror seeps into the marrow of her bones, at the haunting phrase from her past.

But this is different, she thinks. It’s different, and she holds tight to his vow, desperate to believe that history won’t repeat, and she won’t be left alone again.

“It never leaves,” she echoes. Like opposing commas, they curl together, drawing comfort from the other.

*****

Just like before, Bucky rises before dawn. He dresses quickly, buttoning and buckling the uniform in the dark, a repetitious memory his hands have been trained to complete.

Just like before, he stokes the smoldering fire. Adds more kindling to send it blazing, filling the room with heat.

Just like before, he kneels beside the bed and lays his head next to her.

“Good morning,” she whispers. Cool fingers smooth his hair back and he leans into her touch.

“Good morning,” he breathes. She moves to get up, but Bucky gently holds her down. “No, don’t get up. It’s too cold.”

She shakes her head no and tries to rise again, but his arm is like iron, a silent rebuke.

“Bucky, let me go downstairs. See if I can find you any coffee, I might…” her voice fades at the sadness in his eyes.

“Darlin, I’d really – I’d rather you don’t watch me leave. I’m not sure I can go, if I know you’re watching.” He brushes his lips along her cheek and hums. “This here, you all soft and warm,” he kisses her other cheek, his lips lingering, a smile in his voice, “completely naked,” another kiss on her nose, his mouth a breath from hers. “This is what I want to remember.”

In the firelight, his eyes are so breathtakingly blue. It’s her favorite color, she sees it everywhere.

He could convince her to do anything with those eyes.

“If that’s what you want,” she murmurs reluctantly.

“You’re what I want. You’re what I’m always gonna want,” he whispers. His mouth slants over hers, the dry, cracked skin of his fingertips cradling her face and she leans into the rough touch.

“Good. Because I’m always going to be yours,” she answers and Bucky swims happily in her reply.

Unwilling as ever, he rises slowly to his feet.

“When I come back, I’m bringing you a ring.” A sweet, crooked smile pulls up his lips.

She plucks up the shiny medal he gave her from the chain around his neck, the outline of St. Michael clear on the spinning chain. “This is enough. I don’t need anything else, just bring me you.”

He watches her for a moment more, and then he’s stumbling back for one last heated embrace. Crushing her into the blankets, Bucky pours every last drop of love into the kiss, trying desperately to brand himself into the meat of her heart, so she never, ever forgets him.

It works, she thinks hazily, his mouth feverish against hers. Where he ends and where she begins, it’s impossible to define.

He ends the kiss abruptly and tears himself away.

And just like before, at the grey break of dawn, Bucky Barnes slips from the warmth of home and disappears back into the cold march of war.

*****

Two months later, a telegram arrives from Captain Steve Rogers.

The innocent piece of paper sits on her kitchen table, resting against the chipped white jug that was once full of the bright holly berries Bucky brought her. Hours tick by as she sits in silence, waiting. Night has fallen, before numb fingers find the courage to open it.

I lost him. A mission in the Alps. I’m not stopping until all of Hydra is dead. I’ll come find you when this is over. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.

G.

Steve Rogers never comes. She hears the news later, that his plane went down. No survivors.

*****

The poets say when your heart breaks, the world will grind to a halt.

The poets are wrong, she thinks.

When your heart breaks, the world will in fact keep moving. The stars will still shine, the sun will still rise. You will go on living, despite having nothing to live for. The world doesn’t stop for trivial things like grief. It lumbers on, drags you forward kicking and screaming, forcing you to keep breathing, until you’re nothing more than a ghost of who you were.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 30)

On The Move Again...

Idk what to say about this chapter other than a little bit of fluff? A little bit of angst? A little bit of pissed off reader? Just.. mucho dialogue, as per usual with my stuff lmao. 

Just wanna let y’all know that I go back to uni tomorrow (I start back really late, I’ve realised) and I’m going into my final year, so I will likely be busy. BUT, I hope to keep posting enough that you wont notice much of a difference, but yeah. If updates become a little less frequent, it’s not cause I’m getting bored of writing this :) side note... I’m so fucking ready to be done with university! 

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Arthur woke me up gently, dusting kisses over my face and petting my hair, whispering my name and rocking me in his arms to rouse me as delicately as birdsong. For about thirty blissful seconds I completely forgot about our circumstances, so enamoured with the feeling of waking up with him. This was something I had only done a handful of times but if this was every morning I would be a very happy woman. 

"Good morning, angel. I'm sorry to wake you, but I gotta get up," he whispered to me, his hand still smoothing over the back of my head. 

"I don't mind waking up if this is the first thing I see," I murmured sleepily, making him laugh. 

"I gotta say, it was real nice for me too," he said, kissing my forehead once before wrapping his arms around me and rolling us over until he was above me, though dangerously close to the edge. He slammed a hand on the table next to us before we ended up on the floor together and we laughed as he shuffled us back into the middle of the bed. 

"I don't want us to get up," I sighed. 

"Me neither, but we gotta figure out what's happening with Jack," he said, and it all came tumbling back to me. 

"Oh God, yeah, you know I was almost at peace for a second," I grunted, dropping my head back against the bed and trailing my hands up Arthur's sides. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, nestling his face against my neck and inhaling deeply. "I can hear Dutch out there. I ought to go out and talk with 'em, hopefully he's figured something out."

"Alright," I whispered, patting his back a couple of times before releasing him. 

With a groan Arthur pushed himself up and off of me, sitting down on the edge of the bed and stretching, rolling his neck and grunting as his joints popped. His jaw stretched open with a yawn, one which I caught and mimicked shortly after. I shifted to join him sitting up, and after taking a moment to straighten out our clothes and tidy our hair, we rose to our feet and emerged from the tent. It struck me how shameless we seemed to suddenly be about what was going on between the two of us. It had gone unspoken, but I believed both of us had frankly stopped caring about who knew and who didn't. 

Regardless, nobody noticed us leaving the tent together, too preoccupied to care, thankfully. Dutch, Hosea and John were sat around the table talking; Arthur joined them and I pottered off, leaving the men to it and instead heading to grab my morning coffee. I caught sight of Abigail sitting on the ground on her bedroll with her knees hugged into her chest, eyes distant. I opted not to disturb her, taking a seat with Tilly and Mary-Beth in front of their wagon. 

"Morning, girls. How're you two holding up?" I greeted them. Tilly was washing a chemise while Mary-Beth was distractedly stitching a white garment that I quickly noticed was dappled with a few specks of blood. Before any of them could even answer I spoke again. 

"Mary-Beth, you're bleeding!" I pointed out, reaching out and taking her hand in mine. 

"Oh! Oh shoot, what a mess. I pricked myself earlier on, didn't realise I'd drawn blood," she plopped her finger in her mouth and sucked on the injured digit. I put my coffee down and took the garment from her; it was a stocking with a tear in it. 

"I'll finish this, don't worry. There ain't too much blood on it, no harm done. 'sides your finger."

"I'm away with the fairies this morning," she shook her head at herself. 

"Ain't we all. How're you, Tilly?" I asked. 

"About as well as you'd expect. The other day I couldn't stop thinkin' about how bored I was, now I'd happily take boredom over all this mess," Tilly sighed, sitting back on her heels and shaking her hands free of water. 

"I'm confident the men'll get Jack back," I assured them both. 

"Me too, it's just all the worrying until then. Has Arthur said anything to you about where he is?" Tilly asked me and looked up at her, momentarily – and frankly unjustifiably – surprised that she'd asked me about Arthur. 

"Oh, no, he hasn't," I said after a pause. 

"How is he doing, anyway? He's been awfully quiet lately," Mary-Beth began, "not that he ain't usually quiet, but you know what I mean."

"Arthur? He…" I paused, looking down at my sewing. "I reckon his injury knocked it out of him for a bit, he didn't much like being cooped up. Then of course, first thing he does after getting back out there is watch Sean– it's understandable. I jus' think he's going through it a bit."

"Well I hope he knows he can come talk to any of us if he needs it. Though, I suppose he has you for that, now," Mary-Beth commented. I looked at her, a light frown on my face. 

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, we ain't idiots," Tilly laughed "it's extremely obvious that you and him are somethin' more than friends."

"No, that ain't what I meant. You don't think I'm… stealing him, hogging him away from all of you, do you?" 

The two girls looked at me, two sets of eyes going wide for a few long seconds before they both laughed. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," Mary-Beth patted my knee, "I just meant he has you to open up to now, I ain't surprised if he don't talk to us about that stuff all that much anymore. I don't mind it, it makes sense."

"Before you came along, if Arthur was going through a rough patch, he'd come speak to one of us women. That ain't happened in a while so we figured he was talking to you instead, is that not the case?" Tilly added, picking the chemise out of the bucket and squeezing the water out.

"Oh, no, he does," I nodded, thinking back to the previous night, all his talk of getting out of here, no matter how idealised the thoughts were. Mary-Beth leaned forwards a bit, inspecting my expression. 

"Everything okay between you two?" She asked. 

"Between us, yes, everything is wonderful," I told her, a small sigh escaping me. "I just wish everything else was the same. I don't like seeing him worried. I'm worried too, but I know it ain't a scratch on how he must be feeling."

"Well, I'm just glad he has you. That man deserves a bit of love, that's for sure," Mary-Beth said, "after Mary, and everything that's happened to him."

"Mary-Beth," Tilly said, her tone a warning. 

"What?"

"You don't bring up a man's past relationships to his new lady," she chuckled, shaking her head. I smiled in amusement.

"It's alright. I know about Mary, even met her once. Well, not really met, saw her from a distance."

"Really? Oh, well I admit I was a little worried when I heard she was around. She practically carved the poor feller's heart out and spat on it. He was real excited when she agreed to marry him, I don't know how she could do that to him," Mary-Beth sighed. 

My heart thumped uncomfortably and I stared blankly at her. She noticed my silence and looked at me, the colour draining from her face soon after. 

"They were engaged?" I asked, my voice small. 

"Oh, Mary-Beth," Tilly said tightly, shaking her head. 

"I thought you knew," Mary-Beth covered her mouth. "Oh, goodness. I'm a fool."

"No, no it's fine. I've no right to be upset," I shook my head, snapping myself out of it. "I guess it just surprised me, I didn't know it'd gone that far."

I understood better why Arthur had been so deeply hurt by her. Why he'd held onto her for years, why he'd kept her photo, why he'd acknowledged her letter and gone to meet her despite the pain he knew it'd cause him. She was the woman he'd loved so much he'd wanted to share the rest of his life with her.

"No, you're upset. Oh gosh, forget this I'll do it later," Mary-Beth snatched the sewing from me and tossed it aside, clasping my hands in hers. "This was years ago, he's clearly moved on and he has you, he's completely taken by you, it's so easy to see."

"I don't need reassurance, like I said, I have no right to be upset over something that happened before he even knew me. He has his own life, how awful would I be to turn sour over him living his own life?" I forced a laugh, shaking my head. 

It was true, I had no reason to be upset. And I wasn't upset, not with Arthur, he'd done nothing wrong. But I did feel something cold and sickly and gross in my tummy and it was startlingly close to inadequacy.

"Mary-Beth is right, he's crazy about you. I watched him drawing you the other day when you weren't looking. Never seen the man look so peaceful," Tilly added, moving closer to join us. She put a hand on my shoulder as she sat beside me. 

"You did?" I sputtered, eyes going wide and my face going hot.

"Yeah. You were brushing your horse and he was at that table over there just watching you, sketching away in that journal of his. I'd love to see what's inside that thing," Tilly giggled. 

"I bet it's real romantic," Mary-Beth remarked, her voice low and tender.

"It never occurred to me that he might write about me in there," I thought aloud. 

"You should sneak a peek while he's sleeping," Tilly whispered and I flashed her a disapproving frown. 

"Oh, I couldn't. That'd be a violation of his privacy," I said. 

"I guess," Tilly sighed glumly. "You should at least ask him."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I reckon I might prefer the mystery."

"Might be full of things he's too scared to say, could show a soft, vulnerable, tender side to him that his tough, manly lifestyle forces him to hide," Mary-Beth stared off into the distance, her expression nothing short of dreamy.

"Good lord, Mary-Beth. You really have to stop reading those novels," Tilly laughed and Mary-Beth playfully swatted her arm. I couldn't help but smile, eyes wandering over to Arthur across the camp. That smile quickly faded though, when I noticed Lenny approaching the group with two men I did not recognise. 

"Hey, Dutch! We got a problem," he called out, pointing his gun at the back of the men, keeping a close eye on them as they walked towards Dutch. 

The men were well dressed in suits and ties and bowler hats, the second of the men had a gun slung over his shoulder. Something told me they weren't friends of the Van Der Linde gang. I stayed put as the men exchanged a few words. 

"Crap, that's the Pinkertons, I reckon," Mary-Beth hissed under her breath when she noticed. The gang slowly surrounded the group, forming a crowd that couldn't not be at least a little intimidating. I rose to my feet, crossing the camp towards them to listen in on what was happening, aware of the fact that Tilly and Mary-Beth were hanging back. 

"I don't know if you're aware but this is a civilised land, now. We didn't kill all those savages to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded or not yet invented. This thing, it's done," the first gentleman was announcing when I got close enough to hear. The atmosphere was so dark and thick, it was like I could taste it or smell it, it was foul like the contents of a spittoon.

"This place ain't no such thing as civilised. It's man so in love with greed he has forgotten himself and found only appetites," Dutch responded, his words so well articulated, spoken almost like poetry right from a book. 

"And as a consequence, that lets you take what you please, kill whom you please and hang the rest of us? Who made you the Messiah to these lost souls you've led so horribly astray?" The agent questioned, eyes scanning the crowd around him. His eyes found me. "Oh, and who is this? You must be new, haven't heard anything about you."

Dutch and Arthur looked my way, Dutch's expression stony and serious, Arthur's immediately turning to painful worry. 

"Leave her–" Arthur started, abruptly cut off by Dutch. 

"You'd single out a lady whom to your knowledge has done nothing wrong? That doesn't make you a man any more than threatening the likes of me does," he said. Hosea, who happened to be closest to me, pushed me behind him and obscured their view of me.

"Whether or not any of you lowlifes consider me a man is of no importance to me. I am here to offer you all a deal. You, Dutch, come with me and I'll give the rest of you three days to run off, disappear and go live like human beings someplace else," he bargained, and I stared at the back of Dutch's head, my heart in my throat as I awaited his response.

Dutch chuckled.

"You came for me? Risked life and limb in this den of lowlifes and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain't that fine?"

"I don't wanna kill all these folk Dutch. Just you," the agent stared at Dutch with such disdain I could practically feel the second hand effects of it, creeping hotly up my arms like vines.

"In that case, it'd be my honour to join you," Dutch's words were low, pleasant, "excuse me friends, I have an appointment to keep, with…"

The metallic clicks sounding out across the crowd rose hairs on my neck, weapons being readied, the threat loud and clear. 

"I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch," Miss Grimshaw warned. It was clear that nobody here was prepared to let the men take Dutch away. And Dutch… he was well aware of this.

"You're making a big mistake, all of you," the Pinkerton glowered, unsettled and frustrated, losing his grip on the situation he was so evidently being overpowered in.

"Yeah, dreadful. We have got something. Something to live and die for, how awful for us. Mr? Milton, stop following us, we'll be gone soon," more cool, velvety words from Dutch.

"I'm afraid I can't, and when I return I'll be with fifty men. All of you will die. Run away from this place you fools. Run!" 

"Come on," Lenny grabbed his arm, got him moving only to be shaken off.

"Get your damn hands off of me, boy," and with that, the gentleman returned from the direction they came. As they disappeared through the trees, the air seemed to clear just a bit. It left behind an unpleasant sludge but at least I felt I could breathe. 

The crowd dispersed as Dutch turned to Arthur, the men spoke quietly and I backed away, shaken by the experience. I knew that the Van Der Linde gang were wanted, chased by a dozen different groups of enemies, but actually seeing the evidence standing in the middle of the place we were all meant to feel the safest was difficult to wrap my head around. 

-

I found myself with Javier again, I'd sought him out when Dutch made the announcement that we were moving again, so I could help to take some tents down like last time. We worked together well enough. We were taking down Arthur's first, deconstructing the canvas and posts, loading everything up on the ammunition wagon it all attached to. I was tasked with carefully unpinning his photographs from the side of it so that they wouldn't be lost in transit. Javier and I weren't as talkative this time around, but his choice to start this particular conversation vexed me.

"This piss you off?" He asked, holding up the photograph of Mary. I frowned at him. 

"No," I simply said. 

"Alright," he said innocently. "I just thought, since you and him…" he trailed off. 

"Whatever he and I are, he's allowed to keep a photo of a person he once held dear," I said, packing away the keepsakes in Arthur's chest. I took the photo from Javier and it joined the rest.

"So, are you guys serious?" He asked. When I didn't answer him, he walked around to stand in front of me, folding up Arthur's bedding. "Micah's been sayin' some stuff."

"Micah," I repeated, looking up at Javier. "Micah doesn't know anything about Arthur and I so take it with a pinch of salt."

"No, not about Arthur, 'bout you and him, at the Parlour House," he told me. 

I stared for a moment, mind failing to conjure up a response. 

He smirked, though he seemed surprised. "So something did happen?"

"What's he been saying?"

"Nothing, really. It's all vague suggestion, was saying it 'round the fire the other night when you were in here with Arthur," he explained. "I know you and Micah have had some tension, with that kiss that day."

"What the fuck did he say?" I reiterated, getting irritated. 

"Said stuff like you and him make a good team, the usual crap. But then he talked about you two going out drinking at the Parlour House, you two had fun together, got along real well. Said it with this smirk on his face," Javier told me, wearing a salacious smirk of his own. "Didn't make it hard to read between the lines."

"Right, so basically, he's tryin'a start a rumour about me and him? What, that we kissed? Slept together?" I scoffed, and Javier shrugged. "Well, here's a rumour, spread it all you like. That bristly faced creep asked me to sleep with him at the Parlour House that night, an' he's clearly feeling hard done by considering I rejected him. And don't worry, Arthur already knows about the whole damn embarrassment and I talked him down from beating him, but I'm sure he'd reconsider if I jus' said the word." 

With every word I stepped closer to Javier, poison in my tone that wasn't really directed at him. The corner of his mouth curled up and he leaned away, holding his hands up in surrender. When I was finished, he let loose a chuckle. 

"Alright, I got you, loud and clear."

"I've been trying my damnedest to find the best in him, I know there's some decency in the man, but, by God. He's making it real difficult for me not to join the rest of 'em in hating the bastard," I huffed, feeling my face flush with embarrassment mixed with anger.

"Ay, it's okay. I never really believed him. Don't think anyone else did, either, we all saw how you were when Arthur got fucked up by the O'Driscolls," he reassured me, putting a hand on my shoulder and gingerly pushing me backwards, out of his personal space.

"Yeah well, even so, I don't take kindly to someone making me out to be somethin' I ain't. Say if someone did believe him, then watched me hanging around in Arthur's tent all these weeks, they'd think I was a real piece of work," I muttered, snatching the pillow from Arthur's bed and putting it in the wagon, then moving to roll up the thin padding that served as a mattress.

Javier laughed. "I think you're overestimating people's ability to give a damn. Even if it was true; you wanna get it on with half the gang, that's up to you. Wouldn't be the first girl," he snickered. 

I cocked a brow at him. 

"Could'a been any one of us in John's position," he shrugged. My head whipped around towards where Abigail was, helping pack with Sadie and Karen. 

"Oh, I ain't gossiping. Stop it," I muttered, shaking my head.  

"Alright, muñequita," he chuckled, "no more gossip."

"What does that mean?" I asked. 

"What does what mean?"

"Mune– mune– that word you said," I shook my head, the unfamiliar word dissolving in my mind before I could repeat it.

"Muñequita?" He smirked at me, looking a little surprised that I'd asked. A little embarrassed, even. "Oh, nothing. It's a… just a name. A term of endearment."

"Oh, alright. It's a pretty word," I shrugged my shoulders and smiled at him. 

"Means little doll. People don't tend to ask me what I'm saying, so I'm a little caught off guard," he laughed, shaking his head and turning away from me to lift up the bed frame. "The name seemed to suit you. Those jobs you do, putting on all these roles, playing pretend. Like a little kid's doll." 

He leaned the bed up against the wagon and turned to me, appraising my reaction.

"Well, playing pretend…" I started, pursing my lips in thought. "I guess I can pretend it ain't me robbing people blind. It's Jemima Jones." 

Javier laughed through his nose, tilting his head down. 

"Jemima Jones. She's a clever girl, but don't let her take all the credit–"

"I'm glad you two are gettin' along so nicely but if you remember, we all have the threat of death hangin' over us until we get packed up and gone. Get moving!" Miss Grimshaw hissed as she marched passed us. 

Javier and I shared a glance before getting back to work.