#every 500 words I'm like :( why is there no one I can share this with :(

[finxwrites]

They used to play the game a lot. One of them would say a name, and they wouldn’t ask the question aloud if they were anywhere even slightly public—secrecy was too ingrained in the three of them, and Mike had taken to it quickly enough—but they’d all hear it anyway: if they were a shifter, what animal would they be? They’d toss ideas back and forth, sometimes settling it at once, sometimes arguing for days. It was more fun than it had any right to be, and it hadn't taken Dustin all that long to figure out why: they’d never had anyone to share this with before.

Shifters mostly stuck with their own kind. In a town as small as Hawkins, that meant shifters mostly just had human friends, and politely avoided each other in the grocery store. It was part cultural norm and part instinct—something about being near other shifters made their animal side a little stronger, and animals don’t trust strangers. Especially strangers with sharp teeth. 

Mike had practically had to sit on them to get the three of them to be friends. For the longest time, just being around Lucas had made Dustin want to bolt. Hares and badgers weren’t even natural enemies, but it was enough that they weren’t friends, and that some deep part of Dustin, the part that lived right at the base of his skull, knew that Lucas could maul him with one well-placed strike.

Will hadn’t been so instinctively frightening—no one has anything to fear from a mouse. Where Dustin got jittery around the other two, Will went still and quiet. But Dustin had been as wary of that as he had been of Lucas’s on-edge sharpness. Everyone knew Will’s dad was a rat. Will had taken after his mother, but you never know with mixed shifters, and no one wants to tangle with a cornered rat.

Mike and Will had met on the first day of kindergarten and become instantly inseparable. Lucas had moved into the house next to Mike’s during spring break of first grade, and they’d hit it off almost at once. Mike hadn’t been able to understand why they’d both balked so hard when he tried to get them to play together at recess.

Most people would probably have given up after a few weeks. But Mike was one of the most stubborn people alive when he got an idea in his head. It didn’t get any easier when he and Dustin got close at summer camp, but Mike started second grade with an iron-hard determination that they would all be friends. Whether they liked it or not.

It took a little over a month for him to get all of them in his basement at the same time, very cautiously playing board games. It was another month before the three of them spent more than thirty seconds alone together, and even then it wasn’t voluntarily. Mike’s mom interrupted a game to insist he take a phone call from his grandma right now. Mike went with loud and lengthy protests, but he went, and then Dustin, Lucas, and Will were left staring at each other in suddenly stifling silence.

It was Will who broke it. Will had always been much braver than you’d expect a mouse to be. “If Mike was a shifter,” he said quietly, “what do you think he’d be?”

Lucas barely hesitated a moment. “A donkey.”

Will nodded pensively. Dustin snorted. “Because he’s stubborn as a mule?” he asked, at the same time as Will said, straight-faced, “Because he can be a real ass.”

Dustin and Lucas both lost it. Will grinned, and then joined in the laughter. That was how Mike found them, collapsed on the floor and giggling, drunk on the cut tension.

They weren’t magically friends after that. But for Dustin, at least, that was when it had started to feel possible.

[solar-wing]

⚣ Domestic Living With Jason 🩳

⚣🩳 A/N → I'm physically incapable of writing anything under 500 words. But, this was inspired by my love of compression shirts (especially the Under Armor ones and how I would do exactly this if my boyfriend tried to walk out wearing one). May start a series off this, we'll see. Warnings: Domestic Vibes. Married Energy. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Petty Jason.

⚣🩳 Summary → Domestic life is something. Domestic life with Jason Todd is another thing. One moment, you're ready to fight this man. Next moment, you're ready to fight this man. *wink wink* Wait, hold up. Jason, what the hell are you wearing?!

⚣🩳 Words → 1.5K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🩳

“Jason, hurry up! I need to get back so I can finish this essay.” Y/N yelled from the living room of his and his boyfriend’s shared apartment.

If you asked him a year ago what he figured living with his boyfriend would be like, he’d more than likely answer with a lot of freaking sex. Of course, other things came with it, but that was the first thing that always came to mind.

It also came with a lot of stay-at-home dates. Jason was unsurprisingly a natural homebody and loved to spend his evenings when he could with his lovely boyfriend cuddled against his body while watching a movie or playing a game and munching down on some takeout.

Truthfully, it was nice seeing how Jason was in a domestic situation. It served as a reminder to Y/N that under all those scars, grumpiness, and tough exterior was just a boy who wanted to be loved.

On the other end, living with Jason made Y/N take a long, hard look in the mirror and reflect on all the bad habits he had when living at home with his parents and starting college. For example, time management…

Before he started dating Jason, Y/N was the kind of person who waited till twenty minutes before he had to leave to start getting dressed. Whenever someone would text him and ask for his location, he’d respond telling them he was leaving the house now.

Then, when he was actually leaving the house and they’d text him again, he’d respond saying he was on the freeway. Truly, the best example of what not to do when he wanted to be on time somewhere.

After he started dating Jason though, and especially when they moved in together, Y/N sent a long apology to his parents who had tried for years to teach him better time management. The crazy thing about that was when they asked him why he was apologizing and he explained that Jason’s time management made him look like an angel, they didn’t believe him!

In their eyes, Jason was a saint who could do no wrong. Which was ironic considering Y/N’s dad promised to castrate any man who dared even look his son’s way. And his mom, well, not sure that’s really appropriate to mention.

Yet, when it came to Mr. Jason Peter Todd, he might as well have been hand-delivered from God himself. Maybe it was because his boyfriend could and would be late to anything else in the world (Lord knows Bruce went through hell and back just to get him to be on time for family dinner), but if it was anything involving Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, he was twenty minutes early with a gift he picked up from the local Target.

It also could be that Jason was the world’s biggest kiss-ass (when he needed to be) and used that to wrap Y/N’s parents around his finger. Either or…

But now, since they were only going to the gym, Jason was of course taking his sweet time to get ready, which, every passing second was another snap of one of Y/N’s nerves. Truthfully, he would’ve just grabbed his keys and left without him, but the last time he did that, Jason went and bought a steering-wheel clutch to put on his car and hid the keys from him for two weeks.

Another thing Y/N’s parents would never believe about their son’s beloved boyfriend; the fucker was petty as hell.

“I’m coming, babe! Be out in a sec,” Jason yelled from behind their bedroom door.

“You said that five minutes ago!”

“Sorry, I don’t recall. Maybe you imagined it.”

This gaslighting motherfu–

Y/N had to take a deep breath to calm his growing impulsive need to bust down that door and slap the fuck out of his boyfriend’s neck. It didn’t help…

“You can’t hit your boyfriend. You can’t hit your boyfriend. You can’t hit your boyfriend,” Y/N mumbled to himself while tapping his foot against the floor repeatedly to distract himself from the ticking seconds passing by in his mind.

Two minutes later, the door opened and revealed his tall and bulky man looking ever so fresh and handsome. Though Y/N was still irritated beyond belief, the sight of his boyfriend’s handsome face who grew a smile and twinkle in his eyes when he looked at him always managed to dissipate his temper.

Not by much though. Jason’s neck still looked like a very bright and large target just waiting for a good sting from the palm of his hands.

Maybe Tim was right, they were a match made in heaven just off violent tendencies alone.

“That was not a sec,” Y/N reprimanded in a grumble.

Jason’s smile turned into a self-satisfied grin while he walked past his boyfriend to their coat closet, grabbing his abnormally large gym shoes. Seriously, what size is this man’s foot?

“Hey, it’s not my fault you waited till the last day to finish your homework.” He replied while tying his shoe.

“Um, actually it is. Every time I tried to sit down and work on it, you’d either start complaining about how I wasn’t paying any attention to you or you’d get randomly horny and start touching me in ways that shall not be named and I’d end up with your dick inside me.”

Y/N immediately regretted his words when he saw how Jason looked up from finishing his last shoe, a lustful blown look on his face as he eyed his body up and down. Thankfully, he didn’t seem like he was about to act on his impulses as he kept tying his shoe without looking before standing back up.

Why was that hot?

“Sounds like you need to practice self-control, sir.”

Oh, no he didn’t.

“Sir, I was already tempted to smack the back of your neck before. I beg you to not increase that urge.”

“Do it. I dare you,” Jason challenged, standing right in front of him with his towering frame. The tone in his voice and the look on his face were signaling something that Y/N was very tempted to answer, but he had to keep rationality in the forefront of his mind.

“You not worth it,” He responded, side-stepping him while going to grab his jacket.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Sir, don’t get fu–”

It was at that moment Y/N took a full look at his boyfriend, specifically what he was wearing. And while the sight was something he wouldn’t mind staring at, he definitely didn’t want other people staring at him.

“Excuse me, but what in the hell are you wearing?” Y/N asked, still looking him up and down.

Jason looked confused for a moment, also looking at his outfit, not seeing what the problem was.

“Um, a shirt and sweats? Is this a trick question or,”

“Why is it so tight? Who are you trying to show off for?”

This man was wearing a black compression shirt and gray joggers like it was just a regular Sunday. The Lord is watching, how dare he?!

Jason’s smirk immediately came back when he realized what he was really about, “Oh, what? I can’t wear tight clothes now to the gym?”

“Not unless you want me to fight bitches. Because, just in case you forgot, I do fight bitches.”

“Language, or I’m telling mom. And I like it when you fight over me,” He said while grabbing at Y/N’s waist.

He immediately popped the vigilante’s hands off him, “Don’t involve my mother in and hands off mister.”

“Our mother, thank you,” Jason corrected.

“It’s giving incestuous, and last time I checked, there is no ring on this finger and my last name is not Todd.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Y/N was sat.

“I-, that was really hot and we’re gonna move on from that,” Y/N responded, and Jason once again had a cocky smirk on his face. Lord knows this man was more than likely dead serious. He’d drop everything and drive to a ring shop right now.

“Anyway, you need to go change sir. I don’t need them dirty, mud-bathing rats staring at what is for my eyes only.” Y/N responded, pointing back to their bedroom waiting for Jason to move.

“Oh, so I need to go change, but when you were wearing those tiny shorts, showing off what’s supposed to be for my eyes only, I got told to mind the business that pays me,” Jason asked with a laugh.

“Are you on my payroll?” Y/N questioned.

“No.”

“My point still stands.”

“You think you’re funny,”

“I think I’m hilarious, actually. In fact, I’m so funny, I’m going to get the extra small shorts I just got in the mail since you want to play with me.” Y/N turned around and sprinted for their bedroom.

“Oh, I’ll play all day,” Jason mumbled under his breath before throwing their gym bags down to the ground and kicking off his shoes before following his boyfriend into the room.

They did not make it to the gym, but they definitely got their workout in.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[portgasdwrld]

Hello! For the event, I'd like to ask for Law with a female reader and the prompt "I'm the luckiest person". Just, it's reader saying that to Law and his reaction, probably saying the same thing back to her later?

↻ HELLO, I'm sorry for taking so long! Hopefully you will like it.

I’m finally starting my 500 followers event before I hit 1k LMAO

☆ Lucky w. Law

You watch your boyfriend whose focus is deep in his books. You admire his determination and dedication to his dreams and his self. Unconsciously, you find yourself smiling softly at him with eyes full of love. His fluffy dark hair who is now quite messy from him passing his fingers through it, his eyes reading the pages in front of him, his tattooed fingers playing with his pen; why was even the most effortless behaviour done by him, evoking this feeling of warmth in your heart?

Was it because he’s able to give you this tranquility you needed and this love which was never too demanding or complicated, for most times? You aren’t too sure, but you felt overly very satisfied and almost lucky to have met him. You felt lucky to have his love.

He must have felt you staring because you notice his eyes looking quickly at your direction. He focuses right back into his things, but you see the way his lips curve into a smirk.

“What so funny” , you ask with every intention to disturb his studying. You smile wildly as Law turns his body slightly toward you and drop his pen down.

“Why are you staring at me for so long ?” He asks with the same smirk you love so much.

“You are too handsomeeee, how can I not stare”

You teasingly say as you stand up and walk to him. To that he just rolls his eyes , but still, there is a light blush on his cheeks.

“But honestly…”, you start as you stop in front of him and sit down on his lap. He’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you more into him.

“I feel like I’m the luckiest person” Law cocks an eyebrow at your statement a little confused. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes tell you enough to get that he doesn’t understand.

You chuckle as you peck his cheek. “I don’t know, I just feel so lucky to have you in my life. To have you by my side and be able to share this comfortable love with you.”

Law furrows his eyebrows for a second and nods without saying anything. You are someone who brought a lot of good into his life. With everything he lived younger and in the past, life does get hard when he finds himself locked up in his thoughts. On the other side, ever since you came into his life, he has someone who to talk with and trust on more serious matters. He has someone with who he can be himself and be vulnerable which is very unlike him. But somewhat with you, that seems easier and it comes naturally. So wasn’t he the one lucky to have you in his life ?

You watch him think about your words and as the man he is with little words, he leaves a quick peck on your cheek.

“Thank you…for being in my life too” ♡

[ireadwithmyears]

Hi! Would you be able to write something for the clones (any of them) with a reader who has a guide dog. I've been running into a lot of issues with people trying to distract her and borderline harassing us (the president of my university follows us around with his unleashed dog running up to us, someone grabbed her nose when we were on a bus and then screamed at us, I'm a biology/genetics major so we get some subtle discrimination in academic opportunities like research projects, etc). Also I don't currently live somewhere with public transportation so I have to take Uber to get anywhere which is a whole other nightmare (a driver dropped us off at the wrong location and I was stuck in a sketchy part of town for 45 minutes while drivers kept denying us a ride). Maybe something with how the clones would comfort/handle their SO dealing with these things. Obviously you don't have to write about all of these scenarios, just some ideas

You don't have to of course, but I figured it was worth an ask:)

Looking Out for You:Part 1

Pairing: Commander Fox/fem Reader

Visually impaired reader masterlist

Word count: 4.1 K

Tags/warnings: Visually impaired reader, meet cute, grumpy x sunshine vibes, denial of feelings(Fox falls first, he falls hard, and he denies it every single step of the way because he’s Fox), guide dog cuteness, brief mention of ableism(this chapter is pretty tame, but in future installments, I intend to explore these elements more deeply, specifically as they pertain to service dog users. These topics aren’t always the most comfortable to discuss. But I feel they are important to bring awareness to)

Summary: Making the transition from your small, rural homeworld to Coruscant already promises to be tough. But when you’re employed to work at the Senate buildings directly under senator Organa and you’re also a guide dog user, things quickly become more complicated, in a variety of ways. Luckily, you seem to have caught the eye of a certain Marshal commander, who swears up and down that he’s not falling in love with you, but who, regardless, always has your back, and is always looking out for you.

A.k.a. 

The three times Fox makes sure that you get home safely. Plus the one time he ends up following you inside

Authors note: Hii anon. I was so happy to hear from you and received this request. As a fellow guide dog user, I have so many different experiences that I feel are worth sharing, so that more people are aware of the trials we face because as amazing as it is that we have these incredible animals, it isn’t always just a nice walk in the park. Which leads me to my next point. Because of all of these experiences that I want to highlight, this 1shot quickly evolved into a four part series, to give it the proper breathing room that I feel it deserves. I hope that’s okay, and I hope you still like this one. If you’d like to message me privately so that I can make sure you’re tagged in each subsequent update, please do. I’d be happy to do that

The first time it happens, Fox is admittedly running on his default, which is to say in plain terms that he is annoyed.

“Why is this my problem?”

Fox winces upon hearing the barely concealed snarl in his own voice through his helmet speakers. He could have phrased that better. He should have at least taken the courtesy to add “with all due respect” when leading into that sentence, even if both he and the trooper who has the misfortune of being at the other end of the line are both fully aware that he doesn’t intend to sound respectful in the slightest.

There’s a pause, a hesitation on the other end of the coms, which causes Fox to silently berate himself for his initial sharp tone. He reminds himself, as he does about 500 times daily, that he needs to be more careful with it.

This warning, for some reason, always falls on deaf ears. But still, Fox wagers that he at least keeps trying, and who knows, maybe one of these days, it’ll actually stick. It probably won’t.

“It’s just that the issue is occurring at the entrance closest to your office, sir,” the trooper begins before rushing to add, “but if you’re busy, we can send—”

“Don’t bother,” Fox sighs. “I’m already on my way there.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be on such a high horse, but really, being sent to investigate a loitering complaint is far above what he, as a marshall commander, should be doing. Despite this though, he privately admits that he’s been looking for an excuse to stand up from his desk chair and stretch his legs. Maybe if he’s lucky, he'll manage to shake off the aching twinge in his left shoulder, hunched from filling out a last-minute stack of crime reports that he had been on the scene of, all from the previous night between the hours of 1 to 3 in the morning. So really, he rationalizes, can anyone blame him for being more than a little bit pissed off at the interruption? 

Maybe it’s a sign that he needs a refill on his caf. 

He rounds the corner and, with what is in hindsight probably more force than is necessary, smacks a hand against an access panel. The door slides open, and a cool breeze hits him as he steps outside into the open air.

His eyes scan through the visor of his helmet, and to his annoyance he doesn’t see the suspected loiterer that he had been warned of, at least not at first. 

Sighing, he steps further out and past the awning above the entrance. Though the air is cool, the sun still shines, and the slight glow causes his eyes to catch on the gloss of your hair as you walk past, eyes nervous as they flick around. Sensing his presence, you pause, shoulders stiffening slightly as you turn to face him with trepidation. Fox also takes notice, his eyes widening in momentary surprise when he observes the guide dog harnessed at your left side, looking up at you with big brown eyes, as if silently trying to understand your sudden hesitance.

You, of course, have every reason to be suspicious of any unannounced or unidentified presence in your vicinity, especially now that you’re living on Coruscant. But, if you’re honest, you’re already on edge, and even though it’s still morning, the day has promised to be shit if the beginning of it is any indication.

Senator Organa isn’t in the habit of firing his junior staff for small mistakes like this, you remind yourself. Still, the thought, no matter how many times you’ve repeated it like a mantra at this point, doesn’t manage to calm your growing nerves, because regardless you’re still lost, and you’re still running late. You silently curse the pitfalls of being blind and using a ride-sharing service, and then you have to restrain yourself from cursing aloud when your eyes land on the silhouette parked a few meters in front of you.

You don’t have much vision. But with what you do have, it’s enough to deduce bright, contrasting colors. And the red splotches against white armor has you stopping dead in your tracks, because within the span of two seconds, a cold clarity settles within your stomach, because the red and white armor is distinctly and unmistakably that of a Coruscant Guard member, the visor of his helmet tilted, looking no doubt with suspicion directly at you.

Resisting the urge to bemoan the shortage of orientation and mobility droids designed to assist with transitions like this—which would have ensured that you would have been able to smoothly get yourself out of this situation in the first place—you bring your guide dog to heel before gesturing for her to sit, then slowly and hesitantly raise your eyes to the trooper, already feeling a mix of anxiety and guilt stirring in the pit of your stomach.

There’s a small sound from his helmet, a hesitation as he seems to clear his throat before speaking. 

“Personal Senatorial aides aren’t permitted to use this entrance,” he says, gesturing to the badge on the lanyard that hangs around your neck. 

He speaks as if this is a reminder that he’s given more than once, which you’re sure he has. Still, there’s an underlying sharpness to it that makes you jump despite your efforts not to react. 

“I, I know,” you say, swallowing before rushing to continue. “I didn’t mean to be dropped off here, sir. I took a Speedershare to get here this morning, and I didn’t realize the driver dropped me off at this entrance until I got out, and by that point it was too late, and I should have asked to verify which one he was going to but—”

“Hey, easy. Slow down.”

The trooper steps closer to you, and it’s only then that you register that you’ve been rambling, your anxiety ratcheting up with each word. Now that you’re silent, you can feel the way your heart is pounding. You’ve seen the Guard around, of course, but you’ve never really interacted with any of them. He’s tall, you realize as he stands in front of you and you look up into the visor of his helmet. Tall and broad, and you were already nervous before he showed up. 

But his hands are raised, in supplication or as an offering of peace, you’re not sure. But regardless, he doesn’t seem on the verge of scolding you further for your silly mistake, which is good, because your nerves are still so frayed from getting out of your ride only to realize that you had no idea where you were, and that apart from knowing that you were somewhere at the Senate building, you were effectively lost and alone. A scolding, delivered with just the right amount of displeasure, would probably be enough to make you start crying, which would make this day go from being the worst to certifiably irredeemable.

“Speedershare isn’t always the most reliable service. Your employer is Senator Organa,” he says, eyes once again scanning over your badge. “I’m sure he could arrange an alternate transportation service that is much more consistent and professional for you to use.”

“I don’t want his charity,” you say, and you can’t help the hard edge that creeps into your voice when you speak.

But really, you don’t. You know that he could, and knowing Senator Organa, he would be happy to do so. But it’s unnecessary. You grew up needing extra accommodations and things that, despite your teachers��� constant stream of reassurances, always made you feel singled out. 

You’re an adult now, and you don’t want that. You don’t need his charity, his pity, or to be added to his ever-growing list of things to worry about at the beginning and end of each day—an item to be checked off. 

As far as you’re concerned, the best thing you can do for the both of you is to keep this to yourself, and you’ll figure out how to manage sooner or later.

Fox takes a step back, able to recognize your quick deflection of his suggestion as a sign that he’s slightly overstepped, and he nods, glancing towards the door.

“Well,” he says, forcing his voice to sound lighter. “I suppose I could let you off the hook this once and let you use this entrance.”

“Thank you,” you say, before hesitantly adding, “I, I’m not familiar with the route to get to Senator Organa’s office from where we are. Would you, I mean, you don’t have to if you’re busy, but—”

“I’ll take you there,” he cuts you off, finality in his voice. “Do you, uh, need a guide or anything?”

Fox internally kicks himself for not knowing how to handle a situation like this, but you give your head a small shake, which allows him a moment of relief. 

“The color on your armor is bright,” you respond, and for the first time in this interaction, you smile. He can’t help but admire the way it seems to transform you, your previous nerves and worry disappearing like the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s quite lovely, he observes, and then internally kicks himself just a bit harder as punishment for that traitorous thought. 

Useless, he scolds. Unnecessary. But it’s already been thought, and he can’t take it back. He’s grateful for the helmet concealing his face, hiding the way his lips repeatedly twitch in an effort to turn upward as he hears you, your voice giving a soft, encouraging command, and the slight pitter patter of paws against pavement as your guide dog leads you to follow after him. 

He firmly resolves not to speak unless necessary until he’s taken you to the senator's office.

This resolve lasts for less than two minutes before he feels the slight brush of a wet nose against his hand and hears a small sniffing sound at his hip. Turning his head, he finds your guide dog, who has stopped walking and is sniffing at a pouch around his waist, and you looking sheepish as you stand behind him.

“Mandalore, leave it,” you scold, your voice lower than he’s heard it and with a suddenly authoritative edge that has his eyes widening slightly. You’re so little, he thinks, and all you’ve ever been whilst interacting with him is timid and quiet like a mouse. Seeing that side of you, as if flipped on by a switch, well...he can’t help but be taken by slight surprise. You pull back the harness, giving it a slight shake and the dog, with obvious reluctance, backs off, abandoning its curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, your cheeks heating with a blush. His hand twitches of its own accord, struck with an unexplained urge to reach out and touch, wondering if he would feel the warmth of your cheek beneath his gloved fingers.

Kriff, his internal monologue groans, disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with you today? He refocuses, looking down at you and shaking his head.

“Your dog’s name is Mandalore?” he asks, genuinely curious and unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

You laugh, nodding your head. “The one and only,” you grin. “Certain training schools do things differently. But the one we went to likes to name each litter by theme, and hers happened to be planets.”

You lower your voice, leaning in conspiratorially with a slight twinkle in your eye. 

“You know, for a Mandalore, she doesn’t look very intimidating, does she?” you ask, and he’s surprised, startled even, to hear the snort of laughter that is pulled from him as he nods his head, looking down at the guide dog who’s unaffected, her professional mask barely concealed behind a tail that wags at him and big, pleading eyes that seem to pierce through his soul.

“No, she really doesn’t,” he agrees, and your grin widens.

“I’ve always joked that if a burglar broke into my house, she wouldn’t bark or growl or try to bite at them,” you say, still smiling as you continue to walk. “She would simply flop down on the ground at their feet and roll over to demand a belly rub.”

“Well…” he says, and faintly, in the back of his head, he registers that he’s 

actually smiling. Huh, he thinks, taken slightly off-guard by the strange feeling. He can’t remember the last time that’s happened. It’s almost slightly disturbing. “If she’s not a fighter, she at least has some good distraction tactics.”

You laugh, your previous nerves surrounding getting lost and being late all but forgotten. It’s a nice sound, bright and lively, and Fox, the Maker help him, finds that he wants to hear it again.

“She probably smells the treats I keep in my pouch for Grizzer,” Fox explains, slightly rueful. He rolls his eyes and pretends to dislike it every time Hound brings the massiff to his office, citing that his panting is distracting, and that his drool gets everywhere, which is disgusting. Those things are both true. But Fox also can’t help but appreciate the warm weight of Grizzer’s head against his leg or the large, imploring eyes the massiff gives him when he knows that Fox has food. 

“I figured it would be unprofessional of me to offer one to her,” he continues, and you nod your head, glancing down.

“It would, but...” you begin slowly, calculating as you clock the staircase you’re approaching and turning your head to look up at him as a slow smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “If you give it to me, I could give it to her by proxy if you want.”

He nods, unzipping the small pouch, guiding you to hold out your hand as he places several small treats on the palm of it, which already has the dog vibrating with eagerness. But you don’t give in right away. 

“Forward,” you say, gesturing your head to the small set of stairs. The added incentive makes the dog quick on her feet, and you have to tell her to slow down as she rushes to comply, guiding you towards the stairs, barely able to contain the excited trot in her step. “Okay, Mandalore, show me where the railing is.”

The guide dog turns slightly, changing course to lead you towards the railing on the far right, placing her front paws up on the stairs and pausing, turning her head to look up at you for approval. 

“Yes,” you beam, stroking a hand along her head. “You learn so fast. Good girl.”

Fox watches, a smile on his face as you hold out your hand with the treats, giving it a few taps against the railing before opening your palm, offering it to her. She eagerly gobbles them up without hesitation, her tail never ceasing its happy little wiggles, which makes Fox want to laugh.

“You know,” he says, stepping up beside you and beginning to mount the stairs. “On second thought, maybe she is a fighter. I mean, she looked like she was ready to take off your fingers along with the treats.”

“When it comes to food, she definitely is,” you say with a grin, following after him. “If only all burglars came covered in peanut butter or dog treats, I’d feel much safer about our odds.”

You both snicker, and the rest of the journey up to the senators’ offices passes in a relatively comfortable silence apart from Fox giving you a few quiet directions as you make your way through the halls. You never fail to turn your head and smile at him each time he warns you of a crowd of people incoming so you can maybe take a step to the side, or if you need to turn left or right at this next intersection.

He isn’t sure how to describe it, but his heart does something strange each time you do. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience...” you trail off, uncertain of the trooper’s name as you stand outside the doorway to Senator Organa’s office.

“Fox,” he responds, and he’s quickly struck by the strangeness of how he felt compelled to give you his chosen name first instead of his rank. That, he thinks, is definitely odd and out of the ordinary, but he recovers himself quickly. “Commander Fox,” he adds, and your cheeks rapidly heat with a blush.

“Oh, Force,” you groan, covering your cheeks with your hands and closing your eyes, mortified. “I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to inconvenience so much of your time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, and the brush of gloved fingers against your arm is barely there, brief and gone in an instant, but it’s enough to startle you out of your embarrassment, your eyes widening as you look up at him. “It wasn’t an inconvenience,” he says, sounding so sincere that you lose any ability to respond to that, falling into a silence in which the both of you simply stand, contemplating each other.

Fox, for his part, is struck by the realization that, for once, he means every word he’s just said. 

“Well,” you say, blinking as you try to shake yourself out of your stupor. “Regardless of the circumstances, it was lovely to meet you, Commander, and if we ever encounter each other again, you may want to introduce yourself by name if we speak. Every trooper shares the same voice, which makes it much harder for me to differentiate between you all, and I’d hate to mistake you for someone else and embarrass the both of us any further. At least, more than I probably already have.”

“Right,” he says, equally as slowly and strangely hesitant for this conversation to end but not knowing what else to add. “Understood.” 

“I should go,” you say, feeling suddenly shy as you give him a small smile and turn to the door. “See you around, Commander,” you murmur, giving him a playful wink.

You step into the office, not waiting for his response. It takes him a full 30 seconds of just standing there out in the hall listening to the sound of dog paws tapping against the floor, growing distant as you move out of his listening range, to realize that you left him—completely and deliberately if the smirk that was pulling at the corners of your lips was any indication—with a blind joke.

He chokes, uncertain of if he’s allowed to laugh—of if it would be completely inappropriate for him to laugh. His cheeks heat with belated awkward embarrassment. He shakes his head, making a note as he forces his feet to move and forces himself to walk away, heading back in the direction of his office.

The next time he sees you—and he can’t help the strange and foreign hope that twinges in his chest at even the thought of seeing you again—he’ll have to ask you.

Until then, he thinks, giving himself a firm shake as he maneuvers himself through the halls of the Senate building. He resolves to keep you—the girl with the pretty smile, the hair that looks like it was made to run fingers through, and the infectious laugh that he still hears clear as a bell even now that you’re gone—far from his thoughts, ordering himself to stop acting like some sort of lovesick puppy and for kriff sake to just get back to work.

*

Fox, to his consternation, is unsuccessful.

The whole day, as he goes about his tasks—filling out reports, sending requisitions to the Senate, doing patrol—he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Your smile as you tilted your head to look up at him, your warm, encouraging demeanor as you worked with your guide dog, the excitable pup looking up at you like you’re her whole galaxy, the way that he had been able to make you genuinely laugh...

Okay, maybe his bar for sharing friendly interactions with natborns was insanely low up to this point. But knowing that he had brought that out of you had felt strangely good, leaving a warm, unfamiliar feeling in his stomach that lingered every time he thought of it.

He’s so unsuccessful at keeping his mind off of you during the workday that it’s still early in the afternoon when he pulls up your file on the database, scrolls through your work schedule, and at the end of the day is standing outside of Senator Organa’s office waiting for your shift to end.

When he sees you come out, Mandalore, sensing his presence before you do, happily begins to waggle her tail, her footsteps quickening as she leads you out of the office. He calls out to you, and you turn, searching for the voice.

“It’s Fox,” he says, removing his helmet and tucking it beneath his arm. “From this morning.”

Is he imagining it, or do your eyes actually light up when you spot him? 

“I just wanted to make sure that your ride picks you up without complication,” he continues. “Not that I don’t think you can do that on your own,” he rushes to add, his cheeks heating slightly. He’s already gotten the sense that you don’t like being underestimated, and he respects that. “I can make sure that you have detailed instructions in the app so that your driver knows exactly which entrance to collect you.”

“That would actually be super helpful!” you exclaim, and there’s no masking the relief in your voice as you pull out your comm, fiddling with it for a second before passing it to him. “I’ve been meaning to ask someone to update them, because I have a vague idea of what each entrance looks like and how to describe them, but honestly, I don’t think it’s enough to be helpful.”

He takes the device from you, and working quickly, types up detailed directions on how to get to the staff entrance along with a description of its surroundings. He pastes a copy into your notes for good measure so that you’re able to keep reusing it at your convenience. He explains all this to you as he passes it back, letting you know your ride is booked.

“You’re an angel, Fox,” you say in a relieved breath, beaming up at him. “Moving here has been so stressful as it is, and getting used to the transit options is just one more thing on top of that.”

You miss the way his cheeks go pink, but you do catch his quiet, breathy chuckle as he awkwardly avoids your gaze. 

“Right, well,” he scratches at the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. “Your ride should be here soon. Want me to come with you and make sure it shows up?”

“I don’t want to hold you up if you have other things to do,” you say uncertainly, biting your lip.

The truth is, you so badly want to say yes. Waiting for a Speedershare on your own can be anxiety inducing. So many things can go wrong. Your driver might not be able to find you, and when they call and ask you for directions, you aren’t able to provide them with much help. They could drive past and cancel altogether once they realize you have a service dog. Or worse, they can turn it into a full out yelling confrontation. In all cases, you’ve learned, your anxiety is significantly lessened if someone else is with you, ready to back you up at a moment's notice.

It’s true, you’ve only met Fox today. But his presence is steady, safe, and you get the sense that he would stay without question and without hesitation. But you also don’t want to become his burden.

“You’re not,” he states, hooking his helmet to his belt. “And I’m not. Come on, let’s go find your ride.”

And that’s exactly what he does. 

He leads you out towards the pick-up point, and when the speeder gets there, he verifies the plates, opens the door, and helps you inside, waiting patiently for your guide dog to tuck in her tail before beginning to let it close. Before it does though, before it drives away and you’re left wondering if and when you’ll ever see him again, he speaks, his voice low and carrying the softest, lightest undertone of teasing.

“See you around, mesh’la.”

It takes you a moment, but as you drive off, the echo of the words you had jokingly thrown over your shoulder at him just this morning flashes through your memory, and before you know it, you’re tipping your head back against the headrest of the seat, quietly laughing to yourself, uncaring of the driver giving you a funny look from the corner of his eye as he picks up speed, driving away from the Senate building.

You’re still smiling as the speeder rounds the corner, and the building, as well as Marshall Commander Fox, disappears from view.

If you like and enjoy this story, please consider dropping a reblog, as you might help someone else find something they enjoy just as much. Thank you :-) and thank you to @strangergraphics-archive for such cute puppy dividers

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Whump Wednesday

So as most of you know, words have...not been coming easily for me lately. In fact, words have not been coming at all lately. There's some stuff I've been dealing with offline that has contributed to my muse's disappearance, and truth be told, I've been a bit afraid of writing, thinking that perhaps my muse has up and gone forever and I just simply will never write again.

But then @thinkof-england shared with me her idea of taking on Whump Wednesday via a virtual spinning wheel, and she encouraged me to give it a shot with her, as perhaps just an exercise in getting back to writing again. So tonight, for the first time, we allowed the wheel to guide us...and the prompt we received was TW: amputation. What the hell was I meant to do with that, as my FIRST WHUMP PROMPT out of the gate?!

I said, "I'm going to try to just do a drabble. Just 100 words, that's all, no big thing. Surely the muse can make that happen." And then once the idea came, she managed a staggering 500 words. I have NO idea if these words are good or not, but they are mine, and they're 500 words more than I had when I woke up this morning. So behind the cut you'll find a small pentadrabble zombie FirstPrince AU featuring TW: blood, pain, mention of zombies, and implied amputation without anesthesia or proper medical care.

Please be kind. If this doesn't sound like your thing, please keep scrolling right on by. It won't hurt me in the slightest. What will hurt me are unkind words.

A strangled cry rips itself free of Henry’s lungs as Cash carries him inside the farmhouse and places him gently on the couch. Despite the proof of his immense pain dripping from his golden hair and written in every tense, taut line of his face, he buries the sleeve of his shirt into his mouth to stifle the sound. Ever their protector.

Alex produces a knife and cuts away the blood-soaked denim concealing his twisted and torn skin. Jagged holes from the rotting teeth of the undead fucker that attacked his husband continue to pour blood, already beginning to soak the floral fabric on the couch where he and Henry had once made love, long after everyone else had fallen asleep upstairs. Alex can still hear the soft laughter ringing out in the dead of night from Henry’s parted pink lips when he teasingly asked if they needed to seek out one of those ancient plastic covers. He blanches at the thought now.

But it’s the draining of blood from beneath Henry’s already pale skin that comes back into sharp focus as the hulking shadow that can only be Cash reappears over his shoulder. Alex, having no idea he’d left at all, turns to find a handsaw, a belt, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol bundled in Cash’s arms. His lips are a thin line as he kneels by the couch and rolls up his sleeves, until Alex stills his motions with a hand over his.

“I’ll do it,” Alex says softly, his voice a weak croak of a sound. He coughs, as if something as simple as the pollen count could be responsible for the paralysis of his vocal cords. He turns to Henry, then, whose blue eyes are bright with fear and pain and knowing, always just a step ahead of Alex despite his perpetual attempts at running as far ahead as he can into the future, to prepare a way for them. Henry’s never had to run. He’s always simply gazed up at the night sky in silence, as if the great hunter in the heavens is whispering and he’s the only one who can hear. Or perhaps it isn’t Orion at all, but a guardian angel.

Why then, Alex wonders, if Henry’s gift is knowledge, and if there’s some all-knowing being keeping watch over him from just beyond the stars, could something like this be happening to him?

“I trust you,” Henry says, his teeth clenched tight as he places a blood-soaked hand over Alex’s to still a trembling he hadn’t yet noticed. Henry’s golden wedding band glimmers in the dusk of another dying day, surprisingly free of the scarlet liquid still flowing freely from his wounded leg.

Alex’s lungs refuse to inflate when he draws air into them, and the minute contents of his stomach churn with the task he’s about to face, but he secures the belt tightly just above the wound, rests one hand on Henry’s knee for stability and support, and begins.

[lewkwoodnco]

and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind - Lockwood x Reader

will you love me like you loved me in the January rain? will you love me like you loved me and I'll never ask for more.

and I never minded being on my own, then something broke in me and I wanted to go home to be where you are but even closer to you, you seem so very far and now I'm reaching out with every note I sing and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here

I didn't choose this town. I dream of getting out. There's just one who could make me stay...all my days.

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST part 1: I Can See You

a/n: WOOOO almost a month since my last fic (tl;dr got terribly sick, got my a level results, scholarship apps, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life until I remembered, oh, right, I hate doing that, so now its back to fic writing) anywaysss watched miss peregrines home for peculiar children while i was sick and omg. the end credits song??? deCEASED. anyways heres a fic inspired by that song which you should definitely listen to and i definitely wont cry if you dont cbnjvfkjva bye going to get chocolate cakee

warnings/tropes: reader (unexpectedly) missing lockwood desperately after moving away, pining for someone w every fiber of your being, handling grief (NO major character death tho), angst, no happy ending :/// but some snippets of humour!

word count: 6.3k! (my longest fic yet!)

"You won't believe what they're doing at Fittes."

 She slid into a seat at Portland Row's kitchen table, oblivious to the fact that she had just stolen George's seat. George glared at Lockwood for a minute, who looked appropriately sympathetic yet slightly distracted, before picking another seat.

"Hi Y/N, how nice to see you. Again. For the third time this week. Please, make yourself at home."

"Oh, Georgie, you're so sweet." She was too distraught to pick up on George's sarcastic tone or his eye roll, though Lockwood spared him an apologetic glance. She slammed a letter onto the table, upsetting the salt and pepper shakers, which Lockwood started curiously scanning. "Unlike my daft supervisors."

There was always a flurry of activity whenever she visited Portland Row. She somehow always had so much to say, and she had to say it within the first five minutes of her being there. That usually meant Portland Row's own activities would come to a brief halt, but her news was more often than not too entertaining to incite many grievances from the inhabitants.

After their joint case involving Winkman, Lucy and George had felt the air shift between them, in a way they couldn't quite put their finger on. Something had obviously happened, especially since she had started stopping by Portland Row. They'd exchange a few obligatory insults, share the highlights of their week, and somehow not bite each other's faces off. Over time, the insults faded into the background, but they still threw in the occasional jab when things started seeming too friendly. Why they were still pretending to get into tiffs when Lockwood had slipped her a spare key was completely lost on George and Lucy. 

One unfortunate consequence was they became stuck in this weird limbo. Neither friends nor enemies, but something more rather than in between. And yet, some part of them always hesitated, and so they remained as the two singular, lonely entities they had always been. That wasn't to say they didn't have it in their hearts to feel appropriately outraged for the other when the circumstances called for it.

"Layoffs?”

"Layoffs!"

"What the hell are they laying you off for?"

"Exactly! Never mind that my team has the lowest mortality rate, or that we've never caused destruction worth any more than 500 pounds - no offence, Lockwood."

"Er, yes. At least they're giving you a decent severance package."

Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say, and this time the egg cups went down as well.

"Overrated ass agency with fuck ass headquarters in the middle of London that I never wanted to spend the rest of my career at anyway, fuck Fittes bitch fucking Rotwell's wannabe-“

"What about Kipps?"

Her face twisted and the others braced for impact a third time. "If they don't put his head on the chopping block, I will-"

After a few cups of tea and a few more rounds of nonsensically excessive swearing, she had finally gotten her disappointment under control.

"Maybe a little rapier practice will take your mind off things?"

She pulled a face. "But my shoulder's so tired."

"Your shoulder's been tired for three weeks now. If your break goes on any longer you'll forget everything I've taught you about grips."

"Aw. Oh no."

"Yes, yes, you're very funny."

"What a tragedy."

"You could at least try to pretend like you care."

"I care! I so care. Of course I care. I've got the hottest instructor this side of the Thames."

"Only on this side of the Thames?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's also a dork ass loser who wears confetti-coloured socks."

Still, she joined him in the basement for a little bit of practice, just to refresh her memory. After that, they tried to venture into some basic lunges, which was where things started going downhill again.

"It's no use." She drove her rapier into the stand and started pulling her wrist brace off, despite Lockwood's deflating encouragement. She sat propped up against the wall, frustratedly combing through her sticky hair. "I'm hopeless at this. Maybe Fittes did know what they were doing when they laid me off."

Lockwood sighed. He put away his own rapier and joined her on the floor. "You're not the only employee they've dismissed. You just got...unlucky."

"Now I feel worse."

"My point is, things will start looking up once you move on." He fiddled with her wrist brace. hesitating. "You do know what to do next, don't you?"

She sighed. "I'll start sending out applications tomorrow. There's this agency in Canterbury I've worked with before. Maybe they'll consider having me full-time."

If she notices Lockwood being mildly taken aback, she doesn't remark on it. He manages some strangled response of approval, and their rapier practice session ends there. It's too late for her to return home by then, so they wash up and get ready for bed. It's clear the day has taken a sizeable chunk out of her when she almost immediately falls half-asleep. Lockwood worries over their conversation in the basement. He glances at her relaxed face. Yeah, she was probably still awake.

"Y/N. Y/N."

"Mm."

"You awake?"

"Mhm."

"I just wanted to tell you that...I was perfectly serious that time. When I said you could come work for me. In case you were wondering. Y/N?"

She doesn't respond, and after a few minutes, her breathing evens out again. He isn't sure if she's heard her, and is even less sure why she's doing everything in her power to stay away from Lockwood & Co.

One cold, January morning, she had been at the Archives with Lockwood & Co. where they were doing some research on their latest joint case. By the time that January morning had turned into a chilly January afternoon, George was telling Lockwood off for leaving one of the maps behind at Portland Row. Naturally, Lockwood was sent to fetch the missing materials, who, not-so-naturally, enlisted her help. 

As reluctant as she may have appeared to join Lockwood on this errand, she rested her buzzing head against the soothing, cold glass of the cab gratefully. She had been a little distracted all morning; working at a slower pace, fiddling with the large volumes disinterestedly, staring off into space. She was simultaneously irritated and relieved that Lockwood had noticed. She stared out at the foggy streets of London with her own foggy eyes, trying to make sense of the day.

She had decided to wait on their front porch while Lockwood nipped in to get the papers. While waiting, a sharp rap on their tin awning startled her. Peering up at the sky, she watched the first raindrops of that January shower land in Portland Row's garden. Soon enough, it started to pour generously. The delicate, almost curious winter daffodils drooped their heads under the violent force that was the rain coming down in sheets. In the grey of the clouds and the streets, their yellow petals made her dream of something half-happy.

Tentatively, she walked down the path and stepped into the garden. And then another step. And then another. She was frolicking in the rain for the first time in her life, and there was no one around to stop her.

She felt the rain pause, and turned to see Lockwood holding an umbrella over the two of them. She wrapped her fingers around his on the handle and, with a bit of difficulty, closed the umbrella over their heads. It was only a matter of seconds before the heavy raindrops started weighing his coat down and flattening his otherwise perfectly coiffed hair. She watched the hues of curiosity and amusement shift in his eyes, all of them tinged with the mauve of love. She watched him love her wholly, unabashedly, asking for nothing.

She felt sorry for ruining Lockwood's nice clothes only for a moment, before throwing her arms around his neck, clutching him a little stronger than what was strictly necessary. Papers forgotten, rain soaken, daffodils smitten…she never wanted it to end.

And that was when her life started to fall apart. Being laid off by Fittes had drastically changed their dynamic, and hardly for the better. It was no longer banter from one agent to another - it was one agent and the bad habit he had picked up over the months, one he didn't seem too keen on kicking anytime soon. She didn't ask to stay, and he didn't ask her to leave. And so she spent the rest of her days of unemployment at Portland Row, helping out however she could, filling out and mailing her applications.

Which brought her to her next problem - letters of recommendation.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through the advertisements in the newspaper while nervously shredding its bottom corner. She didn't even look up when Lockwood placed her mug of tea in front of her. He shifted it right on top of the ad she was picking apart.

"Oh. Thanks."

"How's the job search going?"

"Not good." She sighed. "A lot of them require a letter of recommendation."

He slid into the seat next to hers, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "I'll write you a letter of recommendation."

"From my previous employer."

"So? Go over to Fittes and ask for one."

"I don't know," she said, disintegrating the final scraps of newspaper. "Seems a little awkward to go back there after they laid me off."

Lockwood took a look at his watch. "I've got a client meeting at 2, so we should leave after breakfast."

He was already climbing out of his chair and talking to George about the stove misbehaving again by the time her brain caught up. "Hang on, we?" 

Lockwood seemed to very conveniently not hear her. "Y/N, if you're not going to drink your tea, we should leave now."

She crammed the last of her toast into her mouth while shrugging her coat on, and joined him outside where he was counting out some coins in his hand.

"Should be just enough for the two of us."

"Just enough for what?"

"The bus. Lovely day, isn't it?"

The trip to Fittes was one of the worst she'd had in her life. She almost felt ashamed for getting laid off and was driving herself crazy obsessing over it. Halfway through she felt a warmth settle over her hand, and glanced down to see Lockwood's palm covering her own. He was looking out the window as if nothing had even happened, and she was looking at him. She couldn't quite tear her eyes away from the sight.

When they reached, she went up to the customer service counter while Lockwood hung back. He looked around the first-floor lobby languidly, watching everyone hurry about their da- hang on, was that Barnes coming out of a conference room? 

Lockwood smiled at him while Barnes averted his gaze and started walking out a little faster. Yes, that was most definitely Barnes. He started walking towards him and was just about to call out when he was interrupted by a slightly heated voice coming from the customer service counter.

"What do you mean you don't offer letters of recommendation?!"

A few days after they were almost-but-not-really kicked out of the Fittes headquarters, she and Lockwood were in the library reshelving some books a little before lunchtime. George and Lucy were in the kitchen, so for a while all that could be heard was the smooth sounds of books being pulled off and being put onto the shelves. Lockwood glanced at her and cleared his throat, forcefully injecting a certain nonchalance into his voice.

"I was talking to Barnes the other day."

"Hmm?"

"I think I managed to convince him that we're a big enough agency now to need health insurance."

"Health insurance? Well, don't tell George, or he'll fling himself off the roof at the first chance."

Lockwood stifled a laugh, turning it into a cough though his voice was still comically strained. "Don't go giving him any ideas, now." 

They continued rearranging the books in silence until he steeled himself enough to pick up the conversation again.

"So, what I wanted to say was...if you wanted to join Lockwood & Co... you wouldn't have to worry about your mother. Not anymore."

She paused her shelving and frowned at him. "Why do you want me to join Lockwood & Co. so badly?"

"I think you'd be...a valuable member of our team."

So close, yet so far from the few words she wanted to hear. Please join us, Y/N. Forget about all these other agencies. I'd miss you more than I could bear if you left. Go on. Say it.

"Is that all?"

"I...I suppose."

She turned back to their task, disappointed. "I've been wanting to leave London for a while now. To get out, explore...see what's out there."

He stilled for a moment, before bowing his head regretfully. "I see."

 Ask me to stay. Please.

They were sitting cross-legged in the garden on Lockwood's coat, the winter daffodils now resting their tired heads on their knees. She squinted up at the sky, now that the rain had come down to a light drizzle.

"My mum never let me go out in the rain." She smiled bitterly at him. "The rest of my friends would go out into the street in their...raincoats...wellingtons...and I'd watch them from the kitchen window. She always said I'd fall sick. And I'd always think...how terrible would it really be if I did?" 

She stared at the ground and tried very hard not to cry. "I was a kid. I just...I just wanted a bit of fun." She pressed a shaky hand to her eyes, then dragged it up to her forehead. "And now, all I want..." 

The silence filled in for the words she didn't say.

"I never thought I'd miss that."

She glanced at his face anxiously, trying to gauge his reaction. In a way, she mused, Lockwood, and whatever this was, was not all that dissimilar from the rain. It was some wish for a sickness for a fleeting moment of peace. A fleeting moment of being wanted.

He blinked away the raindrops weighing on his eyelashes. "You won't have to. She'll be alright."

"How do you know?"

He stared at a limp daffodil, whose head was being cradled by the bend of his knee, and sighed. "I don't. But some things you just have to...believe."

"I'm sick of believing."

"Then I'll believe for you."

She never knew what it was like to have someone hold onto faith when she couldn't. To have someone hold her up when her knees were buckling under her, to do what she wasn't strong enough to do herself. She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. 

"You don't have to do that."

"Someone's got to do it. I'll do it for you."

It was around this point that Lockwood suddenly started getting a lot busier. He somehow never had the time to stay in the same room as her for longer than a minute, and any short passing conversations they shared felt stunted. Other than a cursory smile when they passed each other in the hallways, Lockwood seemed further to her than ever, with his cool demeanour that was somehow forever occupied with matters greater and more important than her.

After a few days of struggling with her applications on her own, Lucy suggested that she pay a visit to DEPRAC for a letter of recommendation. Thankfully, her request for the letter was successful, but her joy was short-lived, barely lasting the bus ride home.

She watched the hopelessly in love couples on the bus whisper to each other, hold hands or even just enjoy each other's company in silence. There was a guy with his hair styled in an unnervingly familiar way. It triggered a sick image of Lockwood sitting on this very bus, next to a girl with lazily attractive eyes and hair prettier than hers could ever be. It made her feel nauseous.

When she returned to Portland Row, she walked around the seemingly empty house, perplexed, until she finally found the three of them pouring over a large book in the library. Lockwood was fiddling with the shirt sleeves folded at his elbows and was the first to glance up as she gently pushed the door open.

"Hey," she smiled at them faintly, avoiding Lockwood's gaze, trying to keep the worry gnawing at her synapses at bay. She stepped inside, 

leaning over the huge book, tracing the letters with her eyes interestedly. 

"Is that the -" 

Lockwood slammed the book shut, cutting her off and sending Lucy into a coughing fit over the dust it released.

"Y/N! Find your way to DEPRAC alright?"

 It was a heavy book, she kept repeating to herself, of course it was going to take quite an effort to close it. However, from the way his forearms flexed aggressively as he stuffed the book back into its cloth cover, she wasn't entirely convinced.

"...yes. I took the bus."

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" The three of them exchanged a look while Lockwood firmly tucked the book in. The grey skies peeking through the curtains looked hardly lovely. George finally caved, glaring at Lockwood.

"We were just finalising our plan for next week's case."

"I used to draw up mission plans for my team at Fittes. Maybe I could -"

"I think we're fine." Lockwood crossed his arms, his expression unnaturally surly and his jaw set in a way that gave her a sinking feeling. George threw the book at him, who only barely managed to catch it at the last second. 

"Told you we should have waited for her."

Unfortunately, matters refused to ease up over the next week. And so she somehow learned to live without him. One morning, she decided to get an early start to the day since she was going to be accompanying Lucy to the DEPRAC headquarters to submit some company paperwork. She paused at the foot of the stairs when she heard a bit of a ruckus in the kitchen, followed by some soft swearing. She crept towards the kitchen to see Lockwood scrambling to gather up an upturned first aid kit while a dark red patch swelled on his socks, still in the same attire as when he left for a solo case the previous evening.

He looked at her furiously, trying to hide his injured ankle behind the kitchen table. He seemed to become further incensed by her helping to set the first aid kit right. "Leave it. I can do it on my own."

"I'm only trying to help! Don't look at me like that, you got yourself hurt in the first place."

He spoke emphatically through gritted teeth. "I don't need your help."

"Lockwood, your sock is nearly soaked through with blood. So shut up."

Maybe the blood loss was starting to catch up to him, but for once, Lockwood did as he was told. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but he allowed her to peel back his sock and wince at the sight of the wound. As she cleaned and dressed the injury, she couldn't help but be reminded of old times when they would snap at each other, her more than him, whenever they were within ten feet of the other. It was almost nostalgic but slightly worrying to be back to square one.

When he could hold himself back no longer, he pried the bandage roll out of her hands with an unexpected gentleness, shakily winding it messily around his ankle. When he was done, she put it away with the first aid kit, and when she returned, his nose was buried in the day's paper, once again as distant as an island.

Soon after that, George and Lucy joined them for breakfast, and George almost immediately picked up on 

"Lucy, George won't leave me alone!"

"Lockwood's a pent-up git that never says what he feels!"

Lucy gave them a sidelong glance. "...right. Y/N, ready to -?"

Eyes watering, she chugged the last of her tea and clambered out of her chair, but Lockwood beat her to it. He folded the newspaper sharply, and straightened from his seat, albeit a tad unsteadily.

"No need. I'll come with you, Luce." She and Lucy exchanged a glance, and she slowly sunk back down into her seat. Lucy took in the ectoplasm on his trainers, his slightly charred shirt and the purple under his eyes.

"Are you sure? You look a little...tired."

"I've been out all night. One more trip isn't going to kill me." He patted Lucy firmly on the shoulder, his grip looking a little painful as he swayed imperceptibly, voice trailing off as he started shuffling towards the door.

His limp was unmistakable now, but the three of them knew better than to question him when he was in a mood like this, with his uneven voice and rough words dangerously close to becoming slurred. "Come now," he was saying, "let's not bother Y/N with Lockwood & Co. matters." His shifty eyes finally settled on her for the first time that morning, but she didn't like the brooding spite behind them. "Not when she has all these important applications to fill out."

The silence that followed prickled uncomfortably. Lucy scoffed and stepped out, Lockwood following her determinedly. There was some muffled argument in the hallway, then the sound of the front door opening and closing, and then silence once more. She stared at the dregs of her tea stonily, hating the way her face burned with shame. When she finally looked up, George had left, but there was a sympathy jammy dodger within reach.

It was getting dangerously close to half an hour in the rain, yet still the heavens beat down on them ruthlessly. They had retired to the front steps just outside the awning, now almost completely drenched. She shuffled her feet nervously, trying to scrounge up some warmth, while the rain flowed down Lockwood's nose freely. He was staring at the rich dark earth at his feet, like he had forgotten where he was, his coat long forgotten. She stood up and jabbed him between the shoulder blades sharply, making him snap his head up.

"It's getting cold. I'm going inside." Lockwood blinked, raindrops decorating an eyelash or two, and nodded after a moment. She sighed impatiently.

"Don't you want to come inside too?"

"...I'm not cold."

"No, but you'll fall sick if you stay out any longer."

He rubbed his face wearily, his back muscles shifting mechanically under his translucent shirt. "I'll be alright."

She bristled instinctively. The raindrops somehow got even louder as they pelted the tin awning. "I'm serious, Lockwood."

"So am I."

"Then come inside before you catch something awful."

"I'll come inside when I want to."

The torrential downpour continued unabated, viciously attacking their home's exterior. The rapping of the raindrops against the tin rung in her ears like anger.

"Why must you be so stubborn?"

He finally looked up to meet her eyes, his own filled with a despair she had rarely seen. "I want to be alone."

It was the night of the big case that Lockwood & Co. had been preparing for for a week now, but two of its three members had come down with the most awful stomach bug she had seen. Apparently, there was something off with Arif's doughnuts that day, and now Lucy and George were down with food poisoning. She was in her room, listening to Lockwood wear down the floorboards outside her room with all his pacing. Finally, he stopped in front of her door, and after a moment, gave a short knock.

"Come in."

He opened the door to reveal a fully decked-out Lockwood extensively decorated with flares and lavender. She raised her eyebrows.

"Wow. That is...wow."

"George and Lucy are down with food poisoning," he began impatiently, "and I could really use an extra pair of eyes." He softened his stance at the critical look in her eye, taking on a more apologetic demeanour. "...please."

"But I don't even know how to use a rapier."

"Not much room for one, anyway. It's a two-room cottage."

She toyed with the idea of saying no. The idea of watching the hope in his eyes flicker out, of watching him go do the job...alone...without anyone's help...without anyone to help him if he got injured, or worse-

"Fine. I'll meet you downstairs in two minutes."

The cab was waiting for them by the time she was hurrying down the stairs, and she flipped through the summarised research report on the way there. She winced at the circled deduction that the Visitor was likely a Fetch, which Lockwood picked up on.

"Is something wrong?"

"...no." With some difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the report and closed the file. In all her years of experience, Fetches were the one Visitor that she still struggled with. It didn't help that her encounters with them had been few and far between. She glanced at Lockwood, who was staring out the window coolly as if barely nonplussed by the anticipation of coming face-to-face with one of the most dangerous Visitor types.

The taxi driver was quite a bit intimidated by Lockwood's superfluous attire, and so refused to go any further than the foot of the hill at the top of which the cottage was located. As they lugged their equipment up the hill, she felt her frustration towards Lockwood swell and swell until it finally reached a breaking point. She dropped the duffel bag she was carrying with a clatter, making Lockwood stop and turn around to face her.

"What's wrong?"

"Why have you been so off lately?"

His features hardened and his jaw set like it had so many times before. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Obviously."

He stared at her hard, before dropping his own duffel bag. The tension over the past two weeks had clearly come to a head and it was happening right there on the hill in near-darkness. "I thought we were a team."

"We are."

"Well, it sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

"I just want to be independent."

"No, you don’t. You want to be alone."

“That's not true!” She hesitated. "That's not fair." At that moment, she felt so terribly small and insignificant, in a way she hadn't felt since having a particularly cruel supervisor in her first year of being an agent. Her eyes prickled unpleasantly, and she was suddenly engulfed with memories about that January shower. Oh, no, she thought. He was never going to hold her like that again. 

She shook her head as if trying to shake some sense into herself. "I don't...I don't want to be a burden. I can do this on my own."

"You want to do this on your own."

"How could you possibly think that?"

“All I see is someone too scared to stick their neck out for something real for once in their life."

“What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't think you know what you're running from!"

She looked around in despair as if searching for some way to make him understand. "I'm not running from anything."

He stepped closer to her, and it was all she could manage to not burst into tears with his face twisted something ugly with hurt.

"You're running from me."

I'm not, she wants to say, but the words get caught in her throat. The silence rings out harshly between the two of them until Lockwood picks up his bag and resumes the trek uphill. After a moment or two, she follows him.

When they reach inside, they go through the motions of setting up their chains and investigating the areas of the Visitor's appearance, the way they've done hundreds of times before. Eventually, they split up and pace their corresponding rooms, the malaise growing stronger in the air by the minute.

After an hour or so, she felt it. A prickling in the hairs at the back of her neck. Waves of nausea washed over her and she felt paralysed by fear. She knew that when she turned, she'd be faced with something too terrible to comprehend. But she's too weak to brave seeing something so terrible, and so she doesn't turn. At that moment, she unravelled, and covered her eyes with her hands like a child, gasping with sobs that she struggled to suppress.

Suddenly, the cold breathing down her neck was replaced by intense heat as the hiss of a flare eating through a Visitor filled her ears. She felt rough hands desperately clutching her wrists and peeked through her fingers to meet Lockwood's panic-stricken gaze. Panic-stricken over her. His eyes shifted to the Visitor behind her and lobbed another flare at it in the nick of time. 

She started creeping along the walls, running her hands over every nook and cranny until she came across a picture frame radiating strong feelings of anxiety. She scrambled for the iron still folded in her pocket and threw it over the frame. The Visitor instantly evaporated, leaving Lockwood staring at the corner it had just been occupying with a haunted look in his eyes. When he had regained proper control of his senses, he turned to her.

"I didn't know-"

"I thought I'd be able to manage it, okay?" She avoided his gaze. "I'm sorry. Can we just go h- go back now?"

The ride back was somehow even quieter than the ride there, both of them burdened by thoughts that would clearly never see the light of day. He paused at the hat stand near the front door while she shrugged her coat off.

"Y/N-"

"I think I'll go to bed now. Goodnight, Lockwood."

She cut past him brusquely, heading straight for her room, though it would be many hours before the buzzing in her head quieted enough for her to fall asleep. As she got undressed, her mind drifted back to when Lockwood was standing right in front of her, holding her wrists with a long-forgotten gentleness, and the close shave with the Fetch. Too close of a shave. Tonight could never happen again. She had to make sure of it.

Over the next few days, their relationship returned to being suspiciously amicable. Perhaps it wasn't as glaringly obvious to the others with the distraction of their stomach bug, but George's squint at her when she handed him a glass of water was enough to see that he was onto them.

She had been in the basement polishing their iron chains when Lockwood knocked on the door. She put the chains down for a moment as he pulled out a minimalistic envelope.

"This just came for you in the mail."

It had the address of one of the agencies she had applied to written on it. She nervously ripped it open and started scanning the contents before she remembered where she was. She looked at Lockwood, who had a cool expression of polite curiosity.

"So? Did you get it?"

"They want me to start next week." Lockwood's lips curved into a half-smile, and it was the first smile he'd given her in weeks that reached his eyes.

"That's...that's amazing. You deserve it. That is, if you're going to accept it."

"It's a rather decent offer. Think it would be quite a shame to pass it up. Don't you?"

He gave a slight pause. "Of course. Yes."

"...but?"

He shook his head and gave a short laugh. "It's...it's silly." He was staring at a patch of grease on the floor which he was very focused on rubbing out with his shoe. "I've known you for...for as long as Lockwood & Co.'s been around." He looked up from the floor to meet her gaze, his eyes open and honest. 

"I don't know if I can do this without you."

She looks into his flighty brown eyes and drinks in as much as she can of him. Next week, she'll be in a different town, at a new job, meeting new people until he becomes just a distant memory, some dream she had once upon a time, and she'd be freed from her shackles of longing. But now, in his eyes she sees the two of them spinning round and round, forever together in a January shower in some universe.

"I should start packing."

Her goodbyes were fairly uneventful. They exchanged promises to write, to keep in touch. Lucy and George waved her off from their front door. Lockwood didn't come down from his room. Now she was in her new home, miles away from any feelings that may have tethered her from Portland Row, and all that was left to do was sit and wait and try to forget.

Except. Except.

Here she was, lying on her bed with an all too familiar weight on her chest. Those feelings she had promised to bury with the winter daffodils were here - travelled miles to plague her mind with restless thoughts of which nothing could ever come. How was it that all this distance only made her crave Lockwood even more? He stained her mind and hung from her lips like a broken promise, like an unheard prayer. It was there when she woke up, it was there when she went to sleep, it laid next to her and embraced her like a lover till she couldn't breathe.

Three months later, she still hasn't moved on and has almost entirely given up on any hope for sleep. She replays her memories of him like a tired VCR, and every night the image grows fainter and fainter. What, exactly, did his voice sound like? Did he have dimples? He had a scar on his collarbone, she was fairly sure. But how did he get it? She waits for the sky to light up for those few short hours after her work for the day, but be it day or night, the sadness remains.

For years she had been so strong, so tough, so ready to do anything and to do it alone. Too independent to even work properly with his agency. But after meeting Lockwood, it all felt like a farce, like she had just been pretending and hoping and closing her eyes through as many horrors as she could handle until she finally reached her breaking point. Something had snapped in her soul - some ill-gotten desire to fasten herself to him from the moment she had kissed him after Winkman's. To have him be her home.

Even so, she still had a job to do, so she carried these feelings around with her. There was this one particular case where her team was tasked by the city council to clear out an old, abandoned mansion of any Visitors. She had been creeping through the third floor when she saw him standing there, in the shard of moonlight peeking through the rafters. Lockwood was standing mere feet in front of her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows without his coat, whole and uninjured.

"Lockwood!" She closed the distance between them. "What are you doing here?"

He turned to face her, smiling mildly as if she had done nothing more than greet her.��Y/N, he was saying. His voice reverberated differently than what she was used to, but she put it down to the weird acoustics of the mansion. 

Why did you leave me?

"...what?"

Why did you go away? You've made me sick with worry.

"I...I have?"

Day in, day out, you're all I think about.

"No...no, that can't be right. That's me, not you."

Are you sure? Think harder. What do you remember about me?

"I don't know, I don't know. Why are you doing this, Lockwood?" Something was very, very wrong. What was he of all people doing here, and why weren't his lips moving when he talked?

How can you be so in love with me if you can't even remember me?

I do! I do remember you! Please don't say I don't.

Why'd you leave me, Y/N?

"Wha...what? I didn't - no - I didn't mean to leave you-"

I wanted you to stay.

"Then you should have TOLD ME!"

But I did tell you.

It still hadn't fully clicked in her brain, but she gleaned enough to tell that this wasn't Lockwood. Some obscene bastardisation of him, perhaps, but nothing of any real substance. She walked back a few steps, keeping her eyes trained on him, and against her better judgement threw a flare at him. It hit the centre of his chest, which began to fizzle up and corrode away at the figment until there was nothing left but the dying embers reflected in her misty eyes. He had looked...so solid. So real. Real enough for her to believe. Oh god, how badly she wanted to believe.

That night, she had barely pulled off much of her excess gear before slumping into bed, which she did not leave for the next three days. Obviously, that hadn't been Lockwood, it was a Fetch. But it only had her memories to work off of. What was it that had happened that made her feel like he had told her to stay? She drove herself mad picking apart every interaction she had had with him since she was 13. What did she miss? Where was the mistake?

Maybe she was just hoping for a mistake.

I miss you. I wish you were here - not miles away in London, here, beside me. I wish it was you lodged in my chest instead of this acrid longing. I'm the one who can't do this without you. Please come back to me. I'm so tired of being strong. Please come save me. I need you here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here.

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

P.S. until I changed my mind at the very last minute this WAS going to have a happy ending I wrote it out and everything but then deleted and Grammarly won't let me ctrl z my way out of this :(((

[stormyjisung]

New year's day. H.JS

Hold onto the memories,

They'll hold onto you.

Pairing. Hong jisoo x reader

Genre. Romance

Synopsis. Cleaning the aftermath of a new year eve's party just leads you to realize how much you love your boyfriend.

Inspo. New year's day by ts, and my evergreen love for Hong jisoo.

W/c. ~500, short sweet and lovely

Extra. Is this self indulgent? Very much.

Fireworks were still exploding in the distance,

The light from the exploding sparkles trickled into your two bedroom apartment followed by a few handful of people yelling, "Happy new year! "

shaking your head you continued picking up empty cups your friends had left behind, clearing the floor of the glitter from the party popper that your friends had burst with your feet as you walked by,

the wall clock chimed thrice

"it's three am already?" your boyfriend's eyes wide with shock, he blinked a couple of times squinting at the clock, "wasn't it 12 am five minutes ago?!"

picking up the left behind polaroid's you turned to face him, "i know right? we've been cleaning up bottles and glitter since the last 3 hours."

"I'm gonna have a nice talk with them tomorrow" joshua's scowl made you laugh, his overly dramatic nature was something that always added a sprinkle of color in your life,

"Well you can always have a nice talk with them alright, but let's clean this mess up first, our house literally looks like a tornado hit it"

Joshua groaned, muttering a few colorful words under his breath as he continued picking up the equally colorful confetti.

The room fell into a peaceful stupor, with occasional bursts of fireworks and distant cheers, it was an atmosphere you couldn't really put into words.

It was officially 2023,

Another year had flown by, whizzing past you before you could even register it, leaving only memories and lessons in it's wake.

The confetti glimmered, lighting up the ceiling when flecks of light fell on it, for some reason the flecks of light reflecting onto the ceiling reminded you of joshua.

Hands still holding two empty beer bottles, you sat down on the couch, eyes drifting over to your boyfriend as if it was the most natural thing ever, how even in a room full of strangers your eyes would always search for his.

He was hunched over on the floor, scooping up glitter and paper onto his palm, lips pouted in concentration.

It was as if a record was playing on loop.

Something akin to deja vu, for this was the exact scene you'd seen last year,

And the year before

and two years ago.

It was as if one second you had just met joshua and the next second you had spent three new year's and three summers with him. Season's passed by, spring changing into summer, giving way to fall and bleeding into winter.

Flowers bloomed, and wilted and bloomed again, more beautiful than the last time they'd bloomed. Just like the love you and joshua shared,

It was resilient, strong and delicate.

It hid behind doors when monsters roamed the night, it stood tall and proud when dawn had broken through, it had cried with the both of you, but it stayed.

Through thick and then, through summer and winter.

You couldn't imagine life without him. He brought in colors, light and everything soft and nice with him.

Every memory of yours was permeated with his presence, his smile, his warm disposition, his soft words and his laugh.

His laugh which you could recognize anywhere, it was scary how much you'd fallen for him, but it was just as euphoric,

"Why are you staring at me?"

You smiled, walking over to go crouch beside him, softly kissing his lips and the blush that arose on his cheeks, looking into those soft, brown eyes that had become your refuge, "I love you" you whispered.

you wanted his dawns, you wanted his smiles, you wanted his storms, you wanted his midnights, but for right now you were more than happy to be picking up bottles with him on new year's day.

A/n. Love is so beautiful when you've fallen for the right person

Reblog to show your appreciation!

[chvoswxtch]

midnights- blurb (less than 500 words) based on a lyric, book, tv/movie quote (request a vault track to make it spicy)

“i meant something like that." (from new girl) with matt <333 (i'm crying already, i love him so much)

I must confess, i've never seen new girl, so I just went wherever my brain took me when I read that quote (which ended up being angst, shocker) BUT there is a fluffy ending ;)

blurb below the cut

something like that (matt's version)

i meant something like that

“Sweetheart-”

“Don’t sweetheart me, Matthew.”

“Just let me explain.”

Matt followed your furious path across the living room that was bathed in flashing neon colors, like a sad puppy that knew it was in trouble, and into your shared bedroom where he tried to reach for your arm. Scalding steam was practically coming out of your ears as you sharply tore your arm away before he could grasp it.

“Why don’t you give me a quote for your eulogy instead, because it looks like I’m gonna be writing it a lot fucking sooner than I’d like.”

Matt visibly winced as the serrated bite of your words pierced him like cuts from a razor. You had every right to be angry with him, and he knew it. He asked for a lot of grace from you with his complicated lifestyle, both in the courtroom and on the shadowed streets. But he had been too reckless lately. He barely escaped a huge explosion on the docks by a divine miracle, but when he came home that night, he had scared you to death.

He had collapsed in the middle of the living room floor, covered in his own blood, fading in and out of consciousness. You had to cut his charred suit off just to be able to assess how bad it was. Claire had assured you that he was in a stable condition before she left, but when Matt woke up the next morning, he knew he had pushed you one step too far. 

You had been avoiding him for five days now. You left early for work while he was still sleeping on the couch, you went out of your way afterwork to kill time before you eventually had to go home, and when you did you ignored him completely and went straight to the bedroom, locking the door behind you.

It was torture for Matt.

Matt’s face softened into an expression of complete remorse, resembling that of a wounded duck. The apology was written all over his face, and you could see the guilt twinkling in the green flecks scattered in his hazel eyes. He slowly raised his hands up in a sign of surrender, and took a gentle step towards you.

“I know I scared you, and I’m so sorry. I never, ever, wanted to put you through that. I swear.”

“I thought you were going to die in my arms, Matthew. You know exactly what that feels like. It happened to you twice with Elektra. Why would you ever do that to me?”

Matt could taste the saltwater sliding down your cheeks before he heard the tears in your voice. Your words nearly knocked the wind out of him. He did know that pain. He never wanted to go through it again, or to make you go through it.

Taking a deep breath, he took another step closer towards you, tenderly reaching for your wrist. He brought your hand up and placed you palm over his chest, directly over his heart, and held it there with both of his own hands. Matt spoke in a gentle tone that caressed the strings of your heart.

“I never meant for that to happen, and it will never happen again. But it made me realize something very important. I don’t need to be Daredevil, but I do need you. There are a lot of people that love this city, and they can protect it without me. All I need to protect is you.”

You could feel his heart beating against your hand. It was strong, steady, and calm. The rhythm never faltered once. You could feel that he was telling the truth. Letting out a shaky breath, you wiped at your cheeks with your other hand.

“Dramatic gesture to extort my forgiveness? Very romantic.”

A tiny smirk instantly tugged at the corner of Matt’s full lips, causing one of your beloved dimples to make an appearance. He arched one of his brows when he heard the tease laced in your sarcasm.

“Did you want something grander?”

“Something like standing on the street under the window, holding a boombox over your head, blasting a cheesy love song while you beg for my forgiveness for all of New York to witness?”

Matt’s tiny smirk turned into a full blown grin as he gazed down at you blankly with a look of pure adoration. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and he pulled your left hand off his chest, holding it in one of his own, and slowly lowered himself down to one knee. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small black velvet box and used his thumb to open it, revealing a beautiful engagement ring that took your breath away.

“I meant something like that.”

[roryonic]

DVD Commentary: Battleships and Love Boats

Another for the vault @shamelessdvdcommentary :)

Idk who requested me, but thank you a whole lot <3 it's nice to be thought of. Since I don't know which story anon would like to know about, I thought I'd pick the biggest and baddest hahah

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

Published June 24th, 2023 (same day I finished In Another World). Wrote and posted one chapter (ish) every day. Finished it about 2 months later.

Chapters? 106

Word count? 238,315

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

Smut.

No, really.

I vaguely dabbled with smut in In Another World, so I wanted to truly try my hand at it in a story that was meant to have it. I also knew I wanted to write a story where they were a bit younger because I like all the angsty drama hahah

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

I almost always write in dual POV. To me, it makes sense because both Ian and Mickey have an equal say about their relationship. It's also such a nice break to be able to jump into one's head when I so please.

What was your favourite scene to write?

Chapter 51 - Boyfriend.

I loooove the casual (semi) PDA and the calm of them both when they're finally together. Details and absentminded touches are my cryptonite, so I adore how they act in that chapter as they're looking at cars. They're dialogue is also adorable (if I may say so myself lol)

How did you come up with the title?

Titles are the first thing I come up with when I'm writing a story and more or less build everything off of that vibe. I think I heard or read Battleships and Love Boats somewhere, but I can't remember where, and it just stuck.

Fitting, though, I think. Both love and calm, but also battles and uncertainty.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

Smut hahah

It's time to face the facts that I will never be an excellent smut writer and I am fine with that. I cringe too much of myself to write too explicitly. Too innocent for this.

Favourite line in the story?

“Jesus Chr—fuck,” Ian spoke breathlessly and dropped his head back a bit too far, consequently banging it against the wall.

The one that started it all hahah

Did the storyline change in any way as you wrote the story?

Oh my god, if it did.

Let's just say that the story you start reading is not the story you end with. But, again, I don't map out my stories if I can help it.

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc)

Dialogue.

I think I had their voices etched into my brain stem at that point. If I can't hear the characters say their lines, I don't write it.

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

I wish I had gotten Mickey his car. Sorry, Mick.

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity?

Very much surprised.

After I wrote In Another World, which became quite successful, I didn't think I could replicate anything like the warm reception that it got.

I was wrong.

Battleship, you exceeded all expectations.

Did you have a beta or a friend who helped you as you wrote?

Alexa! Play "All by myself" - Celine Dion!

Ask your followers to pick a snippet (no more than 500 words) and share your thoughts about it.

[matan4il]

Hello, am I crazy or do the majority of news sites report mostly on what the Hammas claims, what Egypt claims, what Lebanon claims, what Iran claims and Israeli voices don't get shared nearly as much? Am I just biased or does it feel to anyone else like even the 'reputable' sources from countries that are officially 'pro-Israel' share mostly one-sided stories? I feel very disillusioned and shocked at the reactions of people on the internet. People who call themselves tolerant, liberal, human rights activists... I've lost respect for many. I truly wonder how many of them even knew anything about Israel before Hammas attacked. Sorry for pushing my feelings onto you. I hope you are as well as you can be.

Hi Nonnie! Thank you for the ask.

You're not crazy. It's partly because Hamas, as a terrorist organization, is not accountable to anyone, it doesn't have to tell the truth. Neither do Egypt, Lebanon or Iran. They can say whatever they want to, they can make any claim, and if it turns out to be untrue, no one will hold that over their heads.

And these leaders KNOW that the first report people will hear is the one that's most likely to be set in their minds.

If there's a correction a few hours later, people might hear it, or they might not. Either way, the dramatic impression and emotional impact of the initial report are likely to last if I they do hear the correction.

Take the claim about the hospital explosion, for example. Hamas right away said it was Israel's fault. (BTW, Hamas also immediately said Gaza had 500 dead. From experience on Oct 7, it took HOURS to confirm 100 dead. There's no way that within a few minutes, Hamas could accurately report 500 dead. The number could be very high, even hundreds of people, even 500 or more! I'm just saying there's no way Hamas could reliably know that within the period of time it published that number) Hamas knows it would take Israel hours to check this. In the meantime, for several hours, this false, demonizing report circulates online, on every news channel and so on. Even if a few hours later, Israel has proof that it's Palestinian terrorists killing their own, will anyone hold Hamas accountable? Is anyone going to punish it in any way? If they say it's Israel immediately, without even checking, they only stand to gain condemnation and hostility towards Israel, even if it's a total lie.

Why do news channels collaborate with that? Because they're running a business. And if there's an emotionally loaded headline that will get them rating, they will run it. And if there's a headline like that which their competitors will run right away, then instead of waiting for confirmation from a more reliable source, they will run it in order to not get left behind. When it turns out to be false, at the end of the day, they can just run a correction, and that's enough. That's considered doing their journalistic duties. Who cares that the damage to Israel has already been done?

So yeah, it's a good idea to be careful, and wait for confirmation when the only source for a certain anti-Israel story is an antisemitic terrorism organization, or an anti-Israeli regime.

And in conclusion, I think this is a really good point to tell apart people who are actually pro-Palestinian from those who are just anti-Israel. The pro-Palestinians will call PIJ out for killing its own people.

Thank you again for the kind words, Nonnie! I'm as safe as anyone in Israel can be right now. I hope you and yours are good! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[alygator77]

✨ 1k Milestone ✨

hello, my lovelies! 💕 I just want to give a huge thank you to each and every one of you for following my blog 🥹 when I joined Tumblr, I didn’t expect much from writing these little stories, but it's blossomed into a hobby that brings me so much joy! it's been incredible, and I genuinely treasure every interaction. thank you for being here, whether you're a new follower or have been with me for a while 🫶🏻.

In celebration of reaching 1k, I’m opening up a special round of requests this week! just send the emoji along with the info listed below in an ask, and I’ll answer 💕

🖊 — send in a prompt with a character (can be single and/or x reader. i am comfortable writing for satoru, suguru or nanami. will be 300-500 words) 📜 — tell me which of my pieces of writing is your fav 🌙 — request moodboard (for one of my fics, or just any character/theme) 📝 — i'll share a bit of writing from a wip 🎵 — give me a song to listen to and i'll tell ya what i think 🎤 — share a lyric you love 🎥 — send me a movie you'll think i'll like 📚 — recommend a book/fic for me to read 🌼 — send me a quote you love 🎨 — send me something you've made (can be your writing, art, a moodboard... anything! I'd love to see your own creativity!) 💍 — send me 3 characters/celebrities, I’ll play kiss, marry and kill. 🎶 — tell me your fav song/genre. I’ll give song recommendations based on your taste. 💕 — tell me why you follow me 💌 — ask me anything (whether about the account or personal)

(or you can just send in the emoji, and i'll reply with whatever that is instead! this works for these 5: 🎵🎤🎥📚🌼)

lots of exciting work is lined up! my main focus right now is more mhm content (ya'll have been so patient ty 😭). look forward to the fall chapter of mhm and chapter 7. down the line, I’ll also be releasing bomh chapter 2, along with a few more oneshots that i'm excited to create. much love to you all.

-aly 💕

[honeyedboneset]

NOTICE: This post is under construction as of aug 17, 2024. it is not up to date. hello! i'm boneset (or bone). thanks for stopping by my super-specific search thread! if interested, please leave a reply or dm me!

a bit about myself: she/her. I'm currently in my late 20's and have been writing/roleplaying in some shape or form for 12+ years. i'm in grad school (and will be for awhile) and work full time in mental healthcare. occasionally, days are wild. 

when it comes to writing, i generally write somewhere between 500-1k words a post. the shorter the post, the faster i can write. i definitely value someone who's writing fits with mine over length or anything like that. i'm also super flexible when it comes to post rate. if it takes a little bit, that's totally fine! especially if we do build a rapport. i want this to stay as something that's fun for both of us. it's a hobby, so it comes after everything else.

doubling. i play a canon for you, you play one for me, and i love every character as my own. OR we both play two ocs who fall in love against their will. Idc.

m!canon x f!oc preferred (or m!oc x f!oc). I know who I am. I have no shame. I’m so super cautious about m// and f// after years of running into folks treating it as a fetish.

ooc chatting. for the rps that have survived my hiatuses, it's been because we made friends, or at least friendly. i like talking, sharing head canons, all that stupid crap. tldr: i need someone to send memes to.

ooc over discord, please, after we’ve graduated to that. DMs first if you don’t mind.

email, discord, gdocs, and tumblr in order of preference for the roleplay but I'm open to any.

i am a sap for romance. less so for super slow burns. sue me. I can barely read slow burn much less write it.

500-1000 words is my sweet spot for responses, but i'm not that fast of a writer, depending on what's going on. see: why i like ooc.

hard limits: be 18+ (21+ preferred) | will not write with people who identify as male (he/him) | incest | fetish stuff | abo | pwp | pedophilia | furries/beastiality | explicitly written sexual assault | abusive relationship dynamics between main characters | heavy substance abuse | main settings being medical | most highschool settings/underage characters | genuine love triangles or infidelity between main characters

pairings and all below the break!

for fandoms, I’m going to list what I’m looking to play the oc in. I am super duper happy to play nearly any canon character for you.

the walking dead:  ＊i haven't seen the spin-off series. super comfortable going as AU as we want. ＊looking for: glenn (pls pls pls), daryl ＊will play: rick, daryl, shane, negan, others probably ＊some vibes: people who knew each other prior to the zombies meeting each other again after, dead rising vibes, traveling through the wilderness, overgrown and rundown towns and cities, towns that have gone mad, human enemies, natural threats, fluff, megamalls, amusement parks, adventure, horror, fluff, uneasiness in the calm, found family, hesitant allies

the last of us: ＊i've played both games and watched the show ＊looking for: tommy miller, m!oc ＊will play: joel, ellie, others, m!oc ＊some vibes: FIX IT JESUS, protecting family, human enemies, natural threats, antagonistic towns, lost in the wild, weird periods of domestic easiness followed by hurt/comfort hell red dead redemption: ＊i've played rdr and rdr2. kind of familiar with revolver. ＊looking for: charles smith ＊will play: arthur, john, dutch, others (but not micah) ＊some vibes: railroad turmoil, dutch has lots of plans (very little outcomes), high society meets the old west, running from the law, causing problems, adventures in the big city, trying to leave old lives behind, forbidden love, enemies to lovers

fallout: ＊i've played 1, 2, 3, 4, 76 & NV. mainly looking for nv. ＊looking for: m!oc ＊will play: ask for canons, m!oc ＊some vibes: causing chaos in the wastes, embracing the local cryptid status of the player character, toxic people everywhere, attempting to survive, mercenaries, prostitutes, salt of the earth managing to do some good against their will, traveling to other locations

original(ish) story vibes:

zombies! please zombies. love it. media inspo: l4d, deadrising, resident evil, twd, george romero

fantasy. royalty, pirates, mermaids, adventures, curses, and extra doses of romance. some assassins? hiding from responsibility? childhood friends to lovers and enemies finding common ground. media inspo: ACOTAR, lord of the rings, ever king, damsel, fire emblem, (for modern of these vibes) new protectorate by abigail kelly

urban fantasy vibes. witches and monsters, and romance and weirdness. maybe some monsters. eldritch beings. small town, rural america? media inspo: x-files, teen wolf, supernatural, stay a spell by juliette cross, scooby doo, being human, folk haven by lauren connolly, old gods of appalachia

cowboys! Modern? Traditional? I do not care i love cowboys and the south, just minus all of those….you know, issues. media inspo: red dead redemption, man from snowy river, yellow stone, lyla sage books

[meaningofaeons]

I love bladie so u know, i gotta request<(￣︶￣)>

"I'd like to visit the cat cafe with Blade. we want to play with a white birman cat, and we want to order coffee while we do." I only copied this💀 sorry

I gonna let you know that you're one of the other writers that inspire me to write, fr no joke love ur writing( ◜‿◝ )♡

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ anxiety & tensions

⊹ character(s) - blade ⊹ word count - 477 ⊹ notes - gn!reader, hurt/comfort, couple fighting but it doesn't get too too heated, possibly ooc blade

⊹ katze's 500 follower writing cat-baret (closed! thank you for the support!)

omg another bladie req yayay (^≗ω≗^) he grew on me so much after the latest quests... thank you for the request!!! sorry this took so long!

"You're taking it too far again, Blade!"

You had to practically speed walk after him with his long, hurried strides, once again intent on ignoring your concern over his various wounds.

You weren't sure what was worse whenever you and Blade got into a spat like this. The fact that he never seemed to argue back, or the fact that he never truly listened to your words.

Sometimes, you wish he'd just get angry. Yell, curse at you, say something that might justify why he can never seem to come back from a mission unscathed.

Destiny would always have various, small, insignificant options in the billions of paths it presented. That is what your leader always said. However...

Every time, you asked if he'd be okay, and every time, per Elio's script, it was never the most likely route for Blade to get wounded.

So why?

"Can't you just talk to me for once?!" you shouted, brandishing your bandages as threateningly as you could at the dark-haired man. His crimson eyes averted from your own, a scowl coming to his lips as he noticed that he had become quite cornered by your persistence.

"Just say... Just say something! I don't know, anything! Tell me why you always have to come back hurt!"

Finally, Blade felt his tensions boil over. He was about to open his mouth and shout back with ferocity, but stopped short, his words dying in his throat in the form of a weak, tiny, guttural sound.

Tears were brimming at the corners of your eyes.

You seemed to notice his sudden pause and swiftly reached up to wipe them away, only for him to grab onto your hand, his own bandaged one reaching up to brush away your tears instead.

"...I'm... sorry."

The man's crimson eyes, filled with conflict just moments before, had softened impossibly at the sight of you.

In spite of your rage, you allowed him to slowly tug you into an embrace, his hands clutching gently onto your hair and brushing through it.

"I'm sorry."

"But you won't change a thing... will you?"

You sounded so defeated, so heartbroken that even Blade's heart trembled a bit.

"I... can't promise you anything."

You were about to laugh sardonically, scoff it off and walk away, but your lover only clutched you tighter, his eyes that always seemed somewhat far-off focusing only on you.

"But I can try. I don't... want to hurt you any more."

You paused briefly, and then, the laugh you'd been holding back came out—not as a sarcastic admission of hopelessness, but rather, as a disbelieving, hopeful sound.

"I suppose that's good enough for now. Come on. Let's get you patched up again."

You led him to your shared room, the man trailing behind you like a lost puppy, refusing to release your hand from his grasp.

[mondaymelon]

congrats on 500 followers melon!!! since you're technically supposed to be celebrating, i won't request anything unhinged (yay!!!)

could i request a vanilla-scented, blue & white envelope, jealousy, and⚡, sincerely kazuha?

thank you so much in advance, almighty and omnipotent melon, my favourite xiao simp in the entire world <3

i...i got carried away writing this. enjoy the extra length, rei!! love you ♡ enjoy ✩ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis

To the beloved one who reads this,

How do you fare? The wind tells me such things, but the tongue of the breeze is one that takes decades to master.

...Hm, alright. I'll stop now. I'm sure you're already wondering what this is all about. Haha, you didn't expect me to write you a letter, did you? Or perhaps you did. You know me well, perhaps too well.

As for why I'm writing this... I can't say it's my first time doing such an act, but it's certainly filled with anticipation all the same. Yes, I do have your number, but I wouldn't want to bother you with such selfish frivolities, would I? That's why I came up with a solution, this letter, the one you're holding in your very hands and reading with your very eyes. That way, once you're free, you can read the words I'd like to speak.

Now then... ah, how should I begin this? I've explained my reasons... so I suppose I should begin to elaborate further.

...Although, that's quite the... awkward topic to delve into. It's rather selfish of me to wish to say these things to you... however, I feel like it's been a while since we've been able to, well, hang out. Just the two of us. There's always someone there, bothering every moment we have, disturbing the connections between us... ah, I've said too much.

Point is... is... is it okay to be selfish, just this once? As much as it shames me to say, or rather, write these words to you, I really detest it when they dare trample upon our precious time together. These moments are for us, and for us only, and for them to foolishly... ahem.

I suppose one could say that I'm jealous.

I, the always calm and collected Kazuha. It's strange how things somehow play out, isn't it? But then again, we've known each other for a long time, well enough to begin to show our true colors, so perhaps, in a way, this could've been expected.

I am certainly not proud of what I have said today... however, they leapt out of my hands and onto the paper. These words are true to my heart, and ones that I've wished to say.

Apologies for any disruptions I may have caused you. If you'd like, you can choose to ignore this letter. I understand.

That said, if you choose to consider... me... then, should we discuss times where we'd be able to meet up? I heard there was a new coffee shop that opened near downtown, perhaps we could meet up there? I've got quite the number of tales to share with you... best be prepared.

Then, I will await a response, if you will.

Thank you, and my apologies.

Sincerely,

Kazuha

(a/n) ohhh thank you dearest rei for sparing me from your unhinged wagner thirst i praise thee rei i praise thee

ANYWAYS I FINALLY GOT A REQUEST DONE!! i have ignored my duties for too long but i promise i'll try to get through every single event request !

find the event here! <- (finished)

[maretinelli]

GREECE

Andrew Garfield X fem!reader

Summary: Where Y/n and Andrew spend their vacation in Greece hidden from the paparazzi since they are in a private relationship.

Words: 500+

Warnings: Age difference and lots of sticky cuteness.

Author: Well, after I posted the Sirius imagines here, I thought I'd share other stories I have for my Brazilian readers on my Wattpad. And with that, I already warn you that English is not my first language. I'm sorry if there are mistakes!!!

MASTERLIST

Y/n and Andrew had been dating for a year and in that time they still kept their relationship private. No paparazzi taking photos, crazy fans knowing and press asking questions. It was just them.

And that was great, despite being a little complicated when it came to going out or going on dates. But they had peace, privacy and protection so to speak.

Now, after a while, they faced their fear and decided to take their first trip as a couple. And the destination could not be other than beautiful Greece.

It was a destination that they both wanted to visit, so why not combine the useful with the pleasant?!

"Do you think someone can discover us here?" Y/n says as she and Andrew board a yacht to take a trip around the European sea.

"I don't think so. And if you find out, it doesn't matter. I have my girl by my side" Andrew says smiling at Y/n while putting his arm around the actress's shoulders.

Y/n smiles shyly and leans his head on the older man's shoulder.

The only fear Y/n had for fans when they found out was their age. Not that it was an alarming difference, but 10 years between the two would be enough to say a lot.

The couple enjoyed the first day touring the waters of Greece and when they returned to the hotel, they enjoyed the beautiful view from their room and something else in the middle of the night.

The couple enjoyed the first day touring the waters of Greece and when they returned to the hotel, they enjoyed the beautiful view from their room and something else in the middle of the night.

The next day was also wonderful, they took the opportunity to visit the city of Athens and discover more of the city's history from the inhabitants there. Thus, making a midday stop so they could taste the cuisine the country had to offer.

Their little eyes sparkled every where they went. Of course, they shined not only because of the beauty of the place, but because of being with their loved one by their side.

At the moment, Y/n and Andrew stopped at a cozy cafe that had a view of the sea. The establishment was located at the top of the city and gave an incredible view of all European water and the city's villages.

Y/n looked at Andrew while he was looking at the place's menu. He was wearing his sunglasses and a button-down shirt that screamed that he was a local tourist. Darker jeans and sneakers that matched his and Y/n's look.

"I know you're looking at me" he says as he lets out a laugh, making Y/n blush.

"It can't be helped. You look cute in that tourist shirt" Y/n twists his neck to the side as he looks away from his menu again.

"Tourist shirt?" Andrew asks amusedly and lets out a laugh.

"Yes. Notice the tourists who visit Los Angeles. They usually wear button-down shirts that match the place" Y/n says smiling and Andrew shakes his head laughing more.

It doesn't take long for the two to decide what they would eat and Andrew goes into the parking lot to get the food. Thus leaving Y/n at the table outside, while he looked at his cell phone and watched some current gossip.

She smiles when a photo appears that appears to be her and Andrew on one of the trips there in Greece. The page she posted apparently got quite excited about the rumors that made between her and Andrew and about the relationship they could be in. Which wasn't a lie.

"What makes you smile like that, sweet girl?"

Andrew looks at his girlfriend smiling tenderly and places the cappuccino and the piece of cake that Y/n had ordered in front of her. So he returned to his chair to taste the food he had ordered too.

"It seems that there are already rumors about us dating" Y/n smiles, as he turns the cell phone screen for Andrew to see.

He quickly reads what was written and smiles at the slightly blurry photo of the two of them.

"Are you worried about that?" He asks curiously.

Y/n shakes his head and turns off his cell phone screen to enjoy the moment.

"No way, I have you with me" She smiles and Andrew gets shy. "What about you? Worried?"

"Not at all, I have my sweet girl by my side" he says and now it's Y/n's turn to smile shyly.

[a-queer-seminarian]

Hi there. I'm wondering how you deal with reading parts of the Bible that talk about the Israelites coming to the promised land, defeating the people there etc, in light of... well, I'm sure you get where I'm coming from! I'm scared to look up commentary on it because I fear it will either be from a Zionist perspective, or dismissive of the "old testament" in that antisemitic way a lot of Christians can be. Every time my daily devotions include a Psalm with a line praising God for granting Israel victory in battle or anything like that it makes me so uncomfortable it's hard to pray...

Hey there, anon. Thank you for your courage in wrestling with these questions. I'm going to try to answer this well, but I may mess up, so I welcome correction or expansion, especially from Jewish folks — any antisemitism here is not my intent and I will fix it if pointed out; my sincere gratitude who anyone who chooses to share their time and energy correcting me.

I also have some books that grapple with these issues on my reading list (more on that at the end of this post), so stay tuned for more posts about these issues in the coming weeks once I've read them.

I see several interlocking components to your conflict, anon:

The presence of violence within scripture, carried out by its protagonists, often with express instruction or at least no condemnation from God.

Uncertainty regarding the relationship between the biblical Israel and the modern state of Israel.

The convergence of the first two components, allowing the use of biblical passages that speak of God giving the "promised land" to Israel to justify the modern Israel's occupation of that land.

Let's start with the first component apart from modern issues.

Wrestling with violence in scripture

When we come across violent or otherwise complicated parts of scripture, we should be disturbed. If scripture is inspired by God, does that mean anything a biblical text seems to condone is also condoned by God — up to and including genocide??

No. Even those of us who hold that scripture is inspired can acknowledge that it was written by human authors, living in specific historical and cultural contexts.

(If you've been raised with something closer to a "biblical inerrancy / literal Word of God" mindset about the Bible, it's okay to feel rattled by realizing there are other ways to read the Bible! You might find my webpage about a framework for reading scripture that acknowledges its human authors helpful for easing into such a discussion.)

In her book Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again, Rachel Held Evans has a whole chapter on wrestling with the Bible's war stories, taking their historical and cultural contexts into account and seeking places where God's inspiration breathes through the human accounts.

I can't recommend this book highly enough. I posted a loooong excerpt from this chapter over here, because I find it so important and helpful for unpacking these "texts of terror," as Phyllis Trible called them. That post is my top suggested reading as you wrestle with questions of violence in scripture, but I'll also add a little more here.

One important bit of context regards when many of the Hebrew texts were written: during or soon after exile in Babylon. Here's an incredibly over-simplified timeline:

In the 700s BCE, the Assyrian Empire destroyed the northern kingdom of Israel. That left its sister kingdom, Judah, rattled and grieving, with a lot of existential questions about why God "allowed" such a thing.

Then in the 500s BCE, the Babylonian Empire sweeps into Judah and obliterates the temple in Jerusalem, deports Judah's leaders into exile, and leaves the people even more traumatized, with more questions about where God is in their suffering and why God "let" such horrors happen to them.

As they're asking these questions, they're looking back at their history, looking both for places where God's presence and support are evident, and places things went wrong.

They consider their exodus from Egypt, and their eventual arrival in Canaan — and they re-imagine that arrival as much more violent than historical and archeological evidence suggest it was: instead of a gradual integration with the peoples already living in Canaan, they write about mighty battles where they wipe the previous people out completely.

Even if such violence didn't historically happen, it's still disturbing to read. Why did these authors want to re-imagine their people as having committed ethnic cleansing and even genocide?

Holy Resilisence: The Bible's Traumatic Origins by David Carr explores how trauma impacts these choices in greater detail than I can here, but part of what he suggests is that in depicting themselves as powerful and capable of enacting the kind of violence that was being enacted on them by empires like Assyria and Babylon, they felt a bit more stable in their current situation.

Trauma and grasping for a sense of control in a situation completely out of their control is also why a lot of the biblical authors, particularly prophets, write about God "sending" those empires to "punish" Israel and then Judah for "going astray" of God's instructions. If these empires are attacking and desolating them simply because they're Big and they Can, the people are helpless to do much about it. But if it's because the people lost God's protection, then they can regain that protection if they start acting faithfully again. There's a sense of control there!

There are also parts of scripture where a writer imagines doing some mega violent stuff to their enemies — the book of Nahum being one such place; Psalm 137 is another. When we read about the psalmist imagining dashing the heads of their enemies' infants on rocks, we must remember that this is the daydream of an extremely traumatized person imagining something they don't actually have any power to carry out. We're allowed to bring all our messy emotions to God, even violent fantasies. We don't have to tidy them up first. Imagining it isn't the same as acting it out. An oppressed person thinking about such violence isn't the same as their oppressor actually doing the violence.

Again, this is all vastly oversimplified; David Carr explains in much more detail, drawing more historical context and trauma theory to do so.

Edit: A fantastic and easy-to-read article on reading the "conquest of Canaan" and how it connects to modern-day Israel by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg can be found here!

So that's some info on grappling with violence in the Bible in general. But what about...

Disconnecting biblical Israel from the modern ethno-state

When the name Israel comes up in the Bible, it's reasonable that our brains immediately connect it to the other Israel we know of — the modern settler colonialist state currently occupying Palestine. This connection has been made intentionally by Israeli supporters, both Christian and Jewish.

But it is vital that we disconnect the biblical Israel with that modern state.

I'm extremely grateful for Jewitches' post that explains the distinctions, and the harm that comes from conflating the Israels, in detail. I urge you to read through their whole post (you'll see it's in infographic form, but scroll down and there's an image description of it all); but here's some main points:

First thing to know is that even within scripture, the word Israel can refer to several things: the person Israel, i.e. Jacob; Am Israel, the people group descended from that person — before, during, and after the biblical kingdom of Israel existed; Israel the kingdom; and Eretz Israel, the physical land discussed in the biblical texts.

None of these are Medinat Israel, the modern political state of Israel.

For centuries, all Jews have continued to identify themselves as Am Israel, the people of Israel, even in diaspora.

To conflate Am Israel and Medinat Israel is to erase that diasporic history, to erase the Jewishness of Jews living outside that political state. That denigration and erasure of diaspora Jews is an intentional goal of Medinat Israel, so that diaspora Jews will feel like they need to come to Israel.

Finally, to conflate Medinat Israel with the biblical people or kingdom of Israel does great harm as well.

The harm in conflating biblical Israel and modern Israel

It's not a mistake that people do conflate these things; there's a long history among both Zionist Jews and Zionist Christians in intentionally using passages from scripture to justify modern Israel's occupation of Palestine and violence against Palestinians. We must resist this!

Again, I'm indebted to Jewitches' post detailing these issues; again, I urge you to read their whole post, but will sum up some main points:

Once we conflate biblical and modern Israel, Zionist Christians are able to use verses like Genesis 12:3, “Blessed is everyone who blesses you, O Israel, and cursed is everyone who curses you," to justify support of the state of Israel. Anyone who questions modern Israel is warned that they are supposedly going against God and incurring divine wrath.

But Christian Zionists don't actually give a damn about Jews; they're using them as pawns in their own theological and political agendas. They can support modern Israel in one breath and pass antisemitic legislation or preach antisemitic shit with the next.

Moreover, "Conflating all Jews with Israel allows people (Jewish and non-Jewish) to attempt to revoke Jews of their Jewish identity when their politics do not “fall in line”."

My recommendation for starting to learn more about the history of the Jewish Zionist movement, started in 1800s Europe, is this article by JVP.

My recommendation for Christians who want to learn more about the harms of Christian Zionism is this other post by Jewitches as well as the Christian site christianzionism.org.

Summing Up / Further Reading

So to sum all this up:

When you encounter stories about Israel or mentions of Israel in the Bible, remember these things:

Am Israel, "the people/nation of Israel," is not to be conflated with Medinat Israel, the modern ethnostate. Am Israel in the present day = all Jews! Not just Israelis. Don't let Medinat Israel erase diaspora Jews, their diverse and vibrant expressions of Judaism, their right to connect with their own scripture and culture.

The biblical people and kingdom of Israel were a small group pressed by more powerful nations on all sides. A lot of the biblical authors bring grief and trauma into their writing about Israel. Remembering this can be helpful when grappling with the Bible's war stories.

While the biblical Israel was constantly besieged and at risk of occupation by others, the modern state Israel is the occupier. Their situations are completely different, so that applying biblical verses to modern Israel is both inaccurate and harmful.

___

There are still more questions to consider. I don't have all the answers; I'm sure I never will, but I'm working on gathering more information. I've had some books in my reading list that I plan to get to in the coming weeks / months; if I find any useful stuff in them, I'll share it on this blog.

If anyone is interested in doing their own reading / research, here are the resources I've gathered — please know that my listing them here is not me vouching for their content. It's possible some of them might turn out to be anywhere from a little problematic to total shit lol. We'll see!

Again pointing to ChristianZionism.org for essays and resources on resisting Christian Zionism.

Palestineportal.org has info on joining with pro-Palestinian Christians and getting active as churches, which is great!

That includes links to various denominations' pro-Palestinian organizations; my own denomination's is the IPMN. Apparently this congregational study guide + video of theirs is good.

Palestine Portal also has several lists of book recs! Here's their recs on Zionism, Christian Zionism, and the Bible. And their liberation theology list. The following books are ones from those lists that I've selected to read.

Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible through Palestinian Eyes by Mitri Maheb

Justice, and Only Justice: A Palestinian Theology of Liberation by Naim Stifan Ateek

Jesus and the Land by Gary Burge, an ex Christian Zionist. He has a statement about why he's not a Zionist any more here.

Chosen? Reading the BIble amidst the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict by Walter Brueggemann

Israel/Palestine and the Queer International by Sarah Schulman

If anyone has other resources on any of these topics that they recommend, please do share! Thank you.