#girly keeps catching strays

[clfixationstation]

people are arguing on twt over whether Mikasa or Historia understands Eren the best, when the clear answer is Armin

[luveline]

I don’t really have a request I just love anything you write💗 maybe something with girly!reader?

thanks lovely💗

Spencer wrings his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other unhappily. He hasn't felt this nervous since he was young —his PhDs have acted as a shield for years now. Even if he doesn't know what to do, he physically cannot be stupid. 

He feels pretty stupid. Less when you look up, smile blinding and sticky with gloss. He's thought about how it would feel to kiss you before and he tries desperately to push the thought away now, his hands shaking where they're hidden. 

"Hey, Spencer Reid," you say, lightly teasing as you wave him toward you. "How are you?" 

"I'm good." 

"Yeah?" You gesture at the empty seat in front of you. "Are you having lunch?" 

The bureau cafeteria is less of a cafeteria in the kitchen sense and more of a staff room, though hot food is served at the very back. There are couches toward the patio of an outdoor area to the left. You sit at one of the tables near the doors. The air is cold around his ankles as he sits with you. 

"No, I– I came down for coffee, but the jug is empty." It's a bad lie. Luckily you have no idea that there's a kitchen in the BAU offices. "You're not?" 

You turn your laptop screen to him. "I ate my lunch at my desk. I'm just catching up with my show." Your laptop has stickers around the screen, silver shiny stars and tiny pink hearts that look like they're made of jelly. There's a closed bottle of nail polish resting near the keyboard. "And I'm gonna touch up my nails, too. They're always chipping." 

"They look perfect to me," Spencer says. 

You beam at him, beatific, so, so pretty, he could die. He might. "Thanks, honey. You'd look cute with painted nails, have you ever thought about it?" 

Spencer honestly forgets about his nails. He should take better care of them. He thinks about hiding them under the desk. "I don't think I could do it." 

"No one's good at it, at first. I'd paint them for you, if you wanted. I have a couple of things in my bag." 

Spencer's relieved to present freshly trimmed nails to you for painting. Your polish is a light blue colour, milky, and he assumes it'll be the one you use on him, but you decide to ruin his life, taking his hand into one of yours. You hold his fingers in a way that presents the nail as you brush cuticle oil around the edges of his nails with a small pen brush. You chatter as you do in your way, all sweet and gentle in mirror of your touch. 

He's proud of himself for keeping his cool. To have you touching him for so long, so kindly, to have your attention, it has him squirming with a mixture of pleasure and horror. He wants to be seen by you but he doesn't know if he likes what you're looking at. 

"You have really lovely hands," you say, using the tip of one of your nails to scrape stray wet polish off of his skin, "do you play piano?" 

"You can tell?" he asks. 

"Pianist's fingers," you say. "That's a thing, isn't it?" 

"I haven't played much since I was younger. I got distracted by other stuff." 

"Maths," you surmise. "And criminology?" 

Everything. He pushed away a want for human connection with books and education until it got too much. Even the wisest of honeybees will brave heavy rain for a beautiful flower, and that's sort of how he feels about you. He knows it's stupid, knows it's doomed, but he couldn't not try to speak to you. You're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, all your lip colours and shimmery eyeshadows, the chirpy way you talk, the earnestness of your please and thank yous. 

Your hands. The silver ring on your index finger dotted with tiny pink stones. Your bracelets. The smell of your perfume and your soft sweaters. 

"Done," you announce, an uncharacteristic hesitance to your tone. "Are they okay?" 

You've done a perfect job. "They're so neat. Thank you. I– I love it." 

Your eyes linger on his hands. "I love when guys wear nail polish. You're even handsomer now, it's crazy. I didn't know it was possible." 

Spencer should have more style for sure, but he asks you to dinner right then and there. 

You smile until the lashes kiss in the corners of your eyes and say yes. This new place opened just around the corner from your apartment, and you've been trying to drum up the courage to ask him all week. When Spencer hears that he almost passes out. 

[chamomiletealeaf]

hear me out on this one it might be vanilla but imagine soap or ghost or price or konig i don’t care who is on deployment and you finally get them on the phone and it gets dirty and nasty real quick

This idea is so yummy with Soap 😮‍💨

warnings: voice kink, Johnny being a slut, phone sex, masturbation, switch! Johnny

Johnny was on deployment and he missed you so much. He's been gone for a few months now and he finally got some down time to call you for more than a quick few seconds on a payphone. When he got back to base, he went straight to his room to call you, practically skipping to his room in the barracks.

He dials your number on his phone and lays down on his bed on his back, waiting to hear the ring stop and your voice replace it.

"Hey Johnny." You say lovingly after barely three rings and he smiles.

"Hey bonnie." He says back, smiling even bigger than you.

"You just get back?" You ask and he nods, but then remembers you can't see him.

"Yeah." He says with an exhausted sigh.

"Aw honey you must be so tired." You coo at him through the phone and he feels his stomach flip.

weird, he thinks to himself.

"Yeah. Glad I can finally talk to you though. Never too tired for you lass." He says with a smile.

"You coming home soon baby?" You ask in your sweetest, softest voice, and Johnny holds back a whine.

what the fuck? He says in his head, confused as to why your voice is making him so damn needy like a stray dog.

"Yeah girlie, two more weeks." He says, reaching down to adjust his belt around his pants that seemed to get tighter since he started talking to you.

"Mm ok." You pout. "Gonna have a nice, hot, home cooked meal waiting for you when you get back. That sound good honey?" You ask in that same soft and sweet tone you have him panting at.

Johnny bucks his hips unconsciously at the sound of your voice coddling him through the phone and a little whimper escapes his lips.

"Y-yeah that sounds amazing bonnie." He says and you furrow your eyebrows at the stutter in his voice.

"You ok hun'?" You ask, concerned at why his tone changed all of a sudden.

Johnny unbuckles his pants and slips a hand inside his pants, slowly stroking himself over his boxers, precum making a damp spot in them.

"Yeah I'm doin' just fine dolly, just- keep talkin' to me." He says trying not to sound like he's jerking himself off, and you buy it.

"Ok well, today I went to the grocery store and I saw the cutest little puppy, literally the sweetest boy I've ever seen. Such a good puppy." You say the last part in a high pitched 'puppy voice' and Johnny's eyes roll to the back of his head and his cock twitches in his hands, imagining you saying those words to him, about him.

"Yeah?" Johnny says in a whisper "How- How good of a boy was he?" He asks and you furrow your brows again for a second, then you catch on.

"Oh he was the best boy. So good for me." You say with a smirk and you hear Johnny try to muffle a whine.

"Johnny?" You say so softly that if he wasn't so focused on your voice he wouldn't have heard it.

"Yeah bonnie." He responds exasperated.

"Are you.. jerking off right now?" You giggle.

"N-no." He lies terribly.

"Hm.. well if you were, I'd tell you to stop stroking yourself through your pants and pull it out for me." You say with a smirk.

Johnny's end goes silent for a bit, only the sound of a belt buckle clacking as he pulls his throbbing, leaking cock out of his pants, gently fisting himself.

"What else would you tell me to do bonnie?" He asks, almost begs actually and you clench your thighs together at his desperation.

"Tell me how much you miss me sweetheart." You tell him, smiling as you bite your fingernail, trying to hide the smile in your voice.

"Fuck baby, miss you so fuckin' much. Wish it was you jerkin' me instead of my fist." He says through dog-like pants, and you move your hand between your thighs and under your sleep shorts that were practically soaked through. Good thing you didn't wear panties underneath them so you can easily slip your hand down to play with your clit.

"Yeah? Miss you too honey. Can't wait for you to fuck me again." You whine desperately this time.

Johnny picks up on the change of your voice and knows you're playing with yourself and he takes advantage of your vulnerability.

"Yeah that's right sweetheart, rub that little cunny for me. Not as good as my fingers are they hm?" He says as he bucks up into his hand.

"Mm mm." You respond and he laughs.

"Fuck need to bury my face in ya' girlie. Miss that sweet little pussy."

Hearing each other's moans cause you both to get closer and closer to the edge, Johnny's cock leaking all over his hand and your pussy dripping all over your shorts.

"Come on bonnie lemme hear ya' moan my name." He says, fisting his cock faster and faster.

"Fuck Johnny, gonna cum." You whimper in that high pitched, soft little voice he loves hearing from you.

"Do it. Cum for me baby." He says and you squeak out a moan of his name while you cum in your little shorts on your living room couch soaking them.

Johnny hears you say his name over and over while you make a mess of yourself and your couch, and when you moan out a "fuck me like a good boy Johnny" he cums so hard he shoots cum on his chest.

You both pant into your phone mics, coming down from your highs.

After a second Johnny speaks.

"I can't wait to come home to you bonnie." He says after he catches his breath.

"I can't wait for you to come home to me." You say back and you both smile.

"Two more weeks." He says.

"Two more weeks." You reply.

And after you two say your goodbyes, I love you's, and goodnights, Johnny makes a mental note to talk to Price first thing in the morning about possibly making it back home to you a few days earlier than planned.

[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin Magary x reader part 3!

Summary: When you started working at the lumber mill, you couldn't help but instantly fall in lust with the strong, quiet insanely attractive younger brother. But you're determined to keep it professional, until one work trip suddenly changes it all.

Notes: Thank you to @kus-babygirl for encouraging me to post and with writing the extra descriptions of Karl’s gorgeous eyes for this chapter!

@shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @scraftsku35 @deathlesun @billybutcherxyou

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

Warnings: none for this chapter but there will be smut, and tons of it!

Karl Urban Masterlist

part 2

Part 3

Gavin expertly turns the wheel into the spin, keeping his foot on the brake and he brings the truck to a hard stop sideways at the pull off for the trailhead.

“Fuck,” he exclaims under his breath, pulling up on the e-break and immediately turning to you. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" He slides his large hand over your shoulder, warm and firm, as if he has to physically check you’re still there, you’re still whole.

Your heart is racing and you take a deep breath. “Y-yes…” you finally manage. His hand rubs at your shoulder and your not sure he even realizes he’s doing it but it immediately calms you. “Yes I’m okay, thank you. Good thing you’re so good with the wheel. Are you okay?”

Gavin’s face is pale and ashen, the fear in his eyes more than evident, the stress clear in his expression. "Yeah,” he breathes, fully looking over you and squeezing your shoulder once more. “Yeah. I'm fine. Let's hope the axle is okay, too. At least we know my brakes are good." He lets out a huff as he finally sits back and takes his seat belt off. "I don't know what I would've done if you'd been injured," he says softly looking away but you can see the real concern mixed with some deeper emotion in his dark eyes before he turns.

You know something serious had happened last year and his brother and sister-in-law had almost been killed but you didn’t know many details beyond the rumors. You can’t imagine what that must’ve done to him. “Hey, I’m good, Gavin,” you lean forward to catch his gaze. “Promise.” You give him another soft smile and reach down to grab and squeeze his hand. “Do you need to check the axle before we start?”

"Yeah, I'd better, just to be on the safe side. You can unload a few things while I check if you don't mind. Leave the heavy stuff for me." He gives your shoulder another rub and gets out of the truck going around to the front.

“Of course.” You're surprised by how much the temperature has dropped when you get out and you grab your warm raincoat and bundle up before you start working, taking the things you’ll need out of the back of his truck and setting them aside.

His more playful mood seems to have waned now but you still can’t help enjoying watching him while he moves, checking for damage. You know how much all of his work means to him. And you don’t mind if his mood is heavier for awhile. You know what that’s like, and you’re happy to just be with him.

After he checks under the truck, he moves it to a better spot further off the road then he comes around to the rear, brushing his hands off and takes out his heavier, larger pack, putting it on and adjusting the weight. "As far as I can tell everything checks out." He looks down at you and smiles softly reaching out to brush some stray locks of hair back from your face. "I’m really glad you're okay."

You mean to tell him again that you’re perfectly good but you get completely lost in his eyes. There’s a pain there, something buried deep that you can’t help but feel in your own heart and your breath catches. And you can’t look away. From a distance, his eyes could be mistaken for brown, but up close, they’re really a mixture of deep ambers and greens, changing with which way the light is shining, the same as the colors of the deep forests around you.

Gavin holds your gaze, searching for a long moment then shakes his head the tiniest bit as though trying to order his thoughts, and sighs softly. "C'mon, trailblazer...we'd better get a move on," he finally relaxes again, back to his light teasing. "We should try to make the most of this light." He picks up a couple pouches and clips them to his pack, then adjusts your pack so the weight is distributed evenly. When his knuckles brush against your shoulders you have to physically hold back a pleased shiver. He doesn’t seem to notice to your relief, and he starts up the trail with you.

It’s a good hike. Not too hard but enough to get your blood pumping again and lots of fresh air. Your legs might be a little sore in the morning though, you think, after all the office work you’ve been doing. “Do we need many notes on the cut site, or more just doing a visual check?” you ask him.

"I think a little of both. A visual's always good for me but some of these people are more into the finer details when they're making an investment. I can get a feel for things to make a pitch but it would be nice to have your notes to back me up. Your attention to detail was one of the things that impressed Jack and me." He stops for a moment to rest and tighten a strap on his pack.

“Thank you,” you murmur and you know you’re blushing again. “That sounds like a good plan.” We have to hike a little further before we get to where the cut site will start and you pause to pull your notebook out of the pocket of your pack then immediately scribble a note guessing the distance from the road and the need for a path for the equipment. Gavin goes ahead a little and when you look up, he’s climbing a small hill in front of you and you can’t help but watch the way his jeans fit so perfectly on his swaggering hips…

He bends over to pick up a stray pine cone and inspect it more closely and you can't tear your eyes away from the picture made by his jeans stretching tightly over his perfect masculine butt and hips as he crouches then, sadly, stands again.

For a moment, you wonder how you will ever survive this whole week with just the two of you out here alone. You told yourself you wouldn’t get involved with anyone ever again, or at least not for a very long time, but out here in the forest everything about him seems accentuated wonderfully. Suddenly you realize he’s saying something and you’ve missed most of it. “Oh, hm what? Sorry…” Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips.

Gavin chuckles softly. "Where'd you go sweetheart? You looked like you were a million miles away from here." He looks back up the trail. Turning to you again he says, "I was just asking if you have what you need? I'd like to get a little farther along then we can look for a place to camp for the night. "

You’re starting to think maybe all you need is him. “Oh yes, I’m all good.” And then you realize he called you sweetheart again. “I was just thinking how much I love being all the way out here. It’s beautiful.” You tuck your notebook away again.

"Sometimes with all the work and trying to get ahead...I forget to stop and take a look around. It's nice coming out here with you. Seeing it through your eyes it's all new and full of beauty and wonder again."

You’re sure your expression is glowing, you feel like you are, but neither of you says anything else. You carry on for a ways and then finally come to a nice flat spot with a small clearing but still sheltered by some of the taller trees. “This looks nice,” you say, setting down your pack with him. “Man, I really need to get in shape,” you groan a little good-naturedly.

He smiles, his charming dimple showing, and looks you up and down assessingly. "Well...you look to be in fine shape to me." Then he winks. Yes...definitely flirting.

You laugh softly. “Well, thank you, if you say so. Should we get the tent set up and a fire going? I feel like it might rain tonight.” Your stomach flutters wildly thinking about tonight, with him. You can’t even remember the last time someone even hugged you and a part of you just wants that feeling.

He looks up at the sky between the trees. "Yeah, I think you might be right about that. We'd better get set up before the storm rolls in farther." He lowers his pack to the ground and inspects the area for the best location then unrolls the tent. You start to gather up some wood for a fire and look up to see him efficiently setting up the tent. His sleeves are rolled up and you can see the muscles in his forearms and the way his brow is just a little furrowed in concentration.

You have to take a breath. You’ve seen him work before, of course, but it feels different now. What is it about a man’s forearms? You’re not sure but looking at them right now makes your mouth water. You force yourself to turn away though and start the fire so you don’t look useless. The crackling of the first twigs burning is like music.

It's merry crackle is a welcome sound as the sun begins to set and the woods get darker. You put your hands out to warm them then pull out a bag with a few cooking utensils. You can't help wanting to sneak another peek at him working but when you glance over your shoulder, you're met with those dark hazel eyes watching you. Caught, he gives you a lopsided grin and turns back to secure the tent.

The warmth he gives you from the inside feels just as good as the warmth from the fire on the outside. Yep, you’re done for.

He finishes up with the tent then and you spread out a stiff wool blanket to sit on by the fire. “So what’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

part 4

Really, really hope you enjoy! Next up, vulnerable confessions, campfires and snuggling in the cold with that gorgeous man! Let me know if you’d like a tag!

[rosegasly]

wish on elevens. | pg10

⇢ summary: "Sure mon amour. Podium's a good look on you anyway," you quip, scrunching your nose and smiling in an attempt to ignore the way your heart stops and beats again, racing twice as quick and strong. ⇢ genre: fluff ⇢ pairing: pierre gasly x reader ⇢ a/n: celebratory post dutch gp podium fic coz how can i call myself a g10 girlie if i dont write today. stoked.

He's dripping, sweat and champagne coalescing into sticky sweet droplets that bloom on your tongue when you kiss him, hands against scruffy cheeks. "You did it amour! P3!!" 

The dark of his alpine hat sits low over brilliant blue eyes that gaze back at you, glistening with joy so infectious you wonder how everyone around you isn't utterly in love with Pierre Gasly too. 

"Chérie, we did it." He says and you shake your head fondly, eyes still locked with his as affection bubbles and spills over somewhere behind your ribs, heart jutting out with the love you have for this man and you are crying. Vision blurring as you throw your arms around him again, uncaring of how the champagne and sweat stain your front as you sob into his neck. 

"I am so so proud baby. you deserve this! you were so good, so brilliant-" it's hard to speak around the growing knot in your throat but you push through, "I love you so much! You drove incredibly. I was screaming by the end," you laugh as you squeeze him tighter, pull him closer, "My voice is shot. What a fucking day."

Strong arms wrap around your waist, broad shoulders hunching to nestle you against the hollow of his clavicle and you scratch your skin, cheeks pressing softly against his fireproofs as you laugh again, unadulterated delight spilling out of your pores and you don't even want to think how cheesy you both look. Swaying, giggling and wet in his side of the Alpine garage as you celebrate his podium. 

"I am so glad you made it today chérie," Pierre pulls back, catching your eyes again as he continues in a voice so soft one would be hard-pressed to say it was him screaming in the team radio less than thirty minutes ago, voice shrill and so far from his usual gravelly baritone. "You are my lucky charm. Je t'aime babygirl. Let's repeat today again, a hundred more times." He says, words sincere and accent thick as ringed fingers caress your cheek, idly wiping the stray tear and you tug him closer by the collar of his fireproof.

"Sure mon amour. Podium's a good look on you anyway," you quip, scrunching your nose and smiling in an attempt to ignore the way your heart stops and beats again, racing twice as quick and strong. 

The admission, subtle as it may be, isn't lost on you. You've known Pierre long enough now to realise how carefully he words his responses, never unwittingly promising more than he is willing to give and while with someone else you would chop the words to post podium adrenaline, with Pierre they ring true. 

Time suspends for a beat, you don't make any proclamations, don't directly promise anything back but the way you carefully caress his cheeks, the way Pierre lets his inhibitions go, surrendering and nuzzling your palm, the blue swimming in his gaze still holding yours, for once uncaring of the flashing cameras not ten feet away as he melts into your arms, boneless when you pull him in an embrace again–it's enough. 

Neither of you says more, but then you don't have to. Not when you already know you'll come back, time and again, fly to any corner of the world without a second's hesitation to have his back. Cheer him on from the sidelines as many times as he needs, and all the times he doesn't, but you would still be there anyway.

The words form on your tongue, but they don't come out, bitten back and cluttering behind your teeth as you try to shield your heart–to no avail. 

They don't have to escape to be heard, not when they ring so loud and evident between your breaths. 

Pierre Gasly owns your heart and for however long he wants you back, you'll let him keep it. 

[anachilles]

🥃☕️ young!bucky and young!gale from the firehouse!au moodboard.

-> assorted ‘growing up’ headcanons under the cut <-

John:

Has two sisters.

Was sort of at a weird crossroad between being a jock and a bit of a burnout in school. Played ice hockey, mainly. He likes baseball a lot and played as a kid but didn’t keep it up because his school team sucked.

He struggled to function as he “should” in mainstream education settings, from incessant restlessness, hyperactivity/attention problems, organisational issues, seeming inability to translate what educators could see as natural intelligence into test scores that reflected that.

It got to the point where he’d fallen firmly into the “wrong crowd”; was drinking more, cutting class more and more. He was naturally clever, got good enough grades but not stellar, just enough to keep teachers and his mom off his back. Looking back on it as an adult, it was obvious his depressive tendencies had always sort of been there.

His dad died before he ever really knew him; was in the military and was killed in action. His picture still hangs in their living room back home to this day. It resulted in a misplaced idolisation of him and how his mom/family spoke about him maybe went some way to clouding Bucky’s vision around the “glory” of serving, made it an easier option to turn to when he was desperate for a purpose and some way to elevate himself than it should’ve been.

His mom cried and begged him not to when he told her he was enlisting right out of school. Now she says the best day of her life was when he told her he was leaving, that he was coming home.

He’s still in the habit of wearing his watch inside his wrist. Has to catch himself and turn it around more often than he’d like to admit.

Gale:

Grew up an only child.

For as far back as he could remember, his father had had a drinking problem. Gambling too, he realised later, when he was old enough to comprehend what that even was. And when he drank, he often got verbally abusive.

When he was around eight his mom went out of state to take care of her mom who was seriously/terminally ill, but then just… didn’t come back. He realises now that was her opportunity to escape and tries not to hold it against her. Unlike his dad, he does check in with her every handful of months.

There’s layers to how it’s all affected him, but primarily it made him very hyper independent. Like he became aware from a young age that he wasn’t getting out of this situation without pulling himself up and doing it for himself. So he threw himself into academics; math and science especially.

Grew out his hair long and “girly” when he was a teenager as a way to silently/non-combatively piss off his dad. He kept it right through his undergrad and a little bit into his masters before cutting it up short again; was very pretty and kept accidentally getting hit on my queer women.

As hinted at in chapter four, when he and Rosie first met as college freshman, they had an ill-fated, whirlwind five week fling that culminated in the mutual realisation that they’d never work romantically but were suited to be really close friends.

Was never allowed an actual pet, but secretly fed stray cats that hung around the back alley near their house on the sly with whatever he could scrounge from their kitchen.

Finds life easiest to navigate as a series of routines and ideas with fairly rigid borders.

[goosewriting]

Why? Because.

summary: reader gets trapped with an injured Zeb in a cave, and they come clean about their feelings.

relationship: Zeb Orellios x GN reader

warnings: mention of injury, blood, age gap i guess?

word count: 3.6k

A/N: i loved zeb in rebels and lost my marbles when he appeared in the mandalorian. and statistically speaking i can’t be the only zeb girlie (gender neutral), right? so this one goes to all of you out there, wherever you may be <3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

It has been some time since you joined the Ghost crew, and you’re happy to say that you get along with everyone (except maybe Chopper at times). They had kinda taken you in like they ended up letting Ezra stay, though you were no Jedi. So the running joke was that Kanan brought “strays” on board. But you did and still do try your best to pull your weight around. You’re extremely thankful they decided to let you stay and considered you skilled enough to keep around. 

Your homeworld had been brought to near extinction, similar to how Zeb’s planet got destroyed, so now you have no place to go back home to either. Hence why you got along with him from the start. He seemed gruff on the outside but you could see through it; that was the façade of a man who lived through pain and regret. But you know beneath it lies a rather charming personality and a caring friend. 

A friend you like a little bit too much perhaps. A friend you find yourself drawn to constantly, torn between pushing your feelings aside and letting them out into the world. 

That’s a problem for later though, because right now, you find yourself running for your life next to Zeb. 

The latest mission brought the team to a wild jungle on some desolate planet, and you and Zeb got separated from the group. With the Empire hot on your trails, no less, because why would you have a normal, relaxing day? That would be boring.

You trip over a root peeking out from the ground littered in leaves, but catch your step just in time to keep running. The vegetation is dense, and you can’t really see much ahead of you except for splotches in several shades of green. Your legs are carrying you as fast as they can, but you can feel their stamina draining rapidly as your lungs burn, begging for a break.

From somewhere above you, you can hear the unequivocal engine of a TIE fighter, and you instinctively duck. You call out to Zeb, who’s a couple of metres ahead of you.

“They’re getting closer!” you scream at him.

“Then run faster!” he retorts over his shoulder.

“Well that’s easy for you to say!” you tell him between your breaths. “Look at your legs compared to mine!”

Suddenly, Zeb disappears from your view, swallowed by a dense bush. You do hear him cry out in surprise though.

“Zeb!” you call for him, worried.

Without lowering your speed, you take the last couple of steps to reach the point where he was, pushing the leaves out of your way, when your foot suddenly lands on air instead of the ground. Imitating the Lasat’s earlier scream, you also fall, as the vegetation had hidden away the very abrupt stop the cliff came to, the edge ending at a nearly perfect 90 degree angle, which sent you tumbling downwards.

On the way down, you feel yourself hit the side of the hill with an “oomph!”, then continue rolling down, protectively holding your arms over your head however you can, given the speed you’re spinning at. 

When you finally make it to the ground, you hit a dead trunk with your back. For a second all air is knocked out of your lungs as you come to a sudden stop, and you need a second to recover your breath. Everything is still spinning, you hold your head, and all you can see are blurs of greens, yellows and browns.

After taking a moment to reorient yourself, you call out to Zeb. The only response you get is a pained groan from a little further away. You get to your feet, ignoring the pain that shoots up from your knee to your hip. The contents of your backpack got strewn around, so you go around hurriedly collecting everything before looking for Zeb. Following the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, you find him leaning on a rock. You almost drop your pack when you notice the thick branch impaled in his side. He must have hit a tree on the way down.

You approach him quickly, kneeling down at his side.

“Hey, hey,” you say, waving your hand in front of his face. “Stay with me!”

“Ugh…” is all the response he can muster. 

You check your comm; it’s busted. 

“Where’s your comm, Zeb?” you ask. He paws at his leg with a groan. 

You rummage through his pockets and take out the device, which is all but flattened. Great.

“We have to find shelter somewhere,” you say, getting up to your feet. 

Taking a look around, you realise it all looks the same. The trees are so dense that you can’t even properly see the sky. Turning back to Zeb, you catch him just in time how he’s about to pull out the branch stuck in his abdomen. You fall back to your knees and swat away his hand.

“Leave it!” you order. “If you pull it out now you’ll bleed out.”

He growls, but doesn’t fight you. Taking in his state, you suddenly feel lost and small and helpless.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Zeb!” You try to sound threatening.

“‘Tis but a flesh wound,” he says with a chuckle that quickly turns into unpleasant sounding coughs.

Great, he's delusional. 

“Did you break anything?” you ask him, checking for injuries. “Can you move your arms, legs, fingers?”

He first moves his ankles around, then slightly lifts one leg. With the other one he inhales sharply as it is the one on the side where he got hit. 

“How about your hands?” you continue. 

You talk to him in an attempt to keep him conscious. Meanwhile you rummage through your backpack for a rope. Zeb tries moving his arms but with his right one he groans in pain.

“Think i’s broken,” he says through gritted teeth, then his face starts relaxing, his eyes about to close shut.

“Hey, no no no. Look at me,” you demand, waving your hand in front of his face again; no response. “Hey!” 

You slightly slap his cheeks, and his eyes snap open to shoot you a half-glare. Then you look down and see he’s losing blood, fast.

“Dank farrik, Zeb!” you curse, looking around again. Your gaze falls on the Lasat one last time before you run in the opposite direction you fell from, looking for some sort of shelter. Not far, you luckily find a cave.

Running back to him, you fall to your knees at his side once again.

“Wake up! I can’t carry you alone!” you demand, desperation starting to creep into your voice.

But he’s too weak to stand up, so you pass the rope you had under his armpits and back, throwing the ends over your shoulder, and pulling with all your might to drag him. He drifts in and out of consciousness but tries helping you with his legs and good arm.

It takes you what feels like an eternity and a full workout to drag him into the cave, and just in time. Of course, it has to start raining. You wonder how the water even gets down here when the trees seem to have built a solid roof over the whole place.

Once you have Zeb in the cave, you take a moment to shake some life back into your limbs. Don’t fail me now! you plead with your arms and legs, and you get to work. Using some wood you found on the way here you build a makeshift splint for his broken arm. Then you prepare some bandages, bacta patches and bacta gel. You’re glad that you weren’t carrying anything in glass vials in your backpack that could have broken; all supplies survived the fall.

You kneel at Zeb's side, whose forehead is now covered in a thin layer of sweat; he’s probably running a fever. You exhale slowly through your nose, trying to calm yourself for what you’re about to do.

“Zeb, I’m gonna take it out now, okay?” you warn him, pointing to the branch he got impaled with. “This is gonna hurt… I’m sorry.”

“Ugh… Just- just do it,” he replies with shallow breaths. 

“Okay,” you say more to yourself than him, and place your hands around the splintered branch. “One, two, three!”

As you pull out the piece of wood, Zeb clenches his teeth with a groan, and blood comes gurgling out of the wound. You’re quick to generously apply the bacta gel to disinfect the area, put a bacta patch on top and some gauze over it all to stop the bleeding. It takes a little bit of effort on both sides to get Zeb to lift his back enough so you can wrap the bandage around him, but it works. 

Now that the most critical part is taken care of, you inspect him further. He’s got a couple of scratches on his arms and face. You take a clean piece of gauze and step to the cave entrance to dampen it in the rain, then come back inside and start cleaning the dried blood and grime off him as best as you can. He tries swatting you away with his good arm a couple of times.

“‘S okay. Take care of yourself first,” he speaks through heavy breaths. But you insist.

Once you're sure you cleaned him up to the best of your abilities and minimised the risk of something getting infected given your precarious situation, only then do you repeat the process for yourself. You also got a couple scratches all over you, and you're sure your back and hip are gonna bruise because of that rock earlier. 

Once you're done cleaning yourself up, you sit back and heave a deep sigh. For a moment, the cave is silent save for Zeb’s laboured breathing and the patter of the rain. You take a moment to think about what the next best course of action is. You need water, food, and you have to find a way to contact the Ghost.

From your backpack you take out your busted comm. Zeb’s one got absolutely obliterated, but yours seems in better condition. 

“Hey, do you think that we could fix this and send some message to Hera at all?” you ask.

Zeb is struggling to keep his eyes open, trying to focus on the device you’re holding in front of him.

“Do- d’you know how to… rewire?”, he asks.

“Not really… but you can talk me through it?” you offer. 

It takes several attempts, but through broken sentences and you having to shake Zeb awake a couple of times, you actually do it. You manage to more or less recall your coordinates given your last known position before the fall, and send that plus the fact that Zeb is hurt. You couldn't fix it enough to know if it actually got through or if you received a response. But you hope and pray to the Force and every other deity out there that Hera and Kanan got the message and come to find you soon.

Now that that is taken care of, you go through your mental list again. Next up: water and food. 

You give your past self a pat on the back for packing so much stuff when everyone said the weight would just slow you down. You could really never know when you’d need all this. 

You find your emergency light; it's like a bag filled with gel that emits both light and warmth. You hit it in the right spot to activate it and place it next to Zeb, who’s starting to tremble slightly, you now notice. 

Your water canteen is a bit banged up but still usable, so you step to the cave entrance to collect some rainwater. While you're here you focus on any sounds of ships or blasters, but you only hear the jungle around you.

You take a couple of swigs from the bottle, then fill it back up. With a sigh, you go back into the cave and take out one last thing from your backpack: ration bars. Not the yummiest but enough to get out of a pinch.

You offer Zeb some water, which he accepts. After he’s done drinking, he leans his head back down with a groan. It must be uncomfortable. Unfortunately, you didn't bring any shock blankets or anything. In fact you don't even have a jacket because of the planet’s tropical weather. 

You look up at the cave’s roof again, ticking off the items from your mental list. Now that everything is taken care of, there’s only one thing to do: wait. And hope for the best. Your nose crinkles at the thought. Waiting is the worst part. 

Zeb’s shuffling as he moves around trying to find a comfortable position to lie in catches your attention. You grab your blaster and move in between him and the cave wall.

“Here,” you say softly and carefully lift his head to sit down, so he can use your lap as a pillow while you lean back onto the cave wall. You prop up your hand with the blaster on your other leg, aiming at the cave entrance. “You rest up now. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

He groans, trying to get comfortable, and then silence surrounds you two. 

You’re trying to keep watch but your eyes keep drifting back to the Lasat on your lap. His breathing is evening out, so you assume he’s trying to fall asleep. You take a moment to roam over his face, his meiloorun shaped head, his big ears, his beard. You notice the wrinkles between his brows, a testament to his almost constant scowl, and you have to gather every ounce of self control in your body not to smooth out the skin with your fingers. 

“I can feel you staring,” he remarked suddenly, startling you. He opens his eyes and looks up at you.

“Sorry…” you apologise with a sheepish smile. 

He holds your gaze for a second longer than you’d have deemed necessary, then closes his eyes again and turns his head slightly away from you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, softer this time.

“Huh? Like what?” you ask. 

“Like a sad, lovestruck Loth-pup.”

Heat rises up to your cheeks, and you turn your face away as well, but then realise that you don’t care anymore if he sees you. You knew that at some point you had developed a crush for the guy but you’ve been trying your hardest to push the feelings down, and evidently failed. It did occur to you that lately things seemed to have changed; but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. So you weren’t imagining it after all, the lingering looks and quick glances your way when he thought you weren’t looking.

And if he really decides to bring this up in a cave in who knows where, then so be it. You might as well have the conversation you’ve been procrastinating on right here and now, since he can’t really run away either. 

“That’s not how I would describe it,” you start. “But I can’t help it…”

“You can do better,” he says, still not looking at you. 

“Try me,” you retort. 

He hesitates for a second, considering if he should give in to this or not. For an instant you think that’s it, and are about to keep watch again, but then he speaks. 

“I’m old, and scarred,” he tries to convince you.

“You’ve lived through a lot of things, and yet you kept your kind soul,” you counter, ready to disarm any argument he gives you.

“I get angry easily.”

“You have a strong sense of justice.”

“I’m stubborn.”

“So am I,” you say with a chuckle. 

He sighs deeply, and finally turns to face you.

“Why? Why me?” he asks and you can tell he’s genuinely wondering.

“Do I need a reason?” you ask, slightly shrugging your shoulders. “When I’m with you, I feel safe, and understood.”

“Who knew the bar was so low,” he teases, and you playfully nudge his shoulder.

“I’m serious. You’re someone I know I can confide in, someone who can read the room and differentiate playtime from ‘time to be serious’. You get things done. You’re loyal. You know what you want and what you fight for,” you recount. Then with a smile and a poke to his cheek, you add, “And for all it’s worth, I do think you’re rather handsome.”

Zeb makes a sound between a snort and a mock-offended gasp, averting his eyes from yours. You could swear his ear just twitched as well. Is that his tell-tale sign for when he’s flustered? Cute.

He remains silent, looking back to you with a soft gaze that holds something else, maybe resignation, or a little bit of sadness. 

“But, you know, now that we’ve established how I feel, I do wonder about you,” you point out. “You don’t have to answer now, though. In fact, you don’t have to answer at all if you don’t want to–”

“That wouldn’t be fair, now would it?” he cuts you short. 

“Then, do you have anything you want to add?” you ask, hopeful.

He thinks about it for a moment, then gives you an apologetic look.

“Whatever it is I want to say, I don’t think I could properly put it into words right now,” he says, gesturing to himself. “Let’s continue this conversation when I’m… not on the possible brink of death?”

“Right,” you answer, only slightly disappointed, but you try not to show it. 

“And hey,” he calls for your attention, and you look back at him. “Thank you.”

“You would have done the same thing for me,” you smile back at him, thinking he means treating his wound.

“Not just for patching me up”, he remarks. “Also for… For your words. And honesty. I can’t deny it’s nice to have someone like you looking at me the way you do. Hopefully I can be half as eloquent as you.”

He then takes your hand with his good one, bringing it to his chest. Once again, you feel your face burn. Zeb Orellios is holding your hand. While his head rests on your lap no less. With that little spurt of courage you just got from his gesture, you lean down and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. He squeezes your hand lightly at that, sighs, and closes his eyes. 

You lean back up, resting your head on the hard cave wall behind you, but you don’t mind. You’re on cloud nine right now.

Just as you remind yourself that you’re supposed to be on watch, you hear some rustling from outside. Quickly you lift the blaster, pointing at the entrance. It sounds like someone is approaching. You aim, and–

“Found them!”

It’s Sabine.

You slump back onto the wall, lowering your weapon, letting go of the breath you were holding. 

“Are you guys okay?” she asks as she approaches you.

“I got away with just a couple bruises, but Zeb got essentially skewered, and I think his arm is broken,” you explain, turning to show her the wound on his abdomen and tell her how it happened, when you realise Zeb is still holding your hand. 

You stop mid-sentence, your eyes meeting Zeb’s, who’s looking at you with a cheeky smirk. That little–

“What happened? Are you okay?” Now it’s Ezra’s turn to step into the cave.

You let go of Zeb’s hand to carefully remove yourself from under him and stand up. You manage to get up but are a little wobbly on your legs, since you’ve been sitting for so long. Sabine quickly helps to support you and guides you outside.

Kanan is the last to get into the cave. With Ezra they try their best to support Zeb to walk but he’s still too weak to get up, so they decide to essentially fly him just outside of the cave by means of the Force, where the Phantom is parked. Zeb did not like that one bit.

– – – – –

Bonus: 

Once Zeb is in his bunk on the Ghost with fresh bacta patches and bandages, you give him one last once-over to check if he’s comfortable.

“Anything else you need?” you ask him, packing the remaining gauze and bacta you didn’t use into the first aid kit.

“I think a ‘get better kiss’ would help,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You jump a little, his comment having taken you off-guard.

“Well I’m no doctor, but let’s see what I can do,” you try saying as nonchalantly as possible, but your flustered cheeks betray you.

You gently hold his face as you kiss the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes.

“Uhm?!” comes a startled noise from Ezra who’s standing at the now open door. Oh right, for a second there you forgot they shared the room.

“Is this gonna be a thing from now on?” the boy asks, pointing between you and Zeb.

You don’t really know how to answer because you haven’t had the second part of your conversation yet, but the Lasat chuckles and folds his good arm under his head. 

“You better knock from now on,” is all he says and proceeds to close his eyes to nap.

“But it’s my room too?” Ezra looks at you for help, but you just shrug with an apologetic smile.

Walking past him, you go to your own bunk, trying to calm your pounding heart on the way.

[blueseachelle]

Hi.

Can you please write some Percy de rolo x reader one shot. With jealous reader? Maybe some smut?

Jealous? Me? Never. PART 1

Percy De Rolo x Jealous! Reader

Smut will be in PART 2 but, I like to build a foundation for jealous type situations so, this is a build up for the good stuff

It seems like the whole world is against you at this point.

Every time you tried to do something. Someone or something stood in your way. You were trying to figure out a way into a certain someone's heart yet, were stopped by observation.

As you sat in a tavern next to Pike. You noticed a number of things. Your eyes never strayed too far away from the silver haired gunslinger across from you. You saw how Vex leaned into him. You saw how he seemed to smirk and reflect the same energy back.

It made you sick. You thought nothing was going on between the two of them but, you guess you were wrong after all.

You're heart ached. You looked down into your mug. You got lost in your thoughts for a little bit until Pike nudged you gently,

"You okay, Girlie?"

You just look over to her and smiled softly,

"I'm good. I'm just gonna head outside for some air."

Pike watched with a concerned look as you stood up and made your way out of the bar. She looked around and saw that no one noticed her sudden exit. She stood on her bench and turned to hop down.

Just as she did this, Grog grabbed her up,

"Did you see that, Pike?! I beat Vax once again!"

Pike pushed out of his grasp slightly,

"Yeah. I saw that. You did great, Buddies. I'll be back in a second."

With that, she quickly followed the path you took out of the bar.

Percy saw this and realized that you weren't there. You never alone really so, this concerned him slightly. Vex put an arm over his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts,

"Darling! Did you see that? Scanlan fell of his stool, long gone! Hahahaha."

Percy just nodded. He quickly got out of her grasp, much how Pike did the same with Grog. He cleared his throat quickly after.

"Excuse me, Vex'ahlia. I have to visit the men's room."

He then disappeared out the door. This went unnoticed to the rest of the drunk group.

~~~

You walked away from the tavern. Looking at the ground as you walked, kicking some pebbles as you went.

How could you be so blind? You should've knew that they were together before you fell for Percy. You were just blinded by love.

You tried so hard to make time for him and help him with his projects. You made sure to keep him safe in battle. You always were there to take care of him when he needed it. You guess you were always saw as a best friend. Nothing more.

You heard rushed footsteps from behind you. You didn't bother to turn around. You didn't care anymore.

Pike ran up to your side. She walked next to you as she caught her breath quickly. She then gave your cloak a slight tug, catching your attention. You looked over at her with saddened eyes. Pike just nodded. She understood your pain.

"It's okay to be jealous and hurt."

"Jealous? Me? Never."

Y/n responded with slightly sarcastic tone. Pike just shook her head,

"Even if he isn't there for you, I always will be. We'll get through this together, Girlie."

"I just wish he understood how much my heart hurts to see him with her. I was always there for him. Through everything. Before he even got into the group. I guess I never been more than a best friend. I'm stupid for thinking so."

"Y/n. You are not stupid. What's stupid is that Percy can't see that you love him but he sees Vex's advances. We did everything we could to get you with him. Maybe he'll realize soon. You never know."

Percy, who was approaching the two, heard the whole exchange. His eyes widened. You? Jealous? He would never guess that you loved him as much as you said to Pike. He did always see you as his best friend but, he saw so much more. He thought he had no chance because you never, well he didn't realize, acted like you wanted to be anything more. When Vex made it obvious, he thought he could get rid of these feelings he had for you.

Oh boy. He was so wrong.

He saw you give Pike a hug. You sat there on you knees as you hugged her. Pike patted your back.

"Everything will be okay. I promise."

You just nodded. Soon, the hug broke apart and Pike told you she had to head back and take care of Grog. You just nodded and said that you needed a couple more minutes before going back.

Pike nodded and ran back to the tavern. She didn't notice Percy as she ran by because he was hiding.

Once you were alone, Percy came out of hiding and made his way towards you. You just hung your head low and was lost in thought. You didn't notice Percy's entrance.

He gingerly set a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him. You looked slightly surprised but, your sadness covered it up quickly.

"Why are you here? You should be with Vex'ahlia."

Percy shook his head,

"I came here because I was worried about you. You seem off tonight and I want to know what's wrong."

Rage pulsed through you. You looked at him and stepped back so his hand fell off your shoulder,

"You know what's wrong. Don't act like you weren't hiding and overhearing my conversation with Pike. Do I look stupid to you? Don't play me like a fucking fool."

Percy pursed his lips together. He was caught. He didn't want you to be anger at him but, here we are.

"I did hear it all. I just want to know why didn't make a move sooner. Why didn't you point blank ask me how I felt towards you?"

You clutched your fists and you growled slightly,

"You think it's so easy. I didn't want to lose you as even my friend if you rejected me. Plus, now I know you and Vex are something so, I can just forget about my feelings and go about my business. Do snog with her and leave me alone."

Percy took a step towards you. You anger was valid. He knew he fucked up but, he wants to make it up to you. He needed to reach out first. He slowly gripped your shoulders,

"It is easy. I'll do it so you can see."

You froze in confusion as he continued,

"Y/n. I have loved you for a very long time now. You have always been by my side and I appreciate it. You showed me so much of myself that I wouldn't have ever found without you. I thought YOU would reject me so, when Vex made it obvious of her feelings, I thought I could run away from them. Seeing you hurt like this, I can't run. I'm sorry for my stupidity. I love you. More than the world. You are my world."

You stood there with tears running down your cheeks. He slowly moved his hand and wiped your tears as they came. You leaned into his touch.

"I love you too, Percy."

Percy smiled and leaned in and kissed You. You both stayed in that position for some time. Kissing over and over again. The tears soon stopped to flow as the kissing stopped as well. Once the two of you separated, Percy held you close. He whispered sweet words to you.

You held him tightly, like he was gonna disappear in a seconds time. Percy looked down at you,

"Do you want to head back to the tavern now?"

You slowly nodded and you both walked hand in hand to the building. You were both going to tell the rest of the group of the new development. No matter what anyone said. No matter the repercussions of the relationship. You both didn't care. You loved each other and that's that.

[caliburn-the-sword]

more cress thoughts and reactions (if i wasn't lazy i would start numbering these)

WHAT is with this lunar guard and WHY would he randomly choose to help these guys. since he's a Named Character (but i already forgot) i'm demanding a pov chapter immediately. probably won't get one until we trust him tho rip

NO WAY SCARLET CAN'T DIE OMG - oh thank goodness she's been taken hostage. that's better because it means she has a chance

what is it with cinder and her tendency to pick up strays?? first thorne now the blondie

cinder got that medical rizz (got blondie to take his shirt to staunch blood)

wait how does blondie know that cinder is the lost princess?? did i miss something??? maybe it was something cress mentioned

"Thorne thought maybe it was best for her to practice (cutting bonds) on herself anyway" DAMN BRO COLD

i wonder if the programming making the sat invisible still applies now that it's crashed. if not we're about to have a big problem on our hands

"somehow she’d never worked the sensation of prickly facial hair into her fantasies. She would amend that after this." MISS GIRL WHAT???? that said i find the diction of 'amend that' there's just something so detached about it lmao

OMG THORNE LOST HIS VISION YES THIS IS MAKING ME NUTS

no i agree cress WHY would you give a newly blind man a knife

her hair is getting cut off <3 "It felt as though twenty pounds had been cut from her head" probably because it HAS girly. haircuts are literally magical. feel sad?? get a haircut

"It's not your fault" damn thorne i really appreciate how conscious he is of cinder's and now cress' self blaming problem even though he doesn't act like he's all compassionate. softie

grossed out by thorne kissing a 16 year old even if it was just her hand (someone play sixteen by ayesha erotica)

omg i thought the kids were talking about PRIZE MONEY for a BOUNTY and that we were about to see someone properly threatening appear, not just gummy worms fkshfsdkh. LOVE erland for indulging the children. he seems like a fun uncle type figure to have. i wonder how much those kids make him grieve for his daughter. OMG CINDER MENTION IT I NEED ERLAND'S REACTION

omg cress' descriptions of earth make me feel like i've been taking it for granted <3 i love her to death and i wish her all the happiness in the world

i LOVE thorne's no nonsense attitude, especially when it conflicts with cress' fantasies. yeah!! shake her!! wilderness survival king

tf??? i've never heard of a green sunset????? i'm assuming that this is a rural thing or i'm just gonna pin it down to random radioactive scifi reasons

thorne you know what OTHER than constellations would rule out australia?? THE SAND WOULD BE FUCKING RED. i would know because i did a 6 week cross country road trip across the desert from east to west and back again. i get that he's blind but surely cress would have noticed and thought to mention it (catch me looking for the southern cross constellation whenever i go to the northern hemisphere since it's the only one i can consistently recognise)

whenever cinder gets glamoured she always snaps out of it immediately. even kai, the few times it's happened to him. it's honestly VERY disturbing to read it from scarlet's perspective where she's completely unable to (also now i'm finding kai sus. does he have the implant against his knowledge?? he got out of it with pain but wolf literally got SHOT and stayed glamoured)

LANDED IN AFRICA OMG THEY'RE GONNA REUNITE WITH CINDER. I BET ERLAND HAS ALREADY HEARD NEWS ABOUT THE DROPPED SAT

cress' backstory is intriguing, ESPECIALLY because idk how she's alive. does experimenting really make her THAT worth keeping before her hacking skills came to light?? why does sybil want to keep shells alive in the first place?? she seems very down with eugenics

holding onto neurodivergent coded cress and defending her with my life. of course some traits overlap with her trauma and being isolated for so long

only just remembered this but i guess now my theory of cress not being fully lunar doesn't hold up now that i know her parents. but with what she's saying about her backstory, makes sense why she doesn't identify with lunars that much

maybe it was thorne that i decided was bi??? just by seeing this line about blackmailing a hot pilot if he were in her position??? now that i think about it he had a similar line about kai or something. anyway with thorne saying he would have blackmailed someone i reckon he's just putting on a facade so no one sees him as a softie. but it's still funny to just make characters queer. it's a coping mechanism

OMG NOW THAT THE SATELLITE HAS CRASHED THE LUNARS ARE EXPOSED. I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT. but the spyware should ALSO be down unless specific feeds went directly to the palace

this read has been such a treat for me!! i mentioned this on a reblog of one of my first cress post, but for those of you who haven't seen it when i was like. 5. my library had this picture book of the biblically accurate grimms brothers rapunzel. BEAUTIFUL illustrations. i was a silly goofy little kid obsessed with morbidity and i LOVED the gory illustrations of the prince's eyes getting stabbed out by thorns and him wandering around the forest all bloody and blind. i tried to find it online but couldn't!! the closest thing to it was rapunzel by sarah gibb which isn't gloriously violent anyway. i want to see if i can hunt it down irl and let you guys know which one it is but i used to frequent three different local libraries + the school library of my primary school was basically my own playground so i can't remember where i used to read it ;-; but yeah all this is to say i'm obsessed with cress as a retelling of rapunzel by far as someone who has a long history and grew up with it <3

@eddisfargo @francforever @winterrhayle @winterpinetrees

[lskisms]

THE FEAR AND THE FIRE (OF THE END OF THE WORLD), J. MILLER

synopsis — or you have seen the end of the world once and you feel you’re going through it a second time.

genres &&. warnings — apocalypse, (minimal) romance, (potentially mutual) pining, (un)requited love &&. canon typical violence (gore, weapons, wounds, etc.), canon compliant, illness.

word count — 2.4k.

note from r — the last of us has had a hold on my heart since 2013. i have vivid memories of watching youtubers play it, of discovering one of my favorite video game voice actors of all time through it, of falling so deeply in love with joel miller (who was, at the time, old enough to be my father and still is, honestly). it was a game i thought about every so often, but still felt deeply impacted by and connected to, and when i heard that it was getting a television adaptation, i truly could not have been more excited.

i’m no longer the sixth grader i was when i discovered the last of us for the first time and i’ve changed so much in so many ways, but that initial devotion to the series still holds true in my heart. seeing the game that made me love storytelling get the love i feel it deserves on a much grander scale is a beautiful thing. i’ve been meaning to use this account to write fic that isn’t related to my main interests and what better way than to christen it with a tlou fic with the title taken from my favorite song by one of my favorite musicians (“wasteland, baby” by hozier, for those who don’t know).

honestly, i’m more of a pedro!joel girlie, but this can be read as either game or show joel. i tried to keep the descriptions very general and vague so that your favorite version of joel fits in just perfectly. enjoy to your heart’s content. reblogs are appreciated, comments encouraged. ask box is open if you feel you need to yell at me directly anonymously.

in the hours after the last real day of the world, everything went quiet. the soldiers had been bussed out, survivors having either been lucky enough to go to the emergency quarantine zones with the military or having been turned on by their own government, left dead or dying on street corners, on front lawns, in fields. there was crying, screaming in the streets, fires blazing and glass crashing out of frames, shattering on abandoned sidewalks.

but the world was silent to you as you sat comatose underneath your bedroom window, aching knees pulled tight against chest, arms cradling head, gun sitting askew on the floor. flames across the street cast burnt orange shadows across the floor, both comforting and petrifying. your roommate lay dead in the doorway to your room, her eyes cold and empty and forever staring intently, blood pooling and staining your carpet, the rug, the stray dirty clothes you’d told yourself you were going to pick up after you got back from classes but hadn’t, in the end. the glock 19 your father had insisted upon getting you for college, finally finding use only to be cast aside once more.

you’ve never quite remembered standing and throwing together a backpack stuffed as full as possible with clothes and food. or stepping out over the body of your roommate, the beginnings of light gray fungus creeping out of the wounds you’d caused to take her down. the halls and stairways of your apartment building littered with the bodies of people you’d asked for laundry detergent and tutoring and rides to work when it was too cold or rainy or you just didn’t feel like walking or catching the bus.

an entire life uprooted in one singular moment.

from the blood-soaked streets of an austonian suburb, fire lapping buildings and shattering glass, you’d eventually found a group of survivors on the outskirts, people who had managed to hide from or stave off military men. a dead person can’t be infected, someone had reasoned to you upon your protest, but we weren’t going down without a fight. and here we are.

the willingness to not only kill, but to openly admit to doing it without holding an ounce of shame had scared you. it made you wonder if you could trust them, if they were safe to be around, but then you had killed, too, in an effort to protect yourself. and it hadn’t been a nameless, faceless individual, someone following orders, no matter how immoral; it had been your best friend. in reality, you were the one who shouldn’t have been trusted, the one unsafe and unstable.

but they had trusted you anyway, some semblance of a found family. sneaking through texas as it slowly went silent, scouting for food in grocery stores not yet scavenged, finding nooks and crannies to camp out in at night. and you came to trust them and yourself the way they trusted you. they protected you, expected you to protect them in return, helped you feel steady in a world that was falling apart in a way that was wildly different from life-changing events that had come before.

they had helped you through the end of the world.

twenty years later, the composition of your group has changed quite a bit through death and family reunions and simply separating. by the time you made it to the boston quarantine zone years into the apocalypse, only a few of the original group members remained, including yourself.

life has a strange way of making time feel simultaneously fast and slow. with none of the amenities of your life previous, you’d felt that the world trudged on at a snail’s pace. in the early years, you had none of your old books, no journals, no hobbies that you had been able to pack up in your backpack when you walked out of one life and into the next. every waking moment, every shred of brain power was relegated to staying alive and nothing more.

but then, life couldn’t move fast enough for the simple fact that you didn’t want to live in this world anymore, either through the invention of a cure that would miraculously fix the world or what could only be the sweet release of death. it wasn’t that you wanted to die necessarily, but the idea of of living through the apocalypse, never knowing when you’d eat next or get murdered by a raider or, undeniably the worst of all, when (or if, though that has always been stupid at the very least) you’d get infected, stuck in your own body and unable to ask for the mercy of a bullet in the head.

boston had been good for you, still is. you’d arrived about five years ago, fresh off the road and an exhausting separation with a few of your group members you’d been with for a couple years. they’d decided to take off in favor of other settlements, tired of trekking fruitlessly towards a fedra qz that wasn’t guaranteed to still be standing. but it was there, teeming with so many lives, and after the obligatory infection check and a further interview, you and the remaining scraps of your group finally had a home. a permanent one, at least for the foreseeable future.

a few months following your arrival, joel miller rolled into town, tall and stocky and going gray at the temples and across his jaw. he was quiet but opinionated, hardworking but standoffish. the younger people in the qz went out of their way to avoid him, the older people too, because he was so unapproachable. your friend, tiy, who had joined your trekking group a few years prior, mentioned once that they liked him well enough, but “found him aloof and too stubborn.” nobody liked that he’d made it clear he wasn’t looking to make friends.

but you had been intrigued by joel’s stiffness or maybe it had been that he reminded you of yourself in those early days when you’d found it difficult to connect with people. sure, it had been years since then and you’d adjusted as well as you could, but there was still a learning curve to find the right balance of trusting but skeptical, getting close without investing too much, what with death waiting around every corner.

so you’d made it a point of trying to get under his skin, at least a little. you trailed alongside him as he walked laps around town, insisted on hanging out in his apartment when you were bored and couldn’t stand the silence of your own lodging, even followed him and tess when they slipped outside the fence to go scavenge for better supplies than fedra could (or would) offer.

of course he’d been resistant at first, but tess found it funny. she liked having you around; a breath of fresh air, she called you, someone she could talk to and actually expect responses from. in those early days, she said that joel was a brick wall and he’d never truly given it up. he might let you around more often, but to anticipate anything more than a glance or a glare was asking too much. it had all been said in jest, lighthearted in tone but there was still a truth to it.

and almost five years into your weird friendship with joel miller, he really hasn’t ever given it up. it’s doesn’t feel like the cold shoulder it had at first, but he’s never stopped fixing you to the spot with those icy stares and keeping his responses clipped. it’s grown on you a lot over the time you’ve known him because he doesn’t sugarcoat his words, never beats around the bush. you can always trust him to tell it like it is, even if it hurts your feelings.

which is why you don’t say anything about the thoughts about him that have been popping up unannounced as you lay in bed at night and mourn a life that has been out of reach for twenty years. this whole thing started when you were fresh into your twenties, college and parties and looking for love to get your parents off your back about when they were going to have grandchildren in their future. when the world had ended, you swore off anything more than tentative friendship because what use was a best friend or a lover when you never knew what could happen.

but then you’d gotten older and older and suddenly you were closing in on an age that had seemed so out of reach in that carefree, college student life of yours. and you’d started to realize that you’d missed out on so much. you began to grieve the loss of romance and happiness and comfort, but without an end result of consolation, you couldn’t write the elegy you wanted.

one day a few months ago, you’d been walking with joel at dusk, the sun casting the sky in that burnt orange hue and the complementary pinks. you were doing all the talking and joel wasn’t offering much in the way of response, but it didn’t matter. and then when you’d broken past the city into the more remote parts of boston, the two of you had come to a stop, admiring the sunset in silence. and you’d looked over at your companion and god, the sight of his profile against that pink velveteen and orange creamsicle sky, he looked like the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

and everything had changed for you in that moment. in recent weeks, as you’ve lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come, you’ve been waylaid by thoughts about what it could be like if you let it happen. if you and joel let it happen.

when you look at him now, you see possibilities, a chance to not spend the rest of your life completely alone, isolated from human touch. someone to share your bed at night, to wake up to in the morning, kissed by dawn. if you close your eyes, it feels warm, you can feel that dawn sun on your skin, joel’s arm draped haphazardly over your waist, his breath stirring the wispy hairs at the nape of your neck. it’s a weird sort of comfort to have as you close your eyes at night, willing yourself to succumb to rest.

but at the same time, it feels wholly terrifying, dauntless, completely impossible. because truthfully, after so long without a connection that extends past that surface level acquaintanceship, anything deeper feels crushing. it is a weight that rests upon your shoulders like the rock upon sisyphus’s, something you are bound to bore for the rest of your life and eternally thereafter.

it feels like a second coming, the second apocalypse. when you ponder the idea for longer than a few seconds, it feels like you’re going through the end of the world all over again and you sit there, paralyzed. when you were younger, romance was easy to think about, to fantasize about; you spent many a night slumped in bed, stuck between drunk and sleep, thinking about the boy you’d been iming for the last three weeks. then, it had made you giddy, reduced to giggles and blushing as your friend yelled responses from the kitchen.

now, though, your heart stops, your mind stutters, you feel nervous and excited all at the same time. it’s like being on the precipice of something and waiting for the tip over the edge, to plummet head first into the darkness, anticipation and fear mixing into something wholly indistinguishable. you look at joel and you fantasize about flashes of a domestic life. you stand in the kitchen together and you think about resting your cheek against the broad expanse of his back, that welcoming place right between his shoulder blades. your knees brush as you sit on the couch and you freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

you want it and reject it all in the same breath, fingernails biting into the flesh of your palm as you will the ideas and the fantasies away. he, in all his gruff salt and pepper glory, always looks at you in these slivers of time together, the worry lines deep between his eyebrows, his way of asking whether you’re alright. and you look back and shake your head and offer a smile because you can’t bring yourself to tell the truth, the thoughts that plague your late night reveries, brought on by the silence and the darkness coalescing. you can’t do that to him or to yourself because you’ve known joel for too long to ever think it’s something that could ever happen.

but at two in the morning as you lay sick in bed, weeks after your realization, joel sleeps on the ratty couch in your living room, just feet away. you are hyper aware of the fact that on the other side of the wall, he slumbers after having insisted earlier in the day that he stay with you for at least the night so that if you needed help, you had someone there with you. it had surprised you then, but with the silence and the knowledge of him sleeping in your apartment, it starts to mean something more.

you’ve come to learn that joel shows his appreciation in nontraditional ways, methods that aren’t as confrontational and obvious. he’ll walk you home at night, straight to your door, even though he complains about his knees aching afterwards. he’ll ask, rather gruffly, if you’ve eaten. he chiefly looks out for himself, but he makes sure he takes the highest paying jobs and what he doesn’t need, he passes on to you in return for you checking the radio when he’s away.

and you realize that this is just a new iteration of that, the fact that he sleeps in your crumbling apartment while you’re ill with the flu just so you aren’t alone. maybe it’s a remnant of that instinct he had as a father or maybe it speaks to something more, an evolution in your relationship that isn’t as unrequited as you so thought. it fills your heart with a warmth unlike any you’ve felt in a long time and it makes you feel human again, capable and deserving of that love that you haven’t let yourself approach in so many years.

you’ll let yourself hope, at least for now, in the heat of your illness. it feels like the end of the world, the idea of it all, but it feels less daunting when it’s joel you’re thinking about.

(c) lskisms, 2023. do not repost, translate, or otherwise plagiarize my work. the only official versions of my work are available on tumblr and ao3 under the name lskisms.

[pwnyta]

Some old messy Poke doodles. Red, Marcellas princesses, and Sickles boys. (and some other asshole)

This was from when I was struggling to find Kanto Ratatta in USUM... I had the rest of the gang... it took forever for one Kanto Ratatta....

More under the cut-

Dittos struggle with Red....

Havent drawn Missingno in 3000 years.

LEE WINS

Team Red in suits!

Marcellas babygirl. (a Wigglytuff man thats bigger than her)

Marcella has absconded with this couple!

Salazzle aggression against men could be worse....

The gang as a whole (with maybe Doc as an exception) are dangerous to deal with... but I think Father, Parallax, Permafrost, Rivers, Crow, Tsaritsa, and Glace are the true menaces.

Parallax has a weakness tho. How embarrassing for him.

Parallax and Decibel were friends when they were kids. Parallax having been an outcast for his dark typing and pissy attitude and Decibel due to being overly sensitive cuz thats just how Whismur be (and how loud they can get). So Parallax took it upon himself to have ONE WHOLE FRIEND and defended him.

After an accident that killed his family Decibel got shuffled into various foster homes where he had similar problems fitting in. Nothing worst to deal with than a traumatized Whismur/Loured and he eventually ended up on the streets.

After Decibel disappeared Parallax got worse. No one told him what happened and eventually he just figured Decibel was gone forever and made this everyone elses problem. He left home at an early age to due to his parents not wanting to have to deal with him and him not wanting to deal with anyone.

I chose for Decibels dad and brother to be the Meowtic line because Whismur and Espurr have the same ears and matching eeerrr names...

Catching strays with the Meow twins. Theyve done nothing wrong in their lives.

But eventually they found each other.

Wool found out the hard way not to kind of imply he knows too much about Parallax and make something that might sound like a threat to someone precious.

Everything is fine now... except Parallax is still a menace to everyone with few exception... (Besides Decibel hes also kind of fond of Velveteen and Jitter. They all like very pretty things together.)

I was working on (completely fucking needless) backstories for the Phi squad... I didnt get far. Velveteens father was a hardass who wanted to to be a fighter but shes more of a typical girly-girl (shes like the opposite of Marshall)

Astrolabes mother never wanted to evolve because she was scared of the amount of knowledge she'd get... but once she had Eliza she was too curious to see what would be in her daughters future and chose to evolve, but the amount of knowledge did in fact fuck her up and now shes completely catatonic and her husband takes care of her. And while Elizas father wasnt ever cruel to her he just wasnt father material. Eliza has developed a huge fear of her final evolution and has embedded an everstone under her skin to keep it from ever happening.

...I'll hammer out the details of others later...

Every one in the Kappa Division has a chaotic relationship.

Rivers has a chaotic relationship with basically everyone tho so... Spinner never had a chance. Wool gets into a lot of trouble because he kinda has a thing about being bullied...

Usually its by strong women but Rivers has a way about him... Perma is the ideal tho.

Anisos is the only person who can defeat Rivers because he just doesnt understand when hes being hit on.

Mittens and Doc are good friends. Baby versions of each other would stress the other out.

[spinebuster]

why does my dearest mjf mutual keep catching strays from elite girlies. she doesn't even fw punk

[that-left-turn]

Unedited young Carol temporal anomaly flashback so adjust expectations and proceed with caution.

···

Sophia turns around from replacing the coffeepot on the burner and catches sight of the customer who'd entered the diner while she was turned away. He's scruffy looking with a prominent scar underneath his eye. Early to mid fifties and far too old to eye her granddaughter who's bent over the table in the corner booth, wiping it down. Sophia purses her lips in displeasure. "Carol."

"Yeah?" Her pride and joy spins around, swiping errant curls, which have escaped the bedraggled looking bun on top of her head, out of her face with a look of impatience.

Sophia can't help but smile. She wishes the girl... Well, young woman now, would modulate her language better and say 'yes' instead, but Carol is, in a very Anne of Green Gables way, the light of her life.

"Would you get me some more coffee grounds from the storeroom?"

"Yes, ma'am." Carol starts moving towards the counter and the backdoor, but then freezes when she catches sight of the newcomer.

Sophia's eyes narrow at Carol's self-conscious smile as she nods a greeting. She smooths down her hair, or tries to, and there's a blush underneath all those freckles. It's uncharacteristic of her to be coy.

"Hay." His voice is a grumble in his chest, but the look on his face is gentle. Not exactly what Sophia was expecting from a man with his appearance, not that she wants him making eyes at her child all the same.

"Sit wherever you like," she interrupts as she grabs a menu from beneath the counter and takes in how startled they both look. She doesn't know how they know one another, but it's clear they do, and just as clear from the girly smile on her granddaughter's face that this man is someone.

Carol usually talks to her, tells Sophia about how her day has been. The people in her life. She has not mentioned this man, who's making his way over to a booth by the window and Sophia can't help but wonder why that is. Carol, very occasionally, drives in to one of the bigger towns, where she went to high school, to meet up with friends, so it's possible she met him on one of those trips.

"Can I get you anything to drink while you look at the menu?" She pastes a pleasant smile onto her face as she studies him more closely.

"Jus' coffee. Black, no sugar." He's soft-spoken and makes brief eye contact before looking down at the menu again. "Thanks."

His looks are unkept and he has tattoos, but she can see that he's attractive in a rugged sort of way. His shoulder span is massive, but he's also definitely old enough to comfortably be her baby girl's father. She's only 22 and young in her ways. Sheltered. Carol knows their small town, the diner out on the highway and church. She doesn't know middle-aged men who look like they belong to a biker gang... or she shouldn't.

···

"Done tol' you before, he's too old for you." Willa Mae, their short-order cook, appears in the doorway just as Carol has located the box with bags of coffee.

Carol purses her lips and swipes a stray tendril of hair off her face. "It's not even like that."

She's irritated at her hair, at Willa Mae and at her grandmother for sending her off. Mostly at Dixon for showing up when Mama is working. He usually comes in the late evenings, when it's slow and she's alone, with only Willa Mae in the kitchen. They talk while he eats a slice of pie and Carol thought... She imagined he came in because he liked her, wanted to talk to her, but now, he's here in the middle of the afternoon, having social hour with her grandma. So much for that theory.

"Don't lie to your elders, child. You keep sneakin' 'em glances at 'im every chance you get."

Carol huffs. "I'm not blind." She hoists the large bag up in her arms. "He lost his wife. Talks about her like she walked on water, so it doesn't matter if I'm eyeballing him."

"That'd be why the man so grumpy then. Cancer?"

Willa Mae looks sympathetic and Carol knows she should be grateful that the other woman hasn't told anyone about Carol ogling Dixon whenever he comes in. There aren't that many mysterious strangers around rural Georgia and the pool of potential boyfriends is pitiably small... more of a cesspool, so she's intrigued. That's all.

Carol moves past her, "He hasn't said and it seems insensitive to ask."

A man who speaks of his wife like Dixon does... A man who loved her in ways his words won't convey, but his eyes and his gestures do... The tone of his voice tells a story that leaves Carol breathless. She wants that. Not him, precisely, she tells herself as she feels her cheeks heat, but being loved like that. Simple, straightforward and unconditional. Without doubt.

Pete, at the dollar store, only loves his mama that way and Charlie still ate boogers in third grade. Andy has had mumps, so he probably can't have children and Beau, with his sweaty palms, is handsy. It's slim pickings, so she can't really be blamed for her curiosity.

Carol sighs and pushes the door open with her hip.

···

"The company who runs survival seminars out on the farm on Route 12? I'm their hunter an' tracker."

Sophia furrows her brow. She's heard about the courses, but she'd been under the impression that they're Northerners and city folk. Some of their clients end up having lunch at the diner while talking about bug out bag essentials and their general preparedness for the end of the world. The man in front of her, though, he's definitely a Georgia boy and he doesn't seem like a prepper. There is no alpha posturing.

"I thought they were all ex military. All that talk of collapse and preparing for Armageddon," she touches the crucifix pendent of her necklace for effect and notices that his lips quirk in response.

"It's good to have some basic survival skills, just in case," he says, "but most of 'em are just a buncha rich assholes wantin' to play with guns." Sophia sees the moment wash over him when he realizes that he should have minded his language better. "Sorry," his eyes flicker to her and then down to his plate again. "Forgetting my manners. Hardly see any women these days."

He looks up at her and then beyond her too, before he can catch his wandering eye. It's not lecherous, but it's something and Sophia isn't sure how she feels about that. It's her job to protect her granddaughter and this man is a stranger, more than twice her age. She can see why Carol finds him compelling, but she's naive and hasn't dated much, so she has no real experience and certainly none with men who expect more than hand holding and furtive kisses just beyond the porch light.

"We... Well, our church has a potluck this weekend. You should come, meet the rest of the community."

···

Carol wipes down the counter, refills old man Tucker's coffee and fills an order for country fried steak all while glancing surreptitiously at the table where Dixon sits. There's no reason to go over there. Mama is doing her sweet-as-anything Southern lady routine whenever she talks to him because she knows. Of course she noticed. Carol nearly tripped on her own feet when he showed up.

And, he would show up when she looks a mess too! Usually, she freshens up a bit in the evening, puts on just a dab of lip gloss, which her grandma won't let her wear while working, and fights her hair into something less... wild. There's no reason to look a fright during the late shift just because it's quiet, that's what she tells herself. But today, lunch was busy and things happened, so Carol has a nice mustard stain on her shirt and her hair looks like she got stuck in Mr. McCullough's thresher.

"Carol, sweetheart, there's an order in the window," Ms. Vivian says over her glass of iced tea, "and I'm sure the gentleman by the window would like a refill on his drink."

Her smile is kind, but Carol is mortified as she turns around to grab the plates. She'd get fired for being this distracted if the owner wasn't her grandmother. It's a crush—just a crush!—but it's in front of half of the town's busybodies and it's humiliating. She's also horrified that maybe he sees it too, that she's making heart eyes. She knows nothing will come of it. She's too young for him, like Willa Mae keeps pointing out, and he's not emotionally available.

"Enjoy, sir!" Her smile is large to compensate for the wait when she delivers the food to the man seated on the far end of the counter, but he's hungry enough, digging into his giant portion, that he doesn't seem to mind.

Taking a deep breath as she grabs the coffeepot, Carol makes her way over to Dixon's table. She's nervous. There was never an audience when they've talked before and she knows Willa Mae is right. She's being ridiculous, thinking that a grown man would find her interesting. Carol has never been anywhere or done anything. He's had a whole life... and a wife he's still helplessly and hopelessly in love with if Carol is to judge the play of emotions in his eyes whenever he talks about her.

Carol, in contrast to the capable woman he describes, is a silly girl.

It feels like all eyes are on her when she stops at the table, but she clamps down on the urge to look around. "Refill?" she asks and holds up the coffeepot. Feels like an idiot. An idiot with a mustard stain on her boob and a rat's nest on her head.

Dixon looks up at her through his messy bangs and she wants to run her fingers through them. Smooth his hair back so she can see his eyes properly.

"Met your grandma. Sophia," he says with a peculiar emphasis that makes her both frown and smile. It sounds... almost wistful. "Invited me to the potluck on Sunday."

"Yeah?"

It's an undignified squeak, but Dixon doesn't live in town and isn't part of their church, so it's not like Carol has a chance to casually run into him and strike up a conversation. She's only ever seen him in the late evening, when he shows up on his motorbike to order a meal at a time when most people are preparing for bed. It always feels like they're alone in the world on those nights. Intimate.

"Mm-hmm." He nods and then looks sheepish. "I'm not real good at cooking unless there's a campfire. Ca– my wife... Great cook." His face turns pensive and his finger traces the wood veining of the table. "Don't know what to bring for a potluck."

Carol always get complimented on her cookies. If she bakes, Dixon doesn't have to feel embarrassed about showing up empty handed. Or worse, not come at all. He seems lonely and the town is nice, really. Just small, but everybody shows up for potluck. He could make friends, find his place in the community.

"I could– I could bake cookies, if you like." Carol says it quickly, before she can examine the implications. "For you to bring, if you want. They're good," she assures him quickly.

At that, Dixon smiles. Not a twitch of his lips, like he usually does when she tries to be funny. It's an honest, full-fledged smile and he's gorgeous. Her breath catches and Carol licks her lips she stares at him. Clenches her thighs together to ward off the tingles.

"Are they pink?"

His lips? Yes, they're... kissable. Not that she would know. Why is he asking that? "They... eh... What?" Her face feels like it's on fire.

He looks amused and Carol wonders if she voiced any of the thoughts running through her head. She's never this flustered at night. Not that she's ever really quick-witted in the way his wife seems to have been, but Carol wasn't constantly thinking insipid things before. It's that Mama is watching, along with the rest of the patrons that has her brain scrambled. He's supposed to be her nighttime secret. A guilty pleasure no one knows about.

"The cookies?"

Her eyes widen. How did he know? "I use beets," she says, "to sweeten them, so yeah, they have a kind of rose tint."

He looks at her and there is something there. Carol isn't imagining it. A tenderness. Maybe. Maybe he just thinks she's endearing, in a dad kind of way and suddenly there's a lump in her throat.

"Everything all right with your meal?" Mama's suddenly just there, smiling at Dixon but her eyes move over Carol like she's checking for an injury.

"Was real tasty. Thank you. Should be gettin' back, but I'll see you ladies at the potluck." He takes out his wallet and offers Sophia a couple of twenties to settle his bill. "If there are grills, maybe I could bring venison steaks?"

Carol can tell her grandma is pleased by that, even if her face doesn't show it. She belongs to the generation that feels a man should be able to provide. "Sounds lovely," she smiles, "Maybe we could make some roast potatoes to go with that, Carol?"

She nods, not caring one way or the other about potatoes, but it seems like Dixon has made a good first impression. Maybe he can start over. They can be... friends.

···

I keep telling myself that I'll write something darker and angsty, and then what shows up when I type is absolutely ridiculous. It's like I can't help myself.

(Thanks to you, @my-mt-heart, I spent an afternoon, coming up with various Carol backstories (All of them more plausible than this!) while I was supposed to be working.)

[elinor-taylor]

Midwood - Here Be Trolls

The deeper into the forest they walked, the less defined the path became. The edges of it blurred, and Marie wondered on occasion if she had in fact taken a turn from it some ways back, and was now recklessly meandering to goodness knew where. But then the path would form again, peeking through the moss and overgrown weeds. She'd feel the solidness of it underfoot.

Her steps never faltered either way. 'Front it out,' was what her father would've said. So she did.

She wasn't sure if the goblin knew any more than she did which direction to take, or even if he'd alert her if she did stray from the path. For all Marie could tell he was about as clueless as she was when it came to the right way or wrong way to get where they were going. Besides, they hadn't decided where to go exactly, only that they should keep going forward. Though even that might just have been Marie choosing to do that, and the goblin following along behind. He did, for the most part, come across as the agreeable type.

That was until the last fork in the path.

The goblin had signalled to go right, whereas Marie, pulled by some indescribable urge, had wanted to go left. Left was darker and more foreboding. But still, it was where she felt she had to go.

'Ain't no ways for us, 'Muggins said, shaking his head. 'Down there be the troll graveyard. Give you bad dreams, that will. Right is right. Come on, biggun,' and he turned toward the right hand fork, as if the decision was made.

'Fine,' the girl said. 'You go your way and I'll go mine. Maybe we'll meet again further down the road. Maybe we won't. All the same it was nice to meet you, Muggins.' And off she went to the left, backpack bobbing from side to side with each step.

The goblin, apparently weighing the pros and cons of the matter, paused. He might have known something Marie didn't - talk of troll graveyards was indeed worrisome - but the girl continued on just the same, only glancing back the once. Front it out, she thought. Front it out. Before she rounded the next corner she heard the fast pat-pat-pat of small goblin feet as Muggins begrudgingly raced to catch her up.

'Fogglin buzzocks,' he grumbled. 'You is one stubbornly person, does you Ma and Pa tell you that?'

'My Daddy's dead.' The girl spoke without a hint of emotion.

'Oh,' Muggins said. 'Sorry an' all that.'

'S'alright.'

'And your Ma?'

'She watches too much television.' As if that covered it. And the way the goblin didn't enquire further, just gave a solemn nod as they walked on side by side, it seemed it did.

***

A short while later, the pair arrived at what Muggins had euphemistically called a graveyard. But it was no such thing. There were no graves or headstones or crosses, no wilted bouquets or angels carved out of granite, just the twisted stumps of felled trees dotted between the non-felled ones, contorting to give the appearance of faces that at a pinch might be taken for trolls.

Marie slowed her walk by half. She was no longer in a hurry to get anywhere. At that moment she was more taken with the numerous wooden effigies, and cast her eyes back and forth as she went, not quite able to get past the feeling that the tree stumps saw her as easily as she did them.

Muggins, however, kept going at a pace. For the first time on this jaunt of theirs he was ahead of the girl, his legs powering him along the path with a clear sense of urgency. He didn't stop to look at the trolls, not so much as a sideways peek.

'The girly wants left, so we goes left,' Marie heard him mutter. Then he raised his voice only slightly and said over his shoulder, 'Best hurry, biggun. Dead trolls don't like dawdling folks in their resting place.'

That seemed to Marie, who had heard a fair number of ridiculous things already that day, to be possibly the most ridiculous. Dead trolls? Angry trees? To prove a point she stopped and rapped a handful of knuckles against the nearest stump, which triggered the goblin to spin on the spot and dash back down the path toward her, arms raised, palms pushing through the air ahead of him in her direction.

'Stop!' he said in a forced hush. 'Wake 'em, you will. And piss 'em off while you're at it.'

The girl went to lower her fist again, to rap on the stump a second time. 'Don't be silly,' she said. 'They're made of-'

She stopped, yanked her hand back, when a pair of large glassy eyes that most definitely hadn't been there before stared up at her from the tree stump and blinked.

'Dang it,' the goblin said.

Marie stumbled away from the grass verge where the stump with eyes was rooted. And not just eyes. When she looked closer she saw it had a little button nose in the middle of that bark-encrusted face, ears poking out through the sphagnum and ferns that made a bed for themselves on its head.

The fern-haired, glass-eyed, wood troll opened its mouth and let out a lazy yawn that Marie reckoned it must've held in for a really long time. It didn't look scary. At least not enough to warrant the way the goblin now cowered behind her legs. She could feel him quivering against her skirt.

'I thought you said they were dead?'

Muggins kept himself out of the tree stump's line of sight and stayed quiet.

The tree troll slapped its lips as if warming them up. 'Dead?' it said, then let out what could've been a chuckle. 'Whoever made up such a thing? Believe the fools, do we, child? Careful, now. Not all who talk do so kindly. Depending which way the wind blows, I suppose.'

The tree troll rolled its eyes upward and repeated the phrase back to itself, accentuating the various elements differently each time: Blows I suppose. Blows, I suppose. Blows. I. Suppose.

Marie waited for it to finish.

'My friend and I are looking for someone,' She said, impressed at herself for saying 'my friend and I,' not 'me and my friend.' Her father had often stopped her mid-sentence if her grammar was off, and that phrase was one of his favourites to correct. Annoying as she had found it when he did that, it was like he'd given her a gift, a part of himself she'd take with her everywhere she went, the gift of his voice in her head.

'Friend?' the tree troll echoed back. 'Don't see any friend about these parts.' Another yawn. 'F-r-i-e-n-d,' it said again, sounding the word out on ancient lips of ridged bark, followed by another gruff chuckle.

Marie didn't get the joke.

'Yes,' she said. 'His name's Dale. Have you seen him? Somebody burned his house down and I really would like to know he's safe.'

The tree troll pondered this a moment. 'Dale, hmmm?' it said.

'Yes. Dale.'

'House burned down, you say?'

'Yes. Completely. Back that way.' She jabbed a thumb in the direction of Faretheewell. 'Other houses, too. At least half a dozen that we've seen.'

'Why might that be, do you think?' the troll said.

Funny, Marie had been wondering this whole time about the who not the why. But the more thought she gave to it, the more she had to admit that the troll's question was probably the better of the two.

'Why?' the troll said again. 'And to what end?'

'I- I don't know,' she said. 'Dale was nice, and made cakes. He was my friend, and my daddy's friend. If I were to burn a house down it wouldn't be his. Do you have any idea how I can find him?'

The tree stump yawned again, blinked more slowly now as if running out of juice. 'Oh no,' it said. 'We've been here so long. Only here. Nowhere else. Can't see what's going on in the world if you're in one place the whole time.'

Marie looked around. It was then she noticed the scale of this so-called troll graveyard. There were dozens, if not hundreds of wooden stumps along this section of path and stretching back through the forest. From what she could tell the others were all still asleep.

'Have you always been here?' she said, turning back to the first troll.

It looked to have nodded off. But before Marie could ask again, perhaps a little louder to wake it up, the troll opened its eyes and drew in a deep breath through its nostrils, which were nothing more than cracks in its bark. 'Oh, no, child,' it said. 'This is where we ended, but it's a long way from where we began. Not a bad place. Just a place like any other.'

The troll's eyes slowly closed a final time. 'Hope you find your friend,' it said, practically in its sleep. 'Don't pay heed to the tricksters.' One last exhale and the troll settled back into itself. 'Especially those that think themselves wiser than you.'

After a moment, Marie knew she would get no more from the sleeping tree troll.

Muggins, however, wasn't convinced. He waited a few beats more after the troll fell back into its deep slumber before he stepped out from behind the girl. 'We gots to go now,' he whispered. 'No more to be done here. On we trot, before we gets 'em angry.'

That one hadn't sounded very angry, Marie thought. Weary, yes. But angry? Where had Muggins gotten the idea that the troll was a threat?

The goblin set off walking. It wasn't until they'd left the graveyard far behind and reached an area of the forest where the sunlight held more purchase on the ground below that he spoke again. 'Midwood ain't no place for us. Take my word, biggun.'

Marie kept her eyes forward as she walked. 'What do you suppose he meant by tricksters?'

The goblin grumbled something to himself that Marie didn't catch, then said,' You gotta watch them fellas, girly. Bitter, they are. Bitter, bitter, bitter. Picked the wrong side when picking time came. Now they don't likes where it landed 'em.'

Marie said nothing. Evidently there was history there that she had no knowledge of. Still, she stored it away for later. The conversation as she saw it wasn't done.

The light filtered through the forest canopy more freely now than when they'd first gone down the left hand fork, though it had taken on the low-slung copper tinge of late afternoon. If Marie had been on a walk in the hills with her father, they ought to have been making their way back to the car about now, or else risk being caught out in the dark.

But this wasn't the hills of Yorkshire, this was Diamond, and there was more at stake than getting home for dinner before nightfall. All the same, Marie did a quick mental sum of roughly how long it had taken them to get this far and therefore how long it would take to get back to the gate.

While she wasn't afraid of the dark, not that she'd admit to anyway, Marie knew that Barbara would at some point drag herself away from the quiz shows and notice her daughter gone. Better she was home before then, or else risk half of the local police force searching for her, finding the gate, and piling through the hedgerow into Diamond.

Before he fell to his stupid death, her father instilled in her that this place was special and was to be protected at all costs. Even Barbara didn't know it existed. Not that she'd care. She hadn't cared about much as far back as Marie could remember. Her father said once that they should cut Mummy some slack, whatever that meant. Like Barbara was poorly or something. Although she hadn't seemed poorly at all.

It occurred to Marie that she could no longer smell the burning buildings. The air was heavy with something else instead, a scent rather than a stink. So familiar, too.

All of a sudden the goblin stopped. 'Shhh,' he said. 'Waits here while I check for shitterbugs.'

The goblin went on ahead. He crept as if hunted. Or perhaps he was the one hunting, it was hard to say. He kept low, scanning the woods as he went.

Honeysuckle! Marie thought. That was the scent. She'd know it anywhere. It framed the front door and wove around the windows where the bright summer sunshine lit her house, back in Marble Falls. But here? That felt wrong somehow. Yet smell it she could, in abundance.

She studied the goblin as the distance grew between them. She noticed then, perhaps for the first time, how out of place he appeared. Even more out of place than summer flowers in the deep forest, thought she couldn't say why.

He turned the corner, out of sight.

Marie had vague recollections of all kinds of people and creatures in Diamond, but a goblin? Much as she thought about it she couldn't remember ever seeing one. Hearing about them from her father, yes. But seeing one? Never.

A flag waved somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Before she could figure out the meaning of it, Muggins reappeared further down the path and gestured with a clawed hand for her to follow. Safety was relative, the girl decided. Whatever scheme this universe had going on she'd likely be safer in company - even that of a slightly dubious goblin - than alone.

[worlds-end-landmine]

mother and i were talking last night and now i think i want to stray from j-fashion as i become 18 :')

i am horrified of being sexualized and with the prices of each piece i haven't been buying any at all for months now

my mother says it also looks childish to wear it at my age ;;;

lowkey, i wish i could keep wearing it, but i know that where i live no one wears j-fashion. closest we have is Tiktok Atrocity Shein Heap Core Aesthetic Core Core ™️

since soon i'll be going out alone, too, and i know i wont feel safe/comfortable in the streets alone with such eye-catching clothing

so ig i'll only be girly kei in online spirit...♥︎

[tragcdysewn]

was that danielle campbell? oh no no, that was just davina claire, a canon character from the originals. they are twenty six years old, use she/her, and are aware that they are not actually from washington dc. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here:

she's been here over six years now! i'm lazy and don't update but her actual age is closer to like thirty one at this point

what is your character’s job:

davina runs an art studio, showcasing work from young artists that catch her interest

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom:

she doesn't ever appear in legacies, so she has no knowledge of the happenings at the school, but i’m pulling her from about that point in her life. klaus and elijah have been gone for a few years, hope is a teenager, and she’s been living her dream life in california up until being pulled here

has any magic affected your character:

she was unaware for a time, but she's remembered now and is all good!

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know:

baby girl baby girl baby

she was a loyal little witch and then! her coven lied to her!! and sacrificed her friends!!! and went full shocked pikachu when she sided with the vampire who saved her life!!

she has like... a tiny bit of a napoleon complex because she is genuinely incredibly powerful magic wise and has pulled off the impossible more than once?? multiple resurrections, surviving her soul being shattered, breaking an originals sireline, getting kol mikaelson to chill the fuck out (that last one is the most impressive tbh)

honestly though in spite of all that she is absolutely a refusal of the call girlie. every time an arc finishes she tries to be done with this shit, and every time someone drags her back in. she's twenty six and she's fucking exhausted thank you very much

the first chance she got, this girl turned tail and bolted out of new orleans without ever looking back and got hitched with her thousand year old vampire boyfriend, and honestly! i do not blame her! new orleans never did shit for her! and guess what? she still ended up having to go back and handle shit!!

she spent most of the first season hoping that avoiding the harvest for long enough would drain away her magic and she could just be a normal human girl, and almost died holding out that hope

now though, she has embraced her status as a witch, if only because she knows it pisses off the ancestors that she continues to exist and use their magic against their will. but also because she has definitely learned to see the beauty in her magic and what she can do with it

she honestly mostly uses it for frivolous stuff now, like keeping her flowers alive in the middle of winter and cleaning off her paint brushes rather than scrubbing out the bristles herself

if davina had things her way, she would be a cute little cottage core witch who sells paintings and occasionally does some magic for side jobs, but she keeps having to clean up mikaelson messes

she can not complain anymore though she saw the mikaelson nonsense and went 'okay but what if i married the most insane one what happens then?'

what happens then is you keep getting dragged into things sweetie because you're legally part of this shit show now

honestly, she's over her beef with most of them now, finn and freya, you two are on thin ice. rebekah, you're great, we love you, and she genuinely kind of likes klaus and elijah at this point, but there is a very low chance of her admitting that to elijah, and zero chance of her admitting it to klaus

davina is 100% a mom friend but like... a reluctant one. a mom friend who needs a mom friend, especially considering her actual mom let her get sacrificed for the cause

honestly, with everything she's had to deal with, she could have been a villain, and i would have supported her! she does lean strongly into morally grey/anti-hero territory, because she is absolutely willing to kill or torture to get her way, but she (almost) always has really good intentions, and does genuinely want to do good in the world

she is definitely a little bitter and angry though, because there's a lot of suffering and pain that she had to go through to get to a happy and somewhat peaceful life, but she does try her best to keep up optimism throughout it all. some of that is ego, but some of it is just genuine hope

since arriving in dc, she's honestly been struggling. the entire city is trying to kill her, which isn't new, but kol and josh and marcel were gone, her entire support system completely wiped out.

but she still honestly manages to thrive, she's opened an art studio like she always wanted to, and got close with her in laws while stuck here together, doing great until the three mentioned above actually showed up