#have i been saving this in my drafts for six months

[cuz-reasons]

Summary: After getting badly injured, Ingo isn't sure where he keeps waking up. But there is always someone he doesn't recognize, but knows he loves with him. Emmet is equal parts happy and stressed over Ingo's return home.

I'm finally getting this up before I forget again

[avocadorablepirate]

Unspoken Affections

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: Falling for the captain of the Heart Pirates a.k.a your captain, was something unexpected, something that shouldn’t have happened. So to suppress those growing feelings one must resort to avoidance. But alas, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, short mention of a near death experience, reader refuses to confront her feelings, not fully proofread (let me know if there’s anything else)

A/N: This and another fic have been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I finally managed to finish this one, though it’s kinda all over the place. I was listening to my Taylor Swift playlist practically on repeat when I wrote this. So, if you want something to listen to while you read this I would recommend Slut, Daylight and Cruel Summer, but honestly any Taylor Swift song would probably work.

I swear I’ll rewrite that summary once I can think of something better :’)

You were not sure when it had started. Your heart racing at just the sight of him. Maybe it was in his little gestures. The little ways in which he helped you without expecting anything in return, like wordlessly helping you fix things around the ship when he knew you had trouble with it. The way he made sure you were comfortable, like simply giving you a reassuring smile when you needed it most. Whatever it was, you knew you had fallen hard.

It first occurred to you unfortunately after a near miss with death. You had joined the Heart Pirates on their journey through the Grand Line about six months ago, and while you had become akin to battles with rival pirate crews, this particular one had shaken you to your core. The opposing crew had been ruthless, and their relentless assault left you feeling more and more helpless as the fight progressed. The magnitude of the fight, combined with the unpredictability of the rival crew’s movements, had pushed you to the edge both figuratively and literally.

You had been cornered by the enemy, and in a desperate attempt to escape, you had slipped. As you plummeted into the giant chasm behind you, fear consumed you. The wind roared in your ears, and your stomach churned as you braced yourself for the inevitable impact that would surely mean your end. The seconds seemed to stretch, the world slowing down as you watched the surface above you get further and further away in slow motion.

Your only saving grace was your Captain's ability to shift objects, and he had done just that, transporting you back onto the Polar Tang where him and the rest of the crew had managed to escape onto.

The cold, metallic walls of the submarine pressed against your back as you fell to the floor in relief, but despite the safety, anxiety continued to build inside you. Your breath came in ragged, uncontrollable gasps. You could hear the muffled voices of your crewmates calling out to you, but they seemed distant. Your vision blurred, and the room spun around you. It wasn’t until a strong, steady hand reached out to you that the figure of your captain finally came into focus.

Trafalgar Law knelt beside you, his concern etched into his features. His touch was gentle yet firm, grounding you in that chaotic moment, and his voice, steady and reassuring, cut through the haze of panic.

"Hey, easy now," he murmured, his hand on your shoulder. "Everything will be okay. You’re safe now."

You managed a shaky nod, trying to regain your composure. His presence was enough to ease the tightness in your chest, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil within you. As you steadied yourself against him, you couldn't help but notice how his eyes had softened with genuine worry, his concern evident even in the dim light of the submarine.

"Thank you," you finally managed to whisper, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions.

He offered you a reassuring smile, a silent understanding passing between you. In that moment, you realized just how much his actions and presence had come to mean to you. It wasn't just admiration or gratitude; it was something more, something that had taken root in the chaos of the Grand Line, and something you knew you had to keep hidden.

xxxx

Over the next few days, Law made it a habit to check in on you. You would know by the distinct knock on your bedroom door who was on the other side. Be it just before breakfast or well into the night when he knew you stayed awake too, he was there, outside your door, concern etched on his face as he did a once over of you. And every time he would - asking the simple question of how you were, your heart would flutter uncomfortably. You appreciated his care, and found yourself increasingly drawn to him. But it also stirred emotions you hadn’t anticipated. Emotions you knew you shouldn’t have been feeling for your captain.

“The Captain again?” came Ikkaku’s voice, as you yet again leant against your shared bedroom door after tonight’s encounter with Law. You nodded your head, letting out a sigh as you pushed yourself off the door and flopped down on your bed. “I don’t know how much longer I can handle this.”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with liking him, right?” Ikkaku said as she sat up in her bed. Another routine that had started over the past couple of days were your nightly chats with Ikkaku. It had started almost immediately after she saw you return from your first “check-up” with Law, completely flustered. And having put two and two together, had come to the conclusion that you had finally realised that you liked Law as more than just a captain or friend.

"I know, but I can’t," you almost cried in frustration as you clenched the bed sheet in your hands. The fear of what your feelings might mean for your position on the ship, and for your relationship with Law, was overwhelming and impossible to comprehend.

“And why not?” Ikkaku pressed gently, her curiosity piqued as she tried to understand your dilemma.

“Well for starters he’s my captain, that would be insubordination. Not to mention there’s no way in hell that he likes me as well.” You sat up, your face a mix of distress and resignation as you met her gaze, the hopelessness of your situation sinking in. The thought of confessing your feelings only to be rejected was terrifying.

“I need to get rid of these feelings quickly,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. The stress of the situation weighed heavily on your shoulders, your mind racing for a solution. You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but the thought of losing what little connection you had with Law was equally unbearable.

Ikkaku nodded, though she looked a bit hesitant. “I’m not completely for it, but if you’re determined to get rid of them, maybe you should try keeping your distance from him. It might help you sort out your feelings.” Her suggestion was cautious, but her eyes reflected her hope that it would help you find some peace. She didn’t fully agree with it, but she wanted to support you in whatever way she could.

“That might just work,” you said, relief washing over you. You were willing to try anything to escape this lovelorn feeling, even if it meant avoiding the person who made you feel safest. The prospect of distancing yourself from Law was painful, but you hoped it would give you just what you needed to sort things out.

xxxx

For the first couple of days avoiding Law was surprisingly manageable. You had an endless list of excuses, and navigating around the submarine to avoid him wasn’t that difficult. He spent most of his time in his quarters or in the infirmary anyway, and if you did happen to see him coming down the hall, you would quickly turn the other way before he noticed. When you did have to speak to him, you kept your interactions with him to a minimum, giving short, polite responses whenever he spoke to you.

But then it got difficult. You could see that he was slowly starting to see through your excuses. His sharp, observant nature made it hard to deceive him for long. The slight disappointment in his eyes after each excuse made your heart wrench. It was subtle, a flicker of emotion that he quickly masked, but you noticed it every time. The guilt gnawed at you, making it harder to avoid him without feeling like you were betraying his trust. Each day became a struggle to maintain the distance you thought you needed, the effort draining your energy and resolve.

So tonight, when you heard the familiar knock at your door, you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. You hated that you had to do this, but you were adamant, and had convinced yourself that it would only be for a little longer. Just until your feelings had completely gone.

Ikkaku answered the door in your stead, not failing to notice the slight dismay in Law’s gaze when it landed on her. His usual calm demeanor seemed to falter for a moment, a twitch of concern and confusion crossing his features.

“Hey Captain what do you need?” she asked, peeping her head through the little gap she had made between the door and its frame. She tried to sound as casual as possible, hoping it would put him at ease. However, she could see the wheels turning in his mind, already questioning why she had answered the door instead of you.

“Is Y/N-ya inside?” Law asked as he tried to catch a glimpse into the room but Ikkaku was quick to block his view. His voice held a hint of impatience, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to look past her.

“She is but she’s not feeling well,” Ikkaku responded, hoping her excuse would be enough to satisfy his concern without raising too many questions.

Law frowned slightly. “What’s wrong? Does she need help?” His voice was tinged with worry, his eyes lingering on the door as if hoping you might come out and speak to him. His concern was genuine, his protective instincts kicking in. He hated feeling helpless, especially when it came to the well-being of his crew.

“Uhh,” Ikkaku stuttered, trying to think of what to say next. “Yeah, you know, just a visit from Aunt Flo.” She cringed inwardly, knowing it was a terrible excuse, but hoping it would suffice.

Law quirked an eyebrow, but ultimately brushed aside her words with a curt nod. “Alright. Tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Will do Captain!” Ikkaku replied with forced cheer, her voice tinged with a touch of nervousness, before she briskly closed the door, leaning against it, as she let out a sigh of relief.

“Well, I think that went well,” she said, turning to you. She tried to smile, but there was a hint of worry in her eyes.

“A visit from Aunt Flo!?” you exclaimed, half exasperated, half amused. You couldn’t believe the excuse she had come up with, but you were grateful nonetheless. The absurdity of the situation almost made you laugh, a brief respite from the constant anxiety.

“It was the best I could come up with!” Ikkaku defended herself, throwing her hands up in mock surrender.

“It’s fine. At least he didn’t press any further,” you responded with a hint of a chuckle, feeling relieved.

Satisfied with the outcome of today’s excuse, you sank onto your bed, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders. The small victory felt like a reprieve. That victory, however, didn’t last very long.

The next day when Bepo met you in the kitchen for breakfast, you found yourself back to square one.

“Hey Y/N, Captain wanted me to give this to you,” Bepo said, handing you a small pouch.

“Thanks,” you replied, opening the bag to look at its contents. Inside was a strip of tablets and a little note that had been written, scratched out, and rewritten again. It read: "I hope you’re feeling better. These should help with your cramps."

You could feel your heart pounding, as if desperate to just pop out of your chest. The thoughtfulness of the gesture, the care in his words, made your resolve waver. You knew you couldn't keep this up forever, but the fear of confronting your feelings was still too overwhelming.

xxxx

Law wasn’t dense. He could easily read every single one of his crew, and he knew you were avoiding him. But why? He didn’t have an answer to that.

He found his usual connection with his crew slipping, particularly when it came to you. At first, he didn't think much of your evasive behaviour, attributing it to stress or fatigue or a visit from Aunt Flo, as Ikkaku had so wonderfully put it. But as days turned into weeks, he couldn't ignore the growing sense of unease gnawing at him.

Each excuse, chipped at his confidence and fueled his anxiety. He noticed the subtle shifts in your demeanor - how you avoided eye contact, how your conversations with him grew increasingly terse and formal. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. With no indirect way to uncover your reasons, his logical mind spiraled into illogical conclusions, each worse than the last.

Days passed, and his worry only intensified, causing his temper to flare more easily. Tensions were high on the Polar Tang; even the smallest mistake would rattle the captain, and the crew had to bear the brunt of it.

It was only on Shachi’s request that they finally got a chance to step away from the tension, and let some steam off. And that’s how Law found himself at a bar in the town they had docked at, watching you closely. Despite being surrounded by the lively chatter of his crew and the raucous energy of the bar, all he could do was focus on you. His sharp eyes caught the fleeting glances you threw his way, the way your laughter seemed forced, and how you tensed whenever his eyes met yours. His frustration grew, but so did his concern. And when he saw you leave, visibly upset, he knew he couldn’t sit back any longer and watch his relationship with you dissolve into nothing, knowing he could have done something about it.

The decision to follow you was immediate and driven by a mix of worry, frustration, and something deeper - something he wasn't ready to fully acknowledge - yet.

xxxx

A couple of weeks had passed since you started avoiding Law, and the strain of your self-imposed distance was beginning to show. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold out, and for whatever reason today had been particularly difficult. So, when Shachi had suggested that the crew unwind at a lively bar in a bustling port town, you were all for it. Terrible mistake on your part really.

While you had thought that a night out drinking was just what you needed to distract you from your inner turmoil, it was certainly not what the doctor wanted to prescribe. In fact, it seemed that he wanted you to only continue with this wretched feeling, when he entered the bar. But why wouldn’t the captain be with his crew? You realised you hadn’t thought this through only when you felt your heart tighten painfully in your chest.

As the night progressed, you did your best to keep your distance, sticking mainly to Ikkaku and whoever wasn’t around Law. However, he still posed as a problem, your eyes kept drifting towards him, unable to help yourself. God…of all the shirts he owned, why did he have to wear that black button down that clung to him so well?

At one point, you noticed a group of girls approach Law’s table. They were giggling and clearly intrigued by the mysterious captain. You noticed the surge of irritation on his face when one of them leaned in close, her hand resting on his arm as she spoke to him, and you couldn’t help but be amused by your captain’s obvious annoyance. However, as he continued to barely engage in conversation with them, his responses brief and his gaze often wandering away from them, you couldn’t stop your stomach from twisting with jealousy, an emotion you hadn't expected to feel so intensely.

Despite his apparent disinterest, the sight of them fawning over him was too much for you to handle. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the jealousy and frustration slowly brewing inside you making it harder to think clearly. Needing to escape, you excused yourself from your crewmates and slipped out of the bar, the cool night air hitting your flushed face as you made your way back to the Polar Tang.

On the quiet deck of the submarine you found solace. Free from the loud noises of the bar, and the chaos within it, you took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within you. You were starting to realise that avoiding Law clearly wasn’t the solution, but confronting your feelings still felt like a hopeless challenge. Your mind raced to find another way.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you knew that voice; it made your breath hitch. Turning around you saw Law coming towards you, his expression serious but speckled with concern. You cursed at yourself for not hearing his footsteps approaching.

“Captain, what are you doing here?” Your heart skipped a beat, your anxiety slowly bubbling below the surface.

“I saw you leave in a hurry, so I thought I would check up on you. Is everything okay?” Law asked, leaning against the railing beside you.

You shook your head slightly, suddenly unable to trust your voice as a lump formed in your throat. Silence settled between you, stretching on until Law finally broke it with a gentle inquiry.

“Y/N-ya,” he called out your name hesitantly, voice tinged with apprehension, “why have you been avoiding me?”

You stiffened at his words, and opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The words you wanted to say were trapped, tangled up with your emotions, and his piercing gaze that held you in place, wasn’t of much help either. You could see the worry in his eyes intensify with each passing second of your silence, his brows knitting together as he waited for an answer that seemed too difficult to give.

“Do you want to leave the crew?” he asked, his tone steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. The idea of you leaving clearly troubled him more than he let on, and your heart sank at the implication. “No, it’s not that,” you finally managed to say, voice trembling.

“Then what is it? Are you scared because of what happened to you when we were fighting those pirates?” There was a hint of desperation in Law’s tone, his need to understand and help you evident. His eyes searched yours, pleading for an explanation, and you could see how much he wanted to make things right even if he didn’t fully grasp what was wrong.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart and gather the courage to say something, anything. “No…I-I just need some time to sort things out.”

Law watched you intently, as if trying to decipher the emotions flickering across your face. “You know you can tell me anything right?” he said in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving yours, and you let out a bitter laugh at that.

“This is something I don’t think I can,” you said, the weight of the impending confession settling over you.

Law’s brow furrowed, the concern in his eyes deepening. “Why not? What’s so bad that you can’t talk to me about it?” He sounded frustrated, almost begging you to tell him.

You took a deep breath, your unspoken feelings pressing down on you. "It's just...complicated," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to burden you with it."

"It's not a burden if it's about you," he replied softly, his eyes searching yours as he stepped closer to you. “Please, Y/N-ya, tell me what’s wrong.”

His words broke through the last of your resistance, and you realized you couldn't keep this inside any longer. You owed it to yourself and to him to be honest. Taking another deep breath, you finally found the courage to speak.

"Law, I've been avoiding you because…because I-I like you, and I don’t know how to handle it, and I thought staying away would make it easier, but it hasn't. But I promise I’ll figure out a better way to deal with these feelings if you just give me some time."

For a moment, there was silence, and you held your breath as you waited for his response. Then, to your surprise, Law reached out his hand, gently lifting your chin until your eyes met his. "It's okay," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. His expression was soft and understanding, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I've been worried about you," he said, his voice tender. "I've been thinking about you constantly, wondering if you were okay. And to tell you the truth, it’s made me realise that I like you too."

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission, hope blooming within you. "You…you do?" you managed, unable to believe it.

He nodded slowly, a soft chuckle leaving his lips when he noticed your surprise. "I didn't want to push you," he explained softly. "I thought if I did, you would only have more reason to leave, and I couldn't stand the thought of that happening.”

Relief flooded through you, mingled with a newfound surge of courage. "I wasn't going to leave," you admitted, your voice steadier now. "I was just afraid…of what I was feeling."

Law's smile widened, his eyes warm and sincere. "You don't have to be afraid," he assured you, his hand moving to hold yours, while his other remained caressing your cheek. "Because I feel it too."

In that moment, the tension that you had felt in your chest eased, replaced by a sense of overwhelming happiness. Feeling a sense of peace settle over you, you leaned into his touch.

"I'm glad," you whispered, unable to stop the smile that spread across your face. The warmth in his eyes made your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but let your affection for the man standing before you surge.

Law mirrored your smile, his gaze tender as he leaned closer. "Me too," he murmured, before closing the distance between you in a soft, lingering kiss.

Had to add an unnecessary little bit about Law’s shirt cause damn it I love Law in that shirt.

Thus starts my slow attempt to get my other fics out of my drafts. Let’s hope this determination lasts longer cause knowing me I’m going to give up by tomorrow…anyway, I hope you liked this!

[copperbadge]

I was making breakfast and listening to an episode of Just King Things this morning, which is a podcast I do recommend -- two very smart English teachers are reading the books of Stephen King in publication order and discussing them. This could go extremely awry except they're both highly conscious of his failings as well as his skill, so they do really well handling a lot of his less salutatory content.

They've hit the point in King's ouvre (this episode was about Hearts In Atlantis) that follows his recovery from the car accident that very nearly killed him, where he was struck by a van while out walking. One of them pointed out that it seems as though he came back from nearly dying determined to write the wildest shit imaginable and only write what he wanted, which struck a chord in me this time despite having listened to this episode before. Perhaps because I was thinking about my own writing and where it's going in the short term (there are a couple of short stories I want to do that I don't quite have a way into yet). I generally don't think about the drift of my creativity in the long term because when I do I usually draw the wrong conclusions.

I don't really classify my life, the way some people who've had high-impact injuries do, as before-TBI and after-TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury -- the fairly severe concussion I had in January of 2020). For one thing, given I had to cancel a trip to NYC because of it, it may have saved my life; I almost certainly would have caught COVID as someone with known lung issues in New York at the time. For another, the TBI was way scarier to almost everyone else; for me it was just one more dumb injury I gave myself and I didn't even remember most of it so it hardly registered. I used to open the story of it with a joke about waking up not remembering going to bed the night before, but nobody ever found it funny.

It's true that there are changes it wrought in my life, though. Even practical stuff like making sure my living space doesn't have tripping hazards and continuing to wear a fitbit even though I don't really need to (the fitbit told us, the morning after, exactly when the concussion happened, because it registered a heart-rate spike when I fell). For weeks after, I had to move slowly and put off making important decisions because I couldn't trust my physical or intellectual judgement; I didn't even jaywalk in my own neighborhood because I couldn't be sure I was judging the cars' speeds properly. For about a year after I had periodic post-concussion syndrome which basically just slammed me back into concussion space, which wasn't painful or upsetting but was definitely inconvenient.

And it's also undeniable that my writing shifted after the injury. It's not necessarily because of the injury, since my initial recovery from the TBI and the declaration of quarantine happened at roughly the same time, and anyone who tells you that a years-long global pandemic didn't impact their artistic expression is selling you a line. But the last thing I wrote before the TBI was the first draft of Six Harvests, and aside from the Six Harvests publication draft, which had fairly minimal changes, almost all that I've written has been blue-sky, light-hearted, PG-rated romance. It's been on my mind that I've been writing different subject matter from what I used to, but the timing of it didn't strike me until just recently.

I don't mind, really. I love fandom and I support fanfic in whatever expression it comes, but I'm also happy writing my own stories. While I'm aware it's been years since I've meaningfully written fanfic, it doesn't bother me per se, as long as I'm writing. It bothered me much more when I could write fanfic but not original fic, especially in those last few awful months at my last job. I'm proud of the literary and non-genre fiction I've written in the past, but it's also much more trying and frustrating to write at times, so I'm enjoying having a different sort of challenge that feels more fulfilling in the process. I'm sure at some point I'll go back to literary fiction -- there are ways in which it's hard to avoid turning the later Shivadh novels into literary fiction, being honest -- but for now I like what I'm writing, and I'm writing primarily to please myself and without regard to what's necessarily rational or linear.

Just struck me, is all, that it's by far the most noticeable major shift in my work. I do sort of wonder what will be next.

[emeryhiro]

What Daryl and Carol mean to each other

And why France may have been the best thing for Caryl

This idea has been sitting in my drafts for about six months, but now that we're only 9 days away from the Tribeca premiere, I finally decided to flesh it out and post it.

This post can be taken as part two of my previous one on what Carol means to Daryl [here], but it can also be read independently. And just as a disclaimer, this is just my understanding and opinions on Caryl and all the scenes I mention below. So grab a nice cup of your choice beverage and get comfy 'cause I had a lot to say, and this turned out to be a long one.

I want to start by pointing out some moments where Daryl and Carol got to enjoy each other's company and talk in peace.

Yup, that's all of them... a long list of 4...

I didn't realise how rare these moments were until I started looking through season after season. Don't get me wrong; I know there are countless sweet and meaningful moments that they've shared both on screen and off screen (implied), but very few that we've seen without heartbreak, grief, or danger looming over them. And even the moments in the gifs above were still sandwiched between disasters.

I've read and received many questions, such as, "Why have we had to wait all these years and are having to continue to wait for Caryl to be canon?" and "If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now." and I feel like the above gifs answer all of that.

These two have endured unimaginable pain before and after the outbreak, and throughout it all, they have been each other's light, held each other together, helped each other heal from their past, and become the strongest versions of themselves.

However, they have never been allowed to be selfish, to take a moment to think about what they deserve, or to imagine the possibility of accepting the love they want and need; why? Because they have been so busy protecting and making sacrifices for everyone else.

For the past 13 years, they have been content as long as they have each other in their lives, accepting their current circumstances as long as the other seems happy. But during all that time, they also connected in more ways than they had realised.

The major connection I wanted to point out is that their lives depend on one another now (mutually inclusive). Whether knowingly or unknowingly, they are alive at this moment because of each other. I don't mean this just in a 'save their life when they're in danger' way but also as a 'I can't imagine my life existing beyond yours' and 'I can't distinguish between my life and yours' kind of way.

I briefly touched on this in one of my previous posts about Carol [here], and the show, in general, has been a lot more open with us regarding what Carol wants, but here are a couple of more nuanced instances from the later seasons where we see those feelings show from Daryl and Carol's perspectives:

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl)

The first scene I wanted to mentions is when Alpha confronts them about crossing her border. The moment she says, "You have to be punished," and the whisperers reach for their weapons, we see Daryl shifting on his feet as he prepares to move at a moment's notice.

And as soon as Carol talks back to Alpha, calling her words "Bullshit", Daryl is already moving.

He immediately places himself between them to shield Carol in case Alpha decides to attack her.

Then, when Carol snaps and tries to shoot Alpha, Daryl grabs and takes complete hold of her.

He's not just trying to stop her; he's using himself to shield every inch of her from any possible incoming assault from the whisperers.

Once Alpha allows them to leave, he grabs Carol and her bow and arrows without a second of hesitation (leaving behind his own crossbow) and immediately moves Carol away from the situation.

Once again, when everyone is in danger all Daryl can think about is Carol, making sure she's safe and unharmed, with no concern for himself.

I also think it's so beautiful and important to point out here that while all Daryl could think about was shielding Carol, Michonne was also there trying to protect both of them ♡

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl) - Part 2

The second one I want to mention is later in the same episode when Daryl and Michonne rush Carol back to Alexandria/Siddiq for help after she cuts her arm open badly.

We first find Daryl holding onto a column outside to steady himself while he waits to find out if she's okay.

When Siddiq comes out full of hesitation and can't find the words to answer Michone when she asks if Carol is okay, we see a look of pure fear on Daryl's face.

He freezes; he's holding his breath and won't dare move or say anything because he feels like his whole reality is hanging by a thread, and in the moment, the smallest thing or whatever Siddiq is about to say next might make it all fall apart.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP9 Squeeze (Daryl)

The third moment I wanted to mention is when Carol is hanging off the edge of a rock in the cave, risking her life just so she can try to destroy part of Alpha's horde, but Daryl finds her and is so confused and terrified by what she's doing.

He tries to tell her, to warn her that she's gonna get herself killed if she tries to go through with what she's planning.

Look at how he flinches and instantly loses his breath when her hand slips a little... breaks my heart every time.

When she responds to him by saying, "She killed my boy", Daryl's fear is now also combined with desperation because he realised that he didn't need to warn her about the possibility of getting herself killed; he realised she knew the risk all along and was in such a low place that she was almost welcoming the consequences.

What previously was a tone of alarm in Daryl's voice turns into a whisper, and he's now pleading with her. Without saying the actual words, he's begging her to choose to live again, even if it's just for him.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP14 Look at the Flowers (Carol)

What Caryl wants is also kind of answered in 10x14, where Carol is having an internal confrontation with herself. Subconsciously, she has chosen and manifested Alpha (who is now dead) as the face and voice of the one confronting her.

Timestamp 19:10 - 20:15

When "Alpha" says to her:

"Being out on your own... you've tried it before. They always pull you back. Always wanting more. Love. Motherhood. Death. But they don't know what you truly want. Admit it. What do you want? Say it..."

Carol responded by saying :

"I want to be alone."

To which "Alpha" says:

"Yeah. That's not it."

So the question here is, if it's not love in general, motherhood, death, or being left alone, then what does Carol actually want?

It's important here to note that Carol already knows the answer to that question. She's only asking herself this question because she hasn't accepted it; she isn't being honest with herself yet.

Timestamp 33:15 - 35:20

While Carol is stuck under the rubble and can't get out as the walker is getting closer to her, "Alpha" taunts her by saying:

"Stop fighting. No matter what you do, you lose people. Sophia, Lizzie, Mika, Henry, Ezekiel... And if you go back, Daryl could be next."

To which Carol responds:

"I could never let that happen."

This internal confrontation with herself and the realization that even when everything else in her world is dark, just having Daryl and making sure he's okay is worth living for and fighting for and that it's not too late for her to start over. The acceptance that that's who/what she truly wants gives her the strength at that moment to fight again, dislocating her shoulder to get free and killing the walker that was about to reach her.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP16 A Certain Doom (Daryl)

Looking back at 10x01 for a second, Carol asks Daryl to run away with her, but he says no and explains that life in tiny boat cabins is not for him. Then Carol presents the idea of running away on his bike instead, and he's much more enticed by his idea; however, by the end of the episode, they both agree that they can't because they still feel responsible for the people around them and making sure that they're safe against the threat from Alpha. 

Back to 10x16, after Carol went to lead the horde off the cliff, Daryl would have almost been expecting and terrified that she wouldn't come back, that she'd take this "out" and end her own pain in a permanent and self-sacrificial way like she's tried before, but this time, he wouldn't be there to beg her to come back to him and to save her. 

Once again, we find him leaning and steadying himself against a tree, preparing for the worst possible news or, as the episode's title suggests, a certain doom.

And when he sees her again, he can't take his eyes off her.

He doesn't believe his eyes at first; he looks all over her to make sure she's not hurt, but when she speaks, asking him if he's good, he finally breathes again, letting out the breath he's been holding.

The community is safe (for now) since the horde has been dealt with, and his next immediate thought is, "You still got me" and "New Mexico is still out there." He immediately brings back the idea of running away together; why? Because he now knows that this time he got way too close to losing her forever and will not be risking that ever again. He's now ready to leave everything and everyone else he cares about behind, so he'll never risk losing her again. 

He loves her so much that, once again, all else comes second.

When he hugs her, he pulls her in tighter than ever before, making sure he's holding onto as much of her as possible because he needs to know that this is real, that he's actually holding her, that she's right there, unharmed and breathing, and not just a part of a dream of what he wants to see. 

I believe he forgives everything in that instant, including her actions that led to losing Connie, because his pain is not worth causing her any more of it. He will now carry that guilt for himself, taking as much of her burden as possible just to make living a little easier for her. Because he'd rather shoulder all the pain and guilt than lose her, and because he can live with the pain and guilt, but he can't live without her. 

~~~~~~~~

S11 EP24 Rest in Peace (Daryl & Carol)

I believe the events of the season 11 finale forced them to come to a new level of internal acceptance. Seeing the people around them lose the ones they love the most started a spark, and it started to force them to have those internal conversations.

The reality began to sink in for both of them that there had been too many close calls to keep denying themselves what they truly wanted, and It's now more true to them than ever that their tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

We all expected this to be the moment they went for what they'd wanted for so long, but we were wrong; their wounds were just too deep, and their instinct to self-sacrifice was once again too strong.

A year later, we see them once again dedicating their lives to helping others, Carol taking over Hornsby's job and helping put the commonwealth back together, and Daryl setting out to see what's left out there, hoping to find Rick and Michonne and bring them back to their family.

~~~~~~~~

TOWL S01 EP04 What We (Daryl & Carol) - A Parallel

There's a pretty important parallel that I'd like to point out as well. In episode 4 of TOWL, when Micheonne asks Rick what the CRM took from him, Rick responds to her by saying:

"When I got taken, I fought, and I fought, and not just by trying to get away, but by how I would dream. I'd meet up with Carl in my dreams. And that's how I survived in here. Kept me alive... But then I started dreaming of you [Michonne]... and it kept me going... I can't live without you. Without you, I die."

It's important here to note that Rick is speaking to his wife. When he was taken away and at his lowest, he survived because when he went to sleep, he dreamed about Carl (his son) and Michonne (his soulmate) and his happy memories with them.

So what does Daryl dream about when he's taken away and at his lowest? (TWD:DD S01 EP01)

He dreams about Judith (his surrogate daughter) and Carol (his soulmate).

He dreams about Judith telling him that he deserves a happy ending too, and his very next thought is of Carol, seeing her again and being with her again because that's the happy ending he truly wants.

And what does Carol dream about when she's at her lowest in season 10?

She dreams about Henry (her adoptive son) and Daryl (her soulmate)

She dreams about the life she's always wanted, a home, a family and a life with Daryl because that's the happy ending she truly wants.

Also, just a quick mention that even Michonne refers to Rick (her husband) as her friend when speaking to Virgil in TWD 10x08 (TS: 40:00 - 41:20)

~~~~~~~~

So why is TBOC going to be any different? And why was Daryl ending up in France the best thing that could have happened for Caryl?

Because they have finally reached a point where they almost believe they've lost the other, they have been forced to feel the dependence of their existence on the others.

They have never been truly separated before, not to this extent. And what to them was previously only a fear has now become a reality.

When they're reunited, it's going to be with a completely new perspective and total understanding of the extent of their need for one another, and the idea of just having one another in each other's lives will no longer even remotely come close to being sufficient.

I'll elaborate a little...

After all these years, we've seen them constantly save one another and be terrified of losing each other. But no matter what, nothing got them to the point where they felt they needed (more than anything) to confess to the other. So far, everything they have faced during the main show has been different shades of the same thing, and the urgency was never high enough to outweigh their self-doubt and insecurities.

What France has given us is a whole new level of steaks. Where we'll find them in season 2 is on the verge of believing that they'll never be able to see each other again; this, coupled with the fact that they don't even know if the other is even alive, and the fact that the distance and time apart has given them a true taste of how much they need the other, we now have the perfect and unique recipe for something that outweighs their self-doubts and insecurities.

It's the age-old idea of you don't know what you have until it's gone. The difference between:

Watching everyone around them lose the people they love most: they empathise with them, their heart breaks for them, they may even be devastated by that loss, and ultimately, it probably makes them cherish the ones they still have even more.

They, themselves, losing the person they love most: this is something that needs to be experienced to be understood. It's reality shifting, and the pain/loss outweighs anything else.

And now, after experiencing that loss for themselves, by some miracle, they're given another chance with that person... what a way to completely shift someone's priorities and ability to act past insecurities.

~~~~~~~~

To wrap up I wanna go back to Norman's words from the NYCC TBOC press conference:

"[Carol] feels something's wrong. They have that kind of bond, where there's a lot of unspoken things that are said... the bonds that we made in the flagship show are still very strong... [Carol] can take care of herself, of course... but the bond just keeps getting stronger and stronger..."

And David Zabel's words from his interview with Entertainment Weekly (interview link):

"The main focus of season 2 for me was always Daryl and Carol coming back together and what does that mean? And it becomes ultimately a story about how we as people can save each other. She's trying to find him, but in the process of telling that story: How are they ultimately getting to a place where they're kind of saving each other?...showing what's happening inside these characters as people in the most intimate personal way"

Daryl and Carol have loved and cared for each other so profoundly, especially when they couldn't love themselves, even to the point of sacrificing their own happiness to prioritise the others. If that is not the true meaning of soulmates, then I don't know what is. And we all know that some of the greatest loves are routed in the truest friendships.

~~~~~~~~

Thank you to everyone who read through this! I know it was an extra long one, and it could have been even longer, but I've decided to post their moments from 10C separately, as there's a lot more to break down there. I really enjoyed writing this, and I'm so happy/grateful that I have this platform to share these thoughts with you all. I'd love to know your thoughts on the things I've mentioned or missed ♡♡♡

As some of you already know, I'll be attending the Tribeca Premiere for TBOC in 9 days. After that, I'd like to write and share a spoiler-free-ish afterthought for this post, including what I've taken away from episode 1, what was said during the cast panel afterwards, and my thoughts on what's to come for Caryl. If anyone would like to be tagged when that's posted, please let me know.

I'll be posting a more detailed and spoilery analysis of Episode 1 once it's actually released.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | June 24th-30th 2024

Happy Canada Day to all my fellow Canadians! Here comes a more reasonable weekly recap compared to last week :P

Complete

see the stars with my morning eyes by trippedandfell/ @trippedandfell (Teacher Buck AU | 3K | Teen): “So,” Buck announces, sitting down between Hen and Chimney at the concessions stand. “I think Eddie’s trying to get me to sleep with him and his fiancée.” or: Eddie calls Lucy his partner. Buck extrapolates.

kiss my lips, feel the rhythm of your heart and hips by Daffi_990_ao3/ @daffi-990 (Post-S7, Getting Together | 3K | Mature): After months of clawing at the ground and scraping through the mud of his memories of his relationship with Shannon, his childhood and a whole bunch of religious guilt, Eddie had finally accepted the truth about his marriage and himself. He’s queer. His sexuality isn’t the only thing he’s discovered though. Eddie Diaz is queer and he is in love with Evan Buckley.

Being Selfish by Inell/ @inell (Post-7x10: All Fall Down, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): It’s been a little more than six weeks since Eddie’s life became a chaotic mess. Luckily, he’s had Buck’s support and constant presence to help him get through it.

in the rough draft, [s]he loved you by iinryer/ @iinryer (S5, Outsider POV | 5K | General): during the flight home to LA after ramon's retirement party, eddie tries to write down some things he wants to say to buck

wrap your arms around me, baby boy by marviless/ @marviless (Getting Together | 6K | Teen): in which buck pretends to be asleep and overhears something he shouldn't.

🔥 i’ve seen a couple suns that set forever by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Christopher POV | 7K | General): Freshly home from Texas and faced with the prospect of his dad's feelings for Buck, Christopher's abandonment issues surface. A conversation with Bobby, and realizing the parallels between Buck's relationship with Bobby, and his relationship with Buck, gives Chris the perspective he needs.

i'll be the north star that takes you home by marviless/ @marviless (Post-S7, Getting Together | 8K | General): eddie is moving back to el paso for the summer.

Just to Chase the Pain Away by UnderwaterNinja/ @underwaterninja13 (BTHB: Public Humiliation, BDSM, Subdrop | 11K | Explicit): Buck makes the poor decision to go to a kink club to deal with his emotions. After he's left with no aftercare, someone comes to his rescue.

Firehouse Baby by Nejinee/ @nejineeee (S2-S7, Getting Together | 21K | Explicit): One day, Eddie put his hand on Buck’s thigh and Buck hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

🔥 something touched me (like a knife-blade) by kithmet/ @kithmet (Alternate S7 Finale, Getting Together | 42K | Explicit): Eddie self-implodes. Christopher, seeking refuge, flees to Buck—whose priorities amount to, in varying order: take in the kid, get Eddie to talk to him, and keep the three of them afloat in the process. (Oh, and Tommy’s there too. He thinks.)

🔥 Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 50K | Explicit): Once, Eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. Five hundred years ago, Buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. Now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other.

🔥 Descendants of Cyrano by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (~S7, Dungeons&Dragons, Getting Together | 55K | Explicit): People have their characters romance each other all the time while playing Dungeons & Dragons. There's deep meaningful monologues and sometimes some crying. It's normal. "Normal" is definitely not the word for whatever Buck and Eddie are inflicting on the rest of the 118.

WIP

🔥 If You Can Make the Music by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, | 2/5 | 5K | Mature): Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 5 (Seaside): A year after a whirlwind two week love affair with bartender Buck in Galveston, Texas, Eddie Diaz finds himself coincidentally relocating to the area. But when he attempts to reconnect with Buck, he's in for an unfortunate surprise. (Part 3 of Coma-Verse)

Podfics

[podfic] but it feels like a fortress when the weather gets bad by TheBoyWhoWalksInTheLight/ @aro-of-artemis (Post-3x15: Eddie Begins | 20-30min | Teen): Buck has a nightmare about Eddie dying, but he also has a key to Eddie's house.

Re-Read

Like a Sack of Bricks by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Feelings Realization | 2K | Teen): One word from Christopher, and Eddie's realizing he's made a serious miscalculation about his best friend.

[mshalfemptygirl]

The Prince Agent (S.R)

Plot: Reader is called to help Spencer with a case and things get too cute.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Dr!Fem!Reader

Contents: Really quicky mention to kidnapping and lots of fuffy

A/N: guys it’s my first fic, so let me know if you guys liked it, if you need a part 2. There are some translations at the end for you to understand the fic. Just give support and love. Thank you very much. Enjoy! 

I never knew exactly where linguistics was going to take me, but this is too much. I was at the police station, dressed an updated version of what it was meant to be Mary Stuart all because I helped my teacher with an Scotch Language Class this afternoon. You know, I'm in the postdoctoral program and sometimes we need to help our teacher and that's mean look ridiculous when they ask you to do a "favor" to them. So, I'm here, next to the door, feeling lost and angry for not have time to change my outfit. They said that just need to find an Agent called Dr. Spencer Reid to translate a little girl who was saved by the team. It gonna be easy, but no.

I notice that there is a man looking at me, he’s next to bullpens with some paper in his right hand. He is tall and very handsome by the way. In fact, he's wearing a tie that makes him look really HOT but I can't think about those things at such a delicate moment like this, I need to focus. I walked towards him, looking at the floor because in addition to the long dress, I was wearing high heels and I didn't want to embarrass myself in the middle of the police station. When I stopped in front of him, he put the papers on the table and gave me a small smile.

“Excuse me, where can I find Dr. Spencer Reid?” I returned the smile, wishing it was him.

“Well, right here. I’m Dr Spencer Reid, nice to meet you. You should be Dr. Y/N L/N. Or maybe Princess Y/N L/N?” he give me a big smile. “Can you follow me?” I felt my face burn, he was making fun of me and it made me a thousand times more nervous. I start follow him to the hallway with many rooms, the walls were white and light blue, there is a clock on the wall.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time for change. And It supposed to be Mary Stuart. So it’s Queen Y/N L/N”. He nodded while he run his hand over his hair. He stopped to think about something. Even nervous, I can't take my eyes off him. “Did you know that Mary became Queen of Scots at only six days of age and Mary’s last night was spent drafting an elaborate will in which all her servants were remembered. On the day of her execution, she appeared in her customary black cloak and with a white veil over her head and she then dropped the cloak to reveal a crimson red dress?” he ask me, I can see the excited in his face. I couldn't help but smile big, he's so endearing, so cute. I think he's trying to make me more comfortable.

“Yes!!! And she also was the first woman to practice golf in Scotland. She even caused a scandal when she was seen playing the game at St Andrews within days of her husband Darnley's murder. She was a such badass, I like her” I said. Then I remember about the little girl, they must have been in a hurry to help her. “But Dr. Reid, changing the subject, can we talk about the little girl? What you want me to do?” the expression on his face changed from a happy face to a worried one.

He explained to me that she was only 6 years old, she is physically fine and she was rescued from a kidnapping a few hours ago, they couldn't find her family and they couldn't ask her questions because she only speaks Portuguese. That's why they called me. It looks like his team has been looking into this possible unsub for months. Well, now I'm more relieved to be dressed like this, she deserves a good time in the middle of this chaos, I hope she likes princesses. Doctor Reid will walk me into the room so I can be the bridge between him and Mila.

I was the first to enter the room, there were some children's things on a table in the corner of the room. In the center of the room was a shaggy green rug and a table. Mila was drawing on the table, she had her back to me, focused on drawing and there is another blonde woman in the room with her, it must be another agent. She got up and wished him good luck. I looked at him and he nodded for me to start.

"Oi Mila, me falaram que tinha uma princesa por aqui” ¹ she looked at me and took to give me a hug. She got really excited saying several things at the same time, I sat with her on the floor and she played with my hair. That's when she realized that Dr. Reid was in the room and her face was etched with fear. “Mila, ele não vai te fazer mal, ele é muito legal! Sabe, o nome dele é Spencer e ele é meu principe. Ele é meu cavaleiro que me protege de coisas ruins e ele protege princesas como você também. Então ele não vai te fazer mal. Okay?” ²

She waved at me and I gave her a smile. I called Spencer over and he sat on the other side of the table. I translated for him what I said to her and it was like that for 40 minutes. Mila was no longer afraid of him, she gave as much information as possible about the man who took her and she also talked about her family. When she was scared, she squeezed my hand really tight and I told her that everything was going to be alright. Now, she going to draw two drawings for us. “Y/N, I will pass the information for Agent Garcia so she can start the search. You helped a lot. Thank you. Can you stay with her?" I nodded to him. “Mila, diz “Bye, Spencer”, ele precisa ir agora” ³.

“NÃO! Ele tem que dar um presente para você. Ele é seu principe, não é? Vocês tem que casar e viver felizes para sempre” ⁴ At that moment my heart beat faster. Holy shit, how was I going to translate this to him?! I can feel the presure. If I was avoiding embarrassing myself, now is the time. She was looking for something in the toy box, she walked to Spencer and gave him a plastic ring. She just pointed at the ring and then at me. We looked at each other not knowing what to do. I was in PANIC. “Spencer, I think she wants us to get married. You don’t have to. Sorry, I can explain to her that...”.  

“Oh, don't worry, I can give you the ring. Give me your left hand" I held out my hand to him and when he touched me I feel a good feeling. His hand are so soft. Looking right into Mila's face who seemed very happy with our misfortune. "Right, we are married. I’m married to a queen. I have to go now but can we talk after this, my lady?" he said after kissing the ring on my hand. Damn, he obviously has a hold on me."Yes, we can, Prince Agent Reid". Then I give him a smirk and he left the room. I show Mila my hand, she was happy for the first time in days and I was thinking how lucky I would be if this fairytale were true.

1 Hi Mila, someone told me there was a princess around here.

2 Mila, he won't hurt you, he's really nice! You know, his name is Spencer and he's my prince. He is my knight who protects me from bad things and he protects princesses like you too. So he won't hurt you. OK?.

3 Mila, say “Bye Spencer”, he needs to go.

4 NO! He has to give you a gift. He's your prince, isn't he? You have to get married and live happily ever after.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Black lingerie

"Go ahead, do your job captain"|Shunsui x reader Tw: Nsfw content below the line Author's note: I wrote this a while ago and had it saved in my drafts, I hope you like it. I'm going to miss this man for six months 😫(Bleach cour 3 returns in march if I'm not wrong🤔)

-------------------------------------------------------

You knew, he loved it when you wore that damn black lace that highlighted your beauty and marked your curves that he so loved running with his two hands and not to mention the thigh high you wore that drove him crazy.

You, on the other hand, loved to surprise him by dressing like that, seeing him struggling to say something but not being able to speak properly because all your desire was visible in his eyes. He gave you all the attention in the world and didn't focus on anything other than you. You loved being the center of his attention.

He seemed busy the last few days, you felt proud of him for becoming the main captain but at the same time he also stole time for you to be together.

You wore the lingerie with the thigh high that hugged your legs, you put on your kimono and went to the first division office.

You slowly opened the door and entered, there was no one else there besides him and the papers on the table, he had a tired look but he wouldn't deny your surprise for anything.

"You look tired, has the work been difficult?"You said in a seductive voice as you closed the door and approaching the table in slow steps

"A little, unfortunately I have to be the one to finish it. I'm sorry if I made you wait for me so late"He said in a low voice 

"There's no need to apologize"You said, starting to undo the kimono knot  "I just came here to give you a little help"You smiled, teasing him.

He looked at you as he saw the fabric slide off your shoulders revealing your body wearing that damn lace again, he almost had a heart attack right there when he saw it.

"A little help you say?"He chuckled

"Yes, why not? Don't you like it?"You said, opening your bra and placing it aside next to your kimono.

"I'm loving my dear Y/n"His eyes roamed your body and put the reports aside for a moment.

"I'm glad you liked it"You looked into his eyes as you slid your panties down your legs

You were only wearing the thigh high, leaving the rest of your body exposed to him. He licked his lips as he thought about all the things he was going to do to you.

"You didn't need to take off your clothes, I could take care of that myself"He winked

"I wanted to surprise you"You said, placing yourself between him and the table

"I'm grateful for that"He said looking at your thighs and grabbing the arms of the chair trying to relieve the tension

"Go ahead, do your job captain"You leaned over him and whispered close to his lips

"Which one ?"He ask in a deep voice and with a lustful look

"You decide, but if I were you I would value priorities"You said, sitting on the table leaning on your forearms and spreading your legs

"Well, with you in that position, it's going to be a little hard for me" His breathing felt heavy and his body was already heating up when he was faced with that vision

"Do your best" You winked at him as you slid your one of your hands to the middle of your legs touching yourself

He smiled and removed the flowered kimono from his shoulders, he stood up and leaned over your body placing his hand on the edge of the table. You put your hand aside and laid on the table when you felt one of his hands run down one of your thighs.

"You have no idea how much I love seeing you wearing them"He whispered in your ear while running his hand down your thighs covered by the thin black fabric.

"That's why I put them on"

"How sweet of you"

He kissed you gently even though he wanted to lose control at that moment, you could already feel something brush against your thigh, he was hard and ready to do crazy things. He moved away from your lips and knelt down between your legs, he held your waist and sucked your wet and sensitive slit. You arched your back and held his hair, his tongue tasted your flesh and you rolled your eyes in pleasure. He sucked your clit as he looked up at you and saw you moaning and squirming, he smiled and distributed wet kisses along your folds. He used one of his hands to rub you while his tongue penetrated you.

You felt your legs tremble when his beard brushed against the inside of your thigh, you moved your hips a little, rubbing against his face. You wanted to have him as close as you could so you didn't miss a second of what he was doing because he was so good. His fingers started rubbing you faster and you felt your insides tighten, you tilted your head back and whimpered.

"Shun…ahh I'm close"

You couldn't describe how much you were loving the feeling of his fingers making circular movements and leaving you overstimulated as your cum oozed out and cured the man's thirst between your legs. Although he could spend hours there drinking those fluids that dripped directly onto his tongue. He stopped moving his fingers and grabbed your thighs as he moved away from your folds, he licked his lips and got up from the chair.

Your breathing was uneven, the heat was building up everywhere. He pulled down his underwear and used his hands to keep your legs open, you licked your lips when you saw his cock coming out of his pants.

He held one of your legs and used the other hand to place it into you, you held the edge of the table behind you and moaned his name after feeling him opening your insides.

He couldn't help but let out a long heavy sigh as he watched you take it so well, the sight of having you open and ready to be fucked on top of his desk made him want to have you all night long.

You felt your body burn with pleasure and excitement when his dick entered your wet slits and went deep into you, his hands grabbed your thighs and marked your flesh making you moan his name loudly.

"That's right, say my name my dear petal"He whispered next to your lips

You leaned your head back and moan his name with a slight whimper feeling his pelvis hit against your sensitive clit each time he entered you deep. You've been cravin for it all day, having it there makes you feel so good. His eyes were shining with lust at that moment, you had an effect on him and he was proud of it and much less hid how much he loved being inside you.

He increased the pace of his thrusts a little while holding your body, his long and messy hair was falling over his bare shoulders giving you a view of how perfect he looked.

"Shunsui...Please don't stop...ahh this is so good"You said between the moans feeling him thrusting you hard

"Are you enjoying this? Are you enjoying how I'm fucking you?" He said, moving faster and faster

"Yes…Ohh fuck I love it"You said with heavy breathing

He released a heavy sigh after hearing your words, you were turning him on too much and he could already feel his cock pulsing inside your wet and tight interior. He wanted to have you come to him, he wanted to see your body writhing with pleasure on that table and he wouldn't stop until he had it.

You felt your legs tremble and your body tense and a short time later you came all over his length just as he wanted to see, he leaned over you placing one hand on the edge of the table and kissed you. You ran your fingers on the skin of his back while he still remained inside you.

"Do you want me to come in you?" He said, brushing his lips with yours

"Yeah.. please, give it to me" You whimpered

He kissed you and in a short time he filled you and you moaned into his mouth, feeling the heat between your legs accumulate, the drops of his fluids dripped out of you when he withdrew. He ran two fingers through your slit pushing the liquid inside you and you let out a moan. He pulled on his pants and tried to catch his breath.

"Well, I think we made a mess here"He said seeing some papers lying on the floor

"Actually you made two messes here" You said, sitting on the edge of the table

"Yes…literally two"He looked at you and smiled

"I think you should take care of this as soon as possible unless you want your lieutenant to question you about what happened"

"And I would say it would be because of those damn socks. You should wear them more often" He ran his hands around your waist

"If you keep doing your work without flinching, I promise to use them every day"

“And what won’t I do for you and those beautiful legs” He said running his hands up your thighs

"Shut up you pervert"You said slapping his hands

[glitter-stained]

Okay so I got a wonderful ask that I started to respond to and I saved it in the drafts to look up the English translation of a word and now the ask is gone because tumblr hates me, hope you see this anyway anon. Here are the bullet points from the essay I just lost :

> being a HS dropout doesn't make you ignorant! I didn't know of the study you mentioned it sounds super interesting

> I'm not a bio/medicine student, what I do know about malnutrition I know from anorexia in children, there are probably nuances between the two I don't have access to

> size, like most stuff, is determined by the interaction between your genes and your environment.

> malnutrition absolutely stunts growth, basically the body goes into battery saving mode to preserve what resources it has and goes "well i'm not gonna grow up/develop until you start feeding me again". (This is why BMI is a fucking stupid tool to diagnose anorexia especially in children, it's so dumb.)

> can you play catch-up with growth ? Yes and no. There's something called "chronotopic constraints" which means that there are things in a person's development that need to happen at a specific given time for other stuff to happen later, like a chain reaction. This is true for embryo development, for cognitive abilities (that's why ADHD symptoms change over time) and for physical development like growth. So basically, whether or not a child who has been starved can catch up on growth depends, amongst other stuff, on their base metabolism, the amount of food they were eating, for how long they were starving and at what time window they were starving. And because of the domino effect I mentioned, you can catch up "partially": picture a child who, upon getting food, starts growing again, goes through late puberty, and ends up much tinier as an adult than both his parents were but still bigger than he was as a teenager.

> So how can we know that stuff ? You're very right that we can't separate twin babies, starve one and feed the other, it's not very ethical. But we can run stuff like correlational studies where we take a group of a whole lot of kids who have suffered from malnutrition measure their height at 6, at 8, at 10, at 15, 18 and 20 (this is called a longitudinal study) and say "hey, children who were starved tend to, on average, be way smaller than the average child their age, and they don't all fully catch up on their growth, and this catch-up depends on specific time windows" etc. As I said, a lot of my knowledge comes from the study of anorexia in children, so there are also a lot of case studies of children who didn't eat at specific time periods and had their growth stunted potentially forever (as well as a lot of other stuff).

> so if it depends/catch up is possible, why do you think the Pit is what "cured" Jason's malnutrition:

Well, the issue with Jason is we don't have access to for how long he was in a situation of food scarcity for. We know his parents were poor, but how about before Willis went to jail: if I understood correctly the man was in and out, so there probably was an uneven source of revenue in that side. And how about when Catherine got sick? Medical care costs a lot of money, not to mention heroin; he was probably in food scarcity at least once Willis got caught and sent to jail and he had to take care of his mom himself, before he even ended up in the streets. In the streets, Jason calls himself his own man and steals to survive, so he doesn't have like zero access to food, but no, seeing where Jason lives and that his income source at some point is "stealing from batman" i'd bet on pretty severe food scarcity. Not starving enough to die and not starving/not suffering from malnutrition are pretty different goals after all. Then Jason ends up with Batman and hey! Regular food intake. Though looking at his workout in the six months following his adoption is a little concerning, it's comic book science, let's just assume he's getting enough food and robin gives him enough magic that it's not a problem for his growth. Yippee, Jay can start growing again! Except when he dies, he's still tiny. Not as small as when he got adopted, but like, tiny (4"6 I believe? At 15.) This, along with how big Willis was and if we consider Jason's height in UTH, suggests that his growth is still stunted after three years of consistent adequate nutrition.

Obviously he doesn't grow when he's dead, but there's no reason he wouldn't grow in his coma, he's being fed and basically sleeping so no scarcity at that moment (though some level of muscle atrophy is to be expected). And then he's back to the streets, deeply dissociated, suffering from mysterious (as in hare to evaluate) brain damage and with muscle atrophy, for around a year -he's seen finding food, but again, he's most definitely not eating enough at that time. And then, he's in the league, where he definitely gets enough food, Talia isn't gonna starve that kid. So, through his childhood and teenagehood,Jason goes through several periods of long starvation. Though I don't know the intricacies of critical periods and chronotopic constraints in physical growth, the probability of him not receiving food during some of these periods is very high imo. And then of course there's the fact that not only does he go through intense stress/trauma/adverse childhood experiences for most of his childhood and teenagehood, which as you pointed out also stunts growth, but since he's still a teenager/growing in Lost Days and UTH and considering his mental state in these stories, this could also effect his growth. And also, even if Jason would have caught up eventually, catching up on growth takes time!

So those are all the arguments that lead me to conclude: while it's technically possible for Jason to have been this big in UTH without the Pit influence, I don't find it very probable. And also of course a question of taste: they could have made Jason tiny in UTH, and they didn't. Cowards.

[jamespottersmixtape]

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

 Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.” 

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway. 

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

[crappymixtape]

love will keep us alive

BONUS V2 OF A REQUEST → ❝ angst prompt: “do you regret it?” this has been sitting in my drafts for LITERAL MONTHS and i just need to set it freeeee | ( 1.3k – a sprinkle of angst, a sprinkle of fluff, all the feelings, established relationship, eddie x reader )

L O V E W I L L K E E P U S A L I V E 🎶 love you, flowerovlove

You knew money was always a dealbreaker for relationships. You watched it happen with your own parents. Watched them go through it all and in the end get divorced because your dad spent too much money and your mom couldn’t handle it. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get into the same situation, not with Eddie, but here you were.

Paying for rent and utilities had been fine, you put a little gas in the car when you could, and you were even able to buy a six pack of beer every now and then, but somehow this month you were short. Somehow the water bill came and there wasn’t enough.

The statement came in the mail with big red letters stamped across the front, OVERDUE, but Eddie waved you off.

Don’t we have it on autopay, babe? Must be a mistake.

So you left it alone, but when you woke up in the morning to take a shower before work? Nothing came out of the shower head.

Towel tucked under your arms you stormed out into the living room, cold and angry, to find Eddie posted up on the couch. So casual. Reading a Thrasher magazine with the TV on in the background.

“So. The water’s off,” your tone was short, clipped and sharp enough to pull Eddie’s attention away from the magazine. Brows pinching together in confusion as he swung his legs off the couch to look at you properly.

“Huh? Sweetheart, what d’you mean off?“ he asked, looked up at you with those big brown eyes and you bit your lips in to try and stop yourself from raising your voice.

“The water is off, as in the water company turned it off,” you said again, frustration swelling in your chest, “I thought you said it was on autopay?”

“Well, yeah,” he started off confidently, so sure. “We set that up when we moved in and put it in your name and–” but he drifted off at the end of his sentence and his cheeks grew warm. Hot and embarrassed and he buried his face in his hands with a groan.

You’d split the utilities up when you two moved in together, especially since you had separate bank accounts, and as Eddie ticked them off in his head – internet, garbage, phone – he realized the water wasn’t under your name. It was under his. And this month had been tight.

Working at the bar was decent most of the time. Tips were good and Eddie’s regulars took care of him, but lately? It has been really slow. Slower than usual and it was hard for Eddie to remember to save during times like that.

No grabbing coffee on his way out in the morning. No beers with Steve after he got done at family video. No buying the kids new dice or a playbook for Hellfire, but he always got caught up in the moment and shit. This time he’d lost track.

“I’m so sorry babe,“ his voice was muffled as he spoke into his hands, tentatively lifting his head to look at you, “Can we maybe cover it from your account this month?“

You felt your cheeks grow hot, heat spreading from your chest across your neck and up to your ears. Your lips twisted with a frown, a deep scowl, so damn frustrated and tired of looking at your bank account and seeing five dollars left.

“No! We can’t! There’s no money there either,” you sighed, emotions starting to get the better of you as your throat grew tight and it just felt so off.

You were standing in the living room with nothing but a towel on. Any other time Eddie would’ve been on you in a second. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down into his lap. Pressing his lips to your neck, your collarbone and the curves of your hips, but instead you were arguing.

Eddie felt his chest squeeze with guilt, with the weight of all this stupid responsibility and the fact that it was all his fault. He was your boyfriend! He was supposed to take care of you! You were in this together and yet he wasn’t holding up his side of the deal and you were so upset and late for work and fighting and–

He swallowed thick, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, chewed his bottom lip between his teeth and held his breath.

“D’you regret it?” he asked, deep, brown eyes, flicking up to meet your own so hurt and sad, so fucking sorry.

Your stomach twisted. Flipped over with his question and your expression softened, “Regret it?“

“Yeah. Do you regret me?“

And with those four little words you felt your anger start to ebb.

Yeah. You were standing in your living room with just a towel on. No running water. Late for work and five dollars in your bank account, but the way he was looking at you made you hesitate. Had you sounded like you were done? Done enough that he thought you didn’t want to be with him anymore? And that’s when something in you shifted.

Your parents weren’t good for each other and your dad spent too much money and it made your mom so angry, but that wasn’t the only thing.

He didn’t listen to her.

Didn’t stay up late when she was worried and couldn’t sleep.

Didn’t run out to get a box of tampons when she got her period.

Didn’t ask her about her day and didn’t rub her feet and didn’t surprise her with pizza after a shitty day at work.

Didn’t tell her how much he loved her every single day. Didn’t kiss her once as he went out the door and again when he came back in to say how much he already missed her.

Eddie loved you, and yeah you were short on money, but you weren’t short on love. And at the end of the day? Even though love didn’t pay the bills, it sure as hell would help you figure it out. Because while money came and went, this kind of love didn’t.

Crossing the room still in your towel, you sat down next to Eddie on the couch. Took his hand in yours and held it tightly in your lap. “Eddie,” you said softly, taking his chin in your free hand and tilting it up so you could see him. “I would never regret this,” you said, hoping he understood just how serious you were. Hoping you heard every word you said, knowing that you meant it. “I just wish I could take a shower,“ you half-joked and he snorted, but then dropped his gaze back down to your hands.

God, the guilt was heavy.

“I’m really fucking sorry, babe.”

“S’okay,” you smiled, pressed a hand to his cheek and pulled his eyes back up to meet yours. “You just can’t buy the kids any more dice and you definitely don’t need any more manuals for hellfire. And maybe you can start learning how to brew your own beer?“ your tone teased him at the end and it pulled a little laugh out of him. “We’ll figure it out, right?”

“Yeah. I can pick up extra shifts at the bar and I’ll start putting my tips in a jar under the bed. A little savings in case the water gets turned off again,” he gave you a half-grimace, half-smile, “Too soon?”

“Too soon.”

“Sorry–listen–I’m part of this relationship too and I just wanna take care of you, honey,” and the way he was looking at you told you he couldn’t have been more serious.

“You always take care of me,“ you said leaning into him, resting your forehead against his and those unruly curls, “And I don’t regret it, Eds. Not even a little bit. “

And then Eddie closed the gap between you. Pressed his lips soft to yours in a quiet promise. Felt something plant itself in his chest and start to bloom and in that moment he knew he wanted to grow and not stay stagnant.

“I love you, sweetheart. I love you so damn much."

crappymixtape™ • eddie munson masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[uzurimisery]

chapter 1: a bet. / gojo satoru

gojo in a suit wearing nice perfume yes please

wc: 2,194

Being a legal secretary was far from a straightforward job. You need to be smart, but not too much, otherwise the insecure old men might lose their minds. You needed to draft and proofread legal documents and thus understand legal ongoings, on top of ensuring important court filings were submitted on time. But being a great legal secretary meant doing so much more, and being a great legal secretary at one of the top firms in Los Angeles? God, did you deserve a medal for doing all the heavy lifting while wearing heels!

Suguru would be lost without you truly, and that’s something the whole firm knew. Your researching abilities gave him a step ahead of the opposing party, and the critical details you had uncovered had saved more than a few cases from being lost. Add to that your legal strategy you were more of an associate than the third years. Which is why for the past six years, you’ve been Suguru Getou’s secretary.

You were friends first, having met at a shitty dive bar near Harvard’s campus in your final years. (He in law school and your undergrad) You didn’t run in the same circles, but it was thanks to an internship you had landed at a third rate law firm near campus, which Suguru also had an internship at, you two bonded. Perhaps over one too many jager-bombs, but what university without those regrets?

Besides those regrets, you got your job now at Masamichi & Associates Los Angeles Branch, which you loved. Minus the 80 work weeks, ass kissing to rich clients, dealing with the first year associates, and the — well, there’s a lot you could say you disliked about the job, but truly you love it. Even if you had to miss out on your friend’s bachelorette party. It was her second marriage to be fair, so you didn’t feel as bad. But yes, you loved your job. Except for right now.

You stood in front of Suguru’s desk, seething with anger. “You used me as a bet?!”

“Y/n, listen,” Suguru said, holding up his hands in defence. “I was certain I was going to win!”

“Oh my god,” you said, shaking your head. “I should throttle you! I mean, what the hell, Suguru? You didn’t even ask me if I was fine with being bet on.”

“I knew you would say no,” Suguru admitted.

“No shit, I’d say no!” you exclaimed.

“Y/n,” Suguru said, standing up from his chair and motioning for you to sit down in his place. “I truly thought he wouldn’t win the case and that I’d actually have to pay up.”

You sat down, plopping down into the chair rather than sitting gracefully. Suguru stood behind you and rubbed your shoulders.

“I can’t believe you,” you said. “After all that we have been through, you threw me away to a half-rate lawyer.”

“Okay, harsh,” Suguru said. “He’s not a half-rate lawyer-“

“You’re the one who called him that,” you pointed out.

Suguru sighed. “Yes, I did,” he said. “But I was just being facetious. I know he’s a talented lawyer.”

“Then why did you bet me on him?” you asked.

“Because I was confident that I was going to win,” Suguru said again. “I thought it would be a funny bet, you know? A little friendly wager.”

“It wasn’t funny,” you said. “It is humiliating. I feel like a prize to be won, not a person.”

“You’re the best person and he’s actually a wonderful lawyer, the best at the branch in Japan, which is why he’s coming to the New York branch. Plus, Satoru is a friend of mine from my undergraduate and law school days, which I still don’t know how you never met him, or Shoko.”

“I was antisocial, Suguru. It’s a miracle I even knew you.” A huff escaped you. “What’s he like?”

“He’s annoying, a bit of a narcissist-”

“Just like you then.” Getou made a face at you, leaning over you so you could see his face.

“He’s good at his job. Smart. Like freakishly so. He likes answering questions too, used to be a TA when we were in high school, so he’ll put up with all yours. You’re gonna love it with him, I promise! And if you don’t, then give it three months and I’ll pay him the 300k instead.”

“Fine…” the dollar amount clicked in your brain. “YOU BET ME FOR 300 THOUSAND DOLLARS?!”

__________

Your heels clicked against the polished wood flooring as you made your way from the Northwest corner office to Suguru’s office on the Southeastern side of the floor. Luckily, you wouldn’t be stuck down on the 53rd floor, where they put transfers. Gojo was clearly one of the best lawyers at the firm if he was taking a corner office, too.

It took you a few hours to get everything set up at your new desk and for IT to move your computer over. Truthfully, you could have done it faster without them, but rules and procedures were rules and procedures. The nice thing was that your desk was bigger now, with an elevated spot for your monitor and phone. Getou would be hearing from you after all of this to upgrade your desk with him.

Gojo wasn’t due to be back from a meeting with Mr. Trent Chow, an investment banker at a hedge fund the firm had been trying to get on the books for a few weeks now, until after lunch, which gave you enough time to go hear all the gossip from the other secretaries about him.

Gojo had worked in the States before, as well as in the UK. He was known for closing deals and was a self-described “winner.” He drank fine scotch and dated even finer women. Apparently, there was an issue in the Japanese branch, with a few ex-clients being barred from the premises after Gojo may or may not have slept with their wives. He was an excellent lawyer, but an egotistical person.

Halfway through your second coffee of the day, expertly crafted by the barista at the Cafe at the ground floor of the building who was hopelessly into you, a body leaned up against the top of your desk.

A tailored pinstripe navy suit by Brioni, a name-brand Italian leather watch by Patek Philippe, and a class ring with the same graduation year as Getou—it wasn’t hard to tell that it was an attorney leaning on your desk.

“So you’re the unlucky secretary sacrificed to Gojo,” she said in a raspy, low-toned voice.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is he that bad?”

“Oh, he’s not bad,” Shoko said with a smile. “He’s just... a lot.”

“How so?”

“He’s arrogant, obnoxious, and he has a terrible habit of flirting with every woman he meets,” Shoko said. “But he’s also one of the best attorneys I know. He’s brilliant, and he’s always prepared. So if you can handle his ego, you’ll be fine.”

“I think I can handle it,” you said with a smirk.

Shoko laughed. “I knew I was going to like you,” she said. “Shoko Ieri, senior partner.” She extended her hand.

You shook her hand. “Y/N,” you said. “Secretary extraordinaire.”

Shoko held your gaze for a moment. “I think we’re going to be a great team,” she said.

“How long have you been at the firm?” You asked her.

“Same amount of time as Getou and Gojo. We all graduated together and got put in the bullpen together, too. Gojo and I ended up back in Japan to help the transition after Masamishi became named partner.”

“Oh, so you went to Harvard as well?”

“Guilty. Still don’t know if it was worth it. You?”

“Harvard too. I was two years under your class and in the undergrad program.”

The chatter between you and Shoko continued for a while, only stopping as Gojo rounded the corner.

6’3” with platinum blonde hair, more akin to white, swept back and styled, only disrupted by a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, that was perfectly coiffed, without a single strand out of place. His skin was pale and flawless, and his cheekbones were sharp and defined. His nose was straight and angular, and his lips were full and sensual.

He wore a tailored three-piece black suit with a maroon tie hanging undone, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest. The top two buttons of his white button-down shirt were undone, showcasing his strong jawline.

His gait was confident and unhurried. He walked like he owned the place, with his head held high and his shoulders back. His demeanour was polished and sophisticated, and he had a natural elegance that seemed effortless. There was an air of authority about him, a sense that he was accustomed to being in charge. He came from a long line of judges, attorneys, and government officials both in the USA and Japan, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he actually felt that way. He was born into it all.

When he reached your desk, he placed a few manilla folders on top of it. Given his reputation, it was easy to guess it was Trent Chow signing on to the firm. You could smell him now that he was closer, and he smelt good. Clary sage wrapped up with pear and bergamot, cushioned by amber and patchouli. He smelt as expensive as he dressed.

“You must be my new secretary.” He smiled, one side going up higher than the other revealing a sharp canine. “Gojo Satoru, best closer in the city and your new boss, though I guess it’s the other way around here. Anyway! Come into my office, let’s talk.”

To say his office was impressive was an understatement. It was a corner facing unit overlooking the expanse of the city. The interior was well decorated, but stilly minimal. A wall of records and books filled with a range of media and titles from the early 1900s to now. His desk was sleek, ornate but not overstated, with the latest generation MacBook idling on it. Two tub chairs sat facing the desk, both at an angle so that the person sitting in it would have to look at Gojo.

Towards the south-facing window was a more expensive version of an IKEA Kallax unit, lined with sport memorabilia and signed basketballs. A few feet away from it was a sitting area. A brown leather couch draped with throw facing a metal and glass coffee table flanked by two dark grey Herman Miller Chadwick modular chairs. On the table was a neatly organised stack of the times layered between sport magazines, and a lit candle filling the room with a rainy cedar smell like a mountain forest in spring.

The most impressive thing might have been that he had the entire office set up for his first day.

Gojo sat down in his office chair and gave a full 360 spin before facing you, propping his chin on his left hand and he leaned forward against the desk and the right removed the sunglasses from his head and placed them down neatly.

Being this close, you could see his eyes for all that they were. They were strangely unnerving, an endless expanse that felt like he wasn’t seeing you, but through you instead. As if under his gaze, lay all your little habits and transgressions bare for him to observe.

He stared at you for what felt like an hour before speaking.

“Sugu told me you were the best. Kept him organised. Helped him manage the litigation of 405 Holdings, created curated lists of clients with detailed information on their likes and dislikes for him to improve relationships with them, and said your view on legal proceedings was better than a fifth year associate,” He dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair “but he didn’t tell me you were gorgeous.”

There was the notorious flirting they had warned you of.

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Please, Satoru’s fine.”

“Satoru,” you corrected, leaning against the armrest of the chair “You’ve got a meeting with Orlando Smitt from Smitt & Sons Petroleum at 2:00 at Le Pavillion, expect for it to take two and half hours as he likes to chat. After that you’ve got a meeting on the Park Holdings case with Suguru, followed by a dinner with Laurence Hill, a potential client in the automotive manufacturing industry with an estimated company value of $1.7 billion, and I’m to remind you that Masamichi wants a copy of your brief on the Trust Development case on his desk by nine tomorrow or your on the next pro Bono case which, I’ve been told, is housing court.”

You rose, leaning over his desk with a hand spread across it “And yes, I am gorgeous, but you think a little sweet talk is all it’s going to take to get me to even have the slightest amount of interest in you?”

Spinning on your heel, you sauntered towards the door, opening it while looking over your shoulder at him

“Oh, and Mr. Smitt is allergic to shellfish.”

Series masterlist: here

[bigalockwood]

August and Rousseau

I’ve outed myself as the #resident horse expert (thanks @youngroyalsconfession for the title I’m genuinely elated bc I’ve never gotten my own online moniker lmao) and I think it’s time that I contributed some more unasked for and useless horse knowledge to the YR discussion. This has been sitting in my drafts for ages and since I don’t see myself finding any time to research this further in the next few weeks, I thought I might as well post it before season 3 drops. Plenty of posts have been made about how the August-Rousseau situation could play out, and I don’t want to talk about those theories today, because I have anything to add right now.

As has been pointed out many times, horses are expensive, at least in western, industrialized countries. They used to be a necessity for most people, because they were a mode of transport, used to harvest food etc. This is still true in many parts of the world, but not Western and Northern Europe. There, horses have become a luxury, and are usually notoriously expensive, especially if you can’t keep them on your own grounds and produce your own hay. And even then- vet bills are painful to look at, and there are plenty of other costs, too. So, August most definitely won’t be able to pay for the monthly expenses that come with having a horse, at least not if he gets no financial aid by the court or doesn’t sell some of his assets. And even then, I’m not sure what they would say when they learn that they are financing a horse of all things (especially since August has zero interest in or knowledge of horses). In the following you can find a rough overview of just how expensive owning a horse is. Keep in mind, these numbers are generalized. I’m not from Sweden, but another European country, and even if I were, prices fluctuate a lot depending on the success of harvest, proximity to large cities, services offered by the stable, etc.… But maybe it can give those of you less familiar with horses a better idea of just how fucked August actually is.

Stable: this variable is already very hard to judge. You can find fairly cheap barns, but you usually have to do at least part of the work yourself, too (just imagine August mucking out Rousseau’s stall lmao). Feed is often included in the price, doesn’t cover any special needs, though (hay is included, but anything else you have to buy yourself). However, Hillerska is a prestigious school. They have a groom (our beloved Marcus) to take care of everything the owners don’t want to do (mucking out, feeding, taking horses out to the pastures and then back inside). You can find yourself with anywhere between 200- 600 Euros per month, depending on the services offered. Knowing what we do about Hillerska, you can expect the cost to be at the higher end.

The farrier should come every six to eight weeks and, again, costs depend on what work needs to be done. It can be anywhere between 50 Euro (bare hoof, only need to be trimmed) to close to 200 Euro (horse shoes for all four hooves). As long as Rousseau isn’t being exercised he’ll most likely only need a trim. 

Insurance depends greatly on your horse and its value (it’s hinted that he is valuable in the show) but generally costs between 50 to 150 Euro per month where I’m from.

Vet costs (assuming your horse is healthy and you only need to get the recommended vaccinations and check-up’s as well as anthelmintics) will usually be around 400 Euros a year and can go way up, depending on whether your horse has any special needs. Rousseau seems to be healthy, so we’ll assume he only needs the bare minimum.

Based on what he definitely needs to buy/pay for, the annual cost would be somewhere between 3400 and 12.400 Euro. Which is a super rough estimate and doesn’t even cover any extra expenses (Rousseau most certainly doesn’t only eat hay but also other feed specifically for sport horses). A horse can easily cost up to 21.400 Euro per year. August saves some money because he doesn’t take any training sessions and thus doesn’t need to pay for a trainer. He could also lend Rousseau to the school and let other students ride him; a deal like that would reduce how much he needs to pay for the monthly care of Rousseau.

But either way: August has to pay between 295 and 1800 Euro per month. If he wasn’t struggling financially, he probably wouldn’t even notice such a “small” expense. As it is, he can’t even pay his own tuition. There’s no way he’ll be able to pay for a horse.

(Would also like to, again, state that this is extremely generalized; I just wanted to highlight how much a horse usually costs).

[carpathianspaceprincess]

To Be A Soldier - (hbo!)Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: In which you have gotten yourselves and your young cargo into quite a dangerous situation. Now you have to decide who can be saved, but you're nearly out of time and Joel is as stubborn as ever. Rating: E. Minors DNI. CW / Tags: Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Desperation. Soft kiss. Non-gendered reader. Detailed description of wounds and several mentions of death and/or bodies. Established relationship. Open ending. Recommended listening: The Day After Tomorrow - Phoebe Bridgers. A/N: HELLO DARLINGS!! dawg idk what this is. It's been in my drafts for at least three weeks while i hummed and haaaaed over it. Realised halfway through that I was subconsciously pulling from my own personal relationship with death and grief, particularly towards the end. (aka I have daddy issues lol) PLEASE interact if you liked it (or hated it!). Also note I hate sad shit LMFAO this is the rare angst for me - there will be more and this is not the end of the story.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Maria assured you this job would be a breeze. All you had to do was drop off some cargo over the river. “Cargo” being Johanna, a girl of around six, who was to be reunited with her ecstatic parents after several months of Maria trying to locate them. How hard could it be?

The ride up was familiar terrain, and with the promised payment of around 200 cans (two hundred!) sitting safely in a storage unit, you considered the whole thing a win-win. The only con? You’d been forced to leave Ellie at home, a conversation you’d mistakenly left to Joel. You tried to explain that the bridge crossing was safely abandoned, and assured her you’d be back the day after tomorrow, but she wasn’t having it. 

“I miss you when you’re gone! You can’t just leave me behind again!” 

“It sucks, I know… what if I bring you back something cool to make up for it?”

“Fine, but you better make it good.” 

“I will, I promise.” 

Having smoothed things over, you’d started out optimistic; Joel allowing the brush of your hand against his own as you passed folks shoveling snow and raking leaves, cheeks rosy as summer faded and made way for the fresh, icy winter air. You delighted at Joel’s unexpected patience and humor for Johanna, and as the three of you rode, your laughter hung between the dense firs like streamers. 

Then a FEDRA unit caught your unsuspecting trio by surprise up near the river bank, a mere two hours after setting out. Things had spun out of control quickly, and in the scuffle to escape Johanna had suffered a fall. You’d found the only cover you could in this shithole of a shepherd’s shack, fending off gunfire while you and Joel tried to figure out how you’d get back to Jackson with no horses and dwindling ammo. In your effort to push the little girl under a solid table for cover, you’d been careless and exposed yourself to the aim of one remaining officer.  

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“Fuck!” You stumble, back thudding against rotting wooden panels. “Fuck i’m stupid. fuck. fuck. fuck!”  

 “Shit.” Joel kneels over you, wild eyes reflecting your own. The steel of his shotgun  gleams in the blistering sunset. Flustered concern etched in his forehead. “He’s down. How bad is it?.”

Wheezing in the dust and dripping sweat from your furrowed brow, you move your unsteady fingers over dirt-scuffed denim to get a better look at the sizable hole entrenched in the muscle of your inner thigh. 

“Ahhh..I- I don’t know. Pretty deep.” 

You shoot a dirty look to the bloodied bullet sitting just to your left. What a piece of shit. How could something so small cause so much fucking damage?  

Warm, velvet red ripples steadily from the split skin. 

“Bullet still in there?” He’s breathless. 

“No.” You bite out.  “Clean shot.” 

You lift your hand, blood sticky and gross on your palm. He clicks his tongue as if it isn’t that serious, but the way his face whitens betrays him. This was all wrong. He should never have let you take this job. He should’ve convinced Maria to pick someone else. 

“Okay. Okay. That’s alright. Scooch up now, I'll grab the kit.” 

“No, no i’ll do it. Just…keep watch. I’ll be alright.”  You rebuff his hovering anxiety, with more certainty than you feel. Mostly for his benefit.

Waving his hesitant form away with marginal annoyance, you grumble out a half-serious “s’fine.”  

You will be, right? Fine? You’ve been through worse injuries than this. It’s not like you’re infected.  Reaching up to rifle through the drawer beside you one-handed, you note that you can no longer feel the sting of your fingers, pinched over the wound to keep it closed.

Joel still hasn’t moved an inch, so you wave him off once more, needle and thread secured in hand. “Need you to keep your eye on the driveway, Joel.” 

 Christ, It’s only your lives at stake here. The last thing you need is him losing focus when he’s the only one with a gun, and you need him to actually use it if you want to make it out of this alive. 

He reluctantly concedes, mumbling to himself. Anger and adrenaline still burn bright and hot in his chest at the sight of your wound, so while you pull on the edge of the thread with your teeth to free it, he turns away to focus on something else that isn’t covered in your blood, eyes landing on the corpse of the last soldier outside. 

He knows he should feel bad that he’d gunned down that young boy without hesitation, should feel guilty. Some of these “officers” were still just kids, shoved out in front of threats as fodder. 

But he doesn’t feel bad. He’ll do it again.

FEDRA radio static crackles from beneath the rest of the bodies splattered in the overgrown grass.

“Second unit ten minutes away, over.” 

Okay. No reason to panic. You have ten minutes. This is fine. 

You try hard not to focus on the mess as you thread the rusty needle with far more force than is required, slippery hands pressing the tip into the top section of flesh that’s split open. You push, wincing. 

And the stupid thing breaks. 

Snaps in two. Like it’s nothing. 

No. no. no no no no. 

Joel’s back is turned, and he misses the horror splashed across your features. Your heart beats out of your chest.

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 “I broke it.”

 He whips around, reaching for you immediately. “What? Broke what?” He spots the split metal beside you, red thread hanging limp, and picks the two ends up with an unreadable expression. 

 Forcing your eyes down purposefully into your mangled, pulsing leg, you barely see the fat lining through the ripples of blood and muscle. Fuck, that’s disgusting. Swallowing back a wave of nausea, you tear your sweat-soaked flannel over your head, pulling it as tight as you can stand. You can’t stitch it up, so this will have to do for now. 

You shiver. Then two hands are firmly gripping your shoulders as you wither beneath Joel as he looms over you, dizzy and disorientated in panic. You grip his wrists to stop from losing face. 

“Fuck. Okay…s’fine…just keep it wrapped. Won’t be long til’ the last of those dirty fuckers show up.” The timbre of his voice is deep, trembling. “I’ll take care of them ‘n then we get the hell out of here. We’ll head straight to Tommy’s..” He pauses. “You just gotta hold out for a bit longer, okay?” 

You nod but can’t bring yourself to look at him as he brushes his large palm against your cheek in reassurance, standing to take his position against the wall by the door. You chew on your lip, tasting blood. How long can you really last like this? Night is closing in. The temperature is dropping fast. Your flannel is already wet. The reduced circulation will slow it down, give you maybe fifteen minutes of grace to figure something out. 

But then what? 

The faint rumble of engines sends electric shocks zip-zapping up and down your spine and Joel stands up straighter, index finger hovered over the slope of the trigger. He’s itching to pull it, to kill them all,  end this horror of a day. Bury it in the past where it belongs. He’ll take you back home where it’s safe and run you a bath and forget this ever happened, banish it to the recesses of his nightmares. 

Glossy with cold sweat, your pulse flutters. The ominous creep of a slippery puddle has begun to form between your inner thigh and the mottled floorboards. You count the seconds. And breathe. In and out. In and out. Think. think. think.  

The silence is suffocating as you mull over your possible options. You could look around for another med kit, but what would be the chances? Plus, you can barely move and it would be a waste of energy. What about something to plug the hole? Tampons, pads…anything? Sweeping the barren room, you can’t see shit in the shadows except Johanna’s small frame, lying flat against the mattress.  She’s been eerily still and quiet throughout the standoff, and you wonder if she’s afraid. Tear tracks stain her little cheeks. You chide yourself at forgetting to check on her. 

“You alright, honey?” 

She nods, but you notice the odd angle of her leg, and how she quivers. You had forgotten how dependent young children were, because Ellie was older and fairly self-sufficient now. An adult could potentially manage with a broken leg on foot for a while on regular terrain, but not a 6 year old. She needs a doctor, antibiotics. Joel will need to carry her back to Jackson. 

The thing is, the numbness in your thigh that’s creeping steadily toward your hip tells you that the bullet has almost certainly nicked your main artery. Logic suggests you’d never make it to Jackson in time to stop bleeding out. Not even if you could run, let alone being unable to walk by yourself. 

You watch the blood pool and spread, sinking into bug-bitten damp planks. Soaking the soil beneath. There shouldn’t be this much of it. 

You turn back to Joel warily, angling yourself so that only your good leg is facing toward Johanna. She’s already seen far too much today. 

“How many rounds you got left?” You ask. 

“Enough.” He lies.

“Even if you manage the whole unit, I can’t run like this.”  You gesture to your leg, but he doesn’t look. 

“I’ll carry you. S’fine.” He swears, wavering. Convincing himself. 

“Look at me, Joel.” You hiss. 

You’re glaring at him as he methodically checks every part of the gun and frustration bubbles up inside you. You do not have time for his denial. 

“Joel!”  

He looks up at the sound of your growing desperation and you shift, grimacing as your thigh pulses with blistering pain. His eyes lower as you gingerly lift the shirt so he can see how bad it really is, plastered and dripping in the evidence of your failure. The uselessness and futility of it all. He starts toward you. “Don’t fuckin’ take it off! Jesus christ.” 

“Hand me the gun, Miller.” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

You try to push back the tears that are brimming in your eyes. How can you convince him?

“Cop on, for christ’s sake. You only have two hands. If you give me the gun you can get the hell out of here and ta-”

You don’t get to finish your explanation as he slams the shotgun down on the table. The walls shake with the impact of it. “What kind of man do you fuckin’ think I am? Huh? You really think i’d leave you here? Abandon you?”

You exhale gratuitously, trying to get ahold of yourself so you don’t ruin this more than you already have. “It’s not about me Joel.” You plead,  “I know what kind of a man you are. But look at that kid, she can’t fucking run!” 

“ Don’t make this difficult for me” You whisper, biting back a wave of grief at how beautiful he looks in this light, even in his anger. 

His eyes bore holes into yours. Silent. Unwavering. He won’t let you do this, there has to be another way. He’ll find it. 

You look him dead on, mustering all the courage you have left in you. 

“Could you live with yourself? if you let her die, just because you’re too much of a coward to let me go?” You almost regret the weight and severity of your words, but you’re pulling your last card here. Somebody has to survive this mess and you’ll do what you have to do, though it breaks your fucking heart to know you’ll never get the future you were imagining this morning - that you’ll  never feel the warmth of the sun again or be able to see Ellie grow up, never have the garden you wanted so badly, or feel the rush of exhilaration when you ride out with Joel for a job.  You’ll die right here when he leaves you behind and you have to make him do it.

Because if he doesn’t take the girl and get the fuck out out, all three of you are done for. 

“You’re a dad, Miller.” You change tack, voice softer now, lilted. “You know what you have to do.” Your heavy, tired eyes flit to the left. 

He’s silenced by that, pained gaze turned to where the youngster is sat. He knows her leg hurts and he can see the bone is resting at an odd angle. You’re right, she can’t run. But there has to be something he can do.

Joel looks at her like he has to double check several times before turning back to you - words twisted and caught in his throat.  A large, soft hand rests on your thigh. “I-I’ll find another needle and thread and we’ll patch you up right here, okay? You…you can run if it’s stitched. We’ll make it.”  

Tears burn your eyes as you see the devastation mirrored in his own. The longing. You turn your head down, snaking your hand through his curls and pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. Savouring every part of him as much as you can. 

“I’m dying, Joel.” You release the words in one breath, but you surprisingly find you accept them easily. Naturally. You’d thought it’d be difficult to actually acknowledge it, but there’s no apprehension or venom in your voice. 

“Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ dare say that.”

You open your eyes and take him in, heartbroken. All orange and red and purple, soft and dream-like.  A smile touches your cheeks and Joel marvels at that, how beautiful and angelic you are, even while you’re bleeding out in front of him. It’s too much for him and his chest constricts painfully. How could he have let this happen? You can’t be dying. He won’t let you.

“You have to let me go, Miller”  

His head ducks down and he swallows thickly. Joel has felt helplessness before, more times than he cared to remember. This time it’s also denial that crushes him as he scrambles, trying to find a solution he knows already doesn’t exist. This is all happening too fast, his whole life falling down around him. What would he say to Ellie? She would hate him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Not if he did this. 

 “I won’t. I won’t fail again.” 

Panic rises in you at his reluctance and you grip his hand as tight as you can. “You’ll fail me if you don’t get that girl to a doctor! I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t make it home to her mama, Joel.” 

“It’s not your fault.” You add, softly, though he shakes his head ever so slightly. 

You hear the disruptive crackle again. “Unit dropping in five, over.”

He stands abruptly and you do too, taking his outstretched hand and letting him support your weight as you both peer across the lawn, searching for the vehicles, but unable to see much beyond the winding driveway and thicket of trees. 

The engines are a little louder now. Shouts and orders echoing distantly from empty streets and the valley edges. There’s nothing else alive here to make noise, save for a few infected wandering the edges of town. 

Joel’s arm slides comfortably around you and you lean into it. So warm and good. Always there for you. Looking after you. Supporting the weight of your whole world. And as much as your exhausted body is begging for his touch, screaming for the comfort of his arms, dying for him to pick you up and carry you home and wrap you up to lie lazily in his bed, it would be real fuckin’ selfish of you to give in. 

Your heart pangs as you think of Ellie. She’ll never forgive you. 

Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t care anymore and you look at Joel, really look, trying to etch every detail of this man’s face into your memory. God, he was beautiful. Every gentle line and every hair, the tug of his soft mouth and the glint of his eyes. 

Your left hand grips his over the cold metal and you steel your resolve. This time you have to be the strong one. For him. For her. 

“Give me the fucking gun, Joel.” 

There’s a moment of silence where you think he might fight, might try to convince you there’s another way, try to make you run with him even though you can’t even stand up properly. But  his grip relaxes and a huge wave of relief washes over you. Adjusting your position, you struggle unceremoniously with his help to a spot underneath the window that’ll give you the cover you need while you do this last thing. Your muscles relax against the floor, eager to rest. He reluctantly lets you slide down. 

At the kickback of a truck that’s too close, he moves over to Johanna and crouches, motioning for her to climb onto his broad back. “Come on now, sweetheart” 

“What about her?” The girl’s voice is quiet, resigned. 

“Don’t you worry honey, I’ll be right behind you.” The lie is smooth and sweet in your mouth. Too easy, too sure. Parental. Joel’s been rubbing off on you. You reassure her even as you begin to tremble. 

Joel’s expression is unreadable and he takes a shaky step toward you, holding his cargo carefully. She clings to him and you try to steel yourself.

Doors shut and slam in the near distance, and you realize they must be equipping and briefing down at the turnoff because they don’t know you know they’re coming. You give Joel a pointed look at the open back door, a silent directive. Go. They’ve parked up. You need the time.  Instead, he advances til he’s right in front of you.  

“What are you doing?” You croak, not wanting to prolong this, for his sake as well as your own. Aren’t you suffering enough? “You gotta go, Joel. You got like, five minutes to put as much ground as you can between us.” 

“Let me look at you, for christ’s sake.” one last time. Committing to his own memory your sure grip of the shotgun he taught you how to use, searing into his brain the way your hair is curling in the humidity and the pretty silhouette of your nose. The inky brush of your eyelashes. When he’d picked you up two years ago in Arizona, you couldn’t even set a trap. Now here you are, willing to do the unthinkable for a child you don’t even know. 

Would he still have stopped to throw you in the back of his truck, all that time ago,  knowing now that going with him would end this way? That you’d never even make it to 30? That being with him was a death sentence? 

He’s not strong enough to say that he wouldn’t have done everything exactly the same, and he thinks that’s fucking selfish. But what was his life without you? Knowing your warmth and your life and your joy, could he have ever consciously chosen to live without it? He’d never meant for this to happen. He had promised to protect you, not to leave you behind to die in some dirty shack. After all you’d been through and all the cards you’d been dealt, he’d sworn to make sure he’d take care of you for the rest of your life. That pain and death would be kept at bay. That you wouldn’t have to worry anymore. 

 Anger and despair and frustration all battled for dominance inside him, leaving him raw and broken  in front of you. He’d coped with so much death, lost Sarah’s mom, then Sarah. Nearly lost Ellie. How could he give you up like this? Even when there was no other choice, no other way?. 

In that moment he feels completely pathetic in the light of your bravery. Guilt crawls up his spine, twisting and pulling. He’s failed you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You, frustrated,  sniff back the sob that’s trying to break out of you. “No, Joel, it’s-”

“I’ll come back. Tonight.”  He interrupts, tormented. His own sorrow crashing over you both. You shake your head. He can’t. Plus, you don’t want him to see whatever sorry state you’re sure your body will be in by that time. 

“You gotta stay with Ellie, Joel.” 

 Reminded suddenly of the book in your bag and not wanting to forget your promise, you use your good leg to boot it over towards Joel. “Here,” Worn canvas slides along the floor and he retrieves it with his free arm, pulling the strap over and looking inside, realizing he’s looking at the book you’d been yarning your mouth off about.

“Promised her i’d pick something up. She was so mad at me for leaving her behind.” You offer, laughter mute and subdued. 

He pulls it out. 

“Give it to her yourself.” He returns, pleading. 

Your gaze softens. “You’ll tell her I’m sorry?”

He curses and runs a hand over his face and his pain in tandem with your own is unbearable. So you close your eyes. The smell of him is still so intoxicating and you breathe deeply, willing it to linger, to comfort you.

The truth is, you’re only being brave for his sake. You know that if you let him see how afraid you really are, he’ll never be able to leave. You lean back against the wall, hoping it will ground you.

All of a sudden, his warm mouth is on your forehead pressing a kiss into you, and the intensity behind it blinds you despite the fact you can’t see anything anyway. The kind of kiss that’s supposed to stay with you. The only way he can. You’re dizzy, suddenly. You defy the urge to reach up and keep him held tight against you forever. 

“I’ll bring you home, I promise.”  The hope in his voice almost breaks you. If you do your job right, there won’t be enough of you left for that.  

“I’ll be here.” You let the sobs tear through your body, gripping the shotgun as if it’s the only thing grounding you. Your heart squeezes painfully. Sounds become louder. Boots on gravel, metal clicking. You were out of time five minutes ago. 

“Go.” You cry, unable to hold it back. You are fatigued now, everything hurts, every cell in your body is aching for rest and comfort and he has to leave now. 

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He has to force his legs to move, every bone in his body, every instinct denying the act. The weight of the little girl in his arms barely registering. She’s passed out from the shock, breathing steadily against him.  He can’t tear his eyes away from your shaking hands as he backs towards the door. 

 I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. Please forgive me.  Please be alive. I’ll come for you. 

The thud of his boots grows quieter, and you wait several minutes (trying not to fall into the clutches of a greedy sleep) until there’s nothing but the encroaching sound of your killers and the hum of their vehicles. Blinking away your tears, you realize with mid-sob that a warm weight is over your lap, stifling the chill that ripples away from you like waves in a pond. Eyes adjusting back to the light, you  discover the culprit is his tattered, worn leather jacket. Of course. It’s been placed over you so carefully, so quietly, that you didn’t even notice. 

Clutching it against you, you allow yourself to let go now. You cry and cry and cry until you’re empty, choking, throat hoarse. You don’t care if the FEDRA boys hear you, you don’t care if anyone hears you. Joel’s gone now, he won’t have to listen to this pathetic demonstration of your fear. 

Please, God, let her live. Let her live, let her live. I’ll do anything you want. Keep her alive for me. 

Joel’s not a believer in higher power, but you are, so he prays to your god anyway, as the scent of fir smothers the air, and the cacophony of the forest sounds too much like you. Reminds him of your sweet smile and the honey in your brown eyes as the sun dipped into them. How many afternoons passed by, lazily drenched in summer heat, like two cats gorged on life? How many moments has he spent, mapping and memorizing you? He’s walked away, but everything inside him is still there, in the shack with you. He hopes that you won’t be cold now. That his jacket will keep you warm enough and that maybe, maybe, you can slip away before FEDRA even gets to you. Maybe you can hide. 

It’s logically close to impossible.  

He feels like a hypocrite, muttering promises under his breath as he stumbles through the night, and wonders how could he pray now? Offer words up to a God who had condemned you both here? And who was God to choose? To turn the wheel, throw the dice on who’s life to give and who’s to take away? How was that fair at all? To take away your future like that? His future, too? 

He also makes different kinds of promises. Ones he’ll keep to himself that involve his baser self. An eye for an eye. They took you from him? He’d take everything. Destroy the whole organisation from the inside out. 

FEDRA and the whole damn world could go blind for all he fucking cared. He wasn’t fighting for justice. You deserved more than that. You deserved to have somebody avenge you. You deserved to know that you meant enough to somebody, were loved enough, that they’d tear apart the world for you.

 He doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life. 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

You hiccup,  wiping your blurry eyes on the back of your hand with your shirt. His shirt. Sniffing and hoping Joel won’t find your face covered in tear stains and snot after you die, (despite the absurdity of it, you’d be so embarassed) you cock his shotgun and take a preliminary aim out of the corner of the hole in the glass window pane. By your own calculations, It’ll take the six men at the bottom of the winding driveway about a minute to get up the lawn, and you need to give Joel as big of a head start as you possibly can, although he’s likely already far enough away. You spot three more younger boys bringing up the rear.  They walk slowly and using your other hand, you pull the leather jacket over you, settling against the window frame further because you’re tired and you’re  done moving. 

“Come out with your hands up, Miller!” 

You bite your lip and stay silent. You wanted to wait as long as possible before engaging them and having them realize Joel isn’t with you, but one of the older officers with a “commander” badge fastened to his lapel slipped your eyeline and has come far too close to your position near the door.  You decide quickly that you’ll pick him off before he can spot you. With a twitch of your index and a bang that’s absorbed into the hungry night sky, the man’s dead in the dirt with a splatter the size of Texas covering his front. 

Unexpected chaos erupts. The younger officers are not as well trained as you had assumed they would be. To your dismay, they immediately panic,  breaking formation and begin firing.  Your own shots only take down two more. 

The planks of the door blister and break and shrapnel and dust fills the air. You instinctively turn away from the window.  “Shit!” 

You have seconds left to reload and you’re too slow. But you’d known it was coming to this. Every moment of your life, every choice you made, leading you to this moment. You know you must look pathetic like this, crouched under the frame, bleeding out, cowering. In pain. But you’d do it all again for him.  Joel was safe now, he’d make sure Johanna got back. That was all that mattered. 

Your life in exchange for theirs. You, for two futures. More than fair. Jackson wouldn’t suffer through the winter. Ellie would still get her book. Joel still had time, he could find someone else, maybe even love again. 

Boots thud and voices yell and a piercing pain suddenly blooms from your chest. Vermillion unraveling over your chest like an unfurling flower in spring. The door collapses into the frame and soldiers spill into the shack. Everything is hazy and distorted, shapes dissolving this way and that, voices shrill and every noise and sensation amplified. Faceless men. Toy soldiers. The overstimulation is painful, and you feel someone shaking you - hard. Another is clicking his fingers in front of your eyes, trying to keep you conscious. 

“Hey, look at me! Miller. Where’s Miller?!” 

“Don’t worry boys.” You cough out, laughing.  It’s strange in your ears. Everything is ringing.  When Joel finds your shot-up corpse, he’ll lose his mind, and as much as you hate that he’ll have to see it, you get a kind of sick satisfaction knowing they’ll have to suffer at his hands for what they’ve done. That your pain won’t go unpunished.

“He’ll…he’ll be back for-” You can’t manage to finish  because blood has backed up in your throat, but you’re sure they get the picture.  The iron taste is  final in your mouth, filling up your lungs.  You stop trying to hold yourself up, there’s no point. The soldiers are yelling, still trying to communicate with you. You’re done now. 

As you hit the floor with an exhausted thud, you close your eyes against the sensory overload and it’s as if your subconscious knows you must be on the way out, because as FEDRA hands pull and grab at your shivering body and slick liquid pools on your stomach and waist, you’re enveloped  by the arrest of your own memories, soaked in endorphins, dripping in affection. Your favourites flash before your eyes. The afternoon in the wheat field, your poems, the first time you’d met Ellie. His hands on your body for the first time, delicious currents rippling through your skin at his touch. His kisses, soft and luxurious, every touch for you so contradictive to everything else he had to handle in his life. The fire in your veins a result of his devotion to your pleasure - a way for him to reconcile the other things he’d had to do before you came along. 

You know it isn’t real, know it’s that thing that happens to your brain when you die, but in your delirium you can swear that you hear Ellie’s tinkling laugh, feel the tender relief of Joel’s hands hot over your skin, melting away the bitter pain of the cold. You know you feel his breath on your neck and his kiss on your temple. You take it all, and you reach out - knowing he’s there. Whatever happens now, wherever you go, he’ll hold you. He’ll keep you safe. 

“It’s cold here. It hurts, Joel.” 

“‘S okay baby. I’m here now….no more pain. No more cryin’.” 

He’s mouth-wateringly warm. 

“I’m so afraid…so…so tired” You try to remember how you got here and what you were doing, but everything is so heavy around you, suppressing you.  

“I know y’are. I know. You did well, sweetheart, we’re so proud of you. You’re so brave. My brave girl. But I need y’to let go and rest now, can you do that for me? ”  

Of course. You’ll do anything he asks. You acquiesce easily, curling into him. So, so sleepy… 

“Okay. Will you stay with me?” 

“ I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

You let go and dip gently into the black, waiting abyss.

[enigma-the-mysterious]

WIP Wednesday: 31/7/24

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RRR has consumed my brain so all recent WIPs are from there. Almost the same as last week. I managed to combine "Ram's thoughts as he carries Bheem away" with another draft like I said I would. I also added a new work to my WIP list. The plot bunnies are multiplying :p

1. Bheem's thoughts after the betrayal: What it says on the tin. Angst, angst, angst and more angst. There isn't enough Bheem trauma fics in the fandom and I am here to fix that

2. Aftermath of Bheem's arrest: Fucktons of angst and Ram being emo and self destructive as usual

3. Inspired: Bheem still has nightmares about the events at Delhi. He and Ram talk. Angst with comfort

4. Chocolate: Dosti era. Ram introduces Bheem to chocolate :D :D :D Pure, self indulgent fluff

5. Ram's guilt about the flogging: What it says on the tin. Post movie. Angst with comfort

Snippet from WIP 5.

"I should have protected you."

"You did."

"No," Ram snarled, feral, vicious. "I did not."

Bheem smiled, in the same serene way he had on the night when he trusted his most carefully guarded secret with the wrong person. "Yes, you did. I know it in my heart. When you told me to kneel, that was not actually an order, was it? It was a plea from you. You took no pleasure from my torture, did you, anna?"

Ram remained silent. He wanted to deny the truth in Bheem's words, for every word that he spoke felt like it was a word closer to Bheem spelling out his forgiveness, his absolution, his mercy for Ram and Ram hated that.

But he could not do it, not anymore. In Delhi, there were too many lies and secrets between them, half truths that ripped them apart and frayed the bond Ram had once thought was holy. So Ram was tired. He was so fucking tired.

"Tell me, anna," Bheem went on, clasping his hands tighter over Ram's fists, as if he feared that Ram would crumble into dust otherwise. Maybe he would. Six months of torture at the hands of the British and this was what would finally break him. The quiet strength and the tender kindness of his Bheema. How ironic and fitting at the same time.

"Tell me all the ways you protected me, saved me, kept my weary heart beating through the torture."

Ram choked on a sob. "I… I can't."

"Yes, you can. You can do this for me, your tammudu, right anna?"

His lips trembled. Memories flooded unbidden. The weight of Catherine's whip in his hand. The strain on his arm as he ripped out chunks of his dearest friend's flesh. The strength of Bheem's song, the stubborn defiance in his eyes, the fire directed at him, the pride in his eyes, his utter refusal to kneel. The warmth of Bheem's blood on his face. God, there had been so much blood. Blood rolling down his back, blood drenching his white dhoti, blood pooled at his feet, blood soaking the holy soil.

Bheem's body a dead weight on his shoulder.

A warm mist descended over his vision.

Dammit, how was he supposed to form words in such a state?

"I… I tried, Bheema," he finally said, swallowing another fit of sobs. "I tried so damn hard, to make it easy for you. But… but I failed."

Bheem raised both their hands and placed it over his chest. His broad, solid, moving chest.

"You didn't," he said and now his voice sounded strained too. "My heart still beats. My life still thrums in my veins, anna. If it was not for you, I would be dead. If it was any white officer, I would be dead. If it was anyone else, I would be dead at that whipping post."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by Ram's loud exhales.

"Tell me."

[nausikaaa]

Six Sentence Sunday

thanks for tagging me @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe and @forabeatofadrum!

heads up, i might not be posting much writing for the next month, as some family stuff has come up and i won't have much free time or energy. but i wrote up a WIP Wednesday post for this week and saved it to my drafts before everything happened, then forgot to actually post it, so i guess i'll schedule that for this upcoming wednesday. after that, who knows if i'll get time, but now here's some more of my OCs before they go back into hibernation:

It was weird to be in Roman’s house without his dad in it. Where it had been warm and welcoming when I’d visited before, it felt cold and empty in comparison. Harry was an imposing man at first sight, barrel chested and windswept, with a dark tan, generous smattering of freckles, and thick lines in his face from working outside in all weathers. But he was a comforting presence, with his quiet love of books, deep laughter, and warm hugs. I miss him, despite barely knowing him. I can only imagine how hard this is on Roman, and he’s holding up remarkably well, but I wish he’d talk to me more.

feel free to keep tagging me while i'm absent, i'll try to keep up @j-nipper-95 @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @prettygoododds @that-disabled-princess @imagineacoolusername @theearlgreymage @aristocratic-otter @larkral @hushed-chorus @ivelovedhimthroughworse @blackberrysummerblog @fatalfangirl @ebbpettier @cutestkilla @youarenevertooold @alleycat0306 @alexalexinii @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @shutup-andletme-go @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @thewholelemon @supercutedinosaurs and @martsonmars

[theawkwardterrier]

I’m going to be greedy and ask about several 🥰:

🍄💾🖍️🤔 and of course ❤️❤️❤️

💾 What is your document of your wip/a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

I'm an insane person, so I write pretty much the entire first draft of each of my fics inside a document called To Do, which is a Google Doc that I've been keeping since ~2013, and which contains not only my writing, links and notes that I needed to put somewhere, and random quotes that I might want to use as a fic title one day, but an actual decade-old to do list that starts with "GO TO BED EARLIER!" something I have still not managed to do consistently.

Since the 1870s fic is fully drafted, it gets its own docs/folder; those are labeled Invisible Hearts.

🖍 Post Any sentence from your wip

A little bit from the end of the latest chapter of the six months AU:

“If you’ve changed your mind about Laoghaire, you need to tell her, Jamie. I won’t always be here to help the way that I did today,” she says, a reminder to them both. “I know it,” he says, somber now, the words encompassing everything that they both mean but cannot make themselves say. “And I must work out what must be done, and how. But here, now.” He places a large, warm palm on her back. “You and the bairn must be starvin’ after a day on yer feet, workin’ in the dark. Let’s see what Mrs. Fitz and her ladies have made to fill ye.”

🍄 and 🤔 answered here!