#it doesn’t mean she can’t feel for what her younger self felt

[screamingiminlovewithyou]

Just because taylor released WCS doesn’t mean what she said about not caring about what happened to her at 19 isn’t true. Like stopppp trying to find a way to not believe everything she says.

[sinofwriting]

lover - Oscar Piastri

Words: 2,958 Summary: Press and fans find out during the Australian GP that Oscar isn’t single, in fact he is married. The more troubling part is the rest of the grid finding that out as well. Note(s)/Warning(s): Some drivers aren’t portrayed greatly in this, not because I don’t love them, but because they're a bit dumb and stupid. Some interesting thoughts about Lando and Max and Mclaren and Red Bull. Some angst. Logan is protective of Oscar and Oscar’s wife (his self proclaimed little sister). Slight NSFW at the end. Once again stating that I love all the drivers mentioned and written in this fic. (If anyone is interested in knowing more about my thoughts on the whole Lando, Mclaren, Max, Red Bull thing, send me an ask.)

Masterlist | Support Me! | lover verse

“Hey, Apples.” Oscar greets when he picks up the phone. “Os,” He frowns, stopping in his steps, ignoring how Lando is trying to wave him over for something. “What’s wrong?” She sighs, “You know how I said I wouldn’t get lost?” He breathes a sigh of relief that it's nothing serious, smiling again. “Lando’s trying to get my attention for something, but I’ll text Logan to get you. That okay?” “Yeah. I’ve missed our American boy.” Oscar scoffs, “you’ve missed him. I’ve had to deal with him.” She laughs, “Uh huh. I’ll let you go, but have fun talking to Lando. I’ll see you later, Os.” “Later, Apples.”

Ending the call, he quickly messages Logan. The message brief and he’s not surprised when the American driver sends back quickly a simple thumbs up.

“What’s up, Lando?” He asks, when he finally gets close enough to his teammate. “You’re married?” Oscar blinks at the British driver. This is what Lando had been waving him over for? Something he already knew. “Yeah. Have been.” His eyebrows press together. “Are you alright? Hit your head or something?” “No!” Lando shrieks, making him jump back. “You’re married. When did that happen?”

His shriek and loud words catch a few other drivers' attention and before Oscar can process it, he has Charles, George, Checo, Mick, and Lance also surrounding him, asking him if he’s really married.

The repeated question has him blinking widely, wondering if there’s something in the air that’s making them all have memory loss.

“Yes, I’m married. Why are you guys acting like this is new news?” “Non.” Charles says, eyes wide. “You can’t be married. You are a baby. Younger than Arthur.” He rolls his eyes at the words. “Fuck off, mate. I’m not a baby.” Charles pouts. “But you are so young to be married.” Oscar’s nose wrinkles at the words, lips pressing together. “Right.” He nods, holding back what he wants to say. “I don't know what to tell you guys. I’m married and I thought you guys knew.” George scoffs, “none of us had any idea. And twitter is going crazy, mate.” “What do you mean twitter? I’ve been married since I was eighteen. This isn’t a new thing.” “Eighteen!” Oscar nearly throws his hands in the air. “How did not one of you know? It’s public knowledge. Like all marriages.” He doesn’t mention the fact that he has definitely mentioned his wife in infront of all the drivers, they all obviously had trouble listening. Lando flushes, “I mean, you don’t really talk about yourself. So, I guess it just never got brought up?” He offers, though it feels a little weak and Lando can’t help but wonder if Oscar had mentioned it but he had just thought that it was a joke or had been tuning him out because it wasn’t team or race related.

“Late congratulations then Oscar. She is here, no?” Checo says. Oscar smiles at the older driver. It had felt odd that he had joined the rest of them, but it was clear he had joined because of the mention of another driver having a wife. They were few and far between. “Yeah, first race weekend this season.” “Give her my congratulations as well.” “I will.” He tells the older driver, watching as he leaves before turning his attention back to the other five.

“I’m private, but I’m not that private, you guys.” He says, and before one of them can say anything an American voice is speaking up from behind him. “Private about what?”

Logan eyes the five drivers surrounding Oscar, nearly cornering him. The girl next to him breath catches a little at the sight and he squeezes her a bit closer before dropping his arm from around her shoulder.

“Everything alright?” He asks, no one having answered his previous question. Oscar turns his head to throw him a grateful look before completely turning around seeing the girl beside him, a smile blooming across his face. “Logan find you okay?” He can see from the corner of his eye, her nod shyly, fidgeting under the stares of five complete strangers and Logan gives the girl he considers a little sister a light push to Oscar. Knowing that they’ll both feel better with some contact.

Logan turns his head to face her when she gives a light tug to his shirt and he easily tilts his head a little downwards to receive the kiss on the cheek she gives as silent thanks, trying not to smirk at the wide eyed looks the other drivers are giving him. He turns his head back to face them, when she joins Oscar, the youngest driver on the grid, easily wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close, though keeping her slightly tucked behind him.

“No one knew I was married.” Oscar tells him, answering his question from before. Logan’s eyebrows furrow. “What? It’s public knowledge.” He shrugs, “twitter is apparently going nuts. No one knew.” He then nods his head towards the five drivers in front of them. “Including other drivers.” He scoffs, “that’s a joke right?” None of them say anything and Logan can feel a simmer of anger starting in his gut. “Seriously. I’ve heard him mention her when all the drivers were around. Mark made a joke at the first race about him being married.”

No one of them say anything to that and Logan can feel his eyes narrow seeing Lando and George exchange a quick look.

It wasn’t necessarily surprising to hear that people on twitter were freaking out about it. It wasn’t something that first came up when you searched Oscar Piastri. But for not one of the drivers to know? Especially after hearing Oscar mention her? Mark make a joke about it? It rubbed him the wrong way.

He wondered if it was because when they all did a quick google on Oscar nothing about him being married came up. A combination of money buying a little privacy, though not enough to bury or hide a public marriage, and how private Oscar was as a person. He didn’t like talking about himself, was a little hard to make friends with unless effort was really put in or you were around him often enough. He also doubted that any of the drivers had really tried to get to know him due to the whole McLaren thing and the Alpine drama of last year. They only knew so much about Logan because everything was online about him, a problem with too much money, and he was willing to play into the whole about himself American persona.

It also makes him wonder if Oscar had been lying when he said that Lando and him were getting along. It was still early days, but for Lando not to know that Oscar was married? It spelled something that Logan didn’t like and the thought of Max not being the only teammate killer crosses his mind before he can stop it and he shakes his head. It was far too early for that and unfair to both Max and Lando. They weren’t the true issues or at least at the moment in Logan’s eyes Max wasn’t, their teams were.

Logan shakes his head at the silence from the other drivers still. He didn’t know what to say. Other than he wanted to tell them all to get their ears fucking checked. But he holds his tongue.

“Well now you guys know.” He tells them after another moment of silence. “This is Y/N, Oscar’s wife. And you already know all these guys.” She nods, giving them a small wave that Lance and Mick return before quickly walking away with quiet apologies. “You are a baby as well.” Charles says, eyes widening right after, clearly not having meant to say that. She looks at Oscar and then Logan. “I thought you guys said that Arthur was worse than him.” Logan laughs at the way Charles looks offended, mouth open in shock. “Charles has his moments.” Feeling a slight tug to his hoodie, Oscar gives a nod to his teammate and the other two drivers. “We have to get going. Talk to you tomorrow.” He tells them, before stepping away, knowing that Logan is following just barely not on their heels.

Logan and her both hang outside of the McLaren headquarters for the weekend, waiting for Oscar to come back from a quick talk with his race engineer.

“Lando.” She begins and she can feel Logan’s full attention on her. “Do I need to worry?” “Everyone likes him. He’s likable.” He tells her, trying to ignore what she’s getting at. Doesn’t want to think about the thought that popped into his head barely fifteen minutes ago. “Logan,” Her voice is a little harsh. “Do I need to worry about Oscar being teammates with him? We all saw what happened with Daniel at least with what the media said. And I’m grateful that McLaren gave Oscar one of his dreams. But do I need to worry that they will ruin him for Lando?” He can’t make his eyes meet hers, can’t when he can’t give her a sure answer. “I don’t know. Lando to McLaren is like Charles to Ferrari nearly, just not as predestined, I guess.” The words are sour sounding. “He still has good relationships with Daniel and Carlos.” “Max is called a teammate killer and he’s got a great relationship with Daniel. A fair one with Alex according to your texts. And we all know that it’s not him, but Red Bull that’s the killer.” He can’t help but glance around despite their whispers, wincing as she repeats his thought from earlier of Lando being perceived as a teammate killer. This really wasn’t the place to have this conversation, but he understood her need for some sort of answer. “I don’t know.” He repeats. “It’s still early. I want to say that McLaren will be fair to Oscar and treat him well, won’t treat him like a second class driver, but after them breaking a contract with Daniel.” He swallows harshly. “I don’t know.” And he hates that.

Getting into Formula 1, getting the chance that nearly all drivers dreamed of but only some got was supposed to be fun. Sure there was always going to be pressure and stress, but no one had warned him about the politics of it all.

“Okay,” she tells him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug and he can’t help but rest his head on her shoulder. Letting her bear his weight for a moment. “It’ll be okay Logan. And thank you.” “Of course.” He mumbles. And suddenly there’s another set of arms wrapping around him and her. He only doesn’t move or lift his head because he knows those arms and there’s an Australian accent in his ears.

“You alright, Logan?” He lifts his head to nod, not wanting to hurt her. “Yeah, just stress.” He squeezes them both a little tighter. “Can say that again.” Logan smirks, beginning to open his mouth but then a finger is poking between his ribs and he’s jumping out of the hug, rubbing at the spot with a pout. “Hey!” She shakes her head at him, pressing closer to Oscar as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t get cheeky. You still coming to dinner with us?” Logan scoffs, “Of course. I’m not missing out on seeing Nicole and Chris.” “My parents will be there as well.” Logan throws his hands in the air, starting to walk backwards. “Why are we still here then?”

“Still missed him?” Oscar asks her as they start to follow him. She laughs at the dry but teasing tone. “Of course. He’s a great older brother.” “He is, isn’t he?” He has a put on suffering face, but there’s a fondness in his eyes as he looks ahead to where Logan is. “He is.”

“Is everything alright?” He asks, slowing their pace a bit more. She hesitates. “We’ll talk about it after dinner, but it should be.” His brows furrow at the response and he can’t help but squeeze her closer. “Are you okay?” “I’m all good, Os. Just worrying.” “Promise?” “Promise.”

—

“You’re worried.” He brings up nearly five hours later as they soak in the bath together, her back to his chest, his fingers interlaced, hands resting on her stomach and her hands resting on top of his. He can feel her breathing stutter and his heart clenches inside of his chest at the reaction. She had always been a bit of a worrier. He wasn’t exactly sure where she got it from, no siblings to inherit the trait from and her parents were fairly laid back. But this seemed different, more serious. “I had some thoughts about McLaren. I needed to talk to Logan about them. He had some of the same ones.” “Like?” She pauses, lips pressing together for a moment. “McLaren gave you your dream.” “One of my dreams.” He corrects her, picking up her left hand and pressing a kiss to her ring finger. Her wedding band and ring sitting on the bathroom counter instead of being where they belong. “One of your dreams.” She corrects. “They clearly favor Lando.” His hand and hers settling back where they were. “Lando’s an experienced driver, Apples.” he lets out a small laugh. “It’s only my first season. I’m a rookie.” “Oscar,” she turns slightly to look at him. “Daniel was a more experienced driver. He even got them their first win in how many years and look what they did to him?” He winces at the reminder. It would always slightly haunt him that the only reason he had a seat at McLaren is because they tossed Daniel like trash practically. Didn’t sit right with him and suddenly the solemness on her and Logan’s faces earlier made sense. “You two think they’ll do the same to me?” “I think that as long as Lando gives them some sort of positive result he’ll always be their number one. Even if you perform better.” He swallows at the words, because fuck it was looking like that wasn’t it?

Lando was a great driver, amazing, Oscar was thrilled to get to be his teammate and learn from him. But Daniel had pulled results from the McLaren, even if he hadn’t gotten as much as Lando did from it last season. It made no sense to get rid of an experienced driver or push him aside for a younger driver that would have years more left on the grid. And as he sits thinking about it, he’s reminded of how much last season McLaren put Lando first over Daniel, despite Daniel having a better chance or opportunity. Remembers some of the races he attended seeing Daniel’s frustrated, tired face as he got out of the car.

“You think Lando’s going to get called a teammate killer?” He knew her mind, knew it wasn’t a far stretch considering how Carlos was perceived at Ferrari and how Daniel wasn’t even racing this season. “I think that if people are willing to call Max one when Red Bull is clearly the problem, it’s a miracle that he hasn’t been called it already.” “Fuck.” He whispers, dropping his head to rest it on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She whispers and he lifts his head back up. “Don’t. We’re a team. This would have driven you mad keeping it to yourself.” It was a lot, but he was thankful it was being brought up now. Gave him more time. And god he’d have to bring it up with Mark. He could only imagine that the man would want to talk to her. Mark had always appreciated her thoughts and knew that they were a team. He didn’t just bring things to him, but to her as well.

“Charles doesn’t like me, I think.” Oscar can’t help but laugh. The tension that had filled the bathroom, leaving. “You did say that he was worse than Arthur.” “In that moment he was.” She defends and he presses a kiss to her cheek, still laughing. “Once he gets over being told he’s worse than Arthur, he’ll like you just fine.” “Think so?” “Know so.” He corrects. “Not many people dislike you, Apples.” “But you like me best.” She says, smiling. “Like you best and love you best. Love you so much.” He murmurs before pressing a series of kisses to her cheek making her giggle and then squealing when he manhandles her until she’s facing him, straddling him.

“Hi, Apples.” She beams at him and he can’t help but swallow at the brightness of her eyes. “Hi, Os.” “You ready for bed?” She lets out a little hum, wiggling her hips and his hands grasp at her waist, the lust that had started to simmer inside of him when he had turned her around growing at the pressure against his dick. “You have a race tomorrow.” “Is that a no?” “We haven’t had sex during a race weekend in over a year now. Don’t want you to be tired tomorrow.” “I’ll be alright.” He tells her, pressing her down a bit and can see the way her eyes dilate at the feeling of him growing hard underneath her. “Might even make me place higher.” “Well, only if you think it’ll make you place higher.” She teases and he can’t help but lean forward and kiss her.

She sighs into it, pressing closer to him, chests touching as he bites gently at her lip. “I’ve missed you.” She breathes when they separate, her eyes on the slight flushed face of her husband. “I’ve missed you too.”

---

Tagging: @ireadthensuetheauthors @copper-boom @lpab @gemofthenight @peachiicherries

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Fourteen

Words: 5.3k

Joel and Tommy search the town for Ellie just as you are facing down the clickers that threaten you and her both. With Shauna having taken off with your rifle you watch in horror as Ellie screams for their attention.

Chapter warnings: Canon-typical violence, Shauna gets her own warning, weapons, a pretty solid attempt at gaslighting.

A/N: Sorry it took me a hot minute to update, but an old injury is playing up a little and I needed to rest my wrist. But nevermind that, penultimate chapter here we goooooo.....Will Ellie and Teach's lives hanging in the balance finally give Joel the kick up the bum he deserves? Will Shauna get what's coming to her? Let me know what you think in the comments, I'm very keen to see what you make of this one! THANK YOU xx

Thirteen | Series Masterlist | Fifteen

Walking beside his horse, Joel pulled on the reins only gently. He could feel that the horse was with him, didn’t intend on bolting now that they were in the town proper. Having doubled back to pick up the horses, they had turned and come back around to the main street, trying to find a house close enough that they could monitor movement without being seen.

It was growing steadily darker. Joel could feel the stone shifting heavy in his belly as the dusk slid over the mountain to his left. He couldn’t figure why it had been so quiet. It set his teeth on edge.

‘You should head back,’ he said to Tommy, ignoring the way his little brother shook his head. ‘Head on back to Robin and Maria. You got a family.’

‘So do you, Joel…’ he said, and Joel felt the little trickle of fear dripping along his ribcage. He had been trying not to think about it, of you and Ellie, out here in the cold.

‘Can’t risk anything happenin’ to ya. For your wife, for your kid…’ he said, and Tommy stopped short, pulling his horse up beside Joel and making him stop alongside. Joel stumbled a little, the soft ground slippery under foot.

‘You imagine it was me,’ Tommy spat out. ‘It was me out here trying to chase down Maria, trying to chase down Robin. You reckon you’d leave me out here on my own?’

Joel considered it for a moment. He would break Tommy’s legs if his younger brother tried to stop him riding by his side.

Tommy watched the realisation dawn over Joel’s face. ‘We can keep goin’ at first light,’ Tommy said, and Joel nodded.

‘It just doesn’t feel right…’ Joel said, and Tommy was about to protest before he cut him off. ‘Here, I mean. Something’s not right…here…’

Both men looked back to the butcher, almost expecting the self-sacrificed corpse to appear in the window, watching them pass.

Every time he stopped, the hooves of the horse settling into the mud, he could swear he could hear whispers on the wind. He couldn’t decide if they were real, if they were just his panic finally leaking out of his brain and seeping into the air around him. If he was hearing the ghosts, the decades of bodies lost to the fungus, lost to themselves.

‘Reckon we can hole up in one of these houses…’ Tommy was saying, but something was catching Joel’s attention, something shifting out of the corner of his eye.

‘Tommy?’ he asked, squinting to see several blocks down the main street, to where he could have sworn he saw movement. ‘You see anything? Up there…on the corner?’

He felt his brother still behind him. For a moment both men held their breaths.

Just at the end of the street, far enough that you could miss it if you weren’t paying close attention, something jerked. Swivelled. Shuffled a few steps back.

‘Jesus…’ Tommy muttered, dropping his voice under the wind. ‘Just out in the open like that…’

‘Means there’s likely no-one left,’ Joel whispered. ‘No-one out here left for them to pounce on.’

He gripped the reins in his hand harder. If he had turned his head, he would have seen his knuckles almost entirely white.

‘We gotta…’ Tommy started, but Joel was already pulling his rifle in front of him, was already inching forward. He didn’t even notice he was pulling is horse along with him too, so transfixed on the sight of the clicker two blocks up the street.

‘Stay back,’ he whispered, over his shoulder. Tommy faltered before stepping forward, his older brother shooting him a disapproving glare. If he hadn’t been so terrified, Tommy would have grinned at him.

Joel’s eyes started to stream from holding them wide open in the cold air. As they inched closer they watched as the clicker swivelled, reacting to something around the corner, cocking its head to the side to angle the bloom obliterating its eye towards the sound. It didn’t seem to have clocked them yet, approaching quietly from behind, but Joel still found himself having to remind himself to breathe.

Half a block forward another clicker emerged from across the street, wobbling its way towards the corner. This one was moving quicker, the blooms emerging from its skull smaller, less formed. It was possible that it still had some vision underneath, that it still had the benefit of both its senses, and that was why it was moving with slightly more purpose than its counterpart.

Joel felt his heart racing in his chest, wanting to stop to steady himself, feeling the urgent pull to push forward. Two clickers were as good as an army if you were a teenager out here on your own. He wasn’t sure if Ellie had taken any weapons with her, could only pray she’d had the presence of mind to take something other than her measly little flick knife. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and longed, ached, to clear it. He swallowed down the burn instead, felt the back of his tongue too thick and too dry in his mouth.

For the first time, Joel realised he was pulling a horse beside him. He cursed under his breath, hearing the thump of its hooves as it made its way through the muddy street. He looked around for a place to hitch it, hoping neither would spook if they had to shoot. Keeping an eye on the scene in front of him he studied the buildings to his left, to his right. The town wasn’t so old that it had hitching posts, and he wondered if he could tether his horse to a twenty-year old decaying parking meter instead.

And just as his gaze travelled the gutters of the shop fronts in front of him, as he lets his eyes traverse the lampposts, the rusted trash cans, something moved just up out of his eyeline. In a moment that would play on loop in his nightmares, he watched as Ellie’s head appeared from the roof of the doctor’s office, a rifle held awkward in her arms.

Joel stopped, panic gripping his throat. If she made even a single sound they would be on her, both of them able to corner her, trap her where she stood. He knew immediately that she had tried to seek higher ground, had followed his instructions as best she could, and he couldn’t be mad at her for that. But she hadn’t considered exit points. She’d been too eager or too scared, and he hoped it was the former, to properly plan. He wanted to scream, wanted to howl, wanted to sink his bare hands into the neck of that clicker and rip the bloom from its flesh as it dared to threaten his little girl.

This was intolerable. He felt the impotent terror grip him, the same that took him by the sternum the night a solider pointed his gun at his daughter and her twisted ankle, supposed to be kept safe in his arms.

He saw Ellie take aim. For a second the world stopped, the shuddering echo of the globe falling off its axis so clear that he was surprised he wasn’t knocked off his feet where he stood.

He’d stood still, waiting patiently for the soldier to collect himself before he shot and murdered his daughter. Had behaved, had obeyed, and had his whole universe ripped out from under him for it. Had let the panic grip his legs, tie his ankles and his tongue. He had stumbled, fucking dropped her in the dirt like a ragdoll, had ignored her pleas for comfort and let her slip away while he pointlessly fought it, let her last moments be his tear-stained, desperate face. Let his last words to her be lies. That he could save her, when even she could see that he couldn’t. That he could get her up, when she wanted only for his arms to hold her close.

Of all the times he had failed that night and since, that was the worst of it. That in her final moment he wasn’t with her, not really, railing instead against the inevitable pull of her death. He let her go scared. He let her go hurtin’. He let her go while he looked away.

Not again. Not now that he was moving, swinging up onto the back of the horse and counting on the sound of the hooves pounding the wet ground to draw the clickers to him, give him enough time to fire before they trapped Ellie. Joel was dimly aware that Tommy was behind him, riding up along his right side, as their two horses crossed the first block in what felt like moments. Joel rode with his eyes on Ellie, his rifle in his hands. He could shoot the first one, launch himself at the second. Distract it, give her enough time to get to Tommy, for him to pull her away.

He watched as she turned at the sound of them, watched the relief bloom on her face. She pointed, frantic, to something around the corner as Joel kicked his horse into a gallop, swearing an apology to it under his breath if it could just close out the last of the distance in time.

The clicker nearest to him was turning, its bloom angling towards the sound of his horse. He glared into its unseeing eyes. He wouldn’t look away this time.

‘HEY YOU FUCKERS, COME AND GET ME!’ Ellie screamed above him and Joel gasped, his heart in his throat as the clicker turned to her, immediately starting to lurch towards the clinic. But Joel was on it, aiming his rifle as he gripped the horse with his knees, slowing up enough to steady a shot that clipped the clicker on the shoulder and pivoted it, spinning it around to howl at him as he stared it down.

--

For a moment, all you could hear was the thundering of your heart in your chest, the sound so loud it obliterated any thought, any possible rational explanation. You swallowed, your head turning to Ellie where she stood on the roof of the clinic, her back turned to you now and her arms waving over her head.

You couldn’t feel your body, could barely account for the noises you made as you opened your throat and howled, screaming to try and win back Wren’s attention. You watched, horrified, as Wren pivoted, lurching at full speed towards the corner right underneath where Ellie stood. He was going to climb up the old rickety porch, was going to clamber up over rotted wood and peeling paint and rip her from her perch, tear her limb from limb as you stood, rooted to the ground in horror, the last part of the world to make it worth living in torn from you, like everything else.

‘No, no, no! Me, you fucker!’ you screamed after him, but there was other noise now, something that was getting his attention. Everything was happening all at once, the noise and the colour and the thumping of your heart in your ears so loud that it was impossible to think, your throat raw as your legs seized up underneath you, as you found yourself rooted to the spot, screaming and howling for Wren to come back to you, still desperate to give Ellie her time.

You had been trained to look. All that time on gate duty in the QZ, all that time on the wall in Jackson, your eyes trained on the perimeter, waiting for danger, trained to alert. Your eyes your greatest weapon, your wits your biggest shield. That was how you served your community, how you protected all that you still had to hold dear.

And all that time you had felt like you weren’t doing enough. That safely ensconced behind steel and concrete you were somehow safe, knowing that the real work was out beyond the wall. The real danger lurking well beneath your feet, you had always considered yourself a coward for never being amongst it, for never getting your hands dirty like you should have. Now, though, in this moment, you realised for the first time the quiet bravery in looking. In witnessing the terrors, even if you all you could do was stand between them and oblivion.

Because now. In your fury and your sadness and your horror, you did the only thing you could think of. You closed your eyes.

--

Joel was on the first clicker in moments, the horse barrelling into it with enough speed, with enough force, that it was knocked off its feet and under the hooves. Joel heard the crunch of the decaying fungus meeting metal horseshoe, knew instantly it was crushed without even having to look. That only left the smaller one, the one he saw now running from the middle of the street for the clinic.

He pulled his horse back, readying another shot, when he heard it. The voice he would recognise in an instant, the melodic tone now drenched in terror, in fury, in regret.

He turned his head, saw for the first time that you were stood in the middle of the street, saw from the tracks in the mud that the second clicker had been barrelling towards you before it doubled back.

‘No, no!’ you were howling, almost doubled over, your eyes shut tight like you didn’t want to see. ‘Not her, not her…’

He swivelled his head to Ellie, her eyes wild and on him even as she was climbing up higher, swinging herself up on loose roof shingles to get a better shot, and he knew, then that she had saved you, that she had called them off you knowing he would arrive, just in the moment that you had been trying to save his girl. 

‘Get her!’ Ellie screamed, but Joel was already turning his horse to you.

‘Tommy!’ he yelled over his shoulder, and his brother was right behind him, his rifle on his shoulder and his eye squinting into the sights as the second clicker paused a moment to survey the scene.

‘Got it,’ Tommy grunted but Joel was already on his way to you, already leaning over in the saddle, a hand reaching out to your trembling form.

--

The thudding of your heart grew louder, closer, enough to make you cower, to squeeze your eyes tight. You were dimly aware that you were moaning, pleading, for Ellie. Hoping that despite everything you could still call Wren to you, that he would choose you, instead.

You lifted your hands to your ears. The sound of your pounding heart grew only louder and you gasped at the sheer volume of it, listened as it raced up beside you even as you groaned to block it out. You thought of Rose on the day she died, of your parents and all the different ways you imagined they passed. You thought of Joel, knew that this would break him. Wept for him and the loss he was about to suffer, that had you so feeble you couldn’t bring yourself to even see, let alone stop.

And then you were lifting, momentum knocking you off your feet as you felt a strong grip around your torso, squeezing the air from you, forcing it out of your chest in a gasp. Your body being pulled in warm and hard, an arm wrapped tight around you as you were tucked, neat, into a thundering chest. Beneath you, the galloping of a horse you now realised had been the thudding you’d been hearing, that it had not in fact been your heart beating wild in your chest. You opened your mouth, flannel and warm skin between your teeth.

‘I got ya, baby, I got ya,’ Joel said above you, pressing you harder into his body as you whimpered, cold fingers reaching out to claw at his shirt. ‘I know, I know…’ he said again, his voice straining as the horse carried you both. ‘You’re OK. Ellie’s OK. Stay with me, baby,’ he muttered into the crown of your aching head.

--

You stayed, shivering and silent, tucked into his chest. He could feel the heat of your tears on his neck as he held you to him, his other hand on the reins as he watched Tommy stand guard at the base of the clinic, Ellie climbing gingerly down a drainpipe that didn’t have any business still being upright but nevertheless held her weight long enough for her to get down.

He cooed to you, told you everything he was seeing, commentating for you as you kept your eyes shut tight, your face tucked away under his jaw.

‘She’s down, baby, she’s on the ground,’ he whispered to you, his lips still pressed to your temple. Every once and a while he stopped to press a kiss there, the warmth of your skin on his lips reminding him you were alive. He felt the ache in his chest abate, just enough that he could finally breathe. He blinked away tears, willing away the tremors in his hands.

‘Tommy’s pulling her onto his horse now,’ he informed you as you sniffled. ‘They’re coming this way. Look, baby, look…’

He held you tight around the middle as he pulled your face from his neck, turned you to observe them on their way to you. Sat side-saddle as you were, your legs pressed to the side of the horse’s flank, it took you a second to wriggle free of him, nearly slipping from his grip as he lowered you, as you landed softly on unsteady feet. You were sobbing, them, running to Ellie as she slipped down from behind Tommy and let you pull her into you, let you collapse into her, the weight of your combined relief the only thing to keep you both up and out of the mud.

Joel felt the tickle of a tear tracking its way down his cheek and he brushed it away, his mouth turning down to try and beat back the sob that threatened to rip out of him. He caught Tommy’s eye, who was watching the both of you with a watery grin.  

‘Thank you…’ Joel whispered to his brother, who shrugged.

‘You woulda done the same for me,’ he replied, and Joel nodded. ‘But we gotta get out of here, there could be more of ‘em…’

Joel nodded, recognising that now the darkness had set in you were more exposed than ever, that the cold was starting to bite.

‘A house, and then we ride back to Jackson in the morning,’ Joel agreed. You pulled your head up, your eyes finally open to him, as you gripped Ellie.

‘Wait, Shauna’s out there still,’ you said.

‘Fuck her,’ Ellie grunted, wiping away her own tears. ‘She sent me out there, told me some bullshit…’

‘I know,’ you cut her off, glancing at Joel as though you thought if he heard any more, he would thoroughly lose his shit. He suspected you were right. ‘I know, she lied to you about this place.’

‘She took the rifle, and she ran! She saw Wren coming for you and she ran!’

Joel felt the burning cold of a knife slicing clear through his gut. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tommy turn to him, worry on his face.

‘Brother…’ he said, but Joel ignored him. He cleared his throat, ready to pronounce Shauna as good as dead.

‘She will have headed back to the horses,’ you said, gesturing over Joel’s shoulder. ‘We can’t leave her out here, she’ll hurt herself.’

Or someone else, Joel thought.

Tommy shifted, uncomfortably, in his saddle. ‘We could use the horses to get back,’ he said. ‘If she rides one, they can share the other.’

‘Knowing her she’ll take one and let the other go just to be extra fucking annoying,’ Ellie muttered, and you let out a little gasping giggle, the adrenaline suddenly making everything hilarious in an -end-of-the-world kind of way.

‘We tied them to the trees just off the road leading west,’ you gestured broadly. ‘I can take us back.’

‘No,’ Joel muttered, steadfast. ‘No, you two are gettin’ inside, gettin’ warm. I’ll go and get her, I’ll bring her back.’

‘Joel…’ Tommy started to protest, but Joel wasn’t having any of it, swinging himself off the horse and gesturing for you to get on top of it.

‘You look like shit,’ Ellie supplied, helpfully. ‘You sure you wanna be out there in the dark old man?’

Joel rolled his eyes, not letting on that he would take her sass for the rest of his life if it meant she was still living hers.

‘Up,’ he gestured to Ellie, as Tommy reached down and pulled her back up and behind him. ‘You…’ Joel said as he walked towards you, his mouth set in a frown but his eyes warm, betraying him. ‘You get safe, you’ve done enough for us today.’

‘I can come with you…’ you said, but he was pulling you to him again, easily overpowering you as you realised you were actually pretty cold, and that your body was starting to ache. ‘I can show you where she’ll be.’

‘No, baby, I’ll find it. Town ain’t big,’ he said, as he walked you over to his horse.

‘Joel…’ you whispered, but you weren’t sure what you wanted, weren’t sure what you would say other than to beg him to keep his arms around you, to let you rest on his chest.

‘Go on,’ he said, pushing you to slip your foot into the stirrup, hoisting you up into the saddle. He had so much to say to you, more than he had the words for, but it would have to wait.

‘We’ll be in that one,’ Tommy gestured to a house on the corner. The windows were dark, but Joel could see it didn’t look like it was going to fall over. Not tonight, at least. ‘I’ll take first watch, until you make it back,’ Tommy said.

Joel nodded at him as he watched you steady yourself in the saddle. He ran his hands down the horse’s neck, felt the muscles pulling hard and tight under its hide.

He stood back, watching carefully as his brother led his girls to safety, to some kind of warmth. He didn’t move until he saw the three of you disappear into the confines of the house, the horses stowed out of sight in the garage.

He’d been so preoccupied with his loss of Sarah that he’d almost lost everything all over again. He held the feeling of you in his arms close, tried to imprint it on his memory in case you recovered, came to your senses, rightfully never wanted to be near him again.

He cleared his throat, turning his gaze to the stars that seemed so bright now, so many of them up over head without the streetlights to blot them all out. He felt like he was seeing clearly for the first time. He would get to setting things right. Promised himself and the stars.

He swung his rifle around to grip it hard and cold in his hands, heading out on the road leading off to the west.

--

It wasn’t that he was trying to sneak up on her, even though he knew his feet were quiet now that he had come off the pavement and onto soft earth. It wasn’t that he wanted to scare her, although he thought about it. It was just that she wasn’t very observant, that a marching band and a full-scale parade could sneak up on her when she was so preoccupied with her own, and only her own, survival.

‘Come the fuck on, for fucks sake,’ she was muttering as she tried to loosen the knot tethering the horse to the tree. The other had backed away from her, was pushing at the ground each time she tried to get close. Joel reckoned it was a good judge of character.

‘Shauna,’ he said, and she jumped nearly three feet in the air, swivelling around to him and fixing him with a hollowed-out, terrified stare.

‘Joel!’ she gasped, dropping the reins and nearly running at him, collapsing into his chest where he held her loose, let her gasp and paw at him as he waited, his face grim, for her to collect herself. When she eventually realised he wasn’t holding her back, wasn’t tearfully thanking the Gods for reuniting them, she stopped, pulling herself back upright.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked, checking him over.

‘M’fine. Ellie’s fine, too. And Teach.’

Shauna nodded, but Joel could see no real relief there. In his mind he saw you, cowering in the street, your eyes shut tight, groaning for the clicker to turn on you instead. He swallowed, hard, blinked it away to stay focussed.

‘How did it come to be that they were one rifle down facing two clickers, Shauna?’ he asked, and she stilled. He could see the weapon leaning against the tree. It appeared to be in pristine condition. ‘How was it that my girl was up on the roof and Teach was in the middle of the street, unarmed with a clicker barrelling down at her, and you were…nowhere?’

Joel watched the cogs turn in Shauna’s head, could see her calculating. He held his hand up to her. ‘Don’t. Just tell me,’ he said, the adrenaline starting to give way, the fatigue and the cold settling into his bones.

‘There wasn’t anything I could do,’ Shauna said, her voice quiet but steady. She sniffled, gathering herself.

‘You left them to die,’ he said, simply.

‘I left them so that I could come and find you,’ she argued, and he shook his head.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘You took the rifle, and you were damn near about to take one of the horses ‘cept Teach is too good at knots.’

She opened her mouth to protest, before she looked properly at his face in the moonlight. She could see the rolling tic of his jaw as he tremored slightly. She recalculated, settling in the end for truth.

‘I’m a survivor, Joel,’ she said, after a while.

He scoffed, feeling acid across his throat. ‘No, Shauna, you’re a fuckin’ leech. You take. You took the rifle, you were gonna take the horse. You damn near took the house out from under my girl and pushed her into the garage. You took Teach, her friend. You took my…’

‘Your what, Joel? What is she to you?’ Shauna hissed, actual fury on her face, but Joel wasn’t too vain to assume this was jealousy. Competition, maybe, but not borne out of actual want for him. In the face of it he felt a calm fall over his shoulders. He almost smiled. Shauna just didn’t like to lose.

‘And Sarah,’ he went on, ignoring the question. He watched as Shauna at least had the decency to let a look of remorse pass over her face. ‘You took her mother, you took her Christmas mornings, you took her Friday pizza and VHS nights. You took her little heart and you fuckin’ broke it, Shauna.’

He saw, even in the low light, that her eyes were shimmering a little. He ignored it. He went on. ‘I’ve been such a fool. All this time you’ve been in Jackson all acid and corrosion, all this time I let you.’ He looked again to the stars, watched them twinkle as he blinked away his tears. ‘That’s what gets me the most. All this time I let you.’

‘Oh, fuck you, Joel,’ Shauna said, trying anger to see if it could make him relent. ‘You needed someone to protect, just the same as when we were 22. You loved it when I come on all sad and weepy. Made you feel like a strong fucking man.’

‘That may be true, Shauna, but what’s it say about you that you decided to use it against me like ya did,’ he said, even. Calm.

He stepped around her, reaching for the rifle and she stumbled away from him, her hands in the air. ‘Hey, hey, wait…’ she said, but he was snapping the rifle open, clearing the bullets all except for one.

‘Sarah used to comfort me, when I was missin’ ya,’ he said, letting the metal land 1, 2, 3 in the palm of his hand. ‘Sarah used to say to me, “you gotta forgive her, Daddy, she was sad. She wanted what was best for us.” That girl knew, even then, Shauna, that what was best for us was for you not to be around.’

He slipped the bullets into his pocket, snapping the barrel back in place. One bullet still loaded.

‘But Sarahs’ gone, and you nearly took my girls tonight, Shauna, and I ain’t ever gonna forgive you for it.’

He turned his back to her, fixing the rifle to the saddle. He felt the certainty of what was going to happen next, down in the marrow of his bones. He wouldn’t pause, wouldn’t flinch.

‘You ain’t comin’ back,’ he stated. ‘Jackson ain’t safe with you in it.’ He stepped towards the horse, pulling on the left rein so that the simple bowline knot he knew you had tied for her shook loose. He handed her the reins.

‘You’re leaving me with one bullet and a horse?’ Shauna deadpanned, arching her brows at him. ‘Isn’t that a little…cliché?’

‘Don’t care what it is, it’s what you’re gettin’.’ Joel replied. He wanted to head back to the house, to wrap you and Ellie up in whatever blankets he could find, put her down safe on a twenty-year old couch so he could plant his lips on yours and not let up until dawn.

‘Tell me one thing…that Steven and Wren stuff, were they ever going to blow up the mess hall?’ He watched as her face shifted, trying to work out the most advantageous answer. He nodded. If he’d been honest with himself at the time things might have been different, he reasoned. Added it to the list of things he’d have to find a way to set right.

‘Joel, we could run that place…’ Shauna tried.

‘No, Shauna,’ he said. Reaching forward to grab her by the arm and pulling her, nowhere near as gently as he had you, to loop her foot into the stirrup. ‘You could never run that place, cuz there’s no way on this dead fuckin’ planet I would ever let ya.’

‘Joel…’ she said, and she looked down at him now, genuine fear in her eyes now that she had realised how serious he was, that he was actually doing it. ‘I don’t know where to go.’

‘You come within strikin’ distance of Jackson I’ll tell Billy to shoot ya on sight. Other than that, I don’t give a shit.’

She stared at him, her hands still shaking as he looked, impassive up at her.

‘You can’t…’

‘You’re a survivor, Shauna,’ Joel interrupted, parroting her. He reached out and slapped the horse once on the flank, enjoying it just a little as it whinnied and took off at a canter.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected to feel. Maybe angry, maybe a little vindicated. For one second he’d imagined himself getting down on his knees and kissing the ground beneath his feet. He didn’t expect to feel nothing, to feel a gentle kind of relief.

He watched as she disappeared into the darkness, waited until he couldn’t hear her gasping breaths. Turning back to the town he felt the warmth of you, washing up against his insides, even before he had you in his arms.

He knew it was a long path, but he would happily walk it. If you’d have him, he would come home to his girls.  

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

@millersamour

@delicatetrashtree

@wand-erer5

@somedayheaven

@maryrhodalouandted

@casssiopeia

@wand-erer5

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Double trouble: fun little au about hot sex and cute spats between König and his younger self

My terrible diseased brain: I wonder how young König felt when he realized his older self has a wife. Did he feel relief? That there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that there is someone who will love him, flaws and scars and all? Did he feel bitter that he doesn’t get that love until he’s older, more tired? Did Colonel König ever think about the fact that his wife would even have loved him as the young, stupid asshole he used to be? Do you think that the recuit and the colonel ever have a quiet moment of just existing next to each other, having a mutual realization that he was worthy of love all along?

Me: good grief

Bucca my sister in crime!! Ily 🩷🩷🩷

I'm sorry that you had to wait so long and on top of everything, all I have for you is angst 😭❤️‍🩹❤️

Young König is surprised (to say the least) when he sees his older self as a married man. He’s stunned to see he’s even alive. He thought he would die before reaching his 30s, in a way he had aspired to be dead before growing too old: that was the goal goddammit.

Who would want to live long enough to see how they turn even more lonely, fucked up and cold?

So his whole worldview is in turmoil now. This is what happens instead? He grows old and happy and gets to marry this hot chick? He gets to be a colonel?? He gets to be loved???

Young König is in love with reader too before even a month has passed, he’s torn between wanting her all to himself and settling for the bone he’s given. Even if he’s a horny menace full of red flags, he adores her. In a way I think he’s the most tragic character in this love triangle/polycule because he seems to be ok with it and has this nonchalant ‘no strings attached’ attitude while clearly, he’s madly in love (and needs therapy).

The attempted mating procedure of young König goes something like this: he sees a hot girl -> he opens his mouth -> she leaves. So now that he is the one who was approached, the dynamic is a bit different. The presence of Colonel means that his bad behaviour flares up like a bad old wound that’s poked. The saddest thing is that the older version has learned to love himself, he loves his wife boundlessly, he even loves his silly young self.

I mean what else can he do but love this beaten dog who’s trying his best and is still a mess?

Colonel’s secret hope is that he could somehow help the young pup to reach destination self-acceptance a little faster through this experiment. But like all of König’s tries to help himself and others, it backfires a bit…

Because young König doesn’t fool himself for one second with daydreams of love. He knows reader doesn’t love him like she loves the Colonel: he’s just a fucktoy in this sick scenario. So no, he isn’t mature enough to co-exist with his older self without bringing good old competition in. Reader can tell him she loves him all she wants, he’s not going to fall for that. Her and Colonel’s love life and marriage only remind him of what he doesn't have, what he can’t get. It’s just scraps for him, like always.

(When will it be his turn???)

[korizzybee]

TS&TS - chapter 1

Pairing: Percy Jackson x black!fem!reader

Synopsis: true fulfillment comes from finding a partner who complements and understands you, offering a safe haven to be your true self, regardless of external pressures or backgrounds.

Warnings: none, Y/N is daughter of Apollo, Y/N is the younger half-sister of Clarisse La Rue, sisterly love

Every day was the same for you. You’d wake up, get ready for the day, eat breakfast with your cabin, spar with your older sister, have archery practice with Chiron, get praised by your peers, sneak away to get some alone time, participate in capture the flag, have dinner, sit at the bonfire with your cabin, and then get ready for bed.

Here you are currently, getting ready for the day. Brushing your teeth, washing your face, doing your hair, the usual. You grabbed your bow, wooden bow with Apollo’s symbol engraved in it in gold. It was a gift from him. Many people at camp considered you lucky, to be given a gift from your godly parent was a great honor.

Though you didn’t care for it, you would rather have had his time than this gift. Other than the fact Apollo had it made for you specifically, the bow wasn’t anything special. If anything you hated this bow. You’ve tried burning it, that didn’t work. You’ve tried just getting rid of it on a quest, that also didn’t work since it came back to you a few hours later.

Clarisse tells you all the time that you should feel honored that Apollo had graced you with such a gift, even more honored that he went out of his way to bring you to camp yourself. You didn’t feel honored though, if anything you felt hollow. You and Apollo hadn’t spoken since the day he’d brought you to camp, he didn’t seem sad over the fact your mother had died that day either.

But why would he? Apollo was used to all his romantic relationships not working out, some of them even dying. So what makes your mother any different? That day, he was just making sure his precious little prodigy made it to camp safely. Couldn’t have you dying before you were able to spread your wings…no, can’t have that.

You sighed softly, softening your grip on your bow which you didn’t even know had tightened. Though it wasn’t surprising, thinking about your father always left a bad taste on your tongue. “Wow, you must really hate that bow.” Your half sister, Valerie said with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leaned on your bunk bed. “Is it obvious?” You asked sarcastically with a soft scoff.

Valerie was someone you found yourself being able to confide in if you needed to rant about your father. Clarisse wouldn’t ever be able to understand, she couldn’t. After all, she lived and breathed for Ares’ approval. Just a second of his attention would make her day. She would tell you about how some kids would kill to be in your position, they’d kill to be claimed at all.

She wished Ares had as many expectations for her as Apollo does for you. “You know you can’t escape this, right?” Valerie said as she walked over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I mean, after all, it’s your destiny to become one of Apollo’s strongest children to have ever lived. Isn’t that what he said the Fates have bestowed upon you?” She asked.

“Yea.” You said. “Doesn’t mean I like it though, I mean, what’s so special about me? I’d rather not be claimed than have to be held on this high pedestal.” You tell her. She hummed. “Well, sometimes life deals the worst cards to its strongest soldiers because life knows we can handle it.” She said. “Sure. Let’s just head to breakfast.” I said, shrugging her hand off your shoulder as you left the cabin.

You made it to the dining pavilion and got in line, some nymphs served us our breakfast and we went to sit down at the Apollo table. You noticed some of your siblings’ faces drop when you showed up to the table, but you were used to it. You didn’t have many friends around campus, not because you were shy, but because you didn’t want to potentially leave any of them behind.

That was your destiny, become one of the greatest children of Apollo who ever lived, and then die in glorifying battle. You would die sacrificing yourself so another person could live and you wouldn’t be able to escape it. This part of your prophecy is not something you’ve told Valerie. No one knows this but you, Apollo, and the three Fates. And since no one knows this, many people either assume you’re stuck up and think you’re better than everybody or you’re just shy.

Apparently, your siblings, other than Valerie, see you as stuck up. If there was one thing you hate about Camp Half-Blood, it’s that you have to eat at your assigned tables during breakfast and dinner. If you didn’t, you’d probably be sitting by yourself or with your sister, Clarisse. Maybe even with Luke and Annabeth, they’re nice to you.

You feel like Annabeth and Luke can understand where you’re coming from. Luke’s the best fighter at camp, and Annabeth is Athena’s pride. They’re both held to high regards, destined for great things. You finished my breakfast quickly and discarded your plate. Since you didn’t have to make offerings to the gods until dinner, you just went to the shooting range.

You’d stay there for hours just working on your bow skills, even though you never missed your target. Your bow gripped tightly in your hand and you picked up some arrows that were lying on the ground. Shooting helps you clear your mind. If you felt like you were too stuck in your head and worried about your future, you’d just stay here for hours. And that’s exactly what you did today, stayed for hours.

“So, you’re just going to stay here all day and not come see me at all?” You knew that voice all too well. Clarisse walked up to you, her arms crossed over her chest and her dark brown curls blowing in the wind.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” You tell her, lowering your bow as you turn to face her. She hummed, looking at the targets that were now covered in multiple arrows (some arrows even having arrows inside of them).

She walked over to the targets, touching the wooden arrows that stuck inside of them. “Definitely the work of a prodigy of Apollo, that’s for sure.” She said, her fingers grazing the arrows. You winced slightly at the word ‘prodigy’. She turned to look at you.

“Why do you hate being his pride so much? That means he’s proud of you and your progress so far. You should be happy for than anything.” She told you. You just shrugged at her words, you knew where this conversation was going. You hated every conversation you two had on this topic.

“I just…I want to feel like a normal kid, y’know? All this ‘being destined for great things’ isn’t who I am.” You tell her, looking down at the bow in your hands. It felt oddly warm, every time you looked at it, it started to feel warm.

“This may not be what you want, but it is who you are.” She tells you, standing in front of you. Her body was blocking the sun from your view. “You were born with talents many demigods could only dream of having, what I dream of having.” She tells you. And here she goes, starting her famous rant about how you should be grateful for the life that was bestowed upon you.

“You were blessed by your father since birth, he and the Fates saw your future. You would become a hero, one of the greatest children of Apollo to have ever lived.” She tells you. “You know how many kids here wish they could just be claimed? You don’t. You won’t understand, because Apollo brought you here himself.” She continued.

“Your powers are stronger than the rest of your siblings. While some can only shoot a bow or heal, you can do almost as much as Apollo can. Sure your powers are still far weaker than his, but you’re not just some average kid of the sun god either.” She tells you, she then put a hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t understand how much I wish Ares would give me that kind of attention.” She says to you. “I’ve been training every day, since I first got here, to be the ideal daughter of Ares and earn just a smidge of his approval.” And this is what you hate about this conversation. You hate the fact that she’s right, she always is.

You don’t have to work hard to earn Apollo’s approval, you know he’s watching you and that he’s proud of your accomplishments. You don’t have to wonder what his face looks like, you’ve seen it up close. You don’t have to wonder what his voice sounds like, you’ve held a conversation with him before. And even though you know she’s right, there’s just something inside of you that stops you from accepting any praise or recognition from Apollo.

You nodded. “You’re right.” You tell her, just like you’ve told her every other time you’ve had this talk. She pulls you into a hug, something she’d never do if there was anybody else around. Not because she’s embarrassed, but because she doesn’t want to be seen as ‘soft’ or ‘weak’.

“I just want you to understand and appreciate how lucky you are compared to the rest of us. I’m glad you don’t have to go through what I do.” She whispered to you. You hugged her back tightly, your fingers gently gripping her orange shirt. She pulled away a few moments later and you let her go.

“I know you’re going to do great things one day, even if you don’t think so.” She tells you. This is what you liked about Clarisse. No matter how many people at camp feared her or how rude she was to everybody else, she loved you. Her baby sister, the one person she knew she could feel loved and appreciated by no matter what. And it’s true, because no matter what Clarisse did, she would never be viewed as a bad person or a villain in your eyes.

“Thanks, Clarisse.” You told her, a small smile on your face. “Anytime, Y/N.” Just as she was about to leave, she turned around once more. “Oh, and be at sword training tomorrow. You won’t be able to use that special little bow of yours in every fight.” She says with a teasing smirk, one you’d grown accustomed to over the years.

“Doubt that, but I’ll be there tomorrow!” You tell her as she turned to leave once more. You sighed once she was gone, and turned and looked at the targets you were previously shooting at. “I’ve been shooting for hours now, maybe I should take a break.” You said to yourself quietly, walking over to the targets and taking the arrows out of them.

It was dinner time, you sat at end of the table with Valerie. “I heard that we got a new camper earlier today, apparently he killed the Minotaur.” She whispered to you. “Really?” You whispered back. “Are you sure he killed the Minotaur, I mean, it’s a little hard to believe since he must’ve not found out he was a demigod until maybe yesterday, right?” You asked her. She shrugged and continued to eat her food.

“You never know, maybe he had an adrenaline rush. That tends to make people be able to do a lot of crazy things they aren’t usually able to.” She said. “Well, how come I haven’t seen him around?” You asked her. “He was with Luke the whole day, and you left the shooting range after being there all day just when they were arriving.” She said to you. “Right…”

You both finished your portion of food and went to pour the rest in the fire as an offered to Apollo. “I saw him today, I mean we didn’t talk, but I got a good image of what he looks like.” Valerie said, scooping her food into the fire. “Yeah?” “Yeah, he’s only a bit shorter than you, and he’s got blonde hair and blue eyes.” She informed you. “He looks a bit scrawny as well. And he also sucks at almost everything here, you should’ve seen him when he tried to shoot an arrow. He almost took everyone’s head off their shoulders!” She exclaimed.

You chuckled at her words. “So the new boy sucks at almost everything? I wonder who his godly parent must be.” Valerie hummed. “I wonder if he’ll even get claimed…a lot of kids are growing up at the Hermes cabin without ever knowing their godly parent, I feel bad for them.” She said softly, voicing her concerns.” You nodded. “Yeah, I wish everyone could know who their parent is, it isn’t fair to them.” You said in agreement.

“Hey, look, he’s over there.” Your sister said, pointing over at him. When you looked over at him, you could see that he was already looking in your direction. For the split second that your eyes met, it was like you could sense something within him. It was like there was a strong surge of power inside of him that needed to be unlocked, you could sense that there was something special about him. Then he looked away.

It wouldn’t hurt to get to know him, right?

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles | New Jersey Convention, May 19, 2024, Panel Summary

JP-“How many of you started watching in the last year?” *Hands raise* JA-“wHY?!” (x) In JA’s very old house Danneel heard a door slamming and it was opening and closing by itself. Danneel had to encourage the ghost to do it again when she tried to record it. And the door slammed open and closed harder! (x) JA-“I’ve spent too many years fighting ghosts to think that any would mess with me” (x) JA walked by the door and felt full chills down his body and literally noped and walked away (x) Biggest fears? JA-Something happening to his kids where he can’t help them. (x) When do you feel like your truest self?JA-The drive back to his house after dropping his kids off from school (x) If JA was a Spice Girl he’d be Mel B (x) jensen: when the car windows are up, me amd the spice girls are getting it 😏 jared: which spice girl are you jensen: oh mel b all day… i mean im married to scary spice sooooo……… cant wait for that to get back to her later (x) fan: jensen what do we have to do to get you on the masked singer? jensen: ive seen that show. i aint wearing that shit. ill be a judge but i am NOT dressing up as a giant squirrel (x) What do we have to do to you (Jensen) on the Masked Singer? JA-“I’ve seen a bit of that show. I’m not wearing that.” (x) If they could dress up as a scary character for Halloween what would they go as? JP-“something with a mask” JA-Stupid, easy pun costumes when he was younger. Lets his kids pick now. Went as Batman last year (x) jensen ackles said central jersey exists and i don’t think he’s ever been more right (x) After working on Supernatural JP thinks of supernatural things as something he doesn’t understand. JA doesn’t believe (x) Is there a Christmas movie you want to share with your kids? JA-Die Hard (x) Last question! When are you going to sing Whipping Post? JA immediately cues Louden Swain (x)

(FangasmSPN)

[katebishopshands]

But I’m a Cheerleader ! ! Pt. 2

(Cheerleader!Kate Bishop/reader)

Pt. 1 here!!

»»-------------¤-------------««

Cheer camp continues, and the pursuit of the coveted Spirit Stick is on.

First impressions are everything, with it being the firsts official day of camp it is crucial that your team makes a good impression on the camp coaches and higher ups. And it appears that you’re not the only ones who want to make a good impression, the Archers are hot on your tail…

Maybe you’ll make some impressions you didn’t intend on when you came to camp this year?

(18+ CONTENT IN THIS PART)

»»-------------¤-------------««

“She HAS to sit her team right next to ours?” You growled into your oatmeal. It was a sad attempt at something nutritious. A brown banana covered in brown sugar and cinnamon frowned up at you.

You needed your strength today. First official day of camp meant back to basics. Perfecting benches, extensions, jumps and starting to learn the dance that you’d perform at the end of the week. The team needed to start out on a good foot so you could impress the camps coaches.

“ I mean it IS the dining hall..there’s not a ton of places to sit” Yelena looks up from her cereal to look at you and then in the direction where you were shooting lasers.

Kate Bishop sat her perfect self and her perfect team at the table across from your own. You could hear her loud mouth talking to America from where you sat.

Shoving a spoon of oatmeal in your mouth you muttered to yourself, “god does she ever shut up”

“Someone’s in a cranky mood…” Yelena sips on her coffee while side eyeing you.

You felt your eye twitch. Yes, you were in a cranky mood. Even after you had told Kate after your awkward confrontation yesterday to please be quiet at night, she hadn’t listened. Music was playing , loudly, in her room till at least two in the morning.

You couldn’t help but wonder last night in your sleep depraved state as you stared up at the dusty popcorn ceilings of your dorm, what Kate bishop wore to bed?

Was she a matching set girl? Or maybe a tank top and boxers type? Does she sleep with her hair up or maybe down?

You had never seen her with her hair down, maybe you’d get that chance this week. Static fuzz hit your stomach at the thought of taking Kate’s hair out of her tight ponytail.

“Yes, Yelena..I am cranky because my OTHER neighbor couldn’t shut the fu-“

“Ahem”, someone clears their throat above you. You both stop your conversation, looking up to see the last people you wanted to converse with at 7:45 in the morning. Kate Bishop and America Chavez.

Kate quirks a full eyebrow at you in your frazzled state. She looked utterly perfect to say the least. Full lips, dark brows and thick lashes. A spattering if beauty marks across her face Big blue eyes staring down at you. Part of you wanted to feel her gaze like this more often.

As quickly as the thought entered your head, you shoved it out. You had no time to be crushing on Kate Bishop.

Long black hair pulled into a ponytail, a matching purple and black workout set on. The sports bra exposing her muscular arms.

You salivated a little bit.

“We just wanted to say good luck this week!” America smiles at you. It’s honestly welcomed in comparison to the way Kate was eye fucking you.

You swallowed nervously and gave America a half pleasant smile.

“We don’t need your luck” Yelena spits at the other two captains. Kate looks unphased at the blonde, but America looks a bit shaken. She was a little younger than you guys, so it was obvious Yelenas little outburst had spooked her.

Kate puts her hand on Americas shoulder.

“Listen we just came here to wish you guys luck this week, we mean no hostility” Kate puts her hands up in a defensive manner,

“Just because we’re rivals doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly”.

She smiles at you, and America nods her head .

“Well…that’s very kind of you”, you say through grit teeth, your hand white knuckling the spoon you were holding.

You catch Coach Nat out of the corner of you eye. She’s watching the exchange unfold in front of her. First impressions start now, so if you want that spirit stick, it’s time to be the better captain. A team player if you will.

You smile at the two girls in front of you, your demeanor shifting from guarded to a sickly sweet confidence.

Sticking your hand out, and Kate meets you in the middle. You touch each other for the very first time, and you could’ve sworn you felt sparks between your hands.

“May the best team win this week”,

Kate shakes your hand, returning the smile. Once you let go, America turns to go back to her breakfast table,

“See you around..” Kate looks at you one last time, taking you in before she heads back to her table. Something mischievous glints in her eyes.

Goosebumps prick up on your arms.

Turning to Yelena, you look at her, bewildered at the exchange that had just occurred.

“God what the fuck “

»»-------------¤-------------««

“You look like shit” someone whispered behind you as you reached down towards your left leg while you stretched. Swiveling your head towards the voice and flipping your ponytail over your shoulder you were greeted to Kate Bishop standing to your right. Hands on her hips and head tilted. She smiled slightly at you.

“I don’t need you here right now, Bishop” you said standing up. You crossed your right arm across your chest, grabbing it with your left and stretching.

“I’m just pointing it out, looks like you could use some better sleep. Aren’t captains supposed to be the most prepared on the team?” She tilts her head to the opposite side, batting her dark lashes at you.

“I would’ve slept fine, but someone decided to have a party in their room” you deadpanned. Not believing she had the audacity to say shit to you, especially when she knew the reason you didn’t sleep well. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she did it on purpose.

“Damn, there was a party and I wasn’t invited? Lame” she laughs at herself before her eyes meet yours. You switch the arm you’re stretching. You’d hate to pull something during the first rotation of the day.

Kate had never paid this much attention to you before. A couple snotty words to each other, and dirty glances towards the other, sure. That was normal, but the level of taunting she was doing to you was unnatural for your usual dynamic.

You held her gaze, not wanting to back down.

“You look cold…I’d hate for you to pull something” you pout at her, crossing your arms in front of you. You wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine. She was the most insufferably cocky person you had met in your life. Girl thought she could talk your ear off for the entire warm up session before jumping into an hour and a half of choreography.

“Yknow..I am a little..”, she trails off, eyes locking on a stray piece of hair hanging in front of your face.

Kate goes to move the hair from your face, but you catch it before she can. Tucking the hair behind your ear, you glare at her. She leans into your ear,

“Maybe you can show me uh…some of your favorite ways to warm up?”

Kate backs up,searching your face. What she had said was, in theory, completely innocent. But it ignited something in your stomach. Your hands felt more clammy, your heartbeat raced. The heat in your face rose to your cheeks and ears. You KNEW Kate had a double meaning to her words.

Your fists clenched, suddenly you felt like you had a stick shoved up your ass with how upright and pissed off she made you feel.

You glanced around, checking to see if anyone had seen this whole interaction occur. Yelena, Coach Nat…hell even America or Clint Barton. You’d take anyone at this point.

No one seemed to pay attention to the rival captions standing at the front of the mat. Music played quietly, and teammates chattered as they stretched and warmed up. It was almost as if the two of you were in your own world. Where the only concerning thing was your bickering and how much you could piss each other off.

Kate smirks at you before she opens her mouth to speak again.

“I’m serious though, you’re good. I’d love to know how you got to be that good.”

Her shoulder brushes yours as she passes you, knocking you back a bit. She turns back towards your direction but continues walking.

“You know where to find me if you’re open to some private lessons..”

She turns. Black ponytail swinging behind her. Your eyes lingered in her figure. Purple leggings clinging to her fit frame. Back muscles exposed in her sports bra.

Your mouth felt dry. You needed water.

The rotation hadn’t even started and you felt like you had run a marathon.

Walking as quickly as possible, you made it to the bleachers where your water bottle sat. You sat down on one of the steps, raising the bottle to your lips. You started to chug almost as if you hadn’t had water in weeks.

What the fuck is Kate’s deal. Her confidence was intoxicating. Something about being around her made all will to be defensive die inside of you. She was able to run circles around you and you could do nothing about it.

“Whoa whoa, slow down. You’re gonna be sick!”

You look up, it’s Yelena. She’s taking a seat next to you, her brows furrowed in concern.

“ you look flushed? We haven’t even started??” She searches your face for an answer.

Her question makes you flush harder. She absolutely could not know Kate Bishop was the cause of this.

“Oh my god, are you sick? I can go get Natasha. She knows how the food here can just absolutely fu-“

“Lena I’m fine”

“Oh..”

She gives a skeptical look your way. Green eyes flashing with concern. You pull your water bottle away from your mouth, setting it back on the bench.

“I’m just hot, it’s really hot in here”

You stand, wiping your sweaty hands on your own leggings.

“It’s not that bad..

“Yelena.”

You cut her off, not sure if you’d be able to handle any more questioning from her. The blonde stands with you.

You adjust the bow sat in your hair, attempting to wipe Kate bishop from your head for the next hour and a half. You could analyze your interactions during passing time, but you needed to be focused.

“Now, let’s dance”

You started down the bleachers, Yelena in tow.

If you wanted to get that spirit stick, Kate Bishop couldn’t be distracting you. She never has distracted you, and she wasn’t going to start now, no matter how sweaty she made your palms.

»»-------------¤-------------««

The rest of the day was brutal. Existing on a college campus, with minimal AC in the middle of summer was quite honestly the worst thing ever. Well, next to seeing your team crumble under the pressure right in front of you.

Every you could’ve sworn you got worse. Dance was fine, and the tumbling portion was alright. But stunting was the worst you’ve ever seen it.

The amount of times you had to catch your flyer from falling just during the hour and a half rotation was insane.

You could’ve sworn coach Nat had never been so mad in her life.

Of course this was all under the every watchful eyes of The Archers and captain Kate Bishop herself.

You could feel her eyes on you all day, burning into the back of your skull.

“I think tomorrow will be our day, I have a good feeling.”

Yelena converses with you outside of your dorms. She’s trying to lift your spirits like the good friend that she is, but it’s not working.

“I’m just really worried…today was the worst I’ve seen us perform”

You bite your lip, anxiously playing with the hangnails that were around your nail beds.

“It’s only the first day, and the pressure is on this year, we’ll come back”. Yelena puts a hand on your shoulder, her green nail polish glinting in the dull lights of the hallway. She squeezes a little, smiling reassuringly at you.

Yelena was a little intense at times but she always knew how to make you feel better. After debriefing with Yelena, a shower was well needed.

You looked at your sad dorm room, your tie blanket on the flimsy mattress. Box fan tucked into the window, blowing a warm breeze into the room. Setting down your backpack, you begin to take your shoes off, socks leaving a sweat print on the linoleum flooring.

“Gross” you grimace looking down at it. Through the silence in your room, the sound of a bass filled beat caught your ear. You groaned, beginning to take your hair out of your ponytail.

You knew exactly where it was coming from. Kate Bishops stupid room. You gave a couple hard bangs on the wall, signaling to Kate that you wanted her to keep it down.

The music didn’t turn down. Taking a deep breath you continued to get ready for your shower, giving her another hour of music time before you went over there and bitched her out.

Truthfully, you didn’t want to see her again tonight. You had dealt with enough of her for the day and another ounce of Kate Bishop for the day might actually kill you.

Getting out of the shower you did your usual bedtime junk, brushing your hair, motioning your body up. The whole 9 yards. You needed it so bad after the day you had.

Kates music still blared as you got dressed, putting on a ratty competition T-shirt and some boxer shorts with little hearts on them.

You were too tired to bitch her out, deciding to get in bed instead of going next door to tell her to shut up.

Turning the lights off, you padded your way over to your bed, ready to let sleep overcome you.

You waited. And waited. Turning to your left. Turning to your right. Rinse and repeat. You even tried flipping the end of the bed your head was. Nothing.

The bass continued to shake the wall the bed was up against. You tried banging on the wall again. Nothing. Again, another bang to the wall and you were greeted to nothing in response.

You shoved your blankets down, sitting upright in bed and angrily standing up. Kate bishop was not ruining another night of sleep because she wanted to play her music. Hadn’t she ever heard of headphones??

You crossed the room, opening up your door and slamming it behind you. It was a quick turn over to Kate’s room, and before you knew it you were banging on her door.

The hall was quiet, as it should be. It was well past lights out. Most of the girls would probably be asleep by now. Except for Kate Bishop.

Your fist continued to meet Kates metal door. The beat of your pounds echoing in the otherwise silent hall. You were getting annoyed now, she had ignored your pounds on the wall and now she was ignoring your knocks on her door. All you wanted to do was go to sleep.

“Nice jammies” you hadn’t even noticed that the door had opened, you had been too caught up in your train of thought.

Kate stood infront of you. She was leaning against the door frame. Her hair was still up, but gone was her workout set.

A pair of loose black shorts hung low on her hips. The shorts were topped off with a matching tight black tank.

You scolded yourself for looking, Kate wasn’t wearing a bra. Pervert

You swallowed, hard.

“Shut up”

“Woah what did I do?”

Kate looked at you. She was annoyed, and you were too.

“You know exactly what you’re doing”

You took a step towards her, crossing your arms over your chest. It was cold in the hallway surprisingly. Your bare legs covering themselves in goosebumps.

“Listen, if you’re going to show up to my room at this hour of the night, I at least deserve some sort of explanation “ Kate tilted her head to the side, lightly poking her cheek with her tongue. You said nothing.

She had to know what she was doing. Her music didn’t pause when she opened the door. You could still hear the beat from where you stood.

“Turn your music off” you said flatly.

“I’m tired and I want to go to bed, turn it off” you were beyond pissed right now.

“Okay then go to bed” Kate snaps back at you. Her voice raised ever so slightly.

“I can’t with your fucking music this loud”. You jabbed your finger into her chest.

She stumbles backwards a little. “Oh my god will you calm down? It’s just music, it’s not that big of a deal” Kate looked just as pissed as you now. Her blue eyes staring daggers into you, her breathing a little elevated .

“Just some music? I couldn’t sleep last night because of you. “ you’re nearly yelling now

“My team, fell apart today because I felt like shit, and you kept fucking staring at me”

Fists balled into your sides, You began to blow up on the dark haired girl opposite of you.

Kate shakes her head a little, popping her jaw in annoyance.

“So I need you to shut the fuck up and just-“

“Jesus fucking Christ”

Kate rolls her eyes and grabs your wrist forcefully. You fight her a bit, trying to pull free of her grip. She quickly pulls you into her room, letting you stumble forward once she releases you. She slams the door behind her and then turns to face you.

“Could you be any louder? Both of our teams are trying to sleep and you’re out there yelling about some stupid music”

Once again, the audacity of this girl.

“Y’know, I was actually starting to like you today, but you’re nothing but a dick”

“The same goes for you” Kate crossed her arms, malice laced in her tone.

You’re standing chest to chest with her now. You’re able to smell her lavender chai perfume. Her chest rises and falls with the heavy breaths she’s taking.

“I actually think you’re a really good captain. You care about your team, and you and Yelena make a great duo.” Kate starts out. She’s got a different energy about her that you can’t put your finger on. That same static fuzz feeling you had from the first moment you saw each other yesterday invaded your stomach. She made you shiver.

“But dear god do you need to get the stick out of your ass. Maybe then your team would be halfway decent”

You saw red. You came over here to be civil, ask her to turn down her music. But now you’re stood in Kates room and she’s insulting your team.

You could’ve sworn your brain was short circuiting .So you did what was logical.

You kissed her.

You kissed Kate Bishop hard as fuck.

Your lips collided with hers, grabbing at the front of her tank top and pushing her back against the door. As soon as Kate’s back hit the door it was like something clicked in you.

You pulled away panting.

And Kate chased you. Kate Bishop chased your mouth to continue kissing you.

You pushed that thought away from your mind.

“I’m sorry I just..i don’t know what happened” your fists were still clutching the front of Kate’s shirt. She looks at you. Pupils blown, lips parted.

“Shut up” Kate gushes before diving back into you.

Her hands envelop your face. Callouses from stunting brushing your cheeks.

Kate kisses you like she needs you to breathe. Holding you impossibly close.

“I-“ you gasp in between kisses. You’re fighting for dominance in the kiss. Slowly but surely traveling down the small hallway that lead to the main room.

“Fucking hate you” you bite at Kate’s lip. Pulling her bottom lip a little you grin at her. She snorts, pushing you up against the nearest wall.

“You sure about that?” Kate leans into your ear. Her hands find your breasts. She squeezes them.

It feels so good. It feels so good and relieves a bit of the ache that had started growing in your shorts. You couldn’t take the cocky grin Kate had plastered on her pretty face.

You bit your lip, fighting the moans that are attempting to escape your throat.

“Such a tough team captain” Kate laughs as she continues to feel up your tits.

“Shut it” you grab her hands in an attempt to stop her movements.

“So tough all the time, don’t you want to let go?”

You do. You do want to let go. Especially when Kates fingers are reaching towards the bottom of your shirt.

“I can’t “ you shake your head as you feel her fingers lightly brush against your stomach.

“I think you can, pretty girl”

Kate thrusts her knee up into you. It meets your drenched core and you break. You break so easily under her influence.

“There we go” she pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it behind her shoulder.

“Fucking hell Kate”

“Tell me about it” she ogles you. Staring at your tits. She can help it, a finger goes in to tweak one of your nipples. Another moan from you.

Kate removes her knee from your cunt and urges you towards her bed. You move your mouth to her neck, latching on and plastering kisses down it. She reaches for her phone on the bed, and turns her music up.

“Can’t have anyone knowing we’re doing this, can we?” You moan at her words. Thinking about Yelena knowing Kate was groping at your tits right now was a little too arousing.

In a Kate drunk haze, you eagerly shove your hands down her shorts. Your fingers being met by a lack of underwear and her warmth.

“Holy shit” you whisper to yourself. She was soaked. Bickering with you had turned her on beyond belief.

Kate gives a whine and leans forward as your fingers meet her cunt. She rests her head on your shoulder.

“God don’t stop” she meets your eyes. Big blue eyes pleading for something, anything.

“Oh Katie …” you pout at her. A guttural moan comes from Kate as the nickname slips off your tongue. You’re able to manhandle Kate up against the creaky dorm bed.

Eagerly, you tear her shorts down, letting them pool around her ankles. And she lets you. She submits so easily to you.

“Where’s your ego now,huh?”

You kiss her cheek as your fingers find her clit. She has no words, the only noise leaving her mouth being a few airy moans. Rubbing circles on her clit, you return to her mouth.

She’s licking into your mouth, craving any attention she can get from you. Kates hips begin to buck into your hand as you begin to tease her hole with your fingers.

Kates hips begin to buck into your hand as you begin to tease her hole with your fingers.

“I’ve wanted this-“ she pants out

“Since our first cheer camp together” she locks eyes with you. Her knees are shaking as you’re able to put two fingers inside of her, thumb still lazily playing with her clit.

“When I..I.. accidentally did my full into you”

She smiles a little bit before she goes back in for a kiss. You kiss her back for a bit before pulling away again.

“You left me with a black eye for a week” you laugh at her as you increase the speed of your fingers. Kates eyebrows kit together.

She’s close. You can tell by the way she squeezes you and the sweat that forms around her hairline.

“What a bad girl” you whisper in her ear. And that’s what it takes. Kates knees give out a little as she finishes. A string of curses and your name leaving her lips. You continue to finger her throughout her aftershocks.

Once your fingers are pulled out, you put them into your mouth, sucking her release off of them. Kate catches her breath as she watches you.

“Fuck” she pants, sitting down on her bed. You bat your lashes at her a little, crawling towards her.

Kate kicks off her shorts and pulls her tank top off of her sweaty body. You were right for being such a pervert earlier. She’s gorgeous.

Abs on full display, perky tits right there for you to grab.

“I need you to ride me..like right now”

You’re pulling your own boxers off before she can finish her sentence. Once you’re hovering above her thigh, Kate’s strong hands grip your hips, forcefully shoving you down onto it.

She rocks with you, helping you set a brutal pace.

With all the teasing of the night, it’s going to be sooner or later before you bust.

Kate sits up as you grind your sticky cunt against her toned thigh. Her lips attaching themselves to one of your nipples.

You moan, throwing your head back in pleasure. Your hands planting themselves in her hair, yanking on the black locks.

You’re tired of the ponytail. You need to see her hair down. With a final pull to the actual hair tie, her hair is freed.

Her dark hair falls to her mid back in loose curls. She’s so gorgeous it’s annoying.

Kate delivers a bite to your nipple, pulling your attention from her hair.

“Doesn’t it feel nice?” She smirks up at you, aggressively guiding your hips against her. The friction is delicious. Her thigh rubs perfectly against your swollen clit.

“Hm?” You respond. Too horny and caught up in the hopes of your release to register what she’s saying to you.

Kates sucks a hickey on the side of your tit.

“Fucking the rival captan? Getting the stick out of your ass?”

The dorm bed is hitting the wall, you can hear it and see it. The shaky wooden frame making a rhythmic beat out of your fucking. You pray to whatever god is listening that Kate’s music is loud enough to cover up the noise.

Before you know it that static fuzz feeling is taking over your whole body. Like you’re a child standing too close to an old TV.

“Kate shit..I’m close” you frantically rock your hips into her. You want your release so bad.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you” she punctuates her words with a squeeze to your hips.

“Jesus Christ.. “ you’re gushing all over her. You can feel your cum dripping down her thigh and your own .

Kate falls backwards, letting her head hit her pillow.

You’re sweaty and tired, and you smell like sex. You think about how you regret showering before you came over. But then again…you didn’t come over thinking you were going to fuck your rival in the first place.

Kate looks up at you, gently helping you remove yourselves from her thigh before she gently pats the limited space next to her. You unsurely lay down next to her, not sure if you should walk of shame your way back next door or stay.

You get your answer when Kate pulls her naked body flush against yours,arm wrapped around your waist.

Neither of you say anything, just listening to the other breathe.

You should be worried about your alarm set for 7 am in the room next door, or how you’re going to get out of the room in the morning without being caught, but you’re not.

The only thing in your head in the moment being “I just fucked Kate Bishop”.

»»-------------¤-------------««

Check out the playlist!! And stay tuned for more!!

-ET🏹

[alizha]

𝒊𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒃𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔 | 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝑻𝒂𝒗 | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟏

Rating: M Word Count: 5.9k Tags: female bard tav, tav is not described, angst, sibling relationships, sexual tension, kissing, neck kissing, references to canon-typical violence

Summary: Rolan has only ever had Cal and Lia. They insist he’s family, but he doesn’t even need that. He’s never needed or wanted anything more.

next chapter | masterlist | cross posted to ao3

Rolan’s words are harsh, he knows that. But the truth is that they’re simply an island of three amongst the sea of other refugees. Just because they’re all on the same exodus from Elturel doesn’t mean he feels any camaraderie with anyone outside his small circle.

The infernal orange ring of Lia’s irises flare. She can’t be reasoned with when she’s like this, and Rolan should know. Still, he plants himself steadfastly across from her. If she wants to be stubborn, he can easily rise to the challenge.

There’s no basis of evidence for his true age, but when they were all small, Rolan felt like he was younger than Cal and Lia. He remembers being a gangly, uncertain child. It was them who led him by the hand out of his own self-imposed walls back then. Of course, he’s never stopped following them, but it’s more out of a sense of responsibility now.

Which is why he refuses to risk their lives for the sake of a group of people he never wanted to join in the first place. Zevlor’s people are slow, a hindrance. And most of all, Rolan doesn’t know them. Lia is petulant if she thinks raising her voice at him and calling them ‘kin’ is going to change his mind.

“You only care about your apprenticeship!” she says.

Those words are the ones that finally cut deep. Rolan sputters, nearly losing his hold entirely on the calm demeanour he’s managed to cling to thus far.

“Take that back!”

“These people aren’t fighters! We should help!” she barks.

Cal, ever the voice of reason when tempers blaze too hot, tries to step in. Even he can’t quell Lia today.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” starts an unfamiliar voice.

The woman it belongs to has edged close to them, leaning in curiously with her arms tucked across her chest. Undoubtedly, she’s one of the adventurers who helped dispatch the goblin raiders outside the gate, but that notion seems a little ridiculous now that Rolan’s looking at her up close.

A lute hangs by a strap on her back, still wrapped in traces of Weave, marking her as a bard. She doesn’t look particularly strong or intimidating, especially in the bright colours and whimsical patterns of her jerkin. This is what passes for an adventurer?

“But you are intruding,” Rolan says acridly.

Lia turns her gaze furiously back to him. The woman tries to hide an amused grin. Badly. It strikes him in a way he doesn’t expect. A feeling like irritation sparks in his stomach.

“You should all stay,” she says. “Who knows? A single blade could make a difference.”

“Thank you!” Lia says, throwing her hands up. “You see? We have to stay. It’s the right thing to do.”

“She’s right, Rolan. We’re better than this,” Cal says.

With that, Rolan feels the situation has suddenly careened too far out of his control, and all because of a few words from this intruder. He tries mentally to renew his grasp on the thread of his argument, but he’s sick of fighting. And no matter what, he will not lose his composure in front of an outsider.

“Zurgan,” he mutters. “Fine. I’ll stay, too. Lest the both of you end up with your throats slit by a goblin blade.”

“Thank you, Rolan!” Lia beams, though not at him—at the bard. “You’re the one who tangled with those goblins, aren’t you?”

Personally, Rolan has no interest in where this conversation is headed next. He uses the last of his energy to stop himself rolling his eyes as he turns and heads back into the hollow.

❖ ❖ ❖

Her name is Tav. It was the last thing his ears caught as he left Cal and Lia with the errant adventurer the previous day. Not that he was trying to catch it. She had intruded on their conversation, plain and simple, much in the same way she was now intruding on Rolan’s peace.

Cal and Lia had insisted they were going to make themselves useful that morning, and apparently that meant ingratiating themselves with the guards at the top of the gate. Rolan prefers to keep them both in his line of sight to make sure they don’t get into trouble. Or cause it. In that spirit, he sticks to the secluded area on the periphery of the gate so he can keep an eye on them while he practises his magic.

Throwing himself in his studies has always been his refuge. Withdrawing into his magic feels natural, even when being a part of a family doesn’t. He remembers running away to their shared room and slamming the door whenever everything became too much or too loud and disappearing into a book until his frayed nerves recovered.

Instinctively, Rolan shuts his eyes and reaches into the Weave, its warmth rushing to envelop him. Two decades of training, and the sensation never changes. It’s reminiscent of an embrace, all-encompassing acceptance—the kind that doesn’t wink out of existence when he doesn’t feel worthy of it. Because this is something he’s earned after years of learning everything he can about magic on his own.

And then, Tav had shown up, flanked with the same followers she’d been running around the grove with yesterday. A gith, a half-elf in Sharran armour, and an elf with a smile more pointed and dangerous than the daggers on his belt. They are decidedly more formidable-looking than their bard.

She greets his siblings like they’re already friends, and that is enough to poke holes in Rolan’s focus. He tries to firm his concentration, but the sound of their laughter shreds it to pieces. Tav’s laugh is clear as a bell, with a quality to it that begs everyone around her to give her a reason, another opportunity to hear it again.

The image of her thinly-veiled grin sticks in his mind, and that’s the last straw. Rolan releases the last dregs of his focus, letting the curling tendrils of Weave surrounding him to furl in on themselves and evaporate with a sigh. Gods, he misses the peaceful quiet of his room in Westerly and the wingback armchair by the window he liked to curl up in with the spires of High District soaring in the distance.

“Hello,” Tav says, suddenly appearing at his side.

He tenses. “What do you want?”

“To say ‘hello’,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Bad day?”

The inane question grates at him. Rolan doesn’t understand how she can’t see that he’s sequestered himself by design—to be left alone.

“We should have left by now,” he says bitterly.

“This again?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “Instead, because of you, we’re just sitting here, practically begging to be attacked.”

Rolan’s not entirely sure what possesses him to lay the entire blame on her, but it feels right in the moment. And perhaps, he would regret it if not for the self-satisfied look that settles over her countenance.

“Leave on your own, then,” she says, shrugging. “If you’re so impatient.”

It’s a transparent attempt to call him on his bluff, but it’s an effective one.

“That is tempting,” he admits, “but I could never leave Cal and Lia behind.”

Tav’s face softens at his words. The shift in her expression is subtle. Rolan feels something twist in his belly in response that he finds utterly confounding.

“What?” he demands, frowning.

She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Before he can (rightly) call her a liar, her half-elf friend calls her name and waves her back over.

“See you around,” Tav says with one last momentary glance before striding back up the path, gone as quickly as she appeared.

Rolan watches her reunite with her companions and head together further into the grove. It’s only after they disappear from view that he realises he feels warmer than he’d been while wrapped in the Weave.

❖ ❖ ❖

The sting of steel pulls a gasp from Rolan’s lips. He lifts his finger to his mouth to swipe his tongue against the bead of red forming from his cut. Thankfully, it’s not deep.

“You’ve been distracted,” Cal remarks. His own handiwork with a blade has already produced a small pile of skinned rabbits, whereas Rolan has only managed a few measly carrots. He’s used to helping out in the kitchen but never been as skilled with a knife.

When Okta enlisted their help with the stew today, he’d hoped it would prove a good way to get his mind off things. Things, specifically, like the sound of Tav’s laugh and the soft, hazy glow that formed around her whenever she stepped into the columns of sunlight pouring into the hollow through cracks and openings in the stone canopy.

“Away with you!” the old woman says, snatching his knife and shooing him from his station toward a basin. “Away until you’ve washed your hands!”

Rolan grumbles a little but does as he’s told. Okta is meddlesome and a busybody, but she’s shown the three of them an abundance of kindness, always making sure they’ve had their fill of gruel or watered-down stew. He plunges his hands into the basin and lets his chin fall to his chest.

“Been a few days since those adventurers came around,” Cal says pensively. “Wonder what they’ve been up to.”

It’s true that Tav and her friends haven’t shown their faces in a while. Not even to sell off their rubbish.

“If they really did go to deal with the goblins like they said, they’re probably dead,” Rolan says.

“Don’t be morbid,” Cal says. He pauses, then, “What do you mean ‘if’?”

Rolan lifts his head to send his adopted brother a look of disdain. “Did you really think they were going to traipse into a goblin camp for the sake of some unfortunate refugees?”

“You don’t trust them?”

It’s a far sight easier to believe they had never intended to help them than to imagine them falling short. Just like with the druids.

“About as far as I can throw them,” he says.

❖ ❖ ❖

When the news comes that the goblins’ leaders have been defeated, Rolan’s pride tempers his giddiness. They can finally leave and resume the journey to Baldur’s Gate, to their futures.

“They did it! They really did it!” Lia says.

“I knew they would,” Cal says, giving Rolan a knowing look he’s seen too many times before.

Rolan scoffs, feigning disinterest. “Let’s just get on with it. I don’t want to spend one more second longer here than we have to.”

His wish to get back on the road immediately is promptly delayed by the suggestion of a party. A final celebration at the adventurers’ camp of their victory before parting ways. Rolan can’t think of a worse idea.

The druids keep a rustic domicile within the Emerald Grove—a grand name for what essentially boils down to a smelly cave. There’s no separate shelter for the oxen. They’ve simply buffered a small space to keep them while staying there, along with their troughs and hay.

Rolan’s robes are no doubt saturated with the odour by now. The thought of attending a party wearing them, much less showing up in Baldur’s Gate to meet Lorroakan, is difficult to swallow. He contemplates washing them in the river, but everything that goes in the water tends to come out with a thin film of slippery grime that clings to the skin unpleasantly.

Not long after the scouts break the news, Tav and her companions show up at the grove. Rolan tries to appear as unaffected as possible as they speak to Zevlor, but he’s purposefully peering through the crowd for a better look.

They look a little ragged under all the sweat and goblin viscera. Even Tav’s brightly coloured jerkin is stained with drying spatters of scarlet. Maybe Rolan doesn’t have so much to worry about fragrance-wise after all.

The moment they finish their conversation with Zevlor and start moving, Rolan looks for anything else to turn his attention to. What he lands on is rifling through his pack to look busy, but there’s barely anything in it except for a waterskin, an apple, and a few crumpled letters. Tav takes her time talking to each of the refugees she’s apparently become acquainted with while he feels stupider each second he spends pretending to search for something that doesn’t exist.

It’s not even been a tenday, and Tav seems to have spoken to more of the other refugees than Rolan’s ever had since they set off from Elturel. He realises, perhaps for the first time, that he never tried to get to know any of them because he didn’t see the point. There’s never really a point. It’ll always be him, alone, trailing after Cal and Lia—just like it was when they were children.

His hands still. Maybe that was why Tav inspired such a feeling of hostility inside him. Left him all twisted up and warm. She was like a foreign object wedging its way between them.

He shakes the thought from his head. It was completely irrational, he recognises that.

“Rolan,”

Cal gently knocks the toe of his boot against his. He looks up to find Tav has finally made her way over to them. She flashes him a brilliant smile.

“Took care of those goblins for you,” she says.

Ah, she means it as a jest. Rolan straightens and arches an eyebrow at her.

“For me? Really?” he says sceptically. “I nearly dispatched them myself, but you seem to have managed well enough.”

“‘Well enough’, is it?” Tav echoes teasingly.

“Yes. Why wield a masterwork where a butcher’s blade will do?” He eyes the bloodied rapier at her hip.

“Is that what passes as gratitude in Elturel?” she says, patting the handle of her weapon nonchalantly.

“Certainly not,” Cal says with a pointed look at Rolan. “Come off it, Rolan. You really think you could have Thunderwaved every goblin in that camp alone? Thank the nice lady for saving our skins.”

It’s almost worse that she tries to fight against the smirk threatening to burst across her face. Rolan scowls at Tav, at the locks of hair plastered to her forehead and the flush lingering in her cheeks from the heat of battle, and swallows.

“Thank you, truly,” he says stiffly.

❖ ❖ ❖

“You like her,” Cal says, seemingly out of nowhere.

Rolan nearly drops his end of the barrel they’re in the middle of lugging over to the ox cart.

“What?” he hisses.

“Tav. You like her.”

The repeat of his words makes Rolan cringe, even though he brought them on himself.

“It’s just like Zephirine all over again,” Cal goes on. “Your ears got all red.”

“‘Cept he made Zephi cry,” Lia says, the venom in her voice a little thin if only due to the distance of years since the particular event she’s referring to. Rolan can’t imagine Tav bursting into tears because of something he says anytime soon.

“If you’re not careful, she’ll think you’re a prick.”

“You make it sound like he still has a chance,” Cal says with a lighthearted laugh.

They pause at the back of the cart as Lia joins in on the chuckling. Rolan knows they aren’t trying to be mean, but wants to fold in on himself anyway. Together, he and Cal swing the barrel up onto the cart.

❖ ❖ ❖

Hells. Cal was right.

Rolan loathes admitting these kinds of things to himself, hates the futility of it. He’s always rejected distractions to his singular focus of achieving power. The kind of power that meant the three of them would never have to lose their home again.

It takes a glass or two of cheap wine for the merriment of the celebration to smooth the edges of his discomfort. At least, Cal and Lia don’t leave his side, swaying to the music with big goofy smiles on their faces. Seeing them happy gives him permission to relax.

Cheers erupt amongst the dancers, drawing Rolan’s attention to the centre of the camp. Alfira is sidling up to Tav, nudging her not-so-subtly as she continues to strum her lute. Tav makes a show of rolling her eyes, but her enthusiasm is plain as day. As she reaches for her own instrument, the crowd cheers again.

She falls into Alfira’s lively tune easily, bouncing back and forth with the beat. The fire throws warm light across her face, sparks and embers twirling with the movement of the dancers. Tav spins theatrically, drawing hoots from onlookers—she’s a natural entertainer, glowing in the attention.

Rolan tears his gaze away and closes his eyes, letting the phosphenes from the fire fade away into black. He is certain Tav is a puzzle, and anyone who wants to be with her has to fit neatly into her and her life. Much like himself. Futility. Coming to terms with that makes it a whole lot easier for Rolan to put Tav out of his mind.

“Didn’t you say you were going to put on your little show?” Cal says, slightly winded as he drops to a seat on one of the rocks nearby.

“Fireworks!” Lia exclaims, knocking into Cal. She looks up at Rolan eagerly. “We finally get to see the fireworks! Well, come on, then!”

She and Cal lean forward on their knees. The ale has turned her cheeks an even rosier shade of red than usual. ‘Fireworks’ is a bit of a stretch for a minor prestidigitation spell, but he’s inclined to humour them.

“Patience,” Rolan says, feeling his confidence reemerge. He wags a finger at them. “Have you no respect for showmanship?”

Stretching out his arms, Rolan dips back into the Weave. His self-assurance swells as he feels its warmth surround him. A pleasant shiver runs up his spine.

“Having performance issues, Rolan?” Cal loudly whispers.

Lia smacks Cal in the shoulder. They’re even more obnoxious when they’ve been drinking, but Rolan’s mood is quickly improving. He shoots them each nothing more than an unamused look.

“Hush,” he scolds them.

Drawing from the well of the Weave’s power, Rolan concentrates his magic at his fingertips and makes a grand sweeping gesture as a brilliant light flashes above them, white at its centre and fracturing into iridescent colour around the edges. It evanesces into residual sparks around them before fading completely.

“Remember when he could barely cast that?” Lia says, elbowing her brother.

Cal grins. “They grow up so fast.”

Rolan shakes his head, though he can’t help but chuckle a little. The sound of clapping interrupts him. Alfira and Tav have brought their duet to a ringing end, it seems.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Lia says, twisted in her seat to look over at them.

Tav is reluctantly putting down her lute, clearly determined not to take up any more of Alfira’s stage. She waves off requests for an encore with a sheepish grin and tucks a lock of her hair behind one ear. When she looks up and catches Rolan’s gaze with hers, her lips curve into a small smile. His chest nearly bursts.

“Pass the wine,” he tells Lia, turning away.

❖ ❖ ❖

“I saw your spell,” Tav says by way of greeting once she finally tears herself away from a conversation with her elf companion.

She saunters over to his side, a goblet of wine in her hand. Cal and Lia immediately begin whispering to each other as if he can’t hear them.

“Very impressive.”

“Come to offer your adoration?” Rolan says, opting to ignore obvious gossip. He’s had a couple more cups by this point, and it’s so much easier to do so. “You’re too kind.”

Tav looks a little surprised. “You’re certainly more at ease.”

“Might have something to do with not having to worry about goblins anymore,” he tells her.

She hums in agreement and takes a long sip of her wine. When she pulls the goblet away, it leaves a drop of the deep ruby liquid on her bottom lip. Rolan actively fights against the urge to reach up to wipe it away with his thumb. That would be a wildly inappropriate and intimate gesture, he reminds himself.

Her tongue darts out to swipe at the droplet. It’s a quick motion, but just a hint of the pink tip suddenly makes his pulse accelerate. Even though Rolan hastily averts his eyes, Tav seems to have noticed him looking and grins.

“I’m glad it worked out. You risked a lot to stay. I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you or your siblings,” she says.

It’s his turn to be surprised. He hadn’t expected sincerity, hadn’t known she was capable of it.

“Of course, that probably would have meant I was dead. So, you know. Hypothetically,” she says with a weak laugh.

She drops her gaze to the reflection of stars in her cup, and Rolan recognises an attempt at walking back a moment of candour when he sees one. They had stayed, and it had been because of something she said. Of course, she would bear the heavy weight of responsibility if it had ended badly.

Impulsively, Rolan thrusts his own drink out in front of him and takes a deep breath. “Well, here’s to it all working out,” he says a little too quickly so that his words all jumble together slightly.

It manages to pull a laugh out of her. Soft, but still clear and bell-like. The sound tugs at something in his chest, beckoning. His mind scrambles, unbidden, to try to think of anything to say that might get her to laugh again in the future.

“To it all working out,” she agrees, gently clinking her cup into his.

❖ ❖ ❖

He was awash with a spell that night. One made of the taste of dry wine and the crackle of the fire and the tantalising prospect of a singular chance.

They are bound for different paths, ones that he can’t know for sure will ever cross again. And even if they did, Rolan won’t fold into her life neatly, and she won’t fold into his. It’s simply how they operate.

But they have this one night, and one thing Tav seems to know how to do is take a chance. She reappears several more times between making the rounds with everyone at the party, bringing offers of coy looks and fleeting touches. Rolan isn’t so clueless as to not recognise how women like her behave when they want something.

So, what stops him? He tries to parse the answer to that question for far longer than he’d be willing to admit.

It’s not just one thing. It’s the thought of leaving Cal and Lia alone, of the inevitable mess of rolling around with her in the dirt. The tenderness in Tav’s eyes when she speaks in hushed tones with her wizard companion. The burning embarrassment of the fiasco that was his first kiss. The smell of ox lingering in his robes.

In the end, he lets the opportunity slip through his fingers, and it feels easy. It’s almost liberating.

“Think we’ll see them again in Baldur’s Gate?” Cal asks, taking one last glance behind them as they leave the adventurers’ camp in the wee hours.

“Maybe. It’s a big city,” Rolan says unaffectedly. He doesn’t look back.

❖ ❖ ❖

It takes three people in total to drag him away from the site of the ambush. Adrenaline pumps through his veins. Rolan screams at them to let him go after Cal and Lia until his throat is sore.

The snivelling of the children chafes at his already fragile sense, rubbing his nerves raw. It’s unbearably cold, even when he touches the Weave—as if even Mystra’s reach cannot fully penetrate the shadows. Shadows that have buried deep, into regions of his chest reserved for himself and his magic.

They’ve never been apart, the three of them. Not like this. Rolan’s island shrinks in on himself.

It feels like the shadows have gripped him and refuse to let go. Rolan plants himself at the bar inside Last Light Inn and drowns himself in Arabellan Dry so he can stop replaying the way Cal and Lia threw themselves at the cultists in his head.

The others call him a mess. Rolan shoots nasty glares at them. He’s drunk, not deaf.

❖ ❖ ❖

“You look awful.” She says it like she can’t help herself, teasing and a bit regretful. Rolan feels the undeniable need to cut her down to size bubble up his throat like bile.

“Stick your nose in someone else’s business this time,” he spits at her over his cup. “Haven’t you done enough to my family?”

Tav’s face falls, but she clings to her sad smile. It makes him want to shove at her and run away. Unfortunately, this is the only place the alcohol is kept.

“Alfira told me what happened,” she says. “She said you stepped in and protected everyone.”

Rolan scoffs and turns away, sagging over the bar. “Cute. And while I did, Cal and Lia were dragged away screaming. Maybe you two can write a ballad about that.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to them, but—,”

“You should be sorry. It was you who convinced them to play hero, and now they’re gone.”

He’s done it again. Laid the blame at her feet. This time, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as gratifying.

“I’m going to get them back, Rolan,” she says.

There’s not so much as a shake to her voice. Her words are quiet but confident. The desire to steal even a fraction of her audacity threads through his being. Rolan whirls around to face her again. His head swims.

“They’re my responsibility. Leave me and my family alone.” He laces the command with acid and revels in the way she flinches in response.

She seems like she wants to say something else. The glint in her eye carries a suggestion of worry. Or pity. For her sake, Rolan hopes she keeps it to herself.

“Fine,” she says finally, as if sensing his silent warning. It’s the last word she says before making herself scarce.

❖ ❖ ❖

He might have still been a little inebriated when he slipped out of Last Light, but the shadows quickly chase the last of the haziness away. This isn’t the worst thing he’s been through, Rolan tells himself. And if anyone is going to rescue Cal and Lia, it’ll be him.

He’s not doing this out of a misplaced sense of pride. Certainly, this has nothing to do with the way he very confidently told Tav off and declared that this was his responsibility.

Certainly not.

Even when he’s alone, Rolan still finds himself trailing after his siblings. There’s probably some irony in that he’s currently failing to identify. The hem of his robes routinely catch on dead branches that reach out of the darkness like gnarled fingers. He’d be more worried about potentially showing up to his apprenticeship in this state under different circumstances.

There are shapes moving in the dark that make him question the integrity of his darkvision. Rolan moves with purpose through the winding cobblestone paths, gripping the torch in his hand so hard his nails dig painfully into the palm of his hand. The skin on the back of his neck prickles.

Clumsily, he climbs over the edge of a broken bridge and down the splintered fragments of road leading south. At least, he thinks it’s south. Lia was always the better tracker.

He can’t pinpoint exactly when he becomes aware he’s being stalked. All Rolan knows is that there’s nowhere to hide, no reprieve from the shadows this far from Last Light. And the deeper he goes, the darker the shadows will become. The best he can hope for now is a good spot to make a last stand.

❖ ❖ ❖

All this time, and he’s never seen Tav in action before now. She commands the fight just as well as she commands an audience—that is to say, better than Rolan ever expected.

He can’t believe he ever thought she wasn't intimidating. Thousands of hours with his nose buried in books, and he isn’t sure he could even match the vastness of her magic. How does a bard access the Weave with the consummate ease of a wizard?

It’s neither the time nor the place, but as Rolan watches her send down a blast of light that disintegrates the final shadow creature, he recalls the words of praise she offered him about his magic trick at the party. Had she only been humouring him? The idea eats away at him like acid, and when Tav turns to him, glorious with her hair wild and chest heaving, he fixes her with a look of pure vitriol.

“Godsdamn it all!” he shouts. It feels good to shout. Cathartic. Even though his throat is still a little sore. “Not you again! Anyone but you!”

“Tymora’s tits, Rolan! I can’t believe you would do something so stupid!”

Tav matches his tone, apparently forgetting all about her companions watching on awkwardly behind her as she storms at him.

“You're going to get yourself killed, you fucking arsehole!”

Her hands are on the ornate silver plate stretching across his chest and shoving him. It’s not a forceful shove—Rolan imagines he’d receive more than a few bruises if the barbarian at her back was the one doing this—but he’s also not expecting it. His back hits the rocky outcrop behind him with a soft thud.

“You’re supposed to be at Last Light!”

Tav raises one arm up to furiously swipe at her reddening face with her sleeve. The edges of Rolan’s vision turn white. She doesn’t get to do this.

“I’m supposed to be saving Cal and Lia!” he barks back at her. “Instead, I found myself cornered by shadow fiends and in need of rescue! From you, of all bloody people.”

He can hear the way his tone veers toward condescension. It’s a bluff of the highest order. She could probably strike him down before he even gets out the incantation for Magic Missile. But falling back on arrogance is his last defence against the slip of her mask threatening to tug at his heartstrings.

“Was I supposed to just let you die?” Tav says with a sneer.

“Alright, soldier,” her tiefling companion says, drawing her back gently by the shoulder. “I think he gets the picture, don’t you Rolan?”

His muscles hurt from tensing. Rolan forces himself to draw in a deep breath of cold, stale air.

“I know when I’m outmatched,” he says, defeated.

They let him go off on his own and return to Last Light. He’s surprised they’d even trust him to do that right.

❖ ❖ ❖

The pain is almost too much to bear, but Rolan doesn’t want to so much as look at another bottle of wine. Not after he spends a good hour retching over the side of the docks behind the inn. It feels deserved anyway.

He doesn’t understand how no one else seems to be going insane at quite the same rate as him in this godsforsaken place. The constant darkness is draining, an eerie echo of the day when the eternal light of the Companion was snuffed out. It almost feels like they’re about to be swallowed up into Avernus again.

The lack of day and night distinction makes it difficult to determine just how much time passes as Rolan sits and waits. He doesn’t even know if he’s waiting for Cal and Lia to be saved or for Tav to return with unsavoury news, if she comes back at all this time.

Nothing exists beyond the borders of the shadow-cursed lands. Rolan can’t even fathom making it out of here alive, let alone making it to Baldur’s Gate alone. He slumps over a table, resisting the urge to slam his head down on the wood, and rests his cheek against his stacked hands.

Someone calls his name. The voice sounds muffled with his ear pressed against his arm, but Rolan would recognise it anywhere.

“Lia?” he croaks, lifting his head.

It’s them. It’s really them. Cal, Lia, his family. Rolan is on his feet, but they refuse to move.

“We’re back,” Cal says, closing the distance between them because he can’t seem to.

“That’s all you have to say?” Rolan says, angling his body away from them coldly. “While you two were Torm knows where, I was out there battling the wretched darkness. What were you thinking?”

Recently rescued prisoner or no, Lia’s fiery temper remains entirely unaffected. Her nostrils flair. “Oh, I’m sorry we got captured by murderous lunatics,” she snaps.

“I thought you were dead, you ass!” Rolan fires back. “Both of you!”

“We’re all safe!” Cal says, scrambling to physically place himself between them before Lia can get in his face. “That’s all that matters.”

It’s like a dam breaks inside him. Rolan has no choice but to surrender to the wave of emotion crashing down on him. His eyes sting.

“I thought my whole family was dead,” he says, voice breaking.

Lia visibly deflates. “I’m sorry,” she says, sincerely this time. “We should have been here.”

“No—no, it’s not your fault,” Rolan says as Cal claps a hand over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry.”

“You two are idiots,” Cal says affectionately.

Rolan exchanges amused glances with Lia and lets the corners of his mouth lift into a small smile.

“Troglodytes, the both of you.”

❖ ❖ ❖

He’s not sure why he’s hiding. It’s humiliating, the way Rolan presses himself against the wall of the upstairs landing.

The adventurers have returned and are sitting around the fire at the centre of the main hall. From what he can hear, they’ve worked out a portion of how to break the shadow curse. The sound of Tav’s tired voice pins him to the spot like a spell.

Rolan peers through the railing down at them, stomach churning. They all look… rough. The Sharran cleric (Shadowheart?) is cradling her head in her hands, slouched forward in her seat on her elbows. Karlach is crumpled in the barstool next to her, and Tav’s being held up in her chair partially by Wyll’s arm slung around her shoulders.

“Who’re you spying on?”

Cal’s whisper comes from way too close to his ear. Rolan reels, cringing, and rubs his ear frantically.

“Ah, they’re back. Need to properly thank them for what they did at Moonrise,” Cal says, getting up from his crouched position beside him.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Rolan says, heart still pounding.

“What are you sods doing skulking about up here? Come on,” Lia says, emerging from the door to her room.

Rolan accepts the hand Cal offers him with a sigh and follows them stiffly down the stairs to the common area of the inn. A few pairs of eyes glance up at them as they enter. Tav’s are noticeably not among them.

“I’m going to get some air,” Rolan mutters to his siblings. As if there’s any to be had in this hellhole.

He keeps his head down and scuttles toward the exit before Cal or Lia can protest. The moment his foot touches the eerie moon-like light cast from the Selûnite shield, he feels a short tug on his sleeve and freezes. Rolan knows who it is before she even starts speaking.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

It takes him a moment to steel himself before he can face her. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for bringing my family back to me.”

The expression on her face is unreadable, but the dark circles under her eyes jump out at him.

“And?” she says.

He shifts his glance briefly back up toward Cal and Lia, hoping they might sense his desire for a well-timed intervention. No such luck.

“And…,” he pauses and bites back a groan, “I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

Rolan expects her to look at least a little satisfied—it was rather a good apology. Instead, her brows knit in disappointment.

“Hells, humble Rolan is a bit uncanny. I think I like you better when you’re being pretentious,” Tav says, plush lips quirked into a lopsided grin.

He’d almost forgotten after everything that she is still the same meddlesome, needling bard he met in the grove.

“Are-are you being serious right now? I mean, do you never drop the glib bard act?”

Tav the adventurer. Tav the bard. Tav the fighter, the saviour, the flirt. Rolan grasps at aspects of her of his own making, trying to find the one that comes closest to the truth, but it’s like trying to catch smoke.

“I’m sorry,” she says with what seems like genuine remorse behind her weak smile. “I’ve been dealing with a lot, mostly unhealthily. With a lot of alcohol and humour. I suppose I’ve gone a bit mad.”

The air seems suddenly sucked out of his lungs. Rolan doesn’t often find himself at a loss for words. He’d heard from around the inn, of course, about the illithid affliction plaguing Tav and all her companions.

“Oy! Get a room, why don’t you?” Karlach calls, waving at them.

Startled, Tav spins and shoots her friend a rude gesture. The others hoot and laugh around her. Rolan’s cheeks heat uncomfortably.

“Your friends seem reenergized,” he says flatly.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” she asks him.

He very nearly stammers out some nonsense answer before she quickly clarifies.

“I’m just talking about a walk around the inn, Rolan.”

“Ah, yes.” He feels a bit foolish. “Of course.”

❖ ❖ ❖

“I’ve never had the pleasure of travelling through Elturel. Been all up and down the Sword Coast but never that far east.”

Tav finds ways to fill the silence that seem to come so enviably natural to her. She makes Rolan feel like an awkward lanky youth again, stumbling over his words and his steps, not quite yet grown into his frame. They skirt the perimeter of the dark water, past the boat Cal had told him he and the other prisoners used to escape Moonrise.

“Trust me, you’re not missing much,” Rolan tells her, toeing a bit of gravel over the edge of the dock. “I’m sure Baldur’s Gate is a comparable city to Elturel.”

“You’ll soon see for yourself. When you finally make it to your apprenticeship,” she says.

“You’re very confident we’re making it out of here.”

That pulls one of her addictive laughs from her. “I have to be. I don’t know what the alternative would look like.”

Of course, that makes sense. Rolan hadn’t even been able to form a loose idea of what he might do with his life if he’d really lost Cal and Lia. He chances a glance at her at his side watches her pensively as they stop at the edge of the Moonshield. Beyond, there's a bridge that extends over a narrow in the water.

He can’t help but wonder what they’re doing out here. If Tav had seemed somewhat out of reach before, she might as well be untouchable now. She spends all her time with Karlach, the Blade of Frontiers, bloody Gale of Waterdeep. It feels as though it should be one of them standing here beside her.

Besides, he doesn’t want her. He’s come to respect her. Perhaps, that came a little late. But he does not want her. Rolan has his family to think about, a path already set before him, a future as an Archmage with his own tower someday. That sort of thing doesn’t fit neatly into the life of an adventurer, and he can’t imagine she’d want to be tied down either.

So then, this must be some sort of fling for her. A passing fancy. Tav is saying something, but Rolan had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts and missed most of the first part. Something having to do with the Underdark and a bulette—he doesn’t really care. He turns to her abruptly and cuts her off.

“What is it you want from me?”

His question gives her pause, and he can practically hear Lia’s voice in his head. If you’re not careful, she’ll think you’re a prick. He can’t help it. It’s just always what he’s done to anyone who’s tried to get too close, for good or for ill.

“Nothing.” She says it cheekily, as if trying to elicit a reaction. It succeeds.

“Liar,” he tells her in a low voice.

Her tongue flickers out over her lip. “Yes,” she says simply. “Maybe I just want you to yell at me a little more.”

“Don’t jest. You might not want to think about it, but you could die soon. Or worse.”

“That could be. But to be honest, I’ve always believed fortune favours the bold,” she says with a shrug.

Bloody follower of Tymora. He’s certain he’s heard her invoke the Smiling Lady’s name before. Leaving so much in the hands of his goddess isn’t something Rolan is in the habit of. He clenches his jaw, transfixed by the self-assured expression Tav wears so well.

“You’re not just Lady Luck in disguise, are you?” he says, narrowing his eyes at her. “Here to tempt me and move on to the next shiny toy?”

She gives a decidedly unladylike snort at that. “I feel rather strongly that gods ought to avoid relationships with mortals at all costs. But more importantly, is that really what you think my dastardly plan is?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know you, and frankly, you don’t know me,” Rolan says, aware of the frustration edging its way into his voice.

Tav chews the inside of her lip, scrutinising him. “Alright, Rolan. I can take a hint. No hard feelings.”

She moves to leave, and Rolan feels a jolt through his chest. This is what he wanted, and Tav isn’t as much of a fool as he likes to think she is. She can see the walls he builds around himself brick by brick meant to keep people like her at arm’s length.

Rolan has no clue what compels him to snatch her hand into his. The leather of her glove is worn, stopping at the second knuckle and giving way to callouses at her fingertips from years of playing the lute. Even just that slightest contact of bare skin against skin sends electricity sparking along his veins.

Sod it all. He has the fleeting thought that if she manages to ruin him like this, then so be it. His name tumbles like a question from her lips in the split second before he pulls her into him.

He crashes his lips into hers, flinching at the dull pain of the clumsy collision. It’s not how he meant to kiss her in the slightest, but if he breaks away now, Rolan thinks he might lose his nerve. Tav doesn’t seem to mind anyway.

When he threads his fingers through hers, she splays her free hand over his chest, twists into the fabric of his robes, and pushes up onto her toes. Gods, he’s relieved he’s been able to bathe since arriving at Last Light. Rolan admittedly has little practical experience of this kind, but like magic, a firm grasp of the theory must provide a good enough foundation. Methodically, he adjusts his movements—more lips, less teeth—until he matches her pace.

“Rolan,” she whispers against his mouth, tugging lightly at her handful of his robes. It sounds like a plea. He’s trying too hard.

Consciously, he softens his efforts, and Tav swiftly takes the opportunity to slip her tongue between his lips. The feel of her palm sliding against his jaw is warmer, more comforting even than the embrace of the Weave. She tastes like spiced tea sweetened with honey, and he hasn’t kissed many people before, but he knows instinctively that this is how a kiss should be.

Her tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth, sending shivers down his spine. She’s clearly done this before. Multiple times. Rolan is tired of her continuously running circles around him. He won’t let her surpass him this time.

Daringly, he winds one arm around her waist to draw her body against his. With his other hand, he takes Tav by the chin and tilts. The squeak she lets out spurs him on as he trails kisses from the corner of her mouth to the side of her neck. When Rolan presses his tongue flat against her heated skin, she claws at his sleeves, gasping.

There’s another gasp just then that Rolan knows couldn’t have come from Tav. It’s louder, farther away, and quickly followed by astonished titters.

“Oh, my.”

Rolan’s racing heart stops, and he snaps his gaze up. Bex and Danis are rooted to the spot where they apparently stumbled upon them, eyes big as saucers. Hells.

Mortified, he lets go of Tav and scrambles to put a respectable distance between them. Bex lets out a giggle as the pair makes a hasty exit that lances him through the stomach. Rolan considers jumping straight into the murky river right then and there.

Tav makes a strange strangled sound, drawing his attention sharply back to her. She’s covering her mouth with both palms, cheeks still beautifully flushed, laughter threatening to burst through her lips. The moment is honest to goodness ruined. Rolan rolls his eyes at her.

“Really?” he says.

It takes her a moment to compose herself, though it seems she still can’t help but beam at him. “It’s funny.”

He responds with an unamused grunt. “Come on. We should probably get back.”

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

i wonder if u agree, but sometimes when i read old man rust x younger oc, it's weird to me picturing somebody in early/mid twenties bc, realistically, that would make the oc around his daughter's age, and i don't think rust can go for that. i say that as somebody who's 23, so i don't mean to exclude younger women or whatever. anyway, that's why i really like your oc bc she seems like an actual match for rust and not bc of age, but bc she's just the type of person i can see him falling for, i guess? like directly canonically in the series, so yeah, thank you for your work!!! but that got me wondering: when u started to write, did you have somebody in mind already and thought of how that sort of oc will work with rust, or did u ask urself what sort of person compliments rust best? sorry if this is too much trouble.

NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE i think this is acc a super interesting ask!

my opinions below the cut…

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

RIGHT so i wanna preface by saying EVERY SINGLE rust oc story ive read so far has meat to it, like the authors know their shit and they should get their due snaps and kudos

i think i read younger ofcs with like a pinch of salt in the sense that i know it’s a bit crazy — btw this is coming from someone who had a “relationship” with a much older man at the ripe age of 16 — but i think it’s still good to read

things we experience can be ugly and uncomfortable but it’s still real and a part of me appreciates like keeping it real 💀 this is going to sound a little femcel of me but let’s be honest, sex is about power and the dynamics of that power give intricacies to stories that make them interesting! rust is a man (😔) and have you ever seen that one study of like ages of women men find most attractive and it’s a consistent 20 even as men get to like 70

yeah

keeping it uncomfortably real but real nonetheless

true detective is southern gothic and what i love about southern gothic is that it doesn’t shy away from touching on the less palatable corners of human existence/nature/WHATever. do i see why a daughter woman child thing as a love interest to a middle aged man with a dead baby is off-putting? YES. do i still read things along those lines because it’s interesting? ALSO YES. because more often than not creators are self-aware and explore these topics with nuance, which i respect massively

now onto like the sort of second part of you ask, beautiful anon…

when writing The Idler Wheel, idk if i was thinking as deeply when creating an oc as i was fixated on the weirdness of rust and ocs like yearning 😭? for each other, and the fact that he felt anything at all was a massive woaaaahhh for them both. the way we experience / act on desire (not even sexual just any kind but actually maybe especially sexual) says so much about a person and i guess that’s the single point from which i branched out, and every other aspect of her came later

the reason she/oc is not like twenty is because, similar to what you said, i cannot picture 1995–2002 (around that time) rust with a youngYOUNGGGG woman becaaaause holy shit i think he’d just die, like out of sadness or hurt, i think he wouldn’t be able to look at her at all 💀

old dog rust on the other hand does not give a shit about doing what’s “right” imo if that makes sense, like he’s who he is and he feels what he feels and i think this version of rust would be much more receptive to a younger woman, even if it’s “wrong” because he literally just doesn’t care anymore

i think the only reason The Idler Wheel girl was able to sneak her way in around that time is because she’s grown and a part of his workplace and therefore she should be “safe”, no more than any of his coworkers. so he lets her in his space and he lets her bring him coffee and he lets her do him favours because she’s just like the others and he just has to tolerate her, just has to see her

but of course she’s not like his coworkers and he can’t place why he wants her so bad, only that he does, which is bad because she should be mundane and she should be nothing and yet unfortunately he wants to be her dog

does this answer your q or did i go off on a tangent

i love you anon 💕💕💕💕

[shitgoblindingleberry]

OKAY CAUSE LISTEN. (till character analysis let’s go) (apologies in advance this is LONGG)

if till is actually in love with mizi then there is literally no outcome in which him and ivan are happy.

because 1) he’ll never love ivan as long as mizi is alive, and 2) even if he thinks mizi is dead, ivan will only ever be a rebound, the second choice he turned to when mizi wasn’t an option.

however, i would like for you to consider that maybe, instead, the problem is that till doesn’t know how to properly process or identify his feelings. i would like to propose that maybe he misinterpreted his feelings for mizi as love when in actuality he views her as some unattainable idol to covet but not actually connect with (like parasocial relationships).

meanwhile, ivan was always there for him and slowly became a support system till didn’t even know he had. because even if he didnt feel LOVE for ivan, they definitely had a REAL relationship—arguably more real than anything he ever had with mizi. all of their interactions are just like. much more RAW than anything till ever had with mizi if that makes sense. because all we’ve ever seen him doing with her is admiring from afar and sacrificing things for her in secret that she never asked for, nor wanted from him. while with ivan they actually hung out with absolutely no expectations of anything between them (on till’s side at least. it wasn’t a performative relationship to be this self sacrificing person for ivan like it would’ve been if he were talking to mizi. which is ironically a much more healthy basis for a relationship. to fully see the person as being equal to you without putting them on a pedestal)

i think till’s way of coping with everything was finding someone else outside himself to live for and idolize. his entire life was built around mizi, every choice he made committed with her in mind (like when he chose to stay in the garden rather than escaping for her sake). and once she’s ripped away, he’s left feeling empty and aimless—the center of his very world is no longer there.

HOWEVER.

this is shaken by ivan’s death. even though mizi was always his center, he can’t exactly not be affected by someone who’s been at his side for YEARS. and, unlike with mizi, their bond was definitely real and very much tangible for BOTH sides (despite meaning different things for each of them). but when ivan died FOR him, till felt something that was very real and very confusing which was very much a mixture of raw emotions he wasn't prepared to face feeling from anyone apart from mizi. because while mizi is his ideal, i think his feelings about her were always accompanied by a sense of disconnect because they didnt have any actual basis for this bond beyond till simply yearning for her. but with ivan. they were friends. they trusted each other by this point, and ivan has shown that he cares for till REPEATEDLY throughout them knowing each other. and.

i think till subconsciously acknowledged that ivan was important to him, even if just as a background support in his life. someone he hung out with without thinking about it too much. and i think that sense of care came very gradually too. because ivan is a weird mf but he still managed to worm his way into till’s world, and now he’s a staple there, even if till himself isn’t aware of that.

mainly just my vibe here is that his feelings surrounding ivan are very messy and complicated (as real life emotions tend to be) and that wasn’t what till was looking for when he was younger. he needed something stable, something he could look at and idolize from afar. something he could dedicate his messed up life to without having to worry about other complicated feelings. and that was what mizi was to him. a purpose to live that was unchanging because no matter what till himself did or what happened to him, it didn’t affect HER. and that was comforting. but ivan existed outside of his little ideal. and he was a real person who (unfortunately :/ ) made till feel real things that were outside of his control. which wasnt what he needed when he was younger—he needed stability. but i think in the end he had the most chance of an actual developed, healthy, and consistent relationship with ivan.

that is, if bro wasnt dead 🙏🙏🕊🕊

[thatfanficauthor107]

KARASUNO THIRD YEAR ANGST HEADCANONS

TW: abuse, neglect, suicide attempt, self harm, depression, illness, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, alcoholism, drug abuse, death of loved ones, panic attacks

DAICHI: - his father is frankly an alcoholic and likely on types of drug more often than not. - he’s made it his job to keep the man away from his younger siblings, though that means that he takes far more punishments so they don’t have to - his father is lowkey abusive towards him, especially since he found out Daichi was queer (bisexual transmale) - mental health isn’t the best but he ignores that - has considered self harm multiple times and scares himself with how dark the thoughts get some nights - emotionally unavailable often, not at all connected with his feelings and emotions - was taught from a really young age that showing emotions (esp negative ones) showed weakness - his mother died when he was a kid, and his stepmother is either oblivious or ignores how his father treats him - he resents her for this although she’s never actually done anything directly to him - probably has undiagnosed AuDHD - doesn’t have many medical resources available for things like his asthma and his joint issues - doesn’t entirely understand Asahi’s anxiety as he was raised in a way that didn’t allow him to show any form of fear so he just pushes his own away - this has caused many arguments between the two because he just can’t understand Asahi’s point of view - ^^^ absolutely hates this - insomniac - doesn’t sleep well/at all for days on end and it really affects his mental health and mood, it’s more obvious to others than he realises - refuses to ask others for help or open up to them, even when he desperately needs it. suga had to force daichi to open up about sometimes the smallest things - skips meals often - doesn’t think he ‘needs’ them - ^^ his weight is one of his biggest insecurities - he had an eating disorder throughout part of junior hight - yui and hayato monitored what he ate for weeks after they found out

KOUSHI: - has two present parents but isn’t that close with them - his father cares more for his work than his family. his mother tries her hardest to be fair to them both but she fails often in koushi’s eyes - loves his younger brother but hates how he partially resents him for always being his parents favourite - his brother has a lot of medical issues so his mother always doted over him and left koushi in the care of his elderly grandmother - when his grandmother passed his parents hardly acknowledged it and he found that infuriating - used to overwork himself to be the top of his class in school to get his parents to notice him more (they never did) - continues to overwork himself throughout high school for any form of validation - always exerted himself in social situations and built a large social life for himself to avoid being at home and to not feel ignored - daichi and asahi were the first friends he made where he actually felt seen - his father is lowkey homophobic but only shows it behind closed doors in off-handed comments - ^^ his father cares about his reputation more than his family - his main worries and impacts on his mental health started during first year when he realised how bad Asahi and Daichi’s were - he was so scared over them hurting themselves or worse - genuinely didn’t know what to do and ended up having his first panic attack over it and several more

ASAHI: - his father passed in an accident before he was born, his mother passed away from an illness a few years later - was raised by his much older (by 11 years) sister - his sister doesn’t have any mental/mental health issues/disabilities. if their parents were still alive she would have been a glass child - often wanders what it would be like if he actually did have parents - absolutely hates mothers’/fathers’ day, and days at school where people bring in their parents. (always does something with his sister on mothers’ day without fail) - feels really guilty over how his sister had to raise him instead of living her years as a young adult - his sister works abroad most of the year, so he spends most of his time alone - was very lonely as a child - struggled to make friends his whole life, and was pretty severely bullied most of his life too - this bullying only stopped in highschool after Daichi and Suga ‘adopted’ him - ^^ this quickly turned into rumours rather than bullying - the rumours really get under his skin and affect how he sees himself (doesn’t like how he looks anymore, already low self worth plummeted) - used to self harm throughout the end of his junior high years and the beginning of high school. quitting was much harder than he had expected. - attempted in his first year at some point, everything just got too much for him and he needed it to stop. he overdosed on sleeping pills. It didn’t work, he woke up disoriented and sore hours later. He didn’t plan on telling anyone until Daichi and Suga forced him to open up. - the time he took off from volleyball he also took off from school in general. it was a longer depressive episode. - the comments he got after returning, even if they were just jokes, really got to him - to the point where he questioned coming back the next day or ever - he hates how daichi can’t understand his anxiety even though he knows it’s not daichi’s fault. he hates even more how there are some days he resents him for it

[creativity-deficient]

An essay on the Tweaks, how I view their relationship with their son, and what it means for their futures

Although I’m not the biggest fan of people who portray the Tweaks as loving parents, all things considered, I also don’t believe they are as evil and malicious as some make them out to be.

I have SUCH a love/hate relationship with those guys, and it’s because as shitty as they are, they’re also both WONDERFULLY complex characters who are just shrouded in mystery. They’ve been on the show for SO long and yet we know so little about them. To be fair, they could be interpreted in any way, as we don’t quite know their intentions, HOWEVER they do seem to love their son in a sense, so crummy as they may be, I do think that there’s a bit more to all of it.

Mr. Tweak is willing to do anything for his business, even at the expense of his morals. We see this exact plot in “Gnomes”, where he is willing to use small children as a manipulation tactic to get people to care about his business.

Tweek is going to inherit the shop one day, and Richard knows this. They BOTH know this. So he’s gotta prepare him in the exact same way HE was taught, to become ONE with Tweek Bros coffee and to ALWAYS put the business first, even if it’s not right. He loves Tweek in his own way, but ultimately he sees him as a business accessory first and a son second.

I’ve also mentioned in a previous post that I think Mr. Tweak sees a lot of his younger self in Tweek. It’s no secret that Mr. Tweak doesn’t seem to view his son very highly, referring to him as “nothing but a sp*z” so to speak, and if Tweek is going to take over the business one of these days, he needs to be sure of himself, not some “twitchy, tweaked out kid”. Richard knows this because HE was once like this. This was how HIS father raised him, and look how he turned out :)

Of course, by Tweek’s age, he was already had TWICE the work ethic, but no matter, just means he needs to push harder, right?

When Tweek turns 15, his father decides that he is finally old enough to learn the secret family recipe, as he and all the Tweak men before him did.

But it doesn’t go as expected, and Tweek has quite the opposite reaction that Richard hoped he would.

He feels appalled and betrayed, and why wouldn’t he? I mean his parents had both been drugging him his whole life, (as well as the whole town), essentially fucking him up for the foreseeable future. Even as an adult he still deals with twitches and tweaks. And they just expect him to be okay with it?? Tweek is a LOT more resilient than his predecessors, and he refuses to let this ruin his life.

But it’s not as easy as it looks. He’s been drinking his parents’ coffee for as long as he can remember, he doesn’t know how to be without it. He’s forced to spend a lot of high school in rehab, missing out on a lot of his teen years. Of course, Tweek has Craig by his side to make the process a lot easier, but it’s still a lot.

This definitely breaks the relationship he has with them, and Tweek finds that he can’t trust them any longer. Or course, his father just sees him as ungrateful. After all, he’s spent so long trying to shape him up into this hard working, young man, and THIS is the thanks he gets? Richard has always striked me as being someone who is nice until he’s no longer getting his way, and Tweek ultimately trying to break the cycle of abuse is exactly what hammers in the nail of their already strained relationship.

Mrs. Tweak is a different story. This isnt the first time she felt her husband has gone too far, we see her stand up for the kids in “gnomes”. I get the feeling that she’s always known what they were doing was wrong, yet she still went with it anyways. Why? Even she doesn’t know, in all honesty. Perhaps she had been manipulated into all of this as well, under the guise that it what was best, being brainwashed into this docile wife who just does as she’s told. Or perhaps it was always to her own accord, and she’s been in on it all along. We really don’t know enough to know for sure.

Her son refuses to talk to her, and she understands why. She’s always has wanted what was best for him, but they’ve gone too far, WAY too far, and things were never gonna be the same now.

But she hopes that, perhaps, with time, there will be some healing.

[starogeorgina]

𝐑𝐮𝐧

Paring: Joel Miller × reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, violence, age gap

Chapter: 1.01

You push the door to the bedroom where Joel was sleeping as quietly as you could, being careful not to startle him. Except Joel was still awake, sitting in the darkness on the edge of his bed, staring outside, watching the snow fall. You’d overhear Joel and Ellie arguing, ending with Joel saying some pretty harsh things to the younger girl. You cared for Ellie like an older sibling, and usually you would have ripped anyone to shreds for speaking to her that way, but you knew Joel would be regretting his words already.

“If you’ve come to-”

You cut Joel off before he had the chance to finish his sentence. “I’m not coming to cuss you out; I just wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

You could tell Joel was struggling after reuniting with her brother, Tommy; it also didn’t help that his new sister-in-law Maria, wasn’t a big fan of him.

You’re met with a frown when Joel turns back to look at you. Feeling self-conscious, you fold your arms. “What, why are you looking at me like that?”

“You look cold.”

“I’m fine,” you shrug. Since arriving at the community Maria brought you to, you have been provided food, clean clothing, and a house, which you are extremely grateful for. After showering, you changed into a pair of soft plaid shorts and a matching shirt. “I’m always warm.”

Joel shakes his head, not believing you, and says, “It’s freezing outside; there’s no way you can be warm.”

You sit down on the opposite side of the bed he’s sitting on, to which he says nothing. When you first met Joel, he hardly even acknowledged your presence, but some time between watching Henry kill himself and the three months it took you to travel to Wyoming, something changed. You'd become a lot more familiar with each other. He protected you and Ellie over everything else.

A comfortable silence passes until you lay back on the bed, and a small chuckle escapes Joel’s lips as he moves to lay down beside you. “Is this your subtle way of telling me to sleep on the couch or on the floor?”

“No,” you snort. “I will be sleeping—well, I will try to sleep beside Ellie, but I give it ten minutes before she starts moaning that I’m too warm, then I’ll end up on the floor.”

“You seriously can’t be…holy shit,” he says, placing his hand on your arm. “You’re like a furnace. I thought you were always giving Ellie extra clothing to be nice. I know to keep you near the cold.”

“So, where are we going next?”

“I thought you heard what I told Ellie.”

“I did,” you say, moving your head and resting it on his shoulder, “but I know you didn’t really mean it. Did you tell Tommy about her immunity?”

“Yes.”

Your jaw clenched. The fuck did he do that for? Keeping that secret was one of the only things that kept Ellie. “Fuck, if he tells Maria…”

“Hey, hey,” Joel says, feeling you tense beside him. He turns on his side so he’s facing you as he cups your face. “I promise you, my brother won’t say a thing. I told him so he could keep her safe.”

“And what about me? What poor soul have you decided to pawn me off on?”

He smiles and says, “Honestly, I’d choose myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

You feign offense, and Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in closer. He sighs. “I’ve grown accustomed to your company, but I know you won’t leave Ellie.”

Neither will you. If you had any money, you’d place a bet on Joel still leaving in the morning with you to help take Ellie to the Fireflies, but you keep this thought to yourself.

“I think I’m going to call it a night; I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You can sleep in this bed if you want,” Joel offers. “I won’t moan that you’re warm.”

“Okay,” you shrug.

It doesn’t take you long to get comfortable and start to drift off, but it doesn’t take you long to stir when you feel hot breath on the back of your neck. It felt nice having someone so close. Joel was rubbing circles on your thigh with his thumb.

You tilt your head back to look up at him and say, “Can't you sleep?”

“No.”

A feeling you can’t describe overcomes you, and you peck Joel on the lips.

“What was that for?”

“Thank you for always saving us.”

“Oh.”

You expect Joel to roll his eyes or tell you to go back to sleep, but he kisses you. Not a sweet peck; a real kiss on the lips.

A few seconds pass, then your lips clash together. The kiss quickly becomes more heated as Joel rolls on top of you. All the pent-up wants and needs come spilling out at once. The hand resting on your thigh slowly creeps up your stomach and rests right below your breast.

Your hand threads through his hair. Playfully nipping at his bottom lip before nodding and giving him the go-ahead to go further. His free hand rubs at your warm core over your shorts; he does this while squeezing your breast and peppering your neck in kisses.

“Oh fuck,” you moan before clasping a hand over your mouth.

“How long has it been?” He whispers.

“A while,” you blush.

“Okay,” he says, kissing you gently on the lips. “We’ll start off slow, and if you want to stop, we can.”

He takes your hand and guides it so you’re holding your shorts to the side, giving him access to your pussy. He spits on his fingers, then teases you by rubbing slow circles on your clit. Joel lets go of your breast and covers your mouth, saying, “You can’t make any loud noises.”

You nod.

He smirks while sliding a finger into you. “You’re so wet; do you think you could take another?”

You nod again. And do your best not to cry out when Joel scissors his fingers inside you while tapping his thumb against your clit, making you tighten around his digits. “Please, please, I want more.”

Not needing to be told twice, Joel withdraws his fingers, pulls down his pajama bottoms, and rubs the wetness on his hand along his hard cock. “What the lady wants,” he says, amused. He runs his cock over your slit, wetting it some more before placing the tip at your entrance. “Are you sure?”

He gives you an out, but you choose not to take it. He lowers his hand from your mouth so you can say, “Fuck, yes.”

“Atta girl,” he says, covering your mouth again, which surprisingly turns you on. “Sorry, baby, but I know you won’t stay quiet.”

He was right; when Joel thrusts inside you, moans spill from your lips. He replaces his hand with his mouth. You spend the next few hours having the most loving yet pleasurable sex of your life.

—

“It’s been a while since I had a woman sneak out on me.”

You get a fright and jump upon hearing Joel’s voice suddenly coming from the other side of the stable. You face him with a smile on your face. “I didn’t sneak out; I was just careful not to wake you.”

He leans against one of the wooden posts and says, “You look different. Your hair is different.”

“Maria cut it this morning.” Having hair that was easily maintained seemed more practical. You clear your throat. “So how long do you think it will take us to find the fireflies?”

“A four to five... How did you know I’d change my mind?”

You just smile while continuing to feed the beautiful horse in front of you an apple, while the other horse grazes on some hay.

Joel licks at his lips. “So last night was...”

“Unexpected,” you chuckle. “It was good; do you think we need to talk about it?”

“Well, that depends." He pauses briefly before continuing. “If it was just fun or if it meant something more, I care for you, but if you want to keep it casual or make it more serious, I’ll follow your lead.”

Hearing him say that was surprising, but the man had been hurt so many times that you could understand why he didn’t want to mess around. Spotting Ellie walking into the stable with Tommy, you don’t get a real chance to answer Joel without changing the subject. “Morning sunshine, sleep well?”

Ellie looks between you and Joel and says, “You both look like shit.”

Joel gives Ellie the choice of wanting to travel with his brother or him; of course, she chooses Joel. As you get ready to leave, you place your hand on Joel’s back and whisper, “Whatever this is, she can’t know anything about it.”

“Agreed.”

—

“Joel, Joel..." you gasp, with tears in your eyes. He and Ellie hadn’t noticed you were no longer running beside them.

It has taken you five days on horseback from Jackson to finally arrive at the University of Eastern Colorado to find no flies; they had either all died or moved on. Joel found a map that was pointing towards St. Mary's Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. But before you could try and scavenge the place for supplies, a group of raiders appeared, and all hell broke loose.

You’d tried to sneak out the back of the building, but one of the raiders grabbed your arm and was now holding a knife at your throat. The man’s blade nicks the side of your neck, causing the smallest amount of blood to spill from the nearly invisible cut, but before he can hurt you again, Joel tackles the man to the ground then snaps his neck.

You hold Ellie close and feel her shaking against you. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Joel!” She screams when more raiders start running in your direction. “Fuck! What do we do?”

“Get on the horse, now!”

When Ellie mounts the smaller horse, you turn to face Joel, who is pulling a knife from his stomach. He got stabbed, saving you. “Fuck!” You help him climb up onto the large horse, then sit behind him on it and say, “Don't you dare die; Ellie needs you; I need you!”

[xappetites]

this was supposed to be a little Price thought but it got away from me and it's 1112 words

warnings: fem!reader who's decided kids aren't the best idea for her, mentions of sex and breeding kink, brief mentions of a disordered relationship w/food

“Are you still planning on children?”

It takes John a minute, in the post coital haze, to understand the question his wife whispers from the bathroom doorway, naked in the easy way of years together.

She stands there, skin reddened in the places he was just holding onto like a lifeline, and she looks at the towel in her hands instead of him. It’s steps, between them, but they turn to ice for John, a little Siberia in the middle of South East London.

“Loaded question, isn’t it, love?”

“You brought it up,” she breaks the frost, moving to settle on the edge of the bed, right next to him. Her towel is warm, he realizes, as she works it over where he’s drying itchy with sweat and cum. Barely wet and gentle on his skin.

And John knows what she means, can still feel the words on his tongue: I’ll fill you, love, fill you ‘till it takes. He doesn’t regret them, doesn’t want to regret them because it gets him there in record time, does the job so well for him that just thinking about them has his cock hardening again to the warmth and the wetness and the subtle pressure of her hands.

But that’s all it is, a fantasy that ends here, when he cums. He doesn’t spend his days imagining his wife pregnant in his daily life. In fact, now that he thinks about it, the thought’s strange, leadens his stomach with an irrational sort of anxiety. He spends too much time away, too far removed from this unstoppable woman, to think of her vulnerable and not feel a certain kind of madness tugging at the threads of his self control.

“Do you want children?”

He counters, buys time, though he knows it’s unfair to twist the question on her. They talked about it, once, before the marriage, when they felt younger and the future seemed so terribly malleable. John said it might be good to have a couple. But he didn’t want to be a Christmas dad, seeing his offspring every four to six months and have them cry in his arms because they don’t recognize a man who’s more thought than father to them.

He’d planned to retire, cut back at least, before he’d consider any children. And now he can’t, not with so much to do. He couldn’t sit by a desk and watch other people forced into the kinda shit only he —and Kyle and Soap and Simon— will voluntarily sign up for. So it’s looking more and more like it might not happen for him, and he’s comfortable with that.

But they’d agreed, back then, on an indefinite but small amount of kids. And now his wife, the one with an actual life and a home where she welcomes him, is not looking at him as he refuses to answer. Not until he hooks his fingers in the crook of her knee and smooths his thumb over her thigh. She sighs at the touch, leaves the towel in favor of drawing nonsense patterns over his stomach.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to have children, John”

He frowns, but waits in silence. There’s something sad hiding behind the fleeting smile she gives him, something guilty that makes him brace himself for movement. The impulse he’s felt since the moment he fell in love with her, to fight for her, against the world. Like he’s an attack dog, built for violent resistance in her name.

“My body feels off, some days, like I don’t belong in it. I skip breakfast sometimes, I leave the metro a station back, for the walk.”

Her voice is soft, but her eyes are unrelenting, now that she’s started. And she rushes through the admission, makes it a simple stating of facts, like making the shopping list.

“I don’t think I can survive having someone else in this body without hating them, and a baby doesn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

John’s heart balloons in the quiet of the moment. He can’t help the lopsided smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, which he realizes isn’t a reasonable reaction. But it’s this, the clarity and the unflinching honesty, why he adores her so completely.

Whatever ache is in the confirmation of closing this particular door, outweighed by the pride of knowing she trusts him with the naked, uncomfortable truths of her. And that, John supposes, is what burns at him and he doesn’t know how to put into words when he talks about filling her up, when he thinks about breeding, in the most primal, basic sense of the kink. He just wants to make himself a part of her, wants to know her to the last little cell and live in the spaces between them.

“So if you want to have children, I think we would have to consider other options.”

That comment brings John’s focus snapping back to her hands, to the way she spins her wedding band, tugs on it until it hits the speed bump of the knuckle, a gesture he isn’t sure is conscious but that telegraphs exactly where her head is at.

“You’re all I want, love. No hypotheticals.”

“John—“

“No,” he catches her hand, pulls it back to his chest. He uses it to anchor himself, sitting up to kiss away whatever objection she’s cooking up. “I don’t say what I don’t believe in, right?”

“Right,” her stance slackens and her body tilts forward so her torso slots against his, a perfect fit.

“Won’t bring it up again, love.”

“I like it,” it’s a mumble against his neck, his jaw, that turns into kisses that follow the line of his beard. “Just wanted to let you know, in case—“

John simply hums, keeps the groan in his throat, the one she likes best; because however tempting her sweet weight is on him, he’s weighing his options for breaching the other touchy subject this impromptu conversation raised, on a cold morning in the middle of his first week home in a while.

“About the eating—“

“I have it handled,” she says, stretching and twisting until her legs end up on each side of him again, "I'm trying."

"Ok. But you'll let me know if you need something from me, right?"

She nods, pulls back from him just to grin like she's misbehaving, or just about to.

"Could I have another round for now?"

And John laughs against her until she's squirming at the feeling of his whiskers on her skin, 'cause how could he ever deny his favorite girl.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

✉️✉️✉️✉️✉️✉️✉️

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

I have literally ❤️❤️loved❤️❤️ reading all your fics

🌊🌊🌊🌊

🩸🩸🩸🩸

🌌🌌🌌

Ahhh thank you so much! ❤️❤️

AND YES I LOVE A CHALLENGE.

Okay all brand spanking new sentence...

27 for 📚:

---

As far as siblings go, it's a lot different than Chim and Albert or Maddie and Buck. Ravi doesn’t know much about Eddie and his sisters, but he thinks it’s probably different than that, too. In fact, there’s no one he knows who can exactly relate to it. And that’s always made him feel a little lonely. How else is he supposed to feel, when the whole world seems to treat a sibling like an automatic best friend or the person you’re supposed to trust beyond all others? Isn’t brotherhood, as a concept, a bond held above most others? 

It’s just not like that with Ravi and Anil. 

Ravi is only the eldest child by eighteen months. Not a huge age difference to begin with, and maybe once upon a time, Ravi would have felt some claim to the title of older brother. But then he spent much longer than eighteen months in a sort of suspended animation, while Anil’s life went on as planned. Or, maybe not as planned, but as far more normal than anything Ravi would get to experience. Eventually, they no longer resembled older and younger, but two children with similar faces from alien planets. There are some craters, once formed, that can never be filled. 

Ravi doesn’t hate Anil. He would like to, but he doesn’t. Though, he can’t quite say he loves him, either. He thinks his brother is far more deserving of the former than the latter, but the latter is far more in Ravi’s nature. So, instead, Ravi is stuck in this strange in-between place. He combats this purgatory by resolving to think of him as little as possible and seeing him only when necessary. He keeps him behind the closed pages of a dusty, ignored book. 

And it’s better for everyone that way. Really, it is. 

However, there is an inherent flaw with Ravi’s strategy. A disadvantage he will never be able to overcome. 

When you are the sibling wronged in quiet, when you are the sibling that deviates from what was expected of you, and who always seems to be the one making things difficult, and your younger brother is charismatic and charming, you are the problem.

Ravi is always the problem. 

And so he never wanted Anil to meet the 118.

---

21 for ✉️:

---

Eddie flips over one of the postcards and sees it. Something that surprises him, yet somehow makes a whole lot of sense. Buck’s handwriting. Buck’s name. And, at the top, naturally, the greeting, ‘Dear, Christopher.’

“What the…” Eddie trails off, baffled. 

He doesn’t understand. Buck has never mentioned any post cards. Neither has Chris. When did he write to him? He sorts through them. The address on each card is to Eddie’s parents’ house in El Paso. The dates are scattered across the summer. How did Eddie not know this was going on? Why wouldn’t Buck tell him? 

Eddie feels equal parts confused and betrayed; like Buck has kept a secret from him about his own kid. Except, that doesn’t really seem like Buck at all. Buck, who spent the whole summer supporting Eddie. Buck, who probably ruined a relationship with actual potential by spending so much time making sure Eddie never felt alone. That Buck wouldn’t do anything behind Eddie’s back when it comes to Chris. 

In search of an explanation for his bewilderment, Eddie commits a second violation of his son’s privacy. 

---

27 for 🌿:

@goldenbcnes tagging you here!

---

And the thing is, Howie is right. She should just call Evan. She could call him right now and ask if they can have a second take at that conversation so she can explain herself better and he can perhaps not level unfair accusations she suspects he doesn’t really mean. 

Except she knows she’s not going to do that. 

Her reasoning is a mixture of flaws of her own nature and self-righteous anger. Historically, Maddie has never been good at facing conflict head on. She’s like a dog that knows it isn’t scary, that knows it doesn’t have a lot of bite; she will try avoidance, appeasement, and running, before she tries anything else. Then there’s the anger. 

One time, at the women’s group in Boston, a therapist told Maddie that guilt and anger coexist in a vicious cycle. They feed each other. Guilt is such a horrid emotion to process; it’s painful and selfish and often challenges self perception. Anger is an easier alternative to guilt. It’s the refuge that takes the introspection off oneself in favor of fury. And yet, anger is such a horrid, consuming emotion, too. Too much anger is liable to make someone feel guilty, in its own time, if the source of the anger isn’t entirely to blame. 

Maddie is self-aware enough to feel that wheel spinning in her now. She feels badly about how that went. She is angry at Buck. She knows some of her anger should be directed inward. She feels guilt at her own anger. Around and around and around again. It’s enough to give her motion sickness. 

But Maddie has let guilt win out so many times in her life. It has been her predominant driver for so many decades of her life. She may be doing a hell of a lot better now than when she was younger, but the conflict still rattles her. 

This time, she doesn’t choose guilt.  “Evan can call me.”

---

12 for 🌊:

---

Beers at an arcade. Dinner at an upscale restaurant halfway to Houston that Buck swears is worth the drive. He’s right. Every minute of it feels easy, feels right. It feels like exactly where Eddie has been waiting to return to. 

How do you tell someone on your second date, just how badly you’ve missed them?

Eventually, it all leads back to where it began. Well, not exactly where it began. Not at the bar. Buck has made it clear that if they show up together there, his sister will tease him - not for Eddie being a man, but simply because he’s easy to tease. They’re holding off on that, for now. So, it ends up where it really began.

---

12 for 🩸:

---

Eddie is frightened. 

Of himself. Of what’s happening to him. Of the gaps in his memory. 

If time has passed, has someone contacted Christopher? Hello, we’re sorry to tell you your father put the only other parent figure in your life in the hospital, murdered his captain brutally, and fled both scenes. 

Have they told him Eddie is a monster?  He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have anything he needs to survive. He’s completely alone. His brain is foggy and sore, like whatever fever he had on the night Kim killed him has never really left. He feels like someone has deposited him in some horrible labyrinth, fed him bath salts, and given him no plausible path to escape. But Eddie has to escape.

---

9 for 🌌:

Tagging @steadfastsaturnsrings here!

---

Buck sighs. “I guess I don’t understand. Not like you’ve given me much of a chance to understand. But I haven't been where you are, Eddie. Before, I… I really didn’t know.”

Eddie swallows throat feeling like it’s been battered by salt water and sand. 

“But you know me,” Buck continues. “You know me better than anyone, Eddie. So you had to know, if you told me you needed time and space, that I would have given it to you.”

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

would you give me your self or turn and run

part three of three.

A month after he returns home, Penelope reaches out. She doesn’t call but she does reply to his last email, and while it means he can’t hear her voice and the contents are quite terse, it feels so familiar that Colin nearly cries.

I will hear you out. Where would you like to meet? -Pen

Colin’s father was a hopeless romantic, his mother always said so. He remembers when he was younger and fresh flowers filled every vase in their home rather than lying at the base of a grave. He doubts his father ever screwed up quite so well but he thinks it’s a good first step. So with a bright bouquet of daisies in hand, Colin enters the cafe near Pen and Eloise’s flat on a bright Saturday afternoon with hope flowing through his veins and keeping his heart pumping.

She’s there already, sat at a small table against a brick wall reading a book. She glances up as the bell above the door announces his entrance and their eyes lock across the space, erasing the other people and objects separating them. At least on his part. Penelope breaks the connection after a few seconds, looking down to slip her book into her bag. Not once does the smile he’d so often taken for granted grace her features.

Colin approaches, the hope taking a chill and slowing his heart with each step. 

“Hi Pen,” he whispers at the edge of her table. He’d imagined this moment all week. How she would stand and give him a tentative hug, maybe allow him to boldly kiss her cheek. Instead, she stays seated, staring up at him with a mask of indifference dulling her features. Ice fills his veins. “These are for you,” he says, awkwardly handing her the daisies and still standing like a fool.

One eyebrow twitches upwards, a crack in the mask, as she reaches out to tentatively take them. “Thanks,” she says, a hint of confusion drawing the word out. “Sit,” she adds as she sets the bouquet on the table. 

An uncomfortable silence settles between them as Colin sits and continues to stare at her, taking in the sight of her after so long, wondering again how it is he went so long without her. Her hair is down and long again, brushing the middle of her back in soft waves. She’s dressed down but carefully so as if she’d chosen her outfit carefully to appear careless. She’s effortlessly beautiful. Poets would weep to witness her.

“Do you want to order something?” She nods toward the counter. He breaks his stare long to enough to glance down at the sandwich and cup in front of her before taking in the long line forming and shaking his head.

“Maybe later,” he says dismissively, not wanting to leave her side now that he’s here. “I missed you,” he adds before he can question whether it’s something she’d want to hear.

She frowns. “What is this, Colin?” she asks. Keeping her voice level she tilts her head and licks her lips, her frown growing. “You bring me flowers? You say you missed me? You ignored me for months, do you know how stupid I felt continuing to send those emails?” The whole time she doesn’t let her gaze go higher than his shoulder but now she meets his eyes and he can see the depths of pain there. “You hurt me. It might not have meant anything to you but it meant something to me.”

“Of course, it meant something to me.” He fists his hands in the pockets of his jacket to keep himself from reaching out to her, sensing that it would be unwelcome. “Pen, I am so sorry, you have no idea how sorry I am.”

“Then why, Colin?” she nearly shouts. The rest of the cafe doesn’t pay any mind to them but still, she blushes and looks around nervously. “You said you’d explain yourself, so explain.”

He tells her about the napkin. He has to. He’s known since the moment he decided to move back to London that he would have to. The look of horror that crosses her face as he recites her words is enough to break his heart and his resolve. He reaches across the table and places a hand over one of hers. She flinches but doesn’t retreat. 

“Oh God,” she nearly chokes on the words. “Oh my God.” 

“Pen, I-”

“All of this time,” she interrupts, “I’ve thought that it wasn’t anything I’d done. Eloise assured me it wasn’t my fault. Wait,” she pauses, stealing her hand from beneath his, “does she know about the note? Do your brothers? Oh, God.”

“Of course not,” he swears, hurt she would ever assume he would do that to her. “I’d never break your trust like that.” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m glad I know, I just didn’t handle it well.” An understatement to end all others.

“You didn’t,” she agrees. She takes a deep breath and passes her fingers beneath her eyes though there are no tears he can see. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

He suddenly wishes he had taken the chance to order something just so he’d have something to do with his hands. Instead, they shake in his lap as he begins his confession. “Because I didn’t think I could return your feelings, and that killed me. That I had the power to hurt you like that.”

She opens her mouth to say something, probably something of comfort knowing her and it’s the last thing he deserves. He continues, “I spent those six months trying to forget and just let things go back to before I knew. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I wrote you so many times but never had the guts to send them. I came to realize something though, the more time went by.”

Penelope stares at him from only a foot or two away, with big blue eyes shining with kindness and still a twinge of pain. He isn’t sure if what he has to say will make it better or worse.

“My feelings for you were never going to change, just as I’d expected, but the feelings I have for you, that I’ve had for so long now it’s like a comfortable friend I carry in my heart.”

“What are you saying?” she asks, confused more than hopeful, concerned more than angry. 

“I love you, Pen,” he says loud and clear, not caring if anyone around them hears, happy for them to in fact. He yearns to reach for her hands again, to touch the skin he’s spent half the year dreaming of, but unsure if he has any right to do so.

Penelope looks as if the world has turned on its axis and she’s trying to get her footing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, a world of thoughts swirling in her eyes that Colin wishes he could read but finds the handwriting illegible. 

“You’re serious,” she settles on. She knows him, knows he wouldn’t lie about something so serious, knows he wouldn’t say the words if he didn’t mean them. Still, he can tell she doesn’t believe him.

“I am.” He tries to fill his eyes with all of the love he feels, fill the depths of his soul with equal parts lifelong friendship and newly bloomed passion, and drop all of the walls he’s ever crafted around his heart. It must work because Penelope looks away, a sweet blush rising on her cheeks.

“This isn’t what I expected from today, Col.” Her expression is still unreadable. 

He’s suddenly struck by the thought that she might not feel the same way she once did. Was six months of silence enough to erase him from her heart? Had he lost that which he only recently discovered he can’t live without? His brain tells him he’s being melodramatic but his heart doesn’t listen and begins to bleed his feelings all over the cafe. 

“I know it’s a lot. I’ve had time,” he winces, “to come to understand my feelings but you haven’t. And you said you wanted to let the dream go, to stop loving me. Have you? Please, tell me if you have and I’ll-” He stops himself not knowing what it is he would do. 

“God knows I’ve tried, Colin.” She shakes her head. “But it seems that a lifetime worth of feelings, especially ones felt as deeply as mine, aren’t that easily thrown away.” 

The hope he’d lost since sitting down begins to thaw. His heart turns over in his chest. 

“I believe you, but,” she pauses, takes a sip of her long cold cuppa, gathering strength, “I don’t know if I can trust you not to run again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to be anywhere else,” he promises, knowing it's the truth.

“I don’t mean physically, Col. Although, honestly we all have wondered how long this decision to come home will last. But I mean emotionally. How do I know you won’t shut me out again? I don’t think I could handle that.”

He wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s never been in a relationship, he isn’t sure how he’ll react to things. He wants to think he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her again but what if he does? Does he even deserve a chance with her?

“So where does that leave us?” he asks somewhat pathetically. 

“I don’t know. But I’ve missed you too. So maybe we start with getting our friendship back and then,” she pauses, not wanting to promise anything, “and then I guess we’ll see.”

Pen, I know we’ll see each other again in a few days. I know it’s only been a few hours since I saw you last. But you said we should rebuild our friendship, and this is the best way I know how to do that. We’ve been friends for a long time, but it all really started with these letters didn’t it? So I hope you’ll indulge me. You also said you wondered how long I’d stay in London. Well, I truly mean it when I say I’m done traveling. Maybe not forever but never for so long. I’ve missed far too much of all of your lives. I intend to be a more permanent part of them from here on out. xx Colin

The flat is too big for just him and his one bag of belongings. Kate and Sophie, who had helped him by recommending their shared realtor, assure him that once he furnishes the place and buys the essentials it will feel much more homely. For now, it takes him a little over half an hour to move in his duffle and the few boxes full of things he’s chosen to bring over from his childhood bedroom. The whole thing is sort of depressing, sat at his feet in the wide open space.

Penelope, having offered to help him shop, wanders between the rooms and Colin finds himself hoping she likes it even if he isn’t sure how he feels. 

“This view is amazing!” she calls from the bedroom. The knot in his chest loosens but stays entangled around his heart like a noose ready to tighten again at any given moment. Today is going to be exhausting. 

Her face, sporting a large grin, appears around the doorframe before the rest of her body follows. “It’s great, Colin. I can really imagine you here.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, honestly. Her smile turns shyer, more private, and he really wants to kiss her. Before he can say anything to distract from that urge, his phone starts ringing. A quick glance shows him Anthony’s name and so he excuses himself to the relative privacy of the hallway outside the front door. “Hey, Ant.”

“Do you know how many features prams have these days?” Anthony begins without preamble. 

“Can’t say that’s something I’m aware of, no,” Colin responds, amused. “I would think Kate would be on top of the research for that though.” Kate is the most organized person he knows, even more type A than Anthony. Truly a perfect match.

“She is,” Anthony grunts, “but she asked for my opinion and I can’t just wing it.” 

“No, of course not,” he says thoroughly amused at his eldest brother’s distress. He tries to conceal it from his voice. “Why don’t you start with the safety ratings and go from there?”

“Safety ratings.” Anthony sighs deeply. “Right, yes, I’ll do that.”

“When are you going to tell everyone else? Not that I mind these panicked new father phone calls,” he adds. Anthony had confided his and Kate’s happy news on a whim while trying to cheer Colin up before his reconciliation with Penelope. He’d been honored to keep their secret but it has been weeks now. 

“Soon, soon,” Anthony says, distracted, probably already reading up on prams again and forgetting he’s on the phone. “Thank you, Colin. And congratulations again on the new place,” he focuses back on the call, his words heartfelt. “Today’s the big day, eh?”

“Not that big.” Colin basks in the glowing feeling he is newly bathed in at his brother’s pride. The knot in his chest unravels further. “More anti-climactic than anything. Pen’s here though, we’re just about to head out and buy some things to fill the place up.”

“Ah, of course.” There is a teasing lilt to his words that Colin chooses to ignore. “Well, I’ll let you get back to Pen. Make sure she tests out the mattress too before you buy it.”

“Goodbye, Asshole.” Colin is blushing as he slips the phone back into his pocket. He brings his cold hands up to the burning skin before going back inside his new home. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” It takes a moment to take in what he’s seeing but when he does, his face burns for a whole new reason. His words echo through the cavernous apartment and startle Penelope into almost dropping the journal she is reading pressed against a window. 

Instead, Colin marches toward her and rips the notebook out of her hands. He closes it before he can see which volume she’s had her eyes all over. His voice gets louder as he continues, “you have no right to look through this! Did you go through my bag? Find anything else to your interest?”

Penelope pushes off the wall and steps up to him, seemingly even shorter than usual as she pokes her finger into his chest, trying to appear intimidating while her voice drips with guilt. “I’m sorry, but do not yell at me.” Her big blue eyes flash with warning. Colin swallows the words he wants to scream. 

“Your bag fell over and it fell out. I was just picking it up and then, yes, I read it. I’m sorry,” she repeats, crossing her arms across her chest. “I thought it was a journal at first, which of course I shouldn’t have been reading, but I had no idea you were a writer.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, confused yet still vexed. His whole body is tensed, pressure building as if he were a rocket about to launch.

“It’s a book, isn’t it?” Her confidence wanes and she deflates. “The prose is beautiful even if there are no real transitions, and some sections would need editing of course, but,” she pauses, biting her lip and staring up at his face. “It’s not a book?”

“It’s just a journal,” he says, sounding more like a question than a statement. The warm rush of anger is slowly draining out of him though it lurks nearby ready to strike again. “You thought it was a book?”

“I think it could be,” she confirms. “I’d bet that bag is full of these isn’t it?” He nods and she smiles, reaching out for him tentatively. Reluctantly, he takes her hand in his, the one not gripping his journal in a protective death grip. “I’ve always thought your writing was beautiful, your emails I mean. It was like I was there with you every time. I thought about suggesting you write a travel blog but this, this could be something so much more, Colin.”

He closes his eyes, trying to get a handle on the emotions at odds with each other in his mind. Residual irritation and confusion make way for pride and hope. This could be something. This could be his. If Penelope believes in him then, maybe, he can start to believe too.

…I reread that first email all of the time. Have I ever told you that? It meant so much to me that you would think of me let alone take time to write. But you have always been thoughtful and kind in that way. I miss my father sometimes. It’s odd how some memories don’t surface until after the person in them is gone. He used to buy me chocolates every time he traveled for work when I was younger. Switzerland, France, America, no matter where he went he always found the best chocolates and would slip them to me when my mother and sisters weren’t looking. Always with a cheeky wink. We never spoke about it but it was our little secret. Then he stopped. I don’t know whether he forgot or if my mother’s worries about my weight got to him but one day he came home empty-handed and didn’t even look my way. A good piece of chocolate makes me cry these days….

Colin falls into a routine: wake up, type up his old journals and edit along the way, have lunch with one of his siblings, more editing, and then, the best part, share that day’s progress with Pen when she comes over after work. She’s taken to bringing a bright red pen that she uses to make copious amounts of notes even as she speaks them all aloud, her critique at times harsh and others glowing. She’ll make a great editor one day. He tells her so.

He tells no one else about the memoir. He still can’t believe he’s done something worth writing a memoir about, never thought of his aimless wandering as a story someone might want to read, never thought of his mindless scribblings as real writing. He doesn’t think of himself as a writer, an author, most days. An imposter behind a computer screen seems a skin he fits better. 

It’s his father’s birthday and the first time in two years that he’s been present for the luncheon his mother puts on in his honor each year. It’s the event he’s felt the guiltiest about missing during his time away from home and this year it feels like mum has pulled out all the stops. 

All the usual suspects are present, but no one else seems to question Kate’s sister, Edwina’s, presence, except Pen who leans into his side on the couch and whispers her surprise in his ear. Colin doesn’t respond, simply wraps an arm around her shoulders and searches out a nervous Anthony to confirm his suspicions. Pen leans closer and lets it go, warm and happy at his side. He feels more than one pair of eyes on them but ignores his family’s nosiness this once and listens in on Pen and Pippa’s quiet conversation. 

A few minutes before lunch is set to be called, Anthony and Kate walk to the center of the room and call for the room’s attention. Colin faces his brother and sister-in-law but his eyes glance toward Edwina only to find her already looking at him, a mischievous grin on her face that he instantly mirrors. He should have known. A moment later everyone is on their feet, cheers ringing out across the room and the competition for who can reach the happy couple first begins. 

It strikes Colin that this is one of those moments he might have missed, a moment that would have been relayed to him over the phone later while he sat an ocean away, a well of longing in his gut. Being home is so much better.

…The first girl I ever kissed was Emma Baxter. It was terrible. Most likely my fault but I like to think she was just as nervous. Our lips were dry and our teeth were sharp where there shouldn’t have been any. Our noses didn’t brush tenderly so much as smash up against each other. It lasted maybe twenty seconds before she ran off and I don’t think we ever spoke again. You may wonder why I’m telling you this. I was just thinking that I could be called a scholar in Penelope Featherington. I like to think I know pretty much everything about you at this point, but what I love is that there are always more things to learn. One thing I don’t know is who was your first kiss. All I know is I hope that I’m your next….

Lady Danbury Publishing House, where Pen works, passes on his book. He’s not all that surprised but it still puts a pit of dread in his stomach that he falls into over and over again like a cartoon character as he wades through the rejections and waits to hear if anyone wants to publish his book or if he really is a charlatan.

Finally, nearly a year after he came home, nine months after he began this crazy journey, both a lifetime and no time at all, his agent calls with the news. A small up-and-coming indie house he’s never heard of has jumped on his manuscript. They say words like sensational and instant hit but all that Colin remembers is Penelope’s radiant and knowing smile across the booth in the dimly lit restaurant where he’d taken the call. He kisses her that night. 

“To the new darling of the publishing world,” Penelope says, lifting her champagne flute high in the air, already a little tipsy. They’re back at his flat, sitting on the couch she’d helped him select. 

Colin smiles, shaking his head. He clinks glasses with her even as he calls her ridiculous. His own buzz vibrates beneath his skin, gooseflesh rising on top as he watches her happily sip her drink. A loose curl has broken free from where her hair is pulled back and he’s reaching out to tuck it behind her ear not even wanting to stop himself. Pen’s smile softens and she sets her glass on the coffee table before curling up against his chest. 

He holds his breath, letting her listen to his heart as it plays a symphony just for her, cracking his ribs open to find its path to hers. Slowly, silently, he uses a finger under her chin to coax her until their faces are only inches apart. 

“Pen.” Forcing air back into his lungs, he releases her name on a sigh. He watches as realization blooms across her face, breathing color into her cheeks and a fire in her eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she whispers, a longing that reflects his own in her voice. 

For all their waiting, neither rushes the moment. Penelope presses her lips together to wet them and Colin uses his thumb to tug her plump bottom lip back out, running the pad back and forth across it, feeling her breath hot against his skin. All of his senses are on high alert, catalouging every detail, committing every second to memory. Perhaps he’ll write about it later. 

Infintesimly slow, he leans down until their lips are touching but once he’s gotten a taste, desperation prevails. Like a fog dissipating in a fresh rain, everything inside of him becomes clear. He’s known he loves her. He believed that fact. But facts are nothing when faced with feeling and now he knows that he was meant for Penelope Featherington. He was put on this earth to love this woman and he would do so for as long as she will have him.

…When one dream comes true the human mind has the ability to dream another. I think that’s one of the most remarkable things about us. You were my dream for so long Col and I can’t wait to see what is next for us….

One Year Later

One thing about having a large family, you get used to being in a crowd. 

The bookstore is full to capacity, a large portion of that being his highly supportive family. Even Greg and Hyacinth are here, someone else is Facetiming Frannie, and Augie and Edmund are running amok much to their parents’ frustrations.  

After his reading, he is escorted to the signing table. The line, winding around the shelves, is intimidating and exhilarating in equal measure. He listens to his publicist as she reminds him for the millionth time on how to keep the line moving. 

“Colin,” his mum says, her hand placed on his shoulder. He turns to face her. “Gregory, Hyacinth, and I are going to leave. I just wanted to tell you again how proud I am of you.” Her eyes are watering now. “You’ve finally found your place.”

He leans down to kiss her on the cheek, blinking back his own emotions.“Thanks, Mum,” 

He speaks a little to everyone in line. It’s weird calling them fans, he prefers admirers or better yet, fellow wanderers. Yes, he’s missed meeting so many new people, each with their own story or questions. He’s doing a poor job at being efficient but he’s having too much fun to care.

As the signing progresses and the crowd dwindles, the rest of his family make their leave as well, always stopping by for a quick hug and another hurried ‘congratulations’ until only Pen remains. 

He finds her tucked away in the romance section buried in a new book, her feet pulled up on the chair beneath her. The harsh lighting of the bookstore bounces off of the ring on her finger and he stands there watching her for far longer than he probably ought to with a silly grin on his face. He’s the luckiest man in the world. It’s never lost on him that there would be no book without her. There would be no stories without her. He would have probably remained a lost eighteen year old boy without her. 

“Ready to go?” he asks, softly. She holds up a finger for him to wait as she finishes her page and he rolls his eyes fondly at the familiar gesture. Once she’s done, she looks at him with a tired smile and stands. He follows her to the checkout counter so she can buy her book and they exit the store arm in arm into the cold London night air.