#it's everything else that they've lit on fire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweptawayghost · 3 months ago

Text

In Dreams Pt.2

PAIRING: Joel Miller X Reader

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Joel is plagued by images of you when he closes his eyes. The dreams aren't stopping and his feelings for you only grow stronger with everyday. As Winter closes in you go on one last unofficial patrol, close proximity makes Joels brain go all stupid.

Hello!!!

Thank you so much for the support on my first part, it really means the world to me. I’ve got ideas of where I want the story to go but it's gonna be mostly Joel lusting after us for a while. I love when big strong men need to be held and told what a good boy they've been...

If you'd like me to tag you in my next part just let me know. Let me know if I missed any warnings. Thank you so much :) Anything Written like this {Italic} indicated Joel's inner thoughts. Word count 4.1K

CHAPTER WARNING: Mention of male masturbation, mentions of alcohol, Age gap, Mentions of creampie, sharing the same bed, Pet name (we call Joel baby), some fluff, some smut

It wasn't just once. Of course it wouldn't be. It wasn't the only night he dreamt about you either. Too many nights he woke up in full body sweats, which was not new to him but the reason was new.

The reason being you.

He would think about all the times your fingertips would brush his skin, he would think about the way you would grab his arm when walking down the street with him, he would think about the way you grabbed a fist full of his hair when it had started growing out of control “you need a haircut Miller” the act of your touch was innocent but it lit a fire in Joel’s gut.

Every little touch stuck with him and followed him around for the rest of the day like a drop of blood on a white shirt, almost haunting him. It would follow him to bed at night as well. When he settled into the comforting silence of his bedroom he could tune everything out like a radio and focus on your voice in his head.

Some nights he would find himself rutting against the bed for relief, his eyes sealed shut, softly whimpering, wishing you were beneath him, Talking him through it, telling him how good he’s making you feel. He wanted to watch your eyes roll back, mouth agape gasping for air, moaning into his ear. God get a grip of yourself Miller. But he couldn't help himself. Images of you overriding every other thought in his brain almost like he was a puppet and someone else was pulling the strings.

He was afraid of how much he wanted you. He would be consumed by his orgasm, his body stuttering as he held a death grip on the bathroom sink or the sheets benether him, always with the image of you flooding his mind, smiling at him, proud of yourself for how crazy you were making him, how desperate he was to cum and how you would let him do it inside of you because he was being so good for you. Ropes of his spent painting the soft skin of his stomach and the rough skin of his hand. A flash of heat rushed through him as he stifled his moans and let his body vibrate against the bed as he came down from his high.

The lonely empty feeling would chase him around all night. Some nights it would be easy to scare it off and find sleep. Can you call this sleep? Other nights he wasn't as lucky.

He thinks about the time the two of you stumbled home from the Bison, your arm linked around his elbow as you walked side by side down the silent streets of Jackson. You had told him that the silence was sometimes deafening, how it sometimes felt worse than being outside the walls. He agreed. He confessed that he didn't sleep the first week of being here and how much worse he felt now that he had genuine safety. He wanted to let you into his head.

If I hadn't just met you I would tell you everything. I would tell you about Sarah, I'd tell you the truth about Ellie. I would tell you about the ache in my chest when I wake up and I'd tell you how much it’s eased since I’ve met you. I'd tell you about how much I like you being around. You'd probably think I’m insane if you knew how much I think about you.

She trusts you Joel. Dont fuck this up by letting your dick do your thinking for you.

The guilt would start to eat him alive. God she's your friend, she trusts you and you're laying in bed thinking about how good it would be to creampie her. You’re fucked up.

If he couldn't sleep he would find himself sitting up with a book or fiddling with one of his wood carvings.

On nights where that didn't help he would take a walk...

///

“Is your girlfriend coming over as well?” Ellie called out to him from the dining room as she placed cutlery out on the table.

She had invited a friend over for dinner. Something Joel hasn’t expected, especially so soon and especially after the way she spoke about some of the other kids in town. Really he knew it wasn't just a friend. Ellie had been acting differently, humming to herself and smiling all the time, not nearly as quick witted and all day dreamy. She’s in love.

“Ellie” He called out to her from the kitchen averting his gaze from the stove “She aint my girlfriend… and yes she's coming over” He felt the tips of his ears burn, he could blame the tint of red that covered his face on the heat from the stove but he wouldn't have an excuse for the smile that followed.

It had only been a few weeks since your first meeting but you had somehow integrated yourself into Joel's life. On the days that you didn't patrol together he would come visit you at the stables or the greenhouse when he was finished at work. He would come past your house to split wood or mow your yard. He fixed your front door weeks ago, he cleaned out your guttering and was able to fix that window in your bedroom that you were never able to open.

Ellie took to you right away. She would look for any excuse to invite you over, Joel never put up a fight. He wanted you around as much as Ellie did. Many nights he would come home to a basket of fresh produce on his bench or a plate of brownies on the bench. In the long list of gifts you gave him, the friendship you shared with Ellie was the most valuable and irreplaceable. She looked up to you.

When Sarah was alive, Joel worried that she would have questions he couldn't answer. Girly questions. Questions that would be as uncomfortable to ask as they would be the answer. Of course Ellie wasn't like most kids her age but some things never really change. Some things you just don't talk to your dad about.

Sometimes he would just sit there and watch the two of you talking on the porch. He liked watching the way the pair of you would throw your heads back in laughter, slapping each other's arms and shoulders, he could watch it all day. Or the two of you sitting on his couch scribbling into notepads and books occasionally showing each other things you had written down or drawn. The hushed whispers at the dinner table when he wasn't paying attention. Ellie taking full advantage of his deafness. Or some nights you would be walking her back home with an arm linked in hers or thrown over her shoulder. Something Ellie would continue to say she hated but secretly loved. In a lot of ways you treated her like she was your sister. If you and Ellie are sisters that would make me… Yuck.

Ellie jumped when she heard the knock on the door. She was off all afternoon, fidgety and jittery. Ringing her fingers and cracking her knuckles when her hands were idle before wiping her palms on her jeans. Small things you think I don't notice. Dropping the remaining utensils.

“I'll get it!” she shouted as she turned to run towards the sound, joel could hear the soft thump of her socked feet on the worn hardwood of the floor. He heard the door open and felt the cold air sweep through followed by an “oh, it's just you” He let his lips curl into a smile.

You slid into the kitchen like you usually do, your shoes and jacket forgotten in the lounge room. Joel loved it when you wore your hair down. He loved seeing the way your jeans hung around your waist and he fucking loved when you didnt wear a bra. Like tonight. He tried not to notice and he tried not to look but sometimes he thinks you did it on purpose. Stop it Miller.

“Nothing sexier than a man in the kitchen” you blurted out at him from the doorway, he looked over at you, he didn't miss the way your eyes lingered on his form.

“Shut up” He shook his head and averted his attention back to the pot on the stove. He couldn't stop the smile that formed on his lips but he didn't mind that you saw it. He lowered the heat on the stove before turning to lean on the counter.

You placed a bottle on the kitchen island before jumping up to sit on it. A recurring gift of Seth's finest home brewed whisky. The bottle in similar shape to the one you gave him weeks ago.

There have been many nights since then that the two of you would drown in the amber liquid. Each time only strengthened his affection for you.

One night he made a confession to you about the pit in his stomach and the hole in his heart, he told you about the nightmares he had almost every time he closed his eyes and the suffocating feeling he had once he woke from them. He couldn't look at you although he felt you searching for his eyes.

He heard the shuffled movement from where you sat beside him on the couch. He closed his eyes when he felt your hand on the back of his neck, fingertips cold despite the heat coming from the fire, he surrendered when you pulled him into your chest and he let his arms wrap around your middle.

He didn't mind letting you see this part of him. The soft and broken part. He never felt as though he needed to hide from you.

“You're okay, baby” you whispered into his hair. That was all it took for him to crumble into you.

Baby

Did you mean to say that?

Baby

Had it slipped out by accident?

Baby

Did you call everyone that? He searched his brain for the answer to the questions, coming up empty.

Baby

He tried to think about the last time he let himself fall apart. When was the last time you let yourself feel? When was the last time someone just held you?

You would never know what it meant to him. But he would never know what it meant to you.

While the safety inside the walls of Jackson made his stomach churn, the safety he felt being in your arms was inviting and warm.

Joel Miller, for the first time in a long time, was safe. Wow

When the morning came he found himself still in your embrace, slotted between your thighs, his head resting against your stomach with his hands pressed into your back, your hand tangled in his hair as the other rested on his shoulder.

The fire no more than dying embers in the hearth leaving a chill in the air. He would have noticed if it wasn't for the blanket that was draped around him and the heat coming off of your body, particularly right between your legs. He ignored the ache in his back and the cramping in his slumped hip as looked over your sleeping form. You looked so peaceful, almost angelic with the soft light of the morning flooding in through the windows, the peaks of your breasts pushing through your shirt, nipples hardened from the cold air in the room, Your hair falling so lazily over the couch cushion.

You didn't try to ask Joel questions about his confession the next day, for that he was grateful. He already felt bad enough having said it at all. She thinks you're weak Miller. She feels bad for you that's why she's here, not because she cares, do you really think she’d like someone like you? Despite the insecure voice in his head giving him a beating, he wouldn't forget the way you held him, he wouldn't forget the way you looked down at him once you woke up, he wouldn't forget the slow rise and fall of your chest as you slept and he wouldn't forget the heat that seeped into him from between your legs.

Baby

“Hello? Are you even listening to me?” Joel didn't realise you had been talking to him, wrapped up in the memory or your embrace.

“I just missed the last bit” Good lie Miller. You rolled your eyes at him knowing he didn't hear a word. You jumped down from the counter and closed the gap between the two of you before reaching out to grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

“If you weren't so handsome i would slap the shit out of you”

Joel tried to pay attention to what you said next which was hard given you didn't let go of his chin and the smell of your soap was intoxicating and the fact that you had called him handsome. The heat from your body and your constant eye contact making it hard for him to focus on anything else besides the pressure building in his jeans. What did she say? Six days? Something about patrol and the snow. Let's go before the snow or something like that? Does it really matter? Just say yes to whatever she asks.

Another knock on the door followed by a shout from Ellie breaking the moment.

///

Joel liked that you never really got small talk. You would ask him strange things like, what colour his first bike was or how old he was when he shaved for the first time. Why would you wanna know? His favourite was when you asked him to tell you about his first girlfriend.

"Hmm, I think her name was Stacy?" He said it like a question "Lacie?" He clicked his finger and pointed at you "no! Macie" He looked over the top of the flames to find your face staring back at him.

Normally a fire is a huge no no for Joel but the cold night air coupled with the pelting rain left him with no choice. The two of you had been out for two days now, taking shelter in whatever somewhat secure structure you came across at nightfall and the rain was welcome, covering any sounds the pair of you would make as well as washing away the build up of sweat and dirt that covered his skin. Soon snow would blanket the ground of jackson, the sightings of infected would lessen and the town would slow for a while.

You had dragged him out for one last trip before it got too cold and too dangerous to be out for an extended period of time.

“Do you think that you loved her?” you asked as you laid down on your side with an elbow propping your head up. He mirrored your posture and paused to think about it.

Joel could count on one hand how many people he actually loved and Lacie. Wait no, Macie definitely wasn't one of them.

“ No” He relaxed into your gaze from across the fire, the cold air pricking the back of his neck. “ I was young and love really wasn't the first thing on my mind. Even if I told her I loved her I probably didn't mean it.” it might have sounded cruel but it was the truth.

He would tell you about the movies they would see together and about the music they would listen to. He would describe the creek they would swim in during summer and how they would ride their bikes around town before Joel finally saved enough money to buy a car.

"What kind of car did you drive?"

He found it cute that you cared, that you would even know what he was talking about if he told you.

"It was a red pickup truck, hunk of shit really but it was mine" He felt his cheeks heat up as you continued your relentless eye contact. He felt like a doddering old man reliving stories of his glory days when you asked him these kinds of questions. But you would watch him with close intent. Hanging on to his every word, mouth slightly agape as you listened to him as if he was the most interesting person telling you the most interesting story.

You turned onto your stomach bringing your elbows up and placing a hand on either side of your face to support the weight of your head, eyes sparkling over at him. I wish she would stop looking at me like that. If she only knew what she did to me.

"I wish I was lucky enough to have a car"

You said this sincerely but Joel remembers the car very well. Ripped up fabric seating, no plastic cover on the dashboard, absolutely no air conditioning and only the driver's side window went down. Not to mention the fuel gauge would stick so he was caught out more than once on the side of the road with an empty tank.

"wasn't a prize" he'd said, looking deeper into the flames, you were still looking at him, studying his expression as he got lost in the memory. You seemed closer than you did before.

"Did you fuck her in the back or what?" You had asked him so bluntly without emotion as if you had asked him how his day was. He stifled a laugh before letting his eyes drift over to you. He could see you weren't really joking although you did have a hint of a grin on your lips and a glint in your eyes that screamed ‘I'm trying to make you uncomfortable.’

He could feel his own grin creeping over his face, you were trying to make him uncomfortable and it was working. Joel would tell you anything you wanted to hear as long as he could keep looking at you like this, head tilted a little bit as if he was telling you the most interesting story you ever heard, eyes blown wide, lazy smile on your lips just slightly showing your teeth. God why do you have to look at me that way.

"Wow" you started "Such a romantic, Miller" Your smile no longer a lazy grin but a real one, the one he loved to see you wear. He blamed the heat of the fire for the flush of his checks when you asked if he was blushing. He blamed the day's hike for his urgency to sleep and his sudden silence. But he blamed you for the swell of his cock. It's just the way she's looking at me, I can't help that. He had his eyes closed but he could hear the rustling of your sleeping bag getting closer and closer to where he was laying.

“Let me sleep next to you, I'm freezing my ass off” It wasn't a question, you were already doing it and you probably wouldn't have stopped even if he had said no. you started to unzip your bag and he followed suit, clipping the zips together before you crawled inside it. It was still a fairly snug fit, not that he was complaining, he would take any opportunity to be this close to you. Just don't get a full blown hard on and you’ll be fine. When you said ‘sleep next to you’ he didn't think this is what you meant.

You settled in beside him, pressing your back to his chest, the swell of your ass pressed up against him and the smell of your hair mixed with your sweat filled his nose. You grabbed his arm and slung it over your hip, silently giving him permission to touch you so he slid his other arm under your neck and pulled you in closer. Joel could be wrong, but you didn't feel particularly cold.

“Can you tell me more” you asked him, turning your head slightly over your shoulder in his direction. “About your life before”

He started talking, he talked about his childhood, he talked about his mama, he talked about his favourite meals and he told you about his ambitions and his dreams. Periodically pulling a giggle from you as you swatted his hand. At some point you had rolled over to face him, draping a leg over his waist, giving him that same look from before, listening like your life depended on it, looking at him like he was the only person on earth, like he was the one who hung the moon in the sky.

He described the neighbourhood he lived in, He mentioned sarahs name in passing a few times, never once did you press for more than what he gave you. One day he would tell you about her, but not tonight. Maybe when I'm drunk. That’ll make it easier.

You brought a hand up to cup his check, gently rubbing the stubbled hair that lived there with your thumb, catching the corner of his lip as you passed back and forth.

“I love when you talk about her.” you told him. He was putty in your hands.

Your soft whispers would stay with him. He knew in the morning you wouldn't say anything and you knew he wouldn't say anything. He didn't know when he fell asleep but he only hopes it was after you did. You would follow him into his dreams that night, as you did so many nights nowadays. Your laugh, your smile, your hand on the apple of his cheek, Sweaty skin sticking to his, how you would look on top of him, tits bouncing in his face as you moaned out his name over and over like a prey, all exposed skin and desperate kisses. He was clinging to every moan, every breath, every whimper he could. Wake up.

The smell of coffee was the first thing that hit him, next was the absence of you next to him, then it was the ache of his swollen member against the zip on his jeans. He turned to look for you, the smell of fire was next, followed by sound of rain against the rotting bored of the shed you had called camp that night. He saw you sitting at the foot of the sleeping bag's knee propped up as you scribbled in your notebook, a sight he’d seen a million times. It was a dark brown leather covered book, not thick enough to weigh you down enough to make itself known. It had clippings, photographs of people you never knew and would never know, stamps and postcards, elastic bands, paper clips and torn weathered notes jammed throughout it, he had even seen you pull flowers and leaves out of it ‘flower pressing’ you had told him.

What he wouldn't give to get his hands on it, to see what made you tick, to rip open your head and dig around. You had given him a lot over the few weeks that you had known him but it still somehow wasn't enough. You had confided in him about mistakes you had made, about the things you had gone through to get here, uncalled for fights and your old patrol partner. Your old patrol partner. You had only ever brought them up once, no descriptor, no he or she, nothing. He had come up blank trying to get information out of Tommy. You had only said it once but that was all he needed.

You had told him about your relationships, the good, the bad and he ugly. The serious ones and the not so serious ones and even the experimental ones ‘ I was drunk okay?’ you had told him ‘but even if i wasn't I still would have done it’. But he always felt like a part of you was hidden away.

The soft slap of pages closing broke him from his thoughts.

“Good morning” your voice came out as a whisper, close and thick with sleep. You extended your hand out to him, holding the metal lid from the thermos, still half full with the coffee you just brewed.

When you packed up to leave that morning you didn't unzip the sleeping bags. You still didn’t unzip it when you set up camp that night.

Whispers. Dreams. Fire. Rain. Coffee. You.

Secrets. Hard on. Fire. Rain. Coffee. Notebook. You.

Mumble. Slumber. Fire. Notebook. Throbbing. You.

“Joel” Your voice broke through the silence of the morning waking him from filthy dreams of you.

“you moan a lot in your sleep”

@orcasoul

@vodkasicecream

#joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #smut #soft joel miller #idiots in love #the last of us

72 notes · View notes

probablyjustturtle · 10 months ago

Text

I would absolutely love it is DreamWorks would do a special focused on Branch trying to propose to Poppy.

Here I'll write the plot for you. It's long brace yourself.

I imagine this takes place like 6 months or so after Band Together.

Life after TBT is going well.

Branch cleared out some rooms for his brothers to stay in when they need it. Floyd is somewhat of a permanent resident, anxious about leaving Branch to live on his own again.

John Dory built a garage of sorts near Branch's bunker for Rhonda so she has a cozy shelter to relax in. JD switches between sleeping with Rhonda and sleeping in Branch's bunker.

Clay built a pod between Viva and Poppy's and the bunker.

Bruce visits every now and then, understandably, he has like 13 kids. When he does come into town they brothers all stay in Branch's bunker to hang out and have bro time.

Floyd notices Branch being extra anxious for some reason. He can't figure out why and whenever he asks Branch, Branch always deflects the conversation away. So Floyd naturally got really worried. After the Branch told them everything that happened in the past 20 years, he was worried there was something else he was keeping from his brothers.

Floyd went to JD and Clay asking if they've noticed something's up. Viva (she was hanging around Clay's pod and inserted herself into the conversation) mentions that she's noticed Branch has been nervous around Poppy lately.

That's weird? Why would he be nervous around his girlfriend and best friend?

They decided to bring it up to Branch. Of course, they do not get a straight answer, he acts defensive, deflecting the conversation and fidgeting with something behind his back before running away.

The brothers assume the worst. The next time Bruce comes into town he's debriefed on what's going on with their little brother. They come to the conclusion that Branch needs a break from Poppy but he's too nice to tell her that himself, they decide to 'help' him.

Branch and Poppy are sitting in a clearing on a romantic picnic. Having their usual conversations, Branch looks like he gets the courage to tell Poppy something, but before he can, JD jumps in, claiming Bruce set the kitchen on fire again, he grabs Branch and pulls him away from the picnic.

Over the course of the week, this happens with each brother.

Stargazing in a tree? Clay lectures them about the dangers of sitting so high above the ground.

Taking a nice walk through the forest by the river? Bruce brought pictures of his kids he wants to show you!

Candle lit dinner in the bunker? Floyd found a family album in Grandma's old pod, who wants to see baby pictures of everyone?

Branch finally decided his brothers are a problem. Every night he's been formulating 'perfect plans' to propose to Poppy. Each one ruined by his brothers. There's no telling which one will show up so he decides to ensure they are all busy when he takes Poppy on a date.

He even went as far as taking Rhonda out for a walk after the rain and let her roll around in mud.

John Dory was busy giving Rhonda a bath, Clay was asked to look over all the safety features on Branch's security system and looking for improvements, Floyd was asked to take over storytime with the young trolls for Poppy, and Bruce was asked to help organize one of the common troll parties with the snack pack. They were all busy. Perfect.

Branch decided to take Poppy out for another stroll, this was the one. The weather was pleasant, not too hot, not too chilly. Perfect. His brothers were occupied, their friends were occupied. It was just him and his soon-to-be fiance. The one thing he didn't account for?

Viva.

Viva found them, grabbing Poppy and shouting about a new juice stand that just popped up and that she would just die if she couldn't try it with her dear sister. And Branch was left alone. His girlfriend shouted an apology over her shoulder as she was dragged away by her sister.

His brothers returned to the bunker after all their activities to find Branch nowhere to be seen. They called for him and split up to look around the bunker for their brother.

Floyd found him in a small backroom near his bedroom, slumped over a writing desk, head on his arm, staring at something in his other paw. All around the desk and on the floor lay many crumpled papers. Some in balls, some haphazardly thrown near the trash can. But all over. Floyd picked one up. A messy on of the plans his brother was famous for making was drawn on the page. Floyd picked up another, the same subject on the page but different method. Floyd finally pieced everything together. He called to his younger brother. Branch picked his head up with a sniffle, tear tracks clear on his face and in his paw, a ring box. An engagement ring box.

Floyd looked sadly at his brother before walking over and hugging him. Branch resting his head into his brother's shoulder. Letting himself cry a bit more.

(next bit is a bit of dialogue I had in mind for this scene)

"Floyd, did you find him?!" They heard Bruce call from down the hall just as his face appeared in the doorway. "He's in here guys!" He called to his other brothers. His smile quickly fell as he looked at the state of the room and his younger brother. His gaze softens as he makes his way over to Branch and Floyd.

"Branch!" Shouted Clay and John Dory at seeing the troll they were looking for, before they had the same reaction to seeing their brother's state.

Bruce was the first to kneel to look Branch in the eyes. "What happened B?" He asked in his most comforting voice, the one he used when his own kids were upset.

Branch picked his head up and looked at all his older brothers. With a sniff he decided to just tell them what he was trying to avoid telling them all week.

"all week I've been trying to... Propose to Poppy." He said with a croak, his voice tight from crying. That's when they noticed the open ring box in Branch's paws.

That's when they all realized they fucked up.

"all week I've made plan after plan," Branch continued, oblivious to his brothers staring at eachother silently saying "oh shit." To one another. "so that we could have a moment together where I could get to tell her, but I never got a chance. We always got interrupted, at first it was you guys so I made sure you all were busy, sorry by the way, and just to be safe I made sure our friends were busy. It was going so well. But then Viva dragged her off before I could ask her."

The brothers sat in silence while their brother looked at the floor. They had messed up with him, again. Floyd was the first to speak.

"Branch, we're sorry." He began. "Don't be sorry, it's not your guys' fault. I didn't exactly tell you what I was trying to do."

"Well..."

That's when his older brothers decided to come clean. They told him what was going through their heads, how stupid it was of them to try to force his brother and his girlfriend to have some time apart. Branch was and at first but realized they had good intentions.

Branch seemed to loose hope, even stating "maybe its just not meant to be." Before his brothers immediately shut down that train of thought.

They decided to help Branch the proposal. They owed him that at least.

The next evening just after sunset, Branch stood confused outside Poppy's pod. Dressed nicer than his everyday attire, as per Floyd's instruction. Poppy also dressed up a bit more as well, Viva said it was a good idea.

Branch took Poppy down to the clearing he had originally planned to propose in. All he knew was that his brothers told him to bring Poppy here and to bring the ring.

The clearing was beautiful. The moon and stars provided a stunning ceiling, fairy lights decorated the perimeter and off to the side stood his brothers. With acoustic instruments. In the middle of the clearing lay a circle of flowers.

Branch smiled at his brothers. They did a wonderful job. But this was just the beginning.

Bruce and Floyd began the intro while Clay took the lead.

(I'm imagining them singing Fly Love by Jamie Foxx, Floyd on guitar, Bruce whistling and doing the bongos, JD has the tambourine, Clay has the vocal while the others do subtle backups. There's room for them to have their whole scene of setting this all up, Bruce saying "Trust me. I'm the one that's married here, I know romance." And Clay being nervous about taking the lead solo for his youngest brother's engagement, because he isn't used to emotional ballads but Floyd reassures him he'll be fine. Etc.)

Poppy took this cue to ask for Branch's hand, leading them to the circle where they began to slow dance. Enjoying the conversation about the atmosphere, the stars in each other's eyes. Half way through the song Viva released the fireflies. Making the moment even more magical.

Branch looked to his brothers. In return they smiled at him with pride and adoration. Bruce gave him a nod, urging him to take charge.

Branch confessed his feelings and vows, got down on one knee and held up the ring. Anxious for her answer. To which she responded with excited squealing and immediate 'yes's over and over. Kissing her now fiance.

So yeah, lmk what you think, if you use this idea for a fanfic or comic or smthn give me some credit. I flexed my scene writing brain for this post.

#trolls band together #dreamworks trolls #brozone #trolls floyd #trolls branch #trolls bruce #trolls poppy #trolls clay #trolls john dory #proposal #broppy #trolls viva #trolls #trolls fandom #trolls fanfic #i fed your little troll brain worms you're welcome

182 notes · View notes

sortasirius · 6 months ago

Text

"There Goes the Groom" and Buck's Queer Joy

Hey so...remember when I did post ep meta for two years? Anyway we're back like we've never left.

Best Hen <3

OBSESSED with micromanaging party planner Evan Buckley. The clipboard was there in spirit.

"You are late."

I'll take married for several years for $500, Alex.

"Ooo sliders."

"Ah ah. No."

"You didn't just do that." PLEASE

Tommy giving Eddie a bro-y high five and then a soft, sweet "hey" for Buck and a hug??? Fellas I might need to be sedated.

Also obsessed with the tinge of bitchiness in Eddie's tone. It's like jealousy without even realizing it's jealousy. And I think it's an interesting mix of "hey my best friend has a new friend" and something else that Eddie cannot label.

Ryan Guzman you must be studied for that little side eye lmfaoooo

I LOVEEEEE TOMMY HE'S SUCH A BITCH, he said I do not care for your party themes. Me for real.

Why were they all so obsessed with the sliders???? I love them all so much.

"Reach for them and you'll be pulling back a bloody stump." WITH THE RAISED EYEBROWS AND THE LITTLE HEAD TILT RYAN GUZMAN I AM KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH.

"Wholesome, 80s-themed karaoke."

Buck was a party planner in another life and I stand by that.

"We should totally go as Crockett and Tubbs."

"Absolutely."

They are literally this meme:

The little shoulder rub that Buck gives Tommy <333333333333

The way Buck and Eddie are sitting during the party scene, Buck's arm absolutely SLUNG around his shoulder...yeah okay. Okay. I'm normal about this.

The whole party was two idiot best friends pointing at each other and saying "exactlyyyyyy." Yes, I would die for them.

I just want to say that every single thing about Chimney's journey this episode was heartbreaking and scary and I HATED that I didn't know what was going to happen to him the whole time. Ok thanks for your time.

From that guy stealing his car to every Doug jumpscare, I think they did a really good job freaking the audience (at least...me) the fuck out without actually revealing what had happened. Like..we know he's sick, we know something's wrong, but it was a well-paced episode, even if in my perfect world it would have been like two hours long lol.

And the fact that Maddie is always going to look for him, always going to find him, just like he would do for her...don't look at me I'm emo.

Chim essentially pushing the fact that he is actively dying from encephalitis to the side because being a paramedic and saving lives is so deeply ingrained in him it's something the can't forget? He's so important to me.

Then...Kevin. He's such a huge part of Chim's life, his arc, how he became a firefighter, and it essentially include him in the wedding (even though it was in a very scary way), I think it's a really great take on the idea that our loved ones who can't be there for milestones are there even when we can't see them, especially with his line "you invited me, remember?"

Doug was never there, but Kevin was, Kevin will be there even when Chim can't see him.

"I was trying to get back to you the whole time." THEY ARE EVERYTHING HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THEM. ALL THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH, ALL THEY'VE HAD TO DO, AND THEY STILL FOUGHT FOR AND CAME BACK TO EACH OTHER!!!!

Bobby officiating and saying "and the Los Angeles Fire Department" THEY ARE A FAMILY!!!!

And then...perhaps one of thee most important scenes ever aired on television ever:

"Sorry I'm late, that fire was a beast."

"So are you."

And STRAIGHT in for a SERIOUS kiss??????? 911 writers room you can have my life, take it, it's already yours.

Tommy's little huff of surprise and then hum of "yeah okay I'm down for this." PUT THEM IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE CUTEST COUPLE OF ALL TIME

And last...Buck coming in to the room where his family, both blood and chosen, is, with soot all over his face, and a smile so bright that it had to have lit up the entire west coast, not caring who saw him or who knew exactly what he had just been doing...yeah, that's what this shit is all about.

EDDIE'S beautiful smile when he realizes how happy Buck is they are best friends FIRST and that is all that matters to me!!!

Hen being like "it's about damn time." SO TRUE QUEEN OF COURSE SHE KNEW!!!!!

I haven't really been able to put this into words yet, but the way they are handling Buck's bisexuality and his first relationship with someone of the same gender as him is just...it's almost astounding. It's been handled with such care, from Oliver to Lou to the writers to the NETWORK, everyone is so clearly fully onboard with this and not afraid of it.

And there's no pain here, his coming out is not born out of trauma or being forced or caught or guilty. Tommy made him feel something that he had never been able to put a name to, and Tommy is helping him figure it out. He's letting Buck be overeager without taking advantage, he's letting him move at his own pace (which, of course, is at light speed) but is also confident enough in himself to pump the brakes when he feels like he needs to.

I just can't get enough of that smile, of how fucking happy Buck is. Happy in himself, happy with Tommy, happy to finally have a name for who he is, and not be afraid to share it with the people he loves. His parents' reactions don't matter, because he knows the people that matter to him most won't care who he's with, as long as he loves them and they treat him well.

It's such a huge step for Buck, who has so often fallen prey to what other people might think, it's so refreshing to see him get to explore this without fear of what others will say. Tommy is a steady constant, experienced and knows who he is. He teases Buck and calls him Evan and flirts with him shamelessly, and it flusters him in the best way.

To see a character like Buck, who was, essentially, billed as straight from the beginning of the show, be able to come in to himself and experience real queer joy...wow. For me, it just can't be overstated.

I can't wait to see where Buck's journey goes, and I am just so...grateful to be able to watch it.

#spoilers #my meta #dusting off this tag lmao #lilly liveblogs 911 #911 abc #911 7x06 #911 #buddie #bucktommy #madney #evan buckley #buck is bi

43 notes · View notes

powderblueblood · 6 months ago

Note

In light of the buzzcut, how would lacy react to eddie turning up with the same cut? Personally, I'd take a nice long seat on that face even if there's not much left to grab on to. I think he really pulls it off

this is fun to think about because the original munson buzzcut actually has an place in their story. i wrote about in chapter seven but the tl;dr of it is that lacy and eddie ended up in the wheeler's linen closet together after eddie drew lacy for a game of seven minutes in heaven. this was right after he'd accidentally lit all his hair on fire after seeing johnny storm and thinking (boosted off whippets) i could do that...

(author's note hello, i wrote this before the f4 announcement came out just call me the oracle of delphi lmfao marvel execs i'm in your walls)

so anyway he's got this buzzcut and this bandage on his head. and they almost kiss. but then they don't.

but then eddie shows up like, ten years later, same buzzcut. his whole skull and ears and everything out, for god and everybody to see. lacy doesn't recognize him at first-- and wonders whether she should acknowledge him, yelling up from the street. they are in brooklyn, at ronnie ecker's apartment, and he expects ronnie to throw down the keys.

lacy's not meant to be here, really, but ronnie's gone and ronnie always gives her the spare key and forgets. and lacy forgot something the last time she was here, a book or a coat or an excuse to be anywhere but where she's supposed to be and--

"ecker, i'm trying really hard not to get arrested down here!"

eddie munson is twenty three years old and bald and in for the shock of his life when lacy appears at the window, tossing the keys and praying he doesn't let them fall in the gutter.

"shit," she can hear him murmur, but he catches them anyway.

power forward. cheerleader.

it's been a really, really, really long time since they've seen each other. the space between them is tangible and full of junk, and he can barely ease around it to get in the apartment door.

"i didn't know y-- i'm just gonna--" he drops his bag on the floor and moves to head back out again.

but lacy can't stop herself.

"so what is it?" eddie pivots, fidgeting with the keys in his hand. "witness protection?" she watches his eyes shift, the most prominent feature about him now. "you lose a bet?" eddie's mouth attempts to steel a smile away. "oh, i know. it was lice."

"why don't we do all of the above for two hundred, alex?"

"jesus. indy's a rough town."

slowly, eddie slides the keys into his pocket. his eyes narrow, and his palm rubs across the top of his skull. she gets a sense he's been doing that a lot lately, to remind himself that it's really all gone. no twist of curly tendrils to hide himself behind. her chest pangs. "you don't like it?"

"you look different."

"you don't like it."

"it looks like an emergency."

"you look like an emergency."

"at least i'm not bald."

the real emergency is how either of them are going to look themselves in the eye after eddie ends up with his face between lacy's legs, lacy's fingers finding no purchase against the stubble on his skull as she keens her cunt against his mouth. ronnie's couch. houselights out. to be discovered any second.

but eddie feels just like she remembers, eager and hungry, only this time with an edge of clarity. something to prove. the spikes of his buzzcut give a mean sting as her thighs close around his head and he can barely struggle out, "you sure you don't like it?"

his hips rut against the cushions, squeaking the ancient sofa against the hardwood. she resists the temptation to grab at them, pull him further into her and believes with utmost sincerity that she should be canonized for it.

it'd be easier to pretend he was anyone else was it not for the fact that eddie feels just like she remembers. and she remembers him frequently. it'd be so much easier if he, and his glittering supernova'd pupils and his wet, rosy mouth didn't turn up to her and breathlessly beg, "tell me, lace."

#powder room talk #Anonymous #oh i ended up blurbing DID I #ON ACCIDENT #edlacy #bubo #i love whne a haircut works in my favor. this is a little angsty sorry #published by powder #l. doevski by powder #e. munson by powder

29 notes · View notes

knightkneeler · 8 months ago

Text

something I find weirdly disheartening is the number of pieces of very cogent literary analysis I see in which the writer has made the critical flaw of framing their argument as analyzing what the author "intended." you as the reader are not decoding what the author meant by a text, you play an active part in its construction! this, and nothing else, is what barthes meant by "death of the author." the author's intent doesn't matter; the effect of the work is what matters.

like, the other day I read a nice little essay on this website about a novel I enjoyed, analyzing intertextual links to nabokov's lolita within the novel. but the essayist spent an inordinate amount of time trying to prove that it was possible, if not certain, that the novelist had read lolita. this temptation makes sense—it's easy to feel like an intertextual analysis is illegitimate if the author of the text has not read the text it's intertextually linked to—but it's unnecessary. it doesn't matter if they've read lolita; it matters if you, the reader, have read lolita. the intertext is created when you, a person familiar with lolita, reads the text. when someone unfamiliar with lolita reads the text, there is no intertext, even if the author intentionally writes those links into the text, because someone who knows nothing about lolita can't find those links. to the reader who hasn't read lolita, they don't exist at all. the reverse is also true: mark z. danielewski's house of leaves is often compared with nabokov's pale fire, with which it has a lot of intertextual links. danielewski confessed in an interview that he'd never read pale fire. doesn't matter. other readers have, and they see the links. he didn't put them there. the reader did.

I just saw a very well meaning post about the infamous "blue curtains" statement, in which the well-meaning op said the blue curtains aren't necessarily symbolic (true), but that you should ask why the author felt the need to tell you the curtains were blue. this is ARG lit crit. the author is not leaving a breadcrumb trail for you to decode, and if they are leaving, say, secret messages in the text (like mark z. danielewski does all the time), then decoding it is not analysis, it's just reading the text. the question is what the curtains signify to you, the reader. "nothing, they're just blue" is actually a valid answer to that question, if an uninteresting one.

"what did the author mean by this?" ask them. you won't be satisfied. when the author tells you everything, leaves no room for you to construct the text yourself, for you to write, that author isn't worth your time.

#dimitri hole

24 notes · View notes

estbela · 9 months ago

Note

Just saw your post and was wondering if you have any SerbRo headcanons?

Yes. A lot. I'm so normal about them (lying). Although they might change and stuff, since I'm still working on my Serbia OC and stuff. At the moment he's mostly just vibes (and not that different from other serbia OCs anyway). Also the moment anyone asks me about anything I tend to forget anything Ive ever thought but I'll try.

Prepare for a lot of rambling. And for possibly regretting asking me this haha. Im also sleep deprived, as usual, so hopefully everything makes sense.

They're childhood best friends. I don't know exactly when they met, but they definitely met when they were children, and so they were best friends ever since.

Serbia was like...I think one of Ro's first friends? Besides Bulgaria. I think, in a way, they were both lonely wild children who were considered outcasts. In part for being nations, in part because they were both often disobedient and stuff, and thus were "bad kids".

They were such troublemakers as kids, and tbh, they still are. Whenever theyre together you gotta prepare for trouble.

they were both huge francophiles during the 19th century, I think. Idk I just picture them bonding about that.

They get along like a house on fire. They also might have lit up a couple of houses on fire together. What's a little arson between friends? :)

They're both animal lovers! It's also one of the things they bonded about when they first met(I can just imagine them being kids and telling eachoter all the animal facts they know). If they lived together it'd be them and a house full of animals I'm guessing.

They bully Bulgaria together. <3

Anyway more about their relationship.

they...understand eachoter. Understand eachoter so deeply. They know things about eachoter that almost no one else does. They talk about anything(like their interests and such), and about shit they would never be brave enough to discuss with anyone else. Show sides of themselves they didn't even know they had.

Yet they've never truly discussed...the fact that they might be more than friends. Or well, it took them a really long time of knowing eachoter to do so.

They're kindred souls. Also slightly codependent in the way, that they've grew up together, and went through so many things together, and even when they were alone, they still had eachoter. They're kind of inseparable at this point.

Yet, they can go on pretty long times of not talking to eachoter, but then they meet again and it's like...nothing really happened. They immediately pick where they left off. Thought, if they were to ever truly lose eachoter they would not deal with it well At All.

Anyway they both eventually have The Realisation, when theyre like teenagers. For Serb, I think it's maybe in the 16th century. I think...it's not exactly one moment that makes him realise it, but rather, multiple moments of just. Not wanting to be anywhere else in the world than with Ro. Just softly looking at him and having so much fun together.

For Ro...it's much of the same, although more reluctant, in some way. He doesn't really wanna fall in love. Something she learns early on in his life is that love between nations is tricky and often ends badly, and she's already got A Thing going on with Bulgaria.

They actually have their first kiss earlier thought. They're young teens, like maybe 13, or a little more, or less. It's the 14th century and theyre both curious about that kinda thing, and wanna practice for when they'll have a relationship.

And so they do eventually figure if out as I said, and they never talk about it, never say it aloud, but they Know. They know, and even if the both of them act so brave and confident most of the time, like they always know what they're doing, in things such as battle and in general facing enemies, they are afraid. Cause at the end of the day they are young and terrified that if they admit their love aloud it might twist and burn, or worse, it might be used against them, and then they'd lose their best friend.

But I think they do things that some ppl might consider to be of a romantic nature, like kissing and making out and cuddling and holding hands. Theyre both so touch starved, and even if Serb doesn't wanna admit it, he's even more clingy than Ro is. And everyone is kinda used to it cause thats just how Ro & Serb are like.

And like. Realising they love eachoter romantically, does not really change their dynamic cause they were already doing all of this stuff before.

Also, from the outside it might look like they make eachoter worse, but somehow, they manage to make eachoter better.

Their first kiss as teens, after The Realisation, was initiated by Ro.

and theyre not really children anymore but sometimes it feels like theyre two kids again, staring at the stars, talking about nothing in particular, as if they were the only things they mattered. They weren't nations, or well, they were, but sometimes they could almost forget that.

I think they do eventually talk about It. They're both shit at feelings, with Ro being slightly more emotionally intelligent i guess. In the 19th century, because their thing that's neither nothing or something was driving both of them a little insane. And they kinda get in an on and off relationship, but they dont use that word.

As far as anyone is concerned, theyre best friends. Best friends who perhaps aren't simply platonic, who have shared more than just friends ought to. But the fact is, calling eachoter best friends is not untrue, because that's what they are, thought they are also lovers.

And they have loved other people, and still continue to do so.

I guess they might try to not be too close, at least nto in public, when one of them is in a relationship of the monogamous kind, and theyre also the first person they go to after a break up.

Back to the understanding eachoter thing. I think they'd be willing to forgive eachoter for a lot of things, even if both of them are usually really petty(especially Serb). They'd also be willing to do things for eachoter they'd rarely do for others. Theyd kill for eachoter tbh.

I know this is very random and very different in tone after everything Ive talked about but they have a height difference and it's so cute. Serbia is like. 180 something centimeters while Ro is barely 170 cms shdhdhdhs. Anyway it's adorable.

Songs that make me think of them: Bad Idea from the musical Waitress, You don't need to love me from If/Then, Across the Overpass by the Solids...and way more that I cant remember.

And that's...not all. But all that I can remember at the moment cause my memory is shit. And woah, I talked so much about them dhdjddjdj. It's like the first time i ever get to ramble about them to anyone (besides one of my friends)

#just talking recreationally #hetalia #aph #hws #romania #serbia #serbro #I stg they live rent free in my head.

8 notes · View notes

doctorstrangereview · 1 month ago

Text

Strange Tales #150

Cover Date: November 1966 On-Sale Date: August 9, 1966

This month's story is a more noteworthy one. In fact it's noteworthy enough that the cover blurb blows the plot. We do get to meet Dormammu's sister, Umar the Unrelenting. When the complicated family lines are worked out, we will learn that Umar is Clea's mother, making Dormammu her uncle. Clea and Doc will eventually get married making Umar Doc's mother-in-law. Where Dormammu is living fire, Umar is human(oid). This will be explained in a couple of decades. All this happens on the final page of the story, and with the cover spoiling the fact that Kaluu doesn't obliterate Doc and the Ancient One, the first nine pages seem moot. On a side note, this story introduces writer Roy Thomas, so expect an exponential increase in exclamation points and speech in bold letters.

Last issue we find that Kaluu has entered the Sanctum on the maid's day off and everything is Dorothy Gale's house after the tornado level of disaster except for two stinky candles burning in a study. Kaluu realizes that his targets have vanished and must find them before they figure out how to de-power his all-powerfulness.

Kaluu finally sees the candles. "Oh crap, they've escaped into the past like when Doc went back to rescue Cleopatra which I totally don't know about." Kaluu huffs and puffs but the candles stay lit.

It looks as if the candles feel the effects of Kaluu's long windedness but stay lit like those trick candles you put on the birthday cakes of people you don't like. Every appearance of Kaluu is accompanied by a wall of text, whether or not there's anyone else present to hear it so we know he's got a great pair of lungs. We should investigate if the dimension of Raggadorr is the cure for COPD. Kaluu continues to try and extinguish the candles and blurts on about how the Ancient One's shield cannot withstand his power forever. There's lots of talking in the sequence, but little trying.

Doc and the Ancient One are flying through time attempting to recover the Book of the Vishanti which Kaluu sent back in time instead of securing it with his awesome power. These magicians really need to take that extension course on security. Fortunately, the Ancient One has managed to pull himself out of his magic flying carpet for the trip through time.

The duo arrive in which Bill Everett cleverly avoids drawing except for a tiny bit of mountains. Doc and the Ancient battle the griffin that guards the book against a background of stars and other lights. Doc gets frustrated when his spells have no effect. This is the 60s and the invention of mystical Viagra is several decades away so his magical impotence is quite frustrating for him. Then the Ancient One reveals that since he initially battled the griffin for the book it is he that must defeat him again. (It's time travel and technically this is date of the book's birth so he shouldn't have actually done that yet.) The griffin is banished and a suggestive looking tunnel of pink and yellow opens up.

After spending several pages retrieving the book, the Ancient One pretty much says "I'm done. You can take it from here. I'll be at my pad in Tibet if you need me. Sayonara!" The Ancient One turns into a crackling black silhouette and bolts. Gee, thanks boss!

Back at base, Kaluu throws around his magic but the candles still stay lit. One flares up and lo and behold, Doc has returned! While Bill Everett is far from my favorite Doc artist, I really like this particular image.

Kaluu wastes no time attacking Doc.

It turns out the Book of the Vishanti itself is the ultimate defense with it's I'm Rubber and You're Glue, Everything You Hurl at Me I Throw Back at You spell.

Kaluu is frozen by the spell he intended for Doc. Everett has another great image here. He's got a thing for silhouettes this month.

Doc needs to figure out what to do with him. "I know. I'll contact my buddy the Ancient One! Hey, old dude! Remember how you deserted my a few minutes ago and ran back home? Well, I did what you told me despite you bolting when the going got tough. What the heck do I do with your problem that you made my problem?" The Ancient One banishes Kaluu to some sort of Limbo.

One would think that we were done and Doc could sneak in 40 winks for a nice recharge. But no. We turn our gaze to the Dark Dimension. Remember how we learned over and over that Dormammu conjured a barrier that held back the mindless ones and appeared to be constantly maintaining it? Well Dormie is gone, presumed blown to little mystical bits. Guess what?! You got it, the mindless ones time-out is over and they are free to overrun the overly bright Dark Dimension. Clea sees this and attempts to contact Doc, but it must be a cloudy day somewhere in-between the two because she gets lots of static. Notice how she say "My sole hope" and not "Our sole hope". That's a bit self-centered.

All is not lost, apparently. In the midst of the rocky cyclopes appears yet another silhouette. This one more shapely than the previous ones.

Thus we are introduced to Umar. When fully formed, she puts the mindless ones in their place while spouting all sorts of ominous stuff to a huge horde of beings who can't understand her.

Look at that! We get yet another green coded villain! She does appear to be wearing a truly classy BDSM harness. Kudos to Everett for that. She goes all ominous in the last panel to make sure we know she's not a good girl!

We've got something of a magical quest as Doc and the Ancient One search for The Book of the Vishanti. It's a good thing they find it as, like Obi Won Kenobi, it was their only hope. One wonders why Doc doesn't carry it around with him all the time. It would be more useful than Captain America's shield and save lots of time and effort. Doc could be cleaning up twice the number of magical menaces. I feel that under the Lee/Ditko regime, the Ancient One would never have deserted Doc. He might have stayed in the background and only intervened if necessary, but would never have bolted. Boo, Roy! Bad form! Kaluu was disappointing, but Umar's brief introduction steals the show anyway. Let's see what's in store.

#doctor strange #doctor strange reviews #strange tales #stephen strange #ancient one #kaluu #umar #clea #mindless ones

4 notes · View notes

faofinn · 1 year ago

Text

Day 24 - "We've got you now." / "You're safe."

@mediwhumpmay

"Harrison. Hey, Hars, open your eyes, look at me?"

He tried, he really did, but it was just too hard. There was something down his throat, forcing air into his lungs with each breath. Something else was itching his nose, the least of his worries but a nuisance nonetheless. Pain was there, too, but a dull ache he could tell had been sorted with too much ketamine for him to concentrate on. Everything felt swollen and heavy, but the weird sensation down his right leg had him frowning. He could feel his left toes, could feel the fabric rubbing against them, but his right leg just seemed to…stop.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. That meant Marcus was gone too, that his whole life was over, that the team had ignored his begging to let him go.

His monitors started alarming, his panic rising. He began fighting against the tube, though each breath sent a new stab of agony across his chest.

There was a gentle hand on his cheek that wasn't on fire, a soft voice breaking through his panic. "Harrison, hey, hey. You're alright, open your eyes, yeah? You can do this, breathe with it, just relax."

He finally managed to do as he was told, squinting his eyes open. One was mainly swollen shut, but he could see. Matt was standing there, still talking to him, trying to get him calmed back down. The shock of managing to look at him had made him forget he'd been panicking in the first place, but Matt seemed to be happy to see him, so it must have been okay.

"Tomcat, welcome back. You've had a bit of a struggle, it was touch and go for a bit, but they've got you stable enough to fly." He paused to let Harrison catch up. "You're gonna be going back to England, the surgeons there are top class, much better than we are here."

He teased with the hint of a smile, and Harrison had to admit he appreciated it. As much as he knew he couldn't talk, he needed to know, and know for definite. Deep down, he already did, he could feel the emptiness, but there was a tiny spark of hope that he hadn't quite managed to stop clinging on to.

"I'm sorry, Tomcat. I'm so sorry. He didn't make it. He didn't suffer, James said he wouldn't have known anything. I'm so sorry, I know what he meant to you." Matt's voice cracked. "What he meant to all of us. You both did. We nearly lost you too many times, but you're stubborn, eh? You're gonna get through this, Marcus is always gonna be in your heart."

Harrison closed his eyes, the only thing he could control. A tear snaked its way down his cheek and he semi shook his head. He wasn't going to get through it. He didn't want to.

"Steve's been desperate about you, too, y’know? He's called nearly every hour since we brought you back, nearly three days ago. We could video him, if you wanted, so you could see your dad. You'll be going back to England obviously, but it's a little boost, I guess?"

While Harrison was exhausted, talking to Steve - as much as he could - always felt like home. He managed a small nod, and Matt's face lit up. Harrison was with it, was able to follow the conversation. He fumbled for the phone, dialling Steve's number.

Of course, the older man answered almost immediately, panic on his face.

"Matt? Oh, Harrison. Hars, you're okay." He didn't bother to hide his tears, dissolving into ugly sobs. "I love you, kid. You're gonna be just fine, they're gonna look after you the best. You're safe. I love you, Harrison."

Harrison's own tears fell, and he managed an almost grin around the tube. He'd be with his dad soon enough, he'd keep him right.

The call didn't last long, Harrison worn out and starting to drift. Steve recognised it and apologised, promising he'd be waiting for when he came home, and then let Matt hang up.

In the silence, he turned to his colleague, searching for a childish bit of comfort. Matt stroked through his hair, murmuring away to him to get him to settle again. The ketamine had been given again, he could tell, everything slowly starting to disappear.

"That's it, just relax. You're safe, we've got you now. You're safe." He promised. "We'll get you home."

14 notes · View notes

kuumara · 2 years ago

Text

Heaven on Earth

This is Hell on Earth, Mike thinks as he hears another demobat screech. He's been stressed out ever since they came back to Hawkins. He's been stressed ever since all this started. Even when he used to get a break from this, he was stressed out about everything else.

They've all been affected by this, Lucas, Dustin, Steve, Hopper... Will the most...

So can you blame him to want to make Will feel better, if only for a minute? Is it really that bad to be looking for some random guys' weed in his work van, parked in Mike's garage?

"Goddamn, where is it?" Mike cursed under his breath, crawling under the back seats.

"Are you sure only he drove this van? Do you think he would be that dumb to leave weed for his boss to find," Will laughed, leaning over from the trunk, watching Mike almost break his back getting underneath the seats.

Mike grunted, then his eyes widened- he found it, in a dirty corner a small bag of the plant.

He snatched it, and held it over his head triumphantly. Will clapped for him as Mike made his way to Will in the trunk.

"So- how?" Mike asked, staring at the now open bag.

"We need paper, I guess," Will said. He caught his brother smoking multiple times, and every time Jonathan told him to never do what he was doing. Yet here we are.

"This?" Mike picked up a Surfer Boy Pizza flyer, crumpled on the floor of the trunk. Will shrugged and then nodded, taking the flyer from Mike and ripping it in half to make the blunt shorter.

"I don't think that's enough for two..." Will said, eyeing the small plastic bag in Mike's hand.

"I can share," Mike shrugged. Will froze and then smiled, taking the bag from Mike and putting the plant on the paper, rolling it up. Mike watched Will's tired eyes, his dirty hands and messed up hair, wanting to offer more help than just weed.

"Wait, do we have a lighter?" Mike remembered. Will looked up, blinking.

"I mean... there's gotta be one around?"

Mike stood up, opened the trunk door and rushed to find a lighter, as discreetly as possible.

He found Hopper's- but he didn't want to deal with him getting angry and pissed when he wants a smoke. So, he took some matches instead, from the kitchen cupboard.

"Be careful," he warned Will, as he tried lighting a match with trembling fingers. "Let me," he said as Will broke the wood. Will groaned and gave them to Mike, taking the blunt instead for Mike to light.

Mike succeeded- with one broken match as well, but he succeeded. He brought the fire closer to the roll between Will's fingers, and as soon as it got lit on fire Will put it in his mouth- coughing immediately after.

Mike laughed at him, endearingly, while Will glared at him. Whilst failing in covering up a smile.

"Give me," Mike said and took the weed, slowly inhaling the smoke and still coughing, but less than Will.

He inhaled it again, not giving it back to Will.

"Hey! Save some for me-" he groaned and leaned over to snatch the blunt from Mike's fingers, but Mike quickly moved his hand out of Will's reach, laughing at him.

Will looked up at him betrayed, jumping towards Mike to try again. The blunt fell to the ground, Will quickly snatching it and inhaling the smoke, slowly. This time he didn't cough, allowing Mike to stare at him the whole time.

He could feel the effects kicking in, although not strong, but still there. Since he was sitting there with closed eyes for a good minute, enjoying the calmness that took over him, Mike snatched the roll from his hand and inhaled himself.

It was Will watching him now, giggling at Mike's poor attempt to blow out circles.

He understood why Jonathan liked this stuff now- it was the best he's ever felt since he can remember, really, holding eye contact with Mike, a pretty smile on his face only directed at him.

"I see how Jonathan wasn't so stressed with his finals now." Will said, yawning. Mike just nodded, seemingly not hearing anything Will is saying yet still smiling like an idiot.

"Are you listening to me," Will giggled, Mike nodding absently again.

He scooted closer to Mike, sitting on the other side of the trunk, and leaning on his shoulder.

"Give it," he whispered, and Mike obeyed, putting the blunt to Will's mouth and Will taking it, inhaling and exhaling a couple of times.

As his eyes were closed, just enjoying the sound of Mike's breathing and the blunt sizzling every time one of them took a drag, he felt himself melting onto Mike and Mike's arm coming to rest around him.

If it wasn't for the drug, Will would pass out right then, but now it all felt too natural and nice to overthink it.

Mike rubbed slow circles in Wills shoulder, making him feel as if he were in heaven.

And Mike felt the same- he wasn't as high as Will, although he felt not far from it. All he needed really, was Will beside him and he could already die peacefully.

They sat there, soft smiles on their faces, Mike hugging Will; now even closer, basically cuddling since Will leaned all his weight on Mike.

They lost track of time, lost in their own world, and the blunt had already burned. They barely even touched it.

Until Mike heard doors opening- and it was the trunks doors. Joyce and Murray standing there, one with a shocked expression on her face and the other with a knowing one, holding back a laugh.

"Do you two have any idea how worried we were!" Joyce exclaimed, making Will flutter open his eyes and sit straighter, making Mike mourn the moment.

Joyce scolded them some more, until telling them to come join them in the living room soon. Murray wanted to say something, but Joyce gave him a stern look and pushed him out the garage.

"Alright, wake up," Mike yawned and nudged Will, who slumped back into him as soon as his mom left.

The boy just groaned and buried his face into Mike's shirt, making his heart beat with light-speed.

"What if I don't wanna," he said, muffled. Mike huffed a laugh and pulled his arm from where it was hugging Will, wanting to get up and go to the others.

"Mike," Will cried and held his arm, keeping him in place.

And Mike's heart melted a little. So what if they sleep in the trunk!

#byler #byler s5 #byler fluff #byler fanfic #byler fic #mike wheeler #mike wheeler fanfiction #mike wheeler fic #will byers #will byers fanfiction #will byers fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #my ficlet🐶

10 notes · View notes

chriswhitewolf · 2 years ago

Text

Going home this December to visit my parents and brothers and various extended family and my parents are well aware that I am not celebrating Christmas. I'm joining in festivities, yes, but for me the celebration is for Yule. It's not traditional, obviously, given that everyone else in my family celebrates Christmas, but I'm going home to celebrate Yule and this is something that I have made sure to clarify with them. My gifts I got everyone are Yule presents, I will have no part in anything Christ-related cause it makes me uncomfy and that's not my thing. I'm hoping to have the opportunity to at least make, if not burn, a Yule log. (The burning aspect will depend on whether they've gotten the new not-broken fireplace installed by then, and us having a discussion on boundaries in regards to the safety aspect of having a fire lit overnight, their comfort with said fire, and my religious practices which they are respectful of and honor.) Unfortunately I alone cannot make things chance to be inclusive in more than just language, but I make an effort. I use inclusive language, I never assume someone is celebrating Christmas (or any other holiday! Just imagine how insane it'd be if everyone in the entire country assumed you were celebrating Imbolc, stores and business closed for the holiday, stores sold Imbolc themed merchandise for two months beforehand, every other song on every other radio station was about Imbolc, and you're someone who doesn't celebrate Imbolc. That'd be annoying, yeah?)

When I'm talking with friends and coworkers about my plans, I tell them I'm going home for Midwinter, for Yule, for the Midwinter holidays. I talk about the Yule presents I bought for my brothers, for my parents, for my friends. I talk about being excited to spend Yule with my family, and to get to see them again after moving halfway across the country several months back.

I can't do everything, but I CAN make a point to TALK about how December isn't just Christmas time, make it a point of SHOWING that not everyone celebrates Christmas, not everyone has a holiday at this time of year. I can do what I have the power to, and make myself someone with whom not celebrating Christmas is normal, and try and show those around me what being inclusive looks like, because for all that people might say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas", those are still just words.

Anyway sorry for the long rambling post but THIS. OP is 100% right. Normalize not celebrating xmas. Normalize diversity of religion and religious holidays.

normalize not celebrating xmas. like every single piece of media involving xmas in any way shape or form has everyone celebrating it like no matter their religion they just like do it for the spirit or the holiday or whatever and if they originally don't it ends w them giving in out of consideration and being guilted. like if you love xmas, that's great. i love bubble tea and i love rosh hashanah, but i don't expect everyone to love them or even experience them. it's not sad for me if someone doesn't enjoy them bc i'm not a self obsessed prick who assumes everyone else enjoys and celebrates the same things i do. pls be respectful this year, pls acknowledge xmas IS NOT a secular holiday, please do not other and exclude those who do not celebrate it. and btw this goes beyond inclusive language.

(goyim and christians/atheists can rb and add if you want but do not clown i am begging you)

89K notes · View notes

badtasteaquarium · 8 days ago

Text

I Was Thinking About A!Silver And Blaze: the post, a/k/a sonic 06 rewrite 2

so i had an idea that In The Bad Future, the chaos emeralds have been lost for so long that they've become hyper-charged from disuse. that's why silver and blaze can use just 2 of them to time travel

two consequences of this are either a) the emeralds Explode when they arrive in the present, causing a chaos energy spike, or b) the present emeralds just appear with them when they travel, which could trigger the investigation that rouge and shadow go on. i'd like to kind of keep the interaction i wrote with blaze and silver being interrogated

blaze is convinced that shadow is the iblis trigger and silver is convinced that it's sonic. they're both wrong. it's still elise

elise is cursed in a different way. she still has iblis sleeping inside her. maybe she just needs to be engulfed by flames? she's fireproof but no one knows it. because you don't just light the baby on fire

i want mephiles to be like her personal attendant. he's been playing the long game by being a crystal bastard in the future and slick and slimy in the present. normal demon guy (this means i must draw him)

i think maybe shadow manages to firmly talk blaze down to convince her that he's NOT the iblis trigger but it takes a bit. he may or may not get lit on fire.

this results in silver's lead being the only one they have, and we follow them around while they chase sonic halfway around the world to soleanna

sonic and elise do have a thing going on. you cannot stop me from making sonelise happen because canon beefed it so hard

i guess i don't know quite how to make it come together yet. but take this scene: silver has sonic in a psychokinetic death grip and blaze has her finger on her flamethrower trigger, but she hesitates, which gives enough time for elise to run in and try and protect him. of course silver immediately drops sonic and blaze is like oh FUCK, but elise parries the flames and absorbs them, and that's what awakens iblis inside her

her curse is a little different here as you can see. but mephiles emerges from the shadows and kidnaps her so they can merge and become solaris together

anyway the gang's gotta come together and split them apart before solaris renders time asunder, and they do indeed do that

they are even able to pull them apart! elise is in a bad way though, as the flames are consuming her, and blaze is the one that takes them from her and synthesizes them with the chaos emeralds. now she has her pyrokinetic powers!

as for mephiles, he's too slippery to kill, so we do have to seal him. shadow in particular is like "i will stick around to kill you as many times as necessary" (mephiles looks like shadow still but does NOT have robot features, not even superficially, implying that the bad future is from a completely different timeline)

anyway. silver and blaze can't go back to their bad future. they're stuck, but they are not so bothered by it. they didn't really have much to go back to. so they learn to live normal lives

blaze gets a princely haircut and dates rouge occasionally. tee hee. i have this image of shadamy going to a GUN formal and rouge has brought blaze as a date. blaze is like "do NOT talk to me about the circumstances that have led me here"

as far as silvaze i think they're off and on. they care deeply for each other and think of each other as family but they have absolutely not explored romantic implications between each other. they'll get there someday, but i think they need more experience with others and then realize "oh we ACTUALLY work. huh"

basically we cut down to a single instance of time travel and smooth out everything else. very simplified plot here

0 notes

bittybug-sunflower-blog · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter summary: Beka proves herself to the family

Warning ⚠️: Mature themes and language, sex, drugs, abuse, blood, death, drinking, suicide attempt, and smoking

Word count: 6000

Rating 21+

Extra: alternate universe story

Chapter 16

Beka and Hunter found themselves alone in the dimly lit study. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, and Hunter's face was clouded with a seriousness that made Beka uneasy. She could sense that whatever he was about to say, it wasn't going to be easy to hear.

Hunter stood by the fireplace, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames as if searching for the right words in the dance of the firelight. Finally, he turned to her, his expression grave. "Darling, there's something you need to know about the fire that night, the one when you were performing."

Beka frowned, the memory of that terrifying night flashing through her mind. "What about it?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Hunter took a deep breath, the weight of the truth pressing heavily on him. "We know it wasn't an accident," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Whoever started it had to be close to you—someone who knew exactly where you'd be on stage and timed it perfectly. Does anyone come to mind?"

Beka's heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening in shock. "I told Phee, I've made too many enemies during my time in the force. Just check the records at the Republic Central Judiciary Detention Center in Coruscant."

Hunter moved closer, his gaze intense as he locked onto hers, his voice steady but laced with quiet urgency. "There's one thing that keeps coming up—I don't think they're targeting us. I think they're just targeting you."

The realization hit Beka like a punch to the gut. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration.

Hunter's eyes softened, a flicker of regret passing over his face. "I wanted to protect you. I didn't want you to bear that burden, not with everything else going on. But I can't keep it from you anymore. You need to know what we're up against."

Beka's hands balled into fists, her mind racing as she tried to process the gravity of the situation. "I can protect myself."

Hunter sighed a determined glint in his eyes. "I'll find out who's responsible, darling. But until then, we have to be on guard. They won't stop until they've gotten what they want."

Beka swallowed hard, the fire's warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. She knew Hunter was right, someone wanted her dead, no matter who gets in the way to make it happen.

The next morning, Hunter took Beka to their makeshift shooting range located in another section outside the property. It was outfitted with targets at various distances and a selection of firearms neatly arranged on a rack.

Beka followed him into the range, her demeanor calm but alert. She had been informed she would need to demonstrate her shooting skills, a task she approached with quiet confidence. Hunter motioned toward the rack of guns.

"Alright, darling. Show me what you've got." Hunter stated.

Beka nodded, stepping toward the rack. She selected a sleek, modern handgun, her movements precise and practiced. She checked the weapon with a professional efficiency that spoke of her background in law enforcement.

Hunter watched intently as Beka set up at the firing line. She took a deep breath, her posture steady. Her eyes focused on the target—a standard silhouette at twenty-five meters. She raised the gun with smooth, controlled motions, aligning her stance with the target.

"Just shoot the targets, right?" Beka asked with her weapon aimed out.

Hunter's gaze remained fixed on her. "Let's see how you handle it."

Beka exhaled slowly, her aim steady. The first shot rang out with a sharp crack, hitting the center of the target. She adjusted her stance slightly and fired again, each shot ringing true. Within a few seconds, all shots were clustered tightly in the center of the target, demonstrating her precision.

Hunter nodded appreciatively, crossing his arms. "Impressive. It's clear you've got the skills. You graduated at the top of your academy, didn't you?"

Beka lowered the gun and set it down with practiced ease. "Yes, I did. I've had extensive training and experience. It's not just about being able to handle a gun—it's about maintaining your composure under pressure."

Hunter's expression softened slightly. "I see that. It's good to know you can handle yourself effectively. That kind of skill is valuable in situations like these."

Beka shrugged. "Why are we doing this?"

Hunter gave her a thoughtful look. "To see how capable, you are. That might help smooth things over a bit. Just remember, it's not just about skill."

Beka met his gaze steadily. "I see."

Hunter nodded a hint of approval in his eyes. "Good. We'll need everyone on the same page if we're going to get through this."

As they left the shooting range, Hunter and Beka both had a clearer understanding of each other's capabilities. The demonstration had served its purpose, bridging the gap between them with a measure of mutual respect and a better appreciation of the skills Beka brought to the table.

A few days had passed since Beka's demonstration at the shooting range. Though she had resumed her activities, the presence of Wrecker as her constant shadow had become a normal, if unwelcome, part of her life. Despite her integration into the family over the months, Crosshair's lingering distrust meant that Wrecker was to remain assigned to follow her everywhere, a task he had dutifully performed without complaint.

Echo furrowed his brow, confusion etched across his face as he confronted Hunter. "I don't get it. Beka just found out someone's out there gunning for her, and now you want her out in the field? It doesn't make sense, Hunter."

Hunter took a deep breath, his expression a mix of determination and concern. "I know it sounds counterintuitive, but Beka's not the type to sit around and wait for danger to come to her. She's resourceful, sharp, and experienced—keeping her cooped up isn't going to help. If she's out in the field, she's in her element, and we can control the environment. We'll be right there with her, watching her back every step of the way."

Echo still looked uncertain, but Hunter pressed on, his voice steady and resolute. "I don't really want her out there, but I know how determined she is. If we try to keep her sidelined, she'll just try to tackle this on her own. She can handle herself, and she's safer with us around than if she were waiting as a sitting target. But make no mistake, I'm not taking any chances with her safety. We'll have eyes on her at all times, and we'll make sure she knows she's not facing this alone."

Echo nodded slowly, beginning to understand Hunter's reasoning. "So it's about letting her fight back, on her terms?"

"Exactly," Hunter replied. He looked up from his papers, his expression pensive. "It's not about letting her out just yet. We're still assessing her right now, we're in a very tight bind here."

Tech, who was nearby tinkering with some equipment, spoke up. "It's clear Beka has skills and can handle herself. But we have to be cautious. Trust doesn't come easy in our line of work."

Phee, who had been listening intently, finally chimed in. "I agree with Tech. But I've seen something important since Beka arrived. She's been a motherly figure to Omega. Omega needs stability and care, especially given the circumstances."

Echo raised an eyebrow. "So, you think Beka's role with Omega might influence the decision?"

Phee nodded. "Yes, she's provided a level of emotional support and guidance that Omega needs. It's not just about her skills or past. She's shown she can offer something valuable to our family beyond just the job."

Hunter leaned back in his chair, considering Phee's input. "That's why she is going to be a part of this operation. Omega's well-being is important."

Crosshair, still standing by the door, remained silent. His disapproval was clear, but the conversation had planted seeds of doubt and reconsideration. "You really want me to work with her? Would she even agree to go on an operation at all?"

"It's just a deal agreement to get drugs off our streets, Beka will agree to that. They're dealing to school kids Crosshair, Omega's schoolmates." Tech pointed out, "This way Beka can understand what we do."

"What if she's spotted and recognized?" Crosshair pointed out as he pulled his toothpick out of his mouth pointing it at Tech.

"He has a point, and that Detective Mori still searching for her." Echo pointed out.

"What's going on in that department?" Hunter asked as he rested his elbow on his desk.

"So far nothing, Mori has been just reinterviewing people," Tech explained.

Hunter glanced between his family. "Beka was a former detective, she could find the high-profile suspects with just the smallest amount of evidence. Everyone's input is valuable here."

Each morning, Beka found herself staring at her hands, a mix of emotions swirling within her. She could still feel the tension in her muscles. As the days passed, the injuries began to heal, but the ritual of examining her hands became a daily routine. Each time she looked at them, she was reminded of what she was capable of.

Tech, ever the medic, noticed her quiet introspection. Without a word, he would sit beside her each day, his hands gentle and precise as he unwrapped the old bandages, cleaned the wounds, and applied fresh ones. His touch was steady, his focus unwavering, as he worked to ensure that her hands would heal properly.

"There," he would say softly, finishing the task with a nod of satisfaction. "You'll be back to normal in no time."

Beka would offer him a small smile, grateful for his help. With each day, the pain lessened, the wounds closed, and soon, all that remained were faint marks. And as Tech finished bandaging her hands one final time, she knew that the scars might fade over time.

With much contemplation over those next few days, Hunter called the family in for another meeting. The dimly lit room was filled with a tense silence as Hunter stood at the head of the table, his expression resolute. The family had gathered around, their faces reflecting varying degrees of skepticism. Hunter had just announced his decision, and the atmosphere was thick with apprehension.

Crosshair leaned against the wall, arms folded tightly over his chest. "So, you're really going to send me out with Hardt?" His tone was laced with disbelief and irritation.

Hunter nodded firmly. "Yes. Beka's been with us for months now. I've seen what she's capable of weapon and wit-wise. We need to get these drugs off the streets Crosshair, if not for the other kids, think about Omega."

Wrecker's frown deepened. "You really think this is a good idea? What if something goes wrong?"

Hunter's gaze was steady. "We're stretched thin, and I need to manage the tension within the family. Beka's presence is a reality we have to deal with. Crosshair and Beka are the best candidates to oversee this operation."

Echo raised an eyebrow. "You're putting Crosshair in a tough spot. He's not exactly the most patient with newcomers."

Crosshair's lips tightened around his toothpick. "I don't see why I should have to babysit her. If this is some kind of test, it's a bad idea."

Hunter's voice hardened slightly. "Crosshair, you need to accept that Beka is here. We've got to make it work. If you can't see that, you're going to have to figure it out. We need everyone pulling their weight, and that includes you dealing with Beka's role here."

Tech adjusted his glasses, his voice cautious. "And if this goes badly? What's the fallback plan?"

Hunter sighed, knowing the risk. "We'll handle it if it goes sideways. But Beka needs to see what we do, and we need to see how well she is capable in high-stress situations. This is as much about managing our internal issues as it is about the deal."

The room fell into an uneasy silence as the family exchanged uncertain glances. Hunter's decision was final, and the family had to accept it. Hunter sat in his study alone that night, the heavy drapes drawn back to reveal the fading light. He was deep in thought, his fingers absently drumming against the polished wood of his desk. Papers and files were strewn before him, the remnants of his latest operation plans.

He looked up as the door creaked open, and Beka stepped inside, her presence immediately softening the tension in the room. She noticed the furrow in his brow and the way his usually sharp eyes seemed clouded with contemplation.

"Hunter, you wanted to see me?" she asked, her voice gentle as she approached him.

Hunter leaned back in his chair, his gaze locking with hers. "Yes, darling. I've been thinking... and I need to ask something of you. Something important."

Beka felt a ripple of unease, but she nodded, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. "I don't like where this is going."

Hunter sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There's an operation coming up—a treaty that could put a significant dent in the drug trade in the area. It's a delicate situation, and it requires someone with a keen eye, someone who can read the situation from the inside."

Beka tilted her head slightly, curiosity piqued. "You're sending Crosshair, I assume?" she asked, knowing how much Hunter relied on Crosshair's expertise in such operations.

"I am," Hunter confirmed, his voice steady. "But I want you to go with him."

Beka blinked, taken aback. "Me? Why? Crosshair's more than capable of handling this on his own. On top of that, I know he doesn't want me 'in the way.'" Beka quoted.

Hunter's expression softened, but his eyes remained serious. "I know he is. But this operation is different. The people we're dealing with... they're dangerous, slippery. They know how to hide in plain sight, how to cover their tracks. And there's a lot more at stake here than just the treaty itself." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Darling, you have the experience that Crosshair doesn't. Your time as a detective—it's given you a perspective that could be invaluable in this operation. You know how to get into people's heads, how to see the things that others miss. That's what we need on this mission."

Beka frowned, her mind racing as she considered his words. "And Crosshair?" she asked her voice carefully measured. "How does he feel about this?"

Hunter smiled slightly, knowing her concern. "Crosshair's not thrilled about the idea of anyone tagging along, especially not you. But he trusts my judgment. And he knows how good you are, even if he won't admit it."

Beka couldn't help but smirk at that. But as she thought more about the mission, her smile faded, replaced by a seriousness that mirrored Hunter's. "This isn't just about the treaty, is it?" she asked quietly. "There's something else you're not telling me."

Hunter's eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something deeper—something he was trying to protect her from. But he knew better than to keep secrets from her. "No, it's not just about the treaty," he admitted. "There's intel suggesting that there is a higher source for drugs being disrupted. We need to figure out where it is and who is in charge, and we need to do it fast. That's why I need you out there, darling. I trust you to see what others can't. The drugs are being disrupted to children, Omega's peers."

Beka felt a cold chill run down her spine. The weight of what he was asking settled heavily on her shoulders. She took a deep breath, meeting Hunter's gaze with determination. "Alright, I'll do it. But you better make sure Crosshair knows I'm not just there to be a tagalong."

Hunter's lips curved into a small smile, a mix of pride and relief in his eyes. "He'll know, trust me. Just... be careful out there. I don't want anything to happen to him or you."

Beka nodded. As she left the study, her mind was already racing with plans and strategies, her old instincts kicking in. She was stepping back into a world she thought she'd left behind, and she knew there would be no easy way out.

Beka stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room, her fingers lightly tracing the fabric of the new outfit laid out on the bed. It was nothing like the elegant dresses she had grown accustomed to wearing in the mansion. Instead, it was something entirely different—something that pulled her back into a past she hadn't expected to revisit.

The tailored dark brown trousers, the crisp white shirt, and the dark form-fitting navy-blue blazer—it all felt like a reflection of her former life. The ensemble was practically identical to the one she had worn during her days as a detective, the one that had become almost like a second skin to her back then. There was even a sturdy pair of brown boots, polished and ready for action.

She picked up the blazer and slid it on, the weight of the fabric grounding her in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. It felt strange yet right at the same time as if she were slipping back into a role she was born to play. The gloves Hunter had given her that day now seemed to complete the look, and she pulled them on, the soft leather molding to her hands with an almost perfect fit.

As she was adjusting her collar, a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Tech standing in the doorway, holding something small in his hand.

"Pardon me, but I have something for you." Tech said entered the room. He stepped forward and handed her a sleek black mask, its design simple yet effective. Beka took it, turning it over in her hands, confusion evident in her eyes.

"A mask?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's this for?" Beka asked.

Tech adjusted his glasses, his expression serious. "To conceal your identity. You're still considered a missing person, Beka. If anyone recognizes you, it could compromise the operation. This will help keep you under the radar."

Beka nodded slowly as Tech turned to leave, the reality of her situation settling in once more. She had been hidden away for so long that she sometimes forgot how much the outside world still thought she had disappeared.

The mask was just a simple black mask. She held it over her eyes, she breathed out heavily. For a brief moment, a flashback of her as Miss Ribbon Singer stood before her. Beka sighed pulling the mask down, it was like both her past lives were trying to come back, and not in a good way. With the mask in hand, she gave herself one last look in the mirror before turning to leave.

As she made her way downstairs, the sound of her boots echoed in the grand hallway. Crosshair was already waiting by the front door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a toothpick in his usual scowl in place. He gave her a once-over, his expression unreadable, but Beka could tell he approved of her transformation.

Just as she reached the door, Hunter appeared from the top of the stairs. He walked toward her, his gaze softening as he took in her new look. There was pride in his eyes, but also a hint of worry that he couldn't quite hide.

"Darling," Hunter began, his voice low and filled with emotion. He stepped closer, his hands gently resting on her shoulders. "Please, be careful out there."

Beka looked up at him, her heart swelling at the concern in his voice. She placed her gloved hand over his, squeezing it gently. "I'll try."

For a moment, they stood there in silence, their connection unspoken but deeply felt. Hunter's hand slipped from her shoulder to her waist, pulling her closer in a protective embrace. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if trying to memorize the moment.

"I'll be waiting for you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Beka chuckled at Hunter's sentiment. "I'll be back before you know it," she whispered back with a little teasing in her voice.

From behind them, Crosshair let out an exaggerated groan. "Can we get going now, or are you two planning to say goodbye all day?"

Beka laughed softly, pulling back from Hunter with a teasing smile. "Patience, Crosshair," she quipped, though her tone was fond.

Hunter released her reluctantly, his hand trailing down her arm before letting go completely. He gave Crosshair a look that was both stern and trusting. "Keep her safe," he ordered, his voice carrying an unspoken threat that only a brother could give.

Crosshair rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Let's go, Hardt."

Beka shot Hunter one last reassuring smile before following Crosshair out the door. As they stepped into the black sedan car, the city's neon lights barely pierced through the smog as Beka and Crosshair navigated the labyrinthine streets. Beka stared out the window, lost in thought. The truth was, she was still very much in the grasp of Hunter's crime family, and her role in this particular test was both precarious and revealing.

As they approached an old, decrepit warehouse, Crosshair glanced at Beka with a cold, assessing stare. "Keep your distance and don't even think about making a run for it."

Beka met his gaze with a silent, fiery intensity. "I'm just here to be eyes and ears," she said, her tone clipped.

Crosshair smirked slightly but said nothing more. He stepped out of the car. Before Beka could open her side door, Crosshair locked the doors behind him with a decisive click. "Hey!" Beka's frustration boiled over as she banged on the window. Crosshair gave a devilish smirk, and he was already heading toward the entrance of the warehouse, his back turned, "You son of a bitch!" Beka tugged at the handle.

As Crosshair entered the warehouse, he saw who he was meeting, Ciddarian Scaleback, or Cid as she prefers, and Bib Fortuna, Jabba the Hutt's right-hand man.

"You're late," Cid said annoyed.

"Sorry, there were... distractions," Crosshair said placing a toothpick in his mouth.

"Shall we begin the treaty?" Bib asked.

Outside, Beka leaned her head against the window. She looked outside looking over the surrounding objects. Her eyes then fixated on a particular set of crates, more specifically the type of wood the crates were made from. She thought over in her head where has she seen that type of wood before.

As she was going over places, the sound of gunfire and shouts erupted from inside. Panic surged through Beka as she realized the situation had turned rogue. Determined to act, she turned her boots at the window, and with a hard and quick kick, she broke the car window. She climbed out, her nerves steeled by her old training leaving the mask behind.

Inside the warehouse, chaos reigned. Crosshair though injured and taking cover behind some crates. Beka spotted him and rushed to his side, her eyes scanning the area for threats. She saw his side bleeding, so she pulled off her blazer and placed it on the wound.

"Keep pressure on it," Beka ordered, as she crouched beside him.

He grimaced but nodded. "I'm fine. Just keep your head down."

Beka grabbed his gun and took cover beside him. "We need to get out of here. Can you move?"

"Barely." Crosshair winced. Beka looked for a way out while she wasn't looking someone tried to sneak up beside them. "On your left!"

Beka turned her head and practiced aim and quick reflexes she shot the perp in one shot. "Thanks." She said panting. Another round of gunfire interrupted her, "I'm going to need you to stand, use me as support and we run." Beka explained as she continued firing at perps.

Crosshair only nodded. As he forced himself to their feet, Beka placed his arm over her shoulder for support. The two started running towards the exit as Beka considered firing. They reached the car, Beka grabbed the car keys from Crosshair's pocket. "No, you're not driving!" Crosshair said angrily.

"You're in no condition to drive, get your ass in the car!" Beka ordered. Crosshair only winced in pain as Beka helped him slide in the passenger side. She climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

Crosshair, wincing from his injuries as now Beka's blazer stained red, looked at Beka with a mix of surprise and respect. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Beka kept her eyes on the road, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I guess you don't know me as well as you thought."

As the car sped away from the warehouse, gunshots rang out to the car hitting it in multiple places. The streets blurred by as they made their escape. The car barreled down the rain-slicked street, the engine roaring as Beka fought to keep control. Crosshair, injured and wincing in the passenger seat, gripped the armrest with white knuckles.

Suddenly, a gate loomed ahead. Beka tried to hit the brakes, but the car started to swerve. "Why aren't you slowing the hell down?" Crosshair demanded.

"They shot one of the tires, we're riding on the rim!" Beka said trying to keep the car under control. With no time to slow down, Beka plowed through it, metal scraping against the sides of the car as she forced her way through. The gate collapsed behind them, leaving a trail of twisted metal and debris.

Crosshair's voice cut through the noise, sharp and furious. "Where the hell did you learn to drive like that?"

Beka's eyes were focused on the road ahead, her voice tight with stress. "When you're getting shot at that means you're going to have a little property damage. Deal with it."

Crosshair's scowl deepened, but he didn't have time to argue further. Everyone rushed out, alerted by the commotion. They quickly assessed the situation, seeing the car covered in bullet holes with a broken gate on top was the first thing. They then saw Crosshair and immediately pulled him out as Hunter helped Beka out.

Wrecker was the first to ask, his face a mix of concern. "Crosshair, are you alright? What happened?"

Crosshair gritted his teeth and gestured weakly toward Beka. "Deal went wrong, and she crashed through the gate."

Servants rushed out with a makeshift gurney, they placed Crosshair gently on it as they transported him inside.

"Call Jesse!" Tech ordered as he followed the servants inside.

"Yes sir." One of the servants said.

Beka stood by the car, her face expressionless. She didn't offer any excuses or explanations, simply allowing the gravity of the situation to settle over her.

Echo glanced at Beka, his tone gentle but probing. "Beka, do you want to explain what the hell just happened?"

Beka shook her head, her voice quiet but resolute. "No. Crosshair's hurt and that's what matters right now."

The others exchanged glances, their concern shifting between Crosshair and Beka. The urgency of tending to Crosshair's wounds took precedence, but the tensions were unspoken words.

In the mansion, the usual hum of activity was muted. Everyone gathered in the living room, their faces lined with worry. Crosshair lay on a makeshift surgical table, his breathing shallow and uneven.

Jesse had arrived swiftly, his expression focused and grim as he prepared for the delicate surgery. Tech was at his side, assisting with the precision and care that had become his hallmark.

Hunter stood near the doorway, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze locked on Crosshair. He looked down before making his way back to the living room. He saw Wrecker paced the length of the room, while Echo sat quietly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his prosthetic leg. Omega, sitting on the couch, glanced around anxiously.

The room was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the soft clinks of medical instruments and the occasional murmur of Jesse's voice as he directed Tech. Each of them waiting, hoping, and fearing the worst.

In the midst of this silent vigil, Beka was elsewhere in the mansion. She had retreated to the music room. A was a place of comfort for her, where the notes of the piano and the melodies of the violin offered a brief escape from the harsh realities of their world.

Beka sat at the piano, her fingers hovering over the keys. She couldn't bring herself to play. Her thoughts were too scattered everywhere. She knew that the best thing she could do was to give them space. She had spent years in the line of duty, witnessing surgeries, injuries, and all manner of trauma, but it never got easier.

As the minutes ticked by on the overhead clock, Beka closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The thought of surgery in the next rooms over seemed to echo in her mind, and she found herself whispering a silent prayer, hoping that Crosshair would make it through.

Back in the living room, the tension continued to mount. Jesse's movements were quick and efficient, Tech mirroring his actions as they worked in tandem. Each of the family members found their own way to cope—Hunter clenched his fists while thinking to himself, Wrecker's restless pacing, Echo's silent contemplation, Phee comforting Omega as she gave worried glances.

After what felt like an eternity, Jesse finally straightened up, his face a mix of exhaustion and relief as he pulled the bullet out of Crosshair's side. He looked at Tech, who gave a slight nod in agreement. The two began stitching him back up.

"It's done," Jesse walked into the living room and announced, his voice breaking the silence that had enveloped the room. "He's stable, but he'll need time to recover." Jesse wiped his hands with a white cloth stained with Crosshair's blood.

A collective sigh of relief washed over the group, though the worry didn't completely dissipate. Hunter stepped forward, his eyes meeting Jesse's. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with gratitude and a touch of lingering concern.

As the others moved to where Crosshair was, his journey to the road of recovery had just begun, and Hunter's thoughts drifted to Beka. He knew where she would be, and he quietly slipped away from the group, making his way to the music room.

When Hunter entered, he found Beka sitting at the piano, her hands still poised over the keys, but no sound filling the room.

She looked up as he approached, her eyes reflecting the same worry he felt. "How is he?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with the concern.

"He's stable," Hunter replied, stepping closer to her. "Jesse did everything he could. Now, it's up to Crosshair."

Beka nodded, her gaze dropping to the piano keys. "I tried..." she trailed off, unsure of how to express the turmoil inside her.

Hunter reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "You got him out and you're both alive," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "That's enough."

Beka offered him a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Hunter knew she was still worried. He sat beside her and held her in his arms.

For the next few days, Crosshair has been on strict bed and couch rest. The brothers gathered in the mansion's dimly lit living room, Crosshair now propped up on a couch, his injuries being tended to by Tech and Echo. The air was thick with tension as others turned their focus to Beka, who stood near the doorway, her expression guarded.

"Comfortable?" Echo asked looking at his brother.

Crosshair only rolled his eyes in response.

Hunter's voice was steady but firm. "Beka, we need to know exactly what happened. Start from the beginning." He turned to look at Beka.

Beka took a deep breath, her eyes flickering to Crosshair before meeting Hunter's gaze. "Crosshair locked me in the car. I heard gunshots and the sounds of a fight from inside. I broke the window and ran inside."

Wrecker, still visibly agitated, crossed his arms. "And what did you see when you got inside?"

Beka's face remained impassive. "I saw Crosshair injured behind some crates. I grabbed his gun and fired at the perps that were attacking him."

Echo raised an eyebrow, a mix of concern and curiosity in his voice. "And you managed to get Crosshair to the car?"

Beka nodded. "Yes. I helped him out, got him into the car, and drove away while being shot at. It wasn't exactly a smooth ride, but I got us out of there."

Tech, examining Crosshair's bandages, looked up with a thoughtful expression. "And you didn't have any other options?"

Beka's frustration surfaced in her voice. "I was only thinking about getting us out there. The situation was chaotic."

"Anything else you can tell us?" Hunter asked concerned.

Beka's gaze was steady. "Everything happened so fast."

"She got me out Hunter, that's more than enough," Crosshair spoke up.

The room fell silent as they just realized Crosshair just defended Beka. Wrecker looked at Crosshair, whose eyes had softened slightly in acknowledgment of Beka's efforts. Tech and Echo exchanged glances, clearly assessing the situation and Beka's role in it.

Hunter's voice broke the silence, a note of reluctant approval in his tone. "Alright. You did what you had to do. We'll need to discuss this further, but for now, let's focus on staying low."

As the brothers returned their attention to Crosshair and the aftermath of the deal, Beka remained standing near the doorway for a split second, her expression a mixture of relief and resolve. Then disappeared from the room with Phee waiting for her. Beka leaned against the wall near the door hearing the rest of the conversation.

The room was still charged with tension as the brothers continued their focused attention on Crosshair. Hunter, after taking in Beka's account, turned to Crosshair, his expression expectant.

"Crosshair recount what happened that led up to the shootout," Hunter ordered arms crossed over his chest.

Crosshair shifted on the couch, clearly in discomfort from his injuries. He glanced at Beka, his irritation evident, then met Hunter's gaze with a begrudging expression. "Beka's account is accurate. I was injured, locked her in the car to keep her from escaping while I dealt with the situation." He started.

Hunter raised an eyebrow, his tone probing. "And?"

Crosshair let out a heavy sigh, clearly reluctant. "The deal went bad it was a setup. I was going over the paperwork when a shot rang out and hit a perp, then it exploded into chaos. I got nicked and took cover behind some crates that's when Beka found me."

Wrecker's eyes widened. "So, she really did save your ass?"

Crosshair grunted, a mix of annoyance and begrudging respect in his voice. "Yeah. Despite the mess she made of the car, she managed to get us out of there."

Echo looked where Beka once stood, then back at Crosshair. "And you didn't think she could handle herself?"

Crosshair's scowl deepened. "I didn't think she'd be able to handle the chaos, but she proved me wrong."

Hunter nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Alright, thanks for being honest."

Beka peeked her head inside. Crosshair shot Beka a sidelong glance, a small hint of respect in his eyes despite his gruff demeanor. Beka remained quiet, her expression a mix of relief and determination as she absorbed the acknowledgment.

1 note · View note

ahb-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Comics Review: 'Sara'

Sara by Garth Ennis, Steve Epting, Elizabeth Breitweiser, Rob Steen

gender studies

military comics

snipers

social commentary

WWII

How else would comics enthusiasts immerse themselves in the pitiless grime of WWII sniper combat among incorrigible and faithless women up against the odds, if not through the phenomenal art of Epting and Breitweiser? The duo's familiar tour of environmental design and background art seeped in realistic textures, as well as characters with twitchy brow ridges and hard jawlines and faultless eye lines, pulls readers into the fragrant drama of a war that's scarcely begun, both historically and metaphorically.

SARA is an immersive read. Whatever the violent, vengeful, or petty reasons people sell themselves when they willingly enlist for active duty, few bear any practical or ethical sentiment in common with the cold, garish, human-shaped shadows that cloak the battlefield. Sara knows this. She's a defeatist veteran, she's the team's best sniper, and she's seen, heard, and experienced enough to know that all propaganda is fiction, that all wars end in death, and that the only friendships worth saving are those one sacrifices everything for.

Sara is the pessimist. Lydi is the ingenue. Mari is outwardly matter-of-fact but inwardly a humanist. Darya dreams of equality. Vera is a sadist. And 'Rina, the sergeant, is the pragmatist. Together, they've killed dozens upon dozens of German soldiers. They are mocked and they are feared. They are levied national awards and they are catcalled. And the war grinds on.

SARA burns into readers' memories a tale of survival made necessary by the egotistical and appalling, if inevitable whims of state violence. It's not simply staring down the barrel and pulling the trigger. It's reading the wind, identifying enemy formations, and relishing calm while everyone else panics out of habit. Sara impatiently deconstructs an enemy unit's command structure while napping aloft. Lydi enjoys the company of a team of canines, until she realizes they're trained to scamper under enemy tanks with mines strapped to their backs. Mari tells a young male officer that no, she doesn't want a poem he wrote just for her; she's changed her mind. "I don't suppose you've got any chocolate?" she asks. "I like chocolate. Chocolate I can definitely use."

SARA spies the feral beast in all, and gives them just enough room to run, whether in heart or mind or body, toward home or country or enemy fire.

Extraordinary artwork elevates an effectively written story. Sara doesn't care for her country, or even for her job; she's a survivor and a creature of survival. It doesn't matter if she captures an infantryman alive or snipes an enemy colonel from 700m away, the woman's cynicism carries the day. And framing it all, readers have compelling character art and complex, lived-in environments: massive, snow-covered trees; pitted tanks; pock-marked forests, cleared of vegetation; and messes of gray-brown fortifications, all crumbling. Epting's knack for carving unflinchingly realistic but not excessively melodramatic character dynamics is again perceptively complemented by Bretiweiser's choice of deeper or darker shades that match the comic's many burned-out buildings, muddy fox holes, and oil-lamp-lit cabins as much as the many exquisitely bright and chaotic flashes gunfire violence.

Well-written and evenly paced. Well-drawn and enthusiastically colored. Narratively speaking, SARA is a solid book. Literally speaking, not so much. The physical trade paperback is extraordinarily poorly assembled (e.g., weak glue binding, uneven signatures), and the whole thing falls apart after only one read-through. Hopefully, if this creative team reunites for another title, the publisher will opt for a different printer.

❯ ❯ Comics Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

#sara #comics review #garth ennis #steve epting #elizabeth breitweiser #rob steen #tko studios #soviet snipers #soviet union #review #5 of 5 stars #5 star review #WWII #defeatist veteran #hopes for equality #female soldiers

1 note · View note

viti-ocs · 8 months ago

Text

OC × Canon Week Writing Drabble

I have no idea if I'm going to do anything else for this event. However I figured I already had something drafted related to the topic, so I might as well post it!

Featured Pairing: Wayward Hamilton Davis (OC) × Wilson Percival Higgsbury (Don't Starve)

Rating: PG13 (Minor mentions of violence and the possibility of death, minor depictions of discomfort due to pain, mentions suggestive content most of which occured offscreen)

Tropes: Strangers to Frienemies to Lovers, Age Difference (Way is 28 years old and Wilson's believed to be in his 40's by the fandom), Only One Bed (if you squint)

Background: Wayward and Wilson have been surviving in the Constant together (since day 1 for Way and day 3 for Wilson). They've been working together for months by this point. Their story begins during the events of the Don't Starve game, and eventually continue on into the story of Don't Starve Together. Though that's not super relevant for this oneshot.

______

Warm morning light slipped through the entrance of the tent, settling on Wayward's face and rousing him from his slumber. As he moved to sit in an upright position, something stirred beside him. Way glanced over to see the sleeping form of his companion turning over in the makeshift bed, snuggling back down once set in a more comfortable position. Way let out a quiet chuckle, carefully slipping away from Wilson's side out into the cold air, away from the warmth his body and the blanket had provided. Way used the light that seeped in to navigate in the tiny space and locate his clothes, dressing once he found each garment in turn. Only when he was fully dressed did he dare leave the safety of the tent.

The sun shone brightly above his head, the day welcoming him as he made his way towards the fire-pit. The last embers of the night's fire still sparked in the charred remains of the logs and pine cones nestled within the stones. The flames had loyally kept themselves lit through the darkness, even while nobody stood to guard them. It would seem Wayward and Wilson had gotten lucky last night, in more ways than one. A proud smile spread across Way's face as he recalled the main event of the evening. The time they had spent together seemed to have put the young man back into a good mindset, and left him feeling more refreshed than he had since before entering The Constant.

While still under the influence of his euphoria, Way decided to be generous this morning and make something to eat for both himself and Wilson. He made his way over to the ice box which sat only a few more feet away, digging through its contents to find the ingredients for the meal. They were beginning to run low on their food store; today the two of them would have to go out and scavenge for more. Way made a mental note to run the plan by Wilson once he awoke. With items in hand, Way walked over to the crock pot, placing his supply inside. He replaced the lid on top, bending down to set a fire beneath the metal container in the leftover kindling from the afternoon prior. With everything set, the only thing left to do was wait. Shouldn't be too long, he told himself, lifting his arms into the air for a stretch.

Wayward leaned back and forth on his heels in a motion of boredom, glancing around the campsite in search of something to hold his attention. He grinned with excitement as he noticed the mouth of the tent being pulled back. A moment later Wilson came limping out, hunched over slightly as he made his way to stand beside Way. He turned his head to look at the younger man, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips. A warm expression was set on his face, though his eyes revealed him to be suffering some discomfort. This only made Wayward grin more as he watched his partner hobble over to a log by the fire-pit and seat himself upon it awkwardly. His behind hung off the edge partially and legs spread to help keep balance. A small hiss escaped his lips as he adjusted himself to be seated more comfortably. Way tried to hold himself back from teasing Wilson for his posture, taking a few paces towards him with arms folded over his chest. He paused a moment to take in the features of his partner, his composure quickly lost.

“Sleep well, Wilson?” He asked, amusement laced in his tone.“You seem to be walking a bit crooked this morning. Wonder why that is?”

A light blush spread across the older man's face. “You know very well why that is,” he mumbled.

“Do I?” Way wondered, tapping a finger against his chin. He had to hold back the chuckle that threatened to rise from his throat; though he couldn't resist the urge to adjust his groin so that he was more comfortable. Wilson watched, becoming more flustered in the process. Way burst out laughing.

“Hush!” Wilson snapped, turning his face away with embarrassment. “You're doing that on purpose, aren’t you!?”

“Aw, why are you looking away, Wilson? You could hardly resist last night,” Way teased. “If it weren't for you I don't think I'd have to adjust myself so much. So honestly this is your fault.”

“I- well...nothing would have happened if you hadn't ki..kissed me the way you did….” Wilson trailed off, failing to properly defend himself. He covered his face with his hands, letting out a soft groan. Wayward shook his head, grinning as he turned to scoop up the meatballs he had been cooking with a ladle, putting them in a set of bowls. He carried each over with him to the log, taking a seat. He gave Wilson a nudge to get his attention, handing him his share once he finally lowered his hands from his face. Wilson avoided Way's gaze as he ate his breakfast, head lowered, and brow furrowed. The man looked to be in deep thought, and Way wondered if he was thinking over the night's events, or about something else entirely. Curious, he decided to inspect.

“Wilsooon,” he whined. “What's got your thoughts so focused, hm?”

Wilson shot Way a slight glance before averting his gaze once more.

“Stuff.” He answered curtly, taking another bite from from his meal. “Personal things.”

“Such as...?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “The situation we're in. What the future may hold….Us.”

Us, Wayward's mind echoed. He always enjoyed the sound of that. But what about them was Wilson thinking about? Their relationship? Was this even considered a relationship now? They had only slept together once after all, not confessed feelings or anything of the sort. Way felt his cheeks warm at the thought. He turned his head away, not wanting the other to catch a glimpse of his red, flustered face. Perhaps it was time he started thinking more about the way he saw Wilson. He was certainly more than a friend at this point. They had been through a lot together since Way had entered The Constant. Yet the status of their relationship seemed shaky. At times, Wilson could hardly stand Way. Others, he awkwardly fumbled his way into getting closer to him. Maybe I should ask? Wayward thought, peeking at the other man out of the corner of his eye. Seeing the expression on Wilson's face, however, turned him off to the idea. Instead, when the moment was right, Way scooted himself closer on the log. Wilson placed his bowl on the ground, giving his attention, reluctantly, to the younger man. His face for a few moments was unreadable, as Wayward turned to meet his gaze fully. He looks uncomfortable, Way noticed, wondering if it was because of the awkward silence that'd settled between them, or the ache that Wilson clearly felt in his rear. After a few more moments of unspoken words, Wilson turned away again, if only long enough to finish eating. Wayward waited and watched as Wilson consumed the last of his meatballs before deciding finally to pester him.

“So,” he started, “I couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable you are.”

“Marvelous observation as always, author,” Wilson deadpanned back.

Wayward grinned, mischief dancing in his tone as he quipped; “I guess you could say I'm more of a pain in your ass than usual.”

Wilson flinched at the vulgar remark. Then he hid his face away behind his trembling, flustered hands again. Wayward in turn leaned himself up against Wilson's shoulder. He nudged a little, trying to gain some response from the other man. Instead, all he got was tense silence. Way leaned harder against Wilson's shoulder, resting the side of his head against his. After another moment he lifted his head slightly, lips hovering close to Wilson's ear.

“If you want, I could kiss it better,” he offered seductively, voice hardly above a whisper. This gained an immediate reaction from the other man. Wilson whipped his head around to meet Wayward's lustful gaze. The two locked eyes for a moment, faces drawing nearer until meeting at long last with lips pressing tenderly again one another's. The two pulled each other into a passionate embrace as they kissed, only parting when the need for air became overwhelming. A bead of saliva hung between them as they pulled back. Way felt Wilson's hot breath against his face as he panted softly, making him want to pull the other in for another round. Wilson slowly lowered his gaze from the young man's face, showing that he had other thoughts in mind. Way flashed a playful smirk, bringing a hand up to rest on Wilson's cheek. Wilson's eyes returned to meet Wayward's once more. As the pair leaned in to begin another hot make out session, a sharp howl pierced through the air. Their heads whipped in the direction of the sound simultaneously.

“Hounds.” Wilson gritted his teeth as he jumped to his feet.

“Of-fucking-course,” Way growled, following his partner into the tent to fetch their weapons. “Just when things were about to get good.”

“I'll try and make it up to you later…” Wilson promised, handing Way an axe as he picked up his spear. “If we survive. The hounds sound as if they're heading right for our base.”

“We need to lead them away.”

“There may not be any time."

“Even just a few feet would suffice,” Wayward assured. “Enough to keep them from wrecking the place. Once we've got the hound's attention we can flee somewhere further off. Then we'll take them down.”

“It sounds risky,” Wilson fretted with furrowed brows. Then, with a frustrated groan, his expression shifted to one of determination. “Alright, let's give it a try–”

“And try not to get killed in the process,” Wayward finished for him.

#oc x canon #oc x canon week #oc x canon week 2024 #oc x canon week 2k24 #wilson dst #wayward things #been obsessed with this pairing for about 7 years now give or take #I actually used to be into wilson but never could bring myself to selfship with him fully for some reason #so I made an oc instead!#I'm very fond of Way he's one of my special little guys even outside of his ship #he's very troubled mentally but still loves to be mischievous. he also understands when to get serious #he's got layers. I love him #viti's writing

0 notes