#nearly drowned near the end of this trip ain’t that nice

[talooooooo]

a nice boating trip from norvrandt to kholusia

hyur is robin shiroi, a friend’s

[rattlerinthewheel]

Goin’ Soft

Another thing from my sharingan!Daryl writings. Includes Greenes and some byakugan.

- - -

The Greenes were something. Daryl didn’t quite know what to make of them, mostly because he’d never met folk with byakugan before, had only gotten second-hand tall tales. Bedtime stories from Mom, less story and more recounting from days gone when there was a lot more of everything (undeveloped land to hunt on, game to hunt, food to go around, eyes that could do more than just look and play mind games). Slurs from the old man, a racist at heart; slurs and ramblings both from Merle, running into all manner of folk in the marines.

Daryl knew better than to trust his folk about certain things. Mom had liked to think about days long past, enough that she hadn’t seen the fire right in front of her when it killed her. The old man was a nasty waste long gone now, didn’t know nothing where it counted.

And Merle was Merle—and that was enough for Daryl not to take his word as gospel.

Still, it unnerved him that the Greenes were so opposite from what he’d expected. They were kind, for one thing, and the farmhouse—gone, up in flames now—hadn’t been lavish. Clean, but not spotless. The food had been humbling, dirt cheap because it came from the dirt outside their door or the simple grocery store or farmer’s market. Fanciest food they’d ever eaten was probably dessert or pickled, maybe something Hershel’s eldest brought back from college.

Maybe that they weren’t pure had something to do with it. Hershel’s first wife hadn’t had anything special about her eyes; it was obvious in their first girl, blue-eyed and brown-haired and without a lick of anything more obvious at first glance (she had brains she put to use, eyes that weren’t the near-perfect field of the byakugan but still a damn sight better than normal when the blue washed temporary white). Hershel’s second wife had clearly had the eyes to match the vet, because the younger girl had only eyes white as the moon.

They were taking to the new world better, now that the farm was gone. Not that the whole thing burning down was good—not that they’d have gotten far living there that much longer—but it didn’t give them any baggage either, mental or real. Were leaving behind ash and crisps, not the home they’d grown up in.

They rolled up their sleeves and scavenged for supplies and got fires going. They pitched tents, threading the barest line of chakra through the poles so they could see through the nylon; a neat trick, especially useful if they were unfortunate enough to set up camp later in the day. Hershel and Maggie, his eldest, picked up watches, more useful than anyone else with the power to see well past the fire’s reach. Most of the time they sat, hands in their laps or idle; grabbing a gun or knife was more telling than a warning.

The youngest wasn’t allowed, a kid and not, older than Carl but not grown. Beth offered, but the rest of the group declined. Too young, too fragile, Daryl guessed they thought her. He picked up on her fussing, her huffs when she was turned down, her wilting shoulders, and knew she’d do something stupid to prove herself eventually.

Didn’t matter your blood, your tricks—everyone with something to prove usually tried.

- - -

Daryl knew she would follow him soon as he left camp. He ignored her chakra—unruly and immature, shaking when she tripped, flaring in panic whenever he stopped to check tracks thinking she’d been caught (she was, just didn’t know it yet)—in favor of trying to catch their dinner for the night. Something to go with the canned goods they lucked out on from that overturned semi.

He was maybe a mile out when Daryl decided he’d had enough of playing pretend. They were far out enough that she couldn’t act like she wasn’t following him, but not too far that he if made her go back he’d worry about her getting lost on the way.

Girl was sheltered, obviously, but had to know her way around her own eyes, could see far enough in every direction to figure it out.

Well, he could find that out now, couldn’t he?

A trick of his own he’d kept to himself till now, because girls liked to chat and Beth would probably tell someone, he shouldered his crossbow and pulled the strap snug, worked chakra into his hands and feet, and clambered up the bark of a nice fat tree. He huddled with his knees drawn to his chest on a branch too sturdy to waver. He’d see how hopeless the girl really was—no way she wouldn’t be able to see him here. He wouldn’t even bother with a mediocre genjutsu to hide himself.

A few moments of stillness crumpled into stumbling and huffing that sounded like the dead, and would have had a bolt or kunai primed to sink into their eye had Daryl not known what was coming through the trees.

Stupid kid, Daryl realized when he caught sight of her, and had to blink back the ebb of chakra that wanted to spring his sharingan to life in an angry, downright livid pulse. Her byakugan wasn’t even out.

Beth did wake it once she realized she wasn’t tripping after him anymore. From his perch Daryl watched the veins snake around her face, her concentration taking over the rest of her as she went completely still. It occurred to Daryl that if she needed to concentrate this much on her eyes, that she couldn’t move at all, she likely hadn’t been using them when she’d been following. Christ, she was going to get herself killed.

She was right under his branch, nearly, and that forced Daryl to keep at bay another angry surge to his eyes. She couldn’t even sense him. She hadn’t seen him right over her. He could probably drop down right behind her, not even in her crevice of a blind spot, and she still wouldn’t.

Fuckin’ unbelievable.

Daryl rose on his branch, just enough to move. He fed chakra into his feet and fell forward, extra to reach through his boots, sticking to the bark by his soles to hang upside down right behind her. Beth didn’t even startle, just went right on glaring ahead. Daryl thought briefly about letting his sharingan loose, just to scare her good, then figured she’d scare bad enough once she turned around and found him. Not like he was known for being welcoming and warm on his own.

It didn’t take long. Beth wilted, and he caught the veins on the side of her head relax. Daryl didn’t doubt it was less out of defeat and more she just plain lacked the endurance. She turned, probably thinking to make her way back to camp, and promptly tripped back on her ass when she damn near walked into him.

Daryl drowned out her wail with a barely contained, “The hell you doin’ out here, girl?”

He let her get to her feet on her own (could do something for herself for once) while he unstuck himself from the tree, twisted in the air, and landed on his feet. He grimaced at the shock that rolled up his spine—too old for that shit now—and easily dropped it into a glare as Beth whacked dirt off her jeans and scowled up at him.

“I thought you needed an extra set of eyes.”

Good Lord, she was serious.

“Ya couldn’t even see me,” he seethed. “Couldn’t even sense me. Hell you got those eyes for if you can’t use ‘em?”

“I can use ‘em just fine! Daddy taught me the basics.”

Of course, when they didn’t have to worry about the dead up and walking. Daryl doubted the old man had let her step foot off the property since martial law dissolved into chaos. Hell, out of the house.

“Your daddy teach you not to go following strangers in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse?”

“You ain’t a stranger, Daryl,” she scoffed, and if it wasn’t for the tilt of her head to go with Daryl probably would’ve missed entirely the roll of her eyes. Not like her irises and pupils were easy to see.

He needed a minute to breathe, so he turned on his heels and put some distance between them. Good Lord, teenagers.

“I can take care a’ myself.”

Daryl growled then, swore and spit, and whirled. He stalked right up to her, letting his sharingan come out at last. Chakra fumed with his anger. Beth flinched back, had probably never seen one up close but sure as shit knew what it meant. Good.

The veins in her face twitched but didn’t have the energy to stick around. Not that it was useful against him. Unless she knew how to fuck with his chakra points, which he doubted—and that made him even madder. Girl couldn’t see, didn’t even know how to defend herself.

She couldn’t handle being looked at like that, clearly. “I just... wanted to help...”

“Whip ‘em out then,” Daryl ordered. He didn’t dare tip chakra into his words. He doubted she knew how to break out of a genjutsu, had even experienced one. That was more bullshit he didn’t want to deal with.

“Well... I—”

“Said ta show ‘em, girl,” he rumbled, drawing himself up so he could look down at her even more than he already was.

Beth tried, at least. She stilled, like she had when he’d been watching from the tree. But no veins rose up around her eyes, she didn’t look like she was seeing the world any different, any better. Finally she quit trying, doubling over like she’d run a mile, panting. Daryl watched the excess chakra slink away from her eyes, and blinked his own blue again—hard to do, his anger wanting them to stay.

“Yer an idiot,” Daryl snorted. “And we’re going back. Can tell everybody why we don’t got dinner.”

Girl went quiet at that, thank fuck, and Daryl led the way back. They had dinner, just nothing freshly killed; Daryl happily let her take the blame for why they were only eating lukewarm beans.

- - -

Contrary to Beth’s complaints, she could be grounded, even during the end of the world. Good. Daryl didn’t need to worry about her following him again when he went out. He did have a limit to what he could do, he might have good eyes but he wasn’t all-seeing. All it took was one run-in with the dead and the girl was gone.

Carol took his plate from him after dinner. She was keen when it came to folks (he didn’t like to think it came from survival before the world ended) and noticed the youngest Greene had looked jittery when she passed him his fixed plate. Worried he’d chew her out for not enough beets, maybe, or just for being in his presence.

Maybe he’d been too loud with her.

“She just wants to help, you know,” Carol told him when he wrestled the plate back, took half the stack she’d collected from the rest.

“Wants to get bit,” he grunted as they walked over to the wash basin in the back of one of the trunks.

“Did it ever cross your mind," Carol suggested, tone just shy of wry but enough to let Daryl know he’d be doing what she asked anyway, "that helping her might keep her safe?”

His excuse came quick: “Don’t got the same eyes.”

It wasn’t even an excuse; just because they happened to have a hell of an upgrade if they fed chakra to their skulls, didn’t mean it worked the same. Training, especially, which was what the girl needed most. Even if the training was the same, no fucking way he’d do it. The three tomoe Daryl had earned over the years, none of them gotten lightly, came at a price. He didn’t know how to coax progress that wasn’t hollering or worse.

“You don’t just use your eyes, do you?” Carol asked, and he was stuck there—the pointed look she threw at his kunai wasn’t needed.

Two weeks later, when he was sure Beth’s grounding was long behind her, he made sure to take watch with Hershel. With both of them keeping an eye out (on chakra for what was living, shambling husks for what wasn’t) on top of the hill they’d set up camp beneath, the group couldn’t be safer.

“I’d hoped my Bethie wouldn’t need to know certain things,” he started before Daryl could. “But I’d be a fool to hold on to that hope. Especially when it’s obvious she’s taken to... exploring.”

“She couldn’t walk and see at the same time,” Daryl pointed out, careful not to sound accusing. Families with doujutsu had customs, manners, and they varied between ability and family. He didn’t want to be stepping on toes if this was something the girl ought to be able to do but couldn’t. Shame was a hell of a thing. So was wanting to cull weak links, though he had the feeling Hershel wasn’t like that.

“Her mother had good eyes. Strong eyes. But,” Hershel said, “she came from a family that valued, over all else, strength. What her mother had was trained for, not a birthright, and she made me promise we wouldn’t put that on Beth.”

Hershel swung his head west, then. Daryl couldn’t see it, not yet, but pulled his kunai anyway. There was something to using it, a feeling that felt right more than using any gun. Daryl felt it when he used his bow, but more when he used this. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe he was just old-fashioned. Maybe because, like his arrows, they were easy to make (wooden ones, at least) and being able to make more of something that could help put food on the table was invaluable.

Or maybe because the set he had now was a gift, one of the very few he’d gotten in his miserable life.

Daryl never quite got over how wrong the walkers felt. Empty, no streams of chakra flowing, coursing, or even stuttering. Anything would’ve made them easier to be around—not that he planned on sticking around the dead for long.

Long enough to put them down, like now.

The walker, torn dress pulled down by the mud, shoeless, hair a nest, went down like her strings had been cut. Daryl picked his way down the hill, pulled the kunai from her eye, and wiped it clean on his thigh. Hershel was looking past him, veins bulging, when Daryl hiked back up, but he didn’t gesture for Daryl to ready another throw.

They were quiet for a while. Daryl liked that about taking watch with Hershel. Then, out of the blue:

“She looked like her.”

Daryl didn’t need to ask what he’d meant; he’d been thinking it too, had hoped Hershel wasn’t. But the man was smart, had a brain to match those eyes.

“Don’t gotta end up that way,” Daryl shrugged, quiet. Promises were dangerous, but so was the rest of the world.

Goin’ soft, that Merle-like voice that liked to come around, every now and then, taunted.

Yeah, well, fuck ‘em.

[flow-green]

19-08-2021

 “I think I’ve never had more chaotic year than this one,” I confessed one evening when we drove in a car somewhere. My SO gave me a warm look and I checked to the back seat where my Charlie-baby was sleeping. If somone would have told me year and a half ago that 2021 will be a true turnaround in my life, when I will throw away all the life chains and take full control, I would have rolled mye eyes and gotten back to my endless vicious circle of career. I think ever since 17-years old I have followed the norms the society has set up: graduate high school, sprint through university, meanwhile make sure you work so you won’t get drowned in depts, get a job for your field of interest, in the meantime take some loan for some random house and if you have a moment, please, make some babies. Ever since I was a child, I knew right away: that’s not me. I don’t know what it is that makes me want to break these frames. But, oh well, there is no point to raise my voice for my own good as all the other people around me are nicely stable in the system. Some of my exes are on the same line: if you are not a parent by age 31 and do not own a gorgeous house in the suburbs while paying a sickly huge loan, meanwhile ignoring your family, friends and hobbies to make ends meet just so you could work yourself to deah by age 40, then you are a loser.

Few weeks ago in Saaremaa, while tipping my toes and feet into the warm and comforting waters of Estonian sea, I realized where I have drifted with my life. Only now I have started to realized that, f**k me sideways, I am actually a living human being. A LIVING person. I LIVE.

About 2 months ago, near summer solstice, I finally felt the finalizing ticking in my brain that pushed me gently to the edge of unknown. “Will you?” the life asked and motioned me to jump. “Or will you stay here forever, wondering what’s down there?” And so, with shivering hands, I clicked ‘send’ button on the mail that delivered my resignation letter to my boss. Done. Over half a year full of mental terror and a slow suicide will come to an end. At this point I had insane regrets. How am I supposed to throw away an opportunity and 6-year long career just because I do not want to live anymore? Now you’re probably thinking I am being a drama queen and overexaggerating. Oh, dear god, no. There were days, where everything started to tumble down in one go: my love life, my family relations, friends and work relations. On these days I switched myself and my phone off, listened to some serious melancholic tunes, sat alone for hours or drove around with a car and now, admitting for the first time: I hoped that something will happen and I do not need to live here anymore. I admitted this once also in my therapy, that I have frozen up while driving, not really giving a damn about my leg on gas pedal and about the speed.

I am once again a fat, useless, lazy, clumsy, slow and unorganized. Blessed with sore black eyes, a girl with unstable nervs and flaked nails. And all this just to give myself to a work which does not appreciate any sacrifices I make.

And I did it. This is MY life. My path and my decision, I ain’t going anywhere and even if I do, I’ll go with a smile on my face and as a queen for a day.

Few days ago I realized with full heart that this was one of the most important decisions in my life. I went for a run, as I have started to pick it up again. I went and set a goal to run approx 20 minutes. I had time. No rush. Only responsibility waiting for me was one project to improve a home page of our fresh company, but there was no strict deadline nor a passive aggressive boss-lady stalking my every move and making sure I am around even off-hours. So, my 20 minute run became to a 1 hour run, which was successful, nicely progressive and easy. I enjoyed every minute, because I was present. I had nowhere to hurry. I did not worry about the future or the past. I was just excisted. And I breathed.

I think I have cried more this year than in total for all past years. In my 9 to 5 appartment cubical lifestyle I always pushed away everything that demanded at least some movement out of comfort zone. For exaxmple I always closed in when my ex partner had an idea to do some changes. Well, true, his changes did not comply with my dreams. I did not want to get a huge loan to buy a house and sprint out 2 babies just because ,,Martin and Marge had their second kid in their gorgeous house and Martin is only 1 year older than me.” OK, is nice for them I guess? Every time these silly arguments started to come up, I switched myself off into my safety bubble, all alone. I let no emotions, chaotic situatons to influence myself and I just slowly flew on my laid down path, with eyepatches on. I always knew I want something different. I wanted to fight and be heard. Every time there was a conflict at work, with a friend or family member or with a partner, I eliminated it in the early stages and just ignored the rest.

And when these eyepatches were finally removed, everything else followed. I had no pink glasses or filters for emotons. Real life was there for me, but not always in a bad way. Real life offered everything, you only had to have guts to reach out and take it, with all its plusses and minuses. Take it, dominate, take responsibility, but don’t just float by. Get yourself togeter, notice, do, learn and experience. If not now then... when?

This half of a year has thrown so many obstacles and opportunities on my way and I have caught most of them. I guess one of the most difficult period was spending some insane time at a house in the middle of nowhere, without any water or normal comforts. This has made me appreciate small benefts of our everyday life.

I think I have mentioned this earlier as well, that February and March were probaby the hardest months this year. I was given a challenge to overcome and boy, it was tough. Namely, I got pregnant. As a woman who has never wanted to become a mom due to several and long reasons which I will not discuss today, I was in a cocmplete shock. I felt happy, scared, angry. Why now? Universe has its twisted sense of humour and it turned out that the pregnancy is not carriable for medical reasons and abortion is a must. I did not have a single day to stay home and mourn and endure grief. Oh, no, they needed me back to work ASAP. So I ignored the pain of loss and carried on with even more enormous work tempo to keep up. This period started a chain reaction which pulled me cruelsomely to the edge of the cliff. Work does not sleep, it waits impatiently. Even on these two horrible days I had to go through with the process, I did some work since I had become irreplacable.

All the emotions sealed up just blasted out as soon as some smaller bebble hit my bicycle. I cried hysterically, screamed. There were no days where my eyes weren’t bloodshot and with dark underlines.

In some sort of a sick twisted way I felt good, since I was needed, everything depends on me and I am sure it will get paid off nicely in the end when I have worked until my nose bleeds. In this tunnel vision I did not realize that skipped recovery and unresolved grief had made me this maniacal, delusional self-centered zombie, who lived for her workdays. All my free time I spent worrying about next work day. I did not notice anymore how my mom is doing, how are my friends and what is my partner up to. Every time we went off to one of our van trips I just existed somewhere in my thoughts about how much there is still to do. And it’s even more sadder, that I did not even notice myself anymore in the free world.

“Yea, but how would you go on?” was the main question I was asked when with a shaky voice I admitted that I need to quit my job right now and don’t want to take such responsibilities for a while now, only for myself. Everyone can do it. If there is a will, there is a way.

I am happy that I have at least won almost the entire battle with eating disorder, although I have to admint I am not proud over the inner criticizm about my body, which has grown 8 kg heavier since last summer. This means I still have days I hide under baggy clothes and just wait until these dark thoughts pass. There are days where I absolutely veto going to the beach because ‘it’s cold’. Actually I am reminding myself of that year where I had a killer six-pack, hip bones and tiny bikinies fit me so well, but now I look more like a curvy, slightly soft female not nearly showing signs of being physically active. Although, I am now in that golden zone where my weight is not going up nor down almost at all, no matter how much or little or what kind of foods I eat (plant based always of course). I guess it is positive, my body has found it’s perfect zone, but I--- don’t really like it. This mentality here is something now that I have to work with, with all my spare and peaceful time.

Since 25 July I am (f)unemloyed. And happy. I have made sure that I will be secured, will not be homeless and have food and I have a first step of a plan prepared. Priority for now is to help myself out of this destructive black hole that influences not only me but other close ones as well.

I don’t have black shadows under my eyes anymore. I sleep deep, without any random wake ups, I finally have time and motivation to cook, bake and test out recipes that have been collecting dust since forever. From day to day I get back to introduce myself to my long lost hobbies like kite surf, reading, writing, drawing and yoga.

I have finally startrd to realize that next to me there are people that I love unconditionally and to whom I have shown insanely rude attitude. Have you ever felt that re-falling in love again? I am currently feeling it with tripple multiplications, because I have once again fallen in so much love with my dog, my boyfriend and my hero on this topsy-turvy road, my family, friends and life itself.

I will not even take a glance anymore to that 100 promises I made earlier this year. Life is just so much different with completely new challenges. If anything, then I can mark this time period here as my new and fresh chapter for my life.

[junejalow]

“Date Night”

Coolguy1245 requested the a prompt of Thermite/Ash going on a date.

Sorry this took so long to get out, I've honestly been caught up with other things but I'm getting back full swing on requests! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Text

Thermite whistled to himself as he leisurely walked along the halls of the base, he had just finished up some drills under Thatcher's watch and helped him out with paper work afterwards which surprising didn't draw any form of usual complaint from the older man, he was slightly taken aback by the action despite it speeding up the process. Jordan could get work done when in the right mind set and with the right people or on his own even if he tended to procrastinate when left alone, he eventually got the work done before whatever dead line the reports had since he didn't want Ash, Harry, Thatcher or Montagne's scolding on his ass. He sighed at the thought, pushing it aside as he neared his designation. He had walked from the training grounds, court yard, living area to the showers, stopped to fill out reports with Thatcher, hurried along to the dorm section and now he was here. He fished around in his pocket for the key to his room and with one swift movement he unlocked the door and turned the nob. He noticed the lights were already on and glanced to Ash's work desk, sure enough the attacker was sitting there typing away on her laptop with papers strewed around and folders stacked or opened. Her brow was furrowed with concentration to whatever she was working on. He didn't disturb her until he heard the laptop click shut.

"How was training?" Ash asked as she cleaned up her desk, putting papers into the correct files and placing them in storage. She was a organized frantic when it came to things being put in their place, mainly when it was files. She couldn't stress enough how easy things were to find when they were placed correctly, vs the mess Jordan had on his side of things but she never tried to fix any of it since she valued her sanity and the hard Texan always managed to find exactly what he needed. Ash would never openly say it, but the simple act amazed her. He could pick a needle out of a hay stack with one look.

"Same as usual, Although a accident happened. Nothing to bad. Blitz rushed the biohazard container last second and flash banged Jager, caught him off guard, Poor guy tripped over some ruble from a wall I took down and busted his tail bone. Fuze ain't happy about it, nearly shoved Blitz against a wall over the matter." He replied, watching Ash get ready for the date they agreed to go on this afternoon after all of their work was done.

"See, this is why I told Harry it wasn't a good idea to have anyone romantically involved on opposite sides. That exact situation could have turned into a fight and that's the last thing we need."

"Hey hey, it's alright. There aren't any hard feelings. Monty calmed everyone down and they understood it was just training and accidents happen. Even Thatcher didn't leave until everyone was good. It's fine, really." Jordan told her, leaving the shared room with her after grabbing his car keys.

"Not the point Jordan." She sighed out with a light annoyed tone. "I'm not against anyone here having a relationship, it helps in ways. Like you did with me…. I would be drowning in work and responsibilities if you weren't here to tug me back a few steps." He smiled warmly and grabbed her hand, taking their time walking through the hallways of the base.

"I needed you too Eliza, I got no one outside this team. Everyone here is like family of some sort or another but you…damn woman you are so much more~"

"Starting your flirting already? Did your gadget blast you with too much heat?" Ash teased with a smile, shivering faintly to the chilly England air as they walked out of the dorm section of the base and across open ground to the parking lot. Various car's neatly lined up. Harry didn't mind them leaving and exploring during downtime but expected them to come back within reasonable time incase there was an emergency, which seemed to be a lot lately. Half the base was currently deployed to different countries right now. Thermite himself had just returned not even three days ago from a month long mission helping defuse bombs from several sites and hidden factory's the White Masks were crafting and producing. His hands were still sore but he would never complain about it, not when the entire team had come back without a scratch. Sure exhausted and lack of sleep had taken it's toll on all of them, that wasn't anything new to the operators. He wouldn't trade sleep for this chance of a date night, they had been planning this for months now with the last three attempts being stolen away by their jobs calling for their attention. Soon enough the pair were on their way down the road, soft music playing from the radio between idol chatter of news reports about jobs, tv shows, new food brands, touring music bands, and new movie releases. Ash's phone bleeped with a text message, she tried to ignore it since she promised Jordan her attention would be on the date and not work once they left.

"You can answer it Eliza, we're not at the restaurant yet." Thermite told her with a reassuring tone.

"I'm not going back on my promise Jordan, that's not something I do and you know it."

"What if it's Jager letting you know he got called out for a mission? You know he never rests for anything, he's on standby as well." He replied, making a good point. He had personally witnessed the German operator fly them out of harsh situations even with injuries, even though the scolding he got from Doc and Harry himself wasn't very nice to listen too and left the pilot not wanting to leave his room for awhile.

"It's nothing important, if it was they would have called instead." Eliza replied, dismissing the subject. Her eyes wondered to the passing scenery, small stores, café's, old historical areas. Even she had to admit that England was a pretty place. Smoke and Mute had taken them on tours before as a team building exercise that turned into an all day trip, it was much needed at the time though. A lot of them had come back from a mass joint operation that ended in success but not without casualties, they had a lost a hand full of recruits that day. Montagne and Kapkan were emotionally scarred from it, they had personally trained the recruits for that mission just for them to come home in coffins. It took a solid month for them to come out of their depressed states and focus on the bigger issue at hand. She noticed the scenery slowing down as Thermite pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, once he found a decent parking spot he escorted her inside. They found a booth in the corner and settled in, it only took them a few minutes to get drinks and their food ordered. Thankfully neither of them were picky about what they consumed. Living on base with different nationalities you learned to eat whatever was offered by the on site staff who tended to change up the weekly food list to make everyone happy, of course the kitchen was open over the weekend for the operator's. Some enjoyed baking sweets or a simple home dish to lift spirits.

"You know...this is pretty nice. Getting out like this and relaxing." Eliza said with a smile, working at a steak with her cutlery.

"We don't get it often, and I don't count on base movie nights as dates." Jordan chuckled.

"Those are not movie nights, that's just a excuse for our friends to get drunk and fight over the remote for the tv."

"Okay okay, I'll give you that one… even though you stole the remote last time and played that cheesy love movie."

"Jordan! It was not cheesy! It was a good movie and you have zero taste in anything that doesn't explode."

"Really? Coming from someone who launches grenades' at walls?" Eliza paused midchew and stared at him from across the table, after a moment of silence they both tried to stifle a laugh so they wouldn't be too loud.

The two attacker's couldn't have any solid arguments about their own equipment since both were similar in ways. It was all in good fun though and both knew it, bantering like this relieved stress in an odd way for them. Ash waved her hand in front of her towards Thermite when he asked if she was retort any.

"No, no. I'm done. You had a fair point Jordan." She replied with a genuine smile. Thermite found himself returning the same type of smile, He loved the woman sitting in front of him with every fiber of his being for a endless list of reasons. The way they interacted with each other was in the top ten on that list. He could always joke around with her without it being taken serious. They had been around each other long enough to know the faint body signals, the small twitches, muscles tensing or jaws setting a certain way that gave away aggravation.

"Hey, did you still wanna talk about whatever it was you mentioned this morning?" She suddenly asked him, eyes gleaming curiously.

"Right! Right," Jordan said before clearing his throat a bit, he had finished his own steak earlier. Being among the few guys within rainbow that could put a lot of competitive eaters to shame. "Well. I recently got an apartment off base, and…I um…" Eliza waited patiently, concern filling her features. Jordan was never at a loss for words so she knew this was coming important.

"Jordie… what's going on?" She asked softly, using his nickname only she could call him by. Anyone else caught a glare from the Texan that clearly told people not to use it. He glanced up from his scarred hands, pausing to seeing her expression.

"It's not bad! I promise I was just… wondering if you wanted… to move in with me. Maybe take this a step further?"

Her face blanked out for a moment, taking in the request from her boyfriend. Her pulse quickened at the thought of actually living off base with him, both of them would constantly have to take their work home or rush back at a moment's notice should anything happen. But at the same time… having a place to call their own? She felt a grin spreading across her face before she said anything.

"You know what? I like that idea, I would love to move in with you." Jordan felt his chest swell with mixed emotions, happiness, fear, excitement, nervousness.

"Y-you serious? You really want to?"

She nodded, keeping her grin. "Yes, I'm being dead serious Jordan."

Thermite had to stop himself from jumping up and shouting right on the spot, his dream coming true of finally having a more private area with Eliza. A place they could officially call home and not be interrupted at night by loud noises or arguing between operators. "Thank you for agreeing, I'm moving everything next week if that's enough time for you."

"Of course, I can work with that."

The couple soon finished up their drinks and headed back out after paying, they wondered into base and quickly skipped past the common room. Hearing Rook fuss at Lion about drinking too much with them being on stand by, Blitz keeping Bandit from going after them for interrupting his tv show. Glaz and Mute sitting at a table on the other side of the room, the Russian working on a sketch while Mute typed away at his laptop. It wasn't unusual to see the pair together when Tachanka and Smoke were off base on missions. Ash shook her head they couldn't have one quiet afternoon here without something happening but that was the fun part of being with Rainbow. All the different people and personalities. Even if her and Jordan moved to the apartment soon, they would always be here for their family.

[whirlybirbs]

Ok ok hear me out, so we know Arthur reads Miss Turner’s journal but what if Miss Turner gets her hands on Arthur’s?

a/n: oh god i gave myself a cavity writing this. it’s long, it aches. arthur takes miss turner fishing. she catches him drawing her. they make a deal, he reads her journal. this is pure romance, folks. a slow burn. it hurts. here’s the masterlist!

He’s gone for two whole days.

Two. Only two. 

But, with the way Miss Grimshaw’s been harping on you and the other girls, you can’t help but feel like it’s been a damn week. You swear your fingers are worked to the bone from the amount of stitching, washing and cooking you’ve been doing. 

It’s early evening when Arthur returns to camp from the hunting trip (alongside Lenny and Bill and Charles with a boar on each horse). He gives you a good excuse to get out for a while -- Miss Grimshaw and Dutch and Hosea don’t ask questions when it comes to the blonde outlaw. It’s just... one of those things. They trust Arthur.

Bill nudges Lenny. They’d joked on the trip how Miss Turner was makin’ Arthur soft. This is a show of it. 

“Please tell me you’re not sick ‘n’ tired of the great outdoors just yet, Mr. Morgan.”

The sound of your voice meets his ears and Arthur can’t help but grin; he moves slowly, then, lifting the bounty of the hunt from Sugarcube’s saddle and sparing you an amused look. 

“An’ if I am?”

“I’ll drown myself in the lake.”

Oh, you are quick.

He laughs -- loud and true -- and strides over to drop the carcass by Pearson’s butcher’s block. The tenderloin will make good stew. Lenny and Bill smirk at the way you watch him, enjoying the fact they’re right -- no amount of denying can hide the way Arthur brightens with you by his side. 

He leans, propping himself against the table and folding his arms. “Why?”

“Fishing.”

“Fishing.”

You roll your eyes at him, slapping his bicep in good-humor. “Jack was sayin’ how good of a teacher you are --”

“Oh,” Arthur croons, “Was he now?”

“-- And I would love to learn how.”

Arthur grins, looking mischievous. He kicks off from the table, pulling a sigh and trying to make it seem like this isn’t the nicest thing in the world -- a pretty girl like you, seeking him out for some alone time and treating him like he’s some sought after company. He tries to hide his cards, hide the pep in his step.

Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen can see it from a mile away.

“They didn’t teach you fishing in those high-society classes a’ yours?”

“Oh,” you chirp, “Yes, fishing and hunting were right alongside piano an’ singing.”

“Singin’?”

His brows quirk. He turns, walking backwards towards Sugarcube with an piqued interest. Blue eyes scale your face. You’ve gone sheepish. It’s rather adorable.

You clamp your mouth shut, averting your gaze. “I didn’t --”

“An’ piano -- my, my, you really are a lady --”

You shove him backwards with a blooming smile on your face, earning a deep laugh from the outlaw as he nears his horse. The Palamino Thoroughbred whinnies, bowing her head up and down in greeting. You pat her muzzle gently, cooing a bit as Arthur moves to his satchel. 

“I’ve got an extra pole you can use,” he says, “C’mon, then, daylights wastin’.”

He offers a hand, hoisting you up as you swing to sit side-saddle. He’s up in-front of you in a flash, spurs tinkering as he urges Sugarcube into a light trot. Your arms snake around his waist, palms resting against the curve of his sides. His gun holsters rattle at the pace.

You prop your chin up on his shoulder.

“Miss Grimshaw keepin’ y’ busy?” 

His voice resounds through him, deep and warm, and you can feel it in your chest. It’s satisfying.

“I would be lyin’ if I said she wasn’t the reason I wanted to get away --”

“And here I was, thinkin’ y’ wanted t’ spend some time with little ol’ me.”

You cop a grin. “You aren’t my type, remember, Arthur?”

You can feel the way his laugh rattles his ribs. His smile is contagious. The sun is still hanging in the sky, when you come to rest at a spot away from camp on the lake. The water is dancing with a yellowish-blue from the clouds above and you’re content to just... be. 

“C’mon, then. Time t’ put you t’ work.”

You grin, happily accepting his hand and hopping off of Sugarcube. 

“Now, fair warning --”

“You aren’t much of a fisherman?” you chirp, quirking a brow, “Dutch told me.”

Arthur suddenly goes sheepish, cheeks striking a rosy color as he grumbles and itches the back of his neck -- that damn story of him, twenty-one and lying about catching three, huge large-mouthed bass for dinner (when really he’d just gone and bought them) has continued to haunt him for the last fifteen years. You, though, seem to get a kick out of it and fall into a spur of giggles.

He wonders what the hell else Dutch has told you.

“Yea, yea,” he rumbles, “I was young --”

“Mhm,” you say, taking the offered pole from him, “Go ahead, make some more excuses --”

Arthur shakes his head, laughing. “You keep that up, I’m gunna have t’ ask you t’ sing.”

“Just because I had lessons,” you say as you venture closer to the water, “Doesn’t mean I was any good.”

“Fair enough... I’m still gunna make y’ sing.”

“If I’ve had a drink,” you raise a finger, “Then, maybe.”

“My, the fair lady drinks?” he chirps, “Jus’ when I’d thought I’d seen it all.”

You shove his shoulder, rolling your eyes as he moves to settle the tackle box between you both. He bends, groaning a bit, before clicking open the latch and beginning to dig through the baits. After a moment, he finally finds the container he was looking for.

Scrawled across the top reads ‘live worms’. 

You pull a face.

Arthur cracks open the container and snags his pole, straddling it between his legs and snagging the line between his fingers.

“Hold this...” he blinks up at you, “What?”

“They’re... oh, god, they’re wriggling.”

Arthur swears you’re the cutest damn thing alive -- he’d kiss you if he had the courage. Instead, he grins and shakes his head. He reaches in, moving to tie the worm around his hook before taking the container from your hands and snapping it shut.

“I’ll show you,” he says, “Then, you can have at it, alrigh’?”

And so he does. He casts the reel with a long throw and you watch, listening to the fweeeeeeeeeep, plunk! of the bait flying out and hitting the water. It’s nice -- quiet and peaceful and calm. Then, his rod pulls.

He reels in the fish and holds it up. 

“If it’s small, you can just...” he tosses the fish, “Let ‘em go.”

You fumble at first; the worm slips from the hook a few times while you try and skewer it -- and the first cast you have is atrocious. You nearly take Arthur out with your whipping of the pole. But, with a well-guided hand, Arthur pulls your arm back and shows you the right way to cast. 

You try to ignore how close you are, back pressed right to his chest.

He wanders off after that, leaving you to wiggle the pole every now and again and reel in and cast out. You lose yourself in thought for a bit, focused on the feeling of the rod in your hands and the breeze coming through. 

The sun has started to set in the west, painting the sky and lake all kind of shades of citrine and rose. The world has a rose-tinted glow at this hour. The rustling of the leaves on the trees is like a lullaby and on the far end of the lakeside, you can see a family of white-tailed deer grazing happily.

The buck raises it’s head and you smile.

It’s moments like these that make you thankful for leaving home behind. Some days, it hurts. But, out here -- free and true, you remember how nice it is to just breathe and be and live. No money, no rules, no manners. Just... the wild.

You turn your head, catching Arthur Morgan mid-study.

He ducks his eyes immediately, caught in the act of sketching you -- from his perch on the rock to your right, he quickly moves to snap close the new leather-bound journal you’d given him earlier in the week. 

“Mr. Morgan --”

“No, no,” he says, dropping his pencil into his shirt pocket, “Don’t you start --”

You reel in, propping up the rod on a nearby rock and abandoning it for his sheepish look -- he tosses his head back, sighing loudly; you grin, eyes on fire with something dizzying. You climb onto the rock beside him, leaning to try and snag the journal quickly -- but Arthur is fast and he knows this game. After all, he’d pulled the same trick on you all those weeks ago to read your journal.

“Aah, aah, ah.”

“Let me see.”

“No,” he rumbles, “It’s my journal. I’ll draw whatever the hell I please.”

“... You were drawin’ me.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, leaning back as you reach again, “An’ you ain’t gonna see it.”

Courage surges in your chest. Rumor had it Arthur was a bit of an artist around camp. You’d spotted him here and there scribbling in that journal. You’d always assumed it was chicken-scratch. But... with the way he’d just been looking at you... that was a practiced look. 

You hold your breath.

And then it all rushes out.

“How about -- if you let me see it, I’ll let you read any page from mine,” you say slowly, “Anything is fair game -- Though my poems aren’t very good.”

“... Poems?”

Consider his curiosity piqued. 

You stick your hand out.

Arthur blinks.

“Deal?”

“Christ, sure, alrigh’.”

It’s childish, he knows, but it fills his chest with an exciting buzz that he hasn’t felt in a long time. This little game -- a tit for tat -- has his hands sweating a bit as he shakes your hand under the setting sun and -- reluctantly -- pulls open his journal and flips to the most recent spread.

He hands you the journal and your jaw drops.

To say he’s good... well, that wouldn’t do his skill justice. He’s wonderful -- and the full page sketch of you fishing has your heart hammering all the way back to camp. He’s captured you in an idyllic way, hair braided and hat hanging low; the caption beside it reads your initials with a faint heart beside them. The page opposite has a few smaller sketches -- of Sugarcube, of a boar, of a few flowers, all accompanied by the flourished script of his handwriting. 

It’s beautiful.

It’s art.

“... It’s not th’ best I’ve ever done --”

You gawk, a breathless laugh whisked from your chest as you blink up at him beside you. You cradle the journal with a newfound sense of treasure. 

When you meet his gaze, you’re speechless.

You just... flounder, a bit like a fish, for a moment.

“No one’s ever... drawn me before.”

It’s all you can say. The gesture of him going so far as to make you a home in his personal journal... is awfully romantic.

Arthur swallows, taking the journal from you and fishing the pencil from his pocket in a way that screams urgency -- his cheeks has gone rosy from the attention and he can’t help but drop his gaze from yours.

It’s like staring into the sun.

“I... I could finish it if you’d like,” he says slowly, “You can have it.”

“... Really?”

“I have others -- I mean, in... uh, I have other drawings.... in my other journal --”

“Of me...?”

You damn fool, Arthur Morgan!

He gawks. “Uh... Well...”

You can’t help the hopelessly sweet look that blooms on your face. Gently, you urge him on, hand meeting his wrist as he tries to figure out the right words to say.

“...You do, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he says, quickly changing the subject and breaking the moment to spare his heart, “But, I believe you have yer end of th’ deal to keep, Miss Turner.”

As he turns back to his sketching, you laugh and stand -- Sugarcube has your satchel in one of her saddle bags and you make quirk work on digging out your own journal from the depths. It’s nearly full, pages tattered and weathered from it’s use. It’s smaller than Arthur’s, not as thick, but the pages are teeming with content in delicate script.

Arthur’s shading is cut short by your return to the rock.

You offer him the notebook, eyes set ahead of you.

“One page,” you say, raising a finger, “You get to read one page.”

Arthur’s signature boyish grin is back, blooming as he tucks his pencil between the pages of his journal and sets it on the rock behind him. He takes your journal gingerly, thumb gracing your name engraved on the front of it. Immediately, a pressed flower falls out the front.

It’s lilac.

He hands it your way and your fingers brush like the kiss of a match.

Blue eyes dart to yours, measuring the sheepishness on your face. 

You’re not surprised when his fingers flip to the most recent entry, written four days ago -- the night after you and him had righted your wrongs on the ride into Rhodes. It’s almost like he knows the writing there will bloom the same amount of anxiousness your admiring of his sketches did. 

He clears his throat and you cry, throwing your hands over your face.

“Oh god, no, Arthur, don’t read it out loud --”

“ -- It was worth it, the anxiety of tucking a whole journal under by sleeve in that market stall in Saint Denis. I’ve never stolen a damn thing in my life. But, Mr. Morgan deserves something good. He smiled, big and wholesome and warm, when I gave it to him and I think that’s how I like him best; he tries so hard to be bitter, not realizing how easily me and the rest of the camp would kill to see him smile like that again --”

You lunge, hands pulling the journal from him as you shriek: “One page!”

Arthur’s face is split into one of those earth-shattering grins, one that you try your best to remember, when you snatch the journal from him -- your face is flooded with embarrassment, wishing maybe he’d picked a more poetic paragraph to read. You try and brace for the jeers, but instead, he drops his head and nods. 

A beat of silence.

Your words settle neatly against his ribs. 

“You mean that?”

“... Well, yes,” you breathe, clutching the notebook close to your heart, “Every word.”

“...You’ve never stolen?” he says after a beat, face screwed up, “... Ever?”

“... God, Arthur,” you cry, laughing loudly and shoving his arm, “That’s what you --- That is the one thing you focus on?!”

He grins again, chuckling at your reaction -- his ability to not make you feel like a fool is astounding. For a few moments, you both just sit there, basking in the glow of one another under the sunset. The clouds have turned inky purple in the wake of the sharing, breeze turning cooler off the lake as the camp’s fires begin to glow in the early evening light. 

He’s a coward, though, and as much as Arthur Morgan wants to kiss you under the blinking stars, he doesn’t.

Instead, he hops down from the rock and offers you a hand; ever the gentleman.

“Best we head back t’ camp,” he drawls, “It’s nearly supper time.”

You nod, noting the permanent smile on his face. “Miss Grimshaw’s probably wondering where her favorite laundry girl went.”

Arthur gathers the fishing equipment and you tuck both of your journals back into Sugarcube’s satchels. Upon packing up, Arthur offers a hand again and you find yourself sitting side-saddle as he hauls himself upwards. 

Your hold on him is bit more confident, now. 

Your nose brushes his shoulder. Arthur’s hand pats yours on his hip. 

“Arthur?”

“Yea?”

“... Thanks for drawin’ me.”

You can’t see his face. He’s thankful. His smile is lovesick.

[himbowelsh]

ok, what about life guard!buck and luz pretending and almost drowning in the clubs pool? but he is saved by gorgeous blonde life guard that finds george v cute.

AN: THIS IS NOT APPROPRIATE FIRST AID DONT DO WHAT LUZ DOES

Buck loves his job.Sure, spending his entire summer policing a public swimming pool has its downsides. There are always the rowdy kids, the screamers, the overconcerned parents who panic when their kid goes underwater for a second. Without fail, Buck will have to kick a few groups out for refusing to follow the rules. And there's always the one kid who manages to go missing.All the cons of the job, however, are outweighed by how much Buck enjoys it. He genuinely likes being a lifeguard. It's not just getting to sit in the sun shirtless and flash a smile at anyone he finds attractive. It's about helping kids have fun, and making sure they stay safe while doing it. That's the reason Buck loves being a lifeguard.

So no matter how many kids try to drown each other or refuse to obey diving rules, Buck will always have a smile on his face when he comes into work each day. There's nothing better than getting to do a job he enjoys.Some days, of course, are easier than others.Today has been one of the chaotic days at the YMCA pool. The pre-school swimming class was here earlier, and a lot of the parents chose to stick around for some more water  time with their kids when the pool opened to the public. Now, not only does Buck have to keep a eye on the dozen toddlers running around, there's also a group of middle school boys tossing a football back and forth near the deep end, and some rowdy college kids playing on the slide. Buck's patience is fraying, and his nerves are on edge. If his hair had room to get blonder than it is already, he's sure he would be going white."If you can't keep the ball in the pool, you've got to take it out!" he tells the middle schoolers for the third time, after they narrowly miss knocking over a pigtailed child toddling along the edge of the pool. "Last warning, guys!""Sorry, sorry!" The kids wave at him, and Buck sighs as he turns back to his chair. They're just trying to have fun, but it's Buck's job to look after all of the swimmers. One person's fun could land someone else in the infirmary, and Buck's responsibility is to keep that from happening."Hey, guys! Knock it off and look up here, watch this!"His eyes stray towards the group of college kids still at the top of the slide, calling down to their friend's below. They all seem to have enough sense to steer clear of the slide's mouth, but Buck keeps his attention on them anyway. There's something about the scruffy-haired guy lingering at the top of the slide that tells him he's going to be trouble. Maybe it's the wicked smirk on his face; maybe it's the way his entire body seems coiled as he waits for his friends' gazes to turn towards him.Only once he sees he has their attention does he move -- he pushes himself off and blasts down the slide at record pace, nearly shooting right over the side. Buck's eyebrows raise as the guy emerges from the mouth, a grand splash announcing his impact with the water. It takes a second too long for the kid to resurface. Once he does, he's laughing."Real impressive, Luz!" one of his friends scoffs. The guy named Luz rolls his eyes and swings at the speaker's head, still grinning. He's proud of himself, even if no one else seems impressed.He's got a nice smile, Buck muses -- but that's all he has time to think before a screech from the other side of the pool snatches his attention away.Sure enough, one of the toddlers has taken a nose dive and skinned her knee. It's nothing serious, but she is bleeding. Buck steps away from his post for just a moment to usher the whimpering child and her fretful mother towards the infirmary. He makes sure they get there safely, offering the little girl a few words of confident reassurance. He waits until he's coaxed a watery smile out of her before starting back towards the pool.He was gone for a minute. Two minutes, tops.How can people cause so much trouble in only a minute?"Luz, come on," one of the college students is hollering as the pool comes back into Buck's vision. "That ain't funny, come back up!"Buck's stomach drops. He knows that tone -- annoyance masks the creeping worry edging into the words, as each second passes and Luz does not reemerge. Buck has been doing this job for a while; he's seen people stay under the water for longer than they should, just to mess with their buddies. He's also seen a joke turn serious fast."Luz!" someone else says, louder. The alarm in his voice splits through the echoey pool hall, and Buck is over there in two seconds flat."Where is he?" he demands, crouching at the edge of the deep end. "How long has he been under?"One of Luz's friends, with olive skin and dark eyes gone wide with worry, points towards the water slide. "He swam under there, but he ain't come up since. It's been a minute, I think, I dunno --"Buck doesn't need to hear any more. He plunges into the water without a second thought.In lifeguard training, you have to learn special skills. Keeping your eyes open underwater when goggles aren't on hand; locating people in the murky world below the surface; developing an instinct for when intervention is really necessary. Buck's instincts are screaming at him, and he knows something is not right as soon as he dives below the water line.It takes him just a few seconds to spot him -- a figure twisting beneath the bottom of the slide, face-down. His back is pressed up against the plastic, while his arms are cast below him, scrabbling for something to hold on to. It's obvious what's happened -- he swam beneath the slide and now he's trapped.There isn't a second to waste. Buck seizes the man around his waist and drags him out from underneath the slide. Then he swims up, up, until his head breaks water and Luz's writhing body surfaces with it. Buck inhales a gasp of air at the same time Luz does, but only one of them chokes on it.He hauls Luz onto dry land, and finds himself crouching over him the next second. Luz's dark hair is slicked to his face. His skin is pale, his lips parted and desperately trying to draw breath. The terror in his wide eyes strikes a chord in Buck. He helps the other man turn over, pats his back until his gagging abates and he vomits a flood of water onto the pool floor. When Luz looks up at him again, he's trembling."Jesus," is the first thing he chokes out, shaken gaze locking on Buck. Despite the circumstances, Buck feels himself crack a smile."It's Buck, actually, but that works too." He pats Luz's back again, and he inhales a wheezing gasp. His airway sounds clear; it doesn't seem like he inhaled too much water. They ought to call the paramedics, but that question is up to Luz. "Pretty close call.""You're telling me." Luz coughs again and drags the back of his hand across his lips. "My fault for being the dumbass who had to swim under the freakin' slide.""Not as dumb as half the things I've seen, but pretty dumb, yeah."George blinks up at him, soaking bangs dripping into his eyes. "You gonna kick me out?" he asks, more curious than hesitant."I could. You shouldn't be swimming for a while, at least. I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you let me call the paramedics to get you checked out.""No. God, no." Luz coughs again, as if the very idea sets him off, and shakes his head. "That ain't happening. I'm fine."Buck wants to believe him, he really does -- but he's been doing this job for a while. "Take a trip down to the infirmary, at least."When Luz glances up at him again, there's a spark in his eyes -- something inquisitive and wicked, as electric as his smirk from earlier. Buck feels his heart beat double-time, the memory of that smile flashing in his head. When he catches Luz's lips turning up again, he can't believe his luck."That depends. Will you take me there?"Buck's eyebrows raise. He glances back to Luz's friends (who seem less concerned now that he's okay enough to flirt, rolling their eyes and muttering, "typical Luz") and then to his fellow lifeguard, Christenson, who is watching the scene from his own post.What the hell? Buck might be great at his job, but he's also an opportunist. He's no going to pass up a cute drowning victim -- at least, not when said drowning victim is smirking like that."Sure," he replies. "I'll take you."Luz grins and takes his hand, allowing Buck to help him to his feet. He's a little shaky, and probably takes advantage of Buck's support more than he needs to, but Buck isnt complaining.Yep, Buck decides as he leads Luz out of the pool area, relishing the feeling of the man hanging off his arm. He really loves his job.("So," says Luz, "how long would I have to stay under to get you to give me mouth-to-mouth?""Let's skip the drowning part," Buck suggests, a smirk on his own face. "We can do mouth-to-mouth any time.")