#ss didn't help

[themintman]

Either of these 🙏 they are so funny to me

peepaw's first time seeing light in 20 years give him a sec-

And a photo taken moments before disaster

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Okay, well replaying Skyward Sword reminded me that I wrote this like a year ago buried in a reblog so I'm just gonna air it out and plop it here.

The first time Link had disappeared, it had caused alarm. Zelda had just gone missing, ripped from her loftwing by a treacherous tornado, and suddenly Link was a haggard mess, dressed in a knight’s uniform, and then gone. People feared that he had been hurt too, a search shouldn’t last after sunset; he wasn’t a full knight, after all. However, Headmaster Gaepora had managed to calm the academy students, and the news spread throughout Skyloft.

It took almost a week for Link to return to Skyloft. When people saw his crimson loftwing circling around the town, a collective sigh of relief fell over the sky island. If he’d been gone consistently for so long, then he’d only return when he’d found Zelda, after all. Not to mention it meant they were both safe.

However, that had not been the case. Link had been alone, tired, and filthy. His clothes had tears in them in certain places, he had strange silky threads wrapped around parts of his legs, dry blood stains were disturbingly evident on his tunic, and he practically had bags under the already constantly present bags under his eyes. He had landed just by the goddess statue and had not been seen since. However, another bright light had appeared in the cloud barrier, unnerving the Skyloftians, who chattered about it amongst each other.

The bazaar had been exceptionally busy that day, and the new red light in the sky caused people to gather there to discuss the matter. It meant there were long lines just to get inside, and Link had not seemed keen to stand among the crowds to get the supplies he so desperately needed. Instead, he’d sat on the bench outside, waiting for the townspeople to eventually spread throughout the island once more and give him the space he needed to prepare for his next trip.

The crowds did indeed start to thin, but as people trickled out of the bazaar with hot drinks and hot gossip on their tongues, they paused, finding the boy passed out on the bench. At first it was amusing; Link often fell asleep all over town. But then it was worrisome. He looked haggard. Everyone in town was invested in this boy’s well-being; they’d all welcomed him into their homes at one point or another, the adults all remembered the little orphan wandering the island aimlessly in the days after his father’s unfortunate death, they all remembered bringing him into their homes with promises of warm food and a pillow to lay his head on.

So it had been collectively decided that someone would fetch a pillow from their home and get Link a bit more settled. Wryna brought a blanket as well, but Greba had pointed out worriedly that Link was still a mess (with an emphatic “He stinks!” from Kukiel). Mallara had gotten Commander Eagus, who had promptly swaddled Link in the blanket and carried him to the academy to tend to him.

After that encounter, everyone on Skyloft had decided that they’d keep an extra careful eye out for the boy.

This new pact ended up saving the young knight-in-training’s life. The next time he came back, he had fallen off his loftwing entirely, caught only by Pipit, who had been notified that something was wrong when Orielle noticed the loftwing’s panicked screeches. He’d been unconscious before he fell into his classmate’s strong arms, and even Groose and his stooges had watched in concern as Pipit had rushed Link to the infirmary.

But today was not quite so dire. Link had been missing from Skyloft for two weeks after he’d recovered (his periods of absence continued to grow, much to everyone’s concern), but this morning Jakamar, his wife Wryna, and their daughter Kukiel woke up to a surprise green bundle curled up in their bed. He was on the edge, barely taking any space, but he hogged a majority of that side of the bed’s blanket. At first Jakamar nearly jumped out of his skin until he realized who it had to be, and he pulled the blanket back just enough to see the curved little ears and fluffy dirty blonde hair that everyone on Skyloft knew so well.

Blowing out a sigh, he turned away and held his wife as she peered over his shoulder. “Well, at least we know where he is.”

“He’ll be hungry,” Wryna commented. “I’ll get started on breakfast.”

Jakamar grunted in acknowledgement as his wife crawled to the bottom of the bed to climb over the wooden frame so as to avoid waking Link. Kukiel shot up and started to bounce on the bed in excitement, and Jakamar scooped her into his arms and also climbed out of bed in a similar manner. The house was silent as the family cleaned their faces and prepped for the day (though only because the parents constantly had to remind Kukiel to keep quiet with gentle shushes and fingers over their lips), and then Jakamar took his daughter out for a morning stroll while Wryna busied herself in the kitchen area.

When he got back to the smell of a delicious breakfast, he stretched and smiled, glancing at the bed to find it empty. He looked back to see Wryna’s disappointed face.

“He’s gone!” Kukiel exclaimed in her high voice.

“I didn’t see him step out,” Wryna said guiltily.

Jakamar put a hand on his wife and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, hon. At least he got some sleep. Pack it up in a bottle, if we see him we’ll give it to him.”

Jakamar had the luck to find Link later that day as the boy was meandering around the windmills. Although Jakamar was getting ready to offer the now lukewarm food, Link instead started asking him about the windmill’s missing propeller. Jakamar helped him as best he could, and just as Link rushed off to find Gondo at Jakamar’s suggestion (he figured the robot, though broken, might be able to help), the man called out to him, waving the large bottle with food carefully packed inside.

Link stared at him, confused. Jakamar held out the bottle. “Take it, kid. You look like you’re starving.”

It was a bit of a slip up to admit it to his face. Link often would recoil at such remarks, would cover it up with an embarrassed laugh and then actively avoid whoever said it for a while, which then made it even harder to help him. But it was the truth - he did look gaunt and worn thin. Jakamar was usually a pretty easygoing guy, but this seemed like it was starting to get serious. He wished the headmaster would reel the kid in.

Link’s expression shifted, so easily readable on his face, and his confusion clearly became shame. He looked down at the ground, biting his lip. When Jakamar pushed the bottle into his sight again, he took it wordlessly, but as he locked eyes with the man he gave a grateful smile. Before Jakamar could get a word in, Link turned on his heel and headed for the bazaar.

Jakamar blew out a sigh as he watched the boy run. Hylia look out for him.

[westrangecollectionkoalaposts]

Everytime I see sterek and steter tags I imagine stiles singing Cardi b's version of Last Christmas to malia 😭

[justsomeoneunordinary]

I also firmly believe that fem Madara would still be a misogynist. She just thinks herself to be the exception to the rule 💅

[sunvine-sunavalon]

shoutout to my fellow self-shippers who have a "i can fix them"/"I can help fix them" attitude to their f/o's. Whether your completely serious or ironic/humourous about it, whether your selfship lore involves your f/o's redemption or not, I want to send you all love <333 /platonic

[buttercupshands]

Zoned out while playing Earthbound after doing exam stuff bc I liked the atmosphere in that place

Felt like meditating with cool music on as well

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[quiescentdestiny]

my books came in at barnes and noble :3 gonna go get em tomorrow.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Can't stop thinking about the idea of CATFA as a propagandised version of the Captain America story which exists in-universe and Steve seeing it and being absolutely livid about how 90% of it represents him.

.

Examples: being furious that it doesn’t mention his mother (his moral compass) anywhere, or his socialist politics pre-war, implies he only wants to fight to be like one of the guys and get a girlfriend?! (barely mentions Nazis),

implies he simply cannot have had any romantic attachments before serum, yet skims right over his disabilities as if his only problem was just being short, posits that Bucky would’ve spent his last night in Brooklyn off on a double date with two total strangers rather than with his own friends and family, (no mention of the Barneses anywhere?), 

has Steve scoffing at the idea of working in a factory (when he’d consider himself lucky to get a job in the times he grew up in), almost his whole relationship with the Howlies relegated to a single silent montage, none of the details of their missions shown except one, not a single girl in his USO tour gets a mention or name, ditto none of the women of the SSR/Army/that the Howlies met in the field, and wastes most of the screen time on that creepy violent nepotism-hire who was convinced Steve had given her some kind of secret signal he wanted to date her (at the time he just thought she’d taken the hint and was trying to beard him??), 

also puts her, Stark and Phillips in places they never went (why would a scientist, an old CO and an intelligence analyst be in Italy, or in the middle of a battle?? that’s not their job!), 

says Steve would waste his last precious moments of contact talking to a woman he’s not dating rather than saying goodbye to the men who’ve been fighting beside him for over a year?? 

And that he wouldn’t even bother to look for Bucky’s body?? (Only thing it got right was how much Bucky mattered to him / being a big part of why he wanted to fight!)

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt2 of Tim Drake having Joker Junior PTSD and scaring people with his laugh

[Click Here For Part 1: Titans]

Part 2: Bats

Tim hadn't slept more than 20 minutes in 4 days. He's been running around non-stop between cases and his CEO duties, and it's taking its toll. His hallucinations started flickering to life a day ago; shadowy figures at the edge of his vision and noise/voices yelling in his ears. It's all very annoying, but unfortunately, he still has to make it through the family dinner before he can barricade himself in his room for the next 24 hours. He plans to sleep 20 of them.

He's literally praying the idiots he calls siblings are too distracted by each other to bother him And that Joker isn't a topic for once. He's one Jason whining about the Joker needing to die away from letting himself from having a breakdown and stabbing himself to get out of this stupid dinner. He's so fucking tired.

Luckily, he must look as dead as he feels because they mostly leave him alone and easily accept his demands of letting him have his mini coma tomorrow. Even gave some backhanded compliments about taking care of himself, as if he isn't the only reason the lights are still on in the manor. He doesn't see any of them pitching in. Maybe they think Bruce is still paying? Man dumped his job on a 15 year old. At this point, Tim is this family's sugar daddy, which is actually really awful now that he thinks about it...

He's off topic. Just have to make it thro-

"Well, if you would just kill him!!"

'Gods fucking damnit!'

The room goes eerily silent as Tim just starts unhinged laughing. He's choking on it as he tries to breathe.

"T-Tim?"

"Re-replacement?"

"I'll grab the antidote for Joker venom. Drake should have told us if-"

Tim holds up a hand, silencing them again, as he forces his breathing to calm a fraction. It's not enough to stop the laughter, but it is enough to get words out.

"The an- HAHA- antidote isn't going- HAHAHA- going to work f-Ha-for this! HAHAHA"

"Tim. I thought these attacks stopped."

"The fuck are you talking about, old man!?"

"They ne- HAHA- never stopped! HAHAHAHA- Juss-st became less- HAHA- often. Only HAHAHA- only if I get tri- HAHA- triggered ss-sssomehow HA"

"Wh-what triggered you, Timmy?"

Tim moves his plate and drink out of the wait before slamming his head onto the table twice with probably more force than necessary or is health. He feels his family jump up to stop him from doing more damage, but he's done, he just keeps his face pressed to the table while STILL Joker laughing. He has a massive headache, and it's not just from the brain damage he just gave himself.

"Wh- I mean, what happened to make Tim have these episodes?" Duke sounds petrified. Tim feels a little bad about it.

"I'll tell you if Tim gives-" Tim gives a thumbs up in Dick's direction. "Oh! Um! Okay, Okay, cool. So I only know what Tim and Barbara told me in the aftermath, but, um, the Joker and Harley Quinn kidnapped Tim. They tortured him for nearly a month to make him into "Joker Junior"."

"Di- HAHAHA- Didn't work! The Bitches! HAHAHA"

"It kinda sounds like it did-" Tim throws a fork at Jason without lifting his head. "Hey!!"

"Asshole. HAHaHa"

"Jason, stop antagonizing your brother." Bruce lightly scolds.

"Hey, Tim? Is there any way we can help?" Duke sounds like he moved a bit closer.

"N-Ha-no" Tim morosely says. "I HaHa just have to HaHaHa wait it out HaHa"

"Man, that must suck." Jason sounds genuinely apologetic.

"Tim, do you know what triggered this episode?" That Batman, not Bruce speaking, and Tim hates it. He throws a spoon at him. Demon Brat makes a squawk of offense, but Tim can't care.

"It's a valid question, Tim." Tim sits up just to glare at Dick.

"It was probably HaHa the fact I started hallucinating yesterday from HaHaHaHa lack of sleep. I haven't been HaHa able HaHa to sleep because I've been running a HaHa HaHa HaHa multi billion dollar company while working on cases for you, HaHa Jason, Bruce, and Barbara HaHaHa as well as 3 of my own cases. THEN, we can't HAHAHA can't even have ONE STUPID DINNER WITHOUT JASON WHINING HAHAHA ABOUT DEAR OL' PAPA JOKER!" Tim runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to self sooth. "I'm so fucking tired. Hahaha I'm just so tired.."

"Okay, okay, have you eaten enough?" Dick asks with a pained look on his face. Tim glances at his half eaten meal and decides it's good enough. He gives a nod, shoving himself to his feet.

"Yeah, haha I'm going to boil myself alive hahaha with a shower and going to bed. Hahaha Don't ask me for anything hahaha for at least 24."

He ignores them bursting into conversation, 100% about him, once he shuffles out. Cass slips out into the hall and catches up with him before he can even get to the stairs.

"Hug?"

"I would haha love a hug ha" Cass gives him a strong hug. It lasts a few minutes, which is abnormally long for a hug, but Tim loves it. It helps his nerves. "Thanks, haha Cass."

She simply smiles at him as she pulls away before pointing him up the stairs with a mock sternness. He giggles his real laugh between the Joker laughter and complies with the "demand".

He knows he'll regret his outburst after he's gotten some sleep, but for now, he doesn't care. He has an overdue date with his bed and he refuses to reschedule.

[lheslie]

i literally luv how u wrote harem its so hard to find harem these days TYSM ( i was the one who asked for scarlet witch reader!!)

8 Variants + 1 Reader

Thank you!!! I'll give you the full-on context. Wait. . .

You were rejected by your best friend Mark.

Now you're forced to live in with 8 different versions of him

How will you live with this catastrophe?

It all started when you met Mark Grayson, the man whom you had loved since elementary school.

When you confessed to him, he sadly did not feel the same way as you did.

Years went by, and you still hadn't moved on, although you and Mark are still good friends.

One day, he revealed to you his secret Identity as Invincible, and he was dating the Superhero Atom Eve.

You still tried to be supportive since you him to be happy, but you were hurting deep down.

He formally introduced you to Eve, his girlfriend; she was very eccentric and beautiful.

You immediately understood why he liked her; thinking about this made your heartache.

The way he looked at her, the way he talked and moved around her.

It's something that you were envious of, and that's something that you had to accept.

After you learned that he was Invincible and Atom Eve was Eve, he also introduced you to the other members of the Guardians of the Globe; he didn't introduce you to everyone but to a few that he seemed to trust.

Now that you knew that he was Invincible you can't help but worry for him whenever you see him fighting enemies on the news.

You can't help but wonder if you could do anything to help, even just a bit, so you could lessen his great burden.

You had started to learn Magic and Sorcery

And little did you know learning Magic would actually come in handy.

Because one day, Levy Angstrom had started an all out war with Mark.

He had called different versions of Mark to attack your dimension.

You Immediately rushed out to help everyone, trying to locate them with your magic.

Although you could not save everyone, you knew you could still save some.

With a recent spell that you've learned, which was a binding spell, you knew you could stop those other Marks from killing other people.

You were able to capture 8 Variants of Mark, binding them to your will.

And with that is the spell. They're at your beck and call.

But little did you know, that these Variants had a crush on you.

Their version of you had died in their dimension seeing you with powers astonished them, but also made them curious to learn what different scenarios had happened for you to gain such powers.

Cecil wanted them imprisoned somewhere inside the GDA, but you refused as Mark told you how Cecil recently treated him by Implant something inside his brain.

So you've decided to take 8 versions of your best friend to live inside your house, sharing a living space.

You sometimes question if you made the right choice to have them under the same roof.

As you watch them argue and destroy your furniture.

Mohawk Mark, Target Mark, and Shiesty Mark were fighting over who should sleep beside you tonight, while No Goggleses Mark was hyping them both.

Viltrum Mark was looking at your displayed books placeonat your shelves.

Omni Mark had his arms crossed, ss just judging everyone from a corner.

While Prisoner Mark was just looking at the pictures on the walls you had with him.

Sinister Mark was trying to get out of your binding spell as he was held in one place after he tried throwing a chair at Mohawk Mark.

You sighed while you massaged your head to calm yourself down.

Chapter II

@hhoneylemon (I needed to changed the name)

[saeishi]

── ₊ ✶⋆.˚ down bad !

10. how to get isekaid ♢

( not proofread !! )

“okay class, don’t forget your reports. i need them by thursday morning, understand? class dismiss.”

wow, look, another pain-in-the-ass report!

you slump on your table and stare at the clear sky from the window beside you.

“hey, y/n! do you wanna come over and watch our practice?” you heard bachira’s name calling out to you but you didn’t say anything. you’re tired. you just wanted to lay your head on your desk and stare into the peaceful sky with jealousy.

“yohoo~ earth to y/n??”

“i’m sleeping, meguru.”

you heard him gasp, “back to my given name! yay!”

“y/n.”

oh god not again…

“i’m sleeping, rin.”

“you heard that?” you mentally rolled your eyes at his cold tone when he asked bachira. but instead of the cheerful voice of your bubbly friend, you heard a low, and neutral voice from another man that made you sit up quickly.

“‘i don’t want to fail’, she says.”

“itoshi sae?!”

there, stood the man who made you overthink because he left you on read last night, you don't even know why you felt like that but it still made you think about all the possible reasons why.

he’s not even your boyfriend, so why?

you can feel bachira’s grinning face while looking back and forth between you and sae.

“we’re going.” was all rin said before leaving, with your cheerful friend following behind him.

“goodluck, y/n!” he said and he disappeared with rin.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, GOODLUCK?!

you sat frozen on your seat, still in disbelief in the current situation you’re in right now while staring at the door.

DAMN YOU TWO!!!!

you didn't notice sae grabbing the other desk and combining it with yours before sitting down across from you.

he’s wearing his training gears, and you’re starting to feel bad because why is he skipping practice just to tutor you?

“don’t you have practice today? why are you here?” you mentally patted yourself on your back for not stuttering, but what he said next made you stop.

“your baby is here, aren’t you happy?”

THIS GUY—?!

“t-that was—!” way to go to jinx it, y/n!

he chuckled, “you really are different in person.”

well, i’m sorry?!

you lowered your head in embarrassment to avoid his gaze.

reo is right. i am embarrassing.

“we only have one hour before i go back to practice. tell me all the parts that’s too difficult for you so i can help you.”

you nodded your head, still avoiding his gaze. you open your bag and grab your notebook and put it on your desk.

sae opens it and stops at the third page.

“oh.”

oh?

OH?

GOD CAN THE GROUND PLEASE SWALLOW ME UP NOW??

“it’s amusing you’re surviving this.”

“....can we just, start now?” i’m getting more embarrassed every passing second!

“you don’t need to look so down. everybody has their own subject weakness.” geez, thanks for the comfort i guess? “anyway, if we didn’t manage to finish this today, just tell me when you’re free so we can continue this.”

…huh?

previous ◈ masterlist ◈ next

── ⟡

a/n: I APOLOGIZE FOR THE LATE UPDATE!! cold is being a btch so i couldn't update last week 💔

SUMMARY. you just wanted to prank your friend by giving him a love letter as "payback" for not lending you his notes. it should be easy— writing it and sending it to him. but why is his brother the one that's reaching out to you the next day?!

── ⟡

TAGLIST. (open)

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[saturnyo]

Hi I love your writing and was wondering if you can write Joel and reader just being touch starved and they always seek each other out and they just give each other the best comforting hug ever bc they honestly need hugs ss 😭😭

Wrapped in What We Never Had

Pairing: BostonQZJoel x Reader

A/N: Thank you to anon for the request. Hopefully, you like it, and I didn't stray too far from the prompt you gave me. QzJoel and Reader have lots of trauma, and have bonded over their shared pain quietly until now.

Summary: It's been five months since you started working with Joel, a smuggler in the Boston QZ. At first, he was always closed off, never offering more than a grunt whenever you tried to start a conversation. You’d complete the deals, and then he’d leave without another word. But that began to change after an ambush involving another smuggler. Since then, he’s been more open. One late night, everything comes out. The walls between you crumble, and you two grow closer than ever.

Warnings: Violence, Profanity, Emotional trauma, Alcohol use, Alcohol use, no smut(sorry..hopefully this is correct and want anon wanted.)

WC: 1.2 k

Song Choice: Work Song by Hozier

The Boston QZ was a shitty place to live in.

But also very lucrative. After you got here a few months ago, you started making a name for yourself in the only way you knew how.

Smuggling.

You were low-level, sure—but that didn't stop you from drawing the attention of Joel Miller. And from the way everyone tensed when he came around, he meant business. Especially towards you, someone new, someone unknown, and someone who's on his territory.

He never said much. He never had to. One look from him told you everything you needed to know. Joel was deciding whether you were an ally or an enemy.

It was a kill-or-be-killed world now, and the moment he walked in, you had to decide before he did it for you.

A tense and flimsy deal was struck—you work with him, helping Joel with your knowledge and connections he hadn't garnered yet, and he would help with being the brute force behind it. It was simple, straightforward, even, but you noticed the man, regardless of how much you tried to at least make a conversation on those days where you waited for hours for the contraband to arrive—at a spot specifically chosen by Joel, he never spoke a word.

Just always grunted in response.

Over the next five months, that's all it was. Late nights, no speaking, and hours of silence.

Until the ambush.

It happened so quickly.

You and Joel were checking a shipment of weapons when an unknown group ran in, firing shots. you didn't recognize them. Maybe it was someone you fucked over in the past. Or maybe it was someone who saw the deal going on and took the opportunity.

There was no time to take a breath. No time for a second to think. Joel grabbed your arm and yanked you out of the dilapidated building, starting to weave through the alleyways—avoiding any of the main streets away from the eyes of FEDRA.

You could hear them hot on your trail as you blazed through the different routes Joel took you, the people around you watching in confusion, blurred as you focused on a way out. Bullets whizzed past you, snapping through brick and air. Too close to your head. You didn't hesitate. You fired back, stopping them from hitting Joel.

You get a glimpse of his face as you turn down another winding back alley. His jaw is clenched, focused as his eyes dart back and forth, looking for a safe place to hunker down. There was blood on his forehead, you weren't sure if it was his or the unfortunate who tried to tackle him when you ran out of the warehouse.

After what seems like an eternity, Joel kicks open a door, ushering you inside as the sound of footsteps and yelling fades into the background.

You stumble inside, noting the dustiness of the abandoned store. Joel pushes you further into the back, away from the windows and away from anyone spotting you.

"Fuck. I thought we were gonna die," you said, your voice trembling.

Joel walks over from his spot, leaning against the doorway, and places a hand on your shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked softly, eyes scanning your face. "Any injuries?"

His voice caught you off guard. It was rough, gravel across dry pavement. Sharp, jarring but grounded.

You raise a brow, looking back to the blood on his forehead. “No…you?”

“No,” Joel said. “That blood isn’t mine.”

You continue to watch him as he moved a few steps away towards a corner placing his bag down and rolling his shoulders. Pained from the sheer weight of supplies within his pack. Joel sees the slight confused look on your face, raising a brow in return.

“What?”

“You just never really spoke to me..” you started to say, trailing off at the slight quirk of his lip.

“Well, times change, I guess,” he states simply, shrugging his shoulders before sitting down next to his bag.

You watch him for a beat longer. Joel just sits there, legs stretched out, fidgeting with his gun. Checking it, cleaning it, as if you hadn't just narrowly escaped death.

"You never were the talkative type," you teased, nudging him gently.

“Escaping near death will change a person,” he responded. Joel sits down the gun and crosses him arms looking to you like a completely different person.

There was a shift in the dynamic as you two sat there. Not loud. Not obvious. Just...something different. The weight between you had changed.

You weren't sure how to deal with that.

You chewed the inside of your cheek before speaking. "Back there, when we were running—i-i thought you got hit and..."

You stopped.

Joel didn't interrupt. He didn't push. He waited patiently until you were ready to finish.

"I thought you got shot. If you did, I don't know what I would have done if you had," you finally admitted.

He huffs not in annoyance but acceptance. One that he hadn't realized he's been slowly coming to terms with over the last few months. Joel rests a hand on yours, unfurling your hand from digging your fingernails in.

"You saved me," he muttered. "If you hadn't fired those shots, I could be dead, and that's normally hard for me to admit, you know that."

"You don't say shit at all."

He lets out a chuckle, which seems rusty and grating from years of disuse. You smiled at hearing it. In the middle of escaping being shot and an infected threatening to tear you apart, it's strange to you to find these small moments still with Joel of all people.

Weird to find peace in his laughter, no matter how broken it may seem.

The silence settled again, and this time it wasn't filled with urgency. But content.

Joel's hand is still on yours, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles. Something so small but tender and caring. Something you felt you hadn't deserved. And you could see he felt the same.

"I ain't used to this," he whispers. "Caring whether someone lives or dies."

Joel's eyes hold a faraway look in them, remembering a time that he's tried so hard to forget. But it chases him like a ghost, unrelenting and unforgiving.

"I'm not either," you admitted, like it even hurt to say it out loud.

A beat passes. You aren't sure why, but something else shifts within you, admitting something else you hadn't dared to utter since the outbreak first happened.

"I lost someone. On outbreak night—my little sister," you said, then paused, tears threatening to spill. You took a shaky breath before continuing.

"She was bitten by an infected. At the time, I had no clue what that meant. We stumbled into a medic tent, and they saw the bite. Said they were taking her for treatment."

You swallowed hard.

"I never saw her again. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Ever since, I've been so racked with guilt. I couldn't save her..."

Joel lifts your face gently, looking at you not in disgust but understanding.

"I lost someone too," he admits, his voice rough. He swallows hard, pushing down emotions he hadn’t let himself think about—let alone feel—in over twenty years.

"Sarah... my daughter. She was shot by a soldier while we were trying to escape."

His jaw tightens.

"We were healthy. I kept trying to tell him—we were healthy. But he just... raised his gun and fired."

Joel’s eyes lowered, haunted.

"I tried to turn us away. I tried to take the bullets, even if it meant dying right there. But it didn’t work."

A pause.

"She died in my arms. And there’s not a day I don’t remember what her face looked like in that moment."

Your heart squeezed in pain at hearing his confession. You both were people who lost others, family, because the world fell into ruin. Not one day has passed since either of you has forgotten. But maybe there could be someone to help ease the pain. Even just a little.

You moved first, your arms curling around his waist, laying your head on his chest. Joel tensed at the contact, and when you started to pull away, fearful that you had angered him or upset him, he pulled you back, holding you tighter.

No tears. No sobbing. Just two broken people that found themselves in an uneasy partnership that formed into something they couldn't name.

"I used to not like you, you know?" you said suddenly.

"Oh? And what about now?" he asked softly, eyes searching yours.

"Now...you can still be as stubborn as a mule and annoy me, but I can stand your presence for a bit longer."

He laughed again, resting his head on top of yours. He doesn't say anything for a while after that, just letting the silence settle over you like a warm blanket. He just breathes more slowly now. Like it's the first time he's been able to.

Your head stays on his chest, and he doesn't complain. You listen to his heart thump heavily in his chest beneath his armor, the flannel, and regret.

Something real in a world that strips everything that you are away.

Sitting there on the floor, in an abandoned and dilapidated store, with Joel sitting quietly beside you. It shouldn't feel safe.

But it does.

Surrounded by old dusty shelves, broken or filled with scavenged boxes of food and medical supplies. The door has a chair braced against it in case someone tries to force their way through. But you sit there grounded not by the shelter but by his presence.

Joel, the man who wouldn't utter a word to you. Who wouldn't speak to you, just grunting in response whenever you tried to make a joke or simply starting a conversation.

Now he lets you rest his head against your chest.

He keeps his hand on yours, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles like it belongs there. Like maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to let go.

And for the first time in a long time, neither do you.

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XVIII/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, warfare, gore

A/N: I might or might not be MILDLY dtunk while finishing this part which is SUPER FUNNY considering the amount of time jumping we're about to go through in this chapter. Enjoy <3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The choir's soft harmonies filled the room with a kind of warmth we weren't used to. French lyrics carried a bittersweet weight that settled over what remained of Easy like a fragile truce. The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows no one would want to stare at for too long.

Y/n sat one row before me, one knee brought up to her chest like she was still bracing for something. She absentmindedly hummed along, begging the music to tether her to reality.

We had lost so much to the Ardennes, and I couldn't help the awful feeling that we had lost her too—that she had left her soul buried in Muck and Penkala's foxhole.

I leaned forward on my forearms over the pews' backrest, right by her figure. She didn't notice. "You know the song?" I whispered, trying to start the conversation somewhere.

"Hm?" She looked to the side to meet my profile.

"The song."

"Oh." She shook her head no, pulling at her sleeves. "Just picked up on the melody."

I nodded, eyes casted down, giving up on the smalltalk faster than I had resolved on attempting it in the first place. Who was I kidding, really? It would've been easier to throw myself in front of a grenade.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She tried, dulled by the gory, deadly winter in a way that made my heart break.

A scoff. Barely there. "You'd need more than a penny."

The corner of her lips twitched into a grimace of discomfort. It wasn't even close to pity, I knew she would never do that to me, but it felt equally uncomfortable.

"You did good yesterday." She spoke, as if she had read my mind.

"Doesn't feel like I did."

"Doesn't matter how it feels." The woman insisted with the little resolve she had left. "You did."

"Yeah, well," I exhaled through my nose, shoving down the memory as soon as I felt it creep up, rotting in my chest. "Tell that to Hale."

Noville, One Day Earlier

The barn creaked under the weight of an ominous silence. We had six of them. Hands up, hollow-eyed, SS uniforms stiff with cold. One of them couldn't have grown a beard if he tried. They had surrendered easy the moment Hale and I ducked into the place for cover with nothing but adrenaline running through our veins.

"Watch 'em." Earl muttered, losing no time before stepping forward to pat them down, my M1 steadily aimed at the POWs, eyes bouncing from one pair of blank, sunken faces to the next.

The Sergeant didn't make it past the third man when it hit. An explosion. Close. Violent. The barn shook—beams above us shuddering, hay scattering. Dirt spat from the ground. Shrapnel digging through wood and flesh. Hale's flesh.

Movement ensued before I could clock it.

One of the prisoners slammed into the paratrooper with a flash of metal. The blur of a blade, soon stained with crimson; the same crimson seeping down Hale's neck.

"Fuck-" I moved before I thought.

Bang!

The German officer's skull snapped sideways, blood painting the straw.

Another Kraut reached for something—belt, boot, didn't matter, I couldn't afford finding out.

Bang. Bang. Bang—

I didn't stop until they were all down. Bodies jerking before going limp. The ringing in my ears faded just enough to hear —wet, gasping, Earl choking on his own blood. He clutched his neck, eyes wide.

"Shit—hold on, you hear me? hold on—MEDIC!" I dropped to my knees, hands clamping over the wound, pressure useless. Blood gushed, hot and slick, slipping between my fingers. "MEDIC! GODDAMNIT—ROE!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He'll live." Y/n reminded me quietly, toying with the rusted buckle of one of her straps. She didn't get a reply from me, but I doubted she expected one in the first place.

We let the choir fill the silence for a little while, no words spoken between us for a change. She tried once, parting her lips in vain just to shut them again, drawing both knees to her chest instead, the muddy boots dirtying the pews.

The back of my index finger brushed the side of her shoulder, bringing her startled glance first to the gesture, then to me. "Still hurts?"

She rolled her shoulder subconsciously. "No, not really."

"Yeah?"

She seemed to reconsider her answer, scrunching up her nose before correcting herself. "It's bearable."

Foy, Three Days Earlier

READER'S P. O. V.

"I've been working on the railroad,"

"All the live long day!"

Someone had started singing for the damn camera rolling before us. The rest followed, like a group of idiots too high on relief to care how off-key we sounded, perched on top of some farmer's wagon like the war hadn't chewed us down to the bone.

"I've been working on the railroad," an arm draped over my shoulders, bringing me closer to the men I sang along with. "Just to pass the time aw—"

A bullet cut through the joy, straight into the chest of the man beside me. Then another one, not even a breath after, knocking down another soldier off the wagon.

"SNIPER!!"

Another shot.

"TAKE COVER!"

My boots, dangling, kicked Alley's back to make him duck. The next bullet grazed my cheek; a reminder that I was running out of time. I instinctively threw myself back and down to the hard ground. White-hot pain lanced through my shoulder as it wrenched back, the joint popping with a sickening crack. I rolled, teeth bared in a strangled gasp while the chaos wrapped us all in tragedy once again.

More shots. Ours, theirs. An arm hooked under my good one, dragging me off the frozen dirt and into the cover of a half-demolished shed.

Rushed, incautious hands patted my face, my arms, my torso, checking for something that wasn't there before I even realized who they belonged to.

"You got hit?!" Joe questioned without ceasing his task, both of our hearts pounding like war drums.

"It's the shoulder—"

"Where?!" Joe pulled at my coat, triggering a wince out of me. "Can't see—"

"Not shot." I denied with my head, clutching the limp arm to my chest "Shit- it's out."

At the statement, Joe's frantic movements slowed down, and so seemed to do the mayhem surrounding us. He breathed in, brows drawn and palms hovering as he assessed the situation.

"We gotta put it back."

"Do it." I didn't miss a beat, biting the inside of my cheek to stop my determination from faltering when he took a firm hold of the dislocated articulation.

"On three."

I nodded.

He didn't count, just pushed—sharp, quick, brutal. I bit back a scream, jolting forward ever so slightly when my shoulder popped back in, the rush of pain giving way to a slight tremor, making my upper body quiver against the cracked wall.

"You're fine." He assured, letting his touch linger a bit longer than necessary. I didn't call him out on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You should've gone to the aid station." Joe kept his eyes on the choir, as if he wasn't really talking to me and he had just voiced an afterthought.

"I will."

"It's been three days, Y/n."

I sighed, staring past him when he decided to try and meet my eyes with that exhausted, nonsense look he had these days. "I'll go tomorrow. They're pulling us back anyway."

He didn't argue.

The song faded out, leaving only soft whispers of gratitude and the faint crackle of candlelight to fill the space as the nuns distributed whatever they could gather up to feed us—bread, some cheese, water; more than we had expected.

Joe waited until one of the Sisters handed us the improvised foodstuffs to speak again, tentative, pretending to take interest in something across from him.

"We should talk."

Right.

"I really don't feel like it." I muttered, picking at the piece of stale bread.

"You promised."

"I know," I felt his piercing eyes digging into my slouched figure. "Just— not now."

There was a beat of quiet; a pause.

I knew that pause. He was winding up, gathering breath, sharpening words like knives out of frustration or pique. Before he could let them fly, though, Ramirez shifted behind me.

"Let's go for a smoke." he pushed off the pew and patted Joe's arm. A cautionary gesture for his friend not to start anything in a damn church. "C'mon, Lieb."

He hesitated, just for an instant, considering whether or not having to explain whatever this was to Speirs out of everyone would be worth it.

He decided against it, following Ramirez outside, hissing something under his breath; unintelligible words I was glad not to catch.

JOE'S P. O. V.

The night was unsurprisingly colder outside, but I welcomed it. It made for a good excuse to why my hands were shaking. Ramirez lit my cigarette before lighting his own and leaned against the convent's stone wall, shoulder to shoulder with mine, letting the smoke sit in silence between us.

"Could sleep for a week." He muttered, his left thumb distractedly brushing a burn hole in his glove.

"No kidding." I answered, my eyes trained on the cobblestone path and my mind too far away from reality to notice the door creaking open again.

"Oh, shit." Ramirez cursed, tired, pushing himself off the wall.

The air seem to recoil when my gaze landed on Chuck. I could feel it tighten in my chest, in my jaw, in the grip I had on my cigarette.

"Fuckin'— Really?" I turned half-away, shifting my weight, not able to tell if I was about to bolt or pull something that would get us both court-martialled.

Ramirez glanced at both of us once, then wordlessly tossed his cigarette, grinding it out under his boot. "You two need a damn priest." He announced dryly and, without waiting for a response, rushed back in.

I didn't have time to go after him.

"Can we talk?"

Grant stood a few feet away, hands jammed in his jacket pockets, like he was testing the ground before each step. I couldn't help but notice his nose was now slightly crooked, nor the faintest shadow of what had been a bad bruise still adorning his jaw.

"Doesn't look like I got a fuckin' choice."

He hesitated, then took a step closer, leaving enough space for me not to feel caged— to stop me from recoiling and lashing out like a wounded animal.

"You been dodging me." He laid it out for me flat and simple, making it impossible for me to even entertain the option of deflecting.

"Good catch." I took a drag, clenching and unclenching my free fist to get rid of the restlessness. "Always knew you were sharp."

"I'm sorry," he started, not willing to relent despite my hostility. "for what happened."

I scoffed, lacking any trace of humor. "That all?"

"Look, I should've said something sooner—"

"Yeah," I cut in, trying to speed up a conversation I wasn't ready for just yet, but that was happening nevertheless. "You should've said something, 'cause you're supposed to be my fucking friend."

Something about what I said —or how I said it—, ticked him, and I watched in real time how Chuck pondered if I deserved patience in the first place.

"I keep something to myself and you try to knock my teeth out?"

I pulled a moue with a shrug. "Maybe I should've aimed better."

"Are you shitting me?"

"You know what's fucked? That you" I snapped, pointing the half smoked cigarette at him. "knew. That we went through this shit already. And you clearly didn't give a damn."

He took another step closer, trying to bridge the distance I was putting between us. "That's not fair. I do give—"

"Fuck you."

Fort Benning, Two Years Earlier

"You're gonna keep pretending I don't exist, or…?" Grant's voice drifted over like he'd been standing there a while.

My boots on the step below, elbows to my knees, cigarette burning low in my fingers—I stared at the gravel, jaw tight, chest tighter.

"Joe, c'mon, it's been a week."

Cigarette smoke floated in lazy spirals above the bleachers outside the barracks. A couple guys tossed a football around before us. I wasn't looking at them, and I surely wasn't looking at the man standing at my left either.

I felt him sit down beside me, not too close. "Can you at least look at me?"

I took a slow drag and blew it out through my nose, silently shutting down his request. Grant rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't get why you're so worked up about me kissing—"

"Because I wanted to, alright?" I finally turned to face him, a bit bitter, a bit hurt. "I was going to. Maybe. Try to, at least." I exhaled through my nose, searching for something to focus on other than the funny feeling twisting my guts. "Doesn't matter anyway, 'cause you beat me to it. Didn't have to try too hard either."

The silence that followed was deafening. Chuck didn't say anything for a second. He took the time to turn the words over in his head like they couldn't possibly mean what they sounded like.

"You never said anything."

"Didn't fucking feel like I needed to." I flicked the ashes off cigarette.

Chuck shifted beside me, the wood creaking beneath his weight. "I didn't know."

I scoffed. "That's bullshit." My voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be in order to cut like a blade. "So don't act like I'm pissed off for fun, okay? You know what you did. Everyone in that room knew what you did. At least own up to it."

Chuck froze, caught between blinking and breathing. I tossed the cigarette to the ground and stood up. I could have said more, but it seemed uncalled for, so I simply walked off to someplace else— anywhere but sitting with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuck didn't say anything right away. He just stood there, shoulders drawn up like he thought I might take a swing again.

I took a step back for safe measure, staring off at the town engulfed in darkness and ruin.

"I didn't mean for it to go that way," he tried, repentance plastered all over his nuanced apology. "You know that."

I didn't answer.

"I wasn't trying to… I don't know," he pulled his coat tighter around him while he dug for the right words. "steal something from you."

Not the right words.

I almost flinched at his sentence. Steal. As if she was mine to begin with. "That what you think this is?"

He scratched at his temple, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I crossed a line, I get that."

"Good to know."

Chuck sighed, nearing desperation at my blasé attitude. "It's not like I'm in love with her, Joe."

In love. I squinted my eyes at my friend feeling the knot in my throat tighten, the slightest feeling of uneasiness installing itself in my chest. "Who said shit about love?"

"I did." He doubled down, softer than I was comfortable with.

"You feel something for her?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. I barely had time to brace for his reply.

"Not like you do."

That landed harder than I'd ever admit out loud. I breathed out, trying to placate the nausea I was beginning to feel.

"You think she feels something for you?" I was thinking out loud, too in my head to process the door I had just opened, too scared to know the answer.

Silence followed. Vacillation. I furrowed at Grant. By the time he did open his mouth, I had made up my mind.

"Forget it."

"Joe—"

"Doesn't matter." I cut him off, flicking the rest of my cigarette to the snow-covered ground. "Got bigger shit to worry about." I crushed the stub beneath my boot, harsher than necessary and left him standing there, blinking like he'd just watched something slip further than he meant it to.

Maybe he had. Maybe we all had.

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: And This is Jack*ss

Their high school science teacher said "A perpetual motion machine is only hypothetical, because it is impossible, since its existence would violate the first and second laws of thermodynamics."

And Jerk Ford in response said "Hold my beer."

[Art by: @tearosepedall]

While he was building that (and the school was investigating whether or not Ford was actually drinking underaged), Stan had another set of worries.

At this point the twins had both already talked about applying to Backupsmore together, and while Stan was still worried about a potential separation, this time it wasn't because he was afraid of being left behind.

This time he was freaking out because if he went to Backupsmore while his brother went to West Coast Tech, who was going to keep Ford reigned in??

If Stan wasn't there to minimize the damage, who's to say his fellow students and college administration wouldn't chase him out of the whole state with pitchforks and torches or something?!

Stan wasn't protective over Ford in this AU because he didn't need to be protected from anything except maybe himself. If anything, everything else needed to be protected from him.

---

In a random dimension at an undetermined time between the 1980s and 2012, Jerk Ford and one of the many variations of Rick Sanchez pass each other on the street.

"What a d**k." They both think at the same time, but say nothing.

---

This is the same man who, despite also being aromantic, spent an entire year pretending to court an all-seeing, two-dimensional, demon triangle.

Jerk Ford had romantic speeches, lovey-dovey praises, drew detailed, flattering sketches, and built a functioning interdimensional portal that he wasn't intending to use.

Just to say that he catfished a God.

The limit to his jackassery remains to be seen.

---

Most interactions with other people on an informal level (and also formal) are handled by Stan on Fords behalf, otherwise nothing would ever get done.

Stanley had to actually beg Fiddleford to help Stanford with the portal project. Fiddleford and Ford are friends, but Fiddleford can only handle Ford for so long before he's absolutely done.

As for the construction of the cabin... a paid job is a paid job, but anything that required direct interaction was solely taken care of by Stan, or Ford as long as Stan was close by to mediate. Because the one time Boyish Dan tried discussing plans with Ford alone, it ended with Boyish Dan agreeing with construction plans only if Ford agreed to take the farthest available plot of land.

---

Yes, I am familiar with Nine Lives Lee selling his own hate merch. But no, Jerk Ford does not make, distribute, or sell his own hate merch. He was never an enterprising spirit.

However, he does steal his own hate merch. He's done it the times he snuck into their club meetings. The shirt he wears under his hoodie is actually a Ford Hate Club shirt; it's a long sleeved black shirt with this logo on the front:

That is The (Jerk) Ford Hate Club official logo, because they don't hate all Stanford Pines across that multiverse, just that guy in particular.

---

Jerk Ford's antics are often compared to skits from the tv and film series "Jackass", in fact the name of his dimension "PJC311" is derived from the host Johnny Knoxville, whose real name is Philip John Clapp, and whose birthday is 1971/03/11.

The funny, ironic thing, is that this is what older Knoxville looks like:

Considering that Jerk Ford is thin compared to Canon Ford...

Yeah, that's Jerk Ford guys.