#veering off into left field this time

[coins-that-never-land]

Hey Breezy 😘😘😘

WIP Game ask: tell me about one of your non Top Gun works....

Snow? 😃

❤

Absolutely!!

Obviously it’ll have a proper title later, but this one’s purely inspired by a Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes!

Naturally Snow isn’t exactly the most upstanding person in the world (we know how he ends up lmao) but this whole piece revolves around the circumstances that pushed him to become the person he later is, and how that might have changed if the events in his life were different!

Basically, it’s a completely self-indulgent attempt to realistically alter Coryo’s entire outcome into a good person 😂 it’s also taking a lot of work, since his origins are very convincing

Thank you so much for asking!! 🥹💚 I appreciate you!

[messenger-of-babel]

Fragile Stability

Summary: Very few things could make Dick this scared, but patching up his younger sister is one of them . (Nightwing x batsis!reader)

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: Back with Nightwing and part of this got deleted but I cannot remember where so it mustn't be that important. (On that note: I might redo and reuse this concept for some of my other works in the future with different characters, or try again if I remember what I wanted to add). Warning for blood and mentions of needles, I don't think there's any language warnings. Enjoy! xx

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"Stay with me birdie, please stay with me." Dick grits out, feet thudding against the pavement. It had been a while since Dick had needed to outrun a villain, normally grappling away and flipping over the rooftops like he had been made for it.

Except this time, he had you in his arms, tears streaked down your face as you sob at every rough jostle. "It's okay, I'm getting you to safety, just hold on. Just a little longer, sweetheart." he panted, eyes scanning for the entrance to the nearby safehouse. If he just took a few more turns and twists he could make it, getting well out of range of Black Mask's men. When he found it, he veered heavily, slipping into the abandoned warehouse and pulling the sliding door shut.

"Nightwing, reporting in." He says tensely, activating his commlink the moment he deems it safe enough. It crackles to life, the rough voice of Batman replying.

"Copy Nightwing, report."

"Birdie's been hit." he pants out, manoeuvring to the third to last shipping container at the back. punching in the code with bloodstained fingers, he frees the lock that hisses open, pulling the doors open.

"Their status?" Batman's voice grunts, but even Dick could tell the hint of panic that sat underneath. He unloops your arms from around his neck, stepping into the hidden field surgery set up. A weak LED strip light flickers on above, casting shadows over the walls as he lays you into the surgery chair. There's very little else, a few rolling drawers of medical equipment, a fridge in the back with more supplies.

"Not good." he replies, sitting on the stool beside the chair and dragging a set of drawers closer to him. "She's-she's bleeding badly. Puncture through the thigh from the explosion, a piece of rebar." he swallows thickly, mind replaying the horrid sound of your screaming filling the air once his ears had stopped ringing. "Another in the shoulder, serrated stab wound."

His hands shake as he presses on the puncture on your upper thigh, making you scream out. He winces seeing the way your face is scrunched up, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. "I'm sorry birdie, I'm so sorry." he murmurs, heart twisting painfully.

"We're sending help to your location. Red Robin is headed there now with the car, get her stable in the meantime. We'll prep the ward immediately."

Dick's head felt light, darkness floating at the edges of his sight. He swallowed, cold sweat beading at his hairline. "We…we were ambushed by Black Mask's men. This was a set up, they were ready. They're still nearby, if they find here-"

"We'll worry about the Mask." Batman cuts him off. "You know your job, keep her stable."

"We?" Dick replies, voice closing up more and more.

"Red Hood and Myself are going to pursue Black Mask. Spoiler and Robin are going to take out the rest of the men from the hideout."

Dick swallows, blinking rapidly. "I-It was just supposed to be a minor drug bust." he manages to get out. "Just get the Mask, send more people here not out there-"

"Everyone has their orders."

The tone of Batman is cold and hard, making the words Dick wants to say die on his tongue momentarily. He hesitates before speaking again. "Why are you sending everyone?" There's a small silence, before Batman's voice crackles back over the line.

"I didn't. They left before I could say anything. Now stabilise them."

Dick's well aware of the warmth on the underside of his palm, seeping into the material of his suit. His non bloodied hand comes up to stroke your face gently, wiping away the tears coming from your puffy eyes. "It hurts Nightwing," you say, voice choked with a sob. "It burns."

His heart wrenches and he nods. "Yeah, yeah its gonna burn birdie." he says. "I'm…I'm gonna make it burn a bit more, okay?" he offers you a weak, apologetic smile, hands shaking as he goes for the first drawer, pulling out a surgical needle and sutures. "We need to close it, I need to stop the bleeding." he chokes out, tears burning at his eyes as your hand grips his wrist, hearing you whine as you try to pull his hand away from the uncomfortable pressure. He folds his hand over yours, making your hand press on the wound instead. "Hold down on this." he instructs softly. "I'm going to go get something from the fridge. Nice and tight, there we go." he murmurs, getting up from beside you to hurry for the fridge.

Pulling it open he rummages around, cursing under his breath as he doesn't find what he needs and pressing his earpiece to contact Tim to bring it. He comes back to your side, face lined and worried. "Okay, bad news, sweetheart." he says, grimacing. "I don't have anything to take the edge off. We've got no painkillers left." your eyes look up at him, glossy and scared.

"It hurts Nightwing." you cry, voice trembling. "It hurts, please don't make it hurt more."

He tries to ignore the heartbreaking gaze you send him, leaning over you to tie a bandage tightly around your stabbed shoulder. You cry out, body bucking upwards. Thankfully the stab seemed to be less urgent, the knife doing less damage than it could have with the serrated edge. He searches around a little more, a flat, wooden utensil set up by the sink.

"Bite this." He says softly, coming to your side once more and slotting it in between your teeth. He hates the way that your eyes look up at him all glassy, brimming with unshed tears. You shake your head, making him bring his hands up to cradle your face. "Hey, hey sweetheart, shhhh. shhh..." he tries to soothe, your chest beginning to tremor with muffled sobs. He plasters a fake smile onto his face, hoping that you can't see his teeth clenched tight.

He sits on the stool next to you, moving your hand over the thigh wound so he can look at it. His hands feel numb seeing how much blood you've lost, and he has to snap himself back into it. He peels off his gloves, shake in his fingers now prominent as he grabs tweezers and the sutures.

Stabilise you. That's all he has to do. Till he can get you back to the infirmary.

Despite the steady breaths he takes to calm himself, they're ripped from his throat the second the needle pierces your skin. The wooden spatula falls from your mouth as your mouth splits impossibly wide, eyes scrunched up as you scream. He has to lean over you, forearms keeping you pressed to the chair while he desperately pleads for you to stay still. He can see how much it burns, the way you hiccup after every breathless sob. He hates it, hating how after each pull of the suture through your skin your face ripples with pain. Each stitch he makes stabs at his heart.

It was supposed to be simple.

He grits his teeth, trying to not let himself cry. This was supposed to be an easy mission, it was your first after all. Sure, Bruce was hesitant to let his daughter run around in a costume fighting bad guys. He had wanted you, his unspoken favourite, to live a peaceful life. However, when you expressed interest in the night life, Dick had vouched for you. He offered to be the one to take you out on your first mission, spent countless hours with Bruce in the cave training you. You were meant to come home with scrapes on your knees and a rip in your suit. Not here in a dingy downtown shipping container having a needle shoved through your skin repeatedly.

This was his fault.

Your screams ring so loud in his head that he forgets what the sound of your laugh is like, the irritated huffs you make when you and Tim discuss entrance exams. "D-Dickie..." you sob weakly, hand pushing lightly against his. "Di-Dickie. St-stop…please. Puh-please stop…" you sob, a wispy sound as your eyes scrunch up again. He doesn’t care that you called him by his real name. After all, it was Dick Grayson that had failed you as an older brother. Not Nightwing.

His vision tunnels as he continues to stitch despite your whimpers and sobs, hands shaking so badly it takes him twice as long as he expects to even get halfway. Right now, you weren't just the next Batgirl. You weren't just another spandex clad orphan standing next to Bruce. Right now you were his little sister, the same one he'd spend movie nights with and let hide in his room to cool off when you were mad at Bruce.

When he finally finishes and ties it off, the tools clatter from his hands. He leans forward on to his knees, breath struggling to make it into his lungs. He felt lightheaded, everything feeling like it was burning. His hand managed to feel for your limp one, thumb sliding over your wrist to feel your slow pulse. His other hand pinched the domino mask from his face, letting it clatter to the floor as he wiped his eyes. he didn't even pay attention to the calling of Red Robin through the com, letting him know that he was pulling up right outside. He let himself take a few shaky sobs, fingers digging the tears from his eyes and splattering onto the discarded mask under him.

He wasn’t Nightwing right now.

He was Dick Grayson, the older brother who put you on death's door.

[pedrospatch]

not a thing l part ii

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part i

summary: You fess up and tell Joel about how Ellie overheard the two of you during the private moment you two had in the woods; Ellie confronts Joel about you while you’re asleep in the truck.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. IMPLIED AGED GAP (no specific age mentioned for reader, Joel is canon age) Joel is kind of an asshole, Ellie is a wiseass, mentions of Tess.

word count: 4.7k

a/n: decided to write a second part to the first Joel fic that i ever wrote! i am so, so stunned that one fic turned into more and that people actually want to read my stuff for Joel/TLOU. thank you all sm for everything and for interacting with me and my content. it means a ton!

“Think this might be a good time to stop?” Joel asked you, quietly.

You hummed, glancing back over at Ellie through the rearview mirror.

Even through the darkness inside the small cab of the pickup truck, it was almost too painfully obvious as to how fucking exhausted the girl was and how much this journey had already taken out of her after only just a few days on the road. Although she was on the smaller side and had an ample amount of space to stretch out her limbs, lay down, and get a decent night’s sleep in the backseat of the truck while you and Joel both took turns driving through the night, Ellie had expressed to you on more than one occasion that she’d rather stop to make temporary camp somewhere for a few hours and continue the drive in the morning once everyone had the chance to take a break. You honestly couldn’t blame her, not even if you tried—it was taking its toll on you too, a lot more than you let on to both Joel and especially to Ellie.

Being the adult, you kept your complaints to yourself, but the truth of the matter was that at the end of each day, you were also getting sick and tired, so damn sick and tired, of the ungodly amount of time that you were spending cooped up in the pickup, just sitting on your ass.

Sure, it may have been a little bit of extra work and it was keeping the three of you from reaching Wyoming as fast as Joel would have liked given the nature of the smartass, teenaged cargo you two had on your hands—but you also preferred to stop and make camp for the night.

After realizing that Joel was still waiting for a response, you nodded.

“Yeah, we should probably call it for the night,” You told him, glancing down at the map of the country in your hands. The three of you made it to the state of Indiana; Missouri was your next planned stop to find gas to siphon and refuel, and even though it was just a little less than six hours away, you figured an early morning wakeup call could have you all there by tomorrow afternoon. “Only problem about a state like Indiana is that it’s flat as fuck. There’s nothing but wide, open grassy fields around here.” You peered out of the window, then turned back to Joel, frowning. “Think we’ll find a safe enough spot?”

“We’re just gonna have to make do with what we got,” Joel stated as he carefully veered the vehicle off of the highway and to the left, onto the aforementioned grassy field. “You think about a mile out from the highway is decent enough? Mile and a half, maybe?”

“Let’s make it two,” You suggested. You neatly folded up the map and stuck it into the glove compartment in front of you. “I doubt we’ll run into anyone or anything out here in the middle of nowhere, but might be best not to risk being too close to the highway, just in case.”

He looked over at you, nodding his head in agreement. “Two it is.”

“Aww, teamwork,” Ellie teased from the backseat. “How fucking cute.”

“It’d be real cute if you’d shut up,” Joel quipped. Once he pulled the truck about a couple of miles out onto the field, he came to a stop and then cut the engine. “We’re gonna take a breather for a few hours,” he said to Ellie over his shoulder. “But only for a few hours, and not a minute more. Come sunrise, we need to get movin’ again, understood?”

She saluted him. “Aye aye, Captain. Whatever you say.”

The second that you hopped out of the pickup, you started shivering. The chilly evening breeze nipped at any patch of exposed skin it could find. The days had been pretty decent, but at night, the temperatures would drop drastically—it couldn’t have been warmer than forty or so degrees. Instinctively, you reached into the top of your pack, pulling a second jacket you carried for yourself out of it. You handed it over to Ellie and instructed her, “Put this on. Cordyceps infection might not have taken you out, but hypothermia will.”

She took it from you, shooting you a tiny, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Joel eyed the interaction, his lips pursed together in displeasure.

He didn’t want you and Ellie getting attached to one another, but he feared it was too late. The girl had taken an instant liking to you and you seemed to have taken a liking to her too. “Here.” He tossed Ellie her blue sleeping bag. “Go lay down on the other side of the truck.”

“I’m already so fucking itchy just thinking we have to sleep here.” Ellie wrinkled her nose down at the grass under her shoes. Lifting her head, she took a glance around before turning her attention to you. It was written all over her face, evident in the way she started to shuffle nervously from foot to foot; she was afraid. “I feel so exposed. Are we really going to be safe? There’s fucking nothing out here, not even a single tree. What if someone finds us while we’re all sleeping?”

Before you could reassure her, Joel stepped in.

“No one is goin’ to find us out here,” he grouched. “We’ll be safe. Now quit your complainin’ and go get settled for the night. And don’t even think of askin’ me for a fire in the middle of a goddamn field. Got it?”

Ellie rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, it’s fine. You know, I’m actually kinda starting to get used to freezing my fucking ass off anyway.”

You lifted a hand to your mouth, trying to hide your snort of laughter.

She was too fucking quick for her own good.

Joel glared at you. “What? You think she’s funny?”

“Actually, I think she’s fucking hilarious,” You shrugged, causing him to let out an exasperated sigh. “What? It’s true! She’s made me laugh more in the last week than I have in the last two fucking decades.”

Ellie beamed at you. “At least someone still has a sense of humor.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he snapped, irritably. “Both of you.”

She leaned over towards you, muttering the question right under her breath, “Jesus, has he always been this fucking crabby?” She nudged your shoulder with hers. “You must have the patience of a fucking saint to be able to deal with this on the daily. I would have killed him by now and then offed myself too with that fucking attitude.”

He stepped towards her. “What’d you just say—”

“Ellie.” Although you tried your hardest to reprimand her, instead, you found yourself fighting back another laugh. “Come on, let’s go before he strangles us both.” Taking her arm, you started leading her around to the other side of the truck. Dropping her arm, you reached for your own sleeping bag from the bed of it and started rolling it out. Though you were still fighting back a fit of giggles, you found it in you to offer her some words of advice. “Ellie, I know Joel is not the easiest person to deal with, but you really have to stop giving him so much shit, kid. The man has enough gray hair as it is. Take it easy on him, will you?”

“But I need to keep myself entertained somehow,” she replied with a small, innocent shrug of her shoulders. She unrolled her own sleeping bag, laying it out right beside where you had laid out yours; you saw a pensive look cross her face and after a second, she moved it closer to yours, leaving about a one inch gap of space between the two. For as scared shitless as you had been to take someone like her under yours and Joel’s care, the mere fact that Ellie seemed to feel safer being so close to you must have meant you were doing something right.

“Jacket,” You reminded her.

“I know, I know.” Ellie tugged on the spare jacket that you’d given her just minutes ago, zipping it up to her chin. She yawned, crawling into her sleeping bag. Before rolling over onto her side, she stopped and a tiny, tired smirk tugged at her lips as she looked up at you. “Wait. You and Joel aren’t going to bone each other tonight, are you? Because I might actually have to suffocate myself in this thing if you do.”

You sighed heavily. “And here I thought you were actually going to do me the favor of never bringing it up ever again.”

“What can I say? Giving you shit is almost as fun as giving it to Joel.”

You nudged her lightly with the toe of you worn, brown leather boot, chuckling as you told her, “Go to sleep, you little jerk.”

“Remember. Protection.” Ellie yawned again, rolling over. “G’night.”

“Goodnight, Ellie.”

The minute that you heard her soft snores coming from inside of the bag and you were certain she was asleep, you made your way back to the other side of the truck where you found Joel busy loading up and checking his rifle. Thankfully, hadn’t seemed to have heard what Ellie had just said to you. “I’ll take watch tonight,” You offered, holding out your hands and beckoning for the weapon. You instantly noticed the all too familiar look of protest on his face. “Joel, you were the last one to drive today and you’re fucking exhausted. Just let me take watch.”

“The whole damn point of me drivin’ all the way out here was so we can all get some rest without worryin’ about anyone findin’ us,” Joel reminded you. “And besides, I wasn’t plannin’ on standin’ watch. I was just makin’ sure this was ready to go, in case of an emergency.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Joel, please. I know you like I know the back of my own goddamn hand and I already know that I’m going to wake up in the middle of the night and I’m going to find you standing watch, regardless of how safe you say we are in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.” You continued holding your hands out for the rifle. “Look, my arms are getting tired here. Can you just give me the fucking gun please?”

“You need sleep—”

“We can swap places in a couple hours,” You compromised. “Deal?”

Knowing that you could be just as stubborn as he was, Joel grumbled something incoherently under his breath before finally shoving it into your waiting hands.

“Thank you. Now, was that really so hard?”

Joel scoffed, shoving past you. He reached into the bed of the truck and grabbed his own sleeping bag. “You really need to stop talkin’ to the kid so much. She’s startin’ to rub off on you and I don’t like it.”

“Sweet dreams, Joel,” You replied, watching as he stalked around to the other side of the Chevy where Ellie was fast asleep.

An hour later, you found yourself leaning against the cab of the truck, the sound of chirping crickets your only companion. You held the rifle gently, but still firmly in your grasp, your index finger gingerly resting on the trigger. You tilted your head backwards, gazing up at the stars in the velvet night sky—you tried not to let your mind wander off very far, but you couldn’t help thinking of what Ellie had said to you earlier that morning back in the woods.

He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you.

She was wrong. She had to be wrong. She was fourteen, she was just a kid, after all. Besides, what the fuck could she possibly know about you and Joel, especially after only having been with the two of you for about a week?

Ellie was sorely mistaken.

Joel only kept you around for his benefit.

And the meaningless sex wasn’t the benefit you were referring to.

Joel had always been the brawn, but both you and Tess had been the brains of the operation. That’s how it had always been, at least for the better part of the last few years. You might have been on the younger side in comparison to your smuggling partners, but for some reason, Tess had seen something in you—what it had been, you never had the opportunity to find out, but it made her take a chance on you.

Against Joel’s wishes, she decided that she would take you under her wing; at eighteen years old, you’d been closer to being a child than an adult, but that only meant your mind was still pliable, and she could work with it. By the time you reached your twenties, it was apparent that Tess had all but molded you into a miniature clone of herself—she’d shown you how to think outside the box, taught you how to be persuasive, how to keep trades or deals from going south, and most importantly, what to do if they somehow did go south.

Now that she was gone, you were all that Joel had left. You were what he was stuck with. After Tess died, there was a part of you that had to wonder if Joel felt the wrong person had been infected and killed. It’s not that you thought that Joel would rather it was you who were dead but the reality was that if he’d been given the choice between having you or Tess at his side for this, you were certain it wouldn’t be you.

But he hadn’t gotten a choice. 

It was you he ended up with, and you were his only shot at getting to Tommy and getting Ellie to where she needed to be. He needed help, and now that Tess was no longer here, you were the next best thing.

That was it.

A rustling sound nearby pulled you out of your train of thought. You immediately lifted your head and pushed yourself away from the cab, readying your weapon. You took quiet, careful steps and then sharply turned the corner around the bed of the truck, aiming the rifle at the figure in front of you with your finger still on the trigger.

“Fuckin’ relax!” Joel hissed at you, holding his hands up. “It’s me!”

“Jesus Christ!” You exhaled a sharp breath, lowering the gun. You narrowed your eyes at him. “You scared the fucking shit out of me, Joel! I just about shot your head off of your shoulders!”

“Your aim ain’t all that good, darlin’,” Joel stated as he walked up to you, a slight hint of amusement in his Southern drawl. “You keepin’ watch or zonin’ out over here?”

You ignored his teasing remarks. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest as Joel fell into step in front of you, an all too familiar lustful glimmer in his eyes.

“Couldn’t really sleep,” he stated with a shrug of his is shoulder. “Had somethin’ on my mind. But from the looks if it, I ain’t the only one lost in thought.” He peered down at you. “What were you thinkin’ about, anyhow?”

“Nothing,” You fibbed. “Just, uh, just how fucking cold it is.”

Joel reached for the rifle, taking it out of your hands. He leaned over and placed it in the bed of the truck behind you. “And you tell me that I’m a shitty liar?” he asked with a small scoff. “Let’s pretend that for a minute that I actually believe that’s what you were really thinkin’ about.” With every word that he spoke, his voice became lower, huskier. “If the cold is what’s on your mind, I know a couple different ways I can help get your mind off of it.”

“Joel—”

“C’mere.” He hooked his index fingers through two of the front belt loops of your blue jeans, yanking you forward until you came crashing against his chest. He dipped his head, his lips eagerly meeting an exposed patch of skin on your neck. As he kissed and nipped at the delicate flesh, he started to move his hands from the belt loops of your jeans over to the buttons instead.

“Joel, wait,” You mumbled weakly, cursing how your body just always seemed to melt right in his fucking hands. “Joel, stop.” You’d said it so softly into his failing right ear that he hadn’t heard you.

Joel’s mouth left your neck, finding your own mouth instead in a way that made every single nerve in your body light on fire. He started to walk you backwards until your back hit the bed of the pickup, a soft thud noise filling the air around you. He pinned you tightly between it and himself as he kissed you fiercely, hungrily. The physically intimate moments that you two shared over the years had always been relatively short due to never having the time nor the place, but maybe that’s why he kissed you the way that he did—with such urgency, with such desperation, as if his fucking life depended on it. Because it never lasted as long as he would have liked and he never knew when he would be able to get his hands on you again.

Breaking away from you slightly, Joel placed his hand on your hip, his index finger grazing the soft skin right above the waist of your jeans as he murmured breathlessly against your lips, “I want you. I gotta have you. Right fuckin’ now.”

It took just about every last ounce of strength that you had inside you to place both of your hands on his chest and gently push him back. “I don’t think we should do this, Joel. Not with Ellie being so close by.”

“She’s asleep.” He frowned, taking your hands off of his chest as he took several steps back from you looking dejected. “Unless you just don’t want—”

You were quick to stop him. “Of course I want you.” You swallowed, your throat having gone dry. “It’s just that—see, the thing is that—”

“Fuckin’ spit it out.”

So you do.

“Ellie knows, Joel.”

“What?” Even in the darkness, you could see the color draining from his face. “How?”

“Look, I really didn’t want to tell you about this. But last night in the woods when we were—” You trailed off, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost anxiously.

“She saw us?”

“She heard us,” You corrected him. “She confronted me about it this morning before we left. I pretty much made her promise to keep her mouth shut because I didn’t want her saying anything to you about it. I didn’t want her giving you grief like she did to me.”

Joel ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That little fucking shit—”

“It’s not her fault, Joel. And you know that. We shouldn’t have done it with her being so close by.”

You watched as he dropped his hand from his head, his jaw clenched.

“Joel, come on. Please don’t be mad about this.”

Joel fixed his eyes on the ground and tightly shook his head. “Go get some sleep. I’ll take over watch.”

“But Joel—”

“Just drop it,” he said, rigidly, his gaze refusing to meet yours. “Go.”

Knowing better than to push it, you simply nodded. “Okay.”

The moment you crawled into your sleeping bag next to Ellie, you’d tried your absolute hardest to get some shut eye, but what happened with Joel had you much too worried, and rightly so. Still, you prayed for sleep to come, but it never did and the rest of the night dragged on for what felt like a fucking eternity.

Hours later, when sunrise finally came around, you got up to find Joel had already been packing up the pickup truck, getting it ready for the long drive ahead. The second he saw you approaching him, he simply told you to wake Ellie because the three of you needed to get a move on sooner rather than later. After that, he’d hardly said another word to you.

He couldn’t even fucking look at you.

Halfway to Missouri, during a quick pitstop, Ellie had noticed the odd tension in the air between you and Joel. She’d also noticed how tired you looked. She offered to trade places and sit in as Joel’s copilot for the rest of the day, at least until you reached Kansas City.

“I think he’d actually prefer you as his copilot,” You’d muttered to her in reply, hopping into the backseat. Between the motion of the truck, the soft country music playing from another tape Ellie found, and the open windows bringing in fresh, crisp air, you’d curled up into a little ball in the backseat and passed out within minutes.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder at you, making sure you were actually asleep before turning to Joel. “She told you, didn’t she?”

“Zip it,” Joel ordered. “Ain’t none of your business.”

Ellie hummed. “Well, seeing as I had the absolute delightful pleasure of having to hear the two of you go at it like a couple of cats the other night, I think it actually is kind of my business now.” She paused. She could physically feel the way he was wincing beside her, though what was causing him to be so uncomfortable was left to be determined. Ellie would imagine that it was getting caught in the act itself, but for some reason, she sensed there was a lot more to this mess than met the eye and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. “She told me that you guys aren’t a thing—”

“We’re not a thing. We’re nothin’ at all, alright?”

Ellie blew a raspberry. “Yeah, alright. I see you’re both sticking to that story. That you’re not a thing.” She raised her fingers in quotations.

“It ain’t a story, it’s the truth. We’re nothin’ more than just a couple of smuggling partners tryin’ to get you to where the you need to be.” He glanced at her briefly, then turned back towards the road. “And if you want to make it there unscathed, I suggest you shut your mouth and focus on that map in your hands instead stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I think I at least deserve an explanation after you two put me and my innocent little virgin ears through the wringer.”

“Ellie,” he warned.

It was almost kind of scary how she was already used him saying her name in that tone already. “You’ve been treating her shitty as fuck today, you know.”

Joel frowned. Even though he knew he didn’t need to defend himself to a fucking teenager, he found himself doing it anyway. “The hell are you talkin’ about? I haven’t said a single fuckin’ word to her today.”

“Exactly.” Ellie pointed her index finger at him. “It’s bothering her.”

“She’s a big girl, Ellie. If somethin’ is botherin’ her, then she can come and talk to me about it. She doesn’t need some kid helpin’ her out.”

“That’s the thing. She can’t talk to you about it.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the most approachable guy, dude.”

Joel gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Why the fuck do you care so much, anyway? You have other things to worry about. Like findin’ the fuckin’ Fireflies and helpin’ them create a vaccine that’s supposed to save the goddamn world.”

“Because,” Ellie said, refusing to allow him to change the subject, not when she felt like she was finally getting somewhere. “I like her. She’s a good person.”

Joel glanced up at the rearview mirror and looked at you as you slept soundly. He couldn’t deny that. Even in this shit world, even after the things you’d seen and all the people you’ve lost, you really were still a good person. You still hadn’t lost touch with your sense of humanity—that was one thing Tess never managed to change about you, the one thing that kept you from being identical to her, identical to Joel. You somehow hadn’t let this world turn you into stone, and maybe that is why you meshed well with them from the start. You brought this odd kind of balance that they hadn’t even known they needed.

That Joel didn’t know he needed.

“She likes you.” Ellie’s voice caused him to snap back to reality. “Lord fucking knows why.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, did I offend?” Ellie quirked an eyebrow, feeling a teeny smirk tug at the corners of her mouth. “Listen. All I’m saying is that she’s really young. And she’s really pretty. She’s nice, and smart as fuck, too. I bet she could probably have any guy that she fucking wants.” Her smirk only grew noticing how her words had gotten a rise out of Joel. Ellie could tell by the way his fingers had the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles ghost white. “And yet for some reason, she chooses to stick with you, you old fucker.”

“Listen here you little shit—”

She quickly held her hands up. “I’m just saying. She’s a good one, Joel.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I know she is.”

Bingo! Ellie thought to herself. Now we’re making progress.

“So, then why not treat her the way she deserves? Why just—what’s that saying? Hit it and quit it?”

Joel tossed a glare at her. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“I’m not wrong though. That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Ellie prompted.

“No!”

“But just a minute ago you said you two were nothing. So if you two are boning, but you’re nothing, that’s like a hit it and quit it, isn’t it? Or is it a fuck it and chuck it? Hump it and dump it?” She scratched her head, wracking her brain as she tried to figure it out. Beside her, Joel was about ready to implode. “Wait a minute, that can’t be right because you guys do it all the time. You’re not actually quitting it. So, it’s hooking up, right?”

“I swear to Christ I’m gonna make you fuckin’ walk to Wyoming if you don’t shut—how the fuck do you know all that? That what they teach you kids in FEDRA school?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Ellie grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Level with me, old man. Do you like her or not?”

Joel’s teeth were gritted together, his sights fixed on the road ahead.

“Or do you love her?” She practically sang.

“Ellie.” He said her name warningly once again, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror. The last thing he needed was for you to wake up and hear this conversation; thankfully you were still out cold.

Ellie waved a hand at him. “Oh relax, the woman’s sleeping like a bear in hibernation. Now, answer the fucking question.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond.

He willed himself to open his mouth and say something—anything.

But he just couldn’t. He’d been stumped by a fucking fourteen year old who was too damn smart for her own good.

“Interesting,” Ellie mused after a minute of silence, curiously rubbing her chin. “How you can’t even deny it. Very, very, interesting.”

Before Joel could even think, the sound of you moving around in the backseat caused him to jump, the internal panic flooding him in one single wave. As soon as he was certain you were still fast asleep, he let out a breath of relief and turned to Ellie. “Now, you listen here—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She held up her finger to her lips. “Let’s not wake Sleeping Beauty back there.” She dropped her hand down into her lap and glanced out the window, grinning to herself. “Besides, I have the answer I was looking for anyway.”

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Houston [3/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3.4k Summary: Things are shifting in just the ten days since realigning the campaign strategy to keep you and Steve on the trail together and to sharpen some of the policies and messaging. You're starting to hit a new stride as you make a stop in Houston, and the city also affords you a unique opportunity to meet with a former President and First Lady.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn, brief political discussion of climate change

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

POLITICAL NOTES: It's been a big week with the 2024 election. This story - while a romance - revolves around a presidential campaign, and so there will be political policy incorporated, but I am not inviting political discourse. If you don't agree in regards to anything in the brief section climate change policy, that is okay but I do not want to hear about it.

Previous Chapter | Series

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[SEPTEMBER 17 - Houston]

The Houston heat hits you like a wall as you step off the campaign bus, the air thick and heavy with humidity. You blink against the bright Texas sun, grateful for the large sunglasses shielding your eyes. The crowd gathered outside the community center is already substantial, a sea of red, white, and blue signs waving in the afternoon heat.

Steve steps off the bus behind you, and you feel his presence at your back, solid and reassuring. You turn to him, offering a smile that's part genuine, part for the cameras you know are capturing your every move. He returns it, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back - a gesture that's become second nature for public appearances, yet still sends a confusing whoosh through your stomach each time. But you push through and ignore it as you both wave to the cheering crowd.

"Ready?" he asks, leaning in close enough so you can hear over all the noise.

You nod, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."

The two of you make your way along the line of the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging greetings as you go. You've gotten better at this part over the months - the constant smiling, the brief but warm interactions, the way to make each person feel seen and heard in just a few seconds. Steve, of course, is a natural at it, his charisma and sincerity shining through with every handshake and small bit of conversation.

As you near the entrance to the community center, you spot a group of young people holding signs about climate change and renewable energy. Your eyes meet Steve's, and you see the same thought reflected there - these are exactly the voters you've been trying to reach.

Without missing a beat, you veer slightly off course, heading towards the group. Steve follows your lead, and you can practically feel the collective intake of breath from your security detail.

"Hi there," you say warmly as you approach. "Thank you, we’re so glad you came out today.”

"Thank you for being here," Steve adds, his voice warm and genuine. "I see you're passionate about climate change. That's something I care deeply about, too."

A young woman with curly hair and bright eyes steps forward. "We appreciate that, but we've heard a lot of politician talk before. What specific actions will you take to address the climate crisis if elected?"

You exchange a quick glance with Steve, impressed by the young woman's directness. This is exactly the kind of engagement you've been hoping for.

"That's an excellent question," you begin, "and I'm glad you're asking it. Steve has developed a comprehensive plan to tackle climate change, including immediate steps he'll take in the first 100 days."

Steve nods, picking up where you left off. "We're committed to a systemic overhaul of energy sources and infrastructure along with transitions and expansion for public transportation. We know that infrastructure is an opportunity - not only to address climate change, but to transform the economy by creating job opportunities as we build and transition away from coal, gas, and oil. It will also address the severe need to update existing power grids that are failing.

"But it's not just about policy and output right now," Steve continues, his voice passionate. "It's about creating a sustainable future for your generation and those that follow instead of just talking about it. But as we talk, we want to work with young leaders like yourselves to make sure your voices are heard in shaping these policies - you’ll be living with them longer than the rest of us."

You watch as the young woman's expression shifts from skepticism to cautious interest. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?" she asks.

"Well, for starters, we're here listening to you right now," you say with a smile. "But Steve plans to create a Youth Climate Council that will have direct input on policy decisions. We want to bring fresh perspectives and innovative ideas to the table."

Steve nods in agreement. "And we're not just talking about advisory roles. We want to create pathways for young people to enter public service and take on leadership positions in environmental agencies."

The group exchanges glances, clearly impressed by the specifics and taking Steve more seriously for not brushing them off or placating them quickly in a picket line.

Steve presses further, "What specific actions do you think are most critical? What solutions have you seen proposed that resonate with you?"

The young woman looks slightly taken aback, clearly not expecting to be asked for her input. But she recovers quickly. "Well, you mentioned it, but we need to transition away from fossil fuels much faster than current plans allow. The movement for offshore wind farms should be accelerated - especially on the East Coast. And we need to protect vulnerable communities who will be hit hardest by climate change."

Steve nods encouragingly. "Those are excellent points. In fact, environmental justice is a key component of our climate plan. We're proposing initiatives to ensure clean air and water in all communities, especially those that have historically borne the brunt of pollution."

Another young man in the group speaks up. "What about jobs? My dad works in the oil industry. He's worried about losing his livelihood if we move too quickly on clean energy."

Steve turns to him, his expression thoughtful. "That's a valid concern, and it's one we take very seriously. We're not looking to leave anyone behind in this transition. Our plan includes a comprehensive job retraining program for workers in fossil fuel industries. We want to create new opportunities in clean energy sectors, so people like your dad can be part of building a sustainable future without sacrificing their livelihoods."

You nod, adding, "We're looking at ways to incentivize companies to retool their existing facilities for clean energy production. It's not just about creating new jobs, but also about transforming existing ones."

The young man seems to consider this, nodding slowly. "That sounds... promising. I'd like to learn more about that."

Sophia and Bucky begin to press in, signaling that you need to move along to get into the actual event.

"We're limited for time here, but we’d be eager to discuss more details," you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out a business card. "Here's my contact information. Please reach out soon, I mean it.”

You and Steve then get ushered inside, hand in hand.

Later that night, you get a rare opportunity, and one you’ve been excited but also nervous for since it landed on your schedule the week before.

Former President and First Lady Matt and Helen Santos have invited you to their Houston home for dinner and drinks. It’s not a public appearance, so that takes some of the pressure off, but you're still acutely aware of the significance of this meeting. The Santos administration remains widely regarded as one of the most successful in recent history, and their endorsement - even an implicit one - could be a game-changer for the campaign.

Beyond that it's a chance to learn from a couple who've been through the crucible of a presidential campaign and life in the White House.

Helen Santos greets you at the door, her warm smile immediately putting you at ease. "Come in! We're so glad you could make it," she says, ushering you inside.

The interior of the home is tastefully decorated, a blend of modern and traditional styles that feels both impressive and comfortable. You spot several family photos on the walls, reminders that despite their status, the Santos family is just that - a family.

Matt Santos appears from what you assume is the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Welcome, you two," he says, shaking Steve's hand and giving you a brief hug. "I hope you’re hungry! It’s humble, but I’m putting the finishing touches on my chili."

“Don’t let him fool you,” Helen says, “he’s anything but humble about it.”

“Sorry, did I forget to mention the recipe won a blue ribbon before I got into politics? Because it did, so it wasn’t a biased award,” he clarifies.

You all laugh, and the warmth and welcome these two generate in those first few minutes is remarkable, and something that truly soothes your heart in ways you didn’t know you were hungry for.

As you settle into the Santos' comfortable living room, Helen offers drinks. You accept a glass of wine, grateful for something to occupy your hands. Steve opts for water, ever the responsible candidate.

"So," Matt says, leaning back in his armchair, "how's the campaign trail treating you? I remember those days - exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure."

Steve nods, a wry smile on his face. "That's an apt description. It's been... intense. But rewarding."

"And how are you two holding up as a couple?" Helen asks, her eyes kind but perceptive. "The campaign trail can be brutal, especially on a relationship."

You glance at Steve, unsure how to answer. Your relationship is still mostly for show, but you've grown closer over the past few weeks. Before you can formulate a response, Steve speaks up.

"It's been an adjustment," he says diplomatically. "But we're figuring it out."

Matt nods knowingly. "Helen and I had been married for years before we ran, and it was still a challenge. I can't imagine doing it as newlyweds."

You smile, trying to hide your discomfort. "It's certainly been a unique experience," you say, opting for honesty. "We're learning a lot about each other very quickly."

Helen leans forward, her expression sympathetic. "I'm sure it's overwhelming at times. The scrutiny, the constant demands on your time and energy. It can be a lot to handle, especially when you're still getting to know each other."

You nod, feeling a wave of relief at her understanding. "It is overwhelming," you admit. "But it's exciting, in its own way. We're building something together, not just as a couple but for the country."

Steve reaches over and takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The gesture surprises you, but you try not to let it show. "She's been incredible," he says, his voice warm. "I couldn't ask for a better partner in this.”

Helen regards you both, her expression warm but serious. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, pulling out my First Lady moment already, but I've been watching you two. Not just tonight, but throughout the campaign. There's something there, between you. A spark, a connection. Don't lose that in all the craziness of the campaign."

You feel your cheeks flush slightly, caught off guard by Helen's perceptiveness. You wonder if she’s speaking in general or if she suspects yours is a politically arranged marriage. You glance at Steve, who looks equally surprised.

Matt chimes in, "Helen's right. The campaign is important, but at the end of the day, it's your relationship that will sustain you through the challenges ahead. Trust me, if you make it to the White House, you'll need each other more than ever."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "We appreciate the advice. It's not easy to find that balance."

You squeeze Steve's hand, grateful for his honesty. "We're working on it," you add softly.

He pulls your hand casually into his lap and envelops it in both of his. You can't help but feel a small thrill at the contact, the very normal expression of intimacy that speaks of a more comfortable and normal connection, and you love the way his large hands hold yours. This feels like something that could be real, on more days than this.

Helen smiles warmly. "That's all anyone can ask. Now, who's ready for some of Matt's famous chili?"

As you move to the dining room, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions. The Santos' warmth and wisdom have touched something deep within you, reminding you of the very real human element at the heart of this political whirlwind.

Over dinner, the conversation flows easily, touching on everything from campaign strategies to favorite books. You find yourself relaxing, laughing at Matt's stories from his time in office and Helen's witty comebacks.

As the evening winds down, Helen pulls you aside while the men are engrossed in a discussion about foreign policy.

"Can I give you some advice?" Helen asks softly, her eyes kind but serious.

You nod eagerly, grateful to glean even more guidance from someone who's walked this path before.

Helen takes a deep breath. "The hardest part of being First Lady isn't the public scrutiny or the demanding schedule. It's maintaining your sense of self in the midst of it all. Don't lose yourself in the role, in the campaign, or even in your marriage. Remember who you are and what you bring to the table."

You feel a lump form in your throat, touched by Helen's words and the understanding behind them. "Thank you," you manage to say. "I... I'm trying to find that balance."

Helen smiles warmly. "I can see that. And from what I've observed, you're doing a remarkable job. But it's a constant effort, believe me."

You nod, absorbing her words. "How did you do it? Maintain your identity while supporting him and taking on such a public role?"

Helen's eyes grow distant for a moment, as if recalling a memory. "It was hard," she admits. "There were times I felt lost, like I was just an extension of Matt's presidency rather than my own person. I learned to carve out spaces for myself - my own initiatives, my own passions. And most importantly, I made sure Matt and I had time just for us, away from the politics and the pressures."

You feel a pang in your chest at her words. You and Steve barely have time alone, let alone time to just be yourselves without the weight of the campaign.

Helen smiles warmly. "This journey you're on - whether or not he gets elected - it's meant to be shared."

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "Sometimes I feel like I'm still getting to know him, even as we're presenting this united front to the world."

Helen's expression softens with understanding. "That's not uncommon, especially given your unique circumstances. But I see the way he looks at you when you're not watching. There's admiration there, and something deeper. A lot of people in this country get married, but not every married couple has that for each other, and even some of the ones who do don’t realize the treasure they have. Don't be afraid to explore it. Grow it together."

Your heart skips a beat at her words. Could she be right? You think back to the conversation you overheard back in that hotel conference room in Cleveland, Steve's hesitation, his fear of letting you in. But also his words of praise, the gentle touches that have become more frequent lately. Could there be more there than just a political partnership?

Before you can respond, the men rejoin you, Steve taking his place beside you, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back. "Ready to head out?" he asks softly. "We've got an early start tomorrow."

You nod, and the four of you initiate your goodbyes.

“Thank you," you say, turning back to Helen, hoping she understands the depth of your gratitude. "For everything."

She pulls you into a warm hug. "Any time," she says. "And I mean that. Call me if you ever need to talk, about anything."

You and Steve finish your goodbyes and make your way to the waiting car. The evening has given you much to think about, not just about the campaign, but about your relationship with Steve.

The car ride back to the hotel is quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts, but you realize it’s a comfortable silence.

Arriving at that night’s hotel, the silence lingers all the way until you enter the elevator, Steve turns to you, his expression thoughtful. "That was enlightening," he says softly.

You nod, feeling a mix of emotions - gratitude for the Santos' wisdom, hope for what could be, and a lingering uncertainty about where you and Steve stand. "They're incredible people," you reply. "So generous with their time and wisdom."

Steve hums in agreement. The elevator doors open, and you two head down the hallway to your suites, right across the hall from each other.

Normally, this is where you'd say goodnight and go your separate ways - Steve to his room, you to yours. But you hesitate, because tonight feels different.

"Helen gave me some really good advice," you say.

Steve looks at you intently, his blue eyes searching yours. "Oh? What about?"

"About maintaining my sense of self through all of this. And... about us."

"What did she say about us?" Steve asks.

You hesitate, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "She said... she sees the strong connection between us, and that we shouldn't lose sight of it in the chaos of the campaign."

Steve's expression softens, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. He takes a step closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"And what do you think?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

Your heart races as you look up at him. "Steve, I..." you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

He reaches out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. The touch sends a shiver down your spine. "I know," he says softly. "I've been... distant. Guarded. And I'm sorry for that."

The truth is, you know you’ve been guarded, too. And you’re not sure you’re ready to risk anything with exploring more. Not only do you both need to be focused for the campaign, but you locked your heart in a box, and you don’t know if opening it will be a mess that you can face right now.

But you do think there’s a possibility you could have more connection without risking messy feelings.

So you ask, “We’re building a good partnership in this, aren’t we?”

"We are," Steve agrees, his voice warm. "You've been incredible through all of this. I meant what I told the Santos’s - I couldn't ask for a better partner."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words, but you push it aside. "I was thinking," you say carefully, "maybe we could try to spend a little more time together. Not more campaign events or strategy meetings, but... just us. Getting to know each other better."

Steve's expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that," he says quietly. "I think we could both use a friend who’s also in the eye of the storm of all of this."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervous anticipation. He has Sam and Bucky on this campaign trail with him, but their roles are not the same, not giving speeches or being asked for comments.

"Maybe we could start with a meal a day? Just the two of us, no campaign staff or memos or prep."

"It's a date," Steve says. Then quickly adds, "I mean, not a date-date, but... you know what I mean."

You can't help but give a small laugh at Steve's flustered correction. It's endearing to see this side of him - the man behind the polished candidate facade.

"I know what you mean," you assure him with a warm smile.

Steve nods, looking relieved. "Good. That's... good." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "How about breakfast tomorrow? We have that early flight, but we could grab something quick before we head to the airport."

"Sounds perfect," you agree. "I'll meet you in the lobby at 6?"

"It's a plan," Steve says, his smile reaching his eyes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

You both linger for a moment, neither seeming eager to end the conversation. His eyes are so blue, and when you're this close, and he just looks at you like that, your chest tightens in a pleasantly uncomfortable way that you're not ready for but can't pull away from.

Thankfully, Steve clears his throat. "Well, I guess we should get some sleep," he says, taking a step back. "Big day again tomorrow."

You nod, feeling a mix of disappointment and anticipation. "Always. Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight," he replies softly.

You unlock your hotel room door and step inside, your mind racing with thoughts of the evening - the Santos' advice, your conversation with Steve, and the promise of breakfast tomorrow. As you get ready for bed, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope for what's to come, both for the campaign and for your relationship with Steve.

next part: coming 11/15...

SURPRISE CAMEO FROM THE WEST WING! If you're not a fan of the show, I didn't think it would be a problem - they're just a former Presidential couple. But if you ARE, then I hope you liked seeing them! I'm deep into my every-few-years (every four) rewatch and haven't bumped into them yet, but I'm about to...

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I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[magniloquent-raven]

I'm getting distracted from my current projects by someone else's post again someone tell me to stop going on tumblr while I have WIPs lmfao

@rosetterer this isn't EXACTLY what you posted about but it does get there in the end

**

Twenty-four hours has never seemed like such an insurmountably long time.

Buck's had long shifts before, the boring ones when he'd stare at the alarms on the wall, willing them to go off—he can picture Maddie's disappointed scowl if she ever found out about that, but he swears he was only hoping for something small and harmless to break up the monotony—and the busy ones. Ones that leave his ears ringing with phantom sirens by the end. Those days only ever seem long in retrospect, when he's bone-tired and trying to remember all the names he asked for.

But now every shift seems to find new and shittier ways to be gruelling. Eddie's miserable and trying to act like he isn't. There's this weird, uncomfortable tension brewing between Hen and Chim. Ravi got himself transferred to B shift—probably to get away from Gerrard, and Buck can't exactly blame him, but he sort of does anyway and their new probie is terrible, and... then there's Gerrard.

Like, Buck already knew he was a piece of work, but. Knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He could barely stand keeping his mouth shut at the medal ceremony when he met the man for five seconds, and now he has to put up with him making smug, belittling comments towards all his friends, all the time. Constantly needing to remind himself he doesn't want to get fired is actually killing him.

It doesn't help that every so often he'll remember Tommy's offhand Captain Gerrard was like having the dad I already had, with a pang as he wonders what exactly Tommy grew up with. What parts of Gerrard's condescending tyranny were familiar to him. Phillip Buckley may not have been father of the year, but maybe never being looked directly at was better than being raised neck deep in toxic waste.

Every time he remembers he gets the urge to pull out his phone and call Tommy up just to... he doesn't even know. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Know if he's doing okay.

Another reason work days seem so long now, if he's being honest. He's always counting down the hours until he can see Tommy again. Like a kid on the last day of school, watching the clock tick closer and closer to summer vacation.

So, of course, right near the end of a particularly busy shift, Gerrard gets them all lined up for a lecture about how sloppy that last save was. Everyone did something wrong, and everyone needs to hear about all the ways they could have gotten someone killed, like they don't all know how risky the job is already.

By the time he's finished telling Chim it's a miracle he managed to convince anyone to let him out on calls, Buck is clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

"I'm sure Captain Soft-Touch loved telling you all it was okay to be mediocre, and that you were trying your best," Gerrard sneers at them all, waving a dismissive hand at very idea of Bobby's captaincy. "But the coddling ended when he retired. Sparing your feelings is going to get people killed. Diaz!" He shouts, abrupt, turning on his heel towards Eddie. Eddie doesn't flinch, but Buck does.

"Yes, sir?" He's coolly polite, and his face is carefully blank, but his posture is tense.

"If I ever catch you checking your phone at a scene again, I'll make sure you're mopping floors for the rest of your life."

Eddie's expression hardens. It was a fender-bender and Eddie didn't even touch his phone until everyone was accounted for and packed into the ambulance. "It was a text from my son. Sir." His tone veers a little to the left of polite.

"I don't care if it was from the goddamn Pope, when you're in the field your focus stays on scene. Next time your brat needs something tell him to go cry to his mother about it."

This time when Buck flinches, everyone else in line does too. Hen bites down on a grimace. Chim hisses quietly through his teeth.

"I can't do that," Eddie says flatly. "What with her being dead and all."

The firehouse is silent for a long, horrible moment. That might've taken the wind out of any decent person's sails, Buck thinks. At the very least most people would've retreated into awkwardness and ended the lecture entirely.

Gerrard's brow pinches angrily. "Don't get smart with me, Diaz."

Buck's not sure it's possible to hate someone more than he hates their new captain right now.

"I don't care about your little sob story excuses, I care that you're sloppy and distracted. If you can't handle the job and the kid, drop one of them."

Oh, he was wrong.

He hates this man so much he's choking on it, it's clogging his throat like bile and he's running out of strength to care that he shouldn't spit it out, spew it everywhere and ruin everything just for the chance of hurting this man in the process. He feels like his skin is bursting at the seams.

Eddie's biting the inside of his cheek, rage and sorrow warring silently on his face.

And Buck breaks. Bursts. "Hey, Captain, that's—"

"Can it, Buckley," Gerrard cuts him off before he can even start. It's not angry, it's not anything, he brushes Buck off like he's an annoying fly buzzing in his ear, barely worth glancing at for the two seconds it takes to tell him he doesn't care. "You're all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Some of them flee, scurrying to their lockers, the kitchen, anywhere but here. A couple of people throw backwards glances before they walk away. Hen and Chim exchange grim looks. Eddie disappears out the back door in an angry haze. And Buck...

Buck feels. Empty. Small. Like he cut himself open trying to relieve the pressure and now there's just nothing left. No one to patch up the wound, and no reason for any of it, he didn't make an impact, he didn't help anyone, he stood there listening to his friends get degraded, and now—now he's feeling sorry for himself?

It's stupid. He's stupid. He feels like shit because, what, because he didn't get yelled at? Because his piece of shit captain took a break from implying he's a disgusting pervert?

He thinks himself in circles about it his whole way home, the pit in his stomach getting a little deeper every time he tries to will it away.

He's wallowed himself halfway through a six-pack, staring sightlessly at his TV, by the time his front door opens.

"Evan?"

One of the knots in his chest loosens. "Yeah," he calls out, not bothering to sound less pathetic than he is. "In here."

"Hey." Tommy's stopped next to the stairs, eyeing him. His gaze is assessing, but his tone is soft. He's always so careful with Buck. "Bad day?"

Buck takes another sip of his beer. Shrugs.

"Ah, one of those."

The couch cushions dip as Tommy takes a seat next to him. He's close enough that Buck doesn't have to look at him to know he's there. There's warmth radiating off him. The woodsy scent of his aftershave. Buck presses their knees together, and exhales properly for the first time in hours.

He knows he could talk about whatever he wants and Tommy would let him. He's waiting for Buck to take the lead here. Buck could avoid the issue entirely and decide to talk about anything. The fact that he can't really tell the difference between the fancy beer Tommy insists is better than the crap Buck's drinking right now. The documentary about bees he's pretending to watch. The goddamn weather.

What comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "I feel like an idiot."

Tommy pulls the beer bottle out of Buck's loose grip, puts it down next to the couch, and then takes Buck's hand in both of his. "Why?"

Buck scrubs at his eyes. "I..." He catalogues the tiny scars on Tommy's knuckles. Two, three, little dots on his index finger. A lopsided vee on his thumb. "Something happened at work."

"Did Gerrard say something to you?" There's an edge to Tommy's question, something sharp and flinty. It makes Buck's heart do dumb little somersaults.

"No." He stops, shame burning his cheeks. "Not. Not to me. That's... He was lecturing everybody, and I..."

"Evan." Tommy grips his chin, firmly, gently, guiding Buck's face until he looks him in the eye. There's a sympathetic twist to his mouth. "Tell me."

He does. As best he can when it feels like what's didn't happen is more important, and he can barely put into words why that is. But trying helps, a little. Trying to whittle it down into an explanation forces him to look at the whole of it, and realize it's not looming over him anymore.

Maybe it's just Tommy's hands on him, soothing the hurt away.

"I dunno. Feels like I could have done something differently, maybe"

Tommy hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "You could've."

Buck winces.

"But it wouldn't have turned out any better."

Oh.

A flower blooms on the TV, purple and white petals reaching for the sun. Buck toys with Tommy's fingers, and shifts his leg closer, hooking their ankles together.

"It felt so shitty," he mutters.

"I know."

He would, wouldn't he. Buck gets that pang in his chest again, and he pushes the rest of the way into Tommy's space. Tommy wraps his arms around him, and drops a kiss into his curls, seemingly content to let Buck situate himself however he wants.

He kind of wishes Tommy wasn't still wearing jeans, but asking him to take his pants off might send the wrong message.

"You don't think I'm, like...a bad friend, right?" He cringes his way through the question.

"No." Tommy responds matter-of-factly and without hesitation. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I think you're a very good boy."

Buck's entire head feels like it's on fire. A grin starts to creep across his face. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

Maybe he should ask Tommy to take his jeans off after all.

[joeybsversion]

Stubborn

Joe Burrow x Reader

You surprise Joe at a game

You’re led through the stadium to the bottom row of empty seats. The stands would soon be filled with rowdy fans and the field lined with players. Right now though, it was quiet, cold, and snowy.

“So, Joe has no clue you’re here?” One of the other girlfriends asked.

“No.” You smiled. “With the weather and winter storm advisory he told me to stay put at home, but too late now!” Laughs erupted from the other girls.

“He’s going to be so shocked to see you.” One of them said, brushing the snow off of her seat.

You did the same, hoping to take a seat and bundle up under the blanket you packed. “Hopefully he’s happy and not mad.” You giggled anxiously. “He was pretty serious about me not leaving the house this weekend. And to be honest, I don’t blame him, even though it’s a short drive from our house to the stadium, the roads were pretty scary.” You thought back to the short but stressful drive over.

“It’s such a big game though! If they win this, they’re AFC champs! He’d be bummed if you weren’t here afterwards.” Your friend reassured you.

“So let’s just hope for a Bengal win then!” Your attention turned to the field as the players came out to warm up.

Typically you all would spend your time watching the game from the box, but with it being such a high stakes game, being closer to the field was so much more fun.

By the end of the fourth quarter, you couldn’t feel your fingers or toes and your throat was sore from cheering. The bengals were up by 2 and there was 47 seconds left, but the Chiefs had the ball, and anyone who is familiar with the NFL knows that Patrick Mahomes and his team can pull it off. The chiefs inched closer and closer to the end zone, time quickly ticking down. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults.

With 6 seconds left, the chiefs kicking unit took the field to kick a field goal for the win. You squeezed your eyes shut and grabbed the hands of the girls around you.

“AAAAANNNDDD THE KICK IS BLOCKED!” The announcer yelled over the stadium. Your eyes flew open as you jumped up and down in the air. The Bengals has won and would be going to the Super Bowl.

You quickly paraded your way down to the snowy field, doing your best to trudge through the blizzard to find Joe.

He caught sight of you veering towards him in the crowd and his gaze warmed you from head to toe. You sped up and soon were running into his open arms, jumping at the last minute to wrap your legs around his waist and tackle him with a hug. This was the only way you could talk face to face without one you straining a neck muscle.

“Congrats, Joey!” You planted kisses all over his face. Photographers gathered around, capturing the moment.

“That’s my fucking girl.” Joe said, so surprised to see you. “What are you doing here?” He asked, a stern expression across his face.

“I couldn’t miss this game.” You laughed, nuzzling your face into the warmth of his neck.

“You what?” He asked over the cheering and chaos around him, his arms wrapping tighter around your waste.

“I had to come see you.”

“I told you to stay safe and stay at home.” He groaned.

“Joey, it’s a 34 mile drive from our house. Besides, I couldn’t miss the chance to tell you how proud I am of you.” You peppered his face with kisses again.

“You’re so stubborn.” He laughed.

“Yeah, but you knew that when you started dating me.”

“True. And I love you for it.”

[iqzo]

FEEL IT

(Jeanxblackgirl, college, au, football player!jean x cheerleader!reader, reader gets caught eye fucking jean in his football attire, jean’s cocky(?), reader’s shy, sex in the lockerooms, football game, half time, quick sex)

“Goooo, eagles! Wooo!” You chant with a big smile as you shake the pompoms in your grasp. You stood at the sidelines watching the team you cheered for getting touchdowns, your eyes specifically on number 17, jean Kirstein, your boyfriend. watching him run the field with his amazing defense skills, swooshing and veering around the opponents with taking moves like jumping over their heads just to score a point for the team. You adored the way he moved across the court with his muscular arms out in display, coated with a full sleeve, his slender yet slightly thick fingers grasped the ball with such intensity that made you wonder how that’ll feel around your neck. Hearing that bell ring signaling that it was halftime you watched as some of your cheer squad went out to the field as the players went back to the lockers. Now you knew it was wrong to follow behind but yet..here you were heart beating against your chest as you watched jean sitting on the bench slouched over on his phone with his legs spread. His helmet leaning by his feet you took discreet glances at the brunette just when he took a look over his shoulder quickly linking eyes with you.

Jeans cocky chuckle echoed, “I saw you y/n.” He says now standing up facing the door you peeked from, you came around the corner with your red bow suspended to the cute little hairstyle you had in your cute red skirt and top matching with his football uniform. “H-hi…jean,” you stammered which you instantly smushed your face in your pompoms from how embarrassing you were. Jean struts towards you. “Why are you still shy, baby?” He questioned with a hum, as his hands situated themselves at your curves, rubbing his thumb against them. His head tilted down to your neck..his pink lips grazing your earlobe as he spoke, “you weren’t so shy when you were eye fuckin’ me out in the field.” Your eyes widened…anit no way he saw you from afar, hearing that chuckle which sent heated shivers throughout your body he slowly lifts his head from your neck now removing the pompoms from your face your eyes met with his lidded ones. Staring down with a deep desire for you. “I—I—“ his fingers landed on those plump quivering lips, silencing you from trying to form a defensive line against his “accusation”.

“Hush, baby,” he smirked softly as the hand that rest upon your lips were now traveling down your curves squeezing them as if he missed them, which he did. Long training days with barely any time to hang out. He looks down with a sly smirk as his bottom lip were rolled into his mouth, lidded brown eyes and his brown hair clearly messy from the way he took the helmet off. “God your fucking adorable, I jus wanna…” his mouth latching onto your neck sucking at it like a vampire in dire need for blood, “fucking..eat you up.” He finished you were now shoved against a wall whimpering at jean’s behavior, “j-jean..” you murmured through a breathy soft moan, he hummed against your neck not showing any signs of removing his lips, “h-half time is about to end.” You alerted tapping on his broad shoulders.

He finally pulled away, not to stop his act. No no no, but to give you a mischievous look. “Well than, let’s make this quick, hm?” Soon after those words left his mouth you were smooshed against the metal lockers and his warm muscular body, his 7-inched cock bullying their way through your pink gummy tightness. Jean’s hand covered your mouth from exposing what ya’ll were doing, since he’s teammates were not too far away, “jean..” you muffled against his hand moaning and grunting from how rough his thrust were.

“Fuck baby.” Jean groaned by your ear, something about hearing a man being vocal—specially your man, your sexy divine man being vocal was like music to your ears. His mouth latched onto your shoulder muffling out his moans, your skirt resting up your thigh as your underwear rest at your ankles, jean’s hips began to stutter indicating he was close, “cmon baby, cmon, cum for me.” He encourages as the hand that was against the locker found itself playing at your twitching bud. You bite down on his finger accidentally, of course. It made jean grunt but he wasn’t focused on that little accident he was more focused on watching you flaunt around with his nut sitting in your womb. Tapping at his toned abs you gained his attention, your walls clenching down on his erection as it continued pounding your walls. “You’re about to cum baby?” He questions with a tone that you knew portrayed the smirk lining his lips, “hmmhmm.” Your thighs shook violently giving up on its strength to hold up your body, jean quickly caught you holding you up as you released your essences all over his pink cock. Him doing the same coating those precious walls with his creamy substances. He pulled out with a lengthy sigh of relief.

“Shit.” He spook noticing his cum appearing to escape from your cunt, “keep that shit in.” He demands while using his thumb to push the cum back into your cunt. You whimpered, “how..” you say in a very tired tone. “It’s gonna spill out while I dance, jean.” You frowned which made jean form a pout on his. His hand coming up to your cheek, caressing it as he stared deeply into your eyes with such adoration of your after-sex look. “You’re so sexy, it’s making me hard again.” Your mouth dropped darting at his cock which started to twitch in your presence’s. “Jean..” a smirk lines his lips as he takes a step forward while you straightened your back to lean it against the lockers, jean’s tatted arms maneuvered over your thighs catching you off guard by the sudden feeling of your feet not being planted on the ground, “one more round?” the brunette questioned while lightly tapping the tip of his cock at your twitching, sensitive bud.

A/n : Comment some other ideas for me to write about 😽

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By His Command 1

Summary: you arrive at your new household to serve. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: you're screaming at me, why are you starting another AU and I got my fingers in my ears like na nana boo noo.

Oh and there may be more commanders to come...

Anyway, thoughts and prayers welcome for my lost soul. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You watch the cloud of your breath in the cold air. The grey sky stretches endlessly on, as flat as anything else in this pallid world. A white blur trims the edge of your vision, that every present brim, a facsimile of a halo. You are not a fallen angel but a disgraced sinner, sentenced to penance, fated to serve another's salvation.

You clasp your hands together, red gloves chafing roughly, wool scratching your raw skin. You look down at the scarlet ripples, the endless crimson that marks you for exactly what you are. You pull at a stray thread and let it fall away.

You raise your head and stare at the opaque screen that separates you from the man in black. The guardian drives on across the fields paled by an early frost, dried grasses wilted beneath the premature winter. You take another frigid breath and lean forward, hovering your hand before the small vent in the door. Nothing.

You sit back. You know better than to complain. There is no one for you to complain to. No one who cares. You are not a person with feelings and thoughts. You are a vessel, to be filled and emptied over and over. You repress a shudder and keep your welling eyes aimed out the tinted window.

You dip your head and hide beneath the broad brim of your white bonnet. You clutch your hands tight and wade through the mounting panic in your chest. The women who left the centre didn't often come back, and when they did, it was never pleasant. Still, you would give anything to go back. There you know what the worst and the best is.

You don't know much of what awaits you, only that it floods you with dread. A commander and his wife, but what else? Will he be cruel? Will she hate you? Will you be able to do what you were trained to?

You part your hands and bring them up your arms, hugging yourself. You can't remember the last time anyone held you. The last time anyone dared touch you. Even when you laid screaming before the other handmaids, hands bloody, back welted, no one dared come near you, no one thought to comfort you.

The SUV turns and you force your eyelids apart. You sniffle and wipe your nose with the coarse wool glove. There is a low stone fence that trails the long winding road towards a tall gate. The tires slow as your heart piques and you choke on terror.

At a halt, you hear the man's voice in the front seat, through the barrier that divides you. For order, for chasteness, for your debasement. You are not worthy. You are emblazoned as a blasphemer.

The car rolls on, jerking you back against the seat. A slow draw that brings into view shedding hedges, stone benches, a fountain, a lawn that expands before you. You watch the birds flutter, marveling at their peace, and a leaf drifts down in a calm path to the ground. A serenity that so starkly counterbalances the chaos blooming in your chest.

You veer around the curved arm of the driveway and once more stop. The engine rolls over and quiets. The front door opens and you flinch. Steps tramp and come around, a shadow awaiting you on the otherside as the locks slide back.

The guardian opens the door and you grab the red valise on your feet. You turn your legs over the side of the seat and step out, heels clacking off the hard stone. The man steps back, gripping the strap of his gun.

"Go," he nods his chin in the direction of the house.

You look over at the grand facades, stone and mortar in a centurion style, rooves high and looming, a balcony with a naked trellis below. You gulp and march forward, grasping the round handle of your bag with both hands. The man trails you, keeping you on course as his steps echo your own.

You get to the first step and raise your foot, setting in on the stope edge. The front door opens and steals your attention from the hem of your skirt. You look up as a Martha emerges in her green smock and apron. Her faces is blotchy and her grimace is deepset.

"Come, OfLloyd," she beckons you with a curt wave, "we must prepare for the Commander's return."

[silent-sanctum]

If you can, you do Jotaro x reader where the reader (gender neutral) is a very famous music celebrity and how Jotaro handles the being with someone who is famous with their daughter Jolyne in their life as well. Love your work and hope everything is good with you 🩷

Thank you anon! 💖 Kinda stressing out over paperwork over here but it's all good nonetheless! 🫡 You're request is heard and I hope I did your request justice with this short fic. Hope you enjoy! ♡

My Universe - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 2.2k

One of the perks of having your spouse be a famous global soloist, is having a kid with them and have said child be their number one fan if Jotaro wasn’t already.

Sure, he may not necessarily like all the discography you put out for your fans, but that’s normal for anyone. You did mostly pop with some R&B on the side, and he was more of a jazz man himself. But he did have his personal playlist of favorite tracks he’d listen to time to time on repeat.

But Jolyne was on a different level than he was- she adored you off-screen and on-screen. If you were at home or at least around her, she’d have a field trip being with her idol: She’d get her hands on every merchandise that’s yet to be released, listen to songs yet to be heard, and get special access to VIP areas only meant for artists.

How about the time spend with Jotaro?

Well, aside from musing your daughter with all the perks and love from a celebrity guardian, there were times you left Jolyne with her own bodyguard and babysitter, and used the free time to roam the city with your husband and do whatever they wanted to do.

Initially, your personal life was kept secret from the world, choosing to separate and not involve it with the life of stardom. And that was still the case back when you and Jotaro were still dating. You posted a lot on your social media, mostly pictures of your “selcas”, outfits-of-the-day, food items, behind-the-scenes special from your stages, nature shots, and pictures with fellow celebrity friends.

Once in a blue moon, your fans would blow up social media whenever you decided to be ballsy and post pictures of you with Jotaro, his face hidden thanks to his hat and mask. The content of the image was relatively tame and “neutral”, but given the context behind these pictures- the intimate proximity of the two, the matching color palette clothes, the rare posting of him in general- might as well made your fan base theorists.

“Boyfriend reveal when????”

“Bestie, please share the tea to the world”

“Hello? The couple fits?? The cute poses??? Call me delulu but-”

“All of you are being weirdos. Stop invading their privacy”

“Yeah the dude could be her cousin or brother or something”

“Girl they be dropping these lovey-dovey ass pics and still wonder why we’re this delusional”

“Uhm cousin?? Brother?? With those pictures? Weird but pop-off ig”

You’d receive many posts of similar flavor all over your timelines and you admitted to liking whenever your fans talk about the love of your life as if it’s a conspiracy theory and most of them coming from a supportive mindset. It irked Jotaro for a moment when said community managed to somehow track both his formal account used to document his research findings, and his private social media account where he posted pictures of scenery similar to yours.

But there were the rational handful who were able to veer them off his ass, dismissing their claims as false despite hitting the nail on the spot.

Eventually, once you shifted to a more flexible and lenient agency, you decided to reveal to the world that the popular music icon was engaged and to be married the next week all through a single image of your hand brandishing a ring on your ring finger with a bride emoji as its caption.

“GOOD MORNING???”

“MARRIAGE?!!”

“THEY IS GETTING MARRIED YALL”

“And yall called us crazy for saying they had a boyfriend all this time”

“We boutta get Papa Star amongst us”

The fans and the general public went wild and aside from the obsessive ones, most of your community sent their support.

Despite your relationship now public to everyone, Jotaro still wanted to keep himself mostly anonymous to the news. So whatever images were taken with him in it was blurred out with the default blur effect or an emoji sticker- a “star” one to be specific-covering his face whenever it was shared among fans.

The community erupted with loud awes and cheers when you announced to the world that you were going to have a baby girl in the family in one of your interviews.

“OMG???”

“Alright baby protectors, it’s our time to RISE”

“Much love to the little onee”

“I will defend this child with my life.”

“Shooters for baby girl where yall at?”

“Oh she bout to be the luckiest mfer with all the merch exclusives”

Years later, Jolyne grew up to be her parent’s number one fan, doing exactly what your fanbase had thought of when she’d grow older.

Going back to the present, you found yourself stuck knee-deep in your career doing a sold-out world tour, performing for thousands of cheering people in cities across the world. This wasn’t your first tour and you’ve found a decent routine to follow when doing so, but this year was a first for you.

You expressed both in social media posts and in interviews that burnout began to hit you full-time and a multitude of nagging negativity clouded your head as you kept up with all the schedules, production, and practice sessions for majority of the year. You’ve been so busy that time spent with your family this year was little to none. You constantly shared that hopefully sometime in the middle of promotions, you could return home to your family.

Jolyne felt it watching you through the screen. Jotaro felt it too.

All of them missed you and he wanted to do something about it for once.

By the time September came, your world tour came to a close with one last concert to be done in the Rose Bowl Stadium in California. Both him and Jolyne were never able to attend to any of your concerts due to work and school, but timing was in their favor for once and he made the most of the opportunity.

He got into contact with your manager, someone he became close acquaintances with, and notified of them coming over to watch your show. At first, Jotaro just wanted to be there with your daughter in tow, but the manager and a couple of the crew members in-charge of the set list had different plans.

He agreed to it.

With the VIP tickets secured and their booth ready for them, Jotaro and Jolyne flew across the States with eager anticipation and excitement, the latter mostly radiating off from the little girl.

Eventually, the day of the concert arrived and your daughter couldn’t contain herself from running about, unable to wait any longer for her to watch her other parent sing and dance live for the first time. During the day, rehearsals were done before the show proper and a handful of lucky fans were able to watch it.

Thanks to a streamer fan’s dedication and generosity, Jolyne was able to watch you walk about the stage in cozy casuals interacting with your community through a live stream in her phone. From time to time in the middle of preparing things needed for a concert, Jotaro would tune in as well, happy to see you even if it was from a live feed.

Hours later, he rented a car nearby and drove both of them to the beaming stadium, teemed with cheering crowds of fans falling in line either to enter the venue or to purchase on-site merchandise. On the lampposts and the walls were banners of you welcoming everyone to the event.

To avoid getting mobbed, both father and daughter kept themselves hidden from any passing person with a hat and mask as they walked across the area to the stadium’s entrance. To everyone else, they might as well be an ordinary dad-and-daughter duo who were also fans of their favorite artist.

Jotaro followed the instructions sent to him by your manager and headed off to a more discreet entrance where they didn’t have to worry about any lines or people complaining of why they get to enter first and not them. A guard stationed by waved them inside and led the family into their seats overlooking the brightly lit stage. Before the platform were thousands of light sticks waving in the dark, belonging to the fans singing to songs being played as they waited for you to start.

Beside him, Jolyne sang along with enthusiasm, shaking her own personalized light stick to the beat of the music. He would do the same in an alternate universe, but here it just wasn’t his thing.

After a few minutes, the music faded off into silence and the lights dimmed until the stage cast the whole venue in darkness. The crowds cheered and many miniature lights shook in the night. The speakers suddenly blared a remix of one of your title tracks and the jumbo screens flashed to show a VCR containing a mashup of you in a concept film, introducing your theme as a music artist to your audience.

Then as the dancers brought in the energy with their entrance, the stadium exploded with excited screams as you rose up from the below and walked to the front, passing by your back-up dancers until you stood in front of everyone. A second after you greeted the crowd, you switched demeanor and joined the others in choreography.

Jotaro couldn’t help but smile and clap by the time you finished your introductory performance, contrasted by his daughter’s loud screams. He watched wistfully at you speaking with the audience, sweating from all the dance and singing.

It truly was something different watching you live versus watching a live broadcast from home. You’re so near and yet so far from him.

And so far, the rest of the evening was spent like this with you; the beloved soloist performing many of their hit songs ranging from hard hitting beats with impressive dance routines to soothing ballads that had you simply sitting on a fancy stage prop all dolled-up to match the aesthetic of the songs.

Jolyne never pried her eyes away from her other parent, always focused on you and making sure she sung, danced, and responded to your every questions with the devotion of a true, hardcore fan.

By the time the concert was near its end, you were standing in front of the crowd in a cozy outfit akin to the aesthetics of a person living in a humble cabin in the woods. Supposedly, this segment was supposed to be for when you brought up a box of mixed Q&A and dares for you to do.

However, as you said that you were about to start with the bit, the screens beside you changed from showing an arcade-esque “Break Time with Y/N” to a simple “You have special guests watching you”.

Out of the blue, spotlights turned to Jotaro and Jolyne’s booth and there they were- clear as day on the jumbo screens. Everyone cheered yet again as their way of greeting their favorite artist’s family. And even as Jotaro froze on spot, tipping his hat over his eyes as he offered a small wave, his little girl beamed and waved her light stick at the camera.

“I’m here! Hello!”

Jotaro, from what he could see from under his hat, fixed his gaze on the other jumbo screen where it showed your reaction to the surprise- you were crouched on stage, one hand waving at your child, while the other covered your mouth as he saw tears well up in your eyes.

You didn’t expect them to be at your closing concert but seeing your family present was enough for you to break character and fixate on the loves of your life. “Ah really, you guys…”

In response to your happy tears, the crowd cried out a nearly-synchronized “don’t cry!” prompting you to let out a wet chuckle and sniffle.

It occurred to him that he could do something while the cameras were on them. He reached for his phone from his coat pockets and with a few taps, he showed the screen to everyone- a mobile digital message with the words scrolling across the black screen in neon yellow:

Congratulations on your successful world tour. We love you <3

“Ah! You’re gonna make me cry again!” You said, whining as you swiped your eyes free from the new batch of tears ready to fall. He chuckled back. “Everyone, that’s my husband and baby girl. I love them and the fact that they’re here makes me the happiest person right now.” The crowd cooed.

“Now that they’re here, I’m all the more charged up to perform for everyone!” You said and the stadium cheered in response. With one more long look at your family watching from their booth, you continued. “Hope you all enjoy the rest of this night as much as I am enjoying right now.”

With Jolyne’s suggestion via a whisper, Jotaro turned to his phone and changed the message one more time before the camera diverted away from them. This the message scrolled by in neon green saying:

Let’s celebrate! Let’s eat out later! Our daughter is starving.

Your fans expressed a mix of laughter and wholesome “aw’s”. In turn, you smiled and with both hands grasping your microphone, you replied back to them with a curt yet loving, “Of course. My treat.”

[topazadine]

Writing Notes: Seasons

I noticed a few leaves falling from my tree, which means only one thing: it's time.

Time for fall. My favorite, blessed, most beloved season. Pumpkin spice lattes! Candy apples! Cherry pie! Haunted houses! Chilly weather that makes me snuggle up into my hoodie! Candy!

And, of course, it means that I have to share some writing notes with you about seasons.

So today, we're going to share a few different perspectives on seasons. We'll talk about the "traditionally accepted" associations for seasons, but also share other options and how you can infuse them into your work.

Why Use Seasons at All?

You don't have to if you don't want to. Maybe you want to focus entirely on the plot. But, you might add some hints of it for these reasons.

Gives a sense of place. This allows you to show how this place is impacted by particular seasons. Winter in Kampala, Uganda, is going to be wildly different than in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Offers worldbuilding options. In a fantasy setting, seasons are an element of worldbuilding. (Just look at Game of Thrones.) There may be different dangers according to seasons, or unique holidays that can allow you to demonstrate how people interact with this world. Provides templates for description. You can get a lot of mileage out of showing a nice grassy field in spring or the leaves fluttering down during autumn. Don't go on for ages, but you can certainly add a few little flickers here and there. (just remember to put them in the right places for maximum momentum.) Deepens characterization. How characters feel about and interact with the seasons can tell us a lot about who they are. Someone who loves winter could love it because then they can ski, or because they want to cuddle up and be left alone. Someone who loves summer might like lounging around on the porch eating ice cream, or they might like it because it's time to go surfing! Suggests new challenges. If your character lives in Montana, winter is going to be horribly cruel. "The Hunter's Wife" by Anthony Doerr is all about how the seasons challenge the characters and help them grow. But in your story, it might be summer that's the worst. Or fall, or spring, or all of them but in different ways. Creates subtle symbolism. The season of your story can use certain symbolism depending on what kind of plot you have and what your overall theme is, as we'll discuss now.

So, now that we understand why seasons are important, let's look at each one and consider why it might be the best time for your story.

I will note that I am coming from the perspective as a person in the Midwestern United States. What I associate with the seasons, particularly the descriptions, may be utterly irrelevant to you depending on where you are from. If I made a wholly comprehensive list considering the entire world, we'd be here all day.

Keep that in mind and workshop some options for your setting and personal associations.

I'm not omniscient, so take what seems useful to you and leave the rest.

Spring

Ah, the flowers are blooming, the world is warming up, and we're finally crawling out of doors now that we're not buried in slush. Spring is generally associated with positive emotions, but there could be some dangers here, too.

To get some good symbolism, focus on spring's unique place between two fixed, more stable seasons, where we know what to expect: winter and summer.

There is a fragility and shifting balance in spring that can veer good or bad depending on what you're trying to show. Spring also has a sense of expectation, which can pay off (good summer) or fail (icky bad summer).

Associations

Positive

Warmth

Renewal

Hope

Rebirth

Childhood

Innocence

Potential

Change

New beginnings

Reunions

Optimism

Negative

Fluctuating emotions (spring can be quite unpredictable!)

New challenges on the horizon

Feeling exposed

"Nakedness"

Vulnerability

Growing pains

Feeling underappreciated, like a stepping stone to summer

Ferocity (like intense spring storms)

The fragility of life (not every baby animal will survive)

Descriptions

Positive

Wildflowers pushing through the soil

Baby animals

Trees blooming

New blades of grass

Budding leaves

Sunny skies

Life-affirming rain

Warming breezes

Slightly chilly nights

Weak sunrises

Days growing longer

Richly scented flowers

Negative

Sudden cold snaps

Dreary weather

Grey skies

Hard rain that traps one inside

Snow (a reminder of the past)

Flooding

Melting snow revealing last year's trash

Cold mornings

Shivering

Being too hot or too cold

Hard ground

Mud

Summer

Summer fun! Those lucky enough to live by a beach want to splash in the water or go kayaking above the cool waves. We can drink an ice cold soda as we head to outdoor festivals. Kissing as the summer frogs sing a chorus, or partying late into the night: how beautiful!

But summer can be awful, too. Too much beer at a festival and you throw up everywhere, or too much humidity and you die of heatstroke. There's a reason that gun violence goes up when it's hotter: people are pissy and itching for a fight.

There can be a great push-pull here as characters attempt to moderate themselves while also indulging their sense of adventure.

Associations

Positive

Adventure

Childhood

Freedom

Exploration

Warmth

Togetherness

Community spirit

Serendipitous meetings

Happiness

A sense of endlessness (longer daylight hours)

Puppy love

Negative

Long agonizing waits (again, longer daylight hours)

Exhaustion

Overwhelm

Oppression (sociological or environmental)

Excess

Sloth (if characters like to lounge)

Lack of control

Rage

Frustration

Disappointment

Descriptions

Positive

Droning insects

Fireflies (depending on area)

Warmth

Blue skies

Bright green leaves

Active wildlife

Butterflies

Cool drinks

Unexpected cool breezes

Fresh fruit

Whirring fan

Outdoor music

Sunshine

Beautiful sunsets

Negative

Loud, cramped festivals

High humidity

Extreme heat

Dehydration

Glaring sunlight with no shelter

Tornadoes/summer storms

Mosquitos

Broken fan

Sweating

Baking trash (ugh sorry)

Sore joints from the humidity

Spoiled/soggy food

Flat fizzy drinks

Autumn

Okay, I'll try not to be too biased here, so I'll point out that autumn can be both beautiful and terrible. On one hand, we've got the cooler weather, the gorgeous foliage, and the contentment of harvest time: a job well done, and a time to rest.

Many people feel like this is when they are closest to their past loved ones and can commune with those long gone, which can be a good thing or a bad thing. It's a good time for when someone is putting their demons to rest and moving on.

We can also feel cold, dread, and fear during autumn. The nights are getting longer, and there could be all sorts of scary things in the shadows. They, too, are gearing up for the freezing winter months - and they're hungry.

Associations

Positive

Maturity

Adulthood

Rest

Slowing down

Introspection

Thinning of the veil (Halloween)

Spirituality

Retrospection

Harvest and bounty

Change

Reflection

Negative

Fear

Dread

Decay

Lost opportunities

Dwindling time

Anxiety

Limitations

Closer to the end

Feeling one's age

The unknown

Breaking down

Past coming back to haunt one

Descriptions

Positive

Falling leaves

Brisk wind

Crackling campfires

Warm drinks

Busy animals

Frost sparkling on grass

Seeing your breath in the air

Freshly baked pie

Crisp apples

Decorative pumpkins

Cozy hoodies/cloaks

Mulled wine and spices

Harvested grain

Baked bread

Sudden warm days

Negative

Fog shrouded, isolated roads

Creeping cold

Howling animals

Dark nights

Rotting fruit

Bitter wind through cracks in the house

Cold rain

Spoiled grain

Meager harvest

Insufficient clothing

Dead creatures

Skeletons

Icy mist

Barren trees

Creaking houses

Winter

Winter gets the short end of the stick when it comes to symbolism. People focus on the horrible things (cold, loss, sadness) without considering the positives: family, togetherness, comfy mittens, warm hot chocolate and presents.

After all, humans have developed our very own symbolism just to cheer the time up; winter celebrations happen all around the world. You've got so many options here, both in terms of themes, activities, and descriptions. What you focus on will determine how your story feels.

Associations

Positive

Togetherness

Community

Family

Resilience

Perserverence

Joy and whimsy

Caring for others

Possibilities

Planning

Companionship (or solitude)

Optimism

Pushing one's limits

Quietude

Introspection

Better days ahead

Negative

Cold

Nature's fury

Helplessness

Poverty (in any form)

Feeling trapped

Unpleasant relatives

Death

Old age

Broken relationships

Barrenness

Struggle

Endings

Sorrow

Lack of empathy

Hatred

Descriptions

Positive

Roaring fires

Soft heavy blankets

Thick socks

Cozy mittens

Jams and jellies

Hot drinks

Presents

Winter decorations

Christmas cookies

Candles

Softly drifting snow

Clear night skies

Conversations in another room

Clinking glasses

Mulled cider

The contrast between chilly room and warm blanket

Dead quiet nights

Negative

Freezing cold

Driving snow

Stuck in big snow drifts

Tense muscles

Dry skin

Running nose

Barren cupboards

Tense conversations with distant relatives

Frozen hands

Harsh wind

Stuffy rooms

Cold floors

Animals scratching at the door

Lack of ventilation

Can't get warm

Shivering

So there are my thoughts on the seasons! Hopefully this sparked something for you.

Now, perhaps, you will consider reading my book (now cheaper than ever!)

9 Years Yearning is a whirlwind look at two men growing up and finding themselves - and each other, wink wink. It features Uileac, an orphan determined to protect his little sister and become the best soldier he can be. However, this is complicated by Orrinir, a blustery young man whose bravado hides a surprisingly sensitive heart. In just under 34k words, they experience the whole range of human emotions - and beat a few people up. Ooh la la.

If you do decide to read 9 Years Yearning, don't forget to leave a review!

It can even be a bad review if you want. Amazon uses ratings of all shapes and sizes to determine whether a book is worth getting shown to other potential readers.

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So please, I have dogs that want their snackies. For $2 and a few nice words, YOU can help buy this small child her favorite treat (bully sticks).

[seiya-starsniper]

25.finding comfort in their scent from the prompt list?

Whooooo I finally managed to put together something for this! I kept accidentally veering off into angst territory ahahahaha. I promise this is all straight fluff though 💖

blossoming romance writing prompts

---------

Hob knows the exact moment when Dream enters his flat.

He is sick as a dog, running a fever hovering dangerously close to 39C, and he’s fairly certain the cold medication has given him some sort of hallucination about betta fish swimming around in the air.

Even still, though his eyes are heavy and he cannot smell a damn thing through his congested nose, Hob is somehow able to smell Dream.

Dream smells of ozone and petrichor, of starlights and sunsets, and everything in the world Hob has ever loved or found beautiful. He wonders if the anthropomorphic personification of dreams is just supposed to smell that way, like some sort dream come true.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream’s voice reverberates from within his bedroom. Hob didn’t even hear him pass the threshold. “You are unwell, according to my sister.”

Hob snorts, remembering the time Death had spontaneously shown herself in the middle of their now monthly meetings at the New Inn. Hob had nearly fled out of his own skin once he’d realized who she was, which only made her laugh. She reassured him that Hob’s life was his own, and she’d only ever come for him if he personally asked for her. Then she’d left as cryptically as she came, only saying she had an appointment to get to.

“I’m not going to die from a cold,” Hob snuffles, peeking out from underneath the duvet. “Surely things can’t be that dire unless there’s something you’re not telling me, Dream.”

Dream huffs, and Hob catches the barest hint of a smile. “It is not Death whose realm you were visiting,” the Endless replies. “My youngest sibling, Delirium, sends her regards.”

Delirium. Hob thinks. Well, that would explain the flying betta fish.

Suddenly, there is a coolness on Hob’s forehead, and he realizes belatedly that it is Dream’s hand. He barely bites back a groan of relief. He hadn’t realized just how overheated he’d become.

“You are feverish,” Dream murmurs. “It would be best for you to take your rest in my realm.”

“Unless you can magically cool down my whole body my friend,” Hob replies cheekily, “I don’t think I’m getting to sleep any time soon. Hand feels pretty nice though,” he adds, his thought to mouth filter utterly failing him in this moment. 

“You underestimate me, Hob,” Dream rumbles, and before he even knows what’s happened, Hob drifts off entirely.

He wakes in a field of green. There’s no fever, no congestion, and more importantly, no overwhelming dizziness. It’s peaceful here, and despite never having seen this place before in his life, Hob knows he’s been here before. 

Hob catches a whiff of starlight, and then turns his head to smile up at his oldest friend. 

“Has anyone ever told you how nice you smell?” Hob asks, clearly no longer caring for propriety.

Dream’s lips quirk in amusement before he takes a seat on the grass next to Hob. “And what do I smell like to you, my friend?”

“Hmm,” Hob contemplates for a few moments. “I suppose you smell like the universe.”

“How utterly vague of you,” Dream replies, deadpan. “Clearly the fever has rendered you unable to articulate properly.”

“I’m serious!” Hob exclaims, playfully shoving at Dream’s shoulder. “There’s no words to describe you. How you remind me of stars and moonlight and thunderstorms all at once. How you smell like the night sky before light pollution ruined everything. Or how you smell like my mum’s homemade stew that I’ve long forgotten the taste of. You just…you smell like everything to me.”

Hob watches then as a pink blush crawls up Dream’s neck, before slowly blooming across the Endless’s face. 

“It has been some time,” Dream says, averting his eyes from Hob’s as if suddenly shy. “Since someone found comfort in my presence.”

Has it? Hob wonders. He’s always found Dream comforting.

“I’ve always found you comforting,” Hob hears himself voice aloud at the same time. In for a penny, in for a pound, he guesses. “When everything else faded or died, there was always you. That’s always comforted me, even on my worst days.”

“Then I must apologize once more for depriving you of that comfort 33 years ago,” Dream says replies, sounding morose. 

“But you came back,” Hob answers, smiling. “And that’s a comfort all on its own.”

They fall into silence then, simply content to enjoy each other’s company. Hob doesn’t know what it is, but he knows something has shifted between them, here in his oldest friend’s realm. The dream itself is shifting too. Where there was once only endless fields of green, there are now flowers springing up from the ground, beautiful and yet otherworldly in their appearance. He reaches out to caress the petals of one of the blooms, not hearing the slight gasp it elicits from right next to him.

The last thing Hob smells before he wakes up is roses.

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 38 ~ Worries and Apologies

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 3

✧ Word Count : 5k

In this chapter ~ After Andrea left the mere second she could, the rest were forced to think over what she had told them. It all led to worry breaking out among the group, affecting Rose the most as she thought of the different scenarios of what could happen to the people she loved. However, Daryl was right by her side to calm her nerves and assure her of the things she feared the most. Not only that, but she also received a long and overdue apology from a certain someone.

About an hour had passed after the heated conversation, before Andrea finally made her big decision to head back to Woodbury. I wasn't exactly surprised in the slightest however, and it's safe to say everyone was feeling the same way as we watched her gather her things. She squirmed a little uncomfortably under all of our gazes, but I thought it was well deserved, watching her visibly turn her back on all of us.

Though Rick insisted for her to take one of our cars to drive back there instead of walking the whole way, which I thought was a little too generous, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. Though I quickly offered to get one of our cars and drive it up myself so she could take it, only really doing it so I could bring back the shittiest one we had. Rick was an idiot if he actually thought I was about to bring back one of the nice ones just for her to take it away and ruin it.

I pulled up far enough so they could open the gate for me as I drove in, veering it off toward the side and putting it in park. Andrea was right by the door as I slightly stepped out, staying in place as I told her how to work this one.

"Okay, this one's a little testy so go easy on the breaks and...oh, you see those wires?" I asked as I gestured to the loose ones under the steering wheel, seeing her nod in return, "Don't touch them." I concluded with a bitter smile before fully exiting the car.

Walking back over to the others, I stood next to Rick who only gave me a pointed look as he noticed what I had done, though I only shrugged in response.

Andrea then glanced around to every single face as we waited to send her off, nodding to herself as there was a little sympathy in her eyes. "Well...take care." she muttered before fully getting into the vehicle, closing the door to take off.

My eyes followed the car, watching Merle pull open the gate for her before I raised my hand up to flip her off as one final goodbye. But Rick quietly scoffed as he reached to push my arm back down, sending me another disapproving look.

"Oh, come on." I muttered, "Take care? Really?" I asked in slight disbelief.

He shook his head, "I know."

Everyone silently watched the car drive further and further away as a new feeling washed over us all. It was uncomfortable and tense and I could tell some were losing hope. After the things that Andrea informed, her begging us to just cooperate so we wouldn't lose this battle, it affected us in some way. Almost like another harsh reality check just like the monsters that were still left in the field.

Once the car completely disappeared from view, I quietly offered to take watch for a little while so Maggie and Carl could rest and have a break. I also found I just wanted a little time to myself, to sit outside and feel the sun on my skin, allowing myself to think over the things we were just told.

Night had eventually fallen but I was still outside watching everything around me even after hours of being out there alone, keeping my eyes peeled for any type of threat. Well, besides the obvious ones that were still snarling on the fields. It was quiet though as I sat by myself, though I didn't mind because of how many more things I was still thinking about over and over again like some kind of broken record.

Andrea showing up mixed in with the conversation I had with Merle left me feeling empty. I wanted to believe that we would win this, that we would get through it, but I honestly wasn't so sure anymore. With my eyes focused on all the walkers in the field, it was just a reminder of what The Governor was capable of. It scared me so badly thinking about the possibility of losing my family, but it was all I could seem to think about. I would rather sacrifice myself a thousand different times before accepting the loss of anyone else. We had already witnessed too much death, experienced so much grief, we didn't need any more of it.

My mind seemed to continue to stay on this loop for what felt like forever as I spaced off. That is until I heard quiet footsteps coming up from behind me and I turned over my shoulder to see Daryl, with a small smile on his face as he made his way over. Though I couldn't find the strength to smile back.

He plopped down next to me with a sigh, "You been out here a while." he stated the obvious.

I only shrugged, "...Just thinking."

"Thinkin? About?" he asked while nudging me.

I sighed as I turned to look out at the fields once more, "Everything."

He nodded and stayed quiet, as we let the calmness of the night do all of the talking we needed to fill the silence. I slowly moved to rest my head on his shoulder while the gun laid lazily in my lap, my eyes watching the walkers move back and forth like clockwork against the gates as they growled. He rested his head on top of mine and delicately moved to place a hand on my thigh, rubbing his thumb lightly over the fabric of my jeans.

I let my mind wander back to The Governor once again and let my anxiety take over as I started to fidget with my hands a little. I couldn't stop. It was like a constant spiral of thoughts were just spinning around my mind, taunting me almost. Seeing how far they could push me before I would just completely break down. But Daryl noticed almost immediately and gently placed his hand on top of mine to get me to stop the moment he realized.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

I slowly lifted my head to look him in the eye, taking in a soft breath, "I'm scared." I admitted, letting the words come out only above a whisper as if I was dreading to admit the defeat out loud.

He his face drastically dropped, bringing me into his arms as he hugged me and pulling me closer to his chest. I squeezed him tightly, as if I were to let him go, he would slip away from me again. The thought of him leaving scared me, but the thought of losing him for good terrified me.

He slowly let go of me and place his pointer finger under my chin so I would look at him, "M' gonna protect ya no matter what." he assured me.

I shook my head, "That's what I'm afraid of."

His expression morphed into confusion, "What do ya mean?"

"I know you would protect me; you would take a bullet for me. But that's what scares me. I don't want to lose you again."

"I ain't gonna die on ya-"

"You don't know that." I was quick to defend, "Daryl, it was hell when I lost you the first time, and that was when I knew you were alive. I don't even know what I would do with myself if you..." I trailed off suddenly.

He shook his head, "Don't think like that."

"I'm just trying to be realistic. After Merle and I talked-"

He huffed out a breath that made me stop in my tracks, "I fuckin knew that's what this was bout, Rosie he's just tryin to get in yer head. It's the only thing he's good at."

"No, he's not." I quickly said, "Believe me I thought that too at first, but he was right...and that scares me too."

He sighed heavily as he tried to think of the right words to say to me. His eyes held so much emotion and all I wanted right now was to get a peek inside his mind and get even a glimpse at what he was thinking. Know exactly the things he wanted to say and piece it together myself.

"I dunno what's gonna happen." he finally spoke, "I can't sit here and tell ya that everthin is gonna be alright cause I don't know that. But I do know that all of us together are strong as hell. We've all been fightin left and right since the beginnin and always had each other's backs, that's somethin that won't change. I think we can beat this as long as we have everyone else, and that's all that matters."

I was taken aback for a second at his words, feeling myself smile a little, almost in pride. "When did you get so wise?" I asked teasingly as I nudged him.

He rolled his eyes, "When my girl started to freak out about all of us dyin. We protect each other. We survived this didn't we?" he asked, gesturing to the field of walkers.

My eyes followed to where he pointed, silently nodding my head in agreement, "Yeah... and you're right. We just have to fight like hell."

"Yeah...and m' more than ready to do it." he stated.

I tilted my head as I looked back over to him, "Why's that?"

His gaze then ducked down a little to try and hide the redness in his cheeks, but I still saw. I always did. "Cause I finally got something to fight for." he said quietly.

A growing smile spread across my face as I stared at him lovingly, "Me too." I whispered.

He looked back up at me and smiled, gently cupping his hand on the side of my face to pull me in for a sweet kiss. I now found I couldn't stop thinking about what he said to me, and how safe I felt in his arms. How he was able to calm me when all I could seem to do was worry. Flipping it completely like a light switch. I was so deeply in love with this man.

He then broke away after a moment or two, pecking my lips once more before fully pulling back, "Alright, come on, let's get ya inside. You need some sleep."

I didn't argue with that, mostly because I could slowly feel the drowsiness sneaking up on me and I knew I had stayed out there for far too long. Though I silently knew in the back of my mind that if he hadn't come out here to drag me back in, I probably wouldn't have for the rest of the night.

As we walked back into the prison, Beth's soft and gentle voice filled the air as she sung, echoing around the cement walls as we made our way through. We walked into the cellblock to see it being lit up by a few candles with the group sitting around just enjoying Beth's harmony along with each other's company. I found myself trailing in slowly, leaning up against a wall next to Hershel and Rick, Daryl following right by my side as we all stood in silence for a moment.

"Andrea's in a jam." Rick suddenly whispered over to the three of us quietly, bouncing Judith lightly in his arms.

"We all are. Andrea's persuasive, this fella's armed to the teeth. Bent on destruction." Hershel said bluntly.

Daryl tilted his head a bit toward him, "So, what do you wanna do?"

"We match it," Rick said, "I'm going on a run."

I looked towards him, noticing how tired he looked, "I can head out tomorrow." I offered instead.

He shook his head, "No, you stay here. You and Daryl keep an eye on Merle for me." he spoke before looking directly at Daryl, "I'm glad you're back, really...but if he causes a problem, it's on you."

He nodded his head in understanding, "I got him."

"I'm gonna take Michonne with me, and Carl. I think he's ready. I'm counting on you two to hold down the fort for me." he nodded to Daryl and I.

"You got it." I assured him with a small nod.

The conversation ended there, all of us just tuning back in to listen to Beth while we embraced each other's company. I truly wanted to cherish each moment I had like this, not knowing when it would be the last. Even after Daryl's reassurance, there was obviously still a little worry I had in the back of my mind, though I had hope we would all make it through just like everything else.

But I also grew to think about if and when we moved past this, what would be the next obstacle? What would be the next thing that threatened to tear us apart? I didn't want to waste it, any time I had left with the people I loved and kept the closest to me, I would hold it near my heart forever. Never wanting to take any of it for granted.

My eyes then scanned around the room at everyone and paused briefly on Glenn who was surprisingly already looking at me. We hadn't spoken a word to each other all day besides the little argument we had earlier. He had no idea how badly I just wanted this to be over, to be able to apologize to each other and actually stand to be within the same room without tearing each other apart. But I knew I should at least wait until tomorrow.

Right now, I was enjoying this peaceful moment with my family. A moment that I really needed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~THIRD PERSON POV*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning everyone woke up early and Rick kept his word as he packed up and headed out on a run with Michonne and Carl. Though the real reason he wanted to bring the woman along with them was because he simply didn't trust her to be at the prison with everyone else. He would've much rather her come with the two of them so he could keep an eye on her, see how well she would do with scavenging, how well she could watch their backs. How well she could potentially fit in with the rest given some time.

But with that, they gathered their things and all hopped in a car and took off down the gravel road, hoping to find the weapons and ammo they so desperately needed. With how low they were running recently, they would need everything they could get in order to make it through this sudden reality.

Silence fell over the prison as everyone kept to themselves for most of the day it seemed like. All of them just did their own thing, but still helping out in some way. Someone would watch Judith, two or three people at a time would keep watch, and some others would help with making food or doing a weapon check.

Daryl was currently keeping watch in the silence, and that alone gave him some time to think. He found he was slightly stressed even though he would never admit it out loud. Rick leaving him and Rose in charge of the whole group made him feel uneasy for some reason, especially when they had to watch their backs twenty-four-seven now. He never really liked the idea of leading a group and was always somewhat glad Rick stepped up to fill that position because he knew he could never do it himself. It was truly too much responsibility, and worry filled him at the thought of something happening while he was out.

But he quickly reminded himself that it was just for the day, and that he had Rose looking out for everyone too. He wasn't in this alone; he never was. It was something he was still getting used to.

His mind then began to wander to the conversation him and Rose shared last night, mindlessly glancing over to the spot they sat. It hurt him to see how worried she was about everything, even though she had a very good reason to be. Worrying about everyone else around her as well as him.

Though he didn't think she quite understood just how much he cared about her. Yes, she knew, but did she actually understand? It was like ever since he laid eyes on her, he felt the sudden urge to protect her. No matter what it was. He would protect her from the whole goddamn world if it were possible, wanting to shield her from anything that could hurt her.

Though these feelings of overprotectiveness confused him in the beginning of it all, not wanting to get attached, he found he still did with just a snap of her finger. But he wouldn't want it any other way.

The man truly meant it when he thought she brought out the best in him, because it was nothing but the truth. It was like he became this whole entirely new person when he was around her. He was soft and kind instead of cold and distant like he used to be. But he soon realized he wanted to be a better person for her. It now all made sense on why he was feeling these different things for her, even in the beginning. He was so in love with her, but his heart knew it before his head could even comprehend it.

Though now that he was thinking about it, his face scrunched up a little as he wondered what she was doing right now. He had gotten up earlier than she did and slipped out of their cell quietly so she could sleep a little longer, and he's been outside ever since.

"Hey Daryl!" he heard a voice suddenly call.

He turned around to see Maggie standing there with one hand blocking the sun from her eyes, "I can take over if you want to relax a bit?" she suggested.

He nodded his head, "Thanks." he said before switching places with her, turning to head back into the prison and out of the baking sun.

When he made it over to pull open the heavy door, making his way into the common room, he stopped dead in his tracks with furrowed brows as he almost didn't believe what he was seeing. Merle was sitting down at one of the tables with Rose placed right across from him, playing cards together peacefully. He stood back for a moment in complete silence, watching them with a small smile on his face and his arms crossed over his chest as he was almost curious to see the interaction.

Rose sighed in defeat as she glanced up, "Alright what do you got?" she asked the man.

Merle gestured out to her, "Please, lady's first."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, laying down her cards that clearly weren't a very good pair. Daryl couldn't really tell what they were from where he was standing, but just by seeing the look on Merle's face, she had clearly lost terribly.

Merle started to chuckle, placing his cards down flat on the table right after her, "Ace of spades little lady." he bragged.

"How?" Rose questioned, with shock clear in her voice.

He shrugged, "Years of practice. Give up yet?" he asked while gathering the entire deck in his hands.

"No...I'll win one game, I can feel it." she said oh so confidently with a smug smile.

Merle chuckled at the girl before taking a brief moment to really look at her. There was no denying that there was something about her that drew him in. Though not in any romantic way, he couldn't really pinpoint what it was. She radiated a very good energy that he desperately needed, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was part of the reason Daryl was with her.

She made him somehow feel warmer inside even though he hardly knew her at all. It was a little concerning to him considering Merle didn't really care much for anyone, but as he spent more time with her, the man grew to care the smallest bit for Rose. But he would rather die than say it out loud of course.

He then snapped out of his thoughts and started to shuffle the cards expertly on the table, "Alright suit yourself. But just know this will end with me winning the twelfth game in a row." he spoke cockily.

"Well, it's a good thing we aren't betting on anything then, isn't it?" she questioned with a tilt of her head.

He chuckled quietly to himself as he started to pass out the cards. "Careful, he cheats like there's no tomorrow." Daryl's voice suddenly spoke from the entrance.

Their heads turned towards the right as they looked at him and Rose instantly smiled, "Hey, where have you been?"

"Been out on watch for a few hours," he muttered as he moved across the space to take a seat next to her, "What're ya playin?"

"Playin rummy, and your girl here hasn't won a single game." Merle stated.

Rose placed a hand over her chest in mock offense, "Wow, you know in my defense it's been a while since I've played, okay? No need to get cocky."

The brothers chuckled quietly, while Daryl then spotted some soup Rose had been eating right beside her, reaching his arm around to take a spoonful into his mouth. Rose never took her eyes off of the cards she was dealt, but she wordlessly pushed the bowl closer to him so he could have as much as he wanted. Daryl mumbled a quiet "thank you."before taking another huge bite into his mouth, while Merle looked at them with a scrunched up face.

"Y'all make me sick." he said.

"Shut up." Daryl muttered as Rose peered over her cards to send him a glare.

He chuckled to himself before perking up a bit to watch the two closely. He didn't know if he liked the idea of his baby brother being in a relationship let alone watching it unfold in front of him. He thought relationships were a waste of time and always ended badly, at least they always did for him. But what Merle really couldn't wrap his head around, was how Daryl was able to get her in the first place.

He knew how awkward his brother was around women, so when he saw their interaction as they tearfully parted ways just days prior, he was truly shocked. Daryl was never good with women and had never really been in a serious relationship before, so Merle thought that they wouldn't last long at all.

But as he watched Daryl help her put her cards in place, seeing her laugh quietly about whatever he was whispering in her ear, a thought crossed his mind that maybe they would be okay.

"Put that one down." he muttered to her as he ate another bite.

She glanced at the card before raisin an eyebrow toward him, "Isn't this kind of cheating?" she asked.

"Nah." he shrugged, watching her place down the card anyway.

After a few more long rounds, Rose was finally successful as she had won a game all by herself and feeling quite proud about it too. The Dixon brothers were amused at how happy she was, clapping her hands excitedly with a wide smile on her face. And although Daryl would never admit it, he liked seeing his brother and his girl get along. He didn't want them to get too close however because he knew deep down that his brother wasn't the best person, but he still wanted them to get somewhat comfortable around one another considering the man was still his family.

Rose then got up from her seat after the last game came to an end, "Alright, I'm going to stretch my legs, do you know who's on watch?" she asked Daryl.

"Maggie took over for me, but I dunno if she's still out there." he informed.

She just nodded and headed out for some fresh air, practically skipping out of the prison to talk to Maggie about her fantastic win against Merle.

Daryl watched her walk all the way outside, before turning back to his brother and raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, "Ya let her win." he said.

Merle only shrugged, "Don't know what you're talkin about."

His eyes narrowed for a moment as he saw right through his lie, but said nothing as he nodded in response, before dealing the cards again to play a round with him. Though he couldn't stop the knowing smirk from forming on his face as he thought about how his brother was becoming a little soft for the girl he loved so deeply.

Rose made her way outside and went up to where Maggie usually was when she kept watch but she scrunched up her face slightly when she wasn't there. Her eyes then panned around before her face fell slightly at the person she saw standing on the other side instead. It was Glenn, and by the looks of it he hadn't seen her walk out yet.

She didn't want to be in this constant fight with him anymore, but at the same time didn't know if he would be willing to talk to her, and she didn't want to get him all riled up again. She then just decided to look out at all of the walkers surrounding the fence, avoiding looking in his direction as she got some sunlight on her skin. This all felt so stupid, fighting constantly about pretty much nothing when the both of them knew they should be cherishing these moments instead.

Ever since the first few incidents with The Governor, the reality check being thrown in their faces, they shouldn't take anything for granted. Not anymore.

"Hey." his voice suddenly spoke from next to her, nearly restarting her heart.

She jumped slightly at his sudden presence as she didn't even hear him walk up to her, "Jesus...Christ." she enunciated as she held her chest, feeling her heart pound beneath her palm.

He laughed lightly, "I-...sorry." he spoke a bit sheepishly.

"It's okay." she reassured.

The two seemed to stand in awkward silence for a few long and lingering moments, before Glenn tried to keep the conversation going, "So...what are you doing out here?"

"Oh, I just...needed some fresh air. I felt like I was inside for too long..." she trailed off.

There was another silence and it was clear neither one of them knew what to say. Glenn for one wanted to apologize for being such a dick to her recently, he wanted to explain that it wasn't her, and it was just because he was angry about everything that had been happening around them. One thing on top of another. He truly missed her a lot, catching himself a number times the past couple of days trying to look for her to tell her something. But then remembering that they weren't really speaking.

Rose on the other hand, just wanted to talk to him like normal again, whether he apologized or not. She understood in the back of her mind why he had been acting this way, and it wasn't his fault. He had every right to be angry about the situation and what The Governor did to both him and Maggie. She just wanted her best friend back.

The two of them then both inhaled suddenly as if they were going to speak at the same time, laughing quietly to themselves as they seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Rose gestured to him, "You first."

His eyes softened as he glanced towards her, "Rose I...I just want to say I'm sorry. I've been such an asshole to you recently and you haven't even done anything wrong. I'm just- just so angry at like... everything. And I just want this to be over- The Governor I mean, and the things I've said to you recently...I didn't mean any of it. I'm just sorry. You think you could...forgive me?"

She didn't say anything as he finished speaking, only bringing him in for a tight hug almost instantly. He was shocked at first at the quickness of her actions, but then wrapped his arms around her with a growing smile on his face. A wave of relief washed over him, knowing she wasn't upset anymore and wanted to be done fighting just as much as he did.

"I'm sorry too." she spoke gently as she pulled away, "I'm pretty sure I've said some fucked up things to you too and you didn't deserve that. I just miss you."

"I miss you too." he expressed, "God, you have no idea how hard it was to not talk to you, I have so much to tell you." he said.

She laughed lightly at his excitement, "Well, tell me everything."

He smiled brightly, "Okay, okay, so there has been one good thing that's been happening in the midst of all this bullshit..." he stated before pausing for some dramatic effect, "...I'm going to ask Maggie to marry me."

Her eyes widened and a huge grin was plastered on her face, "Oh my God!" she pushed his shoulder lightly, "Oh, that's so great, I'm so happy for you!"

"Do you think she'll say yes?" he asked sheepishly.

She scoffed, "Are you kidding me, you guys are so in love it makes me want to vomit. And that's coming from me." she gestured.

He laughed at her words before reaching down and fishing through in his pocket for a moment or two, pulling out the ring he had seconds later to show her. She gazed down to look at it and her smile got even wider if that were possible, watching it glisten in the sunlight.

"Wow this is so crazy. You're proposing." Rose almost squealed.

"I know." Glenn squealed back and took her hands in his as they jumped up and down a few times from their excitement, laughing loudly together as they did so.

They then spent the next few hours together on watch, talking constantly the entire time. There was never a dull moment as they sat out there together, not once. Both of them felt utterly relieved to have each other again, especially when they didn't really know what the future looked like for them. The two hoped that everything would work out, but nothing is guaranteed these days. All they knew right now however, is that they had each other again.

~ Thanks for reading!

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter nine.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: Day 162 - also known as the first day of the expedition

Warnings: titans, blood and violence mention, arguments, semi-gaslighting, …things get heated in a wink wink nudge nudge way

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER NINE.

“Head’s up! Titan spotted on the northeast.”

It’s the first time the Captain of the Special Operations Squad has spoken to the group this morning, inching towards the early afternoon.

The team formation is simple: you’re dead center in a protective diamond while Levi’s black stallion charges in the lead. This was a non-negotiable decision, unanimously agreed upon by your Scout colleagues. 

Your safety, as they claim, is their top priority.

(The mission, as you'd argue, should be their top priority instead.)

And after yesterday's argument, you still feel sour. Devastated. Low, like their efforts don't really mean much.

Lack of sleep can get your comrades killed.

Why would he say that? Did Levi do something wrong when you were still yourself?

Through supper and well into the evening hours, you're stuck on that very question. Every word, every syllable, is loaded.

Lack of sleep can get your comrades killed. Don’t repeat past mistakes.

Just thinking about it breaks your skin into a cold sweat.

(Was it not Levi who fucked up, but you?)

You can’t ask.

Levi managed to avoid group breakfast in the crawling dawn, out of sight and out of mind until the agreed upon expedition hour — 06:00 hours — came to a head.

"How big is it?" Eld asks, squinting against the sun.

"Three meters at most," Levi states.

“I got this,” Eld promises, breaking formation at Levi’s right hand as his horse gallops to the right side of the diamond.

The decorated steed veers into the east, before a burst of life ignites the wires of Eld's ODM gear.

He latches onto the nearby tree trunks, zipping through the field to eliminate the problem.

“Show off,” Oluo huffs.

You continue riding along with the rest of the group, watching as the three-meter titan goes down without much of a fight. Eld uses the fallen body to latch into its skin, zipping back towards the group with ease.

Killing titans is easy.

Predicting where they might come from is where it gets tricky.

It’s like this for hours — spotting rogue titans, mostly under five meters, mindlessly wandering the fields of what used to be. The squad takes turns destroying the humanoid creatures, giving everyone ample opportunity to get their blades wet.

Everyone but you.

After yesterday’s fight, you’re too scared to ask Levi why — so you keep your mouth shut.

The tension is palpable despite your best efforts; Petra gives a look every few kilometers, curious as to why you have yet to speak up or participate in sporadic conversation. In your peripheral vision you see the way her round eyes scrutinize your face, nose scrunched in interest.

You only stare ahead at the tail of Levi’s horse.

“How much further until we set up camp, Captain?” Gunther calls from the back of the diamond.

“A few kilometers,” Levi supplies. “We’ll tend to the horses and set up a watch rotation for the night.”

“Calling dibs on second!” Oluo shouts to your left.

Petra’s head whips to the side, her arm raising to signal the rest of the group. “Another three-meter on my side! Want James to take it, Captain?”

She must see it. She must notice how you’re itching to get into the action, to prove your worth on the team.

You stare ahead, blinking up to the undercut disappearing and reappearing from the whip of raven-black hair.

Mentally, you try to form a psychic link.

Let me, you beg. Let me show everyone that I’m not a waste of space. Let me show you that I’m still me, whoever she is.

Levi takes a moment to think about it before speaking.

“Gunther, take it down.”

You deflate, your fists loosening on the reigns of your horse.

You could do it — break formation and ignite your ODM gear — but that runs the risk of slamming into Petra if she doesn’t duck.

The diamond has, quite literally, trapped you in.

Gunther doesn’t hesitate to act. With the sharp whiz of his ODM wires, the man abandons his horse at the back of the formation. His blades extend from their rectangular sheaths.

Within minutes, the titan goes down with a wail.

To not run into any abnormal titans so far is only a blessing — but the nearing forest, dense with tree trunks and overgrown bushels of leaves, is anything but.

You don’t need to remember how this goes to know the forest is a death trap.

Still, the tall trunks will provide ample vantage point for the nearing evening.

Levi holds a fist up at the mouth of the clearing, causing all horses to cease. Their puffs of exhaustion mix with the serene ambience of chirping birds and singing crickets.

It’s hard to forget how easily a titan can sneak in for a meal here.

“Set up a shelter and start a fire,” Levi orders, hopping off of his black stallion to turn towards the group. His eyes connect with every squad member — everyone but you. “We’ll stay here for the night and push on in the morning.”

“Captain,” you blurt, the intrusive thought hitting your tongue well before you can stop it.

Levi continues his air of boredom, but his eyes belatedly glance towards you. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

Your eyes connect.

Your stomach churns with transparent butterflies.

“Since everyone else spent the day taking down titans, I volunteer first watch,” you state.

“Denied,” Levi answers.

Your eyes widen a fraction of an inch. “What?”

“I always take the first watch.”

Like you’re supposed to know that already. Your body flushes with embarrassment.

“But I—”

“Actually, Captain, the time that’s spent with the rest of us resting could benefit James’ understanding of the mission,” Petra chirps as she dismounts her horse, rubbing at her stiff wrists. “I think James has been eager to help. And if she’s taking first watch with you, then we know she’s in good hands.”

You whip your attention towards her, shocked she spoke up at all.

The men grunt with approval of the redhead’s offer, stretching their limbs to relieve some of the long ride’s aches.

Captain Levi’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t say anything.

Petra doesn’t look your way, not when she’s already turned six shades paler with worry that she overstepped with Levi. Instead she pretends to look around at the nature surrounding the group.

She disappears into the middle of the group, decidedly fussing over the makeshift fire Oluo has started with dry twigs and other nearby supplies.

Had she meant to do that? Question Levi's comfort? It doesn’t seem like it.

Either way, you’re now trapped with two very real facts:

One, you’re taking the first watch of your first real expedition.

And two, you’re doing so with Levi, who cannot back out without arousing suspicion.

A wire whizzes above your head.

With that, Levi Ackerman disappears from view into the tall, tall trees.

You rearrange your cloak, mindful of how heavy the blade sheaths are at your hips, before igniting your ODM gear to follow. Wind whips against your face, cool and crisp.

From up here, you can see everything: the vast field leading back to Wall Rose, the dilapidated buildings of a civilization that once was, the life that found a way where titans cannot reach.

It would be peaceful if you were up here alone, but you’re not.

Levi is already crouched by the time you reach the highest branch. Beneath your feet is a massive expanse of flat wood, likely hundreds of years old.

The heels of your boot click when you float down onto its surface.

The captain says nothing.

For a few agonizing minutes, it stays that way. Birds chirp. Fireflies float. Cloaks billow.

This is going to be the longest watch of your life.

Sitting down on the flat trunk-like branch, you run your tongue against the seam of your lips.

You shouldn’t—

You can’t—

But you do.

“Y'know, we have to talk eventually.”

Your voice, echoing gently at this high altitude, surprises even yourself. A part of you wishes you could take it back, to keep your mouth shut, but another part?

Another part knows the entire expedition can’t last like this.

Captain Levi stands from his casual kneel. “No, we don’t.”

You sigh with exhaustion, but it isn’t from the grueling ride out to the forest. “I didn’t act out my memory maliciously, Levi.”

“At the moment, you will address me as Captain.”

Your eyes connect with the gray of his. His voice is hollow.

“Seriously?” you mumble.

His brow quirks. “Am I laughing?”

This? This is fucking ridiculous.

Rising to stand, you brush off rogue specs of leaf from your uniform. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten you so freaked out, but I thought you would enjoy the surprise, Captain.” You dislike how angry you sound, but you are — angry. Mad, that he won’t speak to you clearly about the situation. “As far as I could tell, it was a happy memory for me.”

“A happy memory or not, it wasn’t appropriate,” Levi snaps. “Sneak-attacking what you remember and what you don’t doesn’t—”

“It wasn’t a sneak attack!” you protest in a yelp.

“It is.” He argues. “It was. Because I need to know how to act accordingly around you—”

“Captain—”

“—and being launched into what used to be doesn’t help.”

Into what used to be.

How to act accordingly around you.

A larger bird than the blue jays in the area coos overhead — possibly an owl, hooting as the night takes over the sky.

The tension can be cut with a knife as Levi stares at you, and you stare back. You try fitting the puzzle pieces together without saying a word.

Why does he have to act a certain way around you?

Does this have to do with what happened on the supply building roof at headquarters?

“Captain,” you slowly start, choosing to remain civil. Respectful. “I apologize — for catching you off guard, for not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. I recognize that you and I have history, whatever that might really be.”

There.

History — recognition flickers in his gaze.

Commander Erwin’s words come flooding back to the forefront of your memory:

I had anticipated this… situation to be a bit of a shock to him.

The spars. The special treatment. The way he sat with you on that roof.

You remember looking up at Commander Erwin with surprise when he asked if Levi had visited you during your recovery within Trost Headquarters; the way he appeared surprised when you told him that Levi never once showed; the moment he made you question everything.

We returned two weeks ago from the expedition. I assumed he would have at least attempted once.

You were surveying the cadet training, sir, you told him.

I was, Commander Erwin confirmed, but he wasn’t.

Then where the hell was Levi, if not with Erwin?

“You’re taking the second watch,” Levi decides with an abruptness that catches you completely off guard. “Ask Eld to cover you.”

His words are a cold splash of water to the face. “Wait, are you serious?” Levi is expressionless. “No. No, Captain, I am not leaving.”

There is a hint of anger in his clipped question.

“Are you disobeying direct orders?”

“That wasn’t a direct order, sir,” you reply. “You never ordered me. You only told me. There’s a distinct difference.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t be a smartass.”

Except the murmur is a thinly-veiled threat and nothing more.

Somehow you’re confident enough about it that you take a few steps into the wide gap between you.

“You said you wouldn’t shut me out,” you urge softly, hoping to spark his own memory in your panic. “I made a mistake and I am sorry for it, but—”

“No, shithead, what I said is that you need to leave.”

You frown. “But why? Why can’t we talk?”

“Disobeying orders and questioning your superior. Are you trying to rack up all possible offenses in one night?”

“You are not my superior, Levi. Not technically. Captain, Lieutenant, it’s all arbitrary bullshit Erwin made up.” Your eyes squint to narrow slits as your frustration climbs. He doesn’t correct you when you sneer at his first name. “I am trying to understand why you became so freaked out over a silly move I pulled when we were teenagers—”

“Enough.”

“—and why saying some silly phrase like dirty trick is such a big deal to you so I don’t make the same mistake again in the future!” you continue. “Because if I missed something? Because if that moment of us in the Underground is linked to something bad that I’m not remembering, since it feels pretty good to me when I say it—”

“I said enough,” Levi barks.

Something ignites in you to step forward, teeth bared.

“Don’t talk down to me like a fucking cadet, Levi.”

A flinch of muscle is all you need to see to know that Levi is as surprised as you to hear the acidic swear on the tip of your tongue — both brows move north from their neutral position, and suddenly the air feels thick.

“Is that not what you are?” he challenges, low and dangerous as he mirrors your step forward. “Because last I checked, you were barely a Scout anymore. You were just some dumbass with a fucked up memory.”

The insult stings its intended target.

You wince, but hold your ground.

“Now you’re saying shit to hurt me because you’re scared.”

“I’m not.”

“Levi, you’re being mean,” you murmur. “You hate not having control. I get that. I hate not having control over my own head, but you don’t get to be an asshole so you can feel better about a fucked-up situation.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do, and I’m tired of you pretending I don’t. Hiding away from me doesn’t protect me.”

You trudge closer towards your captain, but he bridges the gap for you: one step of his boot and he’s eye-to-eye with you, here, in the middle of this clearing.

The green flecks in the gray of his eyes bring some sickening softness to your belly, quelling a fraction of the fire within. It reminds you of summertime and darkness. A dichotomy of things you once loved — and things that once scared you.

Levi stares head on, seemingly disinterested in your psychological assessment.

Yet when your eyes drop to his arms, you see the most obvious tell of all: his fists are pale, fingers gripped in white-knuckled balls of restraint.

So you ask the first question that comes to mind, throwing caution to the wind:

“Are you afraid I’m gonna actually die this time?”

By the sound of his breath hitching in his throat, it’s safe to assume your question has caught Humanity’s Strongest off guard. 

Painfully earnest, your words are woven in a confusion threatening to choke the life out of you.

And Levi — Levi is four shades of enraged, glaring straight through you.

“I don’t give a shit if you live,” Levi corrects with a snarl.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Then allow me to keep the first watch,” you reason. “And second. And third, because if you don’t give a shit, then who cares, right? I'll be tired. Maybe a titan will take me out so you can stop having to deal with my insufferable ass.”

“No.”

Your chin tilts. “But you said you don’t—”

“Why do you want to die so fucking bad?” he shouts, his spit hitting your cheek. “Why bother coming back to me if all you wanted to do was throw away your second chance?”

He realizes a second too late what he’s said —

— what he’s done.

For a man who’s spent the better half of the hour telling you he isn’t scared, that he doesn’t care, Levi Ackerman looks absolutely terrified as he stands speechless in the aftermath of his own wrongdoing. 

For minutes neither of you move. Neither of you look away.

Something dark brews behind Levi’s stormy eyes as you watch with unshakeable shock.

What can you say to go back twenty seconds?

The damage has already been done.

You both know it.

Your stomach sinks in sickening foresight.

“Forget it,” he dismisses.

No.

“Levi.”

He’s turning.

“Levi.”

You don’t know why you reach out, but your hands claw at his sleeve to stop him. He continues to turn.

Desperation takes your hand from his shoulder to his face, and quickly your palm paws at his cheek to pull him back.

He presses hard against your palm, fighting its hold, but you manage to bring his face close to yours in a rushed exhale.

Levi breathes heavily through his nose, nostrils flared and eyes downcast.

"James." It's hardly a murmur.

“Don’t,” you beg under your breath. “Don’t shut me out.”

What are you doing?

What are you doing?

He remains locked in place, all his limbs taut. He doesn’t, however, fling you from his body.

You keep his face caged between your hands.

“You said you wouldn’t shut me out.”

“James—”

His voice is different. Huskier.

Is that a plea?

You shake your head wildly, overcome with fright.

“Don’t shut me out,” you croak once more. “Please don’t leave and shut me out.”

The angle of Levi’s face serpentines from where he was running to come back to you.

Your faces collide, nose to nose.

His hot breath spans across your face in shaken puffs.

"Don't leave and shut me out," you repeat, voice cracking.

His head shakes, causing his nose to nuzzle yours.

“Won’t—”

“Please don’t leave me,” you repeat on the verge of crying.

His voice drops to a whisper, a prayer.

“Never—”

“Don’t leav—”

Your lips close, pressed together by something soft and warm. The sound dies muffled.

As if held hostage by your own body, you tense when a pair of warm hands encircle your head, pulling you closer to a softness in contrast of your desperation.

You blink once and see it.

Levi’s eyes are screwed shut, brows painfully knit together, as his lips move against yours. A boot shuffles, angling the scent of his sweat to engulf you.

Instinctively your fingertips curl around his head, digging into his cheeks when you kiss back with profound starvation.

Spurred by your actions, a ragged exhale causes his lips press harder. The thumbs against your face run absently along your skin, as if to quell the anxiety plaguing your mind.

You pull him impossibly closer, matching the intensity of the kisses.

As if you're drowning.

As if it's been forever.

The tip of his tongue flicks against your lower lip. Wordlessly it requests consent, and your lips part eagerly to comply. He takes the opportunity and runs with it as his tongue seeks yours for salvation, gliding with practiced ease.

Inadvertently you whimper from the contact.

The sound is enough to yank him clear from your ironclad grip, dragging your nails across his face.

Gray eyes meet yours with a swirl of emotion — awe, uncertainty, dread — with lips pinker than before.

Your hands remain in the air from where you had him.

Red streaks line the sides of his face like hastily-drawn whiskers.

All you can do is stare.

Levi Ackerman has never looked so vulnerable.

“I order you,” he finally says, voice wrecked, “to tell Eld to accompany me for the first watch.”

You finally breathe, hands dropping unceremoniously to your sides.

"Yes, sir," you obey on autopilot.

He doesn’t need to say it twice.

You spin on a heel.

Your ODM gear ignites back to life.

.

author note: ...remember when i said i had a scene written for forever? tehee.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami

[flippinpancakes64]

Jasper with a Cervitaur Mate

A Cervitaur is a deer Centaur, something like:

(this is also my art, feel free to use it)

Jasper with a Cervitaur! Reader

Tbh going into this I had no clue what a cervitaur even was. I feel like the premise is self-explanatory though so I'm rolling with it

Also I am making another attempt at a narrative story so hopefully this is good. I just figured that headcanons wouldn't be able to do this topic justice

And yes as always I got carried away sue me

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

"I bet that I'll get a bigger catch than you today," Emmett said as he leapt over a rock.

"You're on," Jasper replied smugly, running through the trees.

Emmett and Jasper were currently running far away from the Cullen house, deep into the woods. It was nice to be in a new place far away from the wolves. They didn't have to watch where they went anymore.

It was currently the middle of the day, the sunlight beaming through the breaks in the leaves above, catching on their skin as they drifted through.

"What are you thinking today? A bear, a jaguar, a mountain lion, a hyena" Emmett asked.

"... I'm not sure... maybe a deer," Jasper answered, coming to a halt as the pair reached the edge of a cliff.

"A deer? Those things are so weak though!" Emmett replied incredulously.

"But they taste good," Jasper deadpanned. "Those bears that you insist on catching all of the time are way too gamey."

"Whatever. You just don't have good taste."

Jasper rolled his eyes and darted off to the left, intending on finding himself a nice, big deer for dinner. In the distance he heard Emmett veer off to the right, heading towards one of the mountains. Presumably looking for a cave that a bear might be hiding in.

As he ran, he came across a wide, open field filled with flowers. He could hear birds chirping in the trees above, the wind whistling through the blades of grass. In the center of the field laid a deer, its hind legs folded underneath it as it lazed in the field.

He could hear its strong heart beating in its chest, its blood pumping through its veins, its lungs expanding as it breathed deep, even breaths.

He licked his lips, his pitch black eyes widening and then narrowing as he readied to pounce.

But then the deer moved.

Where its head was supposed to be sat a very human torso, large antlers protruded from the creature's head, catching in the sunlight of the field. Jasper stood there stunned, his mouth slightly agape as he took in the mythical being, something that he had never seen before.

"Where's your puny little deer at, bro?" a deep voice boomed from somewhere behind him, he didn't even need to look to know that it was Emmett. And judging from the faint scent of blood running through his veins, he already found his bear.

The deer creature in the field whipped its head around, their human face etched with shock and fear. They quickly raised onto their hooves and began running away as fast as they could.

"Wait!" Jasper called out, already beginning to run after it.

He knew this was a bad idea. He had no reason to be chasing the poor thing anyway. But he just felt so drawn, so enamored. He NEEDED to know what this beautiful creature was.

You were fast, that much was obvious. But no thing with a beating heart and pumping veins would ever be faster than a vampire.

He descended upon you, your galloping hooves beating into the dirt with the fervor of a thousand men in your attempt to escape your pursuer. But it was for nothing. He caught up to you and sprang into the path in front of you, cutting off your exit.

"Don't hurt me, please!" You cried, your breaths heavy and your eyes frantic as they looked into the beautiful, undead face of the man in front of you.

"What are you?" he asked, voice level and calm. He pushed his ability forward, doing his best to wrap you with a blanket of calm and comfort. Trust.

"I... what? You chased me just for that? Aren't you supposed to kill me and then suck all of my blood out?" You asked incredulously.

"How did you know I was a vampire?"

"Well are you a human?"

"...no..."

"Then you're a vampire. If someone looks human but can outrun me then they're a vampire." You explain, weirdly calm now despite being terrified moments ago. Whether that was due to his ability actually working or your nerves having calmed down due to seeing he wasn't going to outright kill you is up for debate.

"Okay, well, still you didn't answer my question, what are you?"

You just look at him strangely for a second.

"You're not gonna hurt me?"

"No, I won't. I promise," he says. You can see the sincerity in his eyes.

"And what about the big guy you left behind?"

"Emmett. I'll make sure he doesn't hurt you either." From far away Jasper can faintly hear Emmett hum in agreement. He guesses the two of you are close enough for him to hear.

"Alright. Sit back and relax while I blow your mind," you say, beginning to tell your story.

And he does. He stands there listening intently.

[pmpmyread]

Ergo Sum // A Destiny 2 fanfic

My contribution to #Destinytober24 for the Ergo Sum prompt!

Summary: In which Eris Morn thinks, therefore she is. Pairing: The Drifter x Eris Morn Content Tags: SFW, Slow Romance, Hurt/Comfort. Eris reflects on Hive godhood, Drifter cooks, Ikora Rey is mentioned. Takes place shortly after the events of Season of the Witch. WC: 3.5k [Also on AO3]

As she strode along the path that paralleled the abandoned human outpost now known as the Anchor of Light, Eris Morn tightened the collar of her cloak, shielding herself from the brisk gusts of crisp lunar night air. For the second time within the hour, she contemplated retracing her steps back to her quarters; for the second time, she submitted to the small voice within her that urged her to keep going.

Today marked two weeks since she’d self-secluded herself to her old stomping grounds, three since her final transformation back from the Hive form she’d borrowed.

“Tea and silence,” she had told the Guardian, expressing her simplest yet most sincere desires following her daunting undertaking.

Ikora Rey had prescribed some much-needed time off the field for her dear friend, and for the first time since she could remember, Eris had actually heeded her advice, taking what must have been her first true break from any Vanguard, or Hive-related activities since she emerged from the Hellmouth all those years ago.

And so, much to the Warlock Vanguard’s relief, Eris found herself facing the opportunity to indulge in copious amounts of tea, accompanied by a few days of serene silence, the likes of which she had not experienced in decades.

This made Ikora’s guilt even more apparent when she had to call Eris into the Tower for help on yet another crisis, a mere few days later.

“I would not dare interrupt your much-deserved rest,” Ikora had said, her dismay audibly apparent to Eris. “However, I’m afraid this recent development requires your expertise, and it unfortunately cannot wait.”

The whirlwind of events that followed involved the discovery of an Ahamkara egg by the Guardian, the subsequent unveiling of a fifteenth and final wish, and a multiple hours-long planning session with Ikora and Mara Sov.

As much as she’d wished it to be unlikely, the realization of Savathûn having at least one card left in her sleeve did not surprise Eris. Over her last years of comprehensive research supplemented by her short yet consequential stint as a Hive god, she had grown intimate with their logics, their rules, and their decrees. She was cognizant of the weight her strikes against both Savathûn and Xivu Arath carried, of the grievous offence that her gambit constituted. But where Xivu’s moves could be more predictable, it was Savathûn’s next ploy that truly kept Eris agitated, particularly considering this new twist, which veered off anything she could have anticipated.

Throughout the day, she had served as the voice of reason, and attempted to counterbalance her more reckless colleagues; the Warlock Vanguard and the Awoken Queen had both become so engrossed with crossing the portal into the Pale Heart that Eris felt like they were no longer hearing her. She feared they were moving perhaps too quickly, without carefully evaluating all angles of the situation before them.

Ikora had briefly acknowledged her reservations while also citing the contingency they had in Immaru’s captivity. While Eris agreed with this, a smaller, shrill voice sounded an alarm, as she could not help but wonder, deep down: what if they were playing right into a larger subterfuge by the Hive god of cunning?

Following a long day of deliberation, the three of them settled on a sensible, albeit not ideal course of action, one that relegated Eris to off-site support, assigned Osiris as the Vanguard liaison, and involved Mara striking a bargain with Riven.

As calm and measured as she had managed to remain throughout the day’s events, extinguishing some of the fires Mara and Ikora risked starting with their more radically imperative approach, Eris had left the meeting in shrouded disquiet.

It was in this frame of mind that she’d made her way towards the Derelict parked by the Tower’s annex, a scheduled stop to attend what had unofficially become a weekly dinner with the Drifter, an inadvertent routine that had settled between them.

The rogue Lightbearer would have all the ingredients out in his kitchen area; Eris would meticulously prep the ingredients, and the Drifter would dexterously transform them into delectable dishes over which the pair would lend a supportive ear to one another. Their growing relationship was ever the odd contradiction, and yet, over time, they had grown familiar and even comfortable within this complementary dance.

That evening, it was over a warm bowl of pineapple fried rice that he had granted her the space she needed, as she unloaded weeks of pent-up worries and doubts. She verbalized her warring thoughts, describing the mental crash she’d felt after reaching the inimitable high of achieving an apotheosis-fuelled level of vengeance, only to be thrown out of the ashes of one conflict, straight into another. She confided her unease with the constant increase in stakes of the escalation in risks as they barrelled towards an inevitability, one she needed not to spell out to the Drifter, who had listened intently before chiming in.

As she relived the tenderness by which he’d crossed the implicit physical barrier between them for the first time, pulling her into a comforting hug, her breath hitched ever so slightly.

“I remember what you said. I think about it more than I should these days.”

“What did I say?”

“That we’ll live in the night if we have to. We do it for what comes after.”

As she replayed this part of his exchange with the Drifter in her mind, which had opened with his considerate and appropriate usage of her own past advice into the current context to assuage her, her brisk walk along Archer’s Line slowed to a trudge.    

“So this is where you wish to be,” she said cautiously. “At the end of all things?”

“Nowhere else.”    

“No more schemes to leave Sol?”

Weeks removed from the moment, Eris could still vividly remember her futile attempts to mask the nervousness beneath her composed facade as she clung to him, the tremors in her voice and her fingers as she heard herself ask a sincere question that she tried - and failed- to disguise as a playful quip, the bated breath she was holding as if everything inside her balanced on the edge of some invisible cliff waiting for his answer.

“Nah,” he said, and looked into her eyes. “I’d miss the moonlight.”

She would have replied if she could have trusted herself to speak. Instead, she’d stood in stunned silence, heat creeping up to her face in response to his quiet confession, just as it was now, quickly counteracting any cooling effect from the cool lunar night air.

When had the Drifter managed to disarm her so efficiently?

She’d found herself, in the two weeks that followed, pondering on this question as she clutched what was more often than not a warm cup of Sencha green tea. Once upon a time, when they both still only circled each other warily, Eris would have dismissed his usual flighty comments with ease.

The familiarity that had since settled between them, symptomatic of their budding bond which had only strengthened since their Stasis training on Europa and during which they’d both served as each other’s support system, had strengthened far beyond simply dispelling the formalities that kept them at a distance.

As much as Eris hated to admit it, and despite her best attempts at resistance, the Drifter had carefully chiseled his way through the guarded exterior she’d carefully built over the years in an overabundance of caution. She’d indulged herself in allowing herself to grow closer to him, under the self-imposed condition that she’d only allow him to see what she wanted him to see.

If the uncharacteristic boldness with which she’d reciprocated the Drifter’s overtures on that evening revealed anything, it was that she was more than willing to let him see a very vulnerable side of her.

On this, she surprised even herself.  

Eris could not pinpoint whether it was her final transformation back to herself, marking the closing of the proverbial chapter or the rare, extended time off alone with the disjointed thoughts tearing through her brain. But the first time since she emerged from the Hellmouth all those years ago, she now envisioned a real possibility of a tangible future for herself, which came with an equally genuine fear of losing it.

And this juxtaposition terrified her, more than any confrontation she may have with the forces of both Xivu Arath and Savathûn, combined.

As such, in the two weeks that followed, she found herself avoiding the Tower altogether, opting instead to stick to her lunar quarters in solitude, only venturing within the vicinity of her abode as needed. Doubt overwhelmed her mind, as thoughts crowded in, a long succession of them jostling each other, only pausing punctually to make way for the pangs of guilt she felt about breaking the streak for what would have marked a full month of weekly dinners with the Drifter; she’d resorted to withdrawing, citing sudden busyness, which constituted, even if technically through omission, a clouded lie.

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped her lips as the realization crossed her mind. Here she was; a woman who was once akin to a god, yet seemingly unable to face the matters of her own heart.

Part of her missed her stint as a Hive god. It was not the heady feeling of pure, unadulterated power, nor the mental patrolling of the fault line between control and madness nor even the inimitable satisfaction and sated vengeance derived from besting not one but two Hive gods in a single movement that she longed for. It was the momentary feeling of mental clarity and fearlessness that overtook her and which contrasted with the state of doubt she currently felt.

What she’d initially planned to be a short, brisk walk to and back from the landing zone that neighboured her quarters to clear her mind had turned into an impromptu self-imposed patrol on the Moon. The familiar outline of the craterous structure that formed out on the horizon brought her out of her reverie as she realized that her mindless walking had led her to the Hellmouth.

By force of habit, Eris took the exact path she’d taken on her very first patrol in the area, one she had committed to memory and had taken on countless occasions since. This instance, however, differed vastly from that initial mission.

Where Hive once hovered around the underground fortress in large groups, their numbers had since dwindled to a fraction of what they once were.

Where there would habitually be Hive acolytes hovering over Eris, adding to the cacophony of the Nightmares that stalked her relentlessly, there was instead a notable retreat within the combatant forces.

Instead of shrinking back into herself, Eris now stood taller, exuding a newfound sense of confidence evident in her posture and confident strides.

Her recent victory against the Osmium dynasty marked a stoppage of a long continuous, it delineated an era shrouded by an ordeal that preceded her emergence from the Hellmouth all those years ago from am. She truly was changed. Perhaps it was time to accept this.

She spotted the familiar rock shelter up ahead, quickening her pace as she entered the secluded area undetected. As she did, she brushed her fingers alongside the right-hand wall, taking the time to feel the ridges she had committed to memory long ago.

To the unknowing eye, it appeared to be a cavern, formed by what must have been aeolian erosion centuries ago. To Eris, it represented much more, having served as her first refuge on the Moon’s surface upon her emergence from the Hellmouth all those years ago.

She settled herself down, sitting on a slightly elevated rocky structure that had once served as a makeshift cot during her initial patrols on the Moon. She subconsciously fished out her Ahamkara bone from the pouch she’d stored it in, losing herself in the mesmerizing glow that emanated from it.

Cold.

Injured.

Lost.

Armed with nothing but the Ahamkara bone in her left hand and Brya’s now Lightless shell in her right, Eris leans her back against the closest wall in an attempt to situate herself. She can physically feel her body running out of the pure adrenaline that has kept her going so far, replacing any hope that had long since evaporated.

There is no way out.

She slinks down to the ground as she begins to accept this. She knows she is close to the end because, for the first time, her mind ventures not to rehash the past but to imagine a far future, of a faraway dream, an inkling of an idea, an unattainable alternate reality. In what she is sure to be her final moments, she dares to wish something greater for herself of a world where she would not only survive this ordeal, but get a chance at a life worth living. This thought spurs her to instinctively give the bone a light squeeze, eliciting an immediate reaction from it.

“Well, well. Eris Morn,” the bone whispers back to her, calling her by name, beckoning her. Eris stares back at it, drawn by its illuminating glow. When she does not respond, it calls out again.

“Eris…?” This time, more hesitantly, as though it is posing a question.

“Eris!” This time, the distorted voice betrays an undertone of urgency and worry.

A gentle squeeze of her shoulder sent a jolt through her body. Her eyes flew open and her chest rose and fell as she attempted to reorient herself. Eris blinked bewilderedly for a few seconds, scanning the area as her brain registered that she was back in the alcove and realizing that she’d dozed off, that the juxtaposition of her rock and the location must have had transported her mind back to those difficult moments in the corridors underneath the Hellmouth.

It was not until the hand released the grip on her shoulder that Eris turned her attention to her unexpected guest, who she now realized was sitting a bit too close for comfort, in typical Drifter fashion. With a slight tilt of his head, an air of amusement quickly replaced the slightest hint of worry that had settled on the rogue Lightbearer’s expression, but not before Eris noticed it.

How long had she been out? How long had he been here? How did he even find her? The questions crowded her clouded mind, jostling each other to reach the head of the line before she settled on one.

“What are you doing here?” Eris asked.

“Well hello to you too, Moondust!” He replied.

“It appears I was lost in… thought,” she said, more to herself than for him to hear, still visibly shaken by the vividness of her memory.

“You sure look out of it, you know, even more than usual!”

“Hmm. And what is that supposed to mean? ”

“Oh, nothing at all!” He stood up in what seemed to be an effort to change the topic, sauntering about the small alcove, brushing his fingers across the wall as he closed the small distance between himself and leaning his back against the opposite wall.

“It’s a nice little nook you’ve got yourself here! A shame I didn’t get to bring a housewarming gift.”

Eris narrowed her eyes at him, trying but failing to come up with a clever retort, a common occurrence as of late.

Both Guardians stared out at the Hellmouth’s entrance in the distance as a stillness settled between them, with nothing but the lunar night breeze serving as background sound. The Drifter shifted his feet, pulling Eris’ attention back to him. His eyes were unfocused, seemingly lost in his own thoughts in a rare and uncharacteristic moment of silence.

Eris retraced the events of the day that led her in this predicament, which had resulted in her sharing, in a moment of mutual contemplation, what had grown to become her little secluded and sacred area with the man she’d been too scared to face for the better part of two weeks.

And yet, oddly enough, in this moment of peace, none of it felt out of place.

She’d taken some distance from it, and god knows she needed it. But in relishing in the comfort that settled within her, a testament to their unspoken connection, Eris also realized how much she’d missed this.

“Tell me, Germaine, how did you find me?” She asked, mustering up the courage to break the comfortable silence.

When he turned to her, it was with an unreadable expression. She wanted to avert her gaze, but found herself incapable of looking away.  

“Three times I went back to that desolate world. Even trekked up within sight of that damn structure, where everything went haywire.”

He didn’t need to elaborate for Eris to understand that he was referring to the incidents surrounding the demise of the crew of humans-turned-guardians he’d traveled with hundreds of years ago, in his early days as a Guardian, a narrative she’d managed to place together through the bits and pieces he’d slowly but surely shared with her as they became more open with each other.

He continued, “Point being, in times of crisis, it’s common to gravitate to something more familiar, however disturbing it may be. You’ve been through a lot lately. I thought to myself, what better place than the Hellmouth for the for the former hive god of vengeance to reflect on her reign?”

His monologue left her speechless. Had she been that easy to read? That train of thought was interrupted when the Drifter came into view, leaning towards her.

“Actually, I tried about seven other locations before getting here. I was just on the point of giving up!” He added.

Eris searched his eyes for a hint of a vestige of the candor he’d just displayed, but the moment appeared to have just escaped her. She nonetheless held onto Drifter’s train of thought, and, as she often did these days when talking with him, felt compelled to elaborate on it.

“I’ve spent so much of my years focusing on survival. I’m just now having to re-learn how to live. Sitting back from this mission with Riven, it’s… forced me to rest and exist in this vacuum of space between wars. I’ve been putting much thought into everything, in this time of low distraction. I’ve contended with darkness for so long that it feels almost familiar, and comfortable. Only now am I getting the chance to wonder what sits on the other side of victory?”  

“Look Moondust, I don’t know what sits on the other side, but I’m sure hopeful. We’ve had such a solid run lately. I’m thinking there’s a universe where we run off most of our threats and that hope turns into reality.”

"And what happens when the threats to this hope are no longer external, when this threat now lives within you?"

“In that case, you neutralize that threat, too. And if you can help it,” he said as he placed his hand on her shoulder, “You don’t go at it alone.” And this, so far, was his only allusion to Eris’ recent avoidance of him. Not a reproach, but an invitation.

Even through his thick gloves, the warmth that emanates from his hand sends a comforting warmth through Eris’ body, a sensation that she could only describe as feeling as home.

She was just basking in the moment when he suddenly stood to his feet and picked up two bags she hadn’t noticed were at his feet.

“So, uh, we’re behind one dinner night. Figured we could have it at yours instead of mine.” He said in a cheerful tone that contrasted the serious one he held a few seconds ago, in yet another instance that had Eris wondering if she’d ever get used to his unmatched ability to transition between moods.

“Are you asking or are you inviting yourself?” She asked.

“I’ve seen your attempts at cooking. You and I both know you haven’t had a decent grub in days secluded out here in your quarters. And that you could use both the meal and the leftovers.”

“You are insufferable.” Was the only thing Eris could find to say, as she quickly rose and ducked out of the cave, in an attempt to mask how truly touched she was by Drifter’s gesture.

“I think the words you’re looking for are: Thanks, Drifter!” He called out to Eris, as he took long strides to catch up to her.

“Do not let this get to your head.” She replied, pulling her cloak up to hide the faint smile that was tugging at the corner of her lips.

As soon as they reached Eris’ quarters, the Drifter got to work. He expertly maneuvered around her small space, making an effective cooking station out of her otherwise cramped kitchenette.

As Eris observed the Guardian whose reputation starkly clashed with the man beneath the mask, her thoughts flitted once again, this time to this fire-forged partnership put to the test of a near domestic normalcy.

To what was once such a distant dream echoed while she had her back against the wall, ideas desperately held on to as she resolutely clutched her Ahamkara bone. This time, it was all configured under a different light.

Warm.

Healing.

Seen.

A/N: Massive thanks to @d2artevents for picking up the mantle and hosting #Destinytober24 this year!

[dukeofankh]

The discourse about whether romance novel fans are porn addicts is dumb and hilarious. Like, are the books deeply pandering escapist fantasies that usually veer into deeply horny fuck scenes? Yes. Are they PORN though? Oh, absolutely also yes.

The issue isn't whether it's porn. It's that porn addiction isn't real, and getting mad at women for reading porn makes even less sense than being mad at men for watching it, considering at this point the people aren't even real so it's not even like there's a risk of exploitation.

Does it make someone an addict to consistently read books that make them feel good? No. Might not be the most challenging or enriching thing ever, but who gives a shit. People don't have an obligatory quota of deep existential thought that they're shirking by reading thinly veiled Reylo fanfic. Reading words isn't something you can be addicted to. That's not what addiction means. Just straight up. Even when it's compulsive or self-soothing behaviour, that's still not the same as an addiction and you need to stop acting like your youth pastor and/or favourite sex-negative tumblrista knows better than a field full of people with PHDs in neurochemistry, who consistently maintain both the conclusion that the only aspect of porn consumption that is bad for you is the shame some people feel for consuming it, and also that since people can develop compulsive relationships to anything including eating hair, laser focusing on that happening with porn specifically is pretty clearly just a basicass moral panic.

If I could watch movies about a cool awesome guy that everyone thinks is the coolest, and all the dudes are like "oh no here comes the coolest dude ever, I lose and you win" and the girls are all like "but you only have one penis and me and my gorgeous frenemy each have several holes how are we going to figure this out?"...I...would? And I do? Its not hypothetical. I am a dude. That's what a lot of media aimed at dudes has, historically, been. Wish fulfillment. Ladies should also get wish fulfillment.

Like, is it cringe to see people geeking out about their porn in public? Yeah. I don't tend to do that, personally. I think that since people tend to see women's desire in a toothless and objectified way, there's a tendency for some people to overlook how broadcasting it can put people off in public spaces. But that's more of an issue of social media cramming everyone into the same space and destroying the barriers between niche hobby spaces and adult spaces and people's public news feeds. The women reading the porn is fine. The women liking the porn is fine. The women talking to other women about how they like the porn is fine. Something annoying you or disgusting you is fine, but then that's kind of all that can or should be said. There isn't a step two. There isn't a step where you should shame and smear people until they never annoy or disgust you.

At this point society's morals are pretty broadly varied. Theres only a few things left you can call someone that are received with the scorn and shame you meant them with in any consistent way. And that's why everyone spends all of their time calling people they don't like either pedophiles or addicts. It's getting tiring.