#we had roast dinner every night for a week

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

@ninjadeathblade PabuDad!Hunter right here

One thing I do want to have happen on Pabu is that Hunter suddenly goes full fucking domestic. Yes he was a clone sergeant in special forces and has a half face tattoo of a skull but now he is a STAY AT HOME DAD and he has opinions on CURTAINS and is GOING TO THE FARMERS MARKET. You can't fucking stop him. He's going to learn to cook.

Echo gets a visit from Tech, Crosshair, AND Wrecker and it turns out that they're here in this potential war zone to escape Hunter's cooking projects because he's very much not good at it yet. Omega tried to hide in the cargo hold but if they took her with them Hunter would DEFINITELY follow so. Sorry kid.

Back home Omega is eating a possibly toxic souffle and plotting revenge.

[shadowdarlings]

Rain & Redemption II

Tamlin x Reader

Synopsis : The Lord of Spring has returned, with his nightingale in tow. While readapting to civilized life you and Tamlin face reality together.

part one

Pairings : TamlinxReader

a/n : so i am really digging the first part of this story and decided that i want to continue writing at 12:07am so i hope you enjoy this as much as i did <3

Warnings : slight angst (with comfort), mentions of trauma, suggestiveness, as always possessive tamlin (in a good way)

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

Dinner with Tamlin was a drawn out affair. The deer he hunted down, no doubt in his beast form, had to be prepped and cooked. While he began dressing the fallen creature you took it upon yourself to begin sifting through the discarded and destroyed artifacts that littered the dining area. Although the manor had been shredded and abandoned, you couldn’t help but marvel at its refreshing beauty. Here there was light. Massive glass windows looked out to a rose garden that was surely once well manicured. The sun had already started its descent past the horizon but light still streamed in from every corner. The manor was everything that your home under that gods forsaken mountain wasn’t. The Hewn City was all darkness and stale air. You began sorting things into two piles. Items that were fairly unharmed were deemed “to keep”, others that had been completely torn apart were tossed into a discard pile. The two of you worked diligently in silence until he looked up from the deer and said, “You never told me your name.” You tore your gaze from the chipped vase in your hands and met his stare. “You never asked,” you began with a playful smugness, “but it’s Y/N.” Something unreadable flickered in his green eyes before a slight smirk cracked on his face. “Well, Y/N,” he said with a dramatic pause, “our dinner is ready to be cooked. How do you like your venison?”

You both agreed that without a working kitchen that a fire would be the best way to roast the deer. While he built a fire you toyed with an idea. “What if we preserved some of this beautiful bounty into something that will last beyond a night?” you asked him. Tamlin threw another piece of wood onto the makeshift fire and answered your question with his own. “As in a jerky? How do you mean?” That was exactly what you had meant. The future of your time in this manor and when you would next have a full meal was entirely uncertain. The topic had hardly been broached. “Unless you intend to spend the rest of your days hunting and building fires, it might be a prudent idea.” He looked you over before replying, “Smart, little bird. We’ll make two steaks for tonight and dry out the rest. It should preserve overnight and we can feast on jerky for weeks.” Satisfied with your quick thinking you helped him prepare the meat for roasting.

“What did you mean when you said you are not fit to be a ruler?” you asked after another bout of silence. Tamlin stilled his spinning of your dinner over the fire and his gaze shot to the flames between you. “I’m sorry,” you quickly said, “If I’m prying too much.” He did not look up from the inferno but said quietly, “I have abandoned my people and my post. Those who reside in the Spring Court put their faith in me. I have failed them again and again, in so many ways.” You blinked once at his brutal honesty before prodding further. “Will they not look to you once more? Surely there is a way to regain their trust.” His eyes moved from the fire to your own. They were filled with such sadness, such regret. “I would not know where to start, little nightingale.” You scoffed lightly as his response. “Well,” you began, “I think leaving those woods and coming home is already a start, wouldn’t you say? If you’re willing to return just to ensure the safety of a lone Night Court citizen, I can’t imagine what you might be willing to do for your people.” The sadness in his eyes faded ever so slightly as he said, “Since you’re so full of wisdom tonight, pray tell how might I continue this path of redemption?” You smiled at that.

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

Tamlin was restless. Every time he started to fade away, sleep evaded him and he was jolted awake by poisoned memories. He had declared that he wanted to sleep outside the manor to stay alert for any looters or more dangerous creatures. He’d shifted into his beast form and taken post directly in front of the entrance just as night had overtaken the Spring Court. Truly, he was not sure if he was ready to sleep under this roof again. The two of you had talked for hours, discussing your histories and what the future of the Spring Court might look like. He’d escorted you to your room and bid you a gentlemanly goodnight, but your conversation replayed in his mind endlessly. A loose plan had been set in place to begin repairing his relations with those that depended on him. You had been so eager and determined while you both brainstormed ideas for making amends. He admired your tenacity yet was not fully convinced that this plan would work effectively. The thought made him queasy. His heart began a pace that tightened his chest and he was sure that if he’d been in his fae form that his palms would be sweaty. Tamlin shoved his anxieties down and recalled what you had told him about Rhysand, about how he’d condemned the entire Hewn City to a life of cruelty and rot. Although the idea of tomorrow sent him into an unending panic, he did not wish for you or any of his people to endure the same neglect for another moment.

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

The morning light creeped in through the open window in your bedroom. It took a moment to recall everything that had happened, where you now were. The bedding had been dusty but a few shakes had it cleaner than before. You didn’t mind dirt, you’d spent a year lying on the forest floor. Waking up in a soft bed had become unfamiliar, but you relished the softness of the pillows and blankets before sitting to stretch your limbs. Moving to the armoire, you sifted through the clothing to find a pale green dress and a set of cream slippers. The outfit was plain but you didn’t particularly mind. Your mission for today did not require glittering attire. You fixed your hair into a loose braid and pulled two strands from the front to frame your face. After giving yourself a once over in the looking glass you deemed your appearance fit for the task at hand.

Tamlin was already dressed in a tunic and pants that were similar in style to the night before. You only gave yourself a moment to admire his wide shoulders before clearing your throat. He turned from his work on the piles you had created the night before and said “Good morning,” before he faltered. His eyes widened slightly and dragged up and down your figure. Meeting your gaze once more he choked out, “Well don’t we look the picture of Spring today?” You rolled your eyes at him and moved to take the picture frame from his hands. “We have a job to do, remember?” Tamlin huffed out a weak laugh before replying, “How could I ever forget?” He looked tired. You wondered if he slept as marvelously as you did. Considering that he spent the night on a set of marble stones you didn’t know how he possibly could.

The two of you moved outside to where the deer had been smoking overnight. Indeed it had preserved itself into a jerky that would remain edible for weeks. He started packing the strips into the wooden bin you had found in the kitchens when you said, “I have another idea.” He did not pause his movement or even look at you as he said, “Of course you do.” You pulled a basket from behind your back and waved it in front of his face to draw his attention. “I was thinking,” you began, “we should gather some flowers to take as well. These gardens are completely overrun. There are flowers and berries that need culling anyhow.” He straightened and assessed the gardens before the manor. “As you wish,” was all he said. Tamlin had been quieter than he was last night. You thought it best not to pry further and with his permission granted made your way into the thick of the garden and began collecting the fruits of spring.

When your basket was full and Tamlin had stored all of the dried meat you both began your trek to the nearest village. On horseback, he had told you, it would only take a half hour to reach your destination. After the fall of Spring his array of horses had all been stolen or set free by anonymous citizens. After two hours of walking the two of you were tired and parched. A nearby stream trickled with fresh water and you both drank deeply from its supply. “It’s just over that hill,” he said. The hike had been mostly silent. You were learning to enjoy quiet moments with the High Lord. It was almost as if you had a mutual understanding that the silence was not rude, but instead a peaceful reprieve. “No turning back now,” you said, standing from the stream and straightening your lightweight gown. He grunted in acknowledgment as you both continued your parade to the village.

The sight of the meager town was heartbreaking. Several houses and shops had fallen into rubble and the village center had looked as equally abandoned as the manor. Tamlin halted immediately, his breath quickening. Sensing his discomfort you moved to lace your fingers between his, squeezing tightly. The High Lord did not balk from your touch but instead gave a light squeeze back and continued his approach. The two of you reached a small home that had a plume of smoke rising from a stone chimney. A sign of life. Unlocking your hands you raised a fist and gave two sharp knocks to the wooden door. A few moments of shuffling and then the door swung open to reveal a gruff looking fae male. His eyes first landed on you, then travelled upwards to the towering Lord behind you. The male’s eyes widened with shock and reproach. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he spat at you both. You calmed the annoyance that flowed through you and made your voice gentle as you said, “I- We come to offer a favor to you and your home.” The male looked down at your basket and the dried jerky Tamlin held in his hand. “We don’t need your charity,” the male responded, “we’ve been fairing well enough on our own, girl.” A sweet voice sounded from further into the house, “Mikah? Who is it?” A pretty looking female stepped into the light of the entrance and put her hand on Mikah’s arm. When she turned her gaze to the two of you her expression almost mirrored the males’. “Our High Lord and his… this girl have brought favors.” She looked down to the goods you had presented and back to Mikah. “I told them we were just fine,” he said with a hint of finality in his tone. The female scoffed at him and observed the two of you once more. “We are most certainly not,” she started. “Invite him and the girl inside.” With that she turned and strode back into the house. Mikah gave Tamlin an incredulous look but opened the door further for you to enter.

The female’s name was Cera, you had learned. She fussed over dishes and refreshments as she lamented about their struggles. The village had been ripe for naga attacks and most residents had decided to evacuate the area for fear of their families. “Mikah did not want to leave, of course. He spends most of his days hunting, although they are not always fruitful.” You and Tamlin listened carefully to her story. There were only a few families that had stayed after his disappearance. They all struggled. You glanced over at Tamlin and were met with a stern face. His jaw was set and his eyes were dark with despair. Underneath the modest wooden table you grasped his hand once more, turning your attention back to Cera. The four of you spoke for several hours. You and Tamlin expressed your willingness to help in any way you could with the naga and the rebuilding of the village. After exchanging the dried meats and gifts from your basket, the two of you made your way back to the front of their house. “Thank you for having us,” you said “It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” Cera reached out to pick up your hands. She looked at you then at Tamlin, her eyes pricked with tears. “Thank you for coming back. We need you,” she said. He nodded his head towards her and straightened as he said, “I could not have done it alone. It will take all of us to rebuild. I am thankful for your time.”

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

Tamlin let out a heavy sigh when the two of you began your walk back to the manor. The day had been filled with conversations like the first he’d had with Mikah and Cera. The two of you had made your way to most of the families remaining in the village and presented your gifts as well as your pledges to restore their homes and lives. He was exhausted. Once the two of you had crested the hill overlooking the town he paused. You looked at him in curiosity. He was overwhelmed with emotions… gratitude, despair, grief, hopefulness, apprehension. Without thinking he grabbed your waist and pulled you close against his chest. He could hear your smooth, calming heartbeat. He breathed in your scent and closed his eyes. Only two days ago he had been more beast than man. Now he was walking on two legs and meeting with the people who had once trusted him. He felt your hands wrap around his middle as you nuzzled into him further. He could have stayed like this forever, but you pulled back looking up at him with those bright gorgeous eyes. “You did well today,” you said to him still in his grasp, “I’m proud of you.” Tamlin hadn’t heard such perfect words in a very long time.

... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ .. ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..

Taglist : @lilah-asteria @booksnwriting @stained-glass-eyes0708 @anxious-cactus @thrumbolt @jesskidding3 @acotarxreader @nocasdatsgay @scorpioriesling

[gurugirl]

Jewel | stepdad!harry

Summary: You get a tongue piercing and Harry wants to test it out.

A/N: Based on this idea!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, inappropriate relationship between a stepdad and stepdaughter, cheating, lying, degradation, 'cum' play

stepdad!harry masterlist

"Why'd you get that?"

"Cause I felt like it."

"You look like a slut."

"Oh yeah? You like it, Daddy?"

Harry grasped your cheeks and smushed so you were forced to keep your mouth open. He inspected the inside of your mouth, pushing his finger over your tongue and the small delicate jeweled piercing right at the center.

You’d been wanting to get a tongue piercing and you finally worked up the nerve to do it. Harry hadn’t seen it yet because you’d been away at school but you knew that once he did he’d flip out a little.

“You look stupid.”

You chuckled and reached for Harry’s forearm to pull his finger further into your mouth as you wrapped your lips around his digit, licking the pad of his finger and then flicking the smooth jewel against his hand. You sucked and then grinned at him innocently with his finger still in your mouth.

“Harry, will you open the oven door? I’ve got my hands full,” your mom suddenly caught you both off guard. Harry yanked his finger from your mouth and jogged into the kitchen to help her so she could stick the roast into the oven.

You leaned into the hallway wall and closed your eyes. That was a close call.

Dinner had Harry eyeing you closely. You knew he was curious about your new piece of jewelry. You could see the gears turning in his head.

“I signed up to win this vacation to Quebec. God, wouldn’t that be so cool if I won? Everything is paid for too. Well, the basics… Anyway…”

Your mom talked about her dream vacation away. She needed a vacation, you knew that. Everyone did. She worked all the time and yet she still made dinner on her rare nights off and did it all with a smile.

You licked your lips and looked up from your plate to plant your gaze on Harry’s. He was already looking at you so you stuck your tongue out quickly and then grinned before taking another bite of your meal.

Harry shook his head slowly and then spoke, “A vacation in Quebec huh? Why don’t you just take off for a week and you and I can go. It’s not like we can’t afford it.”

“I mean, in all honesty? I might just do that if I don’t win…”

You frowned at Harry for saying that in front of you. That was a dick move. You were just teasing him with a piercing but his retaliation to suggest that just the two of them go on vacation together? You knew your upset and jealousy was irrational. Harry was married to your mother. Not to you.

“I’m suddenly sick to my stomach. I’m gonna,” you stood from the table, “call it a night.”

Your mom put her fork down and stood to give you a side hug, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I think it’s too much wine. Too acidic or something,” you swallowed as you lied.

You were happy to get away from that conversation. A conversation you had no right being upset by. To really put things into perspective, you often imagined how your mother would feel if she ever knew half of what you and Harry had gotten up to when she wasn’t around. That usually pulled you right back down to earth.

And here you were upset by a mere comment. You hated the situation but you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to stop it.

Your mother knocked at your door before opening it and looking in, “Hi baby, are you feeling okay?”

You were on your bed in your oversized pajamas leaning against your pillows, “I’m better now. Thank you, mom.”

You turned your attention back to the episode of Seinfeld you were watching on your laptop. You should have been doing homework. You had a paper due on Monday that you’d barely even begun.

You sighed as you closed your laptop and turned off your lamp. Tomorrow you’d get to your paper.

Before you’d even fallen asleep you heard your door opening and smiled to yourself. It was Harry coming in to see you. Every time he snuck into your room when your mother was around it made you feel special. Made you feel like he preferred you.

“Sleeping already?” Harry whispered quietly as he climbed up behind you on your bed and put his arm over your middle.

You inhaled deeply and yawned. If he’d come in a few minutes later you would have been sleeping. “Almost,” you spoke after you finished yawning.

Harry slowly moved a hand up, grazing over your tits, up to your clavicle, over your neck and then he stopped at your mouth, pressing two fingers inside, “S’this why you have this? Cause you want me to play with it? Want to take on my cock and slide this against my balls when I have you pressed down so hard you’re choking?”

You moaned and felt yourself falling into that soft simpery place as his nails scraped the back of your throat gently.

“Hmm? My little slut likes to be used so I’m gonna use her tonight. Isn’t that what you wanted, Y/n?”

You nodded into Harry’s palm as you gagged slightly at how deep his middle finger was, “Yes, Daddy.” You spoke around his finger and heard him laughing softly at your pathetic attempt to answer him.

Suddenly he yanked down your pajama pants, exposing your bottom, and kicked the sheets down. You yelped as he pushed your face into your pillow, his hand at the back of your neck roughly keeping you in place. He landed a swat onto your bottom and then another three in quick succession which had you gasping.

He pulled your hands behind your back with his free hand and then he leaned over you as he spoke quietly, “Turn your head to the side and stick out your tongue.”

You did as he said and he released your neck and then pulled at your bent elbows to lift you up, “Turn and face me.”

You kept your arms behind your back and your tongue out as you scooted yourself around to face Harry and then sat back on your haunches as you watched him pull his sweatpants down and bring his cock out. He stroked himself slowly as he lifted his free hand and stuck it in your mouth, feeling over the jewelry once again.

You were quite happy that he seemed so excited by it. He didn’t admit he liked it but you didn’t need him to.

You shot your gaze from his dark eyes to where he was pumping himself, slowly getting himself hard for you.

“Spit,” he said as he pulled his fingers from your mouth and held his palm out.

You spat into his hand, keeping your eyes on his in the dark room, and watched as he brought his saliva-coated palm to his cock.

You swallowed and could hear puffs of breath fall from his mouth as he fucked his fist, “Take your top off. This is gonna be messy.”

You brought your hands down to the bottom hem of your shirt and pulled it off over your head before putting your arms back behind yourself.

He smiled and you could hear the slick sound of your saliva coating his cock as he stroked.

Harry released his hard dick and pulled his own shirt off before grabbing you by your neck and pushing you back into your pillows, “Keep your hands behind your back,” he growled as he crawled up over you and then smushed your cheeks again, “Gonna fuck your throat now.”

And god there was something about Harry ramming his cock into your mouth and the moans he would make that got you wet instantly. Sure it was uncomfortable having a big long dick sliding in and out of your throat but you loved it. Loved the way it made you feel like nothing. Like just a toy or a piece of garbage maybe. Somedays you did feel like a piece of garbage. Especially because your affair with your stepdad was an awful thing to do to your mother. So you deserved discomfort and to be used and fucked however he wanted.

You gurgled as you tried to keep your eyes on Harry but when he stuffed himself in fully and your nose was pressed into the base of cock you slid your tongue out along his balls and heard him whine. He grasped your head and held you in place, “That’s right. Taste my balls and run that little slut tongue all over… fuck…” Harry breathed out a moan as drool escaped the edges of your mouth.

He finally backed out to give you a breath before pushing his tip back into your mouth, “Let’s feel it then. Lick my cock and let me see if you’re any good with that stupid thing,” he gritted.

You swirled your tongue over his frenulum and then down along his shaft as you kept your eyes on his. You lifted your neck so you could take him deeper but he pushed your forehead so you’d stay down, “Uh, uh… Didn’t say you could move. Told you to lick my cock.”

The tase of his precome coated your mouth as you licked his tip and along the edge of this shaft where you could reach without lifting up. You sucked gently, wrapping your lips around him and brushing your tongue against him, making sure to press the jewel into his sensitive skin.

His groans told you he liked it but suddenly he pulled himself out and held you down by the front of your neck and leaned over you, his cock laying over your belly button. He spat down into your mouth, “Don’t swallow.”

Pushing his thick cock back into your mouth you had to squeeze your eyes closed with the way he was grinding into you. You could only hear your gags and the slick noises of Harry’s cock being guided harshly into your throat repeatedly.

“Holy!” Harry gasped out and then slid his long cock out of your mouth and slowly off your tongue to catch his breath.

His chest was heaving as you looked up at him from his position over you. Your eyes were blurry but you could tell he’d almost come just then. He repositioned himself between your legs and pushed your thighs into your chest. He dipped a finger into your entrance, “Can’t believe you get wet from that. So fucking desperate for anything I give you.” He slapped your thigh and you moaned.

You wondered how loud things sounded outside of your door. The sound of skin getting slapped with a spank along with the moans had to have been loud. But then another swat was issued to your pussy and you gasped, titling your neck up to look at Harry between your legs.

He was stroking his cock when he looked up at you and then angled himself over your body before pressing his cock into your pussy, “Gotta admit…” he panted his words, “Your pussy is too good not to use. Fuck you’re so creamy and dirty. Shit…” he pulled back and then plunged himself back in, dipping into your tummy and gliding over your g-spot with each thrust.

“Please give me your come, daddy…” you pleaded as Harry began to tremble and moan between gasps. You loved that your body made him react that way.

Harry grunted as he rocked into you deeply a few more times, your mattress bouncing under your back. He suddenly pulled out, releasing your legs, and crawled up to aim his cock at your face. You felt his warm spurts of come squirt into your mouth, where you stuck your tongue out to taste and then he groaned as he kept stroking himself, coming on your neck and your tits and down to your tummy. He’d covered you in his orgasm, making a mess just like he said he would.

“You’re my filthy slut, aren’t you?” He grasped your cheeks again, still stroking himself to milk the last drops from his shaft. You tried to nod but his grip was tight.

He let out an incredulous laugh before spitting into your mouth again.

You felt like a puddle after he’d used you like that. Not even coming in your hole but wasting all his seed on your skin instead. It was dirty and rude. You loved it.

You lay prone with a smile as Harry got up from the bed.

When he turned back to look at you after he’d pulled his sweatpants back on his eyes went wide as he stood and watched you smear his come onto your palm and rubbed your clit with it then used your other fingers to push gobs of his release inside of your pussy.

Harry grinned and leaned down to kiss you, despite the mess on your face. He parted from the kiss but kept his face close to yours as he whispered, “Have fun with your little present. Don’t want you to leave this room until you’ve eaten all my come or stuffed it into your pussy just like you’re doing. Understood?”

“Yes, daddy. I won’t let it go to waste.”

 Harry smirked as he stood up and slid his shirt on. He watched you for a moment longer before he had to drag himself away from the dirty scene with you scooping up his come and pushing it into your tight hole as you moaned. You were all shiny with his orgasm as you bucked your hips into your sticky palm.

He would have loved to stay and watch but he couldn’t waste too much more time just in case his wife woke up. Perhaps next time he’d indulge in watching you masturbate with his come.

Feedback/Thoughts | Support Me! | Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

Tags: @ky-harlow-bieber @angel-akxo @flowerfeastrry @armystay89 @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lllukulele @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @kelly-fushiguro345 @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @tswiftsangel

[frostdayz]

Dinner surprises

Loki x reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Being away in midgard for a couple of weeks you come back to a Loki surprise.

warnings: None :)

AN: Might be the last loki x reader for a while. Let me know if you guys have any other people you want me to write about!!

my stories never really describe the readers gender so unless stated otherwise all my stories are gn!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I stepped through the portal, the familiar golden shimmer fading as my feet touched the smooth floors of Loki’s palace chambers. It felt like I’d been gone forever, even though it had only been a few weeks. Midgard had its charm, but it was nothing compared to the comfort and elegance of Asgard—nothing compared to being with him.

The air was rich with the scent of something delicious. I furrowed my brows, surprised. That wasn’t usual. I made my way down the corridor, following the tantalizing aroma. The closer I got, the more my heart began to race.

Turning the corner, I stopped in my tracks.

There, in the center of the grand dining hall, was the most breathtaking sight I’d ever seen. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting flickering shadows against the walls. A long table, covered with the finest silver and goblets of sparkling wine, was adorned with an extravagant spread of dishes—each one looking more delicious than the last. The colors of roasted vegetables, perfectly seasoned meats, and intricate desserts filled the table.

But it wasn’t the food that caught my breath.

It was him. Loki, standing at the end of the table, looking impossibly handsome, as always. He was dressed in a deep green suit that made his eyes stand out even more. His usual mischievous grin was nowhere to be seen; instead, there was something softer in his expression—something that tugged at my heart.

“You did all this?” I asked, my voice coming out as barely a whisper.

Loki walked toward me, his lips curling into a gentle smile. “You’ve been gone far too long, darling. I thought I should make your return memorable.”

I blinked, taking it all in. “This is incredible.”

He reached out, taking my hands in his, the warmth of his touch instantly calming the last remnants of exhaustion from my trip. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I whispered, leaning into him.

He chuckled softly, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Two weeks without you felt like an eternity.”

I rested my head against his chest, the familiar sound of his heartbeat steady and soothing. “You didn’t have to do all this,” I mumbled, overwhelmed by the effort he had put in.

“Of course, I did,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You deserve nothing less.”

My heart swelled at his words. For all his teasing and trickery, Loki had a way of making me feel like I was the most important person in the universe. And in moments like this, I believed it.

He led me to the table, pulling out a chair for me like a perfect gentleman. I laughed softly, taking a seat. “I don’t know where to start,” I admitted, looking over the food.

“Anywhere you wish,” he said, sitting beside me, his eyes never leaving mine. “This evening is all yours.”

We spent the night eating, laughing, and talking about everything and nothing all at once. The food was divine, but the company—being back with him—was what made it perfect. Every so often, he’d reach across the table, taking my hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my skin. It was such a simple gesture, but it made my heart flutter every time.

After what felt like hours, the candles burned low, and the night grew quieter. We sat in a comfortable silence, the world outside fading away.

Loki turned to me, his eyes soft and full of warmth. “You know,” he began, his voice low, “no matter where you go, or how long you’re away, you’ll always have a place here—with me.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, emotions welling up as I looked into his eyes. “I know,” I whispered back. “And I’m never leaving for that long again.”

He smiled, leaning closer, his lips brushing softly against mine. The kiss was gentle, slow, full of all the things we didn’t need to say out loud. When we pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine, his hands cupping my face.

“I love you,” I breathed.

“And I love you,” he replied, his voice steady, yet full of that same overwhelming sincerity that made my heart skip a beat every time.

Being with Loki, under the soft glow of the candles, I knew there was nowhere else in all the realms I’d rather be.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Hii there love <3 I hope you’re doing well!

Would you mind please writing a drabble in the Elementary-verse where Reader surprises Joel and Sarah (and even Tommy as well, if you’d like!) with a homemade meal for dinner one night? Now that Reader was assured by Joel that it was more than okay for her to do something like this, I feel like she definitely would and it’d be super sweet 🥺💞 Thank you for being so amazing <3

Winter Break

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: F (just more fluff, alcohol consumption i guess, maybe some suggestive stuff but nothing explicit at all) as always, not proofread and written on an edible :)

wc: 2k (this got away from me)

series masterlist | joel masterlist

The winter had gotten to all of you, the school year wearing you down along with Sarah as she finished her first semester as a high schooler. Joel and Tommy had it just as bad—having to work outside in the wettest Texas winter you’d ever seen since moving here. More often than not, Joel would come hobbling into the house after he got off work well past dark, only having the energy to call in some take-out for the three of you. He usually ended up falling asleep on the sofa before the food ever arrived.

But tonight marked the start of winter break, and the start of Joel’s vacation days he was in desperate need of. You wanted to celebrate getting through such a rough month with a home cooked meal—not the first you ever made, but certainly the first in a while.

When Sarah got out of school, the two of you drove over to the supermarket to do some shopping. You didn’t want any of you to have to leave the house this winter break, so on top of the usual snacks and frozen junk food Joel kept his fridge stocked with, you also carefully planned dinner for tonight.

“Ooo, vegetables. Been a while since I had those,” Sarah joked, forcing a laugh out of you as you knew it was sadly true.

“Gonna make a roast tonight,” you informed with a smile. “Figured we should probably eat something other than takeout and frozen pizza.”

“Dad’s gonna be excited…long as he can manage to stay awake through dinner. Dad fell asleep on the way to school this morning.” You gasped and watched her nod. “Yeah, good thing Uncle Tommy was driving. Otherwise—“

“Jesus,” you sighed and shook your head. “I’m gonna lock your father up and force him to sleep for like two days straight starting tomorrow.”

“I don’t need sleep like y’all,” Sarah impersonated her father, pulling another laugh out of you. “I’m a big, strong, man. I don’t need sleep or water or vegetables or anythin’ else most humans need to survive. All I need’s a cup of black coffee and I’ll be alright.”

“That was so good, I got chills.”

Back at home, you got to work on dinner. Sarah attempted to help you out, but you lovingly forced her to relax, instructing her to turn on the TV, kick her feet up and just chill while you handled things. But, the fifteen-year old was stubborn like her father and refused, instead choosing to sit at the kitchen table and finish her upcoming project due the week after school recommenced. As a teacher, you wanted to applaud her for her work ethic, but as her future step-mother, you wanted to pluck her pen from her hand and break it, forcing her to do what every other teenager in the world was doing tonight—nothing.

When it was clear she was going to spend her break her own way, you left her to it, focusing on chopping the potatoes, onions, and carrots—omitting celery as Sarah hated it and reminded you of that fact as you reached for a stalk at the grocery store. As you slid the potatoes in a pot to parboil, your cellphone started to ring on the counter.

“It’s dad,” Sarah announced, peeking at the caller ID.

“Can you get it?”

“Yeah,” Sarah nodded and flipped open the phone. “Hey dad.”

You continued on with dinner as they spoke, the phone call not lasting more than a couple minutes.

“Dad said Uncle Tommy is coming over tonight,” she relayed before getting back to her work.

“Good thing I bought the fattest roast in the store,” you spoke through strain as you lifted the roast from it’s packaging to sit in the middle of a metal roasting pan.

“God,” she chuckled at the size. “And you know what? I bet even with all of that, there’ll still be no leftovers by the time dad and Uncle Tommy get through with it.”

The boys entered the house the way the always did, bickering and graceless, their mud and cement covered work books kicked off by the door as they walked in through the garage.

“I’m just sayin’,” Tommy continued whatever conversation they had going on as they walked into the kitchen. Joel sidled up next to you at the stove, his hand rubbing the small of your back as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah, but I’m tellin’ you,” Joel spoke to his brother but physically remained focused on you and your cooking. “If we can’t get the electrical guys to show up on time, we’re gonna be in some shit. And I know they’re your buddies and all, but this is my goddamn business, Tommy. I can’t keep hand in’ out favors only to get shitty, half-assed work in return.”

“I know,” he sighed and nodded. “I’ll talk to ‘em tomorrow.”

“What’s all this?” Joel mumbled against your temple as he gave you another kiss there, finally greeting you with his voice.

“Thought we were due for a real dinner,” you mumbled back, melting into his side even though he smelled of hard labor and dirt. “There’s a roast in the oven. Should be ready in about twenty minutes. Oh, and there’s beer in the fridge.”

“My god,” Joel gave your hip a squeeze and kissed your cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Damn right you don’t,” Tommy agreed as he appeared on your other side to peek at the food. “How long do I gotta sit in torture?”

“20 minutes,” you replied through a chuckle. “There’s beer in the fridge to distract yourself with in the meantime.”

“Joel, if you don’t marry her, I will.”

“Shut up and go sit down,” Joel ordered, tightening his hold on you. “Gotta keep my eye on him, might try stealin’ you away.”

“I promise you, there’s no chance of that,” you assured. “I’m happy where I’m at.”

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling at you. You turned your head to nod at him, your eyes naturally falling to his lips. “Me too.”

Dinner was alright. The meat could have been a bit more tender and the carrots needed longer, but you seemed to be the only one who noticed. All three Millers tore into dinner until, as Sarah predicted, there were no leftovers.

Now, Tommy laid sprawled out on the couch, his jeans unbuttoned, one hand over his full stomach, the other wrapped around a beer. Sarah sat with him on the other end of the sofa, kicking his feet away any time he tried to rest them near her. Joel looked to be in a similar condition as his brother, sitting back in a dining chair with both hands rubbing over his stomach, his eyes on you as you scraped your plate clean over the trash can.

“Don’t do the dishes,” he commanded, knowing you much too well. You shot him a smile and shook your head.

“It’ll just take fifteen minutes,” you promised, but it didn’t satisfy him. He stood, bones cracking as he walked to stand behind you at the sink. His hands moved from your hips to your hold your wrist. Slowly, he pulled up the sleeves of your sweater one arm at a time, his warmth pressing into you from behind.

“You wash, I’ll dry,” he whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss there before backing away to stand beside you. “How was your last day before break?”

“Surprisingly very calm,” you replied, as you started on the pile of dishes in the sink. “Think everyone’s just excited to get a break. Speaking of, Sarah told me about your nap on the way to school this morning.”

“Oh, hell—just dozed off, it’s nothin. Not everybody needs ten hours of sleep a night to function—“ Your laughter cut him off. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” He shot you a persistent look. “Sarah thought you’d say something like that.”

“She tried to do my voice, didn’t she?” he asked, making you laugh. “It ain’t a great impersonation.”

“I thought it was pretty good.” Joel smiled and accepted the freshly scrubbed plate from your hand with a playful tug.

“You look good tonight, baby,” he spoke quieter, just for you to hear. You felt your stomach tingle with affection at the sound of his low voice—the voice only you got to hear.

“Yeah?” you questioned with a smirk. Joel grinned and nodded in eager confirmation. “You’re just happy because you’ve got a full belly.”

“Dinner was delicious, by the way,” he continued, not detailed by your inability to receive a compliment. “Think one look at Tommy will prove it.”

Your heard turned to the other side to watch as Tommy snored on the sofa.

“Guess he’s staying the night,” you turned to Joel. “I should go get the air mattress—“

“Uh-uh,” he protested with a soft shake of his head. “He’s fine like that. You’re so worried about us relaxin’, you’ve forgotten you’re the most wound up outta all of us. Relax, baby. You are allowed to do that, ya know?”

You chuckled and nodded, looking away from his eyes and back to the dishes.

“How about you go get a fire going in the backyard and I’ll come and sit with you for a while,” you suggested, bringing a fresh smile to Joel’s face.

“I think that sounds like a slice of heaven,” he hummed against your cheek as he kissed you there. “Maybe I’ll even bring out the guitar.”

“That would be nice,” you beamed. Joel’s playing was so pretty, but also so rare. He never had the time for it, always either working or sleeping, but tonight, he had all the time in the world.

Tommy was asleep on the sofa, Sarah up in her bed doing the same thing. You and Joel remained cozied up together in the backyard, a blanket over your laps, your head leaning onto his shoulder as Joel strummed away at his guitar. It was cold out, but the fire raging in front of you did a sufficient job at keeping you toasty, not that you needed it. Joel made you feel plenty warm just by existing.

“You feelin’ sleepy?” he asked over the music. He must’ve caught your heavy eyelids attempting to close. You decided it would be best not to lie, the appeal of the bed and mountain of blankets to keep you warm responsible for keeping you honest.

“Yeah,” you croaked, nodding your head against his shoulder. Joel flattened his palm over the strings to quiet the music before standing up and walking it back into the house. You stood too, wrapping the blanket around your shoulder as you watched him return to put the fire out.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” he reminded.

“I want to,” you argued. He smiled at the dying embers, mumbling an okay.

You waited with him until the fire was completely ashed out, his arms wrapping around your waist to walk you inside. You carefully tiptoed through the house as to not wake Tommy and Sarah. The only sound in the entire house was the creak of the stairs beneath your feet as you padded up the stairs with Joel following at your heels.

“You gonna be grossed out if I don’t shower until the mornin’? I’m so tired—“

“As long as you’re okay with me being too tired for anything sexy tonight,” you replied from your side of the bed as you climbed in.

“We’ll do both in the mornin’ instead, how ‘bout that?” You smiled and nodded at him as he stripped down to his briefs and climbed into bed beside you. You guided him to turn his back to you so that you could hold him for a while, your hands rubbing and kneading at the tension in his back. “Mm, love you baby.”

“I love you,” you whispered back, continuing your massaging right up until you drifted asleep behind him, your hands hugged tight to his chest.

This was rest. This was peace.

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away Timestamp: Adopting Miracle

Summary: Dean has found a friend in Miracle, the dog whose owner perished in a fire. Unable to find a suitable owner, he reluctantly takes the pup to a shelter. Can Dean leave him there to wait for his forever home, or will he have a lot of making up to do with Y/N?

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Rating: General

Bingo Square(s): Adopting a Pet for @j3bingo and “Guess I’m just a sucker for stray dogs and naked guys.” for @jacklesversebingo

Warnings: Fire, dog licks and slobber, implied smut, ruined shoes, ruined roast dinners, a little bit of angst, fluff

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: You thought it was over for these two, didn’t you? I did, too, but when I finished TOTGA, looked at my J3 bingo card to see what was next, and saw “Adopting a Pet, " I knew I had to expand on how Miracle came into their lives. I hope you enjoy this fluffy little timestamp! 💖

My Masterlist     AO3     Ko-Fi

This wasn’t a fire; it was an inferno, and Dean knew they’d be lucky to get anyone out of this alive. They didn’t have long to sweep the building and listened intently for Bobby’s voice on their radios telling them to get out.

“Can you hear that?” Dean asked Benny, who shook his head.

“I can’t hear shit, Captain,” Benny responded.

Dean nodded but kept inching to where he thought he heard a whine. With the roar of the flames and the creaking wood and cracking walls, it was possible what he heard was just part of the fire. Then he heard a bark and saw movement ahead of him.

“Lafitte! Over here!” Dean approached the dog, faithfully standing by his owner, barking to raise the alarm.

“Hey, buddy. It’s alright. I’ve gotcha now,” he said, crouching to be closer to the dog.

“I’ll get him, Cap. You get the dog,” Benny said, and Dean nodded, picking up the dog and making his way out of the building before it crumbled.

“We need a medic over here!” Dean yells as he exits the building, Benny not far behind with the injured man over his shoulder. As Jack and Jo ran towards them with a gurney, Dean put the soot-covered dog down and held him close while the paramedics cared for the patient.

“It’s alright, buddy. They’re gonna take care of him. I gotcha.” The whining, distressed dog broke Dean’s heart, knowing his owner would be lucky to survive the journey to the hospital, let alone recover from his injuries.

“There’s a good boy,” Dean soothed. “I’ll get you a new home, bud. A real good one where they’ll take care of you. I promise.

As hard as he tried, Dean couldn’t find Miracle a home. Bobby had been kind enough to let the dog stay at the firehouse for the past few days. Still, none of his colleagues could take him because they either already had a pet or lived alone and didn’t have someone to look after him when they were on a twenty-four-hour shift. He’d asked friends, too, and no one was willing to take on the responsibility. After five days, Dean took the dog to a shelter, and his microchip at least gave him a name: Miracle. It was an apt name for him, considering how they met.

It’d be hard to leave him at the shelter, but there was no other option. With both he and Y/N working shifts, he couldn’t see a way to make having a dog work. Sure, he only did two or three twenty-four-hour shifts a week, so having a dog would usually be fine. Still, there would be an issue when they were working the same day or night because leaving him alone for at least fourteen hours would be cruel.

But as soon as a handler reached for Miracle’s leash, the poor dog whimpered and cowered behind Dean’s legs.

“He seems to have a good bond with you,” the handler smiled. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to adopt him?”

“I wish I could. My girlfriend and I,” it still sounded strange to say and made him grin stupidly every time he called Y/N his girlfriend. “We work shifts. It wouldn’t be fair on him.”

“We have flyers on the desk with highly rated dog walkers, and if you have family or friends who could take him when you’re working?”

“We sometimes work nights. I’m not sure we’d find a dog walker willing to do that. And my brother and sister-in-law just had a baby, so that wouldn’t work. My parents might, though.”

“Sounds like you have something to think about,” the handler chuckled.

“A dog, Dean. Really?” He’d be terrified at the look on Y/N’s face if it wasn't for Miracle licking and drooling all over her. “We work shifts. What are we—no, you know what? You. What are you gonna do when you’re working, and I’m on nights? Did you even stop to think about that?” Taking her seriously while covered in slobber and scratching behind Miracle’s ears was hard.

“I spoke to Mom and Dad, and they’re happy to come by and walk him when we’re working and take him overnight when we’re both on nights. Come on, Y/N! You think I don’t know you love dogs, that you’re literally on the floor showering him with love right this second?”

“It’s not the point, Dean! The point is, this is a huge commitment, and we’ve only been living together for two months, and suddenly we’ve, no, I’m sorry, you got a dog? What if it’s too much? What if it—”

“It won’t. I promise. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll take him back to the shelter, okay, Princess?”

“Alright, fine,” Y/N huffed. “He can stay,” she put on her best high-pitched doggy voice while pouting her lips and letting the dog lick her face, and Dean grinned, knowing he’d won this particular battle.

“Uh, you sure about that, sweetheart? You’ve gone from hating the idea to letting a strange dog lick your face in record time!” he teased. Knowing how much she loved dogs, he knew Miracle would win her over quickly.

“Guess I’m just a sucker for stray dogs and naked guys,” Y/N winked, and he frowned. Did she mean the dog? Or—

“Get your clothes off, Dean!” she chuckled. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do for bringing a dog home without talking to me first, and I’m going to start collecting. Bedroom. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the sound muffled as he spoke while pulling his shirt over his head.

Y/N had spent hours in the kitchen cooking family dinner. She loved these when she was younger. It was the one day of the week she could let everything with her father go and just be herself. Be a kid. At least until she got home. She wouldn’t go down that rabbit hole tonight, though, not when she had a house full of people to feed.

Grabbing dishes filled with potatoes and other side dishes, she walked from the kitchen into the dining room to put them on the table. “Dinner’s ready,” she called into the living room. Dean, John, and Sam were watching the football game, and Mary and Jess fussed over Matthew.

Smiling, Y/N walked back into the kitchen, and her stomach hit the floor. “Miracle, stop that right now!” she yelled, seeing the dog on his hind legs, front paws on the counter and eating the roast chicken. “Stop it!” she yelled again and walked over to pull the dog away. “Get down from—Dean! Get in here!”

“Bad dog!” Dean said, pointing at Miracle. “No treats for you!”

“No treats, Dean. Really? That’s all you got?” Y/N huffed and directed her attention to the offending pup. “Why is it always me, huh? Why do you never do this to your dad? You just love pissing me off, don’t you? You’re lucky you’re cute,” Y/N scowled at the dog while scratching his head. Miracle whined and put his head on her knee. “And cuddly,” she grumbled.

“Who wants pizza?” Dean clapped his hands and chuckled, trying to ignore the death stare his girlfriend was throwing his way.

“Dean!” Y/N screamed, and he ran upstairs and into the bedroom. Seeing the scowl on her face, he dreaded to think what Miracle had done now. The dog seemed to love tormenting her for some reason.

“These are Louboutin’s, Dean! My favourite pair of shoes, and he’s just chewed them to shreds!”

“Sweetheart, they’re just shoes. I can get you new—”

“These are not just shoes! These are eight hundred dollar shoes!”

“Eight hun—who in their right mind needs an eight hundred dollar pair of shoes?” It slipped out before he could think about it, and as he met Y/N’s gaze, tears swam in her eyes, and her arms dropped to her sides, each hand holding the remnants of a shoe. Dean swore she’d never looked more defeated than right now.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she stormed past him and out of the bedroom, fleeing faster than he’d ever seen her move.

“Y/N. Princess, come on! Let’s talk about this!” he pleaded, running after her. “Bad dog!” he yelled behind him at Miracle, sitting in the corner of their bedroom, looking all innocent and cute.

He got to the bottom of the stairs just in time to see her throw the shoes in the trash, pick up her purse and car keys and slam the front door behind her.

Dean sighed when he felt Miracle’s fur tickle his fingers. “What am I gonna do with you, huh? Couldn’t go for a cheap pair, could ya? You know I’m going to have to replace those, right? Eight hundred bucks for shoes! Lost her damn mind...” he mumbled as he grabbed the lead, Miracle trotting happily beside him, knowing it was walk time. 

She’d had her worst shift in a while. There had been a gas explosion near the elementary school that had sent multiple casualties to the hospital. The incident has been truly horrific and spawned multiple fatalities. These kinds of accidents were the worst part of her job.

Getting home a few hours later than usual and exhausted, Y/N went straight to bed. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but dealing with those types of injuries made her lose her appetite.

Slipping out of her shoes and pulling her scrubs and bra off, Y/N moved to her side of the bed, ignoring her usual sleepwear in favour of her underwear and the vest she wore under her scrub top.

Sighing at the golden lump sprawled out on her side of the bed, she sighed, not in any mood to have this fight with him again. Encouraging him to move with a gentle shake, Miracle raised his head to look at her.

“Time to move, bud,” she said, nudging him to get him moving, but Miracle put his head back down on the mattress, ignoring her completely, and she sighed, tears welling in her eyes.

“Dean,” she whispered, nudging him instead. Miracle might not listen to her, but she knows he’ll listen to Dean. He always does.

“Dean!” she says a little louder, and he jumps awake.

“Hey, baby,” Dean rasped sleepily.

“Can you get him to move so I can get into this damned bed?” Y/N asked, defeated.

“Alright, buddy. Time to get down,” Dean said to the dog, who immediately obeyed the command. Y/N sighed, and her shoulders sank, unable to stop the tears.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, noticing her slumped figure and wet eyes.

“Yeah. Bad shift,” Y/N replied, climbing into bed and wrapping herself in the duvet.

“I saw the explosion on the news. Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asked, and Y/N smiled slightly at the kindness of his gesture.

“No. I just want to sleep.”

“Come here,” Dean murmured as he pulled her into his body and wrapped his arms around her.

Miracle jumped back onto the bed and tried to settle in between them again, but Y/N knew if she let him, he’d shove her out of the bed.

“Miracle, down!” she commanded, and of course, he ignored her and began stretching his paws out, trying to push her to the edge of the bed.

“Miracle, get down!” Dean said sternly, and once again, the pup immediately obeyed and jumped off the bed and out of their bedroom; hopefully, Y/N thought, to spend the rest of the night in his own bed downstairs.

“That dog hates me,” Y/N huffed, and Dean chuckled before kissing her forehead.

“He does not,” Dean tried, but Y/N only scoffed.

“Alright, buddy. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s getting us nowhere,” Y/N said to Miracle, and Dean tried to hold his laughter as his girlfriend tried to level with a dog. “We need to call a truce so we can live our best lives and coexist without me yelling at you all the time and you chewing up all my shoes and eating the Sunday roast.”

Dean looked on, amused, as Y/N crouched in front of Miracle. “What d’ya say, huh? You think we can be friends?” she said, scratching behind his ear, and Miracle barked in return.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes! Now, let’s shake on it.” Holding her hand out, Miracle quickly lifted his paw and placed it in her hand. “Good boy!” Y/N said and scratched his chin, prompting Miracle to step forward and lick her cheek.

As Y/N walked Miracle in the park, she made a mental note to herself to find another route for the winter months. It was getting darker earlier, and she’d worked in hospitals long enough to know what could happen to women walking through parks alone in the dark.

Suddenly, Miracle took off running, pulling his lead right out of her hand, and sped off towards the bushes where he’d undoubtedly torment the life out of a poor squirrel or five.

“Stupid dog,” she mumbled as she briskly walked to catch up with him. “Would never do that to Dean, would you? No, because he’s your buddy, and I’m just… I don’t even know what I am to you. A pushover, probably.”

Walking over to the bushes, Y/N hears rustling and is about to call Miracle, but a man’s voice startled her.

“Well, hey there. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here alone in the dark?” The stench of alcohol almost made her reel back in disgust, but she knew the worst thing she could do was show weakness to the stranger.

Before she could answer, she heard the patter of feet and Miracle barking as he ran from the bushes and stood before her, protecting her from the man with vicious snarls and barks.

Y/N was about to attempt as swift an exit from the park as Miracle’s scare tactics didn’t seem to be working. The dog seemed to come to the same conclusion and lunged at him.

Finally getting the drunk to back off, she wasted no more time getting them both out of there quickly. “Good boy,” Y/N praised with ear scratches. “Let’s go home, buddy.”

For the first time since she’d walked Miracle alone—because he was always on his best behaviour for Dean, he didn’t pull ahead of her. Instead, he walked calmly right by her side all the way home.

“Well, it looks like you two are getting along better,” Dean said when he came home later that night, seeing Y/N and Miracle snuggled up on the couch together.

“We had a traumatic night, and I think we’ve finally buried the hatchet. Ain’t that right, my good boy!”

Dean climbed the stairs quietly, not wanting to wake Y/N. She was supposed to finish her shift at seven last night but had to stay on until the wee hours of the morning.

He walked into the bedroom and smiled at the sight before him. Despite constant protests about the dog being on the bed, Y/N was curled on her side, sound asleep, snuggled into Miracle’s back with a small smile curving her lips.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean whispered, scratching behind his ears. “Were you a good boy for Grandma and Grandpa?”

“He’s always a good boy.” Y/N’s voice was heavy with sleep, and she smiled hazily at him. “Your dad dropped him off at about eleven. He would’ve kept him all night, but I thought I was getting home earlier than I did.”

“Sorry I woke you, baby. Go back to sleep. I was coming up to take Miracle for a walk,” Dean glanced at the pup and frowned when he remained where he was, not even his tail wagging. Walks were his favourite thing, and usually, he couldn’t wait to get outside and cause mischief.

“It’s okay,” Y/N yawned, “I should probably get up anyway.”

“Uh, no. Absolutely not!” Dean placed his hands on his hips, trying to show her he meant business. “It’s only gone seven. I got off shift early. When did you get home?”

“Four,” Y/N yawned again. “Then I took him for a walk.”

Dean nodded, now understanding why Miracle wasn’t keen to go out again. Then again, he wouldn’t leave the bed with Y/N cuddling into him like that, either. “So you went to bed when?”

“About five-thirty,” she answered.

“Nuh-uh, nope. Not a chance in hell you’re getting up right now,” Dean huffed as he shrugged out of his flannel, unfastened his jeans, kicked them off and pulled off his socks. “We are going to sleep for a few more hours.” Dean insisted before directing his attention to the dog. “Daddy’s home now, so you’re gonna have to move, buddy.”

With a huff, Miracle stood from his spot and walked to the bottom of the bed, dropping down heavily on Y/N’s feet. “Did he just give you sass? Oh, how the tables have turned!” Y/N chuckled, and Dean shook his head in disbelief.

“Apparently,” Dean huffed as he climbed into bed. “Now, come here, baby. I need some sugar!”

“Sugar?” Y/N chuckled sleepily.

“Yeah. I want some of my girl’s sugar,” he grinned, shuffling as close as he could and opening his arms to invite her into his embrace. “Come here, Princess.”

Y/N gladly accepted Dean’s invitation, shifting as much as she could with a dog on her feet, and rested her head on his chest. She hummed contentedly as he wrapped his arms around her, and she quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

[mariacallous]

Growing up in Seattle, our Friday night menu was nearly the same every week: chicken soup, roast chicken slathered in teriyaki sauce, a starchy side and salad. We always had a large bottle of Yoshida teriyaki sauce in the fridge, a fixture in the side door. But why were we eating teriyaki chicken for Shabbat dinner?

Teriyaki chicken is an iconic Seattle dish; it wasn’t until I moved away that I discovered not every city is teeming with great teriyaki shops. The dish is rooted in Japanese cuisine: Teriyaki is a traditional Japanese style of cooking where a protein is cooked over a flame while it is basted in a sauce made of soy sauce, sugar, sake and/or mirin. “Yaki” means grill, and “teri” means shine. The sticky, sweet teriyaki sauce most Americans are familiar with was developed by Japanese American immigrants. 

Seattle’s version of teriyaki deviates from its Japanese roots thanks to a man named Toshihiro Kasahara. In 1976, Kasahara opened Toshi’s Teriyaki Restaurant, which quickly became a wildly successful Seattle lunch spot. Kasahara inspired a wave of teriyaki establishments across the city and the region, helping make the dish ubiquitous in the Pacific Northwest. Seattle-style teriyaki is loaded with ginger and garlic, and instead of basting the meat, teriyaki is more often made by marinating the meat in sauce overnight. It’s typically served with steamed rice and an iceberg lettuce salad with gingery, tangy dressing. The store-bought sauce my family used was also developed by a Seattle resident, Kyoto-born Junki Yoshida.

Food in the diaspora is always influenced by our neighbors, and teriyaki has become a welcome staple in Jewish homes, particularly across the Pacific Northwest. This recipe is designed to give you all the flavors and char that great teriyaki chicken offers, with the ease of preparing a complete meal on a sheet pan. The sauce is salty, thick, gingery and sweet, and as the chicken cooks, it releases its juices and flavors to the surrounding vegetables. You can substitute homemade sauce for your favorite premade bottle, and you can ditch the oven and cook this on the grill for extra char. Served with a steaming heap of short grain rice, it makes a delicious, simple meal for Shabbat, or any day of the week. 

Note: You can swap drumsticks for chicken thighs, but if you would like to swap for boneless, skinless breasts the cook time may be slightly longer. The dish reheats well in the microwave, stovetop or oven.

[ghostprincessworld]

Headcanon that at some point, when they are like 27/28 Gauntwood goes on like a 1 month "vacation" without any of the staff. It will be nice to be truly alone together. They rent a cabin that is a bit isolated, not to far form markets and such.

However, they forgot to account for the fact that they don't know how to take care of themselves:

Day 1&2

Going alright, they brought a few meals with them. 

they are free to love each other openly in this private place, this place is beautiful and they love it!

except when they go to bed, they note that the bed had not been made that morning. This is never properly resolved. There are a few attempts to make it, but they resign themselves to a poorly made (mostly an unmade) bed

Day 3

Prepared meals are gone. they go to the market, They have a fun time.

Sidney has no doubts they can figure it out, Henry is like, "Have you ever cooked a chicken before?"Well, no, but I used to watch my mum do it when I was a kid," Henry has absolute faith in his husband because he's an idiot 

“So we just put it in the oven? The chicken and the veggies?" "Yeah that's how my mum did it!" (They are making roast potatoes, carrots, and chicken)

they didn't use any seasonings, butter, or oil, the chicken is overcooked, so dry and plain. The potatoes and carrots are too hard and burnt at the same time. 

"Sidney, I love you, but this is disgusting."

“No, you're right. If you stop loving me, I'll understand." 

they end up picking through it just eating the least inedible parts it's not a lot, and they eat a lot packaged snacks that night

Day 5 

Henry has a brilliant (terrible) idea, he's going to make them breakfast, eggs, and lamb sausage.

Sidney comes into the kitchen when there is smoke everywhere

they put out the smoke, and the (unseasoned) eggs are burnt to the pan.

"WHAT is going on!!!" "I was uhh... making breakfast..."Why did you cook it so long?" "Excuse me, I didn't want us to get salmonella!"

For dinner, they plan to make pasta. Together, this is going to be a team effort. Henry immediately puts the dry noodles in a pot and no water, Sidney stops him.

They call Maud, and she laughs at her useless brother and his husband but agrees to help

"Okay now you'll wanna add any veggies to the sauce" "veggies...?i didn't get any" "okay skip that, just add your seasonings" "seasonings?" "Okay... it gonna be a bit plain"

"Why are all noodles sticking together weird?" "Did you salt the water like I said?" "Oh..."

S: what if we heat the water up twice as hot , then we can cook the noodles half the time 

H: No, it will probably burn them

M: idiots you can't heat water past boiling

Pasta is plain, but edible

Other cooking mishaps:

Pasta take 2: no veggies again, goes way to hard on the seasonings, add like every single one, there is cinnamon in the pasta

Henry makes eggs(unseasoned) bacon and toast (only a little burnt)

"Henry, I love you so much, and this is so sweet, but I don't eat pork"

"Oh god! I knew that! The butcher was just looking at me, and I panicked. " Henry is about to cry

Sidney spends way too long slicing (mutilating) a loaf of bread with a meat knife

Cleaning

By day 3 all of their clothes are wrinkled because they don't know how to iron and they didn't pack them well

It fine they are mostly being seen by just each other, but it makes them feel icky

At the market a woman is looking at henry, and he get insecure and just tells her unprompted that his wife is too sick to iron

By 2 weeks in they have no clean clothes

S: What if we just sent it all to the dry cleaner

H: You wanna send our underwear to the dry cleaners? No we are supposed to be learning this, we are living a simple life

S: What if we were just naked from now on

Back on the phone with Maud, they learn how to wash clothes. They have pasta stained clothes they can't fix. Clothes are wearable again, still wrinkly :(

They wash no dishes for the first 4 days, it's a terrible mess. It takes 15 min to scrub the burnt pan because they didn't realise they can soak the bad dishes

The whole place is a bit dusty by the end

Fun stuff

There is a lake on the property and they go skinny dipping

They fish (and successfully cook it over a fire)

Stargaze: “hey did you that constellation [insert greek info dump]” nerd

Ellwood convinces Gaunt to dance with him

They play card games

They get to be domestic without any prying eyes

Overall, they had a great time! They picked up some novice-level skills along the way and, despite the chaos, they’d be willing to try this again in the future (and they do). When they get back they are this close to kissing Luis on the mouth.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 27

Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Wow, you guys. I got carried away with this one. It's a biggun!!

Kick.

The soccer ball rebounds off the tyre.

Kick.

I pretend it's a walker head.

We haven't seen one of the dead in weeks, but I know they're out there.

Kick.

Buried in the snow.

Kick.

Just like everything else.

KICK.

It shoots off into the car yard.

I watch it bounce down the aisle of rotted vehicles, bumping up against the chain-link fence. A sigh escapes my chapped lips and blows away in the wind. For what must be the tenth time today, I pull my scarf up and trudge over to the ball.

Aside from day dreaming, this is about the only thing I can entertain myself with nowadays. I can't play so well without a partner, but the afternoons slog on otherwise. It was a couple weeks ago that people stopped wantin' to talk, or tell a story, or try their hand at makin' a joke, a couple weeks before those ones that Rick stopped talkin' altogether. I just don't think any of us have the energy. The only thing we can waste it on is breathing in and out and lighting the campfire every morning. Some days, like today, I even waste it on the ball.

Besides, we don't got anything interesting to say. There's only so many times you can comment on the weather.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, go my boots in the packed snow.

Thinking back on it, the last time I heard Rick say anything that weren't a barked order was the night we slept in an abandoned house. It was the first time since the farm fell that Dad had come back without any game on his shoulder. Carl had tried eatin' an old can of dog food for dinner. I still remember the way the brown meat exploded against the floor when Rick threw it, and we were scared then, too.

So, we went hungry — And almost every night since then, we've gone hungry.

I wonder if Dad's gonna try go huntin' again today, but I doubt it. Ain't worth it, no more.

It'll be a handful of burnt mushrooms for dinner again, tonight.

I bend and pick up the ball, dusting off the snow.

Some months ago, Rick told me that if he had to hear the word mushroom one more time, he'd go crazy. I almost smile to myself at the memory, the day we shared fruit and worked on the fence. If only he knew he'd be eating them every day; that he'd go crazy, anyway.

It was also the day we lost everything, is the souring thought that comes after, just like it always does.

Movement.

I look up, peering through the hexagonal webbing of the fence, out onto the street.

There it is. A white blob with a black marking.

Well, a dog.

A dog sniffs around one of the cars. I ain't seen a dog since before. I realize that for some reason I'd thought they'd all disappeared, and maybe they have, but not this one. He's a stubby little feller. Barely tall enough to see over the walls of snow, but he manages. His pink nose traces down the tyre, taking him underneath the rusted shell. I watch him cram himself through the gap with little effort.

My empty stomach rumbles to me that I should shoot it from here and we can roast it over a fire.

Is it okay to eat the thing that eats the dog food? Is is different from a squirrel?

When he wriggles back out, a dead mouse hangs from his teeth.

Oh. He caught somethin'.

Outta the corner of my eye, Dad approaches me, a sore frown below the brim of his beanie.

He makes a pincer gesture with both hands, shaking them slightly. 'What are you doing?'

I slap my thigh a few times, the sign for, 'Dog.'

When I point, he turns to look.

The dog clumsily gnaws at the skin holding the mouse meat together, letting the head plop onto the ground.

Dad tenses slightly, glancing out at the empty street; the trees beyond it. He thinks the dog might not be alone. Squirrels, possums. They don't got owners. They're too wild and nasty. But dogs do. We wait for a moment for someone to appear, but nobody does.

We're both thinking the same thing, but I'on think Dad will say it before I do.

'We should eat him,' I sign; the smart thing to do. We should eat him. But, 'I don't want to.'

He pauses. He don't want to, neither.

People are predictable like this. The world has up and ended, but we still pray before we eat, we remember our birthdays for no good reason, and we refuse to eat pets. All the bolts in Dad's bow and all the bullets in my pistol are stayin' right where they is.

Dad moves past me, undoing the gate latch and pilling it open, mutely snapping his fingers.

The dog's head snaps up.

Fresh blood paints its lopsided, gaping grin, dripping small jewels into the snow.

It considers the both of us, unsure if it wants to abandon its dinner. His head is droopy and egg shaped, undeniably ugly but in an adorable way, with two black dots for eyes and a chest like a body builder. Bull Terriers, I'm sure they're called. Rodent killers.

Stepping over the little pile of organs, the dog makes up its mind and trots over to us.

Dad kinda flinches when it places its nose in his outstretched hand, relaxing, letting it nuzzle at him.

Luckily, he ain't a human killer.

'It's okay,' He's concluded, guiding the dog inside and latching the gate closed.

I drop to my knees, giggling softly as I cradle the dog's big face, scratching behind his ears. Oh, he loves it. He must'a been lonely.

I mouth up at Dad, Keep him?

Food is scarce, and Lori is sick an' pregnant, but I still hope we can keep him. I'm already preparing a list of reasons we should.

'Everyone's decision,' He signs, before nodding us back the way we came.

Standing up, I follow behind him, and the dog makes sure he don't get left behind.

The garage stands firm in the onslaught of snow. We've made it a sort of home for now, but it's far from paradise. It's old. Small. It don't keep the wind out. Beth, Maggie, T, and Glenn are huddled around the campfire in a patch of melted sleet, the four of 'em the first to notice our return, and our new friend. They perk up at the sight of the dog, before breaking out in smiles.

Kneeling next to Glenn, I help him welcome the dog with pets and cuddles.

Rick's marching over to us before I can even wonder where he is, 'cause ain't nothin' happens without him knowing.

I expect him to be angry. He's always angry when it comes to mouths to feed.

But after exchanging some words with Dad over my head, he surprises me by nodding, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, watching us. I think I must've got it mixed up, but nope, he sends me the slightest, weightiest of smiles and nods again.

A foreign sort of relief flushes through me at the realization that I don't gotta persuade him.

I'm happy, for free.

Grinning up at everyone, I bask in the wonderful sight of their silent chuckles.

Glenn makes finger guns and taps them together.

'Name?'

I glance down at the dog; give it a good think. If I were a weird little rodent killer, what would I want my name to be?

I know. Dusting off the end of my nose with my finger, I share my decision with the group.

'Mouse.'

I startle as the dog licks my knuckles.

Maggie pouts, mouthing the word, Cute.

'When I found him,' I sign, trying and failing to keep my hands clean of dog-slobber, 'He caught a mouse.'

'He's a hunter,' Dad agrees, approving.

I lead Mouse into the garage to meet the others, ducking under the shutter doors and shivering off the sting of the snow. I wish we could light another campfire in here to keep warm, but Rick says the smoke would kill us faster than the cold will.

Not that it mattered much to my hearing aids.

As it turns out, the cold kills batteries, too.

I've learnt to manage without 'em by now, but I miss it. There were even days where I could hear my own laugh.

At least when the thaw comes back around, I'll be able to use them again.

I step over the piles of blankets scattered across the concrete floor, mindful not to cross paths with any of them. I wouldn't be a very popular person if I trampled somebody's stuff. Any little thing will cause a fight nowadays. We're stacked on top of each other in here. Chickens in a slaughterhouse cage. I learnt that it's easy to lose yer temper here, even if we do love each other, when I woke up durin' the first night. Glenn was apparently muttering in his sleep, sum' about, No, please, this is all I have, before T-Dog shook him awake with a pair of angry hands, growling at him to, Shut the fuck up. Nobody slept after that, but nobody ever really sleeps.

Mouse sniffs around the many makeshift beds, his tail beating back and forth against his muscly legs.

I already know how to study somebody's face to see which side of them I'm getting that day. I did it with Merle all the time. I knew the exact angle of his brow when he was drunk, about to start plottin' murder and makin' loud phone calls to people that owed him whatever it was he got scammed outta that week, the exact angle when he was gettin' mad, when he was asleep, or high, or both.

It's a talent to read closed books. Living like this for so long, I ain't the only one good at it, no more.

'Hey,' I wave to Lori. She's sat against the wall, wrapped in blankets. Not angry today. Safe to talk. 'We found a dog.'

Her bleary eyes widen.

Mouse plods up to the table, where Herschel and Carl are sitting. It's like they think he's a baby polar bear at first, but they soon realize it's safe. He soaks up their attention before slipping through their legs and approaching us, expecting some from Lori, too. 

Cautious not to lose her fingers, she sneaks a hand out from under her many layers, stroking Mouse's long snout.

A smile graces her pale lips.

'Where did you find him?', Herschel signs to me, his veiny hands moving fast and precise, 'cause he's the best outta all'us. It ain't all that fair, since I'm the deaf one and all, but this old man has known sign language longer than I've even been alive. 

'At the fence.' I answer, watching Carl stand from his seat and join his Momma on the floor, reaching out to pet the dog with her. I stare at the top of his head, tryna remember the last time we spoke. When I look back up at Herschel, I add, 'I was playing.'

'Have you named him, yet?'

Nodding, I make the sign. 'Mouse.'

'Mister Mouse.' He chuckles heartily, reminding me of Santa Claus. It's dim in here from the total lack of windows, but I can still see the way his cheeks crinkle around a mellow smile. I can always count on Herschel to make me feel like there's bread baking in the other room and I can smell it and everything is going to be okay. 'I'm sure he would love to play with you sometime.'

I return his smile, suddenly craving warm bread. 'I hope so. Tyres are bad at soccer.'

'Goodness. I'm sure.'

Calling Mouse over with a few kissy sounds, the two of us duck back under the doors in search of the soccer ball.

'Hey. Watch this.'

'We're watching.'

At the thumbs up Glenn sends me, I turn, focusing on holding the soccer ball in front of me. One, two, three. I drop it onto the toe of my boot and give it a small kick. It flies. Mouse pounces on it like a cat with a ball of yarn, slipping and sending it rolling away.

We been practicing that move for ages.

Looking back at everyone, I notice that they're all clapping for us, cowering their faces into their poofy scarves.

'Did you see?', I ask, just to make sure.

Another thumbs up from Glenn. 'Very cool.'

It weren't very cool at all — In fact, it was total garbage — but it was fun putting on a show.

'Thanks.' As Mouse chases after the ball, I leave him be and return to the campfire. 'I'm so tired, now.'

I really shouldn't be. I'm only a kid, and kids are supposed to have a lot of energy. I'm sure of it, since our neighbour Betty used to complain to Dad about her boy havin' too much of it whenever the two of 'em smoked together on our porch after work. His eyes would droop like a slow-blinking frog's whenever he got back from the mechanic shop, sometimes sleeping for a whole day, even at the dining table, while he was halfway through a meal. All the adults I knew were tired, but not like this. We's starving; hollow.

I'm jealous of my past self, who used to be able to play soccer for hours on end.

Maggie sends me a sad smile. 'Me, too, honey.'

'Sorry,' Glenn signs to me, 'cause he always says that. 'Come rest. It's warm here.'

'Can I sit next to you?', I ask T-Dog, pointing to the empty seat between him and Glenn.

Like the others, there's two moon-shaped craters hanging below his eyes, bruised an ugly purple against the brown of his skin. The man sends me a deadpan look, as if the cold's gone to my brain. 'No,' Then, sassily; 'Of course you can.'

Rolling my eyes at his attitude, I sit down and lay my head against the canvas backing.

My bones have been replaced with rope, loose and heavy.

I know we're gonna be leaving soon.

That pensive look on Rick's face is easy to recognise, even if he tries hiding it behind his scarf as he stands watch.

According to the map, there ain't no drug stores or doctor's offices for nearly five miles around us, and we're gonna need one. The medicine, what little we'd scrounged up, has ran out. Lori ain't suffering anything worse than a sniffly nose and a cough, but out here, — In the snow and the wind and the rain, with nothin' but a flimsy bitta metal to shelter us from it all — Well, we all know. I asked Dad if the baby in her belly could get sick, too, and all he told me was that none of this is ideal. I understood. When things ain't ideal, people die.

That place Rick was talkin' about, the one that we can fortify and make a life for ourselves in, it's still out there somewhere. He lectures us about it so often it's as if he can't think about anything else, a dog with a bone dangling just in front of his nose.

I bet there's lots of food and medicine there. And even beds. Proper beds, with mattresses and everything.

Maybe even a little mat for Mouse.

Yeah. That would be ideal.

Nobody would die in a place like that.

I tear my gaze from Rick, turning it onto the one big cloud in the sky.

I still think about Shane, sometimes. It comes and goes. Most of the time, he's alive. We're sitting at the picnic table back on the farm, coloring a meadow of flowers together, and then there's an ebbing swash of time where something inside me hurts real bad like I've been shot, and then he's holding my hand in a forest because I'm scared. I'm showing him the frog I've caught, mirroring his grin.

Suddenly, none of the muscles in his face are working and he's looking at me with milky eyes.

I don't wanna shoot him.

Bringing my hand up to my locket, I squeeze the thousand-pound weight between my fingers.

The spot he's taken up in my brain was supposed to be mine, and so was Momma's, and Merle's, and everyone else's.

Even in death, as Andrea said, He's still a fucking asshole.

I wonder if she's still alive.

A girl went missing from our town, once. My Daddy was in the kitchen washing dishes while I watched her Momma cry on TV.

I didn't know Andrea too well, so all my tears are staying inside my face for now. It's not like it was with Sophia. No, we packed into our cars and we fucked off North to a place called Newnan, leaving everything, including her and any chance of finding her, behind.

A bit stupidly, I hope the cows made it out alright.

Then, a hand is waving over the sun.

Lifting my head, I realize it's Dad trying to get my attention.

'How are you?', he signs as I stuff the locket under my sweatshirt.

'Hungry. Tired.' The usual answer; then, 'Everything okay?'

'Yeah. Taking a break.'

'I think Rick wants to leave.'

As Dad eases himself onto the crate beside me, he sneaks a glance at him. 'He does. We were talking.'

The others must be reading our signs, 'cause Maggie butts in, talking with Dad for a minute. I wait 'til they're done.

'We need medicine,' I comment quite uselessly when his attention is back on me.

'That's right. And better shelter. This place is shitty.'

'Do you want to leave?'

'I want you to be safe and happy. So, yes.'

'Are we walking again?'

He makes a face. 'No. We're riding bicycles.'

'Funny, Dad.'

'He wants to head East. The next town is close. Nine miles. There's a hospital there. Might have medicine.' His hands slow down. They hover, unsure. When he picks one back up, he finger-spells the word, 'S-h-a-r-p-s-b-u-r-g.'

The blood in my neck rushes up into my cheeks, and for just a moment, I'm warm.

I wonder if her house still looks the same. With the gravel path leadin' up to the porch, lined with weeds before any of this even began. My bike chained to the wire fence, asking itself where the little girl that loves it has gone as it grows rustier every weekend that passes. The grass was always scratching my knees, wild and forgotten, a bit like me. We made the most of what we had.

I hope the mirror in her bedroom is broke. I hope the kitchen is rotted; loungeroom filthy.

It don't deserve to be the way it was before, 'cause ain't nothin' the way it was before. That was for us.

Dad is waiting for me to say something, but I got nothin'.

Being that close to that house again might just make me start believing' in ghosts, but we need to do it. For Lori.

'No choice.' I sign, plain and simple. 'We need to go.'

He studies me for a moment, torn on something, before nodding and rubbing his fist over his heart. 'Sorry.'

I shrug, playing with the pebbles of lint on my mittens.

I think about Momma, too. She weren't all that different from Shane, especially not in the end. Both were sick, but not in the way that Lori is sick, not with germs. Even now, I don't quite know if it'd be worse knowin' whether or not she turned and lost her mind one last time. At least in the picture in my locket, she ain't ever gonna turn. I'll keep her safe from everythin' outside her little bronze door.

'Forget about that.' Dad waves off the imaginary town, sneering. 'I'm going hunting. You coming?' 

I hear that right? Hunting?

All the rabbits are hiding at the bottom of their burrows at this time of year, the squirrels either dead or holed away. Even my Dad, the best hunter and tracker I know, who can shoot a field mouse out a tree, ain't been able to catch nothin' in this weather.

'You tried,' I remind him. 'Many, many times.'

'I know. But,' He nods over his shoulder, where Mouse is rolling around in the snow. 'Now we have help.'

Mouse. Of course.

Our last chance at catchin' a proper meal.

He reminds me of Tank a lil' bit, but smaller, whiter; with all four legs.

I'm willing to give it a chance. 'Okay. I'll come.'

Since we started to catch onto the fact that the cold slows the walkers down, we all been allowed out more.

A pat on my knee. 'Good girl. Let's go.'

He asks Glenn if he wants to come as well, and 'cause he got nothin' better to do and we make a good team, he agrees.

I'm inside a giant snow globe, waiting for the glass to break.

It was about a month ago now that I woke up one morning with my head in my hands, holed up in a gas station, crying snot and tears and dribble 'cause the ringing in my ear had turned unbearable. I didn't believe Herschel at first. My hearing couldn't deteriorate. I didn't even know what that word meant. But no matter what words I did or didn't know, their voices kept getting foggier and the ringing kept getting louder, until one day there was a pop beside my brain, a burst of pain, and then the world went silent. And then I believed him.

I was scared, at first. How could I hear a walker comin', now? Would I never hear my Dad say, I love you, again?

But it didn't take long for us to learn enough sign language to talk to each other, I love you, included. Nothin' would've stopped us. Maggie found a little ASL guidebook with pictures in it while we were passin' through a library. Go, Be quiet, Hide, Run, were the first words Dad made sure I knew. Good morning, Goodnight, and all the other things I'd wanna say. Thank you. Have mine. Fuck off.

Even now, whenever I wake up during the night, I always find one person studying the book, pages cradled by a flashlight.

As the three of us follow after Mouse, snow drifts through the thicket of naked branches like ash, catching winks of sunlight before they kiss the ground. It's hard to feel like I've lost anything when it snows. It's one thing that's always been silent. So have ripples in water, or a smile on a loved one's lips. I've made a place for myself in the silence, and I fit well here. Nobody else is allowed in my snow globe.

Glenn squeezes my mittened hand as I'm watching the falling snow, pulling my gaze up to his face.

With his free hand, he signs, 'Ringing?'

I shrug one shoulder, pinching my fingers. 'A little.'

It never really goes away. It's the one last thing I can hear, but I tune it out.

He attempts a smile, the curve of his cheekbones a raw shade of pink. 'Sorry.'

I always feel guilty when I have to answer that question. I'on know why. It ain't my fault.

'You always say sorry.'

'Sorry.'

Holding back a smile of my own, a real one, I ignore him in favor of watching the snow again.

The memory of that morning we had on the roof of the RV swells in front of me now, pretty and sun-colored, a cherry on my tongue. It was the mornin' after we found out I wasn't dying. I had a life. I had a chance to live it just like everybody else. Equals. Whenever I look at Glenn, I remember that morning. Happy and alive, with a group of our own. A friend. The first one in a long, long time.

When it's just the three of us like this, I always feel like I'm betraying Merle. It's a slimy feeling, one I force myself to swallow it down each time, but I ain't done nothin' wrong. I ain't replaced him on purpose. If I lie, I can say I ain't replaced him at all.

The worst part about it is that Glenn fits better into the void Merle left behind than Merle himself ever did.

My thoughts are interrupted when Dad puts an arm out in front of us.

I jolt, following his gaze.

Ahead of us, Mouse furiously investigates along an invisible trail at the end of his nose. He, too, goes still all at once. He's found something. We watch him square up with a lump in the snow, his tail an exclamation mark. Then there's a rabbit, a bite, a struggle. I squeeze Glenn as snow goes flying. Dad lifts his crossbow. A single bolt is released, and the rabbit is pinned to the ground by its heart.

It twitches around the bolt once, twice, tryna run away like all rabbits do, and then it goes limp.

That's our first kill in weeks.

'Dinner!', I exclaim to Glenn with both my hands, as Dad moves to pluck the bolt out, shaking off the snow.

A long, fat rabbit.

Dad was right. Mouse done spoiled us. Him bein' such a great hunter must be how he's survived this long. Everybody's got a reason. Mine is that I have people who love me, both dead and alive, who have fought tooth and nail to protect me every day.

Dad slings the rabbit over his shoulder, gesturing onwards. 'Let's keep going.'

Taking Glenn's hand again, I have a thought. 'Is his name Rabbit, now?'

He shakes his head, no, both of us falling into step with Dad and Mouse. 'It's Mini Daryl.'

Pssh. Whatever. 'Bad name.'

'Great name.'

I point side-long at Dad, as if saying, Go on, then. Tell him.

He cringes. 'No, thanks.'

'See? Bad name.'

'Are you bullying me?'

'Yep.'

Unamused, Dad gives us a look. 'I'm not blind. I can see your hands.' A pause; glance. 'She's right. Bad name.'

Like I always do when I'm giggling around Dad and Glenn, I say a silent, Sorry, Merle, because he's always been inside my head.

By the time we're walking back through the car yard gate, Mouse has caught us three more rabbits.

Beth's jaw drops.

'Dinner!', I sign to her, grinning, turning to sign the same thing to T and Rick who are stood on watch, their eyes going wide when they notice the bounty. I duck under the shutters and sign it to everyone else huddled in the garage, too. 'Dinner! Come on!'

They follow me out to the campfire, not wasting any time skewerin' and roasting the rabbits as the sun begins setting.

'Well done,' Maggie signs to the three of us, thoroughly impressed.

Dad nods to Mouse, as if to say, Thank him.

Thanks, Mouse, Everyone obliges, and even though he don't understand Human, he still grins his silly, gummy grin. I take a seat next to Dad on the wooden pallet, basking in the delicious smell of bubbling fat and the sight of my smiling family.

The moon is waning over our heads like a pretty marble, passin' through the stars, as we slurp up our greasy, mouth-watering rabbit meat. Even Lori has come out of hiding to enjoy the meal, her thin body curled up next to Rick in the broken car seats, shivering as she nibbles a meaty thigh. There's a bump under her blankets, right on top of her belly, that makes it look a bit like she's hiding my soccer ball under there. Really, it's the baby. Some nights, she lets me put my cheek to it so I can feel the heartbeat from the outside. It freaked me out at first. It's like she swallowed an alien. There's a tiny human in there, separated by only a few layers of skin. I hope it likes rabbit.

I know she needed this. I think we're all relieved to see her eating a good meal after all this time, something fatty and heavy, something to fill out her caved-in cheeks. If we're gonna leave for Sharpsburg at some stage, she'll need the energy. We all will.

Carol says that if it don't come out early, the baby's gonna be born in Spring. I've always thought of the seasons as a clock for huntin', just like my Daddy does. Summer's when all the coyotes come out, and you can stay out late 'cause the sun don't go down 'til after dinnertime. In Fall, the migratory birds start to fly over Georgia to reach warmer places further South. I've always liked watching the V shapes glide across the sky, wishing I could grow a pair of wings and join 'em up there. Spring is baby season. When everything gets born again, from the grass under the mud to the leaves inside the trees to the baby deer, called calves, inside they Momma's bellies.

Babies are good at bein' born in Spring, I told Carol when I could see a tick of worry in her brow, especially after Carl brought up naming the baby Sophia again, You'd think they's dumb, since they's babies an' all, but they know.

I's talkin' outta my ass a lil' bit, 'cause I was a baby once and I was born in Summer, but it made her feel better.

And then there's Winter. Everything's dead in Winter, except for the things that know how to hide.

Swallowing a juicy bite of rabbit, I glance at Mouse.

He lays at my Dad's boots in the snow, both of 'em gnawing away at their scraps of meat like long-time buddies.

Sucking the meat off the warm bone in my hand, I click my fingers to get the dog's attention. He perks up, craning his neck to look at me, his eyes bulging as I toss the bone in his direction as thanks. He catches it midair, crushing it between his teeth.

When my gaze meets Dad's, he gives me a thumbs up and a questioning look. 'Tasty?'

I nod, my own greasy thumb glistening in the light of the fire as I give him one back.

His lip twitches upward, as if he's about to smile, but then he remembers something. 'We're talking about leaving.'

Looking around, I see the whole group deep in conversation as they eat.

'What they saying?'

'Glenn thinks we should stay. He goes to Sharpsburg with T-Dog and they come back with medicine.' He tells me. 'But we can't split up. Dangerous. Could get lost. And we can't stay here. Cold. Not secure. Both; too risky.'

'So we all go.'

He nods, with not much else to say. We all go. 'We leave tomorrow.'

I don't remember voting for that decision, but things ain't worked like that in a long time.

Nine miles. That would be nothin' if we were a flock of birds. Birds can fly twenty-five miles an hour, don'cha know. I know lots of animal facts like that one. Whenever I can't sleep, I try and see how many I can remember until I'm blinking myself awake and the sun is rising. But we ain't birds, and we ain't even got the cars no more. I'on know how fast humans walk, but I guess I'll find out.

Pushing away my thoughts, I sign, 'It's kinda funny. We're surrounded by cars and none of them work.'

'This place is shitty,' He says for a second time, agreeing.

As we make our way through the meal, Dad, Glenn, and T-Dog keep forcin' their food into my hands. They act as if they can't see my signs telling them to save it for themselves, 'cause they're a bunch of assholes. I give up on changing their minds after a while, 'cause I've learnt it never works. Rick and Maggie do the same to Carl, Lori, and Herschel. We're all just a bunch of assholes who love each other.

That night, it's the same routine. Pull down the shutter doors. Tie a shirt through the padlock loop. Switch on the lamps.

I get comfortable in my pile of blankets that I share with Dad, digging through our bag. Wind rattles the garage walls, bullets of rain and hail battering the thin metal. For once, the rumbling of my stomach ain't here to join 'em. I pull out my journal and pencil, starting my ritual of shaving the wood away from the lead using Merle's knife, dwindling it down to the size of a used cigarette. Blowing the dust off, I sheathe my blade and flip to a page I can write on. Ain't no blank ones left, but I can squeeze what I wanna say into the gaps.

As everyone lays down, they keep clutching at their bellies like Lori does all the time, stuffed full of dinner.

Hello, diry, I write, 'cause Lori taught me how, Today was a grat day.

Mouse comes and inspects our blankets before plopping himself down next to me, resting his chin on his paws.

We faund a dog. I named him Mows becoz he kils mise and he is cyut. He caut for rabbits for us. He is my frend.

Dad lays down on my other side, giving my arm a squeeze and closing his eyes.

We are leeving again tomoro. Dad spelt it, Sharpsburg. My Muma uset to live ther but she is ded now. I wont to leev but also I dont. Im a bit scered. Dont tell nobode. At leest we are leeving the car yard befor it gets the chans to kil one of us.

As olways, Rest in peece, M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P.

I snap the book shut and place it back into the bag, zipping it up and rolling onto my back.

Dad throws a blanket over me as the wind blows in through the slash in the wall, pulling me into him with a strong arm.

Somebody clicks off the last lamp.

Squirrels can jump ten times their body length, I think to myself, focusing on the beat of Dad's heart and the warm weight of Mouse slumped against my legs, before I'm opening my eyes again and there's a band of cool sunlight on my face.

I watch a bird fly past the gap.

We never stay in one place for long.

I hover near the gate along with the rest of the group, clutching the straps of my backpack.

Lori got worse overnight.

I'm looking at her right now, as Rick peels off his coat and wraps it around her. Her face; it's paler than the snow, her nostrils two rings of puffy, red skin, leaking snot onto her lip. She wipes it away, fingers shaking. I almost want to tell Rick to call this whole thing off, but that would be stupid. The sky's cleared up some, making way for the sun. If we don't go now, we'll be stuck here forever.

Threading the last button through the loop, Rick turns and rallies all of us to follow him outta the car yard.

We file out into the open, a trail of footsteps carving a line through the snow.

Rick takes up the front of the line. Dad, the back. When wolves travel in packs, the two strongest of the group do this, too. This way, one can flatten the terrain for everyone else, while the other can keep an eye out, make sure nobody falls behind. That's why I'm in the middle, trailing behind Lori, Carl, and Herschel. We're the smallest and the weakest and the sickest, but I can still trace the treeline with my gaze and watch for danger, grabbing for the hilt of my knife every time a shrub shivers in the wind.

Mouse walks alongside us as we journey, 'cause I think he's decided he doesn't wanna be alone, anymore.

With every step I take, I find myself missing Dad's truck more and more. I know it was just a hunk of old, blue metal on two pairs of wheels, but it's still gone, and I still miss it like I'd miss a person. It's true that it'd been through its fair share of bumpy rides through the forest and countless tyre changes, but ain't nothin' short of an army tank would'a made it outta what happened to it in the end. They came out of nowhere, is how T tells it. We were cruising along the streets of a small town when a group of people jumped us. Way I tell it, they came out from behind some cars that were spilled out across the sidewalks. A gunshot. We veered, straight into the window of a store.

Dad and Rick killed those ones, too. Four people; two men, a woman, and a sorta-kid — A teenager.

I remember the boy's face. Caramel-colored with a nose that looked like a bird's beak, maybe a few years older than my cousin, Tobias, but people always said he had a baby's face. I couldn't figure out if they deserved it. They'd tried to rob us, a small group with two kids and a pregnant woman; our medicine, blankets, water. But back in the beginning, Dad and Merle did the same thing to other groups. Lone cars on the highway, pairs of people as they walked, sleeping camps. It was awful, but it was how we stayed alive.

There was this one night that Dad asked Merle if they should stop while he thought I was asleep.

We're doin' it for her, was all my Uncle had to say.

Every bad person I ever met probably had somebody they was doin' it for.

Their blood pooled onto the tarmac as our blue truck smoked, wedged between a scattering of debris and rubble. The men tried pushing it free for over an hour, but it was stuck there, well and truly. Eventually, we accepted we had to leave it behind.

After that, Rick's truck shut off one afternoon and refused to turn back on no matter what Glenn did to it.

We couldn't all fit into the grey car, or onto the back of Dad's motorbike, so that's how we were left with nothing.

Still, Dad swears up and down he's gonna go back for his bike as soon as he can, soon as we're settled someplace proper. He hid it real good and took the cylinder head with him, so there's a very good chance ain't nobody nabbing it before he can get back there. My Dad's a smartass like that. I think he'd sooner pull all his teeth out 'fore he lets somebody else have his precious bike.

On a little street sign just ahead of us that reads, Poplar, a tiny bird perches.

It chirps and flies off when we get close.

Poplar Street. Two miles down.

Herschel looks at me over his shoulder, his brows made even fluffier than usual by the snow that's gathered on them.

'Doing well?', He asks.

I nod, yes. My feet are achin', but I'm sure I ain't the only one. 'You? I have water if you need.'

'That's okay, sweetie. I'm not thirsty.'

I give him a bit of a stern look, one that Rick would be proud of, but he just turns to face forward again.

Hmph. I'm suddenly appreciating how the others must feel when I refuse their food. 

Glancing behind me, I extend the offer to Carl and Lori. When they accept — Well. When Carl accepts and forces Lori to do the same, — Dad alerts Rick, and guides us off the road, into a little eating area beside a kiosk station to take a break. I drop my backpack onto the seat of a wooden table and pull out my bottle of water. Lori and Carl sit down as I unscrew the cap and hand it to them, waiting for Carl to take a small sip first, holding it to his Momma's cracked lips after. Her neck gulps twice before he passes it back to me.

Most everyone else settles down at the other tables, catching their breaths.

Dad approaches the three of us. He points at the bottle with a no-nonsense expression. 'Drink that.'

I'm about to stash it, but do as he says. I am a little thirsty.

'How are you?'

'I'm okay.' I zip the empty bottle away. 'My feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

I nod. I can. 'You?'

'Feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

He huffs a chuckle. 'Don't be smart. I'm going to check the—.'

I follow his gesture over to the kiosk, nodding and taking the seat next to Carl.

The boy glances at me a couple times, as if it's hard to look at me, like how it's hard to look at the sun for too long before you start seein' shapes. He awkwardly points at my bag. Huh? He touches his fingers to his freckled chin, swiping forwards.

'Thank you.'

He knows how to sign?

All this time, I ain't seen him pick up the guidebook even once.

I ain't sure what to say, so I just nod until he looks away again, and then we're both just watching Mouse sniff the ground.

Boy, do the two of us know how to hold a grudge. Ever since our squabble that afternoon before Dale died, we been holdin' so tight onto 'em we ain't even know what to do with 'em anymore. You're a stupid baby, Harley. I hate your guts, Carl. I'm glad you're not my sister. I'm glad you ain't my brother. Stupid. That was months ago, now, and I might still be a stupid baby — I'll give him that — but I don't hate his guts. I just hate sayin' sorry. My teachers used to say bein' able to apologise is a life skill, but I never saw how it keeps ya alive.

Mustering up the courage to give it a go anyway, I sign to him, 'Back on the farm. I was just—.'

Wait. He's looking at me all confused. He don't understand.

I deflate, embarrassed. Never mind.

'Are you okay?', Beth signs to me from the other table.

'Yeah... My feet hurt.'

'Mine, too.' She sighs wistfully, her blonde hair flying around in the wind. 'We need a massage.'

It forces a giggle outta me. She makes me feel like such a girl, sometimes.

When Dad comes back, T-Dog in tow, it doesn't look like they found much in the way of food or water — Just what looks like a crumpled granola bar and a couple newspapers that we could prolly use to make a fire. Mysterious Infection Hits France, is one of their headlines, not even worthy of a bold font. Dad stuffs the little bar into Lori's coat pocket before he helps her stand from the bench, gently passing her off to Rick. He runs a hand up and down his wife's back, murmuring to her as I sling my backpack on and get to my feet.

I'm okay, I think she's assuring him, trying to brush him off.

Maggie shares a worried glance with Carol, then with Dad.

Before I know it, I'm walking over Rick's footprints again.

There's the river.

I saw it on the map, but it's bigger in person. It's not just a white strip of ink bent around laddering terrain lines. It's a flat, blue sheet of ice wedged between two frozen shorelines, snow scuffing over its surface as the wind pushes it around.

Like I said, I saw it on the map. That's why I know the only road that passes over it is miles away.

We're gonna have to cross it on foot.

'We need to be careful,' Rick turns to address us. He makes sure to sign as he speaks, very obviously struggling to match the volume of the wind. 'I'll go first. Make sure it's safe. Then, Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel. Then, the rest.'

There's no option for any of us to dispute the plan, so he goes ahead and nods to himself, sighing and turning toward the thick bank of snow. This is what Rick does. He risks his life, risks falling into rivers and freezing to death, 'cause he's got a few screws lose and he's brave, and some months ago, on the side of the road after our home burnt down, he told us, This isn't a democracy, anymore. I grab onto Dad's hand, squeezing it like a stress ball at the doctor's office before they stick the needle in ya arm, as our leader surfs down the hill.

Fringes of snow break off and roll down as he goes, eventually landing at the bottom.

Okay, I think I can see him mouthing to himself, Okay.

He takes his first step. He holds his arms out on either side of himself. Another step. Another; delicate, as if he's testing out whether or not he's gonna burn his feet, learning he won't, and then doing it all over again with the other foot.

When he reaches the other side, he pulls himself up onto the shelf of snow.

He plops onto his ass.

He made it.

When he realizes this, he raises his hand and waves us over.

I take a deep breath.

Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel, is what he said. Harley. I'm next.

'Go slow,' Dad signs to me, looking at me in a very serious way. 'Don't walk exactly where Rick walked. It could break.'

I nod, repeating his instructions in my head as I let go of his hand, forcing myself to approach the ledge.

Sitting down and sliding all the way to the bottom, I push myself to my feet, staring out onto the ice.

Oh, shit.

I swear it ain't look this far from up there.

'It's okay,' Rick's signing to me from across the river. 'You're light. You won't fall.'

'You promise?'

'I promise.'

Okay. Okay, I can do this.

I take my first step. Shit, it's slippery. I almost lose my balance, catching it right at the last moment. My gaze snaps back up to Rick. It's okay, He signs again. I look over my shoulder, where up on the hill, Dad signs the same thing. It's okay. It's like a tight rope. Taking care to mind the puddles of sleet sitting on the ice, I walk the rope one step at a time, water rushing underneath my boots.

When I'm close enough, Rick braces himself on one leg and reaches down for me, hooking his hands under my armpits. He lifts me onto the shelf of snow, setting me down beside him. I clutch his arms, my legs shaking. Oh, solid ground. It's never felt better.

Well done, He mouths, giving both my shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go.

Looking back at the other shoreline, I see a small Glenn and Maggie both sending me thumbs' ups.

'Proud of you, baby,' Dad is signing beside them, as Carol cups her own cheeks, relieved.

'I made it,' I reply, heart pounding.

'Yeah, you did. With sore feet, too.'

I wish I could let out a laugh, but I can't. Not yet.

Lori is next.

Lori, sick and frail, with the baby in her belly.

T-Dog slides down first and catches her when she reaches the bottom, holding her hands to steady her. She carefully steps onto the ice, alone. Her fingers leave T-Dog's. She's so skinny these days, I'm worried the wind might just knock her over. I feel Rick tense against me. Slowly, and cradling her belly, she ventures further out. There's a moment or two I think she might trip, but she makes it.

Rick pulls her up, and then it's Carl's turn; then Herschel's.

The four of us help the old man climb up onto the bank. The worst of it is over.

We wait for everybody else to cross. Glenn and Maggie set out next, keeping a good distance between them the whole way, before Beth makes her way down behind them, doing the same. Everyone calls out encouragement and praise, egging them on. One by one, we work together to pull them up. Glenn. Then, Maggie. Beth, who's shaking like a little lamb. And Mouse, who don't even need our help.

As Rick and Maggie pull Beth up, the last ones to begin their crossing are Dad, T-Dog, and Carol.

They're halfway across when Mouse starts barking.

A head appears over the hill behind them. Shoulders. A fleshy ribcage. It's a walker. An actual walker. It don't know where its goin', blindly trudging forward, skirting the ledge. It's gonna fall down. Everyone realizes this at the same time, suddenly pointing and shouting things. The three of them stop in their tracks. They turn to look behind them, just as the thing takes its next and final step. With no more ground to stand on, it falls head-first into the slope, tumbling, once, twice. It smacks into the ice, a cannon ball of limbs.

A line as thin as a hair shoots out from under its body.

A crack. The ice is cracking.

My body lurches as if I'm about to do something, about to climb down there and help, but we can't.

The only way we can help them is by staying off the ice.

The line grows longer and longer. It's under Dad's boot before he can even take a step. His chest heaves, staring down at it. Carol and T-Dog linger nearby, terrified, as if any flinch or gasp from them will send them all under. He pulls his crossbow off his shoulder. I'm not sure if he's about to shoot the walker, or maybe ditch the bow to lessen his bodyweight, but he don't get to do either.

His leg goes straight through the ice.

He falls onto his forearms. His weight splits the line into three; snaps the surface into pieces.

SPLASH.

Both he and Carol are suddenly neck-deep in the water.

I think I squeal a little bit, 'cause I feel it in my throat.

The walker lifts its head.

T-Dog looks back at us, shouting and holding his hand out. He wants something. Rick catches his meanin', unholstering his pistol and rearing it back, hurling it as far as he can over the river. T-Dog told us he used to be the best player on his baseball team in high school, so he catches it with one hand, pulling the slide back to check the chamber. I guess we can stop callin' him a liar, now.

The walker drags itself forward, clawing marks into the ice.

Dad reaches under the water, teeth bared, face scrunched, hauling his crossbow out and slinging it across the ice.

It spins across the slippery surface, coming to an eventual stop someplace that don't matter anybody.

T-Dog raises the gun.

He pulls the trigger.

There's a flash of light, and at the same time, a spurt of black blood.

As soon as the walker is dead, he takes a step toward, but Dad shouts at him and he stops.

Water goes flying as he grabs for purchase, setting his elbow on the ice. He puts his weight on it. The ice crumbles like a cookie. He tries again, this time keeping his body as flat as he can, and manages to pull himself up onto his stomach.

I can only imagine how much it hurts, but he pushes through it, army-crawling over to Carol.

They lock hands.

With what little strength he has left, he drags her out, too, letting her collapse beside him.

They both lay there, the wind blowing over their bodies as they struggle to suck in a full breath, curled up like shrimps.

T-Dog wastes no time. He teeters and slips around on the sleet as he kneels, grabbing a fistful of their coats and pulling them further away from the broken ice. They're not moving. It's like they've turned into the frozen walkers, their joints all locked up from the cold, unable to hinge. T-Dog gets Carol to her feet first. As Rick, Glenn, and Maggie hurry down to the shoreline, I follow after them and grab onto Carol the moment she's within arm's reach. We all help pull her up, as T-Dog spins around, waddling back to Dad.

Carol's legs give out. Her body lands in the snow, her arms wrapping around her stomach.

Over her hip, I watch as T-Dog, strong as an ox, gets all one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of my Dad to his feet.

When they reach the bank, we all grab for him.

Even through the layers of fabric, I can feel the deadly cold seeped all the way through his skin. As we lay him in the snow, he winces, his hair frozen stiff and his cheekbones redder'un cherry popsicles. I cup them with my mittened hands, crouching at his side.

I'm grateful I can't hear any of the panicking around me.

I just hold him, waiting for him to open his eyes.

When he does, they're blue, like the river.

Then, Rick and Glenn are pulling him up. I give them space, letting 'em hook each of his arms around their shoulders. Maggie and Beth follow suit and with Carol, hugging their arms around her waist, frantically looking for direction from our leader. He points. We all follow his finger. There's a couple tiny buildings just up the road, not too far. That's where we're going. We need to get Dad and Carol warm. We start making our way over there without a second thought, bracing ourselves against the snow coming down on us, now.

We reach the yellow security barriers. Carl helps me force them upwards, letting everybody through. It looks like this place was a ticket and security checkpoint. There's two little booths, the windows smeared with old blood, and a bigger building in the middle. Rick kicks that one's door in, making way for us to spill inside the kitchen-sized room, as they set Dad down on a dirty bed in the corner.

The two girls gently lower Carol down next to him, helping her peel off her wet clothes.

Taking Dad's coat zipper in my fingers, I rip it all the way down and pull him out of it, quickly doing the same with his shirt.

Rick casts about. He spots a wastebin in the corner of the room and moves it to the middle, taking the newspapers that T-Dog is offering him from his backpack. Glenn passes him a lighter as he stuffs it down. Flick, flick. He cups it; holds it there.

It catches.

—hould be contained within a week, according to the French Health Ambas—, it reads, before curling around the flame.

As warmth begins to emanate, I move down to Dad's boots, unlacing them, tossing them away with his socks. He's left in just his jeans, with barely enough energy to hold his hands out to the steadily burning pages of the Washington Post.

Taking off my own coat and cuddling up to his side, I hope I can give him some of my body heat. I don't have much of it, but I don't need it all. I'm happy to share it. Already, he looks a little less awful just by being outta the wind. Carol has been stripped down to her bra and cargo pants, shivering as Maggie fits her into a spare sweatshirt. Pulling my beanie off, I fit it onto Dad's head. He looks silly. Shirtless with his edgy tattoos on display, wearing his daughter's pink hat. When Maggie passes me another sweatshirt, I help dress him in that, too.

As I work, T-Dog approaches us, setting the crossbow against the wall.

A pearl of water drips off the end of Dad's nose as the man leaves.

I study him, feeling guilty. 'I wanted to help.'

He frowns at me.

I add nothing more. There was nothing any of us could do, but I still wanted him to know.

Everyone finally settles around the tiny fire, absorbing every last ounce of heat it has to offer.

Rick signs to me, 'We can stay the night.'

'Thank you,' I nod.

As he moves his attention elsewhere, I sneak a glance at Lori.

She's coughing. A yellow glob falls into her hand, before she wipes it on some newspaper. I know that ain't good.

We stay like this for a while. The only way to tell that time is passing at all is every minute or so, when someone adds a fresh wad of newspaper to the fire to keep it alight. Paper burns fast, but it also creates a lotta smoke. We eventually have to open all the windows to let it out, which in turn lets the cold in, but our only other choice is to suffocate to death. Ain't nobody in the mood for that.

Once Dad and Carol have both fallen asleep, I take out the little ASL handbook from my bag, scooting back to sit against the wall. I might as well get some studyin' in, if we ain't leaving for a while. I rest it in the crook of my thighs, flipping to a dog-eared page.

To sign, IMAGINATION, it reads, Start by extending both pinkies.

The little hands in the picture look like they's holdin' invisible teacups, so copy them, and it's easy enough.

To sign, OPINION, the picture directly below it reads, Start by creating a circle shape with one hand.

A kick to the bed frame.

Startled, I look up at the attacker.

It's Carl.

He points to the empty spot next to me. I ain't got any real reason to decline, so I give a nod, making a little extra room for him as he settles down at my side, only to do nothin' but fiddle with his fingers in his lap. I can't ask him what he wants.

Suddenly, he takes the book from me, thumbing through the alphabetical section.

He stops when he reaches S, studying the first picture on the page.

To sign, SORRY, it reads, Start by forming a fist.

My eyes go wide, watching the boy do as it says. Place it over your heart, making a grinding motion. He glances at me, silently asking if he's doing it right. He's not, obviously. You ain't s'posed to leave a bruise. But I get the message loud and clear all the same. He's sorry. Maybe for calling me a stupid baby, or for telling me that even though I know what a chantrelle mushroom is and I can shoot a gun, I still ain't worth nothin' without somebody else around to watch out for me; him around. Or maybe just for what happened at the river.

Before I can decide which one it is, he gets to flippin' again, finding what he wants at E.

He blanches. Got more than he bargained for with this one.

Still, he gives it a go.

It's slightly wrong again, but there's only one sign I know that looks like that.

'Everything.'

He stares at me, boyishly unsure, not looking very much like his Dad anymore like he wishes he did.

You don't need to be sorry, I'd sign to him if he could understand, You were right. I do need help, sometimes.

'Me, too,' I sign instead, reaching over and flipping to the page with the same phrase, and signing it again.

He glances from my hands, to the page, back to my hands again. I'm sorry, too. I think that's all we need to say, but I'll still add this last bit on, anyway. Word by word, I use the book to translate. It's obvious we could use my diary and pencil to write messages to each other. It'd be easier, but easier don't feel right. Anybody can do that. It's only the special ones that will learn your language.

When the sentence is complete, I rest my hands in my lap, watching his face for a reaction.

'You're my brother.'

He's stunned for a moment, and it's a long moment.

But then there's a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Carl is my big brother, and that's just the way things is. It ain't my fault we're in this little family together, that we've seen people die together, been scared and hurt together, that he let me cry on his shoulder one night and never mentioned it again.

He consults the book one last time before lookin' me in the eye, signing back, 'You're my sister.'

Always have been.

When I jokingly flip to the page that reads, To sign, I LOVE YOU, he snaps the book closed. A genuinely disgusted expression plagues his face, looking like he's just eaten rotten broccoli. It makes me forget all about how cold I am as he gets up and walks away.

It's nighttime when I open my eyes.

Lifting my cheek from Dad's shoulder, a yawn parts my lips. The sight of the moon peeking over the windowsill greets me, glass pulsing a faint orange as the fire in the wastebin burns nearby. I can see Rick out there, hugging himself next to a little light.

Scooting off the mattress, the guidebook falls from my lap.

I pull on my socks and boots. I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep, anyway.

I remember in the Winter, when it was time to get dressed for school and work, Dad used to lay our clothes over the electric heater that we always had plugged into our living room wall. We'd make a game of it, pretending we were cooking steaks over a grill while the sky turned from black to grey, to white, to blue. His boss at the mechanic's shop had him startin' his shifts at six in the morning, while Merle and everyone else in our trailer park was still asleep in their beds. It was unfair, but he always found ways to make sure I never found out.

Grabbing a stick of newspaper, I stand and tip-toe my way through everyone sleeping on the floor.

When I open the door, I shoulder myself into the cold and step out.

It closes behind me.

In the middle of the outstretched road, Rick sits with his back to everything, staring up at the stars.

I wonder if he's got a person up there, just like I do.

As I come to sit beside him, he lowers his gaze; regards me with an empty sort of look.

I don't mind it none, instead opting to study the creative setup in front of us. A metal cooking pot filled with damp sticks, a small flame flickering amongst the ash and dirt at the bottom. I take the paper in my lap and ball some up, tucking it into the pot.

'I thought you might be cold,' I explain as the flames grab onto it, growing larger. 'Your fire sucked.'

He doesn't smile; lips heavy, downturned.

I sign something else. 'Why are you out here?'

'Can't sleep.'

Well, I guessed that. 'Are you okay?'

A sigh leaves his body, sucked into the wind. He's not going to answer that. 'You should go inside.'

'I'm not tired.'

'Doesn't matter. Come on.' He moves as if to stand, holding a hand out for me to take, but I cross my arms over my chest and stay right where I am. He tries waiting me out, but it's useless. Settling down again, he hesitates before signing, 'Stubborn.'

Unfolding my arms, I finally get him to crack a smile as I sign, 'I know.'

It's wiped away when he flinches uncomfortably at something.

'Was there a noise?', I guess, confused.

The horizon gapes emptily at us from afar, a black stripe. I can't see anything unusual.

'Lori.' He supplies, defeated. 'She's coughing.'

A soft, oh, slips from my mouth.

'It's why I'm out here.'

The only thing I can think of to say is, 'She'll be okay.'

It's not much, but Rick still reaches out and takes my shoulder, attempting a smile before dropping his hand.

I'm on the side of the road again, the trees looming over me, tucked between old cobble walls as the farm sits some miles away, whatever that's left of it burning to a crisp. The door is there, is what he snarled at us. Let's see how far you get. The world was an open set of jaws in that moment. While I'm almost certain Dad and I would've made it, because like T says, we're cockroaches, I don't know for sure if the rest of the group would have, if Beth, Herschel, and Carol would have. We've been together since... Everything.

But I do know that we chose Rick, and he chose us. I would say it's like this thing called symbiosis, which I learnt about in second grade. But it's not. My teacher told us that without the egrets and the anemone and the sucker fish, the cattle and the clown fish and the sharks would die. They can't make it alone. But we ain't a family because we'd die otherwise.

We're family because Dale had this stupid old watch while he was still alive, and he said that despite everything, our paths aligned at the quarry all the same, and then I got scratched and a whole bunch of awful stuff happened, like explosions and gunshots and broken fences, and we blinked, and now we love each other so deeply we don't care if we could survive apart.

'You're doing a good job, Rick,' I sign.

It might be the fire, but his eyes go shiny afterwards. Yeah. I'll pretend it's the fire.

He got us to the CDC. Got us out. Killed Sophia. Jim. His best friend, just a few days later. Those four people on the road.

He touches his chin. 'Thank you.'

I can tell he doesn't believe me. M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P. I don't know how else to convince him. Maybe I can't.

Absentmindedly watching the fire dance, I clutch the locket through my sweatshirt.

'What is that?', Rick asks.

Thinking nothing of it, I pull the thing free, letting it sit against my sternum. 'Shane gave it to me.'

Something about Rick twists at the mention of Shane, making its way onto his face like a curling snake, a nasty scowl. He holds his hand out, wanting to hold it. A little unsure, I thread the chain over my head and carefully lay the pendant in his palm.

Bringing it closer to his lap, he glares down at the olive of metal as if it's his best friend reincarnated.

'When we were at the gas station,' I tell him, trying not to remember the blood, 'We argued. He gave it to me after.'

The BANG, the spike of blood, his arms shielding his face as he lay on the floor.

I think... I think I don't like this.

'Can I have it back now?'

His grip turns white.

Feeling a bit like I'm interrupting something that should be private, I don't bother asking again, just reaching ou—

My hand is knocked away. He rears his arm back — Oh, God. My heart, going cold as the snow. — and throws the locket into the fire. It disappears beneath the flames. I exclaim something, a half-word or maybe a shriek, like I've been burned at the same time as the brown thrasher and the photo of my Momma inside. My hands shoot out all on their own to grab for it, but I reel them back in.

I need to— I need to put the fire out. I've gotta smother it with something.

Frantically starting to scoop up handfuls of the snow around us, I think Rick realizes he's made a terrible mistake. He seems to wake up, pushing himself to his feet to try and help me save it, grabbing more, more, and more snow, dumping it onto the fire.

The light goes out all at once, smoke trailing up into the air, a dreadful, blackened smell.

He claws through the pot, wincing as he touches the metal, pulling out the locket.

When he thumbs the door open, the photo is nothing but a stain of soot.

I stand there, too big to fit inside my skin, my everything shaking with a different type of horror.

It's gone.

Rick stares at me, the smoke blowing past him.

My snow globe bulges in all directions like a pulsing heart, silent as ever. The door to the staff room opens over Rick's shoulder, my Dad hugging himself as he steps out. I was supposed to look after her. She was supposed to be safe in there. He's spewing apologies before my Dad even understands what's happened, but he catches on quick. The thing in his hand is my locket. It's ruined.

You did this?, I think he's needling him, or sum' like it. The Hell is wrong wit'chu?

Rick's shaking his head, cradling it like it's a pile of bones he can put back together. I'm sorry. I didn't know.

Just give it back!, I demand.

It's the first time I've tried to speak aloud since losing my hearing, the syllables an awkward tar in my teeth.

I snatch the locket from his grasp, giving the pot a hard kick before storming away.

SLAM.

It wakes everyone up, but I can apologise later, 'cause right now I'm throwing myself onto the mattress and pulling the blanket over my head, sealing myself away from them all. This ain't the farm. I can't just hide away in a tent somewhere, or take a breather in one of the paddocks. I'm stuck in this stuffy room, where I know I'm being stared at even through the blanket. I know how to ignore it.

The locket is a hot coal in my hands, illuminating the dark pocket as the last of the photo smoulders.

A long while passes.

Then, somebody's sittin' down next to me.

They don't move for a long while, just a comforting heat at my side.

Then they lift the blanket up, and it's Dad, pulling it over his head so we're both hiding under it.

'She's gone,' I fill him in before he can ask, just in case he ain't already know. For real, this time.

He saw. 'I know.'

'It was Rick.'

A pause. 'I know.'

'Did you punch him?'

'Did you want me to?'

I think about it for a moment, tracing the smear inside the locket door, before shaking my head. 'No.'

I know it's stupid. It's just a photo, but it was the only one I had. I won't be able to see her face whenever the feeling strikes anymore, or if I find myself missing her more than usual. I'm already committing the photo to memory so I don't forget her face.

'He said Shane gave it to you.' He signs, more of a musing than an accusation. 'I didn't know that.'

I never told him where I got the locket. It could've been from Beth, Maggie, Lori. Anyone but Shane.

No point lying, now. 'Well, now you do.'

'Why did you keep it?'

I don't know. 'I missed him.'

He fails to say anything for a minute or two, but then he picks his hands up again. 'Do you still miss him?'

You're allowed, Carl muttered into my shoulder that night.

'Yeah.'

'You know he was a piece of shit, don't you? '

I scoff through my nose. That ain't even the half of it. 'Yeah. I know.'

He eyes the locket, as if wanting to take it away from me.

My fingers curl around it protectively, holding it to my chest.

It's mine. He's gonna have to fight me for it.

He studies my face for a while, but we both know he's not gonna fight me. No. Instead, he pulls the blanket down, tucking it around my shoulders. I force out a sigh and rest my head on his chest, feeling him stroke his thumb up and down the slope of my cheek.

After the rest of the group see I'm more or less alright, they lay their heads back down.

The window sits there, pulsing orange.

Both the moon and Rick are exactly where they were before. He's back to consulting the stars, this time, without the light.

Author's Note.

So, I've obviously decided to spend a little more time with the group before we reach the prison. I'm anxious to get us to season three, but I just felt like there's some story beats left over from the farm that could use their own space. I hope you enjoyed it! :)

Heads up - You can expect only one more Winter chapter after this one.

Please let me know what you think of the new dialogue format, with everyone using sign language now. It's not permanent, seeing as Harley will have her hearing aids back once the weather gets warmer, but she's still 95% deaf and will rely on ASL most of the time.

It was a bit of a bold move to fully lean into Harley's disability, but in my opinion, it was the only natural progression. I did a bit of googling, and to the best of my knowledge, everything here is anatomically realistic and accurate. Oh, and so is all the ASL! :)

However, there isn't actually a river separating Newnan and Sharpsburg... Shhhh! ;)

One last thing. This story's playlist has gotten quite a lot bigger. Check it out!

I'll be working hard on the next chapter! Thanks for reading 💙

[lilacmuse]

September Sunshine

Thursday was my best friend's birthday, so i threw a little surprise dinner at her favorite Mediterranean restaurant with her sisters and a few close friends... I wasn't sure i'd be able to pull it off, but it worked like a charm :) She was completely shocked, stunned, and delighted when she saw us. One of our longest-running inside jokes is roasting each other about how old we're getting, so i skipped over the usual Happy Birthday balloons and got her "Happy Grandparents Day" and "Best Grandma Ever" balloons instead 😄 Overall, it was an absolutely beautiful night, and my friend's happiness made my week.

I've always had an idealistic view of love, but my idealism doesn't come from a place of naivete, it comes from genuine experience. Every form of love God has shown me has been so rare, i've never learned to crave the ordinary, and the bond between my best friend and i is an especially hard one to explain. To put it simply: God happened to place her on the street right next to mine when we were 12, and she ended up being the one person in my life who has loved me in a way that feels closest to His love.

I heard a cynical man say once that most people disappoint you once you get to know them better; that time always makes us tire of people once the initial excitement fades. I know that this might often be the case, but when your soul truly, deeply clicks with someone else's, it's a different story. Even after all these years, my best friend and i practically glow with happiness every time we're together; when we're not holding back, it's as if the energy of the entire room shifts purely from the love between our hearts. It's strange, because our personalities are opposites- she's practical, street smart, socially aware, and in touch with the real world; i'm the dreamy, head-in-the-clouds poet who's more at home in the realm of ideas than the world of the tangible.

When we were growing up, she was the rebellious one who would leap without looking, and i was the shy over-thinker who would look too long and forget to leap; i admired her bravery, and she loved my innocence. But our hearts are nearly identical- we're both wired to give people the benefit of the doubt too often, we both want to see the best in people no matter how many times they've shown us the worst, and we'd both do anything for the people we love. The longer i live, the more i recognize that there aren't many people in the world who exist like this, and it feels like a miracle that we have each other. I know many people don't believe in soulmates, but God gave me one in the form of a best friend, so i can vouch that they do exist :)

Last year, we were having a deep, vulnerable conversation about love, and i finally got the courage to be completely honest with her about how differently i see it. I'd always avoided having that conversation because we're so different; she had grown up dreaming of marriage and the white picket fence; i had always viewed marriage as something potentially beautiful but non-essential to my happiness. I was afraid she might not understand, and she was the one person whose understanding i wanted. But as soon as i explained that i can't bring myself to consider marriage unless it's to someone who has the spiritual depth i yearn for, she got it instantly- she said it wouldn't have made sense coming from anyone else, but she understood because it was coming from me.

The conversation made me realize that when someone truly loves you, they learn to step outside of themselves and into your reality for a bit; in their quest to understand you, they learn to experience life as you experience it, and understand the inner workings of your heart from the inside out. All my life, i've been wired to do that for everyone i meet, but i've rarely ever experienced it in return; most people just don't look or feel that deeply. When i do experience it- when someone just *gets* me as if we're momentarily the same heart beating in two different bodies- it's a completely transcendent, incomparable feeling, and it perfectly describes the way my best friend and i love each other. In a nutshell, that's what i imagine when i think about the kind of love i want; i'd like to be with someone who can see through my eyes as easily as i can see through his. I think what i'm describing is pure empathy- of a spiritual, emotional, and intellectual nature.

-----------------------

When my best friend and i were catching up last week, i opened up to her about a jarring experience i'd had the weekend before: there was a major Sunni convention here last weekend, so my friends and i decided to check it out on Saturday. Unfortunately, the convention itself was sold out, so we ended up perusing the bazaar for a few hours instead (people offered to sneak us in bc i was dying to hear Yasir Qadhi & a few others, but i felt like cheating to get into an Islamic lecture would be like gambling to go to Hajj 🙈). After the bazaar, we stood in the lobby for a moment, and i noticed a guy sneaking a glance at me while subtly pointing me out to one of his friends. I was going to ignore it, but he circled back and did it again. I glanced up surreptitiously, thought he looked familiar, then realized who he was with a mild pang of fear.

Several years ago- while in the midst of being intensely pressured by everyone in my immediate vicinity to get married- i decided to download one of the apps to see if i could meet someone at my own pace. I lasted about two days before the sheer number of notifications overwhelmed me, so i deleted the app and never looked back. After my cousin's wedding in June, i briefly downloaded it again purely to have something to point to when people bother me about not being married, and i realized i had tons of matches and messages i'd never looked at. One of them was a guy living in my city who had sent me multiple messages in 2019, then again in 2023, then again more recently. Though i'd never responded, his messages were nice- he seemed sweet, polite, and eager to meet me, so i decided to look at his profile because i didn't know anything about him. What i found there made my jaw drop. This is a small sampling:

...the rest of his profile was equally disturbing, as if he had somehow absorbed the terrible personality of every alpha male podcaster and condensed it into the most offensive, humorless drivel imaginable. He's allegedly a comedian, but i've met corpses with better comedic sensibilities. What i don't understand about men like this is- why would you behave like this and still go out of your way to try to talk to a practicing Muslim woman for marriage? Why would any self-respecting woman willingly choose someone so openly corrupt and mannerless? This man doesn't need a wife, he needs the guillotine 😡

After my friend and i were done being alarmed that a man like this exists and is apparently free to terrorize women, she asked to see all the other guys i've matched with who have messaged me. Her reaction was pretty much what i'd figured; she was stunned by how good-looking they are and insisted that i at least respond and give them a chance. I admitted that i've never replied to a single message, and i probably never will- i know how foolish that is, but my heart won't let me.

It's nothing at all about them- these men are incredibly handsome, capable, and well-rounded beyond anything i could ask for- the problem is always me. The superficial things mean nothing to me, and i cant bring myself to talk to dozens of different men with the hope that one of them might surprise me and turn out to have the depth i'm looking for. Until God sends me my person, i'm happy as i am. I know people malign singleness, but i think there's beauty in every season of life, and i've never taken my independence for granted. Marriage is beautiful, but so is having the freedom to truly meet yourself as an individual; to explore the inner workings of your being, and produce beautiful things as a direct consequence of that introspection. I guess what i want out of marriage, more than anything, is someone whose presence feels as satisfying and safe for me as solitude.

On a lighter note, i think my friends and i might go on a roadtrip and rent a cabin later in the Fall iA; i haven't been camping at all this year, so i can't wait. Wedding season is also around the corner, as is Mawlid- i absolutely love this time of year :)

As always, i'm praying for the state of the world, and for the liberation and safety of Palestine- may Allah (swt) hasten their freedom and aid the oppressed all over the world. To all the Palestinians who have messaged me on here: i'm doing my best to help as many people as i can, but please forgive me if i can't. May God be with you, half of my heart is always with you. ❤️

x r

[naavispider]

Can we please get more Spider getting carried around? It’s so cute and he deserves affection, plus I love how you write fluff!!!

When Spider was first captured by the RDA, he had been quiet, subdued, and kept himself to himself, hating any kind of interaction with the recoms. Weeks had passed since then, and now the kid's relationship with the squad had transformed from brooding prisoner to a hate-to-love mascot.

Spider was doing his usual party trick of ruining the current card game that Savine had set up, and enough was enough. Clearly, the kid felt the need for attention, so if that's what he wanted, that is what he would get.

"Hey Spider," Savine called out to him.

Spider looked up, suddenly apprehensive - he knew he'd just pissed her off. Savine didn't let anything show as she smiled sweetly up at him. "Come here."

Spider frowned, but did what she said. Slowly he approached, suspicious of her intentions. Over Spider's back, Savine gave Mansk the tiniest look. Get ready. Mansk nodded behind the kid, following him over to Savine stealthily.

"You think you're pretty funny huh?" she goaded, raising her eyebrows at Spider.

"Uh... yeah actually?" Spider sassed back, although he still was on edge, ready to run the moment Savine made a move.

"Do you know what's really funny?" She held her hands up, leaning closer to Spider like an animal about to strike. Spider stopped, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth - looking around to try and suss what her game was.

"Your face?" he offered.

"You little shit!" she grinned, finally lunging for Spider' wrists and pulling him around so Mansk could grab his ankles. They lifted him up sideways, completely off the ground as if he was the night's dinner they were about to roast over the fire. He screamed, but he was struggling not to laugh.

"Put me down!" he wailed, trying to squirm out of the grip, which was obviously futile.

Savine grinned at Mansk, who nodded back, and they started to swing Spider from left to right, gently at first, then higher and higher, carefully avoiding the fire beside them, until Spider was in fits of giggles, screaming for them to put him down and stop swinging him like a toddler.

"Oh, but it's so much fun!" Savine teased, nodding once more at Mansk. "Up and over!" she laughed as the pair of them swung Spider all the way over their heads.

"Ahhh!" he wailed pathetically, utterly unable to do anything to stop them. He threw his head back and yelled again, but to no effect.

By now, the whole camp was watching. Wainfleet had strolled over, chuckling, and Quaritch had stood in indignation at what the corporals were doing to his son.

"Savine..." he chastised, a pained look on his face as if he was trying to keep from finding the humour in the situation.

Savine ignored him. "Ready for another kid? Let's go again!" She laughed at Spider's infectious giggles as she and Mansk swung him up and around in another full circle.

"Jesus Christ!" the disorientated Spider spluttered, while Mansk lowered Spider's feet to release him, above uproarious laughter from the rest of the camp. Once Spider was stood upright, Savine let go of his hands. "You bast.. fuck you... christ..."

Spider staggered, completely off balance, swinging for Savine but missing wildly, instead crashing into Wainfleet's nearby pack and falling on his flat on his butt.

"Jesus," Quaritch muttered, working hard to keep the smile off his face as Spider tried to sit up, tangled in the straps of Wainfleet's pack and cursing every last avatar on the ship.

[bomberqueen17]

assorted, and snippet

it is a rainy sunday. we had a glorious last-gasp-of-summer week, 70s and sunny and lovely, and then last night as the sun went down it suddenly got cold and is going to stay that way.

today's my late father's birthday. he'd've been 79 today. farmsister asked the family groupchat if we wanted to do anything special but like, what? no, so we're just having our normal sunday family dinner. she decided to make enchiladas because while the tomatoes are done, there are still tomatillos, so she's roasting those. i decided to thaw a pork butt and i'll make a sort of al pastor kind of pulled pork for the filling, later. but at the moment i'm out in my cabin, which is a disaster area and needs cleaning. but at the moment i'm just listening to the rain on the metal roof, and i have the propane stove on to get it up to room temperature in here, and i'm dying to take a nap but probably won't.

i told myself i could sit for an hour and maybe write. I sorta don't want to write, I sorta want to fuck around and nap, lol. I'm at a bit in Peace-Tied where I'm trying to fold in stuff I wrote ahead that doesn't quite fit now, so that's complicated-- I've been resorting to using two monitors to have the old doc open in a window so I don't have to tab back and forth. But Fit For Thrones is also in an awkward spot where I wrote stuff ahead and like not a lot has changed, but I realized there needed to be a new thread introduced, so I've got to work that in, and I'm realizing a scene I wrote ages ago that was just fluffy and didn't show a lot of character development is going to have to get overhauled to fit the new concept in, which at this point is just a slight complication but later I wanna hang like a whole plot off it, so it's gotta be here-- if I put it in later it won't have any support and might not really properly hold all the weight it needs to, so. And this scene was just fluff anyway and needs more stuff in it. So that's fine. But it's hard. Because of course all I want to do is skip ahead and write the juicy weighty scene this is gonna support. But if I do that (again, as i've been doing a lot in this series, ugh) i'll get there and it won't fit and i'll have to do more of this fiddly kind of work.

I did only miss Friday's update because I was physically too busy at the time, though. It's the wind-down of the farm season but that just means people have started to peel away to do other things, there's not actually a lot less work, and so those of us left are kind of juggling a lot more balls, even if they're less heavy than they were. (more wittering specifically about FFP behind the cut, and a snippet)

So I have a bunch of stuff allllllmost ready to post, but a bunch of tricky work to do for the continuations of them. There has been a spate lately of very nice comments, some rereaders and some new readers, and I appreciate all of you and it keeps me going, really it does.

I can't find the one, though, someone commented on the latest FFT that they thought Morvran might wind up a bit subby perhaps, and I literally cackled out loud. (Someone else was speculating that he's more traumatized/demi/gray than pure ace, which I also have been trying to convey-- he's ace-spec for sure but gray, is where I'm headed with him.)

I don't think Ciri is going to wind up being particularly domme-y in her preferences-- she also would like a pretty lady to push her around please-- but understand she was raised by a bunch of dommes all around, so I had a very early slightly-cracky notion that she thinks this is how het relationships have to work (this did bear fruit in an outside-of-series published work on AO3 thanks to the Smubbles folks, here: What Every Young Woman Needs)-- but there's an excerpt here I haven't quite yet fit into the FFP continuity, which I suppose I'll put here for everyone's delectation (Ciri POV, of Morvran):

He glanced up only briefly at her arrival, flashing her a quick smile but returning to whatever he was writing, clearly intently focused. She propped a hip on the edge of the desk, waiting, and he finished writing the line and looked up at her.  There was something about the way he looked up at her, like this, something open in his expression that usually wasn’t. It sort of made her want to pull his hair, and made her suddenly understand some things about the way her-- Geralt and Yennefer had acted, around one another. She’d always thought Yennefer was perhaps too mean to Geralt, but she could suddenly understand Yennefer’s perspective, and see that maybe it… well maybe it wasn’t being mean.  But. She didn’t know Morvran near well enough to offer to pull his hair.

[jungle-angel]

Believe (Miles Miller x Reader)

Summary: Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning with your husband and his family is nothing less than magical

Warnings: Parenthood, mentions of birth etc.

Tagging: @lewmagoo Leah I had "Believe" by Josh Groban for the Christmas/Holiday themed writing and I'm very, very happy and grateful to be able to have done so. I hope you're ok with Benny and Jesse being included in the fic and I do apologize immensely, Dad!Miles Miller has been on the brain alot lately. I hope either way you enjoy this and that you and your family have a very Merry Christmas too. 🥰🥰🥰🥰🎄🎄🎄🎄

Miller Land

Bozeman, Montana

Christmas Eve

Miles carried a very heavily sleeping Benny upstairs, the rest of the nieces and nephews having gone to bed after the nine millionth rerun of The Grinch cartoon and after the grown-ups had all cleaned up the dishes from dinner. Outside it was snowing heavily, but in your home, the white lights from the Christmas tree and all the decorations, the crackling and snapping of the logs in the fire and the lingering smell of the prime rib roast having slow cooked in the oven, made it all worthwhile and cozier than it ever had been.

"Dada?" Benny chirped, waking suddenly.

"Go back to sleep Benny bear," Miles hushed, patting the two year old's back.

Miles carefully placed him in his bed and tucked Benny in under the wool blankets and the duvet that made it more like a weighted blanket than anything else. He tucked Benny's puppy in beside him before heading down the hall to your shared room where you were tucking Baby Jesse in for the night.

"There we go lovebug," you cooed, covering him with the checked flannel Christmas blanket. You tucked in his little teddy bear beside him before carefully putting his little blue knit cap on his head. He was so little and precious, only two weeks old, but so sweet and quiet, barely ever fussing unless he was hungry.

"Merry Christmas Jesse," Miles murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his little cheek and gently scratching his belly.

You and Miles turned out the lights and climbed into bed, the both of you warm and a little worn out from the evening's events. All of your family and friends had descended en-masse to the ranch and dinner had been no less than eventful. A group of St. Lucia carolers had come from town, all in red and white with the candle wreaths around their heads, singing and bringing baskets of Lusskatter, the sweet cinnamon rolls that the owner of your favorite general store made in her cafe every year. You, Miles and the rest of the family had been no less generous, sending them on their way with fresh loaves of bread, soft and cakey gingerbread cookies and little cannisters of hot mulled drinks to keep out the frigid Montana winter.

"You have a good night handsome?" you whispered, gently caressing his face.

"Hmmmm, wish it didn't have to be once a year," Miles mumbled.

You had wished it many times yourself. Those army years had been tough despite Miles being able to get leave every year at Christmas. Yet despite the hardship, you had gotten through it. It was a long, hard slug, but with the loving support of his parents and each other, you both got through it and had come out better than most others would have, believing in each other to the fullest.

You wanted to cry when you saw the sleepy, loving smile on your husband's face. It stirred something so wishful and so dreamlike in your soul that it could have only come about this time of year. "I love you my sweet," he purred, gently kissing your lips.

"I love you too Miles," you whispered as he pulled you in closer.

"Better get some sleep," he yawned. "Benny will probably be up at the crack of ass and will wanna pounce on us as soon as he sees what's under the tree."

You laughed a little, not minding in the least. Your boys were your boys no matter what. Let them enjoy Christmas.....you two had always said.

***********************

You and Miles were so deep in sleep, you didn't even notice two-year old Benny waking up and waddling his way to the stairs, peeking through the rails and gasping at the sight of all the gifts piled under the tree.

"Mommy! Daddy!!" he chirped. "Mommy! Daddy!!! Wake up! Wake up!! Santa came!"

Miles let out an obscene groan as Benny pounced on him, rolling between the two of you as you awoke, a little groggy from sleep, but happy nonetheless.

"Go get Mimi and Papa, Benny," Miles told him.

Benny jumped right off the bed and waddle-ran right down the hall to wake Otis and Kathy. But he didn't just wake Miles's parents. Benny, in his fervor, had begun waking all the aunts, uncles, cousins and anybody else who just so happened to be in the Miller household. Miles stumbled out of bed before you, sticking his feet in his warm slippers and throwing his dark blue robe on over his pale blue button-down pjs before handing you your silk one to throw over your nightgown. You gathered up Jesse and followed your husband into the hall before you were met by his mother and father.

"Boy, I hate to tell you this" Otis chuckled, running a hand through his dark blond hair that had now gone completely grey. "But your son's an EF-5 tornado in a kid's body."

"Oh ha-ha, very funny dad," Miles said with a sarcastic chuckle. "But didn't you at one point say the same thing about me?"

"Touche," Otis laughed. "You were after all, Benny's age when you dove into your gram's rosebush and came out with a pet skunk."

"And the feral cat we tamed," Miles laughed.

It wasn't long at all before all of the nieces and nephews and children from family friends all came rushing downstairs in their pjs. The excitement in the air was infectious, even as Kathy and Otis's little sisters went to go and put the egg casserole and the cinnamon rolls in the oven for breakfast while the coffee maker in the kitchen brewed away.

Everyone dove right into their gifts, taking picture after picture to capture the memories that were unfolding in the living room. Benny was so excited when he had gotten two pairs of mittens from you and Kathy, both knitted with all the love in the world you could possibly give.

"Papa lookit!" Benny proudly declared, showing Otis his new mittens. "I have gubs!"

Otis and Miles both busted out laughing and so didn't the others. You and Miles were so happy to see Benny and his cousins all playing with their new toys or reading their new books that you hadn't noticed a smaller gift on the dining room table.

Miles's aunt, Sarah, took Jesse off your hands for just a little while so the two of you could see what it was and who had left it. It was a little silver box wrapped with a red silk ribbon, sitting right next to the plate that had held the gingerbread cookies Benny had left for Santa. Oddly enough, nobody in the house had even touched the milk and cookies that had been left, or the bag of oats that Benny had left as well. But now the plate and glass were empty and the bag of oats gone as well.

"You didn't......?"

You shook your head.

"Dad, did you....?"

"I didn't touch any of it," Otis said. "I was way too full from dinner to even think about it."

Miles's eyes turned to the note underneath the cookie plate. He unfolded it, revealing the neat, swirling handwriting within.

Miles,

I gave this to your father when he was in the hospital after Guadalcanal and a few to the soldiers who were his roommates there. It took alot of fixing by some friends of ours and even the Missus. But it deserves to come back to your family. I'll see all of you again next year, take care and a very Merry Christmas to your family.

Sincerely, Mr. and Mrs. C

Miles opened up the little box and saw a little silver bell with a red ribbon tied around it. It looked like an old sleigh bell, one that would have been on the reins of the horses in France or Germany. Miles shook it a little and to his amazement, he could hear it ringing.

"You hear that too, right (y/n)?" he asked, his eyes wide with amazement.

You listened but it took you a minute to be able to hear it and Otis too. Even Kathy could hear it and for Benny it was the clearest. Yet when others listened, none of them could hear it except for the children.

You and Miles exchanged secretive but happy smiles, knowing that you two, your children and Miles's parents were the ones who could hear it. You hung the little bell right on the tree before Kathy called everyone in for breakfast while you and Miles couldn't stop looking at the little bell, noticing one little word etched into the silver in that perfect cursive that matched the letter........BELIEVE.

[that-struggling-writer-lh]

A Flower For Every Secret

WARNINGS FOR THIS WORK: No/Pre Outbreak. Minor language, suggestion of drinking, 18+ themes, no smut here but there will be eventually. Some fluff, Joel is not a grump here! No age gap specified, I guess use your imagination?

Word count: 1796

It started one week after I had settled into the small ranch-style house in a suburban neighborhood just outside of the Austin city limits. Summer was at its peak, the telltale signs all around. Children running and biking through the cul-de-sac, parents chasing and chastising children of all ages, the smell of fresh-cut grass and the smokiness of late-night bonfires lingered through the neighborhood. I wasn’t sure if I’d like it here, but in just two weeks, Austin had stolen my heart.

The rapid knocking at the door pulled me from my dinner preparations. With all of the windows open, letting the evening breeze let in the warm light of the sunset, I could hear the soft argument on the porch from the kitchen.

“Shut up, Dad, everyone likes brownies.”

“Maybe not her, feel bad, it’s dinner time, I don’t want to intrude.”

I smirked, recognizing the voices of Sarah and Joel Miller, my neighbors from across the street. Joel was a single father, who devoted his time and energy endlessly to Sarah and her friends. Unlike most of the parents in the neighborhood, Joel was often rompusing the streets with the children, kicking soccer balls, pitching baseballs, and leaving out coolers of fruit and water bottles for the kids to grab at their leisure. Carol, my neighbor to the right, had seen me grinning ear to ear at Joel riding a tricycle fit for a four year old the same day the movers were in and out of my house with boxes and boxes of things. She explained that Mr. Miller had so much time to spend with the children because his business was practically running itself after several years of success. Joel did mostly paperwork and HR things now whileTommy, his younger brother, handled on site management, and the rest typically fell into place aside from needing to be on site a few hours a week for touch ups and client issues.

Other than polite greetings and a short introduction, I knew nothing else of the eldest Miller brother.

Another rapid knock knock knock, “Sarah, honey, she’s probably not home.”

“She’s always home, Dad. Her car is right there.”

I abandoned my station at the cutting board and moved to the front of the house, opening the door and smiling at the family of two, “Howdy, Neighbor.” Joel greeted, running a hand through his curls slowly, “Sarah here was in the kitchen with one of her friends this afternoon and they decided this batch of goodies needed to find a home across the street.”

“Dad took one already.” Sarah interrupted, “There was supposed to be a dozen.”

Joel eyed me apologetically, “Quality control.”

I let a quiet laugh fall from my lips before turning my attention back to Sarah, “Well, one person certainly can’t eat all of these by herself. I’ve got enough dinner cooking for three people, if you guys want to join.” I offered, stepping aside and leaving room for the pair to enter my home.

“We shouldn’t.” Joel sucked in a breath.

“It smells good.” Sarah looked up to her father.

“Hate to let it all go to waste.” I shrugged, locking eyes with a reluctant Joel.

He hesitated for a moment longer before nodding to his daughter, “Alright, go ahead in, Sarah.”

They quickly made themselves at home, Sarah, with a nod of permission from me began flipping through television stations after she abandoned her brownie tray on the countertop, and Joel found a spot at the kitchen island opposite me while I finished chopping vegetables for a salad. “It’s just roasted chicken and potatoes with some salad. Hope that’s alright.” 

“Better than ordering a pizza tonight.” he smirked and watched as I sliced into a tomato.

“So, Mr. Miller.” I started,

“Joel.” he corrected quickly.

“Joel.” I nodded in confirmation, “How old is Sarah? I see you guys outside all hours of the day.” I smiled slightly at him.

He grinned, “She’s twelve, going on sixteen, I think.”

I chuckled softly, “I remember being twelve. Special age. She seems sweet from what I can tell.” I looked through the dining area to see Sarah sprawled on the sofa like she had been in my house dozens of times.

Joel followed my eyeline and clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Sarah Miller, God’s sake get your feet off of her sofa.”

“She’s fine.” I laughed, as I watched Sarah reluctantly settle back into her lying position on the sofa, “Houses are meant to be lived in.”

He softened considerably and let his gaze fall back to the cutting board as I chopped a head of lettuce into small pieces, “Sorry about her.”

“She’s a kid, Joel.”

He nodded in response before turning his attention back to me, “What do you do?”

“Front desk for the police department. Busy job, but luckily I got a normal 9-5, Monday to Friday.”

He nodded, pursing his lips carefully, “Real important stuff.”

I nodded back as I scraped the salad ingredients into a serving bowl as the oven timer went off, “I got it, don’t worry.” Joel jumped into action, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter and moving behind me to take the baking sheet out of the appliance.

“Oh, thank you, Joel.” I went to the dining table to set the serving bowl in the center before returning to the kitchen to grab a cup for Sarah, wine glasses for Joel and I. “Is white wine okay?” I went to turn back around to approach Joel and was met with a firm surface. I gasped in surprise as he grabbed my elbow to steady me.

“I’m so sorry.” he apologized, stepping back and dropping his hand.

“No, no. I wasn’t paying attention. Not used to having people in my kitchen.”

He huffed a laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck, “White wine is fine,” he answered my previous question before continuing with his thought, “I understand that, it’s usually just Tommy coming over and wrecking my house. Sarah is better than he is.”

“Your brother?” I asked, before realizing he never told me that bit of information, I quickly stammered to save myself, “Carol told me a bit about you.”

He let out a tentative laugh, “Yeah, Tommy’s my brother, and Carol is a busybody. You stay away from her.”

“She has all the good gossip, though.” I laughed as I grabbed three plates and the bottle of cheap wine that had been chilling in the fridge.

“She has all the gossip because she can’t mind her own business. I’m convinced that woman’s flower garden is a sham, she only keeps it to keep her ears and eyes on everyone.”

“A flower for every secret.” I giggled as Joel grabbed the plates from my right arm, and he started to set the table.

“A flower for every secret.” he repeated with a sly grin, not looking up as the plates settled on the wood surface with quiet tapping sounds.

I poured generous helpings of wine for Joel and I, and he called Sarah to the meal, preparing her plate for her before sitting down himself.

She hardly got a word in over dinner as Joel and I opened up to each other easily, only remarking how good the meal tasted.

It felt as if Joel and I had known each other longer than just the hour we spent eating and the passing remarks in our yards, we talked about neighborhood changes he’s noticed, his work, my work, Sarah’s school projects and sports events, and Tommy’s antics at neighborhood barbecues. It felt so natural, as if just catching up with an old friend. 

I grabbed ice cream from the freezer and brought the tray of brownies out for everybody to enjoy, which Sarah indulged in immediately.

“Your kid might have a future in baking.” I remarked with a raise of my eyebrows, “These came out really nice.”

“Thank you.” Sarah said with her mouth full of ice cream.

“She certainly didn’t get it from me.” Joel pointed at Sarah with his spoon before returning to his dessert.

Joel, of course, insisted on helping to wash the dishes after the meal finished, “I wanna thank you for letting us in like this. Definitely not expected of you or anything.”

“It’s nice to not have a silent house on a Thursday night.” I smiled down into the sudsy water, scrubbing gunk off of a plate.

“I owe you one.” he stopped drying a fork and turned his face to look at me.

I matched his stance, eyes finding his. Joel’s lips darted around my face, “You don’t owe me anything, Joel.” I stated, his brows furrowed slightly and he took the plate from my hand gently, running the clean, dry rag across the surface.

“I want to, though.” he sighed softly, “I’m grilling Saturday. Steaks, nothing fancy, but-”

“I’ll be there.” I cut him off, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

“Seven okay?” he asked as I resumed my scrubbing, cleaning out a wine glass slower than necessary. Drawing this moment out.

“Seven’s perfect.” I handed him the glass by the stem and his hand brushed mine as it transferred from my hand to his.

I studied his face carefully, a hot, fluttering feeling spreading through my stomach as I realized our proximity. How I could smell his cologne, see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and I swear he must have seen something in my face, too. Because he leaned in ever so slightly.

“Hey, Dad? I forgot to mention it, but Anna's birthday sleepover was tomorrow, and I forgot to tell you we needed to get her a present.” Sarah’s voice sent him reeling back, spinning around to face his tired-eyed daughter.

“Shit.” he looked at his watch, “Sarah, it’s eight-thirty at night, Sugar.”

“I’m sorry.” she looked between Joel and I apologetically.

“No, no, no. I should pay attention to the calendar more I guess.” he sighed, running a hand through his curls and he let out a flustered breath, “I gotta-”

“Go.” I smiled ear to ear, “I get it, Joel.” 

“Thanks.” he stuffed his hands in his back pockets and looked carefully between Sarah and me for a moment, “Go get in the truck, if I have to go to the store you’re comin’ with me, Kid.”

She didn’t answer, but hurried out the front door, Joel trailing behind her, “Thanks for the brownies, Sarah!” I called after her, and she didn’t answer.

“Thank you for dinner.” Joel nodded from the open doorway before he retreated to the now-dark street.

“Any time. I mean it.” I wiped my soap-covered hands on the drying rag as he slipped out of the house.

[aelinschild]

Colorado

Main Masterlist || Other One-shots

My apologies for getting this out so late in the day, and for how short it is. I spent over six hours writing essay's and I was not in the mood for more writing, alas, here we are.

SYNOPSIS: Inspired by Colorado by Reneé Rapp; Aelin's engagement is suffocating, maybe a trip away will help? WORDCOUNT: 3.3k WARNINGS: Swearing, domestic argument, innuendos, alcohol consumption

If Aelin had known the slamming front door was the beginning of the end, she would have left before her fiance walked in. 

The door crashed into the wall, making her jump from where she was standing before the sink, cleaning up the dinner dishes. The dinner, which had gone cold hours ago. The dinner, which had tasted like ash while she ate it alone. Like every other night this week. 

“Aelin? Where are you.” Sam’s voice ricocheted around the walls of their home. 

He’s always been loud, but at this moment his voice is grating. She can feel every muscle in her body, the way each is tensed up, ready to spring away. His heavy footsteps echo towards her. She can tell he didn't take his shoes off, and she's immediately more angry. 

Setting the bowl that she was just scrubbing gently into the soapy water, she mechanically turns to dry her hands off as Sam enters the kitchen. 

Sam, her fiance. Who was the light of her life, her highschool sweetheart. Ever since they began dating five years ago, they were told they made a beautiful couple. That they'd have gorgeous babies – which never failed to weird Aelin out – and that they were perfect for eachother. He was everything to her. He hung the moon and the stars when they were children. Spoiled her like a princess when they were teens. Romanced her like a proper gentleman as adults. He was the wise choice, and he was the choice she had made. 

Now, five years later – and two years into their engagement – Aelin was more than sure she’d been fucking lied to about ‘wise’ choices. 

“Good gods woman, did you not hear me calling you?” He demands, temper running already. 

“I did.” Aelin responded flatly, no need to respond emotionally, she thought to herself. 

He stared at her from the hallway, and she just continued to towel her hands off. 

“Dinner’s gone cold. But I made the roast your mother gave me the recipe for. I’m-” 

“Look at me when you speak to me, don't be disrespectful.” Sam interrupted. 

It was a tense moment before Aelin snapped.

“Disrespectful?” She barked out. “Disrespectful. Fucking unreal Sam.” 

“Watch it.” He snaps.

“Me? Are you being serious?” She had promised herself she wouldn't start a fight tonight, like every other night, but she couldn't help but rise to his challenge. “You come home late, for the fourth night this week, and youre already pissy? After I cook your fucking dinner? Not to mention stay home all day cleaning this godsdamned house!” 

He slams his hands down onto the table, making Aelin jump. “Do not raise your voice to me, Aelin!”

“Why?” She shouts back. “Does it make you feel like less of a man?” She shouldn't argue with him. Not because it's improper for a finacee to act like this, but because she honestly doesn't care for Sam’s pettiness. For any of this actually. 

Their engagement had been slowly draining of the joy it once was. Aelin would often imagine watching her future swirl down the drain of a sink. Possibilities and experiences forever gone, mixed in with ruddy water. 

He stood up to his full height. Taller than Aelin, yes, but not as intimidating as it used to be when she was younger. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He growled out, stalking closer. “You have no right to speak to me that way!”

Aelin stood stock-still. In retrospect, she would come to realise that this was the culminating moment. This was where all the years that she had silently suffered, gone along as Sam’s arm candy in hopes of the affection she so greatly craved, would peak. 

The tension in the room diffused, Sam’s chest still rose and fell abruptly with harsh breaths, contained words that were poised and ready. Venomous. 

But Aelin had rescinded. 

Turning her back to Sam and hanging the tea towel back on the oven door, she made her way out of the kitchen. As best as she could, she avoided his body. Looming in that doorway. Never again…

“Where do you think you're going?” She kept walking. The distance between them stretches with each step. “Aelin. Aelin! Answer me right now!” 

She felt him behind her, but he was nothing more than a ghost of her past. It is fascinating how quickly her feelings changed. Her rage upon his entry. The tidal wave of hurt, drowning her. And when it released her, there was no more. No more anything, especially feeling. 

Grabbing her corduroy jacket and shucking that on, then crouching down to slide her feet into her boots. Sam was still at her back, but he made no move to touch her. Good, she thought. Might rip his arm off if he did. 

Her mind was heavy, like wading through sand. If her fiance was speaking, she heard nothing. In her final moments in this house, she grabbed her worn leather purse – a gift from Sam actually – and moved to the door. 

If Sam’s yelling in the kitchen had been the crescendo of their tumultuous relationship, her hand on the doorknob were the final moments. The music of their bond falling, slowly, so slow…

Stepping out of the front door without so much as a goodbye, Aelin walked away. From her partner. From her home. From her life. And in the chilly evening air, with families cradled around each other, individuals enroute home. The seasons ever slowly changing, a door shutting punctuated the song of a relationship. 

I think my life might be better if I lived in colorado

-

The shuttle bus from Denver is cold and quiet. 

Similar to the red-eye plane she booked on a whim. Empty and cavernous. 

It'll be a little after two in the afternoon when Aelin arrives in Boulder, Colorado. Then from the shuttle station, there should be an Uber ready to take her to her hotel room. Where she’ll stay for three nights. There's no family of hers to speak of in Colorado, but it feels liberating to be here. 

Nothing to weigh her down, nothing to do, no one she has to be. 

From the time the door shut to Sam’s house, she had booked the cheapest flight to Denver. Then she was on call with an online teller to organise a one-way ticket for the shuttle. Next up was a hotel room, the cheapest one possible. 

And just like that she had wiped her hands of her fiance. 

The bus creaks under her, disturbing the gentle humming noise of the wheels on pavement. Aelin’s head is resting on the window, and she watches the scenery dart past. It is beautiful here. A myriad of colours attract her eyes to different points. 

Seated at the back of the bus, dressed in the clothes she left her–Sam’s house nearly a day ago, she feels at peace. She hadn't spent much time ruminating on her now broken off engagement. She doesn't even wonder if Sam has. 

Sam and the chip on his shoulder. 

If anything, she’s hopeful. Not exactly excited, but… ready. 

Liberated

-

The bell above the liquor store door dings. A nice and friendly chime. Similar to the people of Boulder, as she had found. 

Nodding to the cashier, an elderly man who looks up at the sound of the door, she wanders over to the wine section. Running her finger along the glass casing until she finds the Chardonnay. Eleven dollars. A memory pops up, unbidden; Sam and her sharing a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. He didn't like the dryness of the Chardonnay, though he most likely would have been able to tell the difference if it was before him.

But Chardonnay was Aelin’s favourite, and hundreds of kilometres away from where she was yesterday, she felt like it was time to grasp onto those favourites.

A slow hum makes its way out as Aelin grabs her bottle and wanders over to the ragister. Quickly paying with a twenty dollar bill, she leaves the excess in the tip jar. Her silent happiness overflowing, she feels that it's right to give a little. The elderly man looks up, crows feet near his eyes wrinkling up, and smile beaming. It fills her heart a little more. 

Leaving the store with a bottle of wine, Aelin walks through the city. Bustling with college kids and families. She walks with no direction in mind. It doesn't take long before her thoughts round back to Sam, but it's not anger or sadness. It's not really anything. It doesn't matter, and that is what should be most worrying. This feeling–it's worrisome only in that it means the relationship was over before she left. 

Leaves cascade slowly down, twirling and dancing in the wind as Aelin walks. Eventually spotting a park bench near an artificial lake. It's a little ways off the path, giving her more privacy for her musing. 

Once situated on the slightly wet bench, she pulls her phone from her purse. 31 missed calls, 145 new messages. All from Sam. 

Without a moment of hesitation, she stands up, walks to the edge of the lake, and tosses her phone in. It makes a plunk noise before sinking. 

Wandering back to the bench, she twists the top off the Chardonnay and takes a large swig. 

- 

I think my life might be better if I lived in colorado

Sit around and get high, sippin' some white wine out the bottle

I throw my phone into a lake

And watch it sink to a better place, down at the bottom

I think my life might be better if I lived in Colorado

-

Out of pure boredom that evening, Aelin makes another trek through the city. It's exceptionally walkable, and she finds the nightlife is teeming. Walking past flashing lights with vibrant hues of purples and blues. Right next to the cacophony of colour is a dive bar. The yellowed walls and cosy lighting is much more comforting than the reckless abandon of colour currently, and Aelin moves herself in that direction. 

Inside the bar is warm, homely. With a random array of stools and chairs decorated in varying muted colour, and once wooden linoleum floors scratched down by scuff marks. Nobody pays her any mind and she walks over to the wrap-around bar, still a little light on her feet from the entire bottle of Chardonnay. There's a low hum of chatter, punctuated by a gruff laugh or shrill chatter every now and then, and Aelin seats herself at the bar. 

There's no reason for being here really. The atmosphere is comforting, like warm laundry fresh out of the dryer. And so she stays. She orders a frilly cocktail because why not, and just sits. 

While tracing the wood grain of the counter, Aelin misses the woman sizing her up from another table. The woman looks at Aelin, and slowly, elegantly, makes her way over to the bar. 

A screech of a stool pulls Aelin out of her reverie. Her hands snap to the edge of the counter, bracing. And her head jerks towards the noise.

Seated next to her is a stunning woman, if she could be limited by that word. Glossy dark hair, with glowing skin. Emerald eyes trace Aelin’s own features. Alien catalogues the diamond choker around the woman's neck. It looks like an expensive collar. 

“So, you gonna introduce yourself?” The woman drawls, her voice as luxurious as her. 

“I'm sorry?”

“No need,” And she smiles and the rhetorical. “So, tell me your name. And what you're doing in a place like this.” 

Aelin is slightly baffled at the woman's forwardness, but embraces it because why not.

“Aelin. My name’s Aelin.”

“Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it Aelin.” She winks at her. “Well, I'm Lysandra. And it is my absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Aelin’s drink is dropped off between the two women, and Lysandra and her both back up from where they had leaned into the conversation. The drink is a blue so deep Aelin wonders if she should get her blood tested afterwards. 

“Now, Aelin, do tell me what was making you look so sad up over here.” Lysandra asks after cataloguing her drink. She must also notice Aelin’s bafflement at the obscure colour of the beverage and laughs, like tinkling bells. “Don't worry about the colour, I've drank myself under the table with those and was still able to make my pilates class the next morning.” 

Aelin laughs with her and takes a sip, her face pinching at the bitterness before returning Lysandra’s question. “Running away from problems–well, it's not really a problem anymore. I guess the running worked?” Her eyebrows cinch up, eyes darting around. Is it a problem anymore? Should I be telling a stranger about my estranged fiance?

“Ah, I knew you would be interesting.” Lysandra nods to herself, resituating herself on her stool as iff she's readying herself to talk, or maybe interrogate. 

“Interesting?” 

“Yeah. you looked all pensive and sad, and you’re obviously very gorgeous, so I knew something was up, yknow?”

“Pensive. Nice” 

“Moody?” 

“I'll stick with pensive,” Aelin laughs A real, true laugh.

Lysandra smiles.

“Do you often come up to pensive girls and ask about them?” Taking a sip of the toxic blue drink, and turning more fully towards the other woman. 

“Kindred spirits.” She answers. 

“Oh? Do tell.”

“What is there to say, I'm divorced, rich, and absolutely wonderful.” She waves her hand dramatically in the air for emphasis. Aelin snorts.

“Don't mock me,” She gasps, eyes lighting with fake ire. 

“Please, I’m newly single, or whatever you become after running from your fiance,” Aelin rolls her eyes. 

“Ah, church bells were a no-go then? I've always found those things exceptionally irritating. Threw a fit when I found out I was to be married in a church.” 

“‘To be married’? What kind of situation was this exactly?” Leaning forward on her elbows, closer to Lysandra, Aelin eyes the woman. 

With a shrug of her delicate shoulders, Lysanra answers. “Silly little arrangement, for a silly little man who couldn't woo a worm if he tried.” She scoffs, “Got out of that fast, and got some fun trinkets to repair my obviously damaged emotional state.” 

“Might as well,” murmurs Aelin. 

-

'Cause maybe there I'd like myself

And meet some young ex-wife

We'd start a brand new life

And never be lonely

-

Many drinks later, Aelin and Lysandra are leaning up against the battered karaoke machine, swaying but trying their best to belt out lyrics to every Taylor Swift song that comes up. Both women are infected with giggles, and  they find joy in each other's presence. Kindred spirits, Lysandra had said. Kindred spirits indeed. 

Both of the women continue their performance, and by now the entire bar is in on it. Older couples laughing and clapping at the joy of the two women. Chairs are pushed aside, stools stacked elsewhere. And people dance. Freely and joyfully, to the butchered songs. But the dive is so warm, it surrounds Aelin’s heart in a protective case, and Sam, all the hurt, the pain of the lonely nights spent waiting. The arguments. The frustration–it floats away. 

As the song comes to an end, both Lysandra and Aelin lean on each other for support as their laughter has them doubling over. And they make their way away from the wretched machine to go sit. Aelin can feel her smile stretching so wide. She feels elation spilling from every pore. Lysandra was at her heels, but without realising, she drifted over to another group to quickly chat, Aelin continued to walk towards a table. 

In her haze of joy, she doesn't hear the door open, or masculine voices laughing at some joke. 

She turns to tell Lysandra something funny that just came to her mind, and when she realises she is not there, she abruptly stops. 

One moment, Aelin’s standing wondering where the hell Lysandra went, then next she's falling to the ground. She watches in slow motion as the floor appears, closer and closer, before she feels a tight grip snake around her and right her body. 

Her current drink sploshes onto the floor from the change in position, then onto her saviours shirt when she is righted. When she finally is standing again, she has found herself staring at what must be someone's chest. Someone's chest, decorated with a white button up, that now has artfully displayed splashes of toxic blue. 

Her head jerks up, and up, before she settles on the man's face, which is set in distress. 

His hair is what catches her attention first. In her slightly-over-tipsy haze, she thinks his hair must be silver. Not an aged silver, but a fairytale silver. Then it's his strong jaw, with a light stubble that had grown over the day. Next are his emerald eyes. Like Lys, but lighter, also fairytale-esque. Then it's his beautifully groomed eyebrows, strong nose, the full lips that are moving so sensually. Moving, moving…

“Are you alright?” Handsome stranger asks.

“Yeah,” Aelin sighs out, still tracing his face, down his jaw, to the column of his throat where a tattoo peaks out. 

“Here,” He says, but Aelin’s truly not paying attention. Maybe she had more to drink than she thought. She snorts. “... How about you go sit over here, yeah?”

She allows handsome stranger man to guide her to a chair, and when he helps her into the seat, lest she fall off, she catches Lysandra's eye from across the bar. She winks at Aelin. 

It is in that moment that Aelin blinks back into reality. 

“Ohmygosh! Your shirt!” Panicked, she realises the crisp white dress shirt is stained with her blue drink. Reaching around him for a napkin off the table, she starts rubbing all over his stomach to try and get the stain out. It's not working, and she just presses harder into his tense abdomen. 

“Hey, wait. Stop…” He grabs hold of her writs, effectively pausing her smearing of the blue liquid all over his abs. “I really dont think that's helping.” He smirks. 

“Oh my gods, I am genuinely so sorry. I'm really not that clumsy, oh I cant believe ive ruined your shirt!” 

“Its okay, don't wor-” She interrupts him. 

“No! Seriously, I'm so sorry, please let me buy you a new one, or dry clean it, or whatever!”

He just laughs. His lips formed a gentle smile. “How about your name for starters?” 

“Im Aelin, and I will find the best dry-” She gets interrupted by him this time. 

“How about a date, Aelin?”

She's still in shock. This was not where she thought this was going. This poor man's shirt. “A date?” She squeaks out. 

He nods. “Yeah. A date. You're beautiful, and this was kindof funny, so you can repay me with a date, if you are interested?”

Aelin stares at the beautiful man, with silvery hair and emerald eyes. Tattoos creeping like ivy. 

“Your name?” She requests. “What is your name?”

“Rowan.”

“It’s a date, then, Rowan.” 

-

And I'll admit, it would be nice

To meet some guy who's not my type

And move to Boulder

- 

Dear Sam, 

I used to think that I wanted to live up to your unrealistic expectations. I thought I could get used to being your pretty trophy wife, who would wait at your beck and call. But I can't. Over my trip, it has become painfully evident to me that we were not meant to be. I've met myself here, and I can't go back to what it has been. I wish you good luck in finding someone who will put up with you. 

No longer yours, 

Aelin 

-

'Cause maybe there I'd like myself

Work on my mental health

Might even feel compelled

To finally let go

I think my life might be better if I lived in Colorado

Thank you so much for reading!! As always; like, reblogs, and comments are so incredibly appreciated! Have an amazing day!

Inspired by the Song Colorado by Renee Rapp

[nifolution]

I Quit 2

Warnings: The Thrombeys being themselves, recreational drug use

A/N: This is a revised copy of my oc fic. It is written in 3rd person. The Thrombeys’ opinions are NOT my own. Thoughts are in italics. 18+ only due to smut and dubcon situations. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated. 

Chapter 1 Series Masterlist  Main Masterlist

Chapter 2

The first two weeks of Y/N's employment went smoothly. Harlan did indeed have a taste for sweets. The rest of his palate she worked at learning, but he seemed happy with her efforts. When he didn't care for a dish, he would let her know and she gladly made him something else. Funny enough, the man would ask for tomato and mayo sandwiches, with just a touch of salt and pepper. Such simple requests from such an interesting man.

It was finally the day she was dreading, her first Sunday family dinner with the Thrombey clan. Fran had gossiped about the family with her while she began preparations. She explained who everyone was, their quirks, and entitlements. She had an asshole rating system that Y/N found amusing.

Fran found most of the family intolerable, except Harlan of course. “The top asshole, a number 10, has to be Harlan's grandson, Ransom. But don't call him that, ever. He makes the help call him by his first name, Hugh. He's handsome, for sure, but don't let his face fool you. He is a massive jerk and will charm you, use you up and spit you out like that.” She snapped her fingers and huffed.

“Luckily, he doesn't come to many of these dinners. Not that the rest of them are any easier to deal with. Seriously, they should have their own reality show so the world can see them snarl at each other like a pack of rabid hyenas. I suggest you steer clear of them when you can. These nights can get ROUGH.”

“Duly noted.”

Fran smiled before leaving to set the table. “Good luck tonight. And if you need a little mood stabilizer at the end of the insanity, just let me know. I got you girl.”

---------------

Y/N's anxiety increased with every new voice that echoed through the large home. She couldn't hear much of the conversations, but was confident Fran would fill her in if she missed anything juicy. So she continued cooking in peace.

Speak of the devil, the brunette rushed into the kitchen, “Top asshole and Harlan’s mother are m.i.a., but the rest are seated. Tell me the app is ready?” Fran already looked so done with the night.

”Right over there. Description card included.”

“Thank youuuu.” She took the appetizers to deliver to the table.

The family was just as she left them. Sitting proper with fake smiles plastered on their faces, while practically seething at one another.  Fran served the table with an equally forced grin.

Richard scoffed at the bowl. “What the hell is this?”

“Richard!” Linda chastised her husband.

Fran swiftly read from the card, “A roasted butternut and apple soup with ginger and coconut milk.”

Linda took a tentative sip and her eyebrows rose. “I see Rosalee has improved.”

Donna followed her lead, also approving of the soup and the improved quality.

Harlan spoke up, “I'm afraid Rosalee has retired. I've hired someone new.” He sent Fran to ask his new chef to come out, greet his family and serve dinner.

Y/N pushed the cart out to the dining area. Feeling like she was walking into shark infested waters wearing a wounded seal suit. All eyes were on her as she entered. Harlan introduced her and asked what she had prepared for them.

“I have for you a herb crusted crown roast of pork with a side of carrots and parsnips in citrus butter.”

“Um, excuse me, hi.” Joni raised her hand, pointing to the offending entrée. “We can't eat that. My Meg and I are vegan. Do you expect me and my daughter to just munch on carrots all night?”

Y/N nodded, “I have been informed of your dietary restrictions and made you both something separate.“ She placed the extra meal in front of them. ”Quinoa cakes with a tomato-zucchini and chickpea relish, drizzled with a balsamic glaze. But if you would like the citrus carrots on the side I can get that for you as well.”

“Dietary restrictions, my ass. It's not a restriction, it's a mental illness.” Walt began to rant, “You know how you can spot a vegan? Don't worry, they'll tell you. They'll never shut up about it. Those douchebags think they're better than everyone else. They look down on us meat eaters, keep trying to convert us. Well let me tell you, eating meat is my God given right. My right! Don't you realize you can't live without meat. Your brain will die. That's why you are all so miserable, you're slowly dying.”

Donna rubbed her husband's shoulder in approval. While Richard raised his glass in salute to Walt's bullshit. Linda pursed her lips, ignoring them and trying to have a chat with her father.

Joni was on the defense, “We are the healthiest we've ever been. It's good for the planet, the environment, which benefits everyone, need I remind you.” She ignored her brother-in-law's snickering. “Let's be real, veganism is the answer to this world's problems. It is. It's the only moral choice. It clears up your skin and makes you feel good inside and out. And we don't have to feel guilty about contributing to the exploitation and slaughter of innocent lives. Animals are just like us.”

“Just like us?” Walt interjected. “Oh really, should we have dad's dogs sitting at the table with us? I tell ya, if Meg was a boy, I'd be calling DCF because you'd be depriving him of nutrients he needs to grow strong and polluting his male DNA with soy.”

“You're the one with blood on your hands, Walt. All those poor cute animals you've killed….”

Richard scoffed, “You've only been,” he raised his fingers in air quotes, “vegan for a damn month.”

“Ya well, I saw the truth and I'm changing. You'll see it too or die with all those animal products clogging your arteries... Plus it's been two months. Thank you very much.”

“I will happily eat my steak and drink my milkshakes all the way to my grave.”

Joni rolled her eyes, “Uck, you are completely hopeless.”

Walt raised his hand to silence any reply from Richard. “Don't bother. It's not worth fueling her delusions.”

That seemed to put an end to that argument. The rest of the meal went well. Although out of the whole family, only Harland and Meg said 'thank you.' Not even the young boy spoke up. For being so rich and fancy, they certainly lacked manners.

Dessert was served without incident. Tiramisu and a mini vegan version for Joni and Meg. Harlan seemed to be in heaven, commenting on how rich and decadent it was.

After dinner was over, Y/N and Fran began clearing the table. Linda poked her head in, “Y/N, may I have a word with you?”

“Was there something wrong with your meal?”

“Oh no, no, dinner was lovely. However, I wanted to make sure you weren't making desserts like that for my dad all the time. He's getting up there in years and has to watch his cholesterol, his sugar intake, blood pressure, things of that nature. He can't be consuming food like you made tonight. He needs to eat healthier. I'd like to keep him around for a long time. I'm sure you can understand.”

“I fully understand, ma'am, but there is no need for concern. The food was chosen because this was a special occasion. It doesn't reflect his daily meals.” Y/N noticed Harlan a few feet behind his daughter. He winked at her before alerting her of his presence.

Linda clapped her hands, “Delightful. I'm so glad we have an understanding. I will make you a list of approved meals.” She smiled at her father before walking away.

Once Linda was out of earshot, Harlan leaned close to Y/N, “I'm not eating that pigeon food. You put her little list up on the message board in the kitchen and ignore it.”

Y/N thought she was safe. The family was dispersing out into the night. She turned on some music and began washing the dishes. Her hips swaying to the beat.

Joni snuck up behind her. “Oh I love this song.” She attempted to dance alongside Y/N, bumping their hips together. “Don't be shy. I could tell you recognize me. I get it allll the time now. You're correct, it's me. Owner, CEO, COO and CFO of FLAM.” She continued boasting about being a top influencer and her skin care products while Y/N stood there like a deer in the headlights.

An unwelcomed hand reached out to stroke her cheek, “Your skin looks so parched. You could really use a hydrating serum. My company offers the perfect product to help. It's an all organic algae blend that feels like the ocean on your face. So refreshing. And there's a vitamin C serum that will bring some life back to your overworked face.”

“Well let me tell you, FLAM is trending right now, it's going to be huge. You go ahead and follow me on twitter or instagram. I'm offering my first 100 followers a 15% off coupon. That will be available once I find the right graphic designer for my website. Those I interviewed so far just couldn't grasp my vision. This is a lifestyle I'm promoting. I have to trust they get my brand, ya know. But hold onto that coupon, it will be honored. So lovely to meet you, Evelyn.”

“Y/N,” she corrected.

“Sure.” Joni made her exit, blowing a kiss.

Fran entered and passed over the joint in her fingers. “It's like the fucking twilight zone isn't it.”

“You weren't kidding.”

The Thrombeys were the most insincere backstabbing piece of crap family she had the displeasure of meeting thus far. She wondered if any of them loved or were loyal to anything but money. Doubtful. Thank goodness she didn’t have to encounter them often. 

These people are something else. I'm going to need therapy if I stay here too long. 

Chapter 3