#to raise... also a consideration

[vaguely-concerned]

toying with the idea of having merrill and hawke platonically co-parenting a child (perhaps children plural? to maximize the potential chaos you understand) together by the time of veilguard, and that is part of why varric triple underlined that 'NO you are NOT coming with me on this one do you think I'm into recreationally creating orphans hawke???? after all the years we've known each other is that what you think my hobby is???? stay here and keep the home fires burning or so help me I'll ask aveline to sit on you the whole time I swear it on my perfect disdain for the merchant's guild. ffs. (infinite affection so deep it lives like an ache in my soul you're my best friend in all the world and I need to know you'll be okay somewhere out there if I'm going to do this thing. I can close a lot of stories when their time has come but please not this one. let me keep this one)'

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Aang, you're really in it now...

This is Zu—I mean, Jian Li and Katara's second meeting in the Kyoshi Warriors AU. The first proper one, anyway.

Once they get through a minor difference of opinion or two (“I can carry my own basket!” “Never said you—” “I'm not weak!” “I didn't—” “Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean—” “Would you listen for once, woman?!” ) they'll become nearly inseparable.

For now Jian Li will carry Katara's basket all the way to the Kyoshi Warriors' dojo and, once there, they'll mercilessly tease Sokka when they see him in uniform.

[zylphiacrowley]

Code Blood pt.2

<previous - next>

[cookiecomics]

i really hate the phrase "you don't owe anyone anything" because while people aren't obligated to do a lot of different things people do in fact owe people things in a community!

[backpackingspace]

My doctor has assigned me perfect classical ballet posture

[wid0wd-archived]

anyway i know some people are not ready for this convo but the not so lowkey insanely homoerotic rivalry they wish on nat and yelena is actually happening to nat and anya 😭

[i3utterflyeffect]

VERY refreshing to see a take on kiwi's mom that doesn't seem to demonize her, seems to be a pretty rare sight in this fandom :<

like i know a few of the things she's said have been. questionable. but ive seen people jump straight to assuming that means. ahem. Much Worse Behavior and it just suckss when thats ALL you ever see

love your take on her though

YEAH. like. I get the whole thing where her telling kiwi to smile during Chismest is definitely something that rubs people the wrong way. like! me too man! i've had that said to me by family before!!! and it SUCKS!!!!!

but that doesn't mean she has ill intent in saying it-- she probably haven't seen them this crushed by something before, and even if so, kiwi's coping mechanisms make it so that they can't freely share the things bothering them. like, it's a genuine barrier for them.

when people who haven't seen you in a while have you return, and you're a cheery person (or formerly cheery), they don't know what to do. it's not necessarily her fault, she can't read kiwi's mind

and kiwi SURE AS HELL does not want to share all their problems in direct contradiction to their usual coping mechanisms. it's genuinely really scary to share your problems when you're not used to it.

like, she's not evil for being unsure how to deal with it. to be honest, kiwi probably learned those coping mechanisms from her. it's not bad to be unsure how to deal with negative emotions and when you're like that lots of people express it in different ways.

just, wandersong is a game that shows things are often more complicated than good and evil.

like, not to say that bard's parents were great at it of course but she was doing what she could.

anyway sorry for rambling i just wanted to talk about it oops

[moe-broey]

I feel like. Book 6 should have been Book 3 actually. Book 2 could stay the same (well. Preferably without the racism LMFAO), it's largely to further establish our cast of characters and get us attached. Plus killing Bruno in Book 2 would pack less of a punch -- ideally actually if he gets to play a role in the background that would do the same thing, establishing him more and getting the audience invested.

Reason I think it should have been Book 3 is we get the much needed world building of Askr and Embla WAY sooner, Bruno isn't left high and dry for like. Real life years. And like. If he HAS to die, maybe that could be an interesting lead into Actual Book 3. Bring him back!!!!!!! I honestly don't know why it seems like they just. Never revisited the idea of people coming back from the dead, either as Hel's/Ganglöt's minions OR they have unfinished business (but are still ultimately under Hel's/Ganglöt's thumb).

I guess the complications with this though is I do think we have to build up to Alfonse's "I'm gonna kill you too" moment with Letizia. Like. I feel like that scene ONLY hits the way that it does when you have the context of Líf, and how Alfonse acted in Book 5 with Reginn and her brothers actually (offering a peaceful solution at first -- but once Fáfnir in particular makes it clear he has no intention of backing down, Alfonse becomes stern with Reginn. Trying to get her to see what must be done. WHICH... AUGH..... does absolutely carry A Lot of weight after Alfonse had to kill Gustav.) AND. ALSO. THE MOMENT RIGHT AFTER Letizia (where Sharena is scared and hurt by how Alfonse acted) wouldn't carry the same weight without the context of Book 5.

IDK. MAYBE. Things did have to go in the order they're in, for everything to hold its weight and pack the right level of punch. I'm just HUGELY bummed that like. They set up Bruno to be a main character. An antagonist, yes, but a main character. And then they did nothing with him. Until several real life years later they bring him back JUST to finally kill him off. Like. YEAH he was surrounded by death flags since day one. But like. Did they Have to do him so dirty. AND ALSO. LITERALLY. CANONICALLY . IT'S BEEN SHOWN THAT DEATH ISN'T EVEN ALWAYS THE END‼️‼️‼️

And he. Doesn't even have a base form.

[randomnameless]

The more I think about it, the claim Edelgard wants to be a goddess/replace the goddess from Dimitri and Seteth makes more sense. Her believing only she can fix the world's problems, believing the world is too sinful because of "those eeevil lizard people", crushing anyone who dares oppose her and seeing human sacrifices as a means to an end/collateral damage. Heck you can see her war as a rapture and those who don't agree with her burn for a thousand years or in the case get killed/vanquished. And after her war if she wins, then she reforms a church under her name and in Nopes she does the exact the same thing after getting rid of the Slithers with Rhea. And considering how cultish her stans irl behave while trying to claim that they're "good people", yeah it all clicks.

The thing is,

The "Goddess" or at least what we know/heard of her didn't even act like Supreme Leader did.

Sure, sources on Sothis's time in Fodlan are biased, either we're told anything about her by Rhea, or by the Mole People.

But I agree, the game gives us some clues about what Supreme Leader wants to be, at least in Tru Piss. With her Manu support, she becomes the figure people look up to and aspire to be, the source of strength the Goddess and the CoS previously were. You also have the explore sections in the monastery, and how she's found where Rhea used to be when she was doing her archbishop things (the audience chambers iirc?), the CoS being "reformed under her supervision" and the final straw on the camel's back is her ending mural.

The rest is her messiah complex - partly fueled by Adrestian nationalism - and her stubborness, Supreme Leader will walk on her path and refuse to look back or even reconsider, no matter the obstacles standing before her, you are either on her side, or an obstacle needing to be removed.

As for the irl devoted fans, lol, I won't consider their behaviour in an analysis of the character, but if we are to talk about the BESF in Nopes, they are also sure they're doing a favor to the world/Fodlan while ignoring a good part of said Fodlan. Nopes!Ferdie comes to mind, with his nonsense about the Kingdom having more crusted generals, or the general fuckery that is the alliance with the Federation, or people being gung ho and looking forward to sack the monastery/cities/Faerghus to earn some fame.

[skunkes]

if you raise your commission rates (which i think you should be doing continuously as you grow audience and personal skill) then i think you can’t go back down because that will definitely make people think “oh i should just wait until it’s cheaper again” which is what people should feel about produce, not custom art.

i think any price raise is highly suspect to a decrease in commissions, no matter who you are. especially if someone was saving up for a commission but now needs more time. if they really want your work they will be fine and they will understand. don’t pander to those who won’t value you more than they do the apples at the supermarket.

1st paragraph is exactly what i was worried about...not only wld i feel bad but then maybe people would just wait for a drop in price since ive set it to be a standard thing that happens now (in the hypothetical)

That makes sense ! I just worry, i know its supposed to be a good trade off because you get less comms for more or the same amt of money (i could use more time for my own art and life planning..) but i always just get less comms and less money lollll....we will see...i think ive done all the price raising im gonna do this year anyway...

[lackadaisycats]

Video essay by Jellybox about what's good and bad about indie animation!

Wanted to share this in case it's helpful to anyone wanting to pursue making animation independently. It's also for fans of indie animation who may want some insight into how an indie studio works, why indie cartoons are always selling merch, why release schedules are often erratic, etc.

I also wanted to clarify the video's context, because it seems to have been somewhat misconstrued in some circles. Not long ago, WGA and SAG strikes, followed by TAG negotiations were very much in the news, shining light on the struggles the artists, writers, and actors in the Hollywood studio system are facing. In response, the words 'just go indie' have been tossed around quite a bit lately.

Gene and Sean at Jellybox approached us a few months back explaining that they were planning to make a video about the realities of running an indie studio/producing indie animation, largely in response to that 'just go indie' attitude. They were curious if we'd be willing to share our experience, including information about actual costs and the various difficulties and complications we've encountered. We said yes! We'd like for people to know what it's like. As much as it might look appealing next to the currently very broken studio system, indie has its own set of problems, and we think it's a good idea to be transparent about that because talking about problems is how you begin to address them.

Of course, while you get creative freedom and you have no shareholders to appease with indie production, the primary struggle you're always going to face is funding…and funding avenues are limited. Banks aren't eager to hand out business loans to freelance artists making cartoons, for instance. Social media algorithms reward frequent updates you can't swing with hand-drawn animated content, so you can't rely much on things like AdSense. You can't really insert sponsored ads into your animated videos without being too obtrusive. You can take on client work, but that interferes with your ability to focus on own animated project. Crowdfunds can be great for seed money, but they're also a ton of work to fulfill, and fulfillment itself will tend to eat up a considerable amount of the funds you've raised. Once your animation is produced, there is no well established way to sell the animated episode itself like there is for, say indie games sold on Steam. So, while we consider ways to try to make the terrain a bit more hospitable to indie creations, if nothing else, let this explain why productions rely a lot on merch drops!

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

And hey, if you're an animation fan, consider supporting the independent productions you enjoy, whether you're tossing a few dollars their way, buying their merch, or just mentioning them to friends:

The Far-Fetched team is launching a crowdfund very soon to help them complete their pilot!

The Monkey Wrench team is killing it lately, and they deserve so much more fanfare than they've gotten!

And of course, thank you to the excellent folks at Jellybox for starting an important conversation!

[afloweroutofstone]

The Trump administration accidentally included the conservative editor of The Atlantic in a group chat where they were discussing, in great detail, the US bombing campaign in Yemen

In all, 18 individuals were listed as members of this group, including various National Security Council officials; Steve Witkoff, President Trump’s Middle East and Ukraine negotiator; Susie Wiles, the White House chief of staff; and someone identified only as “S M,” which I took to stand for Stephen Miller. I appeared on my own screen only as “JG.”

...I had very strong doubts that this text group was real, because I could not believe that the national-security leadership of the United States would communicate on Signal about imminent war plans. I also could not believe that the national security adviser to the president would be so reckless as to include the editor in chief of The Atlantic in such discussions with senior U.S. officials, up to and including the vice president...

At this point, a fascinating policy discussion commenced. The account labeled “JD Vance” responded at 8:16: “Team, I am out for the day doing an economic event in Michigan. But I think we are making a mistake.” (Vance was indeed in Michigan that day.) The Vance account goes on to state, “3 percent of US trade runs through the suez. 40 percent of European trade does. There is a real risk that the public doesn’t understand this or why it’s necessary. The strongest reason to do this is, as POTUS said, to send a message.”

The Vance account then goes on to make a noteworthy statement, considering that the vice president has not deviated publicly from Trump’s position on virtually any issue. “I am not sure the president is aware how inconsistent this is with his message on Europe right now. There’s a further risk that we see a moderate to severe spike in oil prices. I am willing to support the consensus of the team and keep these concerns to myself. But there is a strong argument for delaying this a month, doing the messaging work on why this matters, seeing where the economy is, etc.”...

At 8:27, a message arrived from the “Pete Hegseth” account. “VP: I understand your concerns – and fully support you raising w/ POTUS. Important considerations, most of which are tough to know how they play out (economy, Ukraine peace, Gaza, etc). I think messaging is going to be tough no matter what – nobody knows who the Houthis are – which is why we would need to stay focused on: 1) Biden failed & 2) Iran funded.”

The Hegseth message goes on to state, “Waiting a few weeks or a month does not fundamentally change the calculus. 2 immediate risks on waiting: 1) this leaks, and we look indecisive; 2) Israel takes an action first – or Gaza cease fire falls apart – and we don’t get to start this on our own terms. We can manage both. We are prepared to execute, and if I had final go or no go vote, I believe we should. This [is] not about the Houthis. I see it as two things: 1) Restoring Freedom of Navigation, a core national interest; and 2) Reestablish deterrence, which Biden cratered. But, we can easily pause. And if we do, I will do all we can to enforce 100% OPSEC”—operations security. “I welcome other thoughts.”...

The account identified as “JD Vance” addressed a message at 8:45 to @Pete Hegseth: “if you think we should do it let’s go. I just hate bailing Europe out again.” (The administration has argued that America’s European allies benefit economically from the U.S. Navy’s protection of international shipping lanes.)

It was the next morning, Saturday, March 15, when this story became truly bizarre.

At 11:44 a.m., the account labeled “Pete Hegseth” posted in Signal a “TEAM UPDATE.” I will not quote from this update, or from certain other subsequent texts. The information contained in them, if they had been read by an adversary of the United States, could conceivably have been used to harm American military and intelligence personnel, particularly in the broader Middle East, Central Command’s area of responsibility. What I will say, in order to illustrate the shocking recklessness of this Signal conversation, is that the Hegseth post contained operational details of forthcoming strikes on Yemen, including information about targets, weapons the U.S. would be deploying, and attack sequencing.

The only person to reply to the update from Hegseth was the person identified as the vice president. “I will say a prayer for victory,” Vance wrote. (Two other users subsequently added prayer emoji.)

According to the lengthy Hegseth text, the first detonations in Yemen would be felt two hours hence, at 1:45 p.m. eastern time. So I waited in my car in a supermarket parking lot. If this Signal chat was real, I reasoned, Houthi targets would soon be bombed. At about 1:55, I checked X and searched Yemen. Explosions were then being heard across Sanaa, the capital city.

[lowrisemiller]

ꜱɴᴏᴡʙᴏᴜɴᴅ ⋆⁺₊❅。

joel miller x fem!reader | 7.4k words | masterlist | part 2 | sickeningly sweet, kissing, grinding/dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex |

summary- you & joel are the only ones left from your group and struggling to get through the harsh winter. until you stumble across an abandoned cabin and decide to stay there the whole winter…what could possibly happen ? ❅

HE KEEPS looking at you while walking, yet he remains silent. It’s one of the harshest winters he has faced since the outbreak, and you appear more like a porcelain doll that ought to be kept safe in a box, rather than a survivor in the wilderness. There were six people at the start of the journey, but now it’s merely the two of you. He has already had to bid farewell too many times in his life. It would be unfortunate to attempt to forget your pretty face as well.

You were shivering despite the many layers you had as you tried to keep up with Joel.

He sighs before he stops and turns around to face you. You can see in his gaze the concern he feels for you.

"You're freezing." He says, stepping towards you.

“N-No shit,” you said through chattering teeth.

He simply huffs at your protest, gently wrapping the coat around you. He then looks down at you, his gaze softens slightly.

“N-No Joel you need it.”

"I'll manage. You're smaller and freezing. Now shut your pretty little mouth and keep warm, okay?"

“O-Okay Joel, T-Thank you,” you said, still shivering but his coat helped.

He nods, a small smirk on his lips. It seems like your compliance has earned his grudging respect.

"You're welcome.”

He starts walking again, but this time at a slightly slower pace so you can keep up with him.

THE CABIN

After walking in the blinding white snow for what seems like forever, Joel's gaze catches a small cabin in the distance. He halts, his eyes focused on the structure. He lets out a small hum, seeming to consider something.

"Looks like we might get some rest."

“D-Do you think it’s safe?”

He looks at you, his expression is a mix of consideration and caution.

"Hard to say for sure. But it's our best shot for now."

He approaches the cabin cautiously, his hand on his revolver as he checks the surroundings.

“O-Okay.”

He nods at you, still wary. He arrives at the cabin's door and presses his ear against it, listening for any sounds inside.

He then gives the doorknob a few experimental twists, but it doesn't budge. He takes a couple of steps back and prepares to kick the door open, but pauses.

"Stay behind me."

You nodded.

Joel gives you one last glance, making sure you're behind him, before he slams his booted foot against the door. It creaks and eventually gives way, opening fully. Joel steps inside, revolver raised and trained on every corner and shadowed spot.

You also took your gun out just in case.

The cabin is empty, which comes as a relief to Joel. He lowers his revolver, letting out a sigh.

"Looks clear."

He steps further into the cabin, quickly checking every corner and hiding place for any sign of danger. After a few moments, he decides it's safe.

"You can come in."

You all but ran in there, desperate to seek any warmth and put my gun back in my pack.

He lets out an amused snort as he watches you rush into the cabin.

"In a hurry, aren't we?"

He shuts the door behind you, locking it to add an extra layer of security. He then gazes around the cabin, his eyes roaming over the tattered furniture and bare walls.

“It was fuckin freezing,” you said, already settling into the place.

He chuckles, his gaze meeting yours. He takes in your shivering form and sighs.

"I can tell.”

He walks over to the fireplace, which is thankfully already stocked with firewood. He starts working to build a fire, his large hands moving swiftly.

You couldn’t help but look at his hands as you helped him with the wood.

He glances at you a few times as you help, taking note of your silent observations. His hands, rough and calloused from a lifetime of survival, move with surprising grace and precision as he arranges the firewood into a neat pile.

After a few moments, the fire roars to life, its flames casting an inviting warmth over the cabin.

As you were warming up you shrugged off his jacket and gave it back to Joel.

He takes the jacket, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. He shrugs it back on, the fabric a little damp from your body heat and the snowflakes that had melted on it.

He settles on the floor near the fireplace, leaning against the wall. He pats the space next to him, a weary but somewhat inviting gesture.

"Come sit."

You nodded and let out a simple “alright,” and sat next to him.

He watches as you take a seat beside him, the firelight dancing across your face. He remains silent for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the fire, but he can feel your presence next to him and it's oddly comfortable. It's been a while since he's had someone by his side.

“This is nice.”

He glances at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I guess it is."

He stretches out his legs slightly, the tension from their journey showing in his movements.

"It's been a while since I've had a moment of peace like this. Been non-stop moving since the outbreak."

“Yeah tell me about it,” you chucked.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes still fixed on the dancing flames.

"Yeah, it's a goddamn nightmare out there."

He pauses for a moment, his expression growing serious.

"I can't remember the last time I slept in a bed and didn't have to keep one eye open. And finding shelter like this...it's a small miracle."

“Yeah it’s a cute cabin, I uh actually meant to bring this up but…” You averted your gaze to the wooden floor.

He turns his head to face you, his gaze curious and a bit wary. He cocks an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

“Uh I was looking around the place and there’s only one bedroom with one bed…”

He freezes for a fraction of a second, his expression unreadable. He then lets out a scoff, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, that is something to talk about."

He eyes the single bed across the room, then looks back at you. He's trying to act nonchalant, but your observation has clearly caught him off guard.

“I mean I’m fine with it. I think we both deserve to sleep in a bed and we’re both adults it’s okay… unless you’re not comfortable with it—”

You sputtered out quickly.

He cuts you off, his tone firm but not cold.

"No, no it's fine."

He lets out a sigh, running a hand over his face. He's trying to conceal his discomfort. Of course, they were both adults, but sharing a single bed was...intimate. Something he hadn't done in a very long time. But he quickly pushes that thought aside, refusing to show any vulnerability.

"We both need rest. It's just for one night."

“Right. Yeah…Yeah.”

He nods, his gaze returning to the fire, a mix of resignation and exhaustion in his eyes. Despite his attempt to act cool about the situation, he's clearly not used to sharing personal space with anyone.

There's a long, heavy silence as both of you sit there, the crackling of the fire providing the only background noise.

“Do you think… Could we stay here longer? Not just a night?”

You said, breaking the silence.

He considers your question, his eyes distant as he stares into the flames. He runs a hand over his face, a weary gesture.

"I suppose we could...for a few days, at least."

He finally looks over at you, a hint of skepticism in his gaze.

"But it's risky. We can't stay in one place too long. We could get ambushed, supplies could run out."

“Joel c’mon there’s nothin for miles, we could stay here for winter.”

His expression darkens at your words, his jaw clenching briefly. He knows you have a point – the cabin is secluded, and they're surrounded by miles of isolated wilderness during this heavy winter. But that thought alone makes him uneasy.

“Winter? That's months, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah and? All we do is slowly die when we’re walking in the snow. Nothing changes, it's just dreadful and cold,” You said, finally looking back at him again.

He scoffs at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"And what, stay here and wait it out? What if someone finds us? Or if we run out of supplies?"

He shakes his head, his whole body tense. He's not used to being told what to do, let alone by a pretty girl half his age.

“We kill them and we find more supplies, you’re good at that stuff why are you afraid all of a sudden?”

"I'm not afraid."

He snaps, his voice gruff. He's irritated by your insistence and the fact you seem to have no fear.

"I'm being cautious. We can't rely on blind luck forever."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear in every line of his face. Your casual attitude is beginning to wear on his nerves.

“But we should bask in it for a while, c'mon you said it yourself. You need some peace.”

You said in a matter of fact tone.

He can't argue with your logic, and that makes it even more frustrating. He lets out a weary sigh, his gaze returning to the fire.

"Fine. We'll stay here for the winter. But the moment it becomes dangerous, we're out of here, got it? No arguments."

“Yes sir,” You said with a mock salute.

He rolls his eyes at your sarcastic tone, a hint of annoyance on his face.

"Watch it, sweetheart."

He's trying to sound irritated, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice. He's actually a little entertained by your feistiness.

⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆ ₊ ⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆ ₊⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*• •*❆

A few days have passed since the decision to stay at the cabin. Despite the initial tension, the two of you have settled into a somewhat comfortable routine. The cabin is still relatively barren, but it has become a makeshift home of sorts.

Joel sits by the fireplace, sharpening one of his knives. The repetitive scrape of the blade against the stone is the only sound in the room. He glances over at you.

You were sitting in the corner of the worn down sofa reading one of the books in the abandoned bookshelf.

He continues sharpening his knife, but his attention drifts towards you. You seem engrossed in the book, the fire casting a cozy glow on your face. He watches you for a moment, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

Eventually, he breaks the silence.

"What're you reading?"

You turned the book over showing him the cover.

“The Da Vinci Code”

He raises an eyebrow at the title, a hint of surprise on his face. He didn't take you for a Da Vinci Code fan.

“Ah, the Da Vinci Code. Heard about it but never read it myself.”

He sets his knife and sharpening stone aside, turning his attention fully towards you.

“Is it any good?”

“So far yeah, just a bunch of history.”

You shrugged.

He lets out a soft, almost amused chuckle.

"Surprised you're into history."

He's not trying to be condescending, just making an observation. History isn't something he associates with women your age, nor something he usually finds particularly interesting.

“Just somethin’ to read.”

"Fair enough."

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. The silence stretches for a few moments, but it isn't uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence that comes with familiarity and shared space. He continues to watch you, his expression a bit softer than usual.

You tried your hardest to move my eyes away from joel and back onto the words on the yellow pages. But joel just looked good like this. Like he wasn’t looking behind his back constantly, warm and domestic even.

Unaware of your thoughts, Joel continues to gaze at you. It's as if he's seeing you in a different light. You're so young, and yet here you are, braving the horrors of this world without breaking. He feels a strange sense of protectiveness towards you, even though he knows you can take care of yourself. He tries to ignore this feeling, but it gnaws at him, like a stubborn itch he can't scratch.

Hours have passed, and the sky outside has grown dark. The only source of light in the cabin is the flickering fire, casting dancing shadows across the room.

Joel is still leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. He looks like he might have been dozing off, but he suddenly stirs, his eyes snapping open. He glances around the room, his gaze finally settling on you.

You fell asleep on the couch with the book on your rising and falling stomach.

He raises an eyebrow at the sight of you, a soft chuckle escaping him. You look so peaceful in your sleep, despite the harsh world outside.

He stands and silently crosses the room towards you. Crouching beside the couch, he carefully lifts the book off your stomach and sets it aside. He covers you with a coarse blanket, his touch surprisingly gentle.

You stirred in your sleep, reaching out for Joel.

He freezes as you reach out, his heart skipping a beat. For a moment, he's torn between pulling away or giving in to the strange urge to move closer. He doesn't understand why the sight of you, half-asleep and grabbing for him, affects him so deeply.

Eventually, he decides to give in to the impulse. He gently takes your hand in his, his rough fingers closing around yours.

“Stay,” you whispered.

His breath hitches in his throat as he hears your whispered request. He was not prepared to hear those simple yet impactful words from your lips. His gaze softens as he looks down at you, your hand still clasped in his.

“I...I'll stay.”

He responds, his voice unusually quiet, almost intimate. He gently squeezes your hand in reassurance, a gesture of comfort and perhaps something more.

You moved to make room for him on the couch.

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes locked onto the empty space beside you on the couch. But he ultimately decides to give in, easing himself down next to you, careful not to disturb your sleep.

His body is stiff at first, the unfamiliar closeness making him feel vulnerable. But slowly, he relaxes as he feels the warmth of your body next to his. He lets out a quiet sigh, his hand still holding yours, as he closes his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath.

You burrowed yourself more into his warmth.

Despite his initial tension, Joel finds himself responding to your nearness, his body betraying him. He wraps his arm around you, carefully pulling you closer, as if trying to shield you from the world outside.

He breathes in your scent, a mixture of the subtle fragrance of your skin and the slight musk of the wilderness. It feels oddly soothing, grounding him in this moment, this bubble of quiet intimacy.

He can feel your heartbeat against his chest, a gentle rhythm that calms his racing thoughts. For a while, he just lies there, lost in his own musings and the unfamiliar sensations coursing through him. He remembers the days when he rarely let himself get close to anyone, the days when he was so closed off that physical contact felt foreign to him. And here he is now, his arm around a girl half his age, and it doesn't feel wrong. It feels...safe.

You felt very safe in his arms as you drifted off back to sleep.

He feels you relax further in his arms, your breathing slowing as you fall back into a deeper slumber. For a long moment, he continues to lie there, simply holding you close, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his. Then, he gently shifts onto his side, pulling you even closer, his arm tightening protectively around you.

The pale morning light streams through the lone window of the cabin, illuminating the small space. Joel slowly opens his eyes, bleary and disoriented.

For a moment, he forgets where he is. But then he feels the weight of you in his arms, your head on his chest, and everything comes rushing back. He tenses for a second, reality hitting hard, but he quickly adjusts to the situation.

He glances down at you, his gaze softens as he watches you sleep peacefully.

He realizes that he's still holding you, his arm wrapped around your waist, your leg draped across his, the blanket tangled around both of you. He can feel the warmth of your body against his, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. It dawns on him that, for the first time in a long while, he actually slept through the night.

He doesn't move, not wanting to disturb your rest. He simply lies there, contemplating the strange intimacy that has developed between the two of you.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He's getting too comfortable, too vulnerable. But he can't lie to himself - holding you feels good. It feels safe. And that thought scares him more than anything he's faced in this god-forsaken world.

You began to stir a little.

He feels you start to move against him, and he reflexively tightens his hold on you, his protective instincts kicking in. He watches you closely, his gaze fixed on your face as he waits for you to fully awake.

“Mmh you’re warm,” you said, clearly still half-asleep.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he hears your sleepy grumble. He relaxes a little, his grip on you loosening slightly, but his arm remains wrapped around you.

“And you're surprisingly clingy,” he replies, his voice teasing but a hint of affection in it.

You blushed and turned around in his hold.

He chuckles softly as you turn around, facing him. Your sudden closeness creates an intimate moment, and his initial teasing comment seems to have backfired on him. He can see the slight flush on your cheeks, and it does something to him. His arm instinctively tightens again, as if he can't bear the thought of letting you go.

He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, but he can't find the right words. He just stares at you, the early morning light illuminating your face, making you look soft and vulnerable. He can feel his heart racing, his mind filled with a whirl of conflicting emotions.

You stirred more this time, definitely waking up.

He watches as you continue to stir, slowly coming to wakefulness. He knows that whatever moment they were just sharing is about to end. He loosens his grip on you a bit, not wanting to come across as too possessive.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but there's a hint of huskiness in his voice.

“Hi,” you spoke from his shoulder.

He feels a shiver run down his spine as he hears your voice, muffled against his shoulder. The sound of it, sleepy and unguarded, does something to him, and he has to fight the urge to pull you closer.

"Sleep well?" He asks, clearing his throat again to mask the unexpected effect you have on him.

“Hm don’t let it get to your head but that might’ve been the best sleep I’ve ever had.”

He can't help the smirk that forms on his lips at your comment, the pride he feels in knowing that he was a part of your peaceful slumber. He gives you a light nudge with his shoulder.

"Oh, trust me, it's already getting to my head, sweetheart."

You pushed at his chest and laughed.

God your laughter, it was one of the sweetest things Joel has ever heard.

He laughs along with you, surprised at how easily you make him laugh. It's a sound he hasn't made in a long time. When you push at his chest, he feigns being hurt, clutching at his heart.

“Hey, careful there. I'm an old man, you know.”

“Oh right I forgot I was dealing with a senior citizen.”

He narrows his eyes at you, the smirk returning to his face. He can't help but find your playful banter entertaining.

“Watch it, sweetheart. It's disrespectful to speak to your elders like that. I might have to teach you a lesson.”

He says this with mock seriousness, his hand coming to rest on your waist.

He catches the shift in your laughter, the tension suddenly palpable. His hand stills on your waist, fingers gently tracing circles on your skin, almost involuntarily. He looks at you, studying your reaction, his expression a mixture of amusement and something deeper.

“Something wrong?” He asks, his tone low and gruff.

“N-No of course not.”

He can see the slight flush on your cheeks, the way your eyes dart away from his gaze. It makes him curious, it makes him want to push you further.

“You're not a good liar, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand trailing higher on your waist, his touch becoming more deliberate.

“Wasn’t lyin—”

He notices your breath hitching, a smirk tugging at his lips. He knows he's getting a rise out of you, and he can't help but enjoy it.

“Really? Your face says otherwise.”

He takes a chance, leaning in a little closer, his other hand coming up to graze your jawline.

“Joel…”

Hearing his name come from your lips, so soft and breathy, has an effect on him he hadn't expected. He swallows hard, his gaze locked on you. He can't help but close the distance between you a little more, his hand still on your waist.

“Yes?” He asks, his voice gruff and low.

His gaze darkens, and his grip on your waist tightens a fraction.

“I want you. All of you.”

He says it with a quiet intensity, as if the admission is both a confession and a realization. The last remnants of his composure are slipping away, leaving only raw desire in their wake.

You blushed and put your softer smaller hands over Joel’s big rough ones.

The simple gesture of your hands covering his, so innocent and yet so intimate, nearly undoes him. He lets out a ragged breath, his gaze locked on you, his whole being consumed by the need to be closer to you. He tugs you closer, his arm around your waist sliding down to your hip, pulling you onto his lap so you're straddling him.

You gasped at the sudden change in position. The grogginess from your sleep is now gone.

Your gasp sends a thrill down Joel’s spine, and he watches your eyes widen as you settle over him. His hands stay firm on your hips, grounding you, keeping you close. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you—like you’re something he’s been craving for longer than he’d care to admit.

“You good?” he murmurs, eyes scanning your face, even as his thumbs stroke slow, lazy circles into your skin.

You nod, breathless. “Y-Yeah…”

That’s all he needs.

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours—not quite a kiss yet, just a tease, a promise. You chase his mouth instinctively, and he grins into it, finally closing the distance and capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow and deep and filled with heat. There’s nothing rushed about it—Joel kisses you like he wants to memorize you, like he wants to make it last.

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently, and he groans into your mouth. That sound vibrates through you, making your core tighten, your body arch into his. He shifts his hips beneath you, and the friction pulls a soft moan from your lips. You feel him—hard and warm beneath the thin barrier of clothes—and it only heightens the growing ache inside you.

“You feel what you do to me, baby?” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick and gravelly. “Every damn time I’m near you…”

His mouth moves to your neck, kissing a line up to just below your ear, sucking lightly on the spot that makes your hips twitch. His hands trail up under your shirt, calloused palms brushing up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Take this off,” he growls softly, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms and let him pull it over your head, and the moment your chest is bare to him, he curses under his breath.

“Christ…” His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples until they pebble under his touch. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your head falls back when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand keeps working the other. The pleasure blooms fast, hot and dizzying, and you can’t stop the sounds you’re making—needy, breathless gasps that make Joel’s grip on you tighten.

You grind down against him instinctively, and the way he growls low in his throat makes you feel powerful and small all at once.

“You gonna let me have you, sweetheart?” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look up at you—his pupils blown wide, his chest rising fast beneath you.

“You already do,” you whisper, hips rolling against his once more.

His lips crash into yours again, hungrier now, more urgent. One hand slides into the waistband of your shorts, slipping inside to find the heat waiting there.

“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he murmurs, rubbing slow, tight circles over your clit with his fingers. “You want me this bad already?”

You can’t even form words—you just nod, whimpering when he presses a thick finger inside you, then another. He works you open slowly, watching your face the entire time, learning what makes you tremble, what makes you gasp.

And then he’s pulling his fingers out, tugging his shirt over his head and shoving his sweats down just enough to free himself. Your eyes drop, and you suck in a breath—he’s big, thick, and already leaking at the tip.

“You sure?” he asks, voice wrecked and barely holding on. “Tell me now if you’re not.”

“I’m sure,” you breathe, bracing your hands on his chest.

He guides you down onto him inch by inch, the stretch making your breath catch, your nails dig into his skin. Joel groans, low and deep, as he sinks all the way into you.

Once you’re seated fully, he stills, letting you adjust, his hands holding your hips tight. Your forehead rests against his as you both breathe through the heat coiling tight between you.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

You meet his eyes, and then you move—slow, grinding circles with your hips that make both of you moan. Joel’s hands help you set a rhythm, and soon you’re moving together, your bodies rocking in sync, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet room.

Every thrust, every grind, builds the pressure in your belly higher, tighter. He kisses you again, messy and deep, and then trails his lips down your throat.

“That’s it, baby… come for me,” he growls. “Come on my cock.”

His words send you over the edge, your body trembling as pleasure crashes through you, and Joel follows with a guttural groan, spilling into you as he buries his face in your neck.

You collapse against him, both of you breathless, skin sticky with sweat and heat. He holds you close, fingers drawing lazy shapes on your back.

“Yeah,” he murmurs after a beat. “Definitely the best sleep you’ve ever had.”

You laugh softly, chest still rising fast. “And the best wake-up.”

“Damn right,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But just so you know… I ain’t done with you yet.”

The fire was down to glowing embers when you finally slipped out of bed, the heavy chill in the air biting at your bare skin. You tugged on one of Joel’s flannels and some thick socks, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric. Joel sat on the edge of the bed lacing up his boots, his brow furrowed in that familiar, quiet determination.

“Where are you going?” you asked, voice still a little hoarse from sleep and everything else.

He looked up, softening a little at the sight of you bundled in his shirt. “Out to check the traps. Might be somethin’ in ‘em. We’re down to one can of beans and a bag of rice.”

You frowned, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “It’s freezing out there. Can’t we do it later? Or… I’ll come with you.”

He shook his head, already shrugging on his jacket. “I won’t be long. Just a loop around the ridge. No sense in both of us freezin’ our asses off.”

“You always say that, Joel, but it’s been getting colder every day. What if you slip on the ice or—”

He stopped lacing, looked up at you with that patient-but-firm look that made your stomach twist with frustration and affection.

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Done this kinda thing more times than I can count.” He stood and crossed the room, cupping your cheek with a warm, calloused hand. “I just need you to keep the fire goin’ and maybe have some coffee ready for when I’m back.”

You leaned into his touch despite yourself. “I hate it when you leave.”

“I know.” He brushed his lips over your forehead, then your mouth—slow and sweet, like a promise. “I’ll be back before you miss me too much.”

And just like that, he was gone, boots crunching through the snow, axe slung over his shoulder.

The hours passed slowly.

You kept the fire fed, stacked kindling, reheated what little food you had. Every time the wind howled against the cabin walls, you peeked out the frosted window, searching for his shape.

But true to his word, Joel returned just as the sun began to dip, cheeks red from the cold, a rabbit slung over his shoulder and a small proud smirk on his face.

“Told you,” he said, shaking the snow from his jacket at the door. “Still in one piece.”

You rolled your eyes and threw your arms around him anyway, burying your face in his chest. “Took you long enough.”

He held you tight, his body radiating warmth, and nuzzled into your hair.

“Missed me already, huh?”

You mumbled against him, “I always do.”

He kissed you again, this one a little hungrier, hands cold on your waist but body warm and solid, the rabbit forgotten on the floor.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, breath hot against your cheek, “I’m gonna have to earn my coffee another way.”

Joel’s arms tightened around you, the weight of his return finally settling in your chest. He was always gone longer than he said he’d be—always underestimating the cold, or the time, or maybe just how anxious you got when you were left alone in this empty cabin with nothing but the wind and your own thoughts.

You stayed wrapped around him for another few moments, breathing him in. Snow and pine and faint sweat. That leather smell of his jacket, the scratch of his beard against your temple.

“You’re freezing,” you murmured.

“Snow’s gettin’ thicker out by the ridge. Almost lost the trail twice.” His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, thawing through the layers. “Traps were half-buried. I dug ’em out.”

You pulled back enough to glance up at him, your fingers brushing over his beard where the tips of it still glittered with frost. “You didn’t fall, did you?”

Joel huffed. “No. Took it slow. Careful, like I promised.”

That earned him a quiet smile, but the worry hadn’t fully left your chest. “You really found something?”

He nodded and gestured toward the rabbit lying just inside the door on a patch of burlap. “One little guy, but he’s good-sized. That’ll stretch us a few meals if we ration it.”

Your stomach gave a quiet gurgle in agreement. He caught it and grinned.

“Why don’t you sit?” you said, stepping back toward the hearth. “I’ll heat up water. Your hands are like ice.”

Joel sat with a soft grunt, joints stiff from the cold and the work, and stripped off his jacket and gloves. You poured water into the tin pot and set it near the fire, watching him from the corner of your eye as he rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his hands.

They were raw and red, the backs of them weather-beaten and scarred from years of hard work, and you found yourself crossing back to him with the little tin of balm you kept on the shelf.

“Give me your hands,” you said gently.

Joel blinked at you. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

With a quiet sigh, he surrendered them, holding them out palms-up as you dipped your fingers into the salve and began working it gently into the rough skin. He didn’t speak at first, just watched you. Watch how your brows furrowed in concentration, how careful you were with him.

“You got good hands,” he said softly. “Real gentle.”

You glanced up, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “I’ve had a lot of practice taking care of stubborn men.”

He chuckled low in his chest, but it faded quickly, replaced by something quieter.

“I’m not used to this,” he admitted after a moment. “Comin’ back to someone. Feels good. But it's strange.”

You paused, fingers still curled around him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes searched yours for a long, heavy beat. “I know.”

The fire popped softly behind you, filling the quiet that followed. You finished tending to his hands, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, just where his pulse beat steadily. He watched you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the spell before it got too thick between you. “Let’s clean that rabbit.”

Joel stood slowly, groaning like the old man he always claimed to be, and retrieved the burlap sack. You helped him set up on the back table near the door where it was cooler, handing him his blade while you gathered bowls and cloths. The two of you worked in sync, the process methodical—Joel skinning and cleaning the meat with quiet skill, you preparing a small stew pot to simmer bones and scraps.

“You ever butcher anything before?” he asked, glancing at you.

“Nope. I just pretend to know what I’m doing.”

He smirked. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re more helpful than most I’ve known.”

You shrugged. “You bring home the food, I make it last. Fair deal.”

You caught him watching you again—like he was tucking the image away for later. The pot clanged softly as you set it over the fire, steam already curling upward as the fat began to melt.

Soon the little cabin filled with the smell of meat and rosemary—leftover from a stash you’d found in a forgotten spice cabinet. The mix of warmth, firelight, and the comforting aroma created a bubble against the harsh world just outside the frosted windows.

As the stew simmered, you both settled by the fire again. Joel sat with his back to the hearth, legs stretched out, while you leaned into his side, your head resting on his shoulder. He pulled a blanket over the two of you and settled his arm around you like it was second nature.

Outside, the wind howled, snow sweeping past the windows in swirling white ribbons, but here it was warm. Safe.

Your eyes slipped shut as his hand idly traced up and down your spine, the rhythm of it as steady as his breathing.

“Still cold?” he murmured.

You shook your head against him. “Not with you here.”

Joel didn’t answer, but you felt the way he held you tighter.

The worst of the cold had finally loosened its grip.

It didn’t vanish overnight, of course. Winter in this part of the country never did. But there were signs—tiny, quiet things. The way the wind didn’t scream quite as hard through the cracks in the cabin walls. The longer stretch of golden light that filtered through the windows in the late afternoon. The sound of dripping icicles on the porch roof, melting slow and steady. A promise, almost.

You and Joel had settled into something unspoken but good. A rhythm. A way of moving around each other that felt easy. Reliable. Like the creak of the cabin’s floorboards or the hiss of the kettle heating on the stove.

Mornings came quietly now. Not with desperate shivers or the panic of dwindling rations, but with small moments of peace. Joel always rose first—he’d stoke the fire, make coffee, and sometimes if he was feeling generous, dig out some of the dried fruit you both had been hoarding. You’d wake to the sound of the tin cups clinking or the soft hum of him stirring oatmeal. And sometimes, if he thought you were still asleep, he’d mutter a tune under his breath—something old and Southern and low enough that it blended with the wind outside.

You didn’t call him out for it. Just smiled quietly against the pillow and pretended to sleep a little longer.

You’d help him with the chores after that. He’d go check the traps while you swept the floor, tidied the shelves, boiled snow for drinking water. When he came back, you’d help him skin whatever he’d caught—rabbit, mostly, sometimes a squirrel if he was lucky. You never liked the mess, but he’d watch your hands, always patient, always ready to nudge you through it.

“You’ve got a stronger stomach than you think,” he told you once, rinsing blood from his hands in the snow. “Just takes gettin’ used to.”

And maybe he was right, because none of it felt so jarring anymore. None of it felt wrong.

In the evenings, you’d sit by the fire together, sharing whatever meal you managed that day. There was rarely enough for full seconds, but neither of you complained. Joel would whittle sometimes—little pieces of wood that he shaped into animals or stars or once, a crooked little bird you kept on the mantel. He’d pass it to you without a word, and you’d accept it like a gift, because it was.

You didn’t talk about what came next. Neither of you brought up spring in the way that people do when they’re planning to move on. You didn’t make maps or speak of the nearest settlement. No talk of returning to the road, or of going back to the people who might be waiting somewhere.

You just stayed.

It was one of those days when the snow was soft instead of sharp, when the sky outside the cabin glowed with pale light and the chill inside wasn’t unbearable. You’d both been inside most of the day, tending to little things—patching a tear in your coat, organizing the few supplies in your pack. Joel had been quiet, more than usual, but not distant.

After dinner, the fire had been roaring strong. You were sitting on the floor in front of it, your knees tucked under you, Joel behind you on the edge of the mattress. You’d pulled your hair back, neck bare, as you rubbed balm into the dry skin on your hands. His gaze had been on you for a while—unspoken, steady.

“C’mere,” he said, voice low.

You looked up. “What?”

“Come here.”

You stood slowly and moved toward him. When you stopped in front of him, his hands came to your hips, slow and careful. He looked up at you like you were something that had crept quietly into his chest and refused to leave.

“You cold?” he murmured.

You shook your head. “Not right now.”

“Good,” he said, and his hands slid up under your sweater.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The firelight made his eyes look darker, and his touch was soft��just fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, up your ribs, over the hem of your worn shirt. You inhaled quietly, and Joel watched the movement of your chest, eyes flickering there, then back to yours.

“I think about this all the time,” he admitted. “How you look. How you feel. What it’d be like.”

You licked your lips, heat coiling low in your stomach. “You already know what I feel like.”

He pulled you gently down, guiding you into his lap, his knees spreading so you could straddle him. Your legs settled around his hips, your hands going to his shoulders for balance. It felt natural. Like this wasn’t the first time, even though it was.

“But not like this,” he said, eyes roaming your face. “Not slow. Not how you deserve.”

You reached down and ran your fingers through his hair, brushing your thumbs along the curve of his jaw. “Then show me.”

That was all it took.

Joel’s mouth was on yours, slow but sure. Not tentative—he didn’t kiss like a man unsure of himself. But there was care in it. Patience. The kind of kiss that made your hands shake a little and your chest ache. He held your waist while you kissed him back, your body flush against his. You could feel him getting harder beneath you, feel the quiet groan he let out against your lips when your hips shifted instinctively.

“You feel good,” he muttered against your skin, lips brushing along your jaw, your throat. “So fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

Your sweater was pulled over your head in a smooth motion, and Joel’s hands were on you—exploring like he was memorizing. No rush. He didn’t just grab; he held. Palmed the curve of your back. Let his rough fingers ghost over your chest, your stomach, leaving heat in their wake.

When you pulled his shirt off, you took your time too. Traced the line of his collarbone, the faded scars along his ribs. He let you. Watched you.

The mattress creaked quietly beneath you as he lowered you down, blanketing you with his body, the fire crackling behind him. And when he finally pressed into you—slow, thick, deep—you felt the air leave your lungs in one long breath.

“Joel,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the way he filled you so completely.

His head dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged. “You’re alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You moved together slowly. No frantic pace. Just the kind of rhythm that came from knowing each other—really knowing. Joel’s forehead pressed to yours, his hand laced with yours above your head, your other palm resting over his thudding heart.

You didn’t say much. Just soft gasps, whispered names, the occasional curse when the pleasure overwhelmed you both.

When it was over, Joel didn’t pull away.

He stayed on top of you, warm and heavy and safe, his nose pressed into your neck. Your fingers played lazily with the hair at the nape of his neck, your leg curled around his.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he said, voice low and hoarse.

“I know,” you whispered.

And you meant it.

One month bled into another one. Joel started teaching you how to shoot—slow, careful lessons with his old pistol in the clearing out back. He’d stand behind you, one hand steady on your shoulder, the other adjusting your grip.

“You’re a good learner,” he said once, after you hit the bottle dead center. “Better shot than me when I was your age.”

You’d laughed, breath fogging in the cold. “You were probably wild and reckless.”

“Still am,” he teased, nudging your side. “But now I know how to aim.”

That night you cleaned the pistol together on the table, Joel’s flannel draped over your shoulders as you sat beside him. He handed you the cloth and watched you move with the same focus he gave to every task. No distractions. Just the work. Just you.

There were no declarations. No sudden confessions. But the way he touched your back before bed, or the way he pulled you closer under the blankets without a word—those were his language. That was how Joel said stay.

And you did.

Every morning, you woke to the quiet weight of him beside you. Sometimes his hand brushed against your hip. Sometimes your legs tangled under the blanket. Sometimes you’d wake in the middle of the night, and he’d already be awake, watching the dying fire like it held all his thoughts.

He never said what haunted him, and you never asked. You just leaned into him, warm and soft, and his arm would come around you like it always did—steady, grounding.

You never had a moment of decision. No single conversation. But one morning you woke to the sound of birds—actual birds—and Joel handed you a mug of coffee with a faint smile and said, “Spring’s comin’.”

And instead of saying anything about leaving, you just sipped your drink, leaned your head on his shoulder, and nodded.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It is.”

tags: @yuskitty @moonshapedflan @xodilfluvr @annulmaelae @zevrra @alidiggory92

[moonstruckme]

Hello! Could I request a poly!marauders and reader where both reader and Remus are laid up in bed or on the couch with migraines together? And the other boys have to convince them to relax and call off work so they can coddle them please?

Thanks for requesting!

cw: migraines, mention of nausea and...hypothetical vomit? no one vomits but it's brought up as a possibility, reader has hair long enough to touch her neck

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Sirius,” James calls in distress, “they’re revolting.” 

“Mmygod,” Sirius thinks he hears Remus groan, at the same time as you beg, “Shut up.” 

Sirius rounds the corner to your sitting room to find you curled up in one corner of the sofa, your face pressed harshly into a throw pillow, while James has his finger hooked in Remus’ belt loop to prevent him from walking away. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” James says much more quietly, looking terribly contrite beneath Remus’ glare (which is really quite pathetic, considering Remus seems hardly to have the energy to put much bite into it). “Come on, just sit down.” 

“James,” Remus warns. 

Sirius fans out the two cold gel packs in his hand enticingly. “Can’t have one of these if you’re not lying down.” 

Remus turns his glare to Sirius, but Sirius doesn’t have James’ soft heart. After a few moments, Remus sits down. 

“There you are, lovely,” James praises as Sirius bestows Remus his cool pack, encouraging his head forward so it can lay across his nape. Remus plainly tries not to show his relief, but Sirius hears the soft breath that leaves him as he folds toward his knees. 

You’re silent as Sirius does the same for you, moving your hair away from your neck to smooth the cool pack in its place. “I have to go get ready soon,” you mumble dejectedly. 

“Unless,” Sirius says lightly, “you didn’t.” 

Remus lets out another sigh between his knees. “Time s’it?” 

James checks his watch and shoots Sirius a half-smile. They both know that the closer the two of you get to being late to work, the more persuasive their argument will become. “It’s not important,” James says, victory ringing in his tone. This makes you remove your face from its pillow to look at him suspiciously. 

“It’s not important,” Sirius agrees, “because you’re not going anywhere.” 

You bury your face again. “Yes, I am.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“I have to.” 

“Says who?” 

“My boss.” 

“Well, I say you have to stay.” 

Sometimes, when you’re as exhausted as you are now, this firm tone will work on you. Sometimes. Unfortunately, this is unlikely to be one of those times, because Remus is also here. 

Remus, who gets up with a ridiculously pitiful old man sound, holding the cold pack to his neck as he starts toward the bedroom. James gets in front of him quickly. 

“Baby,” he says, and Sirius’ eyebrows raise. James is really pulling out the big guns; Remus has to be feeling really poorly to respond well to that one. But James has committed, his eyes big and imploring. “Please. You’ll be miserable at work.” 

“I’m going to be late,” Remus argues, though he doesn’t try to move past James. 

“Well, if that’s the case anyway, why bother?” Sirius shoots him a grin. “You won’t be late if you call out now.” 

Remus lets out a sigh, like he’s sick of making his own argument. “I can’t.” 

“Rem.” Your voice is taut with pain. It makes Sirius want to scoop you up and squeeze you, if only that wouldn’t make everything worse. “I think you should stay home. It’ll make them shut up.” 

“Are you staying?” Remus asks. 

You’re quiet. 

Sirius tsks, placing a hand on your head so he can make circles in your temple with his middle finger. “I’m not shutting up unless you both stay,” he threatens. Albeit in a soft, considerate tone. 

“You don’t even have to call out yourselves,” James tries. Remus looks to be wavering. “We’ll do it for you, since you’re not well.” 

Neither you or Remus reply. You seem to be out of arguments, but Sirius knows better than to think that’ll stop you from walking out the door anyway. He can hear you breathing deep, even breaths into your pillow. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, knowing, “are you feeling sick?” 

A long breath out. “A little.” 

“Do you really want to throw up at work?” 

“Please shut up.” 

James gives one final push. “Sirius started a hot bath.” 

Remus looks ready to break first, which Sirius didn’t anticipate. He and James really deserve some sort of medal for this. Sirius holds your boyfriend’s gaze. 

“It’s probably almost full,” he confirms. “I have to go check on it in a second. You can’t go to work and have me put that minty shampoo in your hair at the same time, love.” 

Remus sighs, and Sirius knows they’ve won. “Dove,” he mumbles. You turn your head from the pillow once more, looking so terribly unwell that Sirius has to bite pack a whine. Remus says with an air of resignation, “I’ll stay if you do.” 

They all look to you. 

“We have triptans here,” James coaxes. “Cold packs. Bed. Peppermint tea.” 

Your eyes shut. “Fine.” 

It’s a testament to how well trained James and Sirius are that they don’t jump up and cheer. They do a version of that, exchanging giant smiles that make Remus look at them like he’s regretting his choice already, but James starts ushering him away before he can change his mind. 

“Let’s go have your bath,” he says. “That warm water will feel nice, yeah?” 

“I’m begging you to be quiet,” Remus replies, not unaffectionately. 

Sirius watches you watch them go. “Hey,” he says softly, waiting for you to look at him. “Can I kiss you?” 

You make a low hum of complaisance. Sirius bends, touching his lips gently (but quite fervently) to the corner of your mouth. 

“Thank you for looking after yourself,” he murmurs, “and after Remus. We’ll make it worth your while, I swear.” 

“M’not really doing anything,” you mumble in reply. “You’re the ones looking after us.” 

Sirius smiles at you, fighting hard to repress the urge to kiss you again. “Good of you to let us. What do you need, lovely? Something for your stomach? Peppermint tea?” 

You make a quiet, plaintive sound at the idea that he might get up to go and retrieve any of those things, closing your hand around his wrist. “Keep doing this, please?” 

“This?” He drills his finger into your temple more firmly. 

You melt, your grip slackening. “Yeah,” you sigh. “That.” 

Sirius’ heart swells. He gives into a tiny indulgence, pressing a kiss over his own finger. “You got it.” 

[dnangelic]

' are we ? ' snap and snarl ; he near butts his head at the lunge of his interrogation , plush doraemon thoroughly ignored . but then his temper simmers , and his arms cross in a huff . despite his difficult appearances , he nevertheless permits the other's touch . it should make him happy : a self-professed lack of distinction and thereby the culmination of tamer and wing as two unified halves of longing , yet something about it still gets under his skin . he doesn't know whether or not the idea , if expressed , would have inspired content or disappointment within makishima , surgical in every observation , so fond of spiritual clean cuts and vivisection , all the while maintaining himself seemingly aloof and exception --- ah , and maybe there lay the irk . ' ... for someone who talks about wanting to see what's inside everybody else all the time , you sure can be dodgy when it comes to us about yourself . ' and just how many others had contented themselves with the mere phantasmal glimpses of makishima's presence ? how many had settled for erudition and philosophy , a brief light of athenian enlightenment before their well-earned grim-ends ? ' ... i don't know whether or not it's because you think you're protecting us , or only just trying to excuse yourself , but i don't like it . ' a flutter at the other's finish , and some shed falls between them --- black feathers and snow-like motes of shattered keratin sheathe . ' flatter and pet me all you want . unfortunately , i'm still not a narcissist . look , you'd better not be looking down on us and our decisions , makishima . if you really want to be all by yourself , then fine --- i couldn't care less if you limped off to die alone somewhere . but you know how daisuke is . ' how his heart never hid anything in its bids for reach . salvation . ' even someone like you ends up "precious" . or are you going to try to say that it's fine for us to completely abandon you because it's you ? '

“Aren't we friends?” He states at the slip, perhaps with a ruthless simplicity, neither directly addressing the deflated bluster nor continuing his own pressing guise once he confirms the mortification. Mildly, he adjusts toward fairness and sets the novel aside, casting away its controlled significance and turning scope of priority elsewhere. Friends, he says, with weightless calm. The familiar degree of challenge shall inevitably return, once the phantom thief is capable of standing proud with heart aflame without any shameful reservations or personas to hold. “You know, I find very little distinction between you.” He admits, evening their gazes as he sets a gloved hand on Dark's shoulder and peers in turn from beneath his unwavering expression of calm. “The shape your suffering takes will be the same without any assistance, or so I've discerned. Do you think I navigate this world with such riskless certainty?...” The corner of his mouth crinkles as he shakes his head lightly and guides the other to be seated where a familiar Doraemon plush awaits. He evaluates the irritated feathered flesh, misting the wings to soothe before he expertly begins to pluck at the worn to allow for the new, coaxing the growth to emerge painlessly. “... Am I winging it, do you think? Or was I prepared to risk a cherished relic to gain your trust in this particular instance and see you comforted, isolated from memory?... How mystifying.” He hums at his handiwork, spritzing the fledgling bound to leave this temporary nest as he questions his own place as chosen sanctuary. Of course, that's not his choice to make. Makishima yields, granting his encouragement with a playful pat on the head. “I'm surprised you've entrusted me with this task despite my teasing. You're free to go now. With enough flaunting your wings for adoring fans and staking your heart in each interpersonal heist... you may find an individual willing to look past everything in order to find you and hold your outstretched hands. Such a connection would be precious, I think. Only you could say if it will be worth the ache and the endeavor... kaitō-kun.”

[zvaigzdelasas]

[YNet is Israeli Private Media]

Britain, France and Canada issued an unusually strong joint statement Monday, warning they are considering imposing sanctions on Israel over the "intolerable level of human suffering in Gaza." The statement, released by UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s office alongside French President Emmanuel Macron and Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney, called for an immediate halt to Israeli military operations in the Palestinian enclave and the unrestricted entry of humanitarian aid.

“We call on the Israeli Government to stop its military operations in Gaza and immediately allow humanitarian aid to enter Gaza. This must include engaging with the UN to ensure a return to delivery of aid in line with humanitarian principles,” the leaders wrote. The statement also demanded the immediate release of all hostages held by Hamas. The leaders accused Israel of failing to provide essential aid to civilians, warning this may constitute a violation of international humanitarian law. They also condemned statements by Israeli Cabinet ministers suggesting the forced relocation of Gaza residents, calling such remarks a breach of international law.

While acknowledging Israel’s right to self-defense, the joint declaration criticized the scope of the latest IDF campaign, known as Operation Gideon’s Chariots, as “wholly disproportionate,” and said their governments would not remain passive. “We will not stand by while the Netanyahu Government pursues these egregious actions,” the statement read, noting that targeted sanctions are among the measures under consideration.

The three countries also addressed developments in the West Bank, urging Israel to halt settlement expansion, which they labeled illegal and a threat to the two-state solution. They vowed not to hesitate in taking further action if necessary.[...]

The criticism comes as 25 Western countries and major humanitarian organizations issued a joint statement Monday urging Israel to immediately allow the resumption of large-scale humanitarian aid to Gaza. The statement, released by the UK Foreign Office and signed by foreign ministers of Canada, Germany, France, Japan, Australia, Spain, Sweden, Italy and others, warned that more than two months of aid restrictions have caused acute shortages of food, medicine and essential supplies, raising fears of mass starvation.[...]

Meanwhile, the Washington Post reported that senior Trump administration officials reportedly warned Israel that continued military operations in Gaza could result in the U.S. withdrawing its support. A source familiar with the matter told the paper that American pressure on Israel has intensified in recent days, particularly following Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s decision to allow humanitarian aid into Gaza without a Cabinet vote, after months of restrictions.

19 May 25