#Accelerated Series Books

[hoshifighting]

Hockey Captain!Reader x Nerd, Diner Owner!Seokmin

— Synopsis: You're the hockey captain at your university, rocking a cool leather jacket and cruising around in your dad's vintage car. Seokmin, on the other hand, is just a nerd from your Campus in a dirty shirt from washing dishes at his dad's diner—a spot you frequent for pre-game meals. — WC: 4.1k — WARNINGS: Emotional struggles, smut, fluff, fingering, penetrative sex, body fluids (cum), chocking, dirty talk, creampie.

[Issue Club Serie]

You arrive at the diner, and park your dad's old, sleek car in the garage out front. The familiar little bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The scent of greasy burgers and fries on the air.

Sliding onto a stool at the counter, you notice the middle-aged man behind it, drying a cup with a warm smile. His kind eyes crinkle at the corners, and you can't help but smile back.

"Hey there, Y/N," he greets you.

"Hey, Mr. Lee," you reply.

You take a moment to glance around the diner, absorbing the familiar sights and sounds. The jukebox in the corner plays a soft tune. your gaze lands on a table near the counter, where a familiar figure is hunched over a pile of biology books. 

"The usual?"

You nod, brushing your hair back.

Seokmin had noticed you the moment you walked in, Y/N, the hockey team captain from his campus. You, with your cool leather jacket adorned with silver details, and your dad’s vintage car. You walked confidently in your fine shoes, exuding an aura of confidence, making him feel small—like, really small. 

He kept his head down, trying to become invisible as he pretended to be deeply engrossed in his biology notes. The white shirt he wore still had faint smudges from washing dishes, and he felt a wave of embarrassment. He hoped you wouldn't notice him.

"Seokmin, can you serve Y/N a strawberry milkshake while I prepare her burger?" his father’s voice called out.

Seokmin's stomach dropped. He closed his eyes briefly, dreading your reaction. You always had that serious, kind of threatening look on your face. He was certain you would think he was a loser.

"Sure, Dad," he mumbled, making a beeline for the milkshake machine. He focused on the task, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. He felt your eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look up.

When the milkshake was ready, he placed it on the counter in front of you, his hand still holding the cup. He was about to retreat back to his table when he felt your hand on his, holding him in place.

"Oh, Seokmin! I didn't know you worked here!" you said with a smile.

Seeing you smile with a friendlier expression than when you are walking down the halls. It was something Seokmin rarely saw.

Seokmin stared at you in shock. You knew him?

"Uh, yeah, my dad owns this diner," he stuttered, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

"Really? Wow, that's so cool! Does that mean you get free strawberry milkshakes?" You took a sip, your eyes widening in delight.

"Kind of," he managed to say, still in disbelief that you were talking to him.

You peeked over at the table he was studying at. "What are you studying for?"

"Biology," he replied, feeling a bit more at ease.

"Hmm," you said thoughtfully, sipping your drink. "I saw your score on the last test. You're really good."

Seokmin's eyes widened. "You saw my score?"

"Yeah, it was impressive. Actually, I heard you were tutoring. Do you think you could tutor me?"

Seokmin blinked, momentarily speechless. "You want me to tutor you?"

"Yeah, if you have the time. I mean, you're one of the best in the class."

"Uh, sure, I can do that," he finally said.

Seokmin watched as you left the diner, your cool leather jacket catching the light as you waved. His heart did a little flip when he noticed the money and a note with your number under your plate: "Text me! :)". He glanced out the window just in time to see you accelerate the car away, leaving a faint smell of exhaust.

Seokmin always thought you were too intimidating, with your serious expression and occasional grumpiness. He never expected you to be this kind. 

He knew you frequented his father's diner but always avoided you, preferring the back where the employees smoked cigarettes. He hated the smell, but your presence scared him more. Yet today, you had been gentle, asking him for tutoring. It had almost made him drop his books.

The next day, Seokmin arrived at the library early, choosing a round table at the end of the hallway between two bookshelves. It felt strange, expecting to see someone like you in this academic setting. You, the intimidating captain of the hockey team, among the quiet, studious crowd.

He spent the whole night preparing the content, wanting to make sure he could teach you effectively. When you arrived, he was surprised at how attentive you were. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you took notes diligently as he explained the concepts and showed you images from the book.

Not that he expected you to be on your phone or filing your nails, but he wasn't used to this side of you. His only other memories of working with you were from a few group projects in your second year, and back then, you had always seemed distant and totally unapproachable.

you find yourself genuinely interested. Seokmin is a good teacher, his explanations clear and concise. You take notes, asking questions when something isn’t clear. You notice how passionate he is about the subject, his eyes lighting up when he talks about cellular structures and genetic coding.

"You’re really good at this," you say, interrupting his explanation.

Seokmin looks up, slightly startled. "Oh, thanks. I just really like biology."

"I can tell," you reply with a smile. "It’s nice to see someone so passionate about what they do."

Seokmin blushes slightly, looking down at his notes. "Well, I’m glad I can help you."

The session continues, and you realize that Seokmin is not just smart but also incredibly funny and patient. You find yourself relaxing, enjoying the time spent learning from him.

As the session ends, you gather your things, feeling a bit more confident about the upcoming test. "Thanks, Seokmin. I really appreciate this."

"No problem, Y/N. Anytime you need help, just let me know."

You give him a genuine smile. "I will. And hey, don’t be a stranger. I’ll be back at the diner soon."

[...]

You had two productive sessions with Seokmin, and the biology concepts were finally making sense. You felt confident that you would pass your upcoming test with flying colors. But then, something changed. Seokmin disappeared.

He had texted you to meet him at the library after his shift on Thursday. You arrived early, settled in, and waited. As the minutes ticked by, 7 p.m., 7:30 p.m., 8 p.m., there was no sign of him. You called him, sent messages, and even tried to focus on the content alone. Nothing.

"Hey, I'm waiting."

"Where r u?"

"Are you serious?"

"nvm, I'm going home."

"You at least should've told me you wouldn't come."

You walked back to your car, stomping your rage on the asphault. Friday came, then Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Seokmin's absence from college was unusual, and as the days passed, your anger shifted to worry.

Seokmin wasn’t the type to skip classes.

Determined to find out what happened, you headed to the only place you could think of—the diner. If Seokmin wasn’t there, at least you could talk to Mr. Lee.

As you approached the counter, you noticed a young boy in place of Mr. Lee or his wife. Confusion clouded your face as you walked up.

"Hi," you greeted, your voice tentative.

The boy looked up from the counter, giving you a polite smile. "Hi, what can I get for you today?"

"Actually, I was looking for Mr. Lee or... Seokmin," you said, your worry evident.

"Oh, they’re not working today, but I can serve you," he replied.

"Thank you, but I didn’t come here to eat. I’m worried about Seokmin. I haven’t seen him at college," you explained, hoping for some answers.

The attendant gave a sad smile, his expression softening.

Seokmin had been excited about your study sessions.

But life had a way of throwing curveballs. On Thursday, just as he was about to leave for the library, a family emergency struck. His father, Mr. Lee, had collapsed from exhaustion and had to be taken to the hospital. 

Between helping out at the diner and taking care of his father, Seokmin hadn't found a moment to breathe—let alone check his phone. He knew he was letting you down, but he didn't have the energy to reach out.

The guilt gnawed at him, especially knowing you were waiting for him at the library. He had been so excited to tutor you, to spend more time with you. But now, everything felt like it was falling apart. The texts from you kept popping up on his phone, but he couldn't bring himself to respond.

The young boy at the counter seemed to hesitate before speaking. "Mr. Lee... he’s in the hospital. Seokmin’s been with him."

Your heart sank. "Oh my God, is he okay?"

The boy nodded slowly. "He’s stable now, but it was a scare. Seokmin hasn’t left his side."

Guilt washed over you, replacing the worry. "I didn’t know. I’ve been sending him messages, but I had no idea."

The boy offered a reassuring smile. "I’m sure he appreciates your concern. If you want, I can give him a message."

"Yes, please," you said, scribbling a quick note. "Tell him I’m sorry for being upset and that I’m here if he needs anything."

Returning home for a brief moment to shower and change, Seokmin found the note you left at the diner. He felt a wave of relief. He texted you immediately:

"Hey, Y/N. I’m so sorry for disappearing. My dad was in the hospital. Thank you for understanding. Can we reschedule our session once things settle down?"

You text Seokmin back immediately, telling him not to worry about it. "When your dad gets well, we can continue. No rush." Seokmin responds quickly, "Thanks, but the exams are next week already."

You assure him that you can get by with what he’s already taught you.

When Seokmin finally returns to university, you make a point of asking how his dad is doing. Some of your friends tilt their heads in surprise at the sight of your smile. Seokmin, still feeling guilty about skipping your tutoring sessions, tries to teach you some things during shared classes. He’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you grasp the material.

One thing that makes you feel a bit sad is how Seokmin hides everything. Despite his dad’s situation, he’s always there, cheering you and his friends on, looking like the happiest person in the world.

You’re surprised by how quickly he have broken through your icy exterior. You catch yourself laughing at his jokes or sharing subtle glances, trying to hold back your laughter when you both notice your funny teacher’s odd clothing choices. You can’t help but wonder how his demeanor changes when he faces his problems at home.

Today, your hands fumble with the edges of the paper from the test, determined to get a high score. The thought of making Seokmin proud crosses your mind. He’s taking the test in another classroom, and you’re anxious to meet him afterward.

When you leave the classroom, test paper in hand, you find Seokmin sitting on a bench outside. He’s holding his own test paper and looks up as you approach, a smile spreading across his face. You run to him.

"How much?" he asks, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"9.5 out of 10," you reply, grinning. "And you?"

"9.75 out of 10," he says, then adds excitedly, "And I have good news!"

Your eyes light up. "What is it?"

"My dad is already home!" he exclaims.

You feel so happy for him that when he suddenly hugs you tightly, you can’t help but hug him back. You both jump up and down in the middle of the hallway, laughing with joy. The teacher inside the classroom looks at you two, confused, through the window of the door.

For as much as you wanted to visit Mr. Lee, you decided to go home to give them family time, thinking about paying the visit another time.

The next day, before your hockey game, you pass by Seokmin’s dad’s diner. You’re so distracted by the upcoming game that you arrive at the counter, asking for the usual. The new guy with the notebook and pen in his hand looks at you confused.

Before you can speak, someone chimes in, "Her usual is burgers with fries and a strawberry milkshake." The attendant nods, and you widen your eyes.

"Mr. Lee? What are you doing here? You should be resting! You just left the hospital yesterday," you exclaim, approaching one of the tables where he’s seated.

"I know," Mr. Lee replies, "Seokmin and Mrs. Lee won’t let me work, so they made me sit here." He glances at them as they look at him from the kitchen.

You cross your arms, "As they should."

Mr. Lee smiles, "Why don’t you sit with me and keep me company?" You agree and sit down. Seokmin glances over from making your milkshake, surprised to see you sitting with his dad, smiling warmly.

When Seokmin approaches your table to serve you, he hears you mention how nervous you are about the game. "You’re going to do well, as always," he interjects.

"Do you think?" you ask, biting into your burger.

He hums in agreement, "You always do."

"Have you ever watched me before?" you tilt your head.

"Yeah... very often, even," Seokmin admits, sitting beside his dad, across from you.

"Oh, I never saw you there," you say, widening your eyes.

He laughs, "Maybe because you’re so focused on your game."

You blush, nodding, "Are you going to watch me today?"

"I have to work," he says, glancing at the clock showing 5:06 p.m.

Mr. Lee puts a hand on his shoulder, "The new employee is doing well. Go cheer for her."

"Really?" Seokmin asks, wide-eyed.

Mr. Lee nods, "But go take off that apron and freshen up. You’re not going to watch her smelling like fries, right?"

Seokmin runs to the back of the diner, and Mr. Lee just nods.

After finishing your lunch, you leave the diner—without paying since Mr. Lee insisted it was his treat so you could do well in the game. Seokmin is in your passenger seat as you drive to the campus.

He looks around the car, "Oh, your car really is all red inside. The rumors are true."

"Rumors about the inside of my car?" you ask, glancing at the road.

"The book club wouldn’t stop talking about it," he says, making you laugh as you arrive at the campus garage.

Your stomach churns with anxiety. Seokmin notices too. You take off your seatbelt and lay your head on the seat. "Fuck, I’m so nervous..."

Seokmin looks at you, "Wow... but you’re the captain. I thought—"

"I get nervous every single time before my games," you cut him off, nodding. "I just hide it in my car before all of them."

Seokmin fumbles with his fingers. You rub your face, trying to calm your nerves. Suddenly, Seokmin leans in and kisses your cheek. "You’re going to rock it," he says.

The sensation of his lips on your cheek puts you on alert. You turn to him slowly, his face still close to where he kissed you, so you’re millimeters apart. "Do it again," you whisper.

His eyes widen. "Here?" he asks, pointing to your lips.

You nod, closing your eyes. You hear him gulp, then he presses his lips to yours in a fast kiss. But you pull him by his collar, making it last longer. Your hands find his hair as you slide your tongue inside his mouth. Seokmin can taste the strawberry milkshake he’s so used to, sick of even, but it suddenly tastes new and special on your tongue.

If you knew Seokmin kissed this well, you would have kissed him during your first tutoring session. 

Your mouth seeks more of his kiss, and you have to leave your seat to sit on his lap, Seokmin gasping in surprise. You feel him melting in your hands as you lower your kisses to his neck. 

His hands squeeze your thighs, but you guide them to squeeze your ass through your game uniform shorts. He squeezes it, bringing you further on his lap, making you hump on his bulge, a whiny moan escaping your lips. As you repeat the motion, Seokmin’s perfect nose grazes your cheek as he moans. You’re sure that if you hump again, your shorts won’t hold your wetness anymore.

You glance at your watch. The game starts in 30 minutes. "We don’t have a lot of time," you mumble.

Seokmin gets the message. His hand slips inside your shorts and panties, fingers playing with your wet folds, making you flinch, a broke moan leaving your lips. Your head almost hits the car ceiling, and your hands clench his shirt. 

You expected him to suck a titty or something. But you are far from complaining about it.

He feels you clenching as he teases your sopping hole. He can’t help but slide a finger inside, your pussy swallowing his long finger as you moan all whiny in his ear. Seokmin’s eyes close in delight, and he slides another finger in just to hear you moan slyly in his ear. 

Despite your shorts muffling it, he can still hear the wet sounds your pussy makes as he slides his fingers in and out.

His fingers are so long, and you never thought fingers could make you break like this. Yours never did all of this. You feel a bit stupid for how loud you're moaning just from fingering. Your face hides in the crook of his neck as his fingers slide in and out fast, your body contorting above his.

Your moans grow louder. He tries to hold your hips still, but he fails. Your hips hump against his fingers as he closes his eyes to savor every second of your reactions. He can feel your juices drenching more of his hand, and your continuous moans turn into a silent gasp as you writhe.

You suddenly hold his forearm, moaning desperately, announcing, "I cummed... I cummed."

His hand slides out of your shorts, and you leave his neck to look at him and his glistening fingers. You hold his hand to your mouth, sucking his fingers just to give him a little show of how you would suck his cock. 

He moans, clearly affected by the sight.

"Let me take care of you too," you coo. Your fingers race to his belt and jeans, as Seokmin lowers his pants and underwear down his thighs. His cock slaps against his stomach, the head pink, almost red, with veins apparent as it stands proudly on his abdomen. You bite your lip at the view, salivating.

However, you are short on time, and the space is very limited. You can't even take your shorts off. You pull the mesh to the side with your panties, aligning his cock with your messy pussy. 

Seokmin rolls his eyes as you begin to slowly lower down. His cock is so long that you thought it would never bottom out, but when your pussy touches his pelvis, you sit down. Seokmin lets out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

You wanted to go slowly, but before you knew it, your hips were doing their own thing. The windows are becoming blurry, and whenever you rest your hand on them, you leave a handprint on the glass. Seokmin's face is contorted with pleasure and almost pain as he looks at you. His hand on your ass makes you push harder, while the other slides up your belly to your neck, choking you.

When he does, you gasp, your mind going numb as you concentrate solely on the sensation of his cock digging into you. 

When he stops choking you and caresses your neck as you breathe in again, you have a blissful view of him. His cheeks are flushed, his hair clings to his face, and he moans constantly, his cock twitching inside you. 

He occasionally checks the windows to see if anyone is in the garage, but it is located behind the campus and is completely empty. However, if anyone passes by your car, they may have a clear view of your captain's college jacket with your name on it, as you roll your hips nonstop on his destroyed form.

You grip the headrest behind Seokmin as you ride him, your moans filling the confined space of the car. The car windows are completely fogged up now, creating a humid cocoon around you both. You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "You're so deep, Seokmin. I never knew you could fill me up like this."

Seokmin’s eyes flutter open, meeting yours, “You’re so tight, Y/N,” he groans, his voice shaky. “I can feel every inch of you squeezing me.”

You feel a surge of confidence at his words, your hips moving faster, the wet sounds of your connection filling the car. “Is this what you imagined when you watched me, Seokmin? Did you think about fucking me like this?”

He moans louder, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements. “Yes, I thought about it all the time. Watching you out there, so strong and confident… I wanted to see you like this, falling apart on my cock.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. “Well, now you have me. Do you like seeing me like this, Seokmin? Do you like making me cum?”

He nods, his face flushed and eyes dark with lust. Seokmin's cock moves deeper with every thrust of his hips as they rise to meet yours.  

"Oh, God, Seokmin," you gasp, your body trembling with the need for release. "I'm so close. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

His hand moves from your neck to your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple through your shirt.

His fingers work magic, and you feel the coil tightening inside you. Your groans become frantic screams as every shove brings you closer to the brink. "Seokmin, I'm gonna— Oh fuuck!" Your tone falters. 

His voice strained with need, he begs, "Do it. Just do it, please."

Your orgasm crashes over you, causing your muscles to tighten and your head to tilt back. A loud moan escapes your lips. Seokmin follows you as your pussy clenches around him, his own climax striking him hard. He groans your name as he thrusts up into you one last time, spilling inside of you.

When you finally slide off Seokmin, your shorts snap back into place, trapping the warmth and wetness inside you. Both of you are sweaty and breathless, as if you'd just run a marathon. You dress quickly, trying to make yourselves presentable before leaving the car. Your hockey bag feels heavier than usual as you sling it over your shoulder and start towards the locker room.

Seokmin’s voice calls out behind you, “I’ll be at the grandstand!”

You stop in your tracks, turning back to him with a sudden impulse. His eyes widen, not knowing what to expect. You run back to him, grabbing his face and kissing him passionately. His hands instinctively grip your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally pull away, you look into his eyes. He whispers, "Good luck," before giving you a soft peck on the lips.

You rush to the locker room, parting ways with him, but the feel of his touch lingers on your skin. As you arrive, your friends ask where you’ve been, and you mumble a quick excuse, your mind still racing.

The game starts, and the crowd’s cheers are deafening, but your focus is on Seokmin, standing out in the grandstand with a smile that lights up the entire field. You feel his support like a warm embrace, grounding you in the moment.

The game is intense, your adrenaline pumping as you skate with a renewed sense of purpose. Each play, each pass, each shot—everything feels sharper, more precise. Seokmin’s presence fuels you, his smile a beacon that keeps you going.

In the final moments, the score is tied. The puck is passed to you, and time seems to slow. You weave through the opposing team, your muscles burning, heart pounding. With a final, powerful shot, the puck sails into the net. The crowd erupts, and your team rushes to you, lifting you in celebration.

As you look towards the grandstand, you see Seokmin standing, clapping, and cheering louder than anyone else. 

As you charge forward, a single thought echoes in your mind, a mantra that fuels your every move: Play like you’ve got nothing to lose, because in this moment, with Seokmin watching, you’ve already won everything that matters.

[gguk-n]

Chapter 3- Heartfelt confession

Accelerating Emotions (Oscar Piastri x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Oscar decides he wants to spend time with Y/N. The more time he spends, the more his feelings solidify. He likes her a lot. He just hopes she likes him too.

Lando was the happiest person when summer break began since he would no longer have to hear his teammate pine over his best friend's sister. Oscar was a quite and stoic man and nothing could elicit a response from him except Y/N. Even the thought of her getting hurt would make Oscar worry to no end; so he would resort to stealthy pestering Ansel while away for races on what was going on with his sister who honestly was of no help since he lived in another city. So, Oscar now depended on his mother and he would be lucky to catch glimpses of Y/N behind his mom on rare occasions. Nicole was happy her son was calling way more often then usual and she wasn't about to complain. Oscar had ulterior motives and would ask about everyone in hopes of finding out what Y/N was up too. He was sure his sisters could take care of themselves.

Summer break couldn't come any sooner for Oscar either. Oscar was back in Australia enjoying the cooler weather especially after he found out Y/N would also have July off from school when he over heard his mother talking to Y/N about her plans for July. Even Oscar wasn't sure if he ever booked plane tickets any faster than he did in that moment. Oscar decided to 'surprise' his family or another way to talk to Y/N. He texted her asking her to pick her up from the airport since he wanted to surprise everyone. That's how Y/N found herself awake at the crack ass of dawn since Oscar doesn't seem to understand timezones or so it seems and was landing in Melbourne at 5 am. Y/N would rather be asleep on the rare few days she got off from school without having to plan for the next year or make up a teaching plan for the next week. But here she was driving to the airport with the largest coffee mug she could find and a hoodie with Oscar's number on it. It was the warmest hoodie she owned and she had forgotten it was Oscar merchandise that she had stolen from her sibling.

Oscar was stood at the airport arrival terminal when Y/N drove her car to him. She rolled the window down, "You should be grateful I've known you for years because I was ready to leave you stranded at the airport when my alarm rang" she called out and popped her trunk open. Oscar placed his bags in and climbed into the passenger seat. "Thanks for picking me up" Oscar said. "I love you guys too much to explain to Nicole how I lost her son" Y/N replied after taking a sip of her once hot coffee. Oscar didn't really hear anything after 'i love you' honestly you wouldn't either if your crush directed those 3 words at you in any context. He gathered himself, "Take me to your place" Oscar asked rather commanded but who's asking. "What? Why?" Y/N asked now fully looking at Oscar who's eyes had travelled down to the hoodie Y/N was wearing and you could clearly see OP81 plastered all over it if you looked carefully enough since the hoodie looked like it was Y/N's favourite in her collection of clothes. "You're wearing my hoodie" Oscar pointed out. "What? This is my hoodie" she corrected. "It has my name and number on it" he corrected. And for the first time since she woke up she looked at herself and realised that she left the house in the hoodie she slept in which just happened to be Oscar's merchandise. "You support my merchandise" Oscar gleamed. "Ansel bought it, I stole it from him" she commented. Nothing was dimming Oscar's shine. He was just winning, in his eyes, since he landed.

"Why do you wanna come to my place?" she asked getting back to the topic. "I'm planning a surprise and I need to look prepared for it" he said while stealing glances at Y/N in his hoodie. "Since when do you plan surprises?" she asked. Oscar just shrugged and they drove to her apartment. Y/N helped Oscar grab his stuff from the trunk and brought him to her flat. The house was a mess but Oscar had seen worse. "There's coffee in the kitchen. The bathroom's that way. The guest bedroom is to your left. If you need anything, I'll be asleep in my room that's in front of you." she pointed around. "Are you going back to sleep?" Oscar asked with his puppy eyes. "I was going too, but you look like you want something. So spill" she stated. "Can we have breakfast together? I miss your pancakes, like the Japanese style one's you tried to make" Oscar pouted. "Those abominations can't be called pancakes. Now, I do make a really good pancake. So, for the flattery I will fulfill your wish" she offered.

Oscar got changed from the jeans he was wearing to a sweatshirt and joggers. Y/N had ditched the OP81 hoodie much to Oscar's dismay to wear another sweatshirt and joggers. He was hovering around her as she tried to make the pancakes, making her snap. "Okay, Osc, sweetheart, can you stop moving around so much. I can't work when people are in my space." she reprimanded him in the nicest way possible. Oscar took his place on the breakfast bar like a child that had been told off. Y/N served the pancakes with fresh fruits and maple syrup. "I didn't think those pancakes could get any better" Oscar moaned after taking one bite. Y/N smiled at him, "You flatter me" she smiled back. "Can you help me decide how to surprise my family?" Oscar asked. "I knew those weren't empty praises" she laughed.

Y/N was sat thinking while munching on her pancakes all the while Oscar would steal glances at her. "You should turn up to the house with flowers. I think they would like that" Y/N said after much deliberation on her part. "That doesn't sound grand" Oscar pointed out. "They are your family. IDK how to make it grand" she retorted. "Maybe you should take your time. It's like you want to get rid of me as soon as possible" Oscar pouted. This boy needs to stop pouting because for some reason his puppy eyes are working on her and she doesn't know how to get out of here, she thought. "Oscar, baby, I have holidays for the next few days before school and I would like to do stuff I can't when I'm busy" she said. Oscar lost his train of thought when she called him baby. "We can do stuff together" Oscar stammered, "As a thank you for helping me surprise my family" he finished. Y/N wasn't winning today, or ever again with Oscar for that matter. "Please" Oscar begged now holding on to both of her hands. Y/N for the first time since he became friend's with her brother looked at him, like really looked at him, his chocolate brown eyes or his cute little freckles that littered his face or the moles that were splattered across his face and neck; this stay wasn't going to end well for her she thought. She couldn't think straight when his warm hands were holding her's like they were the most fragile thing. She just nodded to him, pulling her hands away with a slight blush that was starting to form on her cheeks to put the dishes away.

Y/N and Oscar were sat on the sofa while Y/N was flipping through movies to watch on Netflix. "I thought you were sleepy" Oscar voiced. "I'm not anymore, someone wanted to have pancakes" she chided. Oscar just smiled and he looked like the cutest cat making her smile. She realised what she was doing so she quickly handed the remote to Oscar, "Watch whatever you want, I'm gonna get some stuff done around the house" she said walking to her room. Oscar switched the TV off and followed her into her room. "I can help" he offered, making Y/N jump. "Oscar, you scared me" she said. "Sorry" he apologised with a small smile. "You should get some sleep, you must be jet lagged. I'll wake you up for lunch" she said now pushing Oscar towards the guest room. "Try to get some sleep" she reiterated, closing the door behind her. That's how Oscar found himself lying on the bed while staring at the ceiling, imagining what it would be like to enjoy domestic bliss with her.

At some point in his daydreaming, Oscar fell asleep and only woke up at around 5 pm. He stumbled out of the room to a much cleaner flat and Y/N making dinner. "You're up" she said. "You didn't wake me up" he asked. "You looked so cute sleeping, I couldn't" she cooed. She thought I was cute, Oscar thought. "Cute in a OMG!! baby is cute way or cute in a damn that boy cute way" he asked. "Who's teaching you this stuff?" she laughed. Oscar just shrugged; "Obviously, OMG!! baby is cute way" she laughed. Oscar's shoulders seem to fall. "Dinner's almost done" she said getting ready to serve the food. Y/N and Oscar sat on the table with their plate of food. Oscar was playing around with his food; "Is it not good?" she asked. "No, no it's delicious." he replied. "But you haven't touched your plate" she pointed out. "I...do you still see me as the kid that your brother befriended?" Oscar mumbled. "Oscar, you are the kid my brother befriended" she highlighted. "But, do you see me as you know, someone who is older and more mature?" he questioned. "You are older now Oscar, and more mature too. You drive a Formula One car now, you have a life and career and we are all so proud of you." she said. Oscar hummed, "Are you proud of me?" he asked. "So proud. If you are worried about the season, it's your first season. You'll get better with time. The cars getting used to you, you're getting used to it. I'm sure next year will be the best ever. Mark my words" she reassured. Y/N thought Oscar was having anxiety with his career when he asked her that, but that was far from the truth.

"I know how to surprise everyone" she announced after dinner. "How?" Oscar asked. "We could throw a party at my place and then invite everyone. I think Ansel's visiting soon too. And surprise, you're here." she explained. "When will we do that?" Oscar asked. "Ansel is coming in 2 days, on Friday night we can have everyone come in. I'll send out the invites and you can greet everyone once they come in. I think they'll love it" she elaborated further. Oscar liked that he could stay here for a couple more days. "You're gonna have to help me" she said. "I will" Oscar agreed.

The next few days were spent cleaning the place, planning a menu out for the dinner, wrapping up the presents Oscar got everyone. They sent out the invites and everyone agreed to meet her at 7 pm on Friday. The two of them spent all of Friday decorating the place. You would find the two laughing along or having fun through out the whole planning. Oscar hoped that she would see him as more than just a kid. The time they spent together was precious for Oscar. He had bought her a necklace which he asked her to wear on Friday. "Oscar, this is beautiful. But it must be expensive" she said handing it back. "You should wear it today" he said placing it in her hands once again. "I can't take this. It looks so expensive" she mentioned admiring the necklace. "Please, it took me forever to pick out" Oscar begged. Y/N conceded.

They got dressed for the party. Y/N was wearing a navy blue midi dress, to highlight the necklace. She was struggling to zip up her dress which Oscar saw when he came to check up on Y/N. He quietly walked in and zipped up the dress; "Let me" he said. "Thanks" she whispered, her breath stuck in her throat as she felt his finger hover over her lower back. Before she could take the necklace out of the box, Oscar beat her to it, moving her hair aside, his fingers brushed past the small exposed area on her neck, bringing the necklace around and hooking it up. "Done" he mentioned. Y/N was looking at herself in the mirror with Oscar standing behind her, a small smile on his face. She turned around, "how does it look?" she asked. "Gorgeous" Oscar replied. Y/N was blushing and for the first time Oscar saw it. He felt his chest swell up at the thought of making her blush.

Everyone showed up almost at the same time, Oscar was waiting for everyone in the living room. The house was a bit cramped with everyone present but the laughter that could be heard echoing through the house was well worth it. Nicole almost cried when she saw her son and Chris gave him the biggest hug. Both of Y/N's parents hugged and greeted Oscar like their own son was visiting. Oscar brought out all the presents he had bought and you could hear everyone chatting away about the presents while Ansel and Oscar stood a little further away from the group; "You didn't even tell me" Ansel said skeptically. "It was supposed to be a surprise" Oscar reasoned. "Sure" Ansel replied sounding not so sure of Oscar's answer. "Don't you like the present I got you" Oscar quizzed. "Yeah yeah, I know you're trying to bribe me. Just don't take too long." Ansel said. "What do you mean by that?" Oscar asked and Ansel just shrugged his shoulders while walking away to help his sister set up the dinner.

Everyone had taken a plate and were sat where ever they could find a place. Y/N was playing with her necklace every chance she got; "Where did you get the necklace from? It is beautiful" Y/N's mother asked her. "You should ask Oscar, he got it for me" she replied after quickly swallowing the food in her mouth. "Now did he" Oscar's mother asked looking at him. "I just saw it while passing and got it" Oscar dismissed everyone. Lando will tell you, and I quote, "He sent me links to multiple luxury brand's necklaces which he vetoed within minutes of staring at them since they weren't good enough for his Y/N. Then he started dragging me around to a new shop in every city we visited and made the employee of the shop show him their entire inventory. It took him months to decide on the damn necklace. I thought I would have to get some one to craft him one" end quote. But Lando wasn't here and no one was about to know.

Oscar offered to stay back after the party even though Y/N insisted that he leave with his family. "I'm the one that wanted to surprise them. I should help you clean up." he stated. "The party was my idea" she retorted. "Let him help you Y/N. Come home early tomorrow Oscar" his father called out as everyone filed out. "Good luck" Ansel and Aldric called out simultaneously as they bid them good bye.

The house wasn't as destroyed and they were done with cleaning the place up in a few hours. It was almost 2 AM when Oscar finally sat, sprawled out on the sofa. Y/N was putting the last of the dishes away. She walked towards the sofa when her toe got caught on the mat on the floor and she extended her arms to brace herself from the fall. Oscar with his quick reflexes caught hold of her extended arms, stopping her mid-way. "You haven't outgrown your clumsiness" Oscar stated, his face inches away from hers. "I have" she whispered. "What would you do if I wasn't there to save you?" Oscar asked now pushing her back on her feet and placing her arms on her side. "I'm perfectly capable of saving myself" she retorted. "Never said you weren't. But I wouldn't mind being there for you" he retorted back. "Why would you be there for me?" she asked. "Because I like you" he said. There he said it, the words that he wanted to say for years. "Oscar" she began, this didn't sound good to Oscar. "You're my brother's best friend. I can't" she began. "But you would if I wasn't" he interrupted. "No, I wouldn't. You're younger than me" she said. "By a year, it doesn't even matter honestly" Oscar reasoned. "You probably feel this way since we've been spending a lot of time together lately" she said. "I've felt this way for years. Don't demean my feelings for you, Y/N. Do you know what you do to me?" he asked. "Oscar, you're ugh...you're you and it would never work out" she said. "You've thought about me" Oscar asked hopefully. "That's not the point" she said. "It is" Oscar pointed out. "I like you Y/N, I have for as long as I've known you. This isn't some silly crush I had when I was 12 or because of the close proximity. You make my heart beat fast and my tongue doesn't know how to speak around you. I've repressed my feelings for you for far too long. I just don't know if I've ever felt this way about anyone." Oscar said. "Oscar, you're" she began but was cut off; "I'm not acting impulsively. Take your time. I'm here for a couple more weeks. I'll leave tomorrow morning but I'll be at my house. Just think about it. Think about us, think about me. For Once" Oscar begged walking towards the guest room. While Y/N was stood there shocked, in her living room.

[exponenshul]

People occasionally ask me about the origins of my pregnancy/birth kink, and I just remembered something that I think was pretty crucial.

When I was in middle school I read the book “FEAR,” the fifth installment in a series by Michael Grant. It was honestly a bit too dark, gorey, and violent to be considered a young adult novel, but I digress.

Near the end of the book is a scene where one of the main characters is pregnant, and her pregnancy is accelerated by the external force of a powerful alien. She’s tired and scared to give birth but is forced to do so in a cave deep underground. I’d send the pages but I don’t have the book anymore, sadly.

This is the first and only time I’d ever read about a rapid pregnancy, and I think it really captivated me.

So yeah. Food for thought. Has anyone else ever read this book?

[draconic-desire]

your yan!neuvi series got me on a chokehold !! I feel so bad for darling but it got me thinking, would neuvillette ever allow them to i dont know, go visit mondt to look at their parents’ grave (?).

Neuvillette meets his (dead) in-laws edition 😂

Ok this idea is simultaneously kinda funny but also makes me cry a bit because I totally think Neuvillette would have ensured your family’s wellbeing in your absence. Despite his flaws, he still maintains his overwhelming sense of duty and justice.

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

(A Dance with the Dragon Interlude)

Talking about your life four centuries ago has become a bit of a taboo in the household you share with Neuvillette.

Mostly, it only serves to incite an argument, one you are always predestined to lose. The other times, it only reminds you of painful memories. So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue, to keep your past held tightly to your heart. Neuvillette doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, you believe he might prefer if your history were to be wiped from your mind completely, leaving a blank slate for him to carve his essence into.

Which is why you’re so shocked when, on a particularly storming evening, the Chief Justice himself requests, “Tell me about what your parents were like.”

Jolting, you nearly drop the book in your hands. He’s not looking at you—usually, having his gaze on you translates to irritation, concern, or lust. When he’s looking away from you, as he is now, irises trained on the waves battering the cliffs below your home, you know that means he is instead thinking, pondering.

But thinking about what? Your eyes narrow, and your heart accelerates. What is he getting at?

A hand clenches around your heart when you try to picture your mother and father in your head—and fail. Four hundred years without a visit or simple image…of course their features have faded over time. But you’ll never forget the warmth, the knowledge that they loved you until the end and supported your lifelong wish of pursuing marine biology, even when it took you away from them.

You only shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about that, Neuvillette.”

He turns to you, now, eyes filled with calculation. A judge presiding over his court. “I had no parents. I simply…came to exist. Born of the water, the waves, the sea foam, and bestowed with this primordial power.” He glances down at his gloved hand, palm squeezing into a fist. “So the idea of parents is…foreign to me. Though I have a sense of the kind of ceaseless, unconditional love that defines a family.” You know he’s talking about his feelings for you, and your tattoo burns. “Experiencing a loss of that magnitude would be incomprehensible.”

For the life of you, you cannot figure out his endgame here. Why acknowledge your loss? Why equate his adoration and obsession with you for parental love? Your eyes burn, your breath quickens, you feel the tattoo pulse with energy as you—

“Do you ever wonder about how they lived the rest of their lives?”

Yes. No. Everyday. Somehow, you find your voice, a quiet thing filled with warning. Your skin feels so hot, like your veins are laced with lightning. “And how would you know anything about that?”

Neuvillette’s sharp eyes cut to your frame. “I…made sure that they were fully provided for. They lived happy lives, believing you to be living out your dreams in Fontaine. They are now buried together, in the cathedral cemetery overlooking the Brightcrown Mountains.”

Your breath hitches, and that power in your blood begins to settle. Their favorite place. The Brightcrown Mountains, where your father proposed to your mother. The Favonius Cathedral, where they were married. And the cemetery behind the church, where your grandparents had been entombed, too.

Something falls onto your lap. It’s only when you touch your hands to your face that you realize you’re crying. Neuvillette watches you with concern, one hand raised and poised to reach out to you, but he keeps his distance as he lets you process.

You release a shaky sigh. Was it true? Did they pass with no fear for your safety, in ignorant bliss of your extended life? The thought, although morbid in some ways, actually brings you a sense of peace. Your parents never had to endure the loss of you in the same way you had for them.

You swallow thickly, your voice hoarse with emotion. “Can we…visit them?”

That sets Neuvillette’s back ramrod straight as he blinks. You’ve only been out of the house a handful of times, and he was the one to bring this topic to light, but to venture out of Fontaine entirely? His protective and possessive instincts flare immediately, screaming at him to shut this idea down, to grab you and sink his teeth into your neck, dominant, claiming. But as his silver eyes flick across your face, taking in your tears, the tremble in your hands, the pit of mixed despair and relief in your eyes, he relents.

Slowly, he blinks, taking in a deep breath. You’re expecting an excuse, a verbal slap on this wrist disguised as concern for your safety. Which is why, for the second time tonight, you’re stunned when Neuvillette, rising to his feet, extends his hand. “I’ll take you there.”

~*~

The trip is easy, thanks to the Hydro Dragon’s teleportation abilities. The two of you arrive at the large square in front of the cathedral, the statue of Barbados towering above you. Briefly, you wonder what the Archon of Freedom thinks about your situation, or if he even deigns to care.

Not much has changed about Mondstadt in four hundred years. The streets still possess an older feel, cobblestone streets and stone walls surrounding the city. After seeing the drastic change in Fontaine, the fact envelopes you in a sense of comfort, knowing that at least one aspect of the world has aged alongside you, long-lived but unchanged.

It’s long grown dark, and the heavy downpour persists. Neither of you brought an umbrella as you ascend the stairs and wrap around to the cemetery behind the church. The rain, however, seems to dissolve into your skin rather than chilling you or soaking your clothes, no doubt another consequence of Neuvillette’s magic coursing through your veins.

The Hydro Dragon leads you to a small plot towards the back. Two tombstones are erected side by side, and you fall to your knees as you read: (Mother’s name) and (Father’s name) (L/n). Lives entwined to their last breath, they soar high above the clouds.

You hear a rustle of fabric, and soon Neuvillette has joined you, kneeling by your side. He raises his arm, and tendrils of blue light pool from his palm, forming the shape of beautiful flowers. They surround the graves, a sea of blues to celebrate your loved ones.

The two of you sit there for what could have been minutes or hours. All you know is that this is the most at peace you’ve felt in four hundred years.

[probablyasocialecologist]

One of permaculture's earliest missteps was its belief that we should all become small-time capitalists in the service of the movement. This has led to a proliferation of permaculture-related small businesses—YouTube channels, personal brands, conferences, etc. I have no objection to this as a matter of survival; everyone has to make money somehow under the relentless demands of capitalism. But relying on businesses to do the work of evangelizing has essentially turned permaculture into a consumer trend, rather than a movement. A movement is not a stack of books, an endless series of Kickstarters, and a bunch of social media stars. A movement is a collective attempt to change society. Operating as businesses and personal brands makes the "collective" part impossible since those are necessarily individualistic ventures, and it also greatly limits what kinds of change can be made. We cannot move beyond capitalism—which is greatly accelerating the destruction of life on Earth—by being capitalists. We cannot spread permaculture by undermining the condition for our own survival. If permaculture is to become a movement rather than a consumer tchotchke, it will need to stop functioning as a constellation of small businesses and start building collective power on the basis of solidarity. This is called organizing, and it means working together to fight for our shared interests, as permaculturists and as humans living on an imperiled planet.

[aoioozora]

THIS IS SO AMAZING OMG (talking about the Simon fanfic btw) YOU JUST EARNED A FOLLOWER ❤️❤️ we'd really appreciate it if you did a part 2? 🥹 Take care

Simon.

Part 2

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost

Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: I was never planning on making this a series but here we go, I guess I'm invested too now >:) thank you for requesting and following! While this series is fluff only, I have a small warning for this part: there's swearing, crude jokes. And possibly incorrect usage of Scottish and English slang. Enjoy :) Photo credit: mus

“It's pishin’ it doon out here.”

Simon looked at his friend and sighed, “English, MacTavish.” 

MacTavish groaned. “It's raining fuckin’ hard.” 

“Then say so.” 

“I did!” 

Simon and his friend, John MacTavish or ‘Johnny’, as he was affectionately called, found themselves standing under the shade of a book café, helmets in hands, watching Simon's bike get drenched in the heavy rain. Neither of them expected a downpour, and were caught without raincoats. And so the two had no choice but to wait it out. 

“It was yer bloody brilliant idea to go on a road trip when I warned ye that it was gonna rain today,” Johnny griped, crossing his arms as he shook the rain water off his helmet. 

Simon didn't say a word. He copied Johnny in getting the water off his helmet, except that he wiped it off with his hand. As he hung his head down to do so, his messy blond hair fell over his eyes, and he shook his head to get it out of the way. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief to dry them, and then pulled his mask down below his nose to inhale a fresh gulp of the cold, wet air. When he had inhaled enough, he pulled the mask back on, and his eyes wandered to his motorcycle, which was surrounded by a foggy haze in the rain. 

His mind wandered to that night he saved a young lady off the dangerous streets. He remembered how he saw her from afar, and without a second thought, sped up to her assailants, half-intent on actually flattening them into crepes. He remembered how his engine pounded as adrenaline charged his blood, as he twisted the accelerator to full throttle, sending the vehicle flying. 

A pretty lady he thought she was. He didn't know why he called her his girlfriend; his brain decided that being a boyfriend was the second most powerful thing a man could be, the first being a husband. No other men would mess with another man's woman, that was for sure, unless he had a death wish. She acted well too, convincingly even. 

He pulled out his phone and turned it around. Nestled beneath the clear casing was a small, clear candy wrapper, the same one that the pretty lady gave him that day. He didn't know why he felt the need to keep it, but did anyway. He definitely wanted something to remind him of her. 

He had been in anguish ever since he dropped her off and rode away; he had completely forgotten to ask for her name. But who does that? They were strangers. What are the odds that two strangers would meet again? 

“I'm heading inside,” Johnny announced, “I want a coffee.”

“Get me some tea.” 

“Fuckin’ Brit.” 

Simon was about to correct Johnny by telling him that Scotland, where he was from, was also part of the British isles, but he bit back, not wanting to risk hearing a rant in exclusively colorful, and totally family friendly Scottish words and phrases. 

“Fine, I'll do it myself.” Simon rolled his eyes and followed Johnny inside the book cafe. 

The two men sat at a table and while Johnny peered into the menu, Simon sank back into the comfortable chair and looked at the yellow bulbs hanging overhead, casting a soft, golden glow on the smooth wooden tables, the floors, and the cutlery. The smell of coffee, cakes, and books filled the air, along with the soft ruffle of pages, clinks of tableware and cups and saucers, and the distinct murmurs of his friend across him as he figured out what coffee he wanted to have. 

A waiter came by to take their orders, and the two were soon left to their own, sitting in unusual silence as they stared out the glass windows at the relentlessly pouring rain. While Johnny hummed a tune to himself, Simon, tired of looking at the downpour, decided to amuse himself with people watching. 

He saw people working at their laptops, some reading and drinking, others chatting in soft murmurs, and staff doing their job. 

His eyes fell on one particular lady who was seated at a table across the cafe, back facing him, busily working on her laptop. He felt his heart stop for a moment. Her silhouette was familiar, particularly her hair; it looked just like her. His heart pounded beneath his ribs. 

He didn't realise how long he looked until Johnny's voice piped, “Wit ye lookin’ at?” which interrupted the momentary buzz of his thoughts. 

Simon turned to his friend, who was looking at him with mingled curiosity and confusion. “Nothing.” he replied, shaking his head and hanging it down slightly to look away, but his eyes immediately darted to the lady, as if she was a strong magnet. 

Johnny wasn't quite convinced, and he followed Simon's line of vision. “A lass,” he observed, smirking. 

Simon glared at his friend, but it only made him chuckle. The two watched as she stood up for a moment and turned around, intent on walking to the shelves to grab a book. That's when Simon saw her face, and again, his heart seized. 

“It's her.”

His breath lodged tight in his lungs and his body visibly stiffened. And the most unfortunate reaction of them all: his partially exposed cheeks had turned pink. His eyes were glued to her, and he was unaware that Johnny was still keenly observing him. 

“Ye ken her?” asked Johnny, his smirk widening. 

“You remember I saved a girl the other day?” He asked back. 

“That's her?” Johnny whipped his head back again to take another gander at the lady. 

She was furiously flipping through the pages of a hardbound book, as if desperately in search of something. Simon rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair and leaned his cheek on his fist; he watched with interest as she hunched over the book like a medieval scholar, and wondered what her occupation was. She went back to her seat, hunched over again, and the two men looked back at each other. 

“Go talk to her,” Johnny challenged.

“No.”

“Keep bein’ a fuckin’ pussy and ye won't get to fuck that pussy, ye ken?” 

Simon snorted at that, but then immediately and quietly hissed “Wheesht!” at Johnny to make him shut up, glancing back at the pretty lady. “Don't be disrespectful,” he added.

Johnny chuckled, ever amused at the fact that his Scottish vernacular was infecting the Englishman. He leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee, continuing to smirk, “Since when did ye care about respect, huh?” 

Simon inhaled sharply, since he was getting increasingly impatient with Johnny and at the fact that he was running out of arguments. It was also a bit hard to argue in a place where you're supposed to be quiet. 

“Just go already. I cannae see ye looking so stupid like this. The worst she can say is ‘fuck off’.” Johnny shrugged. 

Simon shot his friend and unimpressed look, making Johnny snort. “That is the worst thing she can say, you wanker,” he said, now mechanically rising from his chair. 

“Fuck off and get her number, ye gobshite, or else you'll just be wanking to her and not talking.” Johnny shook his head with a smirk and gave his friend a slap on the back as he passed him. Simon returned the gesture with a slap to the back of Johnny's head, particularly in annoyance at the latter part of his sentence. 

While Johnny whined quietly from how hard a slap he had been dealt with, Simon's attention was drawn when he heard her voice again, sounding a little agitated. His head whipped towards her table, and yet again, she was being hit on by some guy, and clearly looked like she was uncomfortably fighting back his unwanted advances. 

Simon glared at the man as he began his march. “If only she had a boyfriend by her side, a guard dog…” he thought to himself as he speedily, yet calmly stepped over to her table. 

He went around some tables and emerged behind the man, towering over him. Before Simon was noticed by her, his hand came down heavily on the man's shoulder, making him flinch. Leaning down, he whispered as the man turned to face him, “What business do you have with my girlfriend?” 

The man was met with Simon's glaring eyes that meant serious business. He froze up immediately. 

“Babe, he was trying to hit on me even though I told him I wasn't interested,” the lady's voice resounded, and a quick glance at her told Simon that her eyes glimmered with recognition. 

The “babe” made his knees weak for a moment, but he shook off the feeling and continued to glare at the man. No more words were needed. He immediately stood up from his seat and strode away, apologising without sincerity. When he was finally earshot, she sighed. 

“You alright, love?” asked Simon with gentleness unusual to him, glancing around again to make sure the man was nowhere in sight. 

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she sighed, also looking in the direction the man left. She looked back at him and smiled brightly, “But what a coincidence. We meet again, Simon.” 

“And I'm mighty chuffed about it.” he thought to himself as he nodded in response. “Funny coincidence, really. My friend and I were just about to leave on a small road trip and the rain,” he shook his head and clicked his tongue as he looked at the windows, “it rained on our parade, I guess.”

The unintentional pun made her giggle. Simon normally had a grip on his emotions, but that damned giggle threw off his train of thought. But regaining himself, he continued, “So we took shelter here, and I saw you. Thought I'd come talk and then I heard that guy trying to make a pass at you.”

She motioned to the chair for him to sit down, which he instantly did; he cursed himself for seeming so eager. 

“You heard?” she asked with emphasis. 

“Yeah?” he nodded, slightly confused as to why she zeroed in on that word in particular. “I was looking elsewhere, and then I heard you.”

She then glanced at her laptop for a moment and then pulled the screen down slightly so he wouldn't see what was on. As she did, she said, “I see. I'm lucky you came just then because I was having a hard time driving him away.”

“I could tell,” he answered slowly. He then decided to change the subject. “You come here often?” 

“Yeah, every day. This place is calm and quiet and the atmosphere helps me work.”

“What's your job?” 

“I'm an author.” 

“An author?” he blinked in surprise. He didn't expect that. “What do you write about?” 

“Fantasy and adventure… With a hint of romance.” She grabbed her tote that was on the table and pulled out a book from it, which she showed him. “This is my first published book.” 

“No kidding?” He took the book in my hand. It was titled ‘Firefly Trails’, embossed in gold. The cover was matte, showing a dark forest trail dotted with glossy fireflies and their greenish yellow light. Below the title was her name, and he read it in his mind slowly, his eyes spending more time taking it in more than anything else on the cover. 

“New York Times Bestseller.” he recited, smirking as he eyed the epithet on the top of the cover, “Don't they slap this on every book?” 

“They do, but this actually did pretty well in New York.”

“So you're famous then?” 

“Kind of?” 

“Tell me your Instagram handle, I'll need to see for myself.” Simon pulled out his phone and looked at her, waiting for her to tell him. 

She did. He immediately typed it out on the search bar and while he did, he rested his elbow on the table, holding his arm upright. His neck was craned upward slightly, and the lady couldn't help but stare at the way his Adam's apple moved as he gulped, and the way the sternocleidomastoid muscle tightened and popped from under his fair skin as he moved his neck. 

Her analytical, authorly eyes scanned him keenly, soaking in all she could make of his facial features; at his icy blond hair, short and styled in an undercut; his long eyelashes, his shapely eyebrows, his slightly pink cheeks under the black mask, the way his brown eyes reflected against the blue light of the phone screen; it was all a sight to behold. He was saying something, but her mind was so lost in trying to mentally string words together to describe the view in front of her in the most superfluous manner possible, in hopes that this information would be used in her future works. 

“Hey, you really are famous. You got quite a tonne of followers.” Simon, who was highly aware of her shameless staring, somehow managed to interrupt her flow of thought. 

She was successfully brought back to Earth from her daydream, and she nodded, now embarrassed to have been caught red-handed. He thankfully made no comment on it, not wanting to make things awkward.

She answered, “I suppose so. But they're not as many as bigger authors. I'm not complaining, though. I'm really happy to have a lot of people liking my work.”

“You're too modest,” he said, and she could see his cheeks rise to his eyes just a wee bit behind his mask, indicative of a smile. He now showed her her Instagram page on his phone. “There, I followed you,” he said, pointing at the grey ‘Following’ button.

“Are you sure? You don't look like the type of person who reads or is interested in author updates.” A slightly teasing smirk tugged the corner of her lips. 

Simon chuckled and shook his head slightly, making his short hair swish a little; she took notice of it. “I'm a voracious reader,” he bragged, lying through his teeth, even using a fancy word to make it more convincing. 

She smiled, clearly not quite convinced, but decided to humor him anyway. “If you are, then that book is a gift for you.” She glanced at the copy resting on his lap. 

“No kidding?” he blinked as he took the book in his hand to gaze at it. “Well, since you're so famous, I think I should get your autograph.” he said, and she could see one of his cheeks raised; an unmistakable smirk. 

“Oh, come on, you're making me blush,” she giggled, but took the book anyway.

"My intentions exactly," he thought as he watched her grab a pen and start writing on the first page. 

His phone buzzed a message in the meantime, and he took the device to have a look. It was Johnny. He glanced at the other end of the cafe at his friend, and found him staring, finishing the last sips of his coffee. 

Johnny MacTavvy: oi yer tea's getting cauld 

Johnny MacTavvy: Rain's stopped too. Let's go 

Simon now looked out the glass windows and the rain had indeed stopped, and a bit of sunlight was peeking through the cloudy skies. He sighed, not wanting to go just yet, but knowing Johnny wouldn't let him tarry any longer, he quickly typed a reply, which Johnny saw immediately. 

Fuckin’ Brit: ok 

By the time Simon kept his phone in his pocket, the lady finished her autograph and handed the book to him. “Enjoy.” She smiled. 

Simon murmured a “Thanks” as he received the book, and then rose from his seat. 

“Leaving already?” she asked, looking a little disappointed. 

“Yeah, my friend's annoying me to finish my tea so we can be on our way. The rain's stopped now, so…”

“Okay,” she nodded slightly, glancing out the windows to confirm for herself. Looking back at him, she smiled again, “Take care then.” 

“You too,” he inhaled. “Make sure you don't get hit on again,” he said, attempting to be casual and funny, but he felt like his attempt turned out to be so stupid. 

She shook her head, scoffing and smiling. “I'll be fine.” 

He was relieved that the attempt landed safely despite the turbulence, and he sighed. “Right then, I'll see you inna bit, love.” 

“See you, Simon.” 

He nodded once at her and then strode back to Johnny, feeling his knees get weaker by the second. He managed to reach his table and practically fell down in his seat. 

“Well?” asked Johnny with a smirk as he leaned forward and eyed the book in Simon's hand. “She gave ye a gift, I see.” 

“She's an author. Her first book.” Simon answered, handing him the book so he could see it. 

“For real?” Johnny took the book and flipped through the pages. The autograph on the first page caught his attention and he read it. His eyes widened slightly and he closed the book, returning it to his friend, who was drowning the lukewarm tea. “He completely forgot, didnae he, this bastard.” Johnny muttered under his breath, smirking. 

“What was that?” asked Simon, setting down the teacup. 

“Nothing. Let's go.” 

The two paid for their drinks and as they stepped out the door, Simon glanced back at her, and saw that she was also looking at him over her shoulder. This time, he felt a bit fluttery in his stomach. She waved at him with another of those pretty smiles and he waved back, already feeling his knees go weak again. 

The two turned away and exited the book cafe. While Johnny wiped the rainwater off the motorcycle, Simon took a moment to see what she had written as an autograph. 

“Dear Simon, thank you for saving me twice. I hope you enjoy the book,” was written, and along with that was her name and signature.

Below that was written in unmistakably bold and clear letters, “Call me,” along with her number. 

Simon felt like he had been struck by lightning. His face turned alarmingly red and hot to the point that he scrambled to pull his hood over to hide himself. “Fuck me…” he mumbled his exclamation as he processed this very clear green light from her. It was unbelievable. 

In the meantime, the lady herself  couldn't believe this whole thing just happened. He happened to be there, came up to her, saved her, and swooped her off her feet the second time. It was an amazing coincidence, a once in a lifetime incident, something straight out of a novel. And being an author, she couldn't let this go. She just had to shoot her shot by slapping her phone number in the autograph and now hope that he would call her.

But if there was one thing that sold her completely, it was the fact that he heard that she was in trouble, and came to her rescue. 

Feeling a flutter in her chest, she looked back at her laptop screen. A Google search result was displayed in bold:

“The name Simon means ‘to hear’.”

End of Part 2.

Part 3

[bullet-prooflove]

ATF!Series Part Two: Fucked - David Hale x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@hatersaremymotivators@bennykk@kelpies-shed

ATF Series:

Part One: A Rabbit You Don't Want To Chase - Stahl makes an unwelcome return to David's life.

You and David have plans for the summer. You think about them as you recline naked on a chaise lounge in Simone’s art studio, one arm above your head, your face tilted towards the painters.

You’ve been accepted into San Franisco Art Institute’s Accelerator Program over the summer, which means you’ll be spending eight weeks on campus learning from the best the country has to offer. At the end of the course there’s an event where the artists enrolled get to showcase their work to industry professionals. It’s a way of being discovered, of taking your art to the next level.

David’s going to drive you up there next month. The two of you are going to spend a couple of days sightseeing before the program starts. He’s booked off a few weekends throughout the duration, made reservations at a hotel so you can spend a little time together in the city before you come home.

San Franisco is a dream that you never envisioned for yourself. When your professor had given you the application you didn’t think she was serious. It was a competitive program, it was unlikely you’d get a place even if you did apply so what was the point? It was David that changed your mind.

“You’re so talented.” He had murmured, his lips ghosting across the line of your jaw as you straddled his lap, his fingers untying the knot on your silk robe. “I have every faith in you.”

You’ve never had a man say those words before, they’d been more of an aphrodisiac than you cared to admit.

When the letter had arrived announcing your placement, he had brought home a bottle of champagne and spent the entire night licking the bubbles from your body. You try to distract yourself from that thought because the last thing you want is to get wet in the middle of a session.

When you tune back into your surroundings you find yourself meeting the eyes of the woman across from you. She’s new to the class and the way she looks at you, it’s predatory.

It’s after session that she approaches you. You’re standing in your cotton kimono, sipping from a teacup while she leans against the counter alongside of you. You freeze when she reaches out, her fingertips tucking a loose strand of hair back behind your ear.

“You are very fuckable aren’t you?”

“Sorry honey, you aren’t my type.” You tell her as you pull away, she dogs your steps until you disappear behind the mango wood room divider so that you can dress.

“I know.” She says from the opposite side as you step into your panties and draw them up your thighs. “You have a thing for cop uniforms and leather kuttes.”

You pause for a second before pulling on your sports bra.

“Special Agent Stahl.” You presume.

“Ah David told you about me.” She says, sounding pleased as you tug your jeans up to your hips.

“Only that you like to be called Mommy when you’re sucking dick.” You respond and there’s silence for a moment before she pops her head around the screen.

“You know he was fucking me an hour ago.” She tells you, watching with appreciation as you raise your arms to pull on your shirt. “I’ve still got his come dripping out of me.”

You give her a bored look because you know there isn’t a chance in hell that David stuck his cock back in that beartrap.

“Careful.” You say as you lace up your ankle boots. “Your desperation is showing.”

“I get why he likes you, you know?” She says, leaning back against the desk Simone uses for her admin. “I bet you’re just a firecracker in the bedroom.”

“Is there a reason you’re here or are you just trying to figure out ways to piss off David?” You ask her as you sling your slouch bag over your shoulder.

She shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s an added bonus.” She tells you before crossing her arms over her chest. “I want to talk about someone else we have in common. Jax Teller.”

“Old news.” You say as you search through the contents of your bag for your phone. “If you’re looking information you’re in the wrong place. We fucked for a month almost a year ago.”

“Do you know if he was carrying  a gun during that time?” She asks you, picking up a fidget spinner Simone leaves on her desk for Juice to play with.

You see the path that this is taking. Jax is on parole for a weapons charge. If Stahl finds a witness that says he has a gun, they can get a warrant to search the clubhouse. Jax goes back to prison, the Sons do an investigation of their own. You’ll be the first place they look and what comes after that…

You don’t want David caught up in that crossfire.

“No.” You tell her and she sighs, setting the fidget spinner back in its rightful place before meeting your gaze.

“Fine.” She says reaching into her purse and removing a set of handcuffs. “I’m arresting you on conspiracy to commit vandalism.”

You couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d drew back her fist and punched you in the face. She snaps the bracelet on your wrist before turning you around to face the wall.

“A year ago you spraypainted a five foot dick on Jax Teller’s house, causing a crime spree that went on for weeks and cost the town thousands in property damage, anything over $400 dollars makes it federal. The charge comes with up to a year in jail, fines and restitution.” She tells you as she cinches the cuffs so tightly that they bite into your skin, already your fingertips are starting to tingle. “If that doesn’t stick I’m going to call your art school and that shitty little summer program in San Franisco and tell them your affiliated with a known, violent gang so that future you’ve been looking forward to you can kiss that goodbye.”

In that moment your entire world collapses. Everything you’ve worked so hard for, it’s gone in an instant.

“Tell me is Jax Teller really worth all this?” She asks you, her breath ghosting in your ear. There’s a purr in her voice as she presses up against you, she gets off on having all the power, you remember David telling you that when he described how fucked up their whole thing was.

For you this isn’t about Jax, it’s about him. It’s about what happens when the Sons come for you because David, he will fight to his last breath to protect you and you can’t stand the thought of that.

“Fuck you.” You snap and you can practically feel Stahl’s smile against your skin.

“I think you’re the one that’s about to get fucked.”

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[worrywrite]

A "small" summarization of the lyctoral process in the locked tomb series. Warning, spoilers and theories.

The term "lyctor" is used primarily to describe a person who has completed a certain necromantic transformation in a partnership which dramatically increases their power. However, by the end of Nona we can distinguish three distinct varieties of this process which I will hereby call "lysis" (not to be confused with the medical term of the same name from which this is derived). I will be calling these types of lysis "mutually consumptive lysis", "subordinating lysis", and "mutually destructive lysis". Each type has explicit descriptors, differences, and poetic meaning within the text of the books. I will discuss these in order.

Mutually Consumptive Lysis

Mutually consumptive lysis, sometimes called "perfect [lysis]", is the process undergone by John. John's description of his experiences and this process are hardly detailed and so much is left to speculation. What remains clear is that, like other lysis processes, there is a degree of most of the processes in common (again, John's descriptions leave most up to interpretation so I may be missing some) with other forms of lysis. First step is preservation, both parties (to some degree) are exposed to a preserving power; in John's case this seems to be exposure to experimental cryo fluid due to rushed R&D on the cryo project (implied). Analysis, not necessarily of the two parties but of the connection between them and natural feeling of the connection and what power it grants or is desired through it; in John's case this is likely the deep connection he has with several of the cadavers in his lab and the deep personal drive he is implied to have with Gaia that motivates his work. Transference in this case is hypothetically a mutual process but may be one sided, as it involves the utilization of the power from one or both partners in the process by the other; in the case of John and Gaia this was likely John utilizing the power of Gaia's suffering to gain necromantic abilities and Gaia's influence over John that guides his political agenda. Fixation and incorporation are part of the same step of rapid death and consumption; consumption both literal and metaphorical in this way set this lysis apart from others in particular, as John literally spilled his body into the earth and ate the earth in turn. The consummation step is a sort of marriage where each party in the process levels with the other, elevating of diminishing both parties to equal station; John becoming a "god" and Gaia becoming human (Alecto). Consummation and reconstruction are more or less simultaneous here, as far as we can tell, because the power disparity between Gaia and John was great enough that both had to be at least in part reconstructed to disperse the immense power of Gaia. The final step is a continued effect of the process in which both parties hypothetically take and give to the other; while John takes greatly from Alecto it is unclear what Alecto takes from John, though it is likely a portion of his humanity.

Poetically this process is suited specifically for John and Gaia/Alecto alone. They both shared a sort of mutual obsession with punishing humanity, as they both expressed a significant vindictive pain near the end of the planet's natural life. This pain caused Gaia to reach out and understand why they were being destroyed and to seek retribution on their destroyer while John sought power to deliver retribution on those he deemed as the destroyers and the selfish. This mutual obsession causes both John and Gaia to consume each other literally and metaphorically. Gaia consuming John furthers his vindictive campaign against the FTL project and strips away his humanity and leads to his acceleration if the planet's destruction. John's consumption of Gaia does much the same but also grants him inhuman abilities which causes him to take on an inhuman role and commit acts of murder and violence on individuals and populations. This mutual consumption results in John and Alecto being the last two remaining beings on a planetary corpse, their desire for vengeance leaving them essentially alone with their enablers.

This form of lysis is, hypothetically the most potent. However, it also has the potential to be the weakest. It creates an equilibrium between two individuals, weakening or strengthening either until they are at the same level. When performed as John and Gaia did this, it gives John immense power because Gaia was extraordinarily powerful and weakens Gaia a great deal. However, had this been performed by two individuals of roughly equal power it would result in a lyctor of average power or weaker. It is entirely possible that the process undergone by Anastasia and Samael was the actual mutually consumptive lysis (perhaps without the cannibalism, but who knows) with their failure resulting from their relatively diminutive power or other factors they were unable to replicate due to the unique relationship between John and Gaia/Alecto. It is possible that only two necromancers make take part in this process, as Alecto seems capable of at least some necromantic abilities in her human (from what little has been seen) form and seems to have granted John his necromantic abilities as Gaia.

Subordinating Lysis

Subordinating lysis is the process we know the most about and so will receive the least description. Frequently called either the eightfold word or the lyctoral mega-theorem, this process subordinates the soul of a cavalier to a necromancer and produces a lyctor of great power. This is the process undertaken by the lyctors in the book, namely the first of the saints undying and the second generation of penitents (Ianthe and Harrow). The process of subordination kills the necromancers cavalier and uses their soul as an eternal battery, grants the necromancer much of the physical expertise of the cavalier, grants the necromancer extraordinary regenerative capabilities, and expands the necromancers capacity for necromancy to the a seemingly penultimate level.

Despite the apparent replicability of this process, there are several things which can be altered while still achieving a similar or effectively the same result. Compartmentalization, for one, allows the cavaliers mind (or likely a copy of it) to live on in the subconsciousness of the necromancer; this occured with Pyrrha and G1deon--and after the death of G1deon's soul, Pyrrha (or the copy of her mind that existed in G1deon's subconscious) remained behind and inhabited G1deon's body and presumably reclaimed her soul in the process. Something appears to have gone wrong with Ianth's lysis, though this remains to be seen; she seems to refer to Naberius, her absorbed cavalier, in the present tense as though they consciously shared their lyctoral body to a degree. The combination of minds in a lyctor is common, as the abortion leaves vestiges of the cavalier, but Gideon's mind faded within Harrow's consciousness within weeks (possibly hours) while Ianthe seems to have preserved Naberius for nearly two years. While Harrow underwent elective lobotomy to preserve all remnants of Gideon she could, Ianthe seems to not have undergone such a process. Ianthe's case may be special, as stated, however she may also be manifesting symptoms of a stress induced personality disorder or other mental illness.

The poetry of the subordinating lysis varies in detail from lyctor to lyctor, but often boils down having to sacrifice the thing for which you intend to gain power for. Most necromancers share a special bond with their cavaliers which makes them hesitant to effectively kill them in order to gain power. Several of the second generation of penitents refuse lyctorhood, as they refuse to sacrifice their cavalier. It seems the only truly willing necromancers were Ianthe and one or two other original generation of lyctors. Those that are unwilling are coerced, being told that this must be done. Regardless, by undergoing this process, the necromancer becomes at once extremely powerful and also victim to John's machinations (and loneliness).

Unlike other forms of lysis, subordinating lysis may actually be reversible. However reversing the process requires an extraordinary effort and either extra steps taken early on or must be performed almost immediately.

Mutually Destructive Lysis

This process is, counterintuitively, perhaps the most positive form of lysis. There is only one example of this, Palamedes and Camilla's creation of Paul. Like mutually consumptive lysis it requires two consenting parties (which subordinating lysis does not). Unlike mutually consumptive lysis is does not constantly degrade both parties into a mutually enabling relationship. And like subordinating lysis, the process only creates one individual. However, unlike subordinating lysis, the mutual consent of both parties does reduce some of the psychological distress of lysis. Unlike either of the other forms of lysis, mutually destructive lysis kills both participating parties entirely. This is, however, seemingly a net good.

While the process of mutually destructive lysis is more or less the same as subordinating lysis, there is a key difference in that it is performed on both parties; both parties are absorbed into the resulting entity. Two souls, two bodies, two minds combined into one. This requires the physical and metaphorical death of both instigating parties.

It is unclear how powerful, comparatively, the result of mutually destructive lysis is. Such a creation may well be weaker than either other form; however, like other forms of lysis, mutually destructive lysis seems to create an individual with the memories, skills, and capabilities of both instigating persons while also creating essentially a whole new person (mind, personality, soul). It is also unclear if this process can be replicated; as Palamedes and Camilla's circumstances are unique in the lead up to the creation of Paul. Hypothetically, any two persons could undergo this process as long as at least one participant is a necromancer. because the process is mutually destructive it doesn't quite matter what the level if power and influence of either party is. It is also entirely possible that this (or a similar one) was the process that Anastasia and Samael initiated and John interceded in.

Poetically, mutually destructive lysis is a foil to mutually consumptive lysis. Whereas the mutually consumptive relationship represents possibly the worst form of a partnership (a codependent dysfunctional marriage), the mutually destructive relationship forms a hypothetical possible best case (selfless procreation). This isn't absolutely the best outcome, because that's subjective, but the creation of something new through the putting away of selfish desires is admirable. While it could be argued that John and Gaia loved each other, it was not a sort of love that is positive or healthy and their ultimate goal was destructive and selfish; and this is reflected nature is reflected in their lysis. Conversely, Palamedes had (arguably) a positive loving relationship where both parties cared for and held a shared sense of responsibility and duty to each other; and this is reflected in the nature of the lysis which they performed. It is tragic in its own way, but represents and act of love and selflessness where both parties agree to destroy themselves to preserve the memory of the other.

I've also said before that physically and psychologically merging is a profound expression of romantic love and devotion. That is a personal opinion I could back up with some evidence but this is also already a really big post.

Misc

While this post is egregiously long, I also do want to talk about the reasons I've used these terms and why Muir used the terms she did.

Mutually consumptive refers to the continued consuming of both parties power. John constantly consumes Gaia/Alecto's power and Gaia/Alecto constantly consumes John's humanity (and likely other things). The relationship is inwardly indulgent, negative for all parties, and outwardly destructive.

Subordinating refers to how the necromancer in the relationship subordinates the cavalier's soul in the relationship. It is a mechanically abusive relationship and almost always negative. It is indulgent for the necromancer, neutral (depending on the parties and consent), and destructive for the cavalier.

Mutually destructive lysis is so named because it literally destroys both consenting parties. It is the only lysis which technically involves three individuals (though I don't exactly think there's a hard limit to the number of people that can be incorporated into lysis, and I'd be very interested to know what would happen if more people were involved). It also represents the annihilation if the self, as the process is inherently selfless. Inwardly destructive, outwardly indulgent, and neutral in effect. It's about the best thing to be hoped for in a setting like The Locked Tomb.

Lysis is a term that Muir used in Nona. It is used by Palamedes, describing the process as a "grand lysis" rather than what other lyctors have done. Now this is a medical term. Primarily it refers to the breaking down of cells by dissolving the cell membrane. It can also refer to the gradual termination of a disease (through that process) or the subsiding of symptoms of a disease. It is a typically slow process by which an intrusive life force is broken down and terminated. It's clear why Muir would have Palamedes use this term, it is clinical and it describes how he feels about his position as effectively a parasite living in Camilla's body. But it is also representative of breaking down the walls that separate him from Camilla. It is the destruction of the cell membrane, the part that closes the cell off and marks it as an individual organism. This is why I have used it as well, because all of these processes involve the incorporation of a second person or soul. It is a destructive process no matter how it happens, whether that be a literal or metaphorical destruction. It also doesn't hurt that it is also a "ly" word like lyctor, which I imagine also occured to Muir.

[theetherealbloom]

UNEVEN ODDS — CH. 4

Chapter Four: An Orchestration of Dissonance And Innocent Surrender

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, ANGST, Swearing, Mention of catcalling, men being awful, tiny fluff, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, the pandemic, character death, Zombies, eventual SMUT, MY SCIENCE IS WONKY, probable plot holes, rusty writing

Word Count: 11.1k

A/N: HELLO UM! THERE ARE SO MANY OF YOU AGAIN! UM AHHHH T^T I love you guys so much, thank you for all the kind words and comments. The reblogs and then PUTTING ME IN FIC RECS WHAT– O_O Thank you guys again so so so so so much! You deserve the world <3 And as always, I put my little outline and thoughts at the end notes! Mwa ilysm

Song: Bigger Than Love by Oh Wonder

Previous Chapter -> Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

TLOU WORLD – 2023

OLD ABANDONED TRUCK STOP– DAY

You three are at an abandoned truck stop and fully aged, weathered vehicles surround the area. The sun shone on your skin as you waited for Ellie just outside the restroom door after she demanded privacy for a bit to relieve herself. You didn’t question the kid, it was the least you could do for her. 

You’re secretly admiring Joel from a distance, and you watch Joel prepare the red large gas can, a clear long tube, and a siphon. Promptly, you hear the sound of the restroom door slamming open and you look at Ellie, “You good?” She nods cheerfully at you, “Yep. All good.” And then you both approach Joel, the gravel crunching beneath your feet as you did, and you slowly take notice that the asphalt has lifted from the ground strangely. You stop walking and quizzically stare at the lifted asphalt, your eyebrows knit together and you kneel down to take a better look at it, Ellie looks at you like you’ve gone insane, “Are you alright?” she asks you, and you keep your eyes focused on the ground, “Yeah, just… It’s hopefully nothing.” You say in response and push yourself upright, “Let’s go see what Joel is up to.”

Joel is currently kneeling on one knee and feeding both tubes in the tank, Ellie stands in front of him while you stand to the left of her, “We have to do this every hour?” she asked in a bored tone. Joel glances at her in acknowledgment then continues on with the siphon, “Gas breaks down over time. This stuff’s almost water.” He grabs a rag to create a seal around the tubes, “Back in the day, we’d drive 10, 12 hours on one tank. You could go anywhere.” He says as you and Ellie continue to watch him keenly, “So where’d you go?” she questioned, and he looks up at the both of you, “Pretty much nowhere.” Joel subsequently blows air into the short tube, which forces air through the short tube and increases the pressure of the air above the gas in the tank, causing it to flow through the longer tube and into the gas can. You lean your weight on one of the rusted cars and fold your arms in front of you. 

“Nice! How does that work?” Ellie asks Joel and you tilt your head to the side to listen to his response, “It’s a siphon. It’s when liquid… travels against gravity because pressure…” Ellie’s lips are pressed together as she says, “You don’t know.” He stares at her before asserting, “I know it works.” She chuckles and you smirk at him, “Want me to explain it or…” He only mumbles, “Smartass,” and you roll your eyes, something truly possessed you to be bold for a moment, because you teasingly reply, “But you secretly like it.”

It earns you a look from him that causes your heartbeat to accelerate and it suddenly becomes a little harder to breathe, he only pulls away because he spots Ellie turning around to wander off, “No wanderin’.” He tells her seriously, she stops short and sighs, before saying, “Okay. This is your fault then.” She places her bag atop one of the abandoned, rusty cars, and pulls out a book with the title ‘No Pun Intended Volume Too by Will Livingston’, Joel watches her bewildered and perplexed as she reads out one of the puns from the book, “It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary.” She gives a little laugh and you smile at her merriment as she shows Joel the book cover, “‘No Pun Intended Volume Too by Will Livingston.’ Volume Too. Look. You get it? ‘Too’ Like, T-O-O.” And Joel huffs and begins to stand up with a peeved look, “Oh Jesus.” But Ellie pushes on and says, “What did the mermaid wear to her math class?” You and Joel look at each other, then at Ellie, waiting for her to say the punch line, and you watch her as she slowly leans forward slowly before saying, “‘An algae bra.’ Like, algae bra.” She laughs out loud before speaking again, “I stayed up all night wondering–” To which Joel shakes his head at her, “No,” but this doesn’t deter her at all and goes on, “ where the sun went and then it dawned on me.” 

Seemingly annoyed he gruffly says to her, “Feel free to wait in the truck,” and she exhales, “Okay, but just know, you can’t escape Will Livingston. He’ll be back.” Ellie puts her book in her pack and before leaving you both she says, “There’s nothing you can do to stop him.” Joel says nothing as he also leans on the old rusting car with his arms crossed, and Ellie goes to wait in the truck. You let the silence settle and give him a little bit of peace before calling out to him, “Joel.” He says nothing but he does bring his eyes to look at you. “You know it’s okay to like her. Right?” You said with the softest eyes and kind smile, and he just shakes his head, “I can’t.” You deeply exhale and push yourself off the hood of the car to stand in front of him, “You can’t or you won’t?” And he looks down at his boots, “Can’t.”

You didn’t want to put any more discomfort and decided to simply nod instead, “Okay.” He slowly brings his head up to give you a suspicious look, “Okay?” You nod, “Mhm, okay.” His eyes narrow, “That’s it? No tryin’ to change my mind?” You shrug in response, “I have a feeling you’ll do that on your own. Anyways, the gas can is full.” You raise your eyebrows, “Need any help carrying that thing?” He grumpily bends down to pick up the heavy gas can and his voice timber and low says, “I could carry you and this back to the truck if I wanted to.” You feel your brain short-circuits for a second, the warmth spreads throughout your whole body and your eyes widened in embarrassment, “Um, I’m just gonna… mhm.” And you turn to run to the truck. Joel lets out a breathy chuckle, smirking the whole time as he watches your figure run.

ON THE ROAD - NOON

The blue Chevy pulls out of the gas station and Joel has one hand on the steering wheel and his right rest on the console, while you are sitting next to him in the passenger seat, looking out at the window studying the environment, and Ellie is content in the backseat. You feel an unease settle in and create a home in your bones, not knowing what could happen terrifies you. Every possibility in your mind pops in and out, and you ponder which part of the video game did they keep or change. 

“Must’ve been some truck.” Ellie says as she peers through the window glass at the back of the vehicle, Joel grunts in agreement and explains why the highways are so clear, “Yeah, they used to stick big ass plows on the back and clear the road for their tanks and such.” Ellie finds all of this very exciting and exclaims, “I wanna see a tank!” Joel looks at her from the rearview mirror and simply says, “You will.” Your eyes shift to look at Joel as he keeps talking with a wearied cynicism, “Tanks, choppers, all that stuff, but they’ll fight the wrong enemy. Just scattered around now.” 

Ellie digs through the utility pocket behind the passenger seat to find another cassette tape, she raises up enthusiastic and eager, “I got something. Here. This make you all nostalgic?” She says as she pushes up to show Joel, he takes it and you peer over to look at the title cover, ‘Hank Williams, The Original Singles Collection’, Joel replies, “This is actually before my time.” And Ellie goes to sit back properly in the backseat, “Great.” 

He hums appreciatively, “It’s a winner, though.” When he places the cassette tape in the player, the rattling sound of plastic can be heard before the music begins and he cranks up the volume. Joel miraculously smiles as he listens to the song, “Oh, man.” And you raise an eyebrow at him, “Of course, you’d like this, it’s cowboy music.” You said and he lets out a small but beautiful chuckle, which causes your body to heat up. The young girl continues to explore the back of the truck, digging through the other utility pocket, you hear a quiet rustling of paper as she whips out a magazine, “Got something else.” 

Joel looks at the rearview mirror again to look at Ellie, while you turn to look at what she has and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets, and so does hers. “It’s light on the reading, but it has some interesting pictures.” Your shoulders begin to shake as you try and hold in your laugh as Joel seemingly panics, “No. No, no, no. Put that back, that’s not for kids.” Ellie doesn’t listen and continues to flip through the pages, “How would he even walk around with that thing?” God, you tried to hold it in but couldn’t anymore, you’re now full-on grinning and laughing so loud and carefree, while Joel is trying his best to get Ellie to cooperate, “Please get rid of it.” 

“Hold your horses. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” Ellie says as she analyzes the magazine, while you’re practically wheezing and happy that they incorporated this part of the video game. Joel practically gives up but Ellie decides to innocently say, “Why are all these pages stuck together?” Joel has a baffled look on his face as he lets out an, “Uh… The…” Your mouth hangs wide open for a moment and you curl your hand into a fist, bringing it to your mouth to bite back from cackling again. Ellie puts him out of his misery and slaps him on the shoulder, “I’m just fucking with you.” And throws the adult magazine out the window, it flutters out into the wind and onto the side of the road, yelling out, “Bye-bye, dude!”

You smile and think to yourself, joy itself always seems to end before we want it to. Brief and ephemeral. So, this time, you decide to let go and in this moment you can breathe. It lives in your periphery. In the corner of your eyes. Suddenly, it shows up and the surprise adds to its beauty. A gratitude for all that follows

ON THE ROAD AND TO THE FOREST - CIVIL TWILIGHT

Time moves quickly as Joel continues to drive and Ellie silently watches the view from the window. You take note of the cows grazing on grass, the cars that were left to rot, and the familiar landmarks crumbling down as mother intended to take back what was hers. They must have cried themselves a hurricane because there was an earthquake and an avalanche of change. The echo, as vast as the equator, spreads across a world of bottled-up anger, and it's too late to prevent it now.

As the hours pass by and the sun slowly begins to set, you check on Ellie from the rearview, she looks fatigued from all the driving and so do you, it’s been a while since your last road trip, and you barely had time for yourself since you were stuck in the lab all day and night. Joel sees your weary eyes and frown, he also sees a similar look to Ellie, and he decides to tell you both, “All right. That’s enough for today.” He places both of his hands to turn the wheel to the right, driving off the road and into the field, straight into a thick forest filled with tall evergreen trees. 

The truck comes to a stop and you all prepare to camp out for the night. You help Joel cook and prepare dinner and Ellie keeps herself occupied as she pokes around the dirt with a stick. The smell of canned ravioli fills your lungs and your mouth begins to water. Joel taps the edge of the pot, indicating that it’s cooked and you call for Ellie to sit down for dinner. The three of you sit down in a semi-circle, with you in the middle, and Joel and Ellie on each side. You gently blow on the hot ravioli before bringing the food into your mouth, chewing quietly, and amusingly watch Ellie scarf down her food quickly. Joel looks at her kind of bothered by her manners, “Slow down.” He said, and she replies with a mouthful of food, “This is slow. What am I even eating?” Joel cuts hit food using his fork and knife and answers, “That is 20-year-old Chef Boyardee ravioli.” Ellie brings another piece of pasta and answers while chewing, “That guy was good.” Joel hums in agreement, “I actually agree.” And you nod appreciatively as you finish your food. 

“How long are we staying out here?” Ellie asks Joel and you look to him for his response, “I figure I’d sleep tonight and drive tomorrow all day, all night get us to Wyoming by next morning.” Ellie plays with her food as she asks, “So can we start a fire? I’m freezing.” Joel gives a pointed stare, “Now why am I gonna tell you no?” She shrugs and guesses, “Because the infected will see the smoke.” He shakes his head at her, “No. Fungus isn’t that smart. This is too remote for infected, anyway.” The answer dawns on Ellie and asks, “People?” And Joel nods, his answer to her question. She continues to press for more information, “So what are they gonna do? Rob us?” And you frown, knowing exactly what people do during war or a crisis, morals are thrown out the window and everyone can do as they please. Every crime, assault, and misdemeanor is seen as means to an end, which is to take and survive. Your knuckles turn white as you grip your fork, angry at the world and the people who choose to do all forms of wrong. Joel warns her, “Well, they’ll have way more in mind than that.” Ellie nods while pouting, “Okay.”

LOCATION UNKNOWN, A FOREST – NIGHT

Your eyes are well-versed in the dark and the mind was then created to illumine the heart. And when every constellation suddenly emerged, the remote was drawn so close by telescopes and computations. You inhale, exhale, and reset. Realizing, every living creature is in a continual state of uncertainty. Even with all of your past, you’ve just scratched the surface of what it all implies. Ellie prepares her sleeping bag and so do you, placing yours in between hers and Joel’s. “Actually smells kinda good.” Ellie said as she continues to unfold the sleeping bag, you hear Joel comment, “Well, that would be Frank’s then.” She tucks herself in and you help her as you do, lightly patting the blanket as she settles comfortably. You do the same and now you’re flat on your back as you gaze at the stars illuminating the darkness and listen to the quiet rustling of the branches and leaves of the trees, the melodies sung by the chirping of crickets. Joel checks the chamber of the rifle and ensures that it’s loaded and ready just in case of an ambush, then he places it next to him. You hear Ellie take something out of her backpack and you had a sneaking suspicion it was the No Pun Intended book. The light of the lantern slowly fades away and the shadows follow the rules and the darkness expands around all of you.

Joel is facing away from the both of you and Ellie whips out her flashlight and quickly glances at her favorite book, clicks off the light, and aloud she calls out both of your names, you look at her but Joel doesn’t respond at first, you slide out a little to lean a bit forward to his side and tap him on the shoulder, “What?” he asks, and Ellie responds, “Can I ask you a serious question?” And without hesitation, he says, “Yeah.” You smile knowingly at what was about to happen as she questions, “Why did the scarecrow get an award?” A beat passes between the three of you, and you and Joel whisper simultaneously, “Because he was outstanding in his field.” Ellie rises from her sleeping bag and exclaims, “You dicks!”

A large grin spreads across your face and Joel turns around to face the other direction, Ellie begins to interrogate the two of you, “Did both of you read this?” You hear the smile in Joel’s voice as he answers, “No.” And you give an airy chuckle, “Nope.” He sighs and then tells you both, “Now go to sleep.” Ellie makes a noise of suspicion but says nothing as she tucks the book into her sleeping pouch, the hoot of an owl can be heard from above, and the howls of coyotes from a distance. 

Ellie is also gazing up at the stars with you now and begins to appreciate the way they glow and shimmer. You move your head to look at Ellie and whisper, “Psst. Ellie…” She turns her head to your side, “Yeah?” And in a hushed tone, you ask, “Do you wanna learn something about constellations?” She nods enthusiastically, “Yeah!” And you begin to whisper the explanation and details, you point and trace your fingers at the stars, your rickety astrology determined to give her hope, “Orion's belt is right above the equator of the Earth. Everyone, and everywhere can see just stars in that area. A star placed above one of the poles, such as the North Star, and concealed from us in the opposing hemisphere, obstructed by Earth itself.” 

She is looking at you with her eyes as big as summer tomatoes, full of admiration and awe at your intelligence like you have all the answers, and wonders if she will ever be a woman like you. She seeks an answer to her next question, “Is Orion like a place?” You smile and in a soft voice you say, “No, he’s someone from greek mythology. In the stores, he was a giant and very handsome hunter, who had many affairs and lovers. Either his assault on or admiration for a goddess named Artemis, another god named Zeus placed him amongst the stars as punishment. Stories and text sometimes get lost in translation.”

This is when she learned to wish on stars, content she hums an appreciative thank you and you give a small smile in return. After another beat passes, Ellie poses a new question, this time aimed at Joel, who had been listening to the two of you the whole time but stayed quiet, “Those people you said… there’s no way anyone knows we’re here, right? No one’s gonna find us.” 

Her words hang in the air briefly, “No one’s gonna find us.” Joel reassures her and Ellie responds with a quiet, “Okay.” She turns in for the night and begins to fall asleep. There is a sudden weight on your chest when she asked her query, and you suddenly feel nauseous at the thought of anything happening to Ellie and Joel. You close your eyes and swallow away the urge to vomit, and with the darkness, you’ve seen, your tired eyes rest and allow yourself to sleep for a while. But if you had stayed up just a little longer, you would have heard Joel leave his sleeping bag and reach for his rifle, and his footsteps walking a distance away from you and Ellie, ensuring your safety as he watches and anticipates any sign of danger, his guilt for scaring the girl keeps him up all night and the thought of you getting hurt. He holds his rifle ready, protecting the two of you who quietly snore into the night.

LOCATION UNKNOWN, A FOREST – DAWN

The sound of chirping birds wakes you and you groggily sit up. You look to your left to see Ellie who was still sound asleep, and then you see Joel standing watch with his rifle, you have a suspicion he didn’t actually sleep and Ellie’s concern kept him up. You sigh and quietly leave your sleeping bag, down your arms, a thousand satellites discover the cool breeze in the air, causing you to shiver and wrap your arms around yourself to salvage some warmth. You stretch your arms up to the sky, trying to wake your body to begin the day, then you hear the lime-green grass rustle and shake, creating whispers of sound beneath Joel’s boots as he walks toward you, glancing over your shoulder before turning to face him.

You feel his confident presence and your heart skips a beat, he greets you with his voice thick and smooth, “Mornin’.” You warmly say good morning to him in a hushed voice, you take a good look at him to see his deep eyebags, completely exhausted, and you ask, “Did you even sleep at all?” He doesn’t deny it as he shook his head, “No, I couldn’t.” You hum in response, already confirming what you thought, next, you inquire, “Do we have any coffee that I could brew? I have a feeling we’re going to need it.” 

“Did you not sleep well last night? Could hear you snorin’ from where I was standing.” Joel said with his tone straightforward and deep, you shrug, “Sometimes I wake up tired, and besides, I enjoy a good cup of coffee to start my day, it’s my morning ritual back home.” You make your way to the pouch of coffee grounds, open it, and inhale the aroma, and Joel observes you as you do.

You begin to brew both of your coffee, making enough to fit two insulated tumblers. You make your way into the forest, already telling Joel you needed to pee, and him reminding you in his thick Texan accent, “If you don’t get your ass back here in five minutes, I’m comin' to look for you.” After finding a bush and relieving yourself, you stand by one of the tall thick trees, leaning your weight against the trunk of the tree and crossing your arms as you watch Ellie and Joel from a distance.

You close your eyes for a moment to steady yourself and your breathing, trying to recall parts of the game you’ve seen, a little peek at what could be adapted. Unfortunately, you knew the ending of the first and second games, and you knew there was nothing you could do for the first, but the second one however…

Joel yells your name, telling you to come back already and you jog your way back, not wanting to make them wait. No one says anything as you pack up camp and hop in the truck, this time letting Ellie sit in the passenger seat while you sit in the back. The engine of the truck revs to life and Joel drives you out of the woods and back onto the highway.

Joel takes a loud sip of his coffee while you are still blowing away the steam, Ellie doesn’t seem to be impressed with the drink as she comments, “Is that seriously what those Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?” With one hand on the steering wheel, he lowers his thermos and retorts, “Well, theirs was a lot fresher than Bill saved up but, yeah, this is what they sold.” The young girl looks at it in disgust, “Smells like… burnt shit.” Joel wanting to be slightly petty, takes a long, loud, pointed sip of his coffee, before turning to Ellie saying, “Eyes on the map, or else I’m askin’ you to switch seats with Birdie.”

Your heart flutters at the nickname but you hide your smile by sipping your own coffee, looking out the window as you do. Ellie smirks knowingly at Joel but doesn’t push any further, she begins to give directions, “76 West, and then… 70 West for, like, ever. Where in Wyoming did you say your brother was?” And to your surprise, Joel indulges her, “Last contact came through a radio tower close to Cody.” Ellie straightens the map to find the tower, “Cody. Cody… Cody. Man. That is deep up in there.” Joel glances then reply, “Yeah.” The young curious kid asks him, “And if he’s not there?” He thoughtfully sighs, “Then odds are he’ll be near a settlement probably close to another city out there. Ain’t too many of them in Wyoming.”

“Chee-Yen.” Ellie tries to pronounce it, and Joel corrects her, “Cheyenne.” She looks at him in disbelief, “Che… Really?” He nods as she goes on to trace her finger along the map, “Cheyenne, Laramie… Casper? What’s his name?” Joel then asks, “Whose name?” She throws back, “Your brother.” He grunts out, “Tommy.” You smile to yourself, knowing that tone of voice is him trying to build invisible walls around himself to protect whatever he has left of his family. “Younger or older?” Ellie persists, and he answers immediately, “Younger.”

“Why isn’t he with you?” She asked and you watch Joel try to evade her inquiry, “Long story.” Ellie never knowing when to give up, persists, “Is it longer than twenty-five hours? Because I think that’s what we got.” Joel looks at Ellie with a pointed stare, mouth slightly open ready to scold her but realizes she has a point. He glances at the rearview to see you looking back at him, waiting for his choice.

His eyes go back to the road as he speaks, “Tommy’s what we used to call a joiner. Dreams of becoming a hero. So he enlisted in the Army right out of high school. A few months later, they ship him off to Desert Storm.”

Ellie turns to him quizzically but stays silent as he carries on, “It’s what they called that war. It doesn’t matter. Point is, being in the Army didn’t make him feel much of a hero. Cut to twelve years later, outbreak happens. He convinces me to join a group making their way up to Boston which I did, mostly to keep an eye on him, keep him alive.” He glances at the rearview mirror again and this time you aren’t staring back, you’re resting your head on the window, listening intently, “It’s where we met Tess.”

He takes a swig of his coffee before continuing, “And that whole crew, we… Well, for what it was, it worked. And then Tommy meets Marlene. She talks him into joining the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was eighteen.” Joel shakes his head in disapproval and his tone shifts into cynicism, “Wants to save the world. Pipe dream. Him, Fireflies, all of them… delusional.”

You blink blankly and frown, not agreeing with his view but understanding where he’s coming from. His world ended when Sarah died, and since she’s gone he has no reason to go back to the way things were. 

“‘Course, last I heard, he quit the Fireflies too. So now he’s on his own out there and… I gotta go get him.” He states and takes a long sip of the rest of his coffee, while Ellie tries to make sense of his story, another question pops into her mind as she quietly asks him, “If you don’t think there’s hope for the world why bother going on? I mean, you gotta try, right?” A beat passes, and then he answers grimly, “You haven’t seen the world, so you don’t know. You keep going for family. That’s about it.”

Ellie moves her eyes to look at him, “I’m not family?” And he shakes his head, “No. You’re cargo.” Your form shrinks a little bit and think to yourself, and you secretly figure that Joel doesn’t mean that, but doesn’t want her treating him like a father yet.

You quietly exhale and will yourself to stop bouncing your leg up and down, grounding yourself. “And I made a promise to Tess. And she was like family.” Ellie nods before bringing up more possibilities,  “What if you don’t find him?” It doesn’t take him long to reply, “I will.” She shoots back, “How do you know?” With a voice so sure and confident, he says, “I’m persistent.”

And you swore you saw him glance at you from the rearview mirror for a millisecond, but you weren’t so sure, you chalked it up to your wishful thinking. It was quiet for a bit before Joel speaks to Ellie, “You got up pretty early. If you wanna grab more sleep…” Ellie immediately replies, “Pfft. I’m not even tired.”

Ellie was in fact tired, after ten minutes of saying that, she fell into a deep sleep, and her snores echoed in the car. After two or three hours Joel pulls over at the side of the road, telling you to switch seats with Ellie since he needs help reading the map. You decided not to question it and got out of the truck as he did the same. You watched him quietly open the door, and carry Ellie from the passenger side to the back seat where he gently set her. 

You climb into the passenger seat and wait for Joel to sit in the driver’s seat. The map was now on your lap and you gently traced the piece of paper, lines stretching out, with too many miles to count. Dots reminds you of where you’ve been, sometimes it feels like your inner compass breaks, and your steady true north fades. You try and reassure yourself it’ll be just fine, that whatever comes next, you’ll handle it together.

Joel quietly speaks your name so as to not disturb Ellie, you look up at him  from the map, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the armrest console, “Tell me somethin’ good about your world.” He grumbles, and you stagger a bit before saying, “You actually believe what I said back then? You believe me?”

He shrugs with one shoulder and taps on the steering wheel, “There’s a fuckin’ apocalypse. My guess is that anythin’ could be possible now.” You lightly chuckle, “Yeah, I guess so.”

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to come up with an answer, any kind of answer, and you settle for the truth, “I don’t know. Besides the fact, we have no infected and our technology is more advanced, everything is still the same. Same landmarks, problems, the people hate the government but still need it, choosing the lesser of two evils and everyday people trying their damn best.”

He gruffly says to you, “Would prefer that over this shit.” You let out a huff, “Yeah, that’s valid.”

“Tell me about your home.” He says, and you raise an eyebrow, “Are you asking or demanding? Also, why are you suddenly so curious about me?” He’s unsure for a moment but he answers, “You already know stuff about me. It’s only fair.” Your lips form a line as you press them against each other, and your eyes shift to look at the map instead of him, “I thought you didn’t want to hear about any of our histories?”

“I think we broke that rule the moment Ellie kept askin’ about my life.” Your eyes wrinkle as you smile, “There isn’t much to say, and also I don’t really like talking about myself.” He harrumphs, “Why? You’re a scientist and incredibly smart.” You bring your eyes back to him and give him a look of disbelief, “Did you just say something nice?” His face sours and grumpily murmurs, “Don’t tell anyone.” 

“Oh, I’m definitely telling Ellie later,” You smile teasingly at him, and he shakes his head, “So, what did you research, discover, or whatever?” And that question causes you to inhale through your nose deeply, “Um, in 2022 three scientists were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for experiments with entangled photons, establishing the violation of Bell inequalities and pioneering quantum information science. Basically, they got awarded for their research and I took an interest in what they found. I had a theory with what they discovered with quantum teleportation.”

Joel didn’t really understand the science jargon that was spitting out of your mouth so fast like lightning, but he was intrigued, “What was your theory?” You nervously removed the dirt from your fingernails as you replied, “It’s a little complicated.” He retorts, “I’m beginning to think that’s your favorite line.” You bite the inner walls of your cheek and exhale loudly through your nose. Joel senses you didn’t want to discuss it any further and the quiet returns. Only the muffled rumbling of the engine and the sound of the tires rolling on the pavement. The only occasional noise from the two of you was asking for directions from Joel and you giving him a prompt reply.

The hours go by quickly and the sun is beginning to set, the orange glow illuminating both of your faces. The truck begins to pull up to the outskirts of Kansas City and you silently pray that this will all go smoothly.

TLOU WORLD – 2023

KANSAS CITY - SUNSET

Ellie awakens shortly after you pull up to the tunnel and Joel slowly presses on the brakes to put the truck to stop. Joel turns off the engine and turns to you both before opening the door, “Stay put.” He grabs the rifle from the back and proceeds to scout the area. Ellie kindly asks to switch with you again and for a moment you almost decline, your gut feeling telling you something is wrong, but couldn’t resist the kid and again move to the back while she moves upfront.

Joel sees the tunnel to Kansas City is blocked by a SaraLee bread truck and you watch him make his way back to the truck. He opens the back door and places the rifle beside you and goes back to the driver's seat. “Where are we?” Ellie asks and he quickly replies, “Kansas City.” Ellie gives him the map and you lean over Joel’s shoulder to analyze the map, “How far back do we have to go to get around this?” The young girl questions and you watch Joel trace his finger along the many red lines. He shakes his head and sighs in frustration before deciding, “Screw it.” And he turns the key to start the truck up again. “What are you doing?” Ellie asks and Joel answers as he performs a three-point turn, “We can jog right around this tunnel take the next ramp and we’re back on the road, minute tops.” You look out the window and see the rusting cars and burned corpses of people, shuddering, you try and remember a portion of the game for some clue of what was about to happen. You weren’t in Pittsburgh, but the way this was adapted would still have the very important elements of the original intellectual property. Fuck.

Joel enters the city and it’s eerily quiet, you take note of the empty streets and zero signs of runners. “Where the fuck is the highway?” Joel states frustrated and Ellie retorts, “I can’t tell from this. I’m all turned around.” You hear him get irritated, “Don’t look at the state map. Look at the inset.” 

“I don’t know where we are in that either! It’s my second day in a fucking car, man. I mean, I think we’re heading north?” Joel continues to drive and you keenly observe your surroundings and see something unusual, you spot a pile of ash and remains of people as he drives by. “It’s gotta be right. What the fuck?” He says and you try and voice your concerns, “Joel, there’s um,” but he quickly fires back, “Not now Birdie.” And you deflate a little but keep trying, “Joel, something is–” But Ellie yells out, “Stop!” The tires shriek as he steps on the breaks, and Ellie stares at something wide-eyed and you do too, “Is that the QZ?” The gates were wide open without a single FEDRA officer in sight and completely vacated, your mouth hangs open, “Shit.” Ellie presses on, “Where the fuck is FEDRA?” As if on queue, you hear someone yell, “Hey!” All three of your heads whip to the sound of the man’s voice, he’s clutching his lower abdomen and yelling out, “Please help!”

“Put your seatbelt on,” Joel demands and you and Ellie follow, you clutch on the assist grips above the car, knowing this isn’t gonna go well. “Aren’t we gonna help him?” Ellie asks innocently, “No.” You and Joel answer quickly, he floors it and the man moves out of the way screaming, “Fuck! Go… go!”

Ellie looks above and shrieks, “Joel!” And a cylinder brick falls from the sky, crashing atop the windshield glass, cracks, and fractures are created and you hear the tires pop, and you assume they’ve laid down spikes. You gritted your teeth as Joel tries to get control of the truck, and another man tries to shoot you all down, “Fuck!” Having no other options, he crashes the truck into an old laundromat, and the impact causes you to jerk forward, hitting your head slightly in the seat in front of you.

“Are you okay?” Joel worriedly questions, “Yeah.” Ellie replies and he turns to see you slightly bleeding from your head, “Hummin’ bird, you okay?” And you quickly compose yourself, “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” He then asks Ellie, “You’re not hurt? Nothing?” She shakes her head, “I don’t think so.”

The sound of gunfire cause the three of you to flinch and duck down for cover, Joel yells and commands, “Belts off. Fast!” And what he says goes, immediately you grab your pack and rifle from the backseat, the loud popping sounds of gunfire continue as you get out, and duck behind the truck. You toss Joel his rifle and you pull out your gun, you hear the taunts on the other side, “Let’s see you, motherfucker! Give us your shit, you’ll make it through this! We promise!”

Joel pulls off his safety and makes sure his rifle is loaded, he spots a hole in the walls of the laundromat and asks Ellie, “Hey, you see that hole? Can you squeeze through?” The gunfire doesn’t let up and she shakily nods, Joel realizes that time is running out before the enemy decides to push forward, he instructs Ellie while looking at her directly, “When I say go, you both crawl to that wall and you two squeeze through and you don’t come out until I say, okay?” You try and protest but the sound of another bullet swiftly breaks the class of the truck and all three of you flinch. 

Your breathing quickens and you feel the adrenaline coursing through you, while Joel’s chest bounces up and down as he pants, “And they’re not gonna hit you.” But Ellie isn’t listening, too scared and afraid of all the chaos ensuing, Joel growls, “Look at me!” She twists her head and her wide doe eyes look at him, frightened and unsure, he reassures her, “They’re not gonna hit you. You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet.” Ellie nods reluctantly, “Mhm.” A pause during the gunfire, and you realize they’re reloading. “Okay.” He says and Ellie parrots to him, “Okay.” Joel takes that as his signal and yells to you both, “Go!” Ellie stays low and crawls through the wall, safe and secure for now. You however help Joel and shoot at the enemies. He yells your name, “What the fuck are you doing? I can handle this now go!” You shake your head and exclaim, “No! I can help you.”

He pulls you down, both of you crouching on the ground and cups one hand to hold your face, “Right now that kid is scared shitless and shouldn’t be alone.” You try again to object, but he stops you, “No, listen to me. Go through that hole and be with Ellie, she needs you.” You feel your eyes water and give him a sincere look, your voice breathy as you reply, “We both do.” His mouth parts and his eyes dart to your soft lips for just a second, so fast you almost missed it if your faces weren’t so close to each other, and at that moment your heartbeats were synchronized, and both of your breathing unsteady. Warmth fills you both and causes both of your eyes to dilate, similar to an eclipse.

Another gunshot rings out and it hits the cement on the ground, causing you to jump, Joel wipes away some of the dust on your cheek and intently says to you, “I’ve got this. I promise, now go.”

You blink back your tears and whisper, “Give 'em hell.” He stands up again to cover you while you crawl into the hole, to be with Ellie. Both of you have your back against the wall, and you try and steady your racing heartbeat.

“What about Joel?” She asks you, full of worry and concern. Instead of answering, you hug her close to you, and she buries her face on your stomach, as you try and shield her away from the noise and gunfire. Then there is a sudden silence, and you and Ellie take a peek from the hole in the wall, the sound of footsteps stepping over broke glass fills the space and you have your gun ready in one hand just in case and shield Ellie with your body.

He steps a bit closer to your hiding place and instantly there was a gunshot, you and Ellie turn away as you also held back a scream. Stillness fills the room and you try your best to listen for Joel to tell you to come out, only hearing him try and unjam his rifle. Then, the sudden slam of a door opening, and another loud pop could be heard. You hear grunts, groans, and yelling from the intruder and Joel, and Ellie urgently whispers, “We need to help him!”

You nod, and Ellie swiftly sidesteps you and climbs out of the hiding space and you go after her. You and her quietly step out and to your surprise, she’s holding her gun out, aiming directly at the unidentified man’s head, before you could even utter a word or try and stop her, she shoots him in the spine. Joel rolls over to the side coughing and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath. You gently approach Joel as he side-eyes Ellie but continues to cough, you begin first aid, loosen any tight clothing, remove the top button of his outer shirt and place your hand on his back to try and feel his lungs, and hear Ellie step a little closer to the man, her gun still aimed at him.

The man begins to plead, “No, no, no! It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s over, we’re not fighting anymore.” Ellie doesn’t say anything and still has the gun pointed at him, “I’m gonna go home. I’ll tell everyone you’re good.” His face scrunches up and he begins to cry, “I don’t know what to do. My legs don’t work. My mom isn’t far if you can get me to her.”

Joel’s breathing returns to normal and you whisper, “You good?” And he only nods, angry and upset that he got caught off guard so easily. You help him up and hear the man still begging for his life, “We could trade with you guys. We could be friends. I didn’t know. I’m Bryan. I’m Bryan. What’s your name?” He continues to sob. 

Joel looks at Ellie angrily, and she sniffs. He doesn’t say anything but holds out his hand and she hands him her gun which he places in his back pocket. Joel pulls out his revolver, slowly turns around, and Bryan continues to beg, “Wait… wait.” He pulls out a knife and says, “You can have it. It’s a good knife.” You stand next to Ellie and watch Joel lean down and pick up the knife. His eyes are dark with rage as he looks at you and Ellie, his voice deep and dominant that fills a warmth in your belly, “Get back behind the wall.” 

Bryan instantly sobs, “No, no, no. I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, we could just talk. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You slowly grab Ellie to gently coax her away, and she follows, Bryan screams for his life as you step back inside the hole. Ellie hugs your middle as she lets a single tear roll down her cheek, and you hug her right back, covering her ears from his yelling and pleading. You hear the slashing of a knife and the sound of blood splattering.

You try and calm Ellie and stroke her hair as you murmur reassuringly, “We’ll be just fine.”  It was quiet for a second before you hear Joel’s booming voice calling you and Ellie, “I gotta get in there, I can’t fit through.” You wipe away her tears and gently pat her cheek, “We got this, yeah?” Ellie nods, “Mhm.”

You and her take a look around the room and Ellie yells out, “There’s some stuff against the door.” Joel is quick to reply, “Can you both move it?” You and Ellie nod at each other and work together to pull the table aside while Joel uses his arm to push the door open. He manages to get in and slams the door shut, “Let’s go. Fast.” He states and all three of you push the table back in its place. Joel looks at the both of you with concern, but Ellie quickly gets her bag and says, “I’m okay. I’m good.” You say nothing and also reach for your bag, quickly grabbing a bandaid from your first aid kit and then throwing it over your shoulder. Ellie approaches Joel and opens her pack, “I got some food in here still, and I got your light still.” He grabs it from her while you are on the side quietly and swiftly, placing a bandaid on your head, no time to disinfect it yet.

“What now?” Ellie asks, trying to be brave, and Joel observes her for a moment before saying, “We go up.” And she throws her back over her shoulders, “To get a better look?” You follow them both to a door and Joel responds, “Hopefully, we spot a clear route out.” He pushes the door open and clicks on the flashlight to check if it's safe, the only sound you could hear was the dripping of water from a leaky pipe, he turns to you both and says, “Stay close.” Ellie nods, “Got it.” Joel moves forward and Ellie and you follow him to a narrow alleyway. He has his revolver in one hand and you also have your gun out. 

You three duck behind a rusted car, and you hear and spot multiple vehicles driving by. They were all armed, carrying various weapons and knives. Joel signals you two to wait and walks across to open a black door, he flicks on the flashlight and with one look, signals both of you to run across the street and into the next building.

You take cover and hide in a neglected bar, with newspapers covering the large windows. Joel peeks through the uncovered patches and watches the hunters pass by, searching different buildings. “They’re not FEDRA, and they’re not Fireflies. So who are they?” Ellie asks and Joel plainly states, “People.” You and Ellie are also looking through the small patches, she quietly asks, “Are we okay in here?”

“For a little bit, maybe. Looks like they’re checking apartment buildings first. But they’ll be coming through these places soon enough.” Joel says and walks away to stand away from the windows. And you decide to sit, choosing the floor by the door of the old bar, and tend to the wound on your head. Ellie is still looking through the small patches of glass, “There’s a really tall building, like, four blocks away.” Joel’s voice is rough as he replies, “Yeah, saw it.”

“So that’s the one?” Ellie questions him, and he immediately answers, “As soon as we don’t hear a truck, we move. Fast as we can.” Joel slowly sits down on the cushion and eyes you as you busy yourself disinfecting and cleaning up the blood on your head. Ellie sits down next to you, her knees close to her chest, and by now you’re done cleaning your wound and placing a new bandage on your head. Joel has his hand on his head, his face was expressionless and exhausted. Ellie asks you and him the same question, “Are you okay?” You nod and Joel replies with, “I’m all right.” He struggles with the debrief but he gets the question out to Ellie, “Are you all right?” And she simply replies with, “Yeah.”

You watch Joel struggle to find the words to express his emotions and feelings, his reserved nature is slowly crumbling, brick by brick. He shakes his head, “Thing is, is I didn’t hear that guy coming, and… You shouldn’t have to… You know.” Ellie brings her eyes to look at him, “Well, you’re glad I did, right?” She said. His voice falters, “You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t know what it means to… It’s not like you killed him. But… shooting or… I know what it’s like the first time that you hurt someone like that.” The young girl says nothing and simply stares at him in silence. He tries again, “If you… I’m not good at this.”

“Yeah, you really aren’t.” Ellie says, and if it wasn’t so somber, if you were safely at home watching this, you would have laughed. You wonder if you should say something, but eventually figured that you needed to let them both bond and understand each other, it’s important to their story. While you believed your presence here was an accident. You push aside your feelings and stress to let them talk it out. 

“I mean it was my fault. You shouldn’t have had to… and I’m sorry.” Joel sighs and looks away at Ellie, and begins to cry silently with her face turning red,  you let her lean her head on your shoulder and it’s quiet. She goes to speak but her throat closes up, “It wasn’t my first time.” Joel looks at her after that to see her pure raw honesty.

Joel plays the idea in his head for a moment before coming to a decision, he reaches into his back pocket for the handgun he took from Ellie earlier, unloads the magazine, and removes the shell of the previous bullet from the chamber. The girl's head lifts from your shoulder as Joel kneels down on one knee in front of her, handing her the gun back, “Show me your grip.” Ellie does as she’s told and you watch Joel teach her the proper way to hold a firearm, “Finger off the trigger.” She holds it with one hand and Joel is unimpressed, “Now, who taught you that?” She mumbles in reply, “FEDRA school.” He nods his head, “Figures.”

Joel teaches her how to hold the gun with two hands, “Your thumb over your thumb. Left hand, squeezes down on the right. You got it?” She nods, her thumbs interlocked, which makes it harder to drop the gun when it recoils or if someone were to try and grab it. Joel holds both of her tiny hands in his calloused rough ones, “There you go. Look it.” He shakes it and the gun doesn’t budge, completely steady. She giggles as he tries again and you smile, Joel then says, “Okay?” While Ellie nods, seemingly happy, he gestures to her to give him the gun and he loads the magazine back in the gun and then hands it back to her.

Ellie takes it and as she is about to place it in her back pocket, Joel stops her, “Nuh-uh. You put it in your pack. You’ll shoot your damn ass off.” He groans a little as he stands up again and you give Ellie a high-five and she laughs again. Joel walks to your side and this time it’s your turn, he kneels in front of you and you’re wide-eyed. He gently brushes away some of your hair and checks on your wound, you feel his fingertips graze along the plaster of your band-aid. Lightly, you touch his wrist and say, “I’m fine. Promise.”

None of you move for a bit, but then he slowly pulls away and stands to remove the wooden planks boarded up on the door, you also get up to help him. He holds on to the door handle and sighs, “We’ll get through this.” Ellie blinks once and then nods, “I know.” A beat passes and he pulls open the door, you and Ellie following him out into the setting sun of the city.

OFFICE BUILDING, KANSAS CITY – NIGHT

The midnight blue covers the sky, the stars shine above you, and see the moon glimmer. You three find the side of the building but find the service door to be locked. You look above and point out a vent, Joel nods and turns to Ellie. Taking notice that Joel is this close to passing out on the ground after all the events that have happened, staying up all night to protect the both of you, driving for almost thirteen hours to get to Kansas City, and shooting a bunch of hunters. You offer to boost Ellie up to reach the vent, “Here, put your foot on my hand and then… One, two…” 

“Oh shit.” She curses and you reassure her, “It’s okay, I got you.” And she manages to push open the vent and climb inside, “Okay I’m in.” And Joel decides to give out instructions, “Take a look around first. Ellie.” But she doesn’t reply, he harshly whispers, “Goddamn it.” And you say to Joel, “Just give her a second.” And a moment later, Ellie swings the door wide open, “Where would you be without me, huh?” Joel frowns, “By now, Wyoming.” You smack his shoulder, which does absolutely nothing. He glances at you and you stare back, he then walks forward into the building as Ellie takes it in stride. “Oh, yeah. Walked into that one.” The door slams closed behind you three and you take out your own flashlight to click it open.

All three of your footsteps echo around the building, while lights from your flashlights moved about the space. A minute later you see the door to a staircase that leads to the rooftop, you all walk over to it and Joel says, “All right, we’ll make our way up, and come morning, I’ll take a look at the city and find our way out.” He pushes the door open, and it squeaks as he does, shining the light in one hand and his revolver in the other, checking the dark area to make sure there’s no threat.

He walks straight while you and Ellie trail along, “We’re going up forty-two flights?” She groans, and Joel adds, “Forty-five.” The door behind you closes and you shine your flashlight to the ceiling, looking at the seemingly never-ending staircase. “But no. Not all the way.” He says, and Ellie asks, “How far?” Joel takes a breath, “As far as I can make it.” You and Ellie giggle at him and follow right behind the grump, footsteps sounding on the concrete steps of the building as you make your way up each floor. 

After twenty flights of stairs, Joel is gripping the hand railing, slightly winded already, you are trying to manage your breathing with all the cardio, while Ellie is only lightly panting, she takes an opportunity to ask a question, “Hey, you know that guy who said he was hurt? How did you know it was an ambush?” Joel stops before the next landing and catches his breath, “I’ve been on both sides. It was a long time ago. We did what we needed to survive.”

“You and Tess?” She asked, and he nods, “And the people we were with. My brother too.” He looks up to check how many more to go, while Ellie can’t help herself, “Did you kill innocent people?” He turns to look at her with an unreadable expression, but doesn’t answer her question, “Come on.” But already you both already knew the answer, and still followed him anyways.

It’s a few minutes later and Joel pushes the fire exit door open and holds it out for you and Ellie to walk through. “Holy shit.” Ellie curses and Joel leans on the wall, “Yeah.” And slides down the wall completely exhausted. You are soaked with sweat and trying to catch your breath, using one hand to lean on the door as it closes by itself. “Thirty-three floors. That’s good.” The young girl comments, and you hear Joel wheeze, “It’s gonna have to be.”

Ellie makes her way over to him and kicks his boot, “Come on.” And holds out her small hand, Joel groans, “Give me a minute.” But Ellie doesn’t agree, “Get up, you lazy ass.” That does it, he grips his hand with hers and helps him up, while you finally got enough oxygen back into your system. Joel grits his teeth, “Lazy ass. Fifty-six years old, you little shit.” Ellie giggles and you smile wide and continue to trail after him.

Joel grabs a fire extinguisher to break through the glass of one of the office doors, the sharp sound of glass shattering rings throughout the room, and Joel reaches in to shake the handle open.

You and Ellie prepare to sleep, and you realize that there aren’t enough cushions for the three of you. Joel scatters glass on the ground as Ellie sits on her makeshift bed, and calls out his name as you sit cross-legged on the carpet, silently contemplating sleeping on the floor. He doesn’t hear Ellie the second time, too busy dumping out the glass.

But the third time she yells out his name he finally turned, “What?” He grudgingly says, and she asks him pointedly, “What are you doing?” And replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I don’t want someone sneaking up on us while we’re sleeping.”

He puts the bucket down and Ellie realizes what he meant, “Oh, I get it. Crunch, crunch, crunch…” He walks over to the couch cushions on the floor and Ellie questions him, “Are you sure you’re gonna hear it?” Joel takes offense to her asking him that, “Of course, I’ll hear it. That’s the damn point.” Ellie leans back, “Okay. Well, good night.” And he gives a small, “Yeah, goodnight.”

You prepare to sleep on top of your backpack and Joel says your name, “What are you doing?” You turn your head to him and swallow, “Um, there’s not enough cushions. It’s okay though, I’ve slept on the floor before.” His eyebrows furrow and he huffs, “You sleep on mine then.” You shake your head, “Joel, you stayed up late, floored it all the way to Kansas City, fought three hunters, and then walked up thirty-three flights of stairs. You’re literally fifty-six and wheezing. You’re exhausted, so it’s okay, you can have it.”

Joel places his hands on his hips as he stares down at your figure, “That isn’t right though, you’re equally as tired and you got injured earlier. So take the damn bed.” He argues, this was slowly going to become a full-on debate that could have lasted till the morning, but Ellie butts in, “Why don’t you guys just share?” Immediately, your eyes go wide, and feel your face grow warm. You begin to stutter as you try and explain to her why that would be inappropriate, “Um, Ellie… I don’t think that’s—”

“Fine.” You hear him say and your head quickly turns to look at Joel, almost giving you a whiplash as you did. You blink wildly at him and shakily say, “You don’t need to–” He gives you no chance to finish your sentence, “I said fine. Do you want to share or not?” Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell is happening? He didn’t just offer that, did he? Your mouth gapes open like a fish out of water, not knowing how to act or find the right words for this. You take a deep inhale and try not to stumble over your words as you stared into his dark chocolate-brown eyes, “Are you… sure?”

He nods and gestures to you to lay down, you pinch your lips and swallow away your nerves and climb atop the cushions, using your own jacket as a pillow. Joel quietly does the same and faces the opposite of you. You bring your hands to your mouth, they’re slightly trembling as you try and calm your racing heart. Ellie is looking at you with a smirk, that cheeky little shit, she’s playing matchmaker. You mouth out the words, “Fuck you.” Which causes her to grin wider, happy with what she’s accomplished.

“Hey.” Joel's voice is deep and low from behind you, and you raise your eyebrows at Ellie, she replies, “Yeah?” He proceeds to ask, “When we were talking about hurtin’ people, what did you mean it wasn’t your first time?” You give Ellie a sad smile knowingly, the places may have changed, but at its core, the story stayed the same. She changes her position to lay flat on her back and stares at the ceiling, “I don’t want to talk about it.” He doesn’t push her and settles, “All right.” After a second he rolls over to his left and lifts his head up, to look at Ellie, you are now inches apart from him brushing his hand on your waist, he tells the kid, “You don’t have to. I’m just saying… it isn’t fair, your age having to deal with all of this.”

Ellie looks to the both of you, “So it gets easier when you get older?” You snort, “God, no.” And Joel shakes his head, “No. Not really. But still.” Ellie doesn’t say anything back to him for a bit, and he sighs, you feel his breath along the back of your neck, causing your spine to shiver at the sensation. “The reason I asked whether you’d hear the glass or not, is because Miss Birdie and I have noticed you don’t hear too well from your right side. Is it ‘cause you were shot there?”

“Probably more from shootin’. So if you wanna keep your hearing, you stick to that knife.” He says and lays back down again, rolling back over to his right side and closing his eyes, Ellie says both of your names and you look at her, waiting, “Did you know diarrhea is hereditary?” He glances over his shoulder, “What?” And Ellie continues, “Yeah. It runs in your jeans.”

You didn’t know if your humor was broken, or if you were traumatized, or just exhausted, but you giggled with her and hear Joel whisper, “Jesus.”

He shakes his head, and you and Ellie continue to giggle, “That is so goddamn stupid.” But Ellie points out, “You laughed, motherfucker.” You hear the smile in his voice, “I didn’t laugh.” The kid throws back at him, “Yes, you did.” And you agree with her, “Yeah, you most certainly did, cowboy.”

He mumbles, “Jesus, I’m losin’ it,” and you loudly agree, “Yep, you are and so am I.” 

And then his invisible walls came down and allowed himself to be vulnerable, to laugh at Ellie’s stupid joke. Finally, letting his baggage down, if he was being honest, he was so tired of being afraid, and this feeling of weightlessness felt like euphoria. Your cheeks rise to meet your eyes and lines appear as you smile, listening to both of their laughter. Though the storms will push and pull, you three are slowly beginning to form a home. The years, while they were here, haven’t been so kind, but the melody of laughter reminds you to keep your heart open wide. Slowly finding the strength and the nerve it takes to keep going because you know what lies beneath is the greatest thing you have. To trust that there will be light always waiting behind even in the darkest of nights. Somehow you will all be okay.

OFFICE BUILDING, KANSAS CITY – A FEW HOURS INTO THE NIGHT 

You feel something heavy and warm draped over your waist, and your head resting on something firm beneath your head. You hear Ellie yell out both of your names in urgency and blink your eyes open to find yourself wrapped up in arms, with your head on his chest. You take a deep inhale, turn your head slightly, and tap Joel awake, his eyes open, alert and confused, to see Ellie kneeling on the cushions with her hands up and Henry pointing a gun at her head. Shit.

And you both turn to look in front of you, a little boy, Sam, with orange paint on his face resembling a superhero mask, pointing a gun at you both, he brings his pointer finger to his lips, indicating for you to be quiet. Joel tries to shield you from the boy, covering your figure with his large frame, gripping your waist so tight, and breathing through his nose heavily. You feel a little paralyzed, as you can’t help but watch the train wreck about to happen right in front of you.

Previous Chapter -> Next Chapter

END NOTES:

This was probably one of the most difficult chapters to write because of all the technicalities and this episode was definitely more centered around Ellie and Joel’s relationship so I didn’t want the reader to completely overshadow that HHEHEHEHE ONE BED TROPE The moment I watched that episode, I immediately thought, I’m writing a one-bed trope (idk if i got it right tho lol I tried to make it realistic??) I had to cut a huge ass important memory from the reader but decided again it's TOO SOON also it wouldn’t add anything to the plot so I’ll add that in later My bad for taking too long to finish this chapter, it was the most intimidating episode for me to write, the loss of innocence is also the main theme of this part of the show, and my experiences with losing innocence are WAY DIFFERENT so it proved it harder to write about You can see Joel slowly giving in and opening up to both you and Ellie Tbh, to me, this is one of the more mediocre chapters I’ve written thus far but I can’t seem to edit it anymore T^T Ellie absolutely adores you and 100% looks up to you hehe (Also she definitely wants you to get with her father figure) cAN SOMEONE UPDATE ME IF THEY WERE AT A TRUCK STOP OR GAS STATION BCS I’ve read sO MANY DAMN ARTICLES trying to figure out what it was and I just settled for a truck stop T^T Thank you, guys, so much for all your kind questions, comments, and feedback aHHH IT TRULY MEANS THE WORLD TO ME Lastly, this is the last call for the taglist before I close it! OKAY BYE OFF TO EPISODE 5 I GO WRITE HNGGGG   - Grace

TAGLIST:

@memento-mora @elijahssuit @tartiflvtte @lillylilly2 @kyuupidwrites @amethystwonder11 @syd-vixious @kidkrow666 @soulofapatrick @ponyboys-sunsets @superflymaterial @chaotic-imposter @vainbimbo @eva-stark @loki-an-idiot @littleshadow17 @undermoonlightwalk @afternoon-evening @notmysunnydale  @slurmp69 @gyllord @aerangi @mac5323 @friskynotebook @earth-to-lottie @chaotic-imposter @kodzuvk @hawkins-2000 @reallysparklychaos @trust-dreamcatcher @darkened-writer @memeorydotcom @welcomebackfelicia @rainbowpitofdoom @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @marvelsimpcz @dorck26 @evienorville @munsons-queen @little-miss-bi @mxltifxnd0m @ohjoelmiller @coalix @taestrwbrry @avengersheart @gyllord @valentine-babe

Edit: Sorry for the notif twice! The taglist completely bonked itself :,)

[stari-hun]

I need everyone’s headcanons on their favs in a modern modern AU

Thought honestly this isn’t really a modern au it’s just an idea of what would happen if they were grew up as like millennials and Gen Z but also they’re all from diff eras so that needs an AU in itself?-

I feel like Sotheby would be a religious Wild Krats enjoyer. She already loves the adventuring genre a lot so I think she’d love Pokémon too and have all the games. Vertin would like the adventuring genre too but she’d be more a meta gamer and into adventuring series like Journey of Elaina or Frieren.

I think Sotheby would be super into DND too. I feel like she’s the type to go for the same class but different executions of it. Vertin is definitely the intentional game breaker, but Sotheby knows enough about potions and probably magic tools to be an accidental bomb in the party.

Sonetto is childhood friends with them, she met Vertin way before and they both met Sotheby in middle school when she was a year below them. I feel like she would be the type of kid who struggles to find interests of their own and instead builds interest up in stuff her friends already like.

I imagine Isolde and Kakania would be like childhood friends from something like private school or a Catholic boarding school. It’s projecting but I think Isolde and Kakania would LOVE Secrets of Moonacre and The Golden Compass.

Druvis and Lilya would obv be college students, but I wanna say Druvis would be an environmental activist looking to go into politics. Like for an environmental protection agency working on restrictions for deforesting.

Marcus would be a fan of like those late night documentaries and esp the series Round Planet. I think she’d thrive being able to access online archives for books. I think she’d also take a year after Highschool to go on like a tour of the world in a program that allows young adults to work in national parks and nature bases for free housing a paycheck. She’d transfer around running blogs and writing small bits for local newspapers in each place she visits using her Arcanum to find hidden stories.

Hofmann would be a college teacher from the college Marcus is dual enrolled in (she's on an accelerated course and Hofmann is a journalism professor).

[wordsinhaled]

howdy !! re: wip game, as a gomens fanatic, any angsty wip lines that might shred my soul? <3

hiii <3 <3

happy to provide some gomens angst! ft. aziraphale's pov of the kiss!

-

Aziraphale’s hands flutter uselessly around Crowley’s shoulders like birds afraid to alight.

For all these millennia, he’s only allowed himself surreptitious, if unsubtle forays in Crowley’s direction; little morsels of visual information, a whole series of fleeting touches. Far too many to count.

The electric, heady brush of their fingertips in the exchange of a briefcase full of miraculously-salvaged books. Aziraphale clasping Crowley’s hand with both of his, losing himself for a moment to the sort of recklessness Crowley inspires in him. Aziraphale’s palm flat against Crowley’s chest there in the pub, for no reason at all except that he simply wanted: to learn how Crowley’s warmth bleeds through layers of cloth, to discern the faint dear heartbeat accelerating under his touch.

The last time he’d felt Crowley’s fists curled in his lapels there had been a wall rough at his back and a snarl in his ears. He’d had eyes only for the red curve of Crowley’s mouth, then.

And now that mouth, Crowley’s mouth, is on his to seismic effect, hard enough to mark Aziraphale indelibly, hot as a conflagration. He never parts his lips, but he doesn’t need to for Aziraphale to be disarmed by the promise of teeth and tongue and taste. Aziraphale can’t possibly hold him like this, can’t settle on one place to touch him, the contours of Crowley sharp and shaking apart with tension against him. It isn’t perfect—in fact it’s artless and ungainly, but it’s Crowley—it’s Crowley—it’s Crowley, crashing into him with forward momentum like a wave breaking against the shore, kissing him with a single-minded stillness, and his point couldn't be clearer: that he would do just this, forever and a day, if it only meant Aziraphale would at last answer in kind.

If it only meant he would stay.

Aziraphale’s hands hover near the top of the coveted slope of that serpentine spine, narrowly evading the treacherous peaks of Crowley’s shoulder blades. Six thousand years of ruinous yearning and prevarication. Six thousand years of perfecting the ideal coy glance, and Crowley crumbles his resolve in an instant.

He had thought it might happen in the rain, perhaps, as Crowley had suggested once. Their arms wound about each other, umbrella forgotten as the sky overhead opened up to cleanse them of all their half-truths. He’d thought Crowley might taste like fine dark chocolate. Like raspberry coulis. But he kisses Aziraphale now with all the iron tang of a paper cut, the same sudden surprise of pain blooming under Aziraphale’s breastbone as he rocks toward Crowley finally, finally, finally—

Too late.

[major-mads]

Chapter 9: The Anatomy of Courage

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: this chapter has been in the works for a while, and a lot of research has gone into it! the scenes in Dulag Luft were heavily inspired by Frank Murphy's account of his experience there in his book, Luck of the Draw!! As always, thanks for being patient, and let us know what you think in the comments or our ask boxes!!💕

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 10k

September 20th: 07:20 AM

The roar of ME-109s and flack bursts echoed inside the Angel, producing a deafening cacophony of machine-gun fire and metal tearing into the C-47.

“There goes the last engine. We’re going down! We gotta bail out, girls. Grab your chutes now!” Frank yelled, the veins in the pilot’s arms bulging as he fought to keep the plane level. Hope remained frozen, staring at Billy’s lifeless body…he was only 21 years old. 

“Hope?” Frank called out. “Hope, look at me! You’ve gotta go, get yourself and Ruth out, I’ll keep the old girl steady until you're both out, then I’ll be right behind ya.” 

Hope shook her head, tears building in her eyes, “No! We’re in this together! I’m not leaving you, not now. Not after everything!”  

“For Pete’s sake, Hope! Will you do as you’re told for once and stop being so damn stubborn!” Frank snapped with his eyes still trained ahead, and Hope noticed how the veins on his temples pulsed angrily, and his face grew redder by the second. “Now, please just go, I’ll be behind you, I promise!” 

“Okay,” Hope nodded solemnly, climbing from the copilot's seat and hurrying towards Ruth, who was already shakily trying to put on her parachute. Hope helped her do up the straps and buckles before she did the same with Hope. 

“I can't do this. I only jumped once in training. I-I can’t jump out of a plane. I’m a teacher, not a paratrooper. I-I…” Ruth continued to ramble, her panic-stricken features breaking Hope’s heart, and her tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Hope grasped hold of Ruth’s shoulders, pulling her shaking frame against her chest.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna be just fine, but we’ve got to do this. We can’t stay here, Rue. I need you to be strong for me now, okay? I need you to be strong for both of us,” Hope tried to encourage the girl towards the door but she froze, riveted to the plane. 

“But Hope, we’re over Germany. The-the Kraut’s will get us and then… then I don’t know what they’ll do to us.” Ruth’s bottom lip began to tremble, her breath coming out in short, sharp gasps.

Hope nodded solemnly, “I know we are, Rue, but this is our only option. I promise you that I will be with you every step of the way, no matter what, okay?” Hope squeezed Ruth’s hand and she returned the sentiment, allowing Hope to lead her towards the door. 

Both girls hooked up to the static line, checking their equipment quickly. “Are you ready?” 

Ruth nodded, swallowing the bile that threatened to creep up her throat as the plane shook violently beneath them.

“See you on the other side, Rue.” 

“See you in a minute,” Ruth threw her arms around her friend, squeezing her tightly before stepping into the door, pausing for a moment before throwing herself out into the clouds.

As she fell through the air, her heart pounded against her chest with a ferocity that matched the roar of the wind rushing past her ears. Ruth’s static line unhooked, and just as her chute billowed into the sky, the roaring of a fighter and the sound of machine-gun fire filled her senses. She gasped as the rounds went directly around her, missing her body by just a few feet. Her chute, however, wasn’t as lucky. The white silk was littered with holes, and her descent accelerated rapidly, bringing her plummeting toward a nearby group of trees.

Ruth frantically tried to steer away from the forest, but the damaged chute was unresponsive. “No, no, no,” she cried, bracing for impact.

The treeline rushed up to meet her, and with a jolt, Ruth crashed into the dense canopy of trees, her chute becoming entangled in the branches. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through her body, and she cried out as she tumbled through the branches, her arms flailing desperately to break her fall. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, and she felt the sharp sting of cuts and scrapes as she collided with the unforgiving branches. 

Finally, The parachute ripped free with a sharp snap, and Ruth plummeted to the forest floor below. She landed hard with a thud, her left arm bearing the brunt of the impact, causing an excruciating jolt of pain to shoot through her, knocking the breath from her lungs. She gasped for air and clutched her injured arm, tears trickling down her cheeks as she struggled to push past the overwhelming pain. Every nerve in her body screamed at her as she lay sprawled amidst the tangled undergrowth.

Panic gripped the woman like a vice as she realized the gravity of her situation. She was alone, injured, and in German territory.

Where was Hope? Frank?

Did they make it?

Thoughts raced through her mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

What if I never find Hope or Frank?

What if I’m captured by the Germans?

What if I never make it home?

What if I never see John again?

Ruth’s struggled to push back the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She thought back on Johnny’s calming words the day they’d first been hit by flack…

“I need you to breathe.”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he nodded at her with raised brows, worry etching his face. “With me, now.”

Ruth shook her head. “I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” the Major asserted firmly, reaching for her hand and holding it against his chest. “Feel that? Breathe with me. In…” he breathed through his nose. “And out…”

Taking slow, shallow breaths through her nose, she fought to regain control of her racing heart. She exhaled shakily and rolled onto her back, her gaze falling on the tangled mess of her parachute a few feet away. The once bright silk was littered with holes and large tears in the fabric. 

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “You can do this. You can do this.”

She sat up, gritting her teeth and scooting over to lean against a nearby tree, the rough bark pressing into her back. With a heavy sigh, she glanced down at the straps and clips of her harness still clinging to her body.

Her fingers trembled as she reached her right hand for the first clip across her chest, her injured arm protesting with each minuscule shift. Ruth managed to release the clip and moved her attention to the one connecting her leg straps. The right one came free easily, but she couldn’t quite reach the left clip over her bulky equipment. 

“Come on, come on,” Ruth muttered under her breath as she struggled to reach the clip. Her small fingers brushed against the cool metal, but wasn’t enough to get it loose. She leaned her head against the tree and took a deep breath.

“Please.”

With one last effort, Ruth shifted and reached across her body for the latch. She felt the metal beneath her fingertips once again, but this time, she felt the button and pressed down on the release mechanism. It unlatched with a satisfying click as the clip came undone at last.

Ruth carefully slipped the harness from her shoulders before pushing herself to her feet. She needed to find Hope and Frank if any of them stood a chance of evading capture. Just as she set off, the hushed whisper of voices floated through the air, and Ruth’s heart dropped as she frantically searched for somewhere to hide. Her eyes caught sight of a nearby bush that was big enough and quickly took off for it. Just as she reached the cover, her foot caught on a root, sending her to the ground in a heap, branches crunching loudly beneath her. Pain shot up her arm as she collided with the dirt, and she bit down hard on her lip to stifle a cry. She pushed past the pain and scrambled completely behind the bush, covering her nose and mouth to quiet the sound of her pants. 

Amidst the rustling leaves and her racing heartbeat, she heard it…the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked. Fear gripped her once again as she imagined the German soldiers closing in, coming to take her away, to do whatever they wanted with her.

Would Hope and Frank escape?

Would John ever know what happened to her?

Closing her eyes, she began to pray…

Lord, please protect Hope. Protect Frank. Keep them safe. Please give me the strength to endure whatever may come next if it’s Your will. And be with John, Lord. Watch over him. Amen.

The sound of footsteps drew closer and each crunch of leaves echoed like thunder in Ruth’s ears as she braced herself for the inevitable. She held her breath, waiting for the moment she’d be discovered. 

But then a voice cut through the darkness, and Ruth’s heart skipped a beat. “Come out. Nice and slow.”

What German had a New Jersey accent?

She popped her head out from behind the bush with a small whimper, her eyes widening as Frank stood before her, his pistol pointed in her direction. He immediately lowered the weapon and Hope moved out from behind him, rushing toward the blonde. 

“Ruth!” Hope gasped, falling beside her friend and throwing her arms around her neck, squeezing her close. “You’re okay.” 

Relief filled her system seeing her best friend, and she hugged her back the best she could with her injured arm close to her chest. “Hope,” Ruth whispered, the pain moving to the back burner amid the pure joy she felt.

Hope’s hands fell instinctively to Ruth’s injured arm despite her friend’s small protest. She ran her fingers up and down the limb, noticing the swelling around the wrist and elbow joint. Rummaging in her musette bag, Hope pulled free some bandages, wrapping the affected limb tightly to provide some support and help reduce the swelling that was already growing along Ruth’s arm.

She sat back on her feet, scanning the area for the blonde’s parachute. Finding it a few feet away, she quickly grabbed it and pulled it over to the bush. She cut out a large triangle, folding it in half, and placing the injured limb inside the makeshift sling. She worked swiftly, and no words were exchanged between the three until Hope was finished. 

“Are you alright? What happened?” Hope finally asked, tying the knot securely at the base of Ruth’s neck. She cupped her friend's cheek tenderly, and relief flooded through her as those bright blue eyes she’d grown to love so much blinked tearily back at her. 

Ruth stood to her feet with a wince. “My chute got shot up and I-I hit the trees…fell on my arm,” she paused, her voice dropping to a pained whisper as the mere thought of the crash brought the pain crashing over her again. “Hope, I think…I think it’s broken.”

“Yeah, at least fractured,” Hope nodded with a concerned frown, wiping away some of the blood dripping from a cut on Ruth’s temple. “When we-”

Before the nurse could continue, Frank’s hand landed on her shoulder and his eyes scanned the forest around them. “I’m sorry, but we’ve gotta get going. The krauts are probably on their way as we speak.”

Hope quickly stashed the parachute behind the bush and took her place under Frank’s arm, allowing him to lean against her while Ruth watched with furrowed brows.

“What did you do?” she asked worriedly.

The pilot shot her a pained grin. “I’m alright,” he gritted as they started walking slowly. “Hope, we’ve gotta go faster. I don’t care about my ribs. Let’s go.”

Picking up the pace, they made their way through the small but hilly forest, eyes scanning the surrounding trees. Frank and Hope led the way and he held his pistol at the ready, nothing but the quiet sounds of their footsteps in the air. Ruth trailed right behind them, no less than an arm’s length away at all times. Her arm throbbed where it sat in the sling but she could only imagine the pain Frank was in. The nurses had seen a few grown men cry from the pain of a few broken ribs.

The sun sat high in the sky when they finally reached the forest’s edge, and more rolling hills and patches of forest stretched on in the distance, the only building in sight a small house in a clearing ahead. Hope panted from under Frank’s arm as the trio debated their next move.

“We can’t go out into the open. They’ll see us for sure,” Hope whispered, gesturing with her free hand for Ruth to come up beside them.

The blonde took a step forward, but when something cold and hard pressed against the back of her head, she froze. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips just before a hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back into a warm body. The pressure moved to the side of her head…she knew what it was, and her chest heaved as terror overtook her.

They couldn’t be captured.

How were they supposed to be POWs?

What would they do to them?

Following her gasp, Hope craned her head to look over her shoulder at the blonde, her face falling at the sight before her. She met Ruth’s terror-filled eyes, and helplessness coursed through her. She opened her mouth to speak but the German beat her to it, his heavily accented voice harsh and guttural. 

“Drop your weapon or I’ll shoot,” the soldier commanded, his words cutting through the silence of the forest.

Ignoring the pain in his torso, Frank spun around with his gun raised. His grip on the pistol tightened for a moment as his jaw clenched. With a gruff sigh, he slowly lowered the weapon to the ground, his eyes never leaving the soldier who held Ruth against his chest.

“Drop it!”

Tossing the pistol to the forest floor, Frank raised his hands to the best of his ability and Hope did the same, unable to tear her gaze away from Ruth’s. Her eyes seemed to tell her friend, ‘It’s okay. Just look at me. You’re alright.’ 

Ruth couldn’t do anything but watch as three krauts passed her and began searching Frank and Hope. The one holding her finally removed his hand and holstered his pistol before turning her to face him. His grey eyes scanned her face in a way that made her skin crawl, and Ruth’s mind noted the contrast between his greys and John’s that brought her so much comfort…the ones she loved. Her hand shook as she raised her right to the side of her head, the injured one remaining immobile against her chest.

The soldier began to search her, his hands roaming over her body roughly. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to stifle a gasp as his fingers dug into her pockets, pulling out her belongings one by one. Ruth’s heart sank as she watched him confiscate John’s letter along with their picture.

It was all she had left of him.

It was then when the searching hands became invasive, his groping and grabbing fingers lingering in places they had no right to be. She clenched her eyes shut as disgust washed over her.

“That’s enough,” Frank’s voice rang out, his eyes blazing with anger. “She’s not armed.”

The hands paused and the man stepped back, seemingly satisfied with the search. Ruth’s shaky hands remained in the air while the kraut handed her effects to a man wearing a cap bearing the Nazi eagle. 

‘An officer,’ she thought.

A shiver ran through Ruth as her eyes fell to the man’s upper arm. The bright red armband and swastika of the Nazi party stared back at her, and she felt as if she was looking the epitome of evil in the face.

She was.

All the death, all the destruction…it was all because of these people. All because of Adolf Hitler. If they were willing to do whatever it took to win the war, what would they be willing to do to them?

She was pulled from her worry when the officer said something in German and motioned to his men to bring the prisoners forward in a line.

One of them grasped Ruth’s good arm and pulled her to fall in line beside Hope, who sent her an scared glance. Two soldiers stood on either side of them with rifles drawn as the officer stood before the Americans, an unsettling smirk on his lips.

“For you, the war is over.”

The cool morning breeze whipping through the torn canvas walls of the truck sent goosebumps across Ruth’s body, and she tugged her flight jacket closer to her body. She sat between Frank and Hope, her good hand now securely in her best friend’s. No words had been exchanged between the crew since they’d climbed in, and with the piercing eyes of three soldiers sitting across the truck from them, their rifles sitting on their laps, the Americans were terrified. 

Exhaustion wore on them, but they could not sleep or close their eyes as adrenaline still coursed through their veins. The Germans had forced them through the dense, mountainous forest for half a mile before reaching a winding road among one of the hills where a troop transport truck awaited them.

Hope’s body almost gave in as they climbed aboard the truck, her muscles aching after supporting Frank for so long. Ruth had tried to take her place multiple times but was waved off due to her injury. And that’s where they found themselves…in the back of the truck driving through the German countryside.

The landscape was beautiful. Ruins of old castles atop mountaintops, picturesque villages, and lush green forests filled with tall spruces and pines caught the women’s attention through the opening in the back of the truck. Frank could’ve cared less and stared straight ahead, trying to focus on breathing and pushing through the pain radiating from his ribs.

Before long, the truck rumbled to a stop and they all shared a worried glance when the officer appeared at the tailgate. 

“Out.”

Ruth carefully hopped out first, holding her throbbing arm tight against her chest while Hope helped Frank down. Their eyes widened in awe as they were met with a scene straight out of a storybook. If it weren’t for the Nazis pushing them along the road and the rifles pointed at them, they could’ve been on vacation, sightseeing in the beautiful town before them.

The narrow cobblestone streets wound their way through a maze of old buildings, each one with intricate timber frames and colorful exteriors. Some even had window boxes overflowing with vibrant flowers, adding to the warmth and color of the village.

A rough voice broke them from their awestruck gaze, and the soldier behind Hope nudged her with his rifle. “Walk!”

As they marched through the town, bloodied and looking worse for wear, residents became aware of their presence and peered cautiously from the sides of the street. Shopkeepers paused in their tracks, their hands stilling in their work as they watched the prisoners pass. Hope and Ruth drew more than a few puzzled looks, and some townsfolk whispered among themselves with expressions mixed with confusion and concern.

"Frauen? Was machen die denn hier?" muttered a woman passing them on the road, her words carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. An elderly woman beside her shook her head, her wrinkled brow furrowed in disbelief.

The group continued through the village, and just ahead, a few children played in the street. A barely perceptible smile played on Ruth’s lips as the kids' laughter echoed off the buildings. It made her think of Billy, Sammy, and that day on the hardstand they showed her around the plane, asking millions of questions. Her eyes remained on the kids when they approached, but her smile quickly fell when the children turned to look at them with pure disdain on their features.

One of the boys’ small hands formed into the shape of a gun and he pointed it straight at them. There was no playfulness in his gesture, no hint of amusement. Instead, his eyes contained a disturbing intensity as he mimicked the actions he had likely seen performed countless times by soldiers and adults around him.

A chill ran up Ruth’s spine, her stomach churning as she watched the boy move his hand with them until they passed. She exchanged a glance with Hope and Frank, and they all recognized the chilling reality of the situation. This was not a child playing a game…this was a child who had been taught to see them as enemies, as symbols of everything that stood against the beliefs instilled in him by the governing regime.

Glancing around at the faces of the townspeople, Hope couldn’t help but wonder how many others harbored similar sentiments. How many of the German people would kill them on the spot simply for the country they served, for the freedom they were trying to protect? 

“I wonder where they’re taking us,” Hope whispered to Ruth.

The blonde bit her lip, her worried eyes flicking around them. “I don’t kn-”

"Ruhig! No talking!" the guard behind Hope spat, shoving her forward roughly, making her and Frank lose their balance and fall to the cobblestone street. The Captain fought to contain a groan as his knees collided with the stones, sending a shockwave of pain through his torso. 

Ruth immediately moved to help them, her hand reaching out instinctively only to be yanked back by a strong grip on the collar of her flight jacket. She stumbled backward with a small whimper as the movement jostled her arm. Her voice caught in her throat and the words she wanted to speak were trapped by the knot of fear that gripped her. 

She knew that any defiance would only invite further punishment, and she couldn’t bear the thought of making their situation any worse. If the actions of the young boy taught her anything, it was that the Germans had no problems with taking care of prisoners without proper treatment. So with trembling limbs, she obeyed the soldier’s command, her worried gaze flicking anxiously between Hope and Frank as they struggled to their feet. 

“Help me,” Hope pleaded, her dark eyes looking through tears at the soldiers who merely smirked. “HELP ME!”

Ruth’s eyes burned as she watched Hope pull Frank to his feet, mumbling soft apologies when he whined in protest and clutched his broken ribs. 

“Move!” One of the soldiers shoved the barrel of his MP-40 into Hope’s back, prodding her harshly, “Schnell.” 

Hope reached behind her, gripping Ruth’s hand tightly and giving it one squeeze before releasing the blonde’s shaky hand. The group moved forward in a single file line, careful as they stepped down the stone street. Their eyes glanced around at the German villagers watching them like hawks...one wrong move and the group knew that this town would be their final resting place. 

The guards led them along the river, the water rushing passed loudly as it wound through the village. Ruth’s eyes were glued to the town’s beautiful scenery, and she knew that she might not see anything as beautiful for a long while. A few seconds later, her gaze moved to the left, and caught sight of a large white building with four figures on the wall, one proudly hoisting the Nazi flag. Ruth shivered involuntarily at the pure adoration the German people had for the regime.

‘Some of them must not agree…right?’ she thought.

“Move, bitch,” one of the soldiers sneered, pushing the barrel of his gun into Hope’s back once more. Her jaw tightened and she knew resisting wasn’t going to be good for any of them, but she couldn’t help the urge to slap that stupid smirk on his face. She turned on her heels just as Ruth caught her arm, sending her a pitiful look that instantly caused Hope to soften. She nodded once in a silent promise that she’d behave, despite the anger rising within her. Frank nudged his shoulder into Hope, encouraging her to keep moving. It was a team effort for them all to survive, each having to bite their tongue and remain calm for their friends. 

All too soon, the trio were ushered into a large building just beside the train tracks, and they could only assume it was the station.

Ruth’s heart dropped…They were being transported by rail, which meant the Americans were being taken farther into Germany…probably much farther.

Large letters hung above the door, the dark wood in contrast with the off-white stone of the building.

SCHILTACH

‘So that’s where we are,’ Ruth thought. She’d never heard of the city, but its name and what she experienced there would surely haunt her for the rest of her life.

It was a rundown building with cracks streaking up the walls, and any recollection of its pre-war days had long been extinguished. The walk through the building was short, and the soldiers quickly filed them through a single door and out onto the platform where a cargo train was stationed. Several more German soldiers and officers lined the platform, two with Alsatian dogs on leashes that somehow looked even more menacing than their handlers. 

The officer leading them to the station stepped away, talking in hushed tones to another officer before nodding to his men. Frank was the first to be pushed forward and moved towards a railroad car, the door sliding open with a loud clang. The train cars were old, their outer wooden slats rotten and falling easily from their frames. They hardly looked worthy of a people who thought of themselves as the “superior race.” 

Frank glanced back at the girls and stepped inside, disappearing into the darkness. It occurred then to Ruth that this might be their last time together. What happens if they get split up into different rail cars or trains? The thought of being alone without Hope and Frank filled Ruth with more anxiety, and she subtly grasped Hope’s arm.

The soldier behind Hope chuckled, leaning close to her ear and whispering, “You go next, schlampe.” Her whole body tensed as she stepped forward, feeling Ruth’s grip on her arm disappear. She couldn’t see into the train car and stepped in blindly, fumbling around until her hands fell onto a warm chest that smelt like the all too familiar aftershave. 

From the moment Hope disappeared into the rail car, Ruth began to pray. 

‘Please let me stay with them, Lord. Please. I can’t do this without them.’

She stood there holding her breath as the seconds ticked by like hours, and just when she began to lose hope, a hand collided with her back and shoved her forward. The sudden movement jostled her arm as she blindly fumbled around the dark train car until her waving hand finally grasped something warm. Knowing it was Hope, she melted into the woman, tears once again filling her eyes when a strong arm wrapped around her.

“We’re gonna be alright,” Frank assured them, rubbing their arms gently.

For some reason, now that they were away from the prying eyes of the Germans, they felt safer. It was like they could breathe easily for a little while. The railcar door suddenly slammed shut, plunging them into darkness. It was then Ruth noticed the smell…the strong stench of stale urine mixed with sweat and vomit. The rancid odor burned her nostrils with every breath, and nausea swirled in her stomach at the thought of what had happened in the car before them.

Who were they?

Where were they taken?

Were they alive?

The floor was damp beneath their feet and she could only imagine what they were walking on. 

It was best not to know. 

The trio settled down in the corner of the train where a small beam of light pierced through the darkness, illuminating just a small amount of the cramped quarters. Sighing, Hope slipped down the wall, nestling between Ruth and Frank. They all looked far worse for wear than earlier, and Hope wished she still had her musette bag of supplies. Reluctantly, she peeled the blood fabric of her overalls away from her right knee, examining the deep, angry gash that ran across the joint. She hissed, pulling the fabric back down and meeting Ruth’s eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” she whispered, placing a comforting hand upon Ruth’s, smiling through gritted teeth.

Ruth’s eyes drifted back down to Hope’s knee, eyeing the growing crimson patch suspiciously. She’d known Hope long enough to know when she was lying, but knowing Hope, she wouldn’t admit how much pain she was truly in. Her blue eyes rose to Hope’s dark ones, “It looks pretty bad to me, Hope. I…”

“Hey, don’t worry about me, alright? Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.” Hope felt guilty, she knew she shouldn’t make promises she couldn’t keep, but seeing how Ruth visibly relaxed a little made the lie worth it. 

What good would it do to make her best friend more worried?

The train rumbled to life and slowly pulled away from the station, sending a domino of shakes and shudders down the railcar as it pulled out of the station. The rocking was oddly comforting, like how a baby likes to be rocked in its bassinet, and after the trauma of the day, they needed any ounce of comfort they could get. Ruth finally relaxed into Hope’s side, burying her head into the crook of her neck as Frank sat quietly on the other side clutching his ribs, his breathing quieter now. Wherever they were going, it was probably a long ride, and for a moment they took comfort in the solace.

They must have drifted asleep because the next thing Hope remembered was the large container door being swung open, flooding the train car with a bright white light. She squished herself back into Frank, who had his arm protectively around her shoulder, trying to bury her head from the blinding light. Four figures stumbled through the light, disappearing into the darkened end of the car before the door swung closed once more. Everyone in the car remained silent, only the noise of Frank’s heavy breathing could be heard. 

“Is someone in here?” A rather posh English accent was emitted from the darkness. Nobody spoke, too afraid of what more people in the car meant for them. “Hello?”

“What do you want?” Frank spoke up, his voice gruff and hoarse from the dusty air within the train car. 

“Nothing,” the man replied, “Other than to know where they’re sending us.” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Hope replied, shuffling forward until Frank’s hand came across her chest, stopping her movements. She could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness looking at her sternly and beside him Ruth’s eyes stared wide and frightened. 

“Is that a woman’s voice?” Another man asked, followed by a shuffling noise. It sounded as though the men were approaching them and Hope held her breath until her hand came into contact with a warm body.

“I’m Wing Commander Jones, this man to my right is Squadron Leader Colman. The two on my left are Flight Officers Carter and Williams. We’re with the RAF,” Jones spoke up, reaching his hand out for Hope to shake. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness and she could make out the rather battered features of the Wing Commander. He was a handsome fella, only in his late 20s with sandy blonde hair. The other three men looked no better off, all bloody and bruised. 

“I’m First Lieutenant Hope Armstrong, I’m a U.S. Flight Nurse. This is my colleague Second Lieutenant Ruth Morgan and our pilot, Captain Frank Martin.” 

The men all nodded in greeting, and Frank and Ruth greeted them in turn before the pilots took their seats on the rough wooden floor, huddling together like the trio had when they had first boarded. 

The locomotive soon rumbled to life again, pulling away from the station with its wheels clattering loudly against the tracks. The wind whooshed past the engine, creating an eerie whistling noise between the railcars. The occupants remained silent, all too deep in their own thoughts to talk amongst themselves. 

Ruth moved to rest her head against Hope’s chest, snuggling into her friend's flight jacket and enjoying the familiar smell of Hope. She felt safe, warm, and familiar…something that the blonde clung to as they rocked to and fro in the dark. Ruth’s heart rate slowed a little in the familiar embrace. She just wanted to sleep, the pain in her arm having ebbed to a dull ache for the time being. As long as she didn’t move the limb, it wasn’t too bad.

“You okay?” Hope whispered, pushing a few wisps of blonde hair from her friend's forehead. Ruth looked up at her, large blue eyes reflecting in the dim light. They looked tearful, and Hope drew her arm up around Ruth, pulling her against her body. 

“It will be alright, Rue. You’ll see. We’ll be okay,” she mumbled, pressing her lips to Ruth’s forehead. 

“You can’t promise that,” Ruth mumbled, snuggling her head further into Hope’s chest, hearing her heart beating strongly against her ear reminding her that they were still alive. “Are you scared?” 

Hope nodded, letting a few tears slip silently down her cheeks, the image of her best friend looking so broken and forlorn hurt more than she could bear. “Course, I’m scared, Rue, but we’ve got to be strong. We’ve got to get back to John and Gale, remember? And Hugh too.”

 A small smile spread across Ruth’s lips as Hope jokingly added her brother as an afterthought. 

“If I remember rightly, I have a wedding to get to, and I need my maid of honor there with me,” Hope glanced down at Ruth, looking upon the mass of blonde curls that now lay in her lap. She wished she could be as scared as Ruth, and truly she was, but something in her made her stay strong. She couldn’t afford to give up hope yet. 

Ruth rolled onto her side, looking up at her friend, a small smile playing on her lips, “I can’t wait for your wedding. You’re gonna look so beautiful, Hope.”

Ruth had to admit that she’d been a little more than excited about the prospect of a wedding. They had so little to look forward to in this darn war that it was the highlight of Ruth’s year, well maybe after meeting John, of course. 

Hope smiled weakly, “Thanks, Rue. That’s why I need my best girl there beside me. I can’t do it all alone,” she shook her friends' shoulders playfully, careful to mind her injured arm.

“You won’t be alone, you’ll have Gale,” Ruth corrected her, “And we all know that you won’t be needing me after you're married. You two will be having too much fun,” Ruth smiled sadly, the reality of them splitting up hitting her more than she’d ever realized. They’d taken for granted every day they’d been able to spend together, and the thought of not seeing Hope’s smiling face daily made her heart ache a little more. 

Noticing Hope’s strained expression, she piped up. “I don’t know if John would like the idea of me being your best girl instead of his.”

Hope chuckled, “Hey, I claimed you first. You’ll always be my best girl, Ruth.” She brushed her fingers softly over the older woman’s forehead, tracing the worry lines with her index finger. “Love you, Rue.”

Ruth wasn’t sure why Hope had suddenly turned so sentimental, normally she was the levelheaded one of the pair, the quick thinker, the reliable one, but now..

“Love you too, Hope,” she replied quietly, her eyes drawing closed as she slipped out of consciousness again as the rocking of the railcar sent her to sleep.

The red leaves of the maple trees danced in the wind as Ruth’s small feet pedaled down her street, waving to neighbors as she passed. Her training wheels wobbled beneath her, but it didn’t stop her from going just as fast as the other speeding by.

“Who you got tonight?” Jimmy Watson called from across the road, pausing from raking the hundreds of leaves from his yard. His lines on his elderly face always seemed to soften at the sight of the girl.

A wide, toothy grin grew on her face, and she slowed her pace. “You know who!”

“Nahhh, there’s no way they’ll win,” Jimmy laughed. “They’re on a 15 game losing-streak.”

Ruth pedaled faster with a shrug. “We’ll see! Talk to ya’ later!”

Just as she reached her driveway, a little boy came bursting through the door, his blonde curls bouncing as he ran towards her. “Ruth! They’re about to throw the first pitch! Come on!”

She quickly dismounted and leaned her bike against the garage door, following her brother into the house as their shoes squeaked on the floors. With a quick reminder of “no shoes in the house” from their mother, the siblings ran into the living room and cranked up the radio.

They lay on the rug beside the radio, their eyes sparkling with excitement as they listened to the game on the edge of their ‘seats.’ Jimmy was right…the Braves were on a 15-game losing streak, but Ruth had hope.

‘This is the one,’ she thought. ‘This is it.’

As the crackling voice of the announcer filled the room, the Morgans were bursting at the seams with anticipation. “Bobby Smith winds up…throws…and it’s a curve ball just dotting the corner of batter’s box for strike one!”

With an excited squeal, Ruth raised her hand to high-five James, but when she turned, he was gone. She glanced around the room with furrowed brows as static suddenly burst through the radio, the harsh sound making her jump.

What was going on?

She rose to her feet quickly and called out for her family. “Mama? Jamie? Daddy?”

“Ruth.”

Confusion clouded her mind as the scene around her began to shift, the walls of her childhood living room melting away like wax in a fire. The comforting warmth of the room was replaced by the dimly lit interior of a pub that she quickly recognized as the one in Dickleburgh. Blinking in surprise, Ruth tried to make sense of the sudden change, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked around, searching for anything to tell her what was going on. 

And then, she saw him…John, sitting across from her with his signature grin plastered on his face. 

When did she sit down at a table?

“You alright there, doll?” he asked, his voice cutting through the haze of her confusion.

Ruth glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the few people scattered across the pub. “Uh, yeah,” she shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I must have been daydreaming.”

He raised an eyebrow mischievously. “About me?”

“Oh, shut it. You wish.”

“It was about me, wasn’t it.”

Was it? What was she even thinking of before?

“Maybe,” she replied anyway with a strained smile as she met his gase. “But, uh, don’t let it go to your head, hotshot.”

Before John responded, a subtle shift in his demeanor caught her attention. The playful gleam in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a look of concern that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Ruth,” he said, his voice suddenly serious as he reached across the table to take her hand in his. “You need to wake up.”

His words caused a surge of panic to grip her heart. Was she dreaming? Was any of this real?

“What do you mean?” she asked with a trembling voice. 

Johnny leaned forward, his eyes searching hers intensely. “Listen to me, Ruth,” he said urgently, his voice low but firm. “You need to wake up. They’re coming…you need to be ready. I love you.”

With a gasp, Ruth jolted awake, her heart racing as the remnants of her dream faded into the reality of her situation. For a split second, she felt disoriented, unsure of where she was or what was happening around her. But then, the traincar shuddered to a halt and jolted them forward before slamming them back against the hard, wooden wall of the car. Her eyes widened in alarm as the door to the railcar was thrown open, flooding the dimly lit space with blinding daylight.

“OUT! OUT! OUT!” 

Without hesitation, Ruth scrambled to her feet beside the rest of the prisoners, her muscles aching from the uncomfortable position she’d been sleeping in. The prisoners all jostled against each other to climb through the door, sending sharp pains through her arm. Hope hopped down first, turning to help Ruth, but she was pushed forward just as the blonde reached for her hand. Ruth watched in horror as a German wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away.

“No! Hope!” Ruth cried, trying desperately to push through the prisoners toward her friend, but the densely packed bodies were too tight. “Hope!” 

As she was shoved with the flow of the crowd, Frank suddenly appeared beside her, his face screwed up in a pained expression. “Where is she?!”

“We got separated! A Kraut grabbed her! I-” 

He instantly rose to his full height and looked over the dozens of heads surrounding them, his eyes scanning the faces of the scared prisoners. Frank then realized there were many more railcars behind theirs, adding even more panicked soldiers to the already busy platform. 

Just when he was about to give up, he caught a flash of Hope’s long, dark hair, and his heart rose to his throat. But just as quickly as he saw her, she was gone.

“Hope!”

Ruth clutched Frank’s A-2 jacket tightly as tears trickled down her cheeks. A few moments later, the prisoners were forced into a single file line and led through the disgusting, run-down wartime lobby of Frankfurt’s main railway station. Groups of angry civilians lined the sides of the station, but to their relief, the people thenkfully restraining themselves from attacking. Both of them kept looking over their shoulder for any sign of Hope but were pulled from their search when a thick German accent filled the air. “You two!”

Stepping out of line, they stood in front of the German. He wore a different uniform than the other guards, the grey of the others replaced by a dark blue. 

“You are with the Air Forces, yes?”

‘So he’s Luftwaffe.’ Ruth thought.

Frank nodded silently and Ruth tried to blink away her tears, but they wouldn’t stop. 

Where was Hope?

Where was her best friend?

“You come with me.”

The duo shared a wary glance before slowly following him, two other guards behind them as they walked down a hallway, its dark green paint peeling and chipping with age. He led them through a door and to a transport truck much like the one they’d arrived to Schiltach in. As they slowly climbed aboard, the officer raised an eyebrow.

“There were three of you? Another woman, yes?” 

Ruth nodded again while Frank dared to speak. “We were separated. One of your guys dragged her away.”

He seemed to briefly contemplate the Captain’s words, then wordlessly walked back into the station, leaving the prisoners under the supervision of two Luftwaffe soldiers too caught up in their conversation to worry about the Americans.

“Do you think he’s finding Hope?” Ruth asked quietly, quickly wiping the tears from her face. They stung the small cuts from her crash, but that was the least of her worries. 

“I hope so.”

The pair were made aware of another prisoner’s presence as a cough from further into the truck filled the air. “How’d you end up becoming a POW, ma’am? Haven’t seen any women during my lovely tour through France and Germany.”

Turning towards him, Ruth’s eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned his face.

He looked so familiar.

The airman wore her same puzzled expression for a few moments until recognition dawned on him. “Wait…You’re Bucky’s girl, aren’t you? The flight nurse?”

She nodded, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized she’d seen him around Thorpe Abbotts. 

He was in the Hundredth! He knew John and Buck!

“We’ve never been introduced, but the name’s Bob. Bob Wolff. I’m in…or was in the 418th with Egan. Best Squadron Commander I’ve ever had. Amazing leader.”

A teary smile grew on her lips. “He is, isn’t he?” she paused, her mind thinking of her beloved Major. “It’s nice to meet you, Bob. I’m Ruth, and this is our pilot, Frank. We don’t…we don't know where Hope is.”

“Hope? Cleven’s fiancée, Hope?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh boy,” Bob sighed, running a tired hand down his face. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not in Thorpe Abbotts right now.”

Frank and Ruth shared a confused glance and looked back at the man. “What do you mean?”

“I have a feeling a few firecrackers are gonna go off until they get word you’re alive.”

“If they get word we’re alive,” Frank muttered under his breath.

If Ruth was being completely honest, she hadn’t thought of how John would take the news. It was no secret that Bucky Egan could be a hothead, aways the first one to volunteer to fight in the pubs when the RAF got under the Americans’ skin. But that was something as trivial as annoyance…how would he react to her going down?

The blonde knew how she’d react if their roles were reversed…she would crumble.

Would he revert to his old habits?

She prayed he wouldn’t.

Before she could speak, the loud opening of the station’s side door stole their attention. Relief washed over them at the sight of Hope emerging from the building. The Luftwaffe officer led her by the elbow, showing a surprising level of respect compared to the rough treatment they’d experienced earlier.

Wolff moved toward the back of the truck to sit across from them and extended a hand to Hope, who took it with a nod. Ruth shot to her feet the second she was on board and enveloped her into a tight embrace, ignoring the pain shooting through her arm at the movement. 

“I-I tried to get to you,” Ruth whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Hope returned the hug, pulling back with tear-filled eyes. “It’s okay, Rue. I know.”

From beside them, Frank’s brows furrowed as he caught sight of something on her neck. He gently reached out and brushed aside Hope’s dark hair, revealing a series of finger-shaped bruises forming along her throat. Anger flared within the man at the sight, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“What happened?” Frank asked, his voice low and protective

“I fought against the kraut that grabbed me…he didn’t like that.”

Frank realized she didn’t really want to say anymore and gave her hand a tight squeeze. She reached up, rubbing the bruises on her neck and collar bone. The guards soon climbed on board, and the trio sat along the wooden benches as the truck rumbled to life, taking off down the road. Hope intertwined her hand with Ruth’s and offered a comforting squeeze while Frank stared daggers at the Luftwaffe airmen in the truck.

It was only around twenty minutes when the truck rolled to a stop in front of a multiple-building complex surrounded by barbed wire and guard posts. A large wooden sign with white lettering stood at the entrance, and they all stared at the words as if they could possibly decipher the sign’s meaning despite not speaking a word of the language.

The officer reappeared at the tailgate, gesturing his head to the side. “Get out.”

They all followed the orders and hopped out of the truck, their boots squelching in the mud beneath their feet. Each helping the person behind them down until the four were led into the camp. The barbed wire stood tall above them as they silently walked through the gate and into a nearby wooden building.

A few desks were scattered about, and the multiple windows allowed the bright sunlight to illuminate the otherwise dark room. Without a word, they were directed to stand in a line, their backs against the wall. The ever-present knot of anxiety in Ruth’s stomach reared its ugly head and she felt nauseous…this was really happening.

One by one, they were called forward to be fingerprinted and photographed. Ruth was called first and felt a shiver go down her spine as the soldier roughly grabbed her hand and pressed her fingers onto the cold and inky pad, stamping it onto her processing form. She then moved further down the line to the photographer, whose face held the first semblance of sympathy she’d seen all day.

“Against the wall, please.”

Ruth obeyed and stood against the wall, forcing the corners of her lips to raise just slightly into a smile…or at least the best one she could muster. As the man raised the camera, her mind flashed back to the last time her picture was taken.

“Hey, Schwarz. Mind getting a picture of just the two of us?”

He nodded enthusiastically, adjusting the camera to focus on the couple. Bucky flashed a charming smile as he reached over and gently tugged Ruth from her chair into his lap.

“Hey!” she protested playfully, her cheeks flushing pink as John wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close.

Ruth giggled as Johnny leaned in, his cheek pressing against hers as they posed for the picture. Despite her initial protest, she found herself melting into his embrace. The photographer chuckled at their antics, capturing the moment with a few clicks of his camera. She glanced up at the Major just as Schwarz lowered his camera, and Bucky planted a soft kiss on her lips.

The table erupted into a chorus of whistles and hoots, their friends cheering them on as they kissed. Ruth laughed against John’s lips, feeling a rush of happiness and warmth enveloping her. Pulling back slightly, John gazed into her blue eyes, his own filled with pure adoration as her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. 

The camera’s click pulled her from her thoughts, and she tried to blink away the memory.

“Go sit,” the German directed, pointing to the benches in the corner of the room.

As she sat down on the bench, her body ached. She needed to be in a safe place, a comfortable space to sleep soundly, but her hope for that dream lessened as every moment passed. With a quiet sigh, Ruth blinked away tears that filled her eyes and watched Frank, Hope, and Bob go through processing. One by one, they joined her on the bench, none of them brave enough to speak in the stifling atmosphere of the room.

Once they were all finished, they were escorted from the intake building to a much smaller one across a large, muddy courtyard. A wall of warmth hit them as they shuffled into the room, and Ruth’s stomach growled at the smell of food being cooked. She didn’t know what it was, but it made her realize they hadn’t eaten all day. When the call came for their run, Ruth had grabbed a few pieces of bacon and planned to grab an actual meal when they got back to base later.

That plan went up in smoke the second their plane did.

They walked further into the room and sat at one of the long tables set up, Hope found her mouth watering. The four Americans shared confused glances while waiting for someone to speak. They stared at the officer expectantly, but he just nodded at something behind him and moved to stand by the door.

The RAF men who were with them on the train soon appeared in the doorway and were ushered towards their table. They all shared confused looks until a door opened at the other end of the room and several weathered-looking men walked in. They were dressed in the Air Force blue that the RAF was known for, their hair a little longer and shaggier than the pilots they had arrived with. Many of them had beards or some other sort of facial hair and they looked tired, dark circles under most of their eyes. 

One of the younger men set out a bowl in front of each of the people sat around the table. Hope glanced over at Ruth who shared her confused expression.

Were they going to feed them?

The other two prisoners pushed a stainless steel trolley with a large silver pot on top. They opened the lid, revealing a steaming, brown liquid that was quickly slopped into the bowls. Hope grimaced at the chunks floating in the watery, brown soup. She decided not to ask what it was made of.

“How long have you been here?” Wing Commander Jones asked the youngest prisoner, grabbing his arm to stop him as he retreated from the table.

“I don’t know,” the young man admitted, his pale blue eyes casting a quick glance over the table. “Welcome to Germany, Sir.”

“Welcome to hell, more like,” one of the older men serving the soup spoke quietly, gazing over at the two Luftwaffe officers who remained in the doorway. “Just keep your heads low and keep out of trouble until they move you on. You shouldn’t be at Dulag Luft too long.”

“Move us on?” Frank spoke up. “Where do they move us to?” 

The man shrugged, his uniform slipping a little on his thin, boney shoulders. The girls shared a look…a silent question. 

How long would they be here? 

“No one knows. Dulag Luft is where they hold you until they decide where to send you for the rest of the war. Some are here a few days, others a few weeks. Depends how long it takes them to place you,” he remarked, securing the lid back on the now empty pot. “You’re lucky if you get one run by the Luftwaffe. I hear they treat prisoners better than the Wehrmacht.” 

The three prisoners retreated back through the doors at the end of the hall, followed by one of the officers, and the group was left in silence. Those at the table all shared the same anxious look, and even the Wing Commander’s dark eyebrows pulled tightly together.

“We should eat up,” Squadron Leader Colman interrupted the silence, digging his little spoon into the soup. He swallowed the liquid quickly, and Ruth wondered whether that was a good or bad thing. Regardless, they all followed suit, eating the bland soup quickly. Hope relished at the feeling of the warm liquid slipping down her throat, soothing her nerves slightly. It didn’t taste good, but it was warm, and that was all she could ask for. 

As soon as they finished eating, three Luftwaffe officers strolled into the room, their long boots tapping harshly against the wooden floor of the hut.

“Up. Up,” the first one ordered, pushing several RAF men out of their chairs before moving around to the Americans. They formed an orderly line but no one dared to speak. The German officer at the front spun on his heels, marching loudly up the hall to which everyone followed. 

Hope glanced nervously behind her, catching Ruth’s wide eyes as she sent her a reassuring smile. The younger nurse kept her pace just behind Frank, ensuring she didn’t fall behind the other prisoners. 

They were led out of the mess hut and past a courtyard into another long, wooden building resembling the others they’d seen. The air turned bitterly cold as the evening drew in, and a shiver ran through Ruth as she wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her freezing hands into her armpits. 

The officer swung open a door and led the prisoners into the building connected to the one beside it by a narrow passage. As they followed him through the compound, Ruth’s stomach swirled with anxiety at the dozens of doors that lined the long hallway. She had a sinking feeling there were prisoners on the other side of each. 

Just how many prisoners were there?

When the line came to a sudden stop, Ruth watched as a guard unlocked one of the doors, throwing it open with a loud creak. “In,” he commanded Wing Commander Jones who glanced back at his men before stepping inside, the door shutting quickly behind him.

They moved to the cell next door and repeated the same action with Squadron Leader Colman. It was then that reality hit Ruth, and she realized they were being split up. The anxiety within her turned to pure dread, and the nurse fought to keep the tears from welling in her eyes. Hope had always been there beside her, helping her when things were falling apart, but what would she do without her? What would happen to either of them if they were alone?

Hope came to the same conclusion, reaching cautiously behind her until Ruth grasped her hand silently. She squeezed the blonde’s hand reassuringly in a silent promise that everything would be okay, even if she didn’t believe that herself. 

Staying calm only grew harder as the line of prisoners dwindled, and Frank sent the girls a pained smile just as a guard shoved him into a cell, closing the door with a bang. 

Hope was next.

The guards moved to unlock a cell a few down from Frank’s, the wooden door swinging back with an eerie creak to reveal the dark room within. Ruth’s mind reeled as she watched Hope stare into the cell, unable to step forward. As much as she wanted to stay with her, she silently urged her to step inside, to go without a fight.

Resisting would do nothing but worsen their already terrible situation.

Before Hope worked up the courage to step forward, the guard shoved her into the cell, shutting the door behind her. Hopelessness washed over Ruth, and tears finally trickled down her cheeks as she heard her friend’s muffled and panicked cries through the thick door. 

“No! RUTH!”

“Hope!!” She yelled back, her voice cracking while the guards moved her down the hall. “I’ll be okay!”

Ruth wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart, but nothing worked. 

She was alone.

With every step farther from Hope and Frank, her hope dwindled, as well as her composure. They took a right down another identical hall, and the thud of Ruth’s boots were the only sound echoing through the long corridor. Just as with the other prisoners, the officer stopped, gesturing to the guard to unlock the cell. With an even louder shriek than Hope’s, the door swung open.

From where the light spilled into the dark room, Ruth saw a wooden cot and a chair pushed against the corner. She swallowed thickly and stepped forward into the cell, her nose wrinkling at its dank smell when the door slammed behind her. It took a few moments for her tear-filled eyes to adjust to the newfound darkness.

Ruth ran her hand along the wall until she reached the corner and carefully sank to the floor, the cold, rough walls pressing in on her from all sides. Alone in the darkness, fear gnawed at her insides, twisting and turning until she felt as though she might suffocate beneath its grip. 

Taking a shaky breath, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold block wall, her throbbing arm hugged to her chest. “Lord, please give me strength,” Ruth whispered, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Give us all the strength to make it through this. Please.”

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[ranahan]

I just read the Republic Commando: Hard Contact and Republic Commando: Triple Zero novels by Karen Traviss. Republic Commando is Legends now, but here are a few points that struck me about arguments I’ve seen go back and forth here on tumblr. Spoilers for the books!

Several mentions of entire batches of brothers “disappearing” for minor variances & clones being more afraid of the kaminoans than their training sergeants. Kal Skirata drunkenly breaking into tears over the poor boys. Very clear that in Traviss’s books, clones were being decommissioned.

Several mentions of clones dying in live fire exercises on Kamino before being deployed & the training sergeants standing by and doing nothing.

There’s a blurb of a retired commando, chronological age 23, biological age 60. Again, in Traviss’s books, the artificial ageing doesn’t stop when the clones reach adulthood. The main characters are also described as visibly ageing between the two books.

Pretty chilling description of the kind of brainwashing that you believe because you don’t have any reason not to when your entire life so far has lined up with it. I would completely believe these boys could execute Order 66 without the chips & all I could do would be to empathise with them.

Troopers telling their concerned jedi to not worry their pretty little head about what happens to dead troopers. Later a reinforcing mention of no bodybags needed in the GAR.

Vau nearly killing a trooper in training & making the troopers beat each other into a pulp in training.

So again, Republic Commando are Legends now but if anyone wonders where the fandom got the idea that these things happen, here’s your answer. They aren’t fandom inventions.

Other notes and personal opinions:

I mostly enjoyed Hard Contact. There were some bits near the end that fell a little flat, but overall an enjoyable military action/military science fiction novel.

Triple Zero on the other hand, not so much. The pregnancy storyline was just icky. Both in how Etain herself makes it her entire raison d’être, how she makes it the reason for why Darman now has a future, and the lack of consent on Darman’s part. She intentionally gets pregnant without ever discussing anything with him (they’ve been together for two whole weeks at this point), whether he wants kids at all, wants them with her, wants them in the middle of a war, or sees having children in the same light as she does. She’s had the most superficial of introductions to Mandalorian culture and has no idea whether or to what degree the clones or Darman as an individual share those notions—given that they probably have an understandably complicated relationship with Mandalorian culture and especially the notions of children, parents, and legacy. For all we know at this point in the series she could have completely misconstrued the whole thing. But there she goes, and decides that this is how she will fix everything and give Darman a future: a genetic legacy to outlive him.

The force-accelerated pregnancy reads like a bad fan fiction and the whole “go undercover to hide the pregnancy” reads like a Victorian novel.

Etain feels like an odd choice for a point of view character in a military science fiction story. She’s aggressively the-girl-next-door, pointedly unremarkable and ordinary. I guess the point is that readers could have a regular person’s point of view, with which to contrast the commando mindset, and to whom things can be naturally explained without infodumping. But it goes overboard and makes her seem incompetent and immature, so you start wondering what the hell is she even doing in the story or on a battlefield or what does anyone see in her.

There are sexist attitudes straight from the planet Earth. It’s in men and females, how Etain and other female characters are seen through their sex first and other characteristics second, and how they are always “other” in comparison to men. But it’s not just the women, it’s young men—the clones—too where I get this vibe. It’s very bioessentialist. There seems to be this underlying thread of pairing up and reproducing being the most valuable thing a person can do with their life. Which again, seems like an odd choice for a thematic storyline in a military science fiction novel. Like, this is not what it said on the tin.

Some of the tactical/counterterrorism side in Triple Zero feels inauthentic to me as well. There’s too much being bad boys for shock value and too little professional soldiering for my tastes anyway. But I don’t kick in doors professionally so what do I know.

No sense of numbers for galactic economy. Exhibit A: Qiilura.

Lastly, fandom: can we get more Corr? This is an EOD trooper who gets both of his hands blown off early in the war, gets stuck in a logistics centre duty while waiting for better prosthetics, still determined to get back into action to fight alongside his brothers, gets accidentally adopted by some commandos, and makes a career change from disabling fiddly explosives to kicking in doors. A round of appreciation for Corr!

[miss-eli-starfleet]

Okay. This post is gonna be about Bart Allen, and all the Thawne-Allen stuff.

Tagged bc we both love Bart’s Thawne Allen problem: @themaybewoman

This is what I’ve gathered so far about his existence is hopefully comic accurate, but maybe not continuity accurate:

It starts with Iris West. Apparently, it’s recently revealed to me (today) that this girl is actually from the 31st century. Because of the semi-dystopian era of her birth, her real parents sent her back in time to the 21st century to keep her safe. She was adopted by the Wests, but she doesn’t know her future origins until later on.

She meets Barry as a news reporter, and they marry. When they were thinking about having kids, Reverse Flash/Eobard Thawne comes along and murders her because his likes to make Barry’s life as miserable as possible. But because she’s from the future, her parents found some magic comic book science to “revive” her, thus placing her in the 31st century to live her life.

Barry finds out she’s alive in the future, and basically goes into retirement to live with her in the 31st century. He passes the mantle of The Flash to Wally West. Why he doesn’t just get her and bring her back to the 21st century, I’ll never know. Or he just wanted her to be with her real parents (which i would assume she barely knows lol).

I was trying so hard to find out why Barry decided to raise their children in the 31st century, but we have our answer there. Iris is future girl. Their children, Don and Dawn Allen, later operates as the Tornado Twins much like Barry did as the Flash. In Central City, I’m assuming. There was some clashing with the Legion of Superheroes, basically the 31st century’s version of the Justice League, but whatever. Not really important to Bart’s existence.

Dawn Allen marries Jeven Ognats. They have a daughter named Jenni Ognats, who later joins the Legion of Superheroes as XS. Jenni is Bart’s cousin.

Don Allen marries Meloni Thawne, and that’s where this gets more complicated.

Meloni Thawne is the daughter of Earthgov President Thaddeus Thawne, who irrc is a direct descendant of Eobard Thawne. When President Thawne learned of this marriage, the dude’s pissed because the Thawne-Allen feud is still on in his mind. He disowns his daughter, indirectly has the Tornado Twins killed via Dominators, and then kidnaps Bart.

Idk where Barry is in all this, maybe he went into the Speedforce and just chilled there through all this?

Now Bart had this hyper-accelerated aging thing going on as a side effect of being born a speedster (I think). Like nearly a teen by two yrs I think. Thawne grandfather stuck him in this VR so he can grow up “normally”, intending to make him a living weapon against the Flashfam. I’m pretty sure Meloni was locked up or something during that period of time too? Otherwise she would’ve done something about this.

Iris kidnaps Bart, and takes him to the 21st century via the Flash Museum’s Cosmic Treadmill (how they used that idk), hoping that Bart would have Wally West as a mentor. Instead, Wally ditches him to Max Mercury to be trained, and it plays on his low self esteem. Wally was pretty mean to him at some times, like when he gets recruited for the Teen Titans as Kid Flash.

But, hey, Wally did run him around the world fast enough to fix his accelerated aging problem.

Anyways, he gets some visits from his other cousin, Jenni, and his mom in the Impulse 1995 series, which was so fun to read. It was so cool to read them talking to each other in Interlac he Max being all confused.

This all makes me wonder: was Meloni ever Don’s lightning rod? As to Iris is Barry’s lightning rod?

[konigbabe]

the five times you meet phillip graves

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Phillip Graves x fem!reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: cod mwii campaign spoilers; swearing; enemies to those who tolerate each other; kissing; blood and injury; minor violence; cursing; pet names; gunshot/knife wounds; inaccurate military procedures/terms; inaccurate cia procedures; use of codenames/callsigns

Summary:  The five times you meet Cmdr. Phillip Graves and the one time he surprises you.

Inspired by the book The Five Times I Met Myself by James L. Rubart.

masterlist • request • faq • taglist • AO3 • ko-fi

01 ˚✧ ┊ The first time; he irritates you.

A guttural grunt escapes your throat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the car before you speed up. A series of fucks and dammits leaves your mouth; foot on the accelerator, you follow the asset on the dirty road.

Where the fuck are they, you curse internally, barely missing the rotten fence as you near the end of the farm; this is the only chance to stop the asset with air support Shepherd sent to help you—that be if they were actually here.

The car never slows down, drifting through the abandoned farm, away from you. A static cracks next to you, before an unknown, rather casual voice comes through, “Echo 3-6, this is Shadow-1. Engaging the silo north of your position.”

Finally, you reach for the transmitter next to you, “Shadow-1, you’re free to fire but do not engage near the car, I need him alive.”

“Roger that,” the man says before all hell breaks loose; and to your dismay, you watch in horror as your asset’s car turns right towards the silo, intended to drive right past it the very same second the Shadow Company opens fire. A loud explosion blinds you momentarily as you slam the brakes.

Almost none of the men manage to exit the plane before you storm into the vehicle, rage surging through your veins; the red lightning matching your emotions.

“Which one of you is Shadow-1?” you stop a masked man about to leave, hand on his shoulder as you look around; and your eyes land on the only man without a mask and uniform—dirty blond hair, narrowed eyes shining with blue ice, lips pressed tight. He stays leaning against the side of the aircraft, hands clutching the top of his vest; and you know, even without anyone answering, that this must be the commander.

“Commander, you have a visitor,” the man next to you announces, shaking your hand off his shoulder.

“I can see that,” his voice is vexed, displeased. His men flow by you, leaving only the two of you in the confined space. Face to face, you feel a mix of frustration and confusion while he walks toward you.

Hand tugging at the side of his vest as he nears you, he takes it off.

“You must be the officer, echo 3-6.”

“And you must be the jerk that disobeyed my order and killed my asset,” the words come out like a hiss, voice laced with venom.

With a whoa, his hands shoot up in a defensive gesture, eyebrows raised, “but you gave me good to go, officer,” the commander takes a tentative step towards you, “I can’t foresee the future.”

Standing before you, his gaze sparkles with a mischievous twinkle, only inflaming the boiling rage that churns within you.

“You should’ve double-checked before firing, commander,” you remark, a touch of poignancy in your voice.

Opening his mouth to answer, his radio abruptly interrupts, calling out his name. As he strides past you, he adds, “I’ll remember your sage advice for the next time, officer.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” he stops by the opening, hand gripping the loose rope on the side, “the name’s Phillip Graves, not the jerk.”

 02 ˚✧ ┊ The second time; he offers you a helping hand.

The tight bindings on your wrists sting, the beige material becoming stained with your blood as you squirm in the corner of the small, stuffy room. A moan escapes your lips while you try to find some reprieve from the uncomfortable position, only to be reminded of the dire situation you are in by the fresh wound on your leg opening up; more wet, sticky red substance turning the white camo pants into violet.

Foreign voices can be heard outside the room; malicious content behind the words. Ears perked for potential incoming, you attempt to stay alert; the soft light of the dark room and the throbbing pain in your leg makes it difficult to do so.

The sound of gunshots ricocheted through the building, reverberating off the walls; the voices behind the door go quiet for a split second. Air stills as tension fills the room. There’s a distant sound of a helicopter flying over your head. Someone starts throwing commands; three men to the rooftop, two to the north of the building and—

—the door is bashed open. Back pressed to the wall, your eyes follow a masked man, white camo matching yours. All you can see is his eyes; young, too young to be in this situation, the forest green projecting his worry; something isn’t going according to their plan.

Breath hitched, he strides toward you, handgun pointed right between your eyes. It feels like your heart is pounding so hard that it's going to burst right through your ribcage, his finger dancing dangerously close to the trigger.

“Who did you call,” he barks, accent thick, voice shaky, “tell me!”

“First you tell me who sold the weapons to your boss,” it’s a shot in the dark but there isn’t any other way now; you need to find out and this man—this boy might have the answer.

His hand isn’t steady, he’s hurried, impatient. Restive.

“I’m gonna die anyway, who does it matter if I die knowing or not,” you press further. Gunshots grow louder, closer. Multiple boots hit the hardwood. Ash and dust raise as men keep running around, shouting and shooting.

Eyes flickering between the soldier and the door, you keep pressing, urging him to answer. Both of you are aware of the fate awaiting you; just a matter of time and the right (and wrong) decision.

Through the smoggy air, a dark figure creeps into the room, the crimson beam slicing through the fumes with the precision of a sniper; a killer. Within a second, the no, stop makes it just to the tip of your tongue before a click is all that could be heard.

A warm, wet substance splatters over your cheeks. Clenching your eyes shut in revulsion, you let out a moan of displeasure. The soldier's body collapses to the floor with a heavy thud, his vacant eyes gazing up at you.

“Bleeding all by yourself, sweetheart,” the shadow nears you. Blue pools of larimar running over your sitting form before Graves crouches before you. His gloved fingers touch the tender skin around the open wound, examining the damage in the dim light.

“Seriously,” you hiss at him, “what’s with you and killing my intel? And don’t—”

A groan cuts you off as Graves presses a gauze against the oozing gash, applying more pressure than needed while wrapping a bandage around your thigh; the pain radiates through your body like a searing fire, teeth clenched and putting on a stone-cold face in front of the commander himself.

“—don’t call me sweetheart, Graves.”

“Well,” he finally looks up at you, tying the last knot of the bandage securely, “you didn’t tell me your name, and I gotta call y’ something.”

Standing up, his form looms over you, enveloping your figure in his shadow.

“Think you can walk?”

Your eyes burn into his as you raise your still-tied wrist, silently demanding him to free you.

A corner of his lips turns up, knife still tucked up in his vest as he says, “I think I prefer you tied up.”

“Not funny,” you remark but it gets him to bend down to your level again; the cold of the blade grazes over your irritated skin, gloved hand enclosing one of yours in his, steading your wrists. Few slices later, pain shoots up the whole length of your arms upon the freeing; soothing the wrists for a moment, Graves gets up and with a “Let’s go” walks toward the open door. It takes some willpower to stand up.

Once you steady yourself, just a simple step throws you off balance as you put your body weight onto the wounded leg. A hiss alerts Graves, who turns his head to look back at you. With an annoyed huff, he offers you a hand to help you get balanced again before throwing your arm around his shoulders.

His grip around your ribcage is firm but somewhat tender, fingers splayed over your side like a protective shield while he guides you to the door; the other hand grasping his weapon as he walks you out of the building.

03 ˚✧ ┊ The third time, he takes away your breath; quite literally.

Months of rehabilitation and a psychological evaluation later, you find yourself at a military compound. Shadow Company’s provisional base, covered in snow, in the middle of nowhere as the European winter fell upon all of you.

Simple intel mission, that’s your job; what makes it harder is the utter finesse skill of avoiding the commander by all means—so far successfully.

Since the last time you saw him, back when he killed your intel (again), managed to burn down a whole building just to get you out and almost pushed you out of a Shadow company’s helicopter while taking off (which you firmly believe was on purpose), you haven’t stopped hearing about him, especially from general Shepherd. It’s evident that he’s taken a liking to the company, to your dismay.

The hard mat underneath your bare feet squeaks with each slip, hard thuds and thumps spread through the room with each blow. The heat of the room is stifling, sweat dripping down your back, hands wrapped in tape to protect the knuckles.

Focusing on your breathing and the moves, letting the rhythm of your body drive you through the kata, every movement precise and each strike purposeful, you can feel the energy of the room around you and the strength of your own presence growing within.

With each repetition, you take down the imaginative opponent with more ease. A dull ache pulsating in your leg, the gush already healed but your subconsciousness still bringing it up.

Eyes close, focusing on each move, feeling every muscle in your body flex and contract, the silence is cut short by someone clearing their throat. With only the ceiling light above you being lit up, the intruder steps into the light only for you to huff in annoyance.

The man you’ve been successfully avoiding for days has finally found you.

His blonde hair is ruffled as if someone was running their fingers through it, cheeks tinted with a pinkish hue, Graves stops at the edge of the mat with raised eyebrows, lips tightly shut. Jacket open, the combat shirt outlines his dog tags, exposing the taut body hidden underneath; arms resting in his pockets, he takes a look around before his eyes land on you again.

“Most people spar during the day,” he notes, “and with a partner.”

Nearing where Graves stands, you glowered, “I don’t need a partner. I’m done anyway.”

Graves takes his hands out of the pockets, arm extended in front of your body like a tollgate, firm and unyielding. Looking at him, his eyes stern but form relaxed. It’s admittable that even at this moment, him being less than a foot away, he radiates an air of authority, his commander showing.

“I can show you a move,” he says, losing his arm back to his side, “one that’ll take your breath away,” he specifies.

A huff leaves your lips, “That’s childish.”

He sighs, hand running across his cheek as his eyes stay focused on you, “I’m serious. It might come in handy in combat for you.”

It takes a silent moment for you to think; to weigh whether to give in or not. Graves doesn’t show any signs of making fun of the situation as your eyes scan his face, eyes heavy-lidded, tired; but still, he offers to give you a piece of his knowledge—and even if your dislike to the commander outgrows your sense of authority, he still possesses more field experience than you and who are you not to take advantage of his offering.

When you accept the proposal, he nods in return; jacket and shoes off, the mat narrows as the man walks to stand in the middle of it, motioning you to stand before him. Face to face, he directs your body into the appropriate position.

“Pretend to kick me in my side,” he pats his ribcage, feet apart and ready to defend. The moment your leg is in the air, his hand grips the back of your thigh, just behind your knee, the other gripping your shoulder to firmly stop you in motion.

“When you push against here,” he squeezes the leg twice, “you squat down a little,” his body follows his words, “and the other hand goes for either the knee,” the hand on your shoulder leaves the moment he’s sure you can still stand and listen before gripping your other leg, still on the mat, “or the ankle, depending on the size of your opponent,” his cold fingers wrap around the exposed flesh of your ankle, “and you go back into the standing position, pulling your opponent’s body up and forward.”

This time, he doesn’t follow his words; instead lets go of your body, stepping back.

“Sometimes it’s better to not only pull but slam into the opponent as well, disrupt their center of gravity,” he adds, “it’ll send you both down but you’ll still have the upper hand.”

A mental image of his words replays in your head. Nodding along his words, you reposition yourself and motion for him to come closer, “I need to see it in full force.”

Looking at your leg, where the healed wound left its scar, Graves makes sure to understand your demand, “You want me to take you down?”

“I want you to throw me against the mat, yes,” you reassure him, “my leg’s all healed up or I wouldn’t be here, commander.”

Even with doubt painted on his unshaven face, he steps closer to position himself as well.

“I’ll probably hurt you if I do it.”

“Like you haven’t dreamt about that before,” you snark.

“My dreams tend to differ.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, resulting in a leg high up, aiming straight at Graves’ ribcage, the same place he patted before. It’d be an admirable attack if all this wasn’t prepared beforehand.

The commander does exactly as he described earlier; all you manage to do is yelp as his fingers sneak around your ankle. Strong pull forward, up, and back. The next thing you know, the heavy mat feels like an unforgiving surface beneath her.

Using enough force, the air pushes out of your lungs completely, throat closing when you try to take a breath as if a lump blocking the airways. Muscles tight, you sit up. Graves stands over you, starry eyes following your movement as you finally inhale, short and shallow but the air fills your lungs delightfully.

“Told you I’ll take your breath away.”

04 ˚✧ ┊ The fourth time; he saves your life.

The embassy is in flames; searing hot, ever exploding, and growing with every passing second. The sound of gunfire and shrieks of terror echo through the halls, smoke billowing out of the windows. Passing multiple bodies, your group moves in unison. Scouting each hall, each room and every single corner for the target—nowhere to be found.

Passing a windowed hall, glass shattered all over the marble floor, your eyes take in the outside scene, the utter chaos; crowds of people, shouting, crying, fighting. Praying. Their families might still be in this hellish building and as much as you wish to help, the diplomat remains the priority number one. You notice the familiar hooded figures of Shadows exiting multiple cars and heading towards another entrance, clearing other sections of the embassy as you work.

Reaching the end of the hall, all of your team stops next to the stairs as one of the soldiers clears the remaining room, returning to you with empty hands; nothing.

“Echo 3-6 to Watcher-1,” you turn on the mic when the last room is cleared, “target’s position unknown, moving the fifth floor. Over.”

“Negative,” the mechanic voice cuts through the static, “regroup with Shadow-1 and move back to the rendezvous. Over.”

The men around you remain still, their eyes fixed on you as you stand there resolutely, gaze trained on the top of the stairs; the flickering flames of the fire dancing like a sinister symphony. A heavy sense of dread clings to you, the crackling of the fire cutting through the momentary silence before you speak again, “What if the target is there?”

“Negative,” another refusal, “fifth floor’s completely taken over by the fire. Regroup and fall back. Over.”

“Roger that, over and out,” you nod to the group. Turning around, a step behind everyone, a sound pulls you back; silence follows before a distant Help! reaches your ears. It’s weak, merely audible but still enough confirmation that someone is still there.

Eyes on the group, none of them seem to notice you falling behind. Fingers tightening around the handle of your gun, a mere second passes before your body turns around on its own accord; one leg follows the other, and stairs pass by as heat envelopes you in its scourging warmth.

Flames kiss up your skin as you move through the remains of a hall, fire closing you in; stupid, stupid idea and stupid me. The heat is unbearable, each crackle sends shivers down your spine. Dread settles in your bones over the realization that this might be the way you go.

Another Help! throws your thought away. Stopping by the closed door, you bang your hand on them, eliciting a shout from the other side; no matter who’s there, you already know you’re gonna get that person out. Going through all this inferno, it’s the least you can do.

Bashing the door open with the butt of your gun, a figure rams straight into you, slamming your back against the burning wall for a second.

“Oh my god, thank you,” a man bellows straight into your face; the target. Before you notice what’s happening, he reaches towards you and snatches your mask from your face, holding it to his face to inhale.

“Wait,” you try to stop him but it’s too late, smoke and ash fill your lungs upon the unexpected moment. The radio on your neck crackles but nothing comes through. Frantically gasping for air, you focus on the mission; bring the target to the rendezvous, that’s your only way out of here—preferably still alive.

The air is thick with the smell of acrid smoke. Gasping frenziedly, hand wrapping around the target’s thick arm, you drag the diplomat towards the staircase. Heart racing, head becoming dizzy, it doesn’t help that the man slips through your weakening hold, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck,” you curse; breathing shallowly, nausea and headache start to creep on you as you try to move the mass of a man on your own. Everything spins, the flames licking and nipping at your skin like fiery fingers, the heat of it all pressing down on you.

The smoke clogs your lungs, air deathly still; your consciousness gives up on you, darkness succumbing you to the all-consuming fire. Eyes watering, swallowing feels like drinking molten lava, the roaring flames devour all in their wake.

A sharp slap jolts your eyes open. A masked man hovers above you, the larimar blue shining through the mask; Graves.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he hisses, tapping at your cheek harshly, “not dying on me today.” The blonde turns his head around. That’s when you notice other Shadows hovering around, two of them carrying the hopefully unconscious (and not dead) body of the target while Graves stays by your side; hand on your shoulder blade, he helps you sit up.

“Don’t kill this one or I’ll shoot you,” a guttural cough creeps up your throat as his gaze bores into you. Wrapping a piece of clothing around your lower face, a makeshift mask, his arm sneaks around your waist, effortlessly lifting you up to the point your feet don’t even touch the ground.

“What, he’s intel?” he remarks; one hand guiding your arm over his shoulders, his fingers securely wrapping over your wrist to keep your weight onto him while the other arm stays around your waist—basically carrying all your weight on his side, he adds, “if yes, might shoot him them.”

05 ˚✧ ┊ The fifth time; he kisses you.

Everything is going smoothly, too suently to your comfort, causing a shivering sense of unease creeps up slowly on your spine. The pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol fills your nostrils, chatter surrounding your lonely form in a dull hum as you sip at the drink in your hand.

A group of men and women sit across the confined space, closer to the exit door than you, talking in hushed voices; the deal going according to the plan, except they don’t know about the closeness of sneaky ears encompassing this place.

Observing the ongoing deal, another man joins the group, whispering to one of the men; your eyes firmly on them, fingertips dancing on top of the full glass, you watch as—

—”Echo, your cover’s blown,” a static voice of a Shadow comes through the second two more men enter your peripheral vision, eyes scanning the area; for you.

“Roger that,” you whisper, earpiece barely picking up. Taking one last sip of the drink, feeling the cold liquid cool your burning throat, the chair squeaks as your feet touch the ground.

Before the men manage to look in the direction of the noise disruption, you slide into the shadows of the nearest hall; too bad the only exit was behind them. Now it’s time to come up with plan b. Swiftly moving along the building, you look out from the window, too high. No stairs. No escape route. No fight; instruction clear—don’t get caught, don’t cause a scene.

Heavy footsteps echo from behind you, enclosing you like a wild animal being cornered; slight panic starts settling in your abdomen. You’re a professional, pull it together. Pull. It. Together. Deep breath in, shallow breath out. Looking to your right, then to your left; first doors locked, second as well.

Footsteps growing heavier, closer, faster; deep breath in, sha—

—hand over your mouth.

A firm figure pulls you backward, calloused fingers wrapping over your mouth, digging into your cheek as he drags you into the third door. The smell of suede, the taste of leather, hot breath fanning over your earlobe as a quiet Shhh echoes in your ear; Graves.

The commander guides you into the guest closet; turning you around, you’re faced with the same wide, larimar oceans of eyes, finger over his tightly shut lips as his hand remains over your mouth. With a reassuring nod from your side, he drops it, looking at the open door, the sound of incoming footsteps filling the confusion and tension surging through your body.

“What’re you doing here?”

What are you doing on this mission? In this city?

“Graves,” you hiss, finger digging in the middle of his chest, feeling the metal of his dog tags beneath the fabric of the blue shirt that only enhances the color of his eyes.

“Check the second room, I’ll check the third,” a man’s voice orders. The third—the third, the third where you are currently stationed, hidden.

Graves’ jaw twitches, eyes fixated on the door; a shadow is cast over the light from the hallway. It feels as if time has stopped, and your breath hitches as the anticipation of being discovered takes hold of you. Heart pounding, breath bated—

Lips on yours; rough, wet. Needy. Hands enclosing your face, covering every inch of your head, fingertips diving into your hair. Graves’ body presses against yours, hips flushed together, a leg between yours. A whimper escapes your bruised lips as his tongue swipes along the lower one before biting, tugging at it, drawing a desperate, humiliating moan out of you.

A hum reverberates in his throat, tongue pushing inside you. It’s wet, sticky; messy. His tongue explores the depths of your mouth. He’s aggressive and impatient. Hunger seers through your touch-starved body, jolts of electricity awakening your desire. Bringing your leg up and around his hip, you push him into you, hips grinding into yours.

Groans, grunts, moans; a mess of two people, air filled with desperation.

Your brain goes completely blank, kiss drunk and empty. The heat of his flesh is searing through the material of his shirt; squeezing his bicep, you feel the muscle flex as he angles your head for better access.

He’s the first one to pull away, your lips following his for a split second before the realization hits you; breathless, confused, and way too eager, you shake your head. Eyes staring at his flushed face, the darkness of his pupils overtaking the blue oceans of his eyes like a stormy night, you can feel the raw tension between the two of you. Not good, not good at all.

Graves’ hands slide from your cheeks at the same time you put your hands on his chest, the tight muscle contracting, heart racing; and you push, leg falling from his hip.

“Why did you kiss me?” you hiss at him. The pink hue that decorates his nose and cheeks only adds to the allure of his pale skin; and if it was anyone but Graves, you'd be finding it hard not to reach out and brush your fingers gently against his flushed cheeks. You’d even say it looked slightly adorable (and immensely attractive).

“Why did you kiss me back?” he bites back gruffly. He takes a step back, his gaze shifting towards the door as if he's trying to make a run for it.

“Why did you use tongue?” Not letting him win this, you continue to press into him. He stands at your arm's length, fingers wrapping around your wrist that still rests against his chest, fiercely putting it away before he shoots you a smug look.

“Why did you moan?”

“Stop it,” pushing him one last time, Graves takes a step to the side, letting you go and head toward the door; the hallway clear.

01 ˚➶ ┊The time he surprises you; and it hurts.

The car ride is silent, a sense of relief settling inside you while you return to the Los Vaqueros’ base. That’s before your phone starts ringing, and Shepherd’s code name appears on the screen. From the peripheral view, you notice Graves shifting, the two shadows at the front seats sitting quietly.

The call is rather informational, Shepherd impatiently collects your report before you even arrive at the base to follow the proper procedure.

“What about the third missile, did you manage to locate it,” he asks, voice calm but concerned. Graves’ eyes meet yours, conveying a strange mix of fear and guilt.

With an exhale, you say, “no, sir, but I’m getting close to identifying the source.”

“Say again,” Shepherd’s voice turns stern.

“I have a meeting with an asset of mine, after that—”

“I did not give you the order to search for the source, officer,” he cuts you off, “give me Graves.”

The man next to you watches with confusion as you hand him your phone without much question. Eventually taking it, he talks with Shepherd for a brief moment; eyes flickering to you, you notice his rigid posture and hand lowering to the zip ties in his vest.

Something is off.

Hanging up the phone, Graves’ attention is now fully on you, freeing the zip ties from their restraints.

“I’ll need you to extend your arms, officer,” he commands formally. As the realization hits you, a chill of dread creeps up your spine. Everything after that happens in less than a minute; from reaching for the radio to inform Ghost and the others (who are currently obliviously riding the car behind you) to inform them of the situation to Graves’ fingers wrapping around your wrists, tugging forward. With your face a few inches from his, you kick up your leg, fighting not only the commander but the confined space of the back of the car.

The element of surprise and strength isn’t on your side as Graves takes out his handgun, one hand gripping both of your wrists.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” the bitter words grate through his clenched teeth.; taking his handgun out, the handle lands harshly against your temple, sending a dull pain throughout your body as he knocks you unconscious.

A loud thud jolts you awake, shaking you from the depths of darkness. Eyes heavy, your head spinning and a throbbing ache radiating from the side of your face; a low groan escapes your chapped lips.

Heaving a groan, you muster all of your strength and spin to the side, outstretched arms seeking the door handle. With a click, the door opens. Pushing forward, the rain pelts your skin, eyes squinting to protect themselves from the onslaught.

As you stumble out, the hard thud of your body hitting the wet asphalt sends jolts of pain through you. The echoes of voices seem to linger in the air, blending with the night as it pours down. A dark figure slumps against the car - a shadow. Reaching for his pulse, you can feel the sickly warmth of the blood that’s already soaked through his mask.

That’s when you notice the man looming before you. Back facing your crawling form, hunched, gun ready to fire as he walks to the side of the car; Graves keeps talking, his voice taunting Ghost (who's nowhere to be seen).

You know what you have to do. Heart pounding, you slowly raise your hand to the shadow's thigh, groping for the handgun in the holster.

It takes you a moment to stable your stance and focus your gaze to aim at the back of Graves’ head, pouring rain blurring your vision but this moment, this second is all it takes for a nearby shadow to notice the imminent danger of his commander, to aim his weapon and pull the trigger.

Like a powerful force, a sharp impact sends you crashing to the ground with a pained groan erupting from your throat. The handgun clatters to the asphalt with a hollow click, Graves turns around sharply; eyes wide, finger on the trigger.

Lowering the gun, he walks over to your groaning figure. Calloused fingertips brush back the wet locks of hair from your face, he crouches down; the butt of his weapon resting over the oozing wound on your chest, face solemn, eyes dull and lethargic.

“Now that was a big fuckin’ mistake, sweetheart.”

BONUS ˚✧ ┊

The heat of Adal’s sun burns into your clothing, seeping through the thin layer of fabric and biting into the skin of your arms. Throat dry, licking your lips, you walk in Ghost’s footprints, the city of Al Mazrah behind you.

Snatching a bottle from Ghost’s backpack, the feeling of cool water running down your parched throat brings a wave of relief.

Reaching the cliff, Ghost stands a step before you, looking through his scope; handing it to you the moment he pinpoints the target’s position.

As you search the area with his instructions, your eyes fall upon the familiar face. Commander Ghorbrani stands surrounded by both Quds Forces and Russians, the ongoing deal going according to plan it seems.

Five words; that’s all it takes for you to get involved in taking the lives of dozens of men - “Visual on General Ghorbani confirmed.”

With Laswell’s last confirmation and Shepherd’s orders, you hand Ghost his weapon back. Securing the sunglasses on your face, you listen to the communication; crouched down, barely reaching Ghost’s mid-thigs as the lieutenant hovers above you, providing the much-desired shadow.

“Echo 3-6, Ghost, you are danger close to the zone,” Graves’ voice whispers into the earpiece, “this arrow’s gonna pack a punch.”

Veins thrumming with adrenaline, looking up at Ghost, an affirmative nod is sufficient enough for him to respond, “Copy. Approved.”

“Send it,” you state into the mic around your neck mic before holding onto the top of the body armor Ghost basically bullied you into wearing.

“All stations, Shadow-1. Missile is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch,” Graves continues talking as you hold the mic frequency open for possible communication.

Ghost straightens his back the moment Graves announced that the missile is loose, both of you mentally bracing for the impact as the Shadow commander continues informing about the missile’s actual coordinates.

The blinding light fills your vision as the missile strucks its target, the deafening roar of the impact overpowered by an immense shock wave; grains of sand stung your exposed cheeks like tiny droplets of glass; the sensation of the sharp needles nicking at your flesh rather awakening.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Ghost’ voice cuts through the sound of destruction. Both of you watch as pieces of metal and flesh fly in the air; a dance of death. A pungent, sweetish smell fills your nostrils as you get up to stand next to him again.

“Direct,” you confirm, “target destroyed.” As you watch the last remains falling to the ground, you add, “one would say it’s raining men.”

“Fuck sake, Echo, keep it professional,” Graves’ voice echo in your earpiece, a hint of amusement present in his tone. Ghost shoots you a look of disapproval.

Shrugging, arm extended to what was a meeting ground just seconds ago, you state, “What? It’s true.”

[presleygarden]

“I want you to put yourself in my shoes, and think about it. How could I ever know if a woman is in love with me…or Elvis Presley? Think about it. How could I ever really know for sure?”

Elvis had played the Pygmalion role with Priscilla and others.

He was older now, twice Ginger’s age; he fit the role better than ever.

As with most of us, his relationships followed a pattern, a series of stages.

With this final relationship, he was moving through the stages at an accelerated pace. Everything in Elvis’ life seemed to exist in a different dimension of time in 1977.

It wasn’t long before the first glow of infatuation began to fade with Elvis’ doubts and fears rising to the surface.

He tried to bridge the gaps between them by bringing her into his spiritual world, reading to her from one of his favorite books, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. He loved The Prophet so much that he had memorized whole sections of it. “When love beckons to you follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings unfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him”

Ginger loved to hear Elvis read from Gibran’s writings, but he knew in his heart that her interest would never go as deep as his.

They were worlds apart in so many ways and the routine on the road was not easy for a young girl. Toward the end, as their relationship dwindled, he became reconciled to the potential for yet another loss.

He quoted emotionally from the “Love” chapter of The Prophet, “For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.” He continued, “I needed to love somebody so desperately that I read something into the relationship that just wasn’t there.” He never blamed Ginger.”

•excerpt from leaves of elvis’ garden by larry geller