#damn is the quarry fandom dead

[summerthatartist]

I HAVE ART IDEAS BREWING UP (I haven't started on them send help)

One of them is Poppy Playtime, another is Jacksepticeye, and the last one is The Quarry!!! :D

Also, I'm going to create my own tags so that you guys can find my posts/art easily, since I know I repost a lot.

[momotonescreaming]

ITF Nonny here: It was so lovely to stumble over that universe again. (Still a little bit baffled that tumblr is not more heads over heels for the series let alone the two dead boys in love.) And your urge for a rewatch is contagious! Pretty sure I'll fire up my blu-ray disc these days. And we'll looking at your tags... pray tell: How may someone enable you? :3

In The Flesh is right up Tumblr's alley! I remember it being all over my dash in like... 2013, 2014, but over time it seems like it's sort of faded away. Which is a damn shame, honestly. Who doesn't love a touching, meaningful story about queer zombies?

And regarding encouraging me - honestly just someone else being interested in it is helping! Writing something, being so excited to share, only to get no response is kind of a killer. Fandom is about community! Everyone says write for yourself, and I am, but there's nothing wrong with wanting others to read what you wrote.

I can't promise anything soon I'm afraid, this is all just vibes at this point, but I am thinking 👀. It's not a one to one translation so I'm just sorting through my ideas.

Like Will genuinely is found drowned in the quarry, only to rise and draw pictures of death, and of drowning, and ripping people apart; and El being one of the PDS who were experimented on in the treatment centre.

Steve comes back only find everyone has moved on without him. Tommy and Carol won't look at him, won't acknowledge him. His parents have packed up his room and started to pretend he didn't exist. He's never felt so alone. The only solace is a girl he met in the treatment centre, a girl his age named Robin.

Compared to Eddie, who gets picked up by his uncle and has never felt more loved. He's back and he's here and Wayne loves him. Holds him tight, changes his shifts so they can spend more time together.

I can sort of see the plotline with Rick and his dad - the not being able to accept that this person is dead, and back, and not what you thought they were - happening with Chrissy and her parents and Jason. That's not his Chrissy. She would never.

Nancy was absolutely party of the militia that hunted down the zombies. Picked up a gun and defended her family. She's killed, only now it's all over and she doesn't know how to be a normal person anymore.

So yeah! Hope this something you'd be interested in reading lol

[this-is-mine-and-mine-alone]

ABOUT ME

Call me Ky (rhymes with eye)

I'm 22 & a libra

I'm a WOC

I'm sadly a working girly

I'm not straight (I don't have a gender preference)

I use she/her pronouns

I'm pretty introverted & shy

I suffer from depression & anxiety

I've had a tumblr since middle school

This is my 1st time being interactive with others on this app so please be sweet

I literally made this as like a low-key rant diary/Void to scream my interests & thoughts because life,years of trauma,& damn near crippling anxiety has fucked up my social skills & I just need an outlet. I don't expect I guess anyone to respond to this. I just don't want to continue being alone with my feelings & I think this could be a place to start. If anyone does respond to this you're welcome to comment (within reason & with kindness I beg of you),but be warned I'm super shy/anxious & will shy away from responding to messages (think of me as a scared stray & don't shake your pet food can at me too intently). I just want to get all my jitters/hyperfixations/Madness/general feelings & ickiness out. Also just an FYI dni if you're a minor/uncomfortable or triggered of talks of abuse & mental illness/a bigot of any kind/sex stuff (I'm not gonna go on about my nonexistent intimate life don't worry. I don't even really talk about sex like that I just have an interest in femdom stuff from time to time (me being the dom) & I think the psychology of it is interesting as well as the dynamic).

Ok now for the fun stuff

My interests (off the top of my head) include:

Movies

*horror/action/sci-fi/thriller/animated movies from my childhood & "some" of the new stuff

I like most MCU & DCEU movies (I owned a tumblr in the mid to late 2010s I'm practically a veteran. But I will say I have more nostalgia for the older mcu movies,but I kind of fell off in the past few years of fond remembrance outside of fandom for it as a whole. I actually really enjoy most of the new stuff (all of the shows except fatws/some of the 1st season of loki)

My favs include

Studio ghibli (I didn't watch a single movie till the age of 19) specifically Howl's moving castle/Spirited away/princess mononoke/kiki's delivery service/arriety/the cat returns. These movies fill with legit smiles & warmth

All the john wick movies (mf Keanu Reeves)

All of the evil dead movies

The lost boys

Scream 1/2/4/6

The old bratz/Monster high/barbie movies (barbie specifically from the vhs-to before the 2010s)

Jennifer's body

Bride of chucky/seed of chucky/Cult of chucky

The 1st 2 bill & Ted movies

The Matrix/the matrix reloaded

Mad max fury road

Constantine

Sucker punch

Isle of the dogs

Train to busan

Promare

All of the mha movies

Teenage mutant ninja turtles mutant mayhem

CATWS

Thor the dark world

Black panther

The amazing Spiderman

Into the spider-verse

Across the spider-verse

Black panther wakanda forever

Saw 1/2/3/x

Ginger snaps

Kill bill 1/2

Battle royale

Death proof

Moulin rouge

Chicago

The hunger games

Bullet train

Midnight

Ballerina

Obviously old childhood movies from Disney/pixar/DreamWorks & just really almost any kids movie that came out when I was young

Music

*literally anything but country (no offense to people who like country music. Off the top of my head I listen to rock/pop/metal/kpop & jpop occasionally/hyperpop/50s,60s,70s,80s,90,& early 2000s music/rap/hip hop/some anime music/some game soundtracks (especially Bayonetta/dmc)

Video Games

*I usually stick to horror/action with the occasional comfy games

Games that I have played (played/finished & or played/haven't finished) include:

Dmc 1/2/3/5

Bayonetta 1/2/3

BOTW

TOTK

Horizon forbidden west

Horizon zero dawn

The last of us & dlc

The last of us part 2

Ghost of tsushima

The quarry

Resident evil 4/5/6/7 & the Resident evil 3 remake

Animal crossing new horizons

Stardew valley

Sunset overdrive

Sims

Astral chain

Unpacking

Cult of the lamb

Spiritfarer

Uncharted

Spiderman (I haven't played the new one yet yes I know it's amazing & yes I will be playing it once I get a ps5)

The tomb raider reboot trilogy

The arkhamverse batman games

Old ds games from my childhood (my littlest pet shop/mario/hello kitty big city dreams/some of the Mario & Sonic Olympic games/cooking mama/monster high/a few bratz games)

A decent amount of mortal kombat/tekken/street fighter & 1 doa game when I was a kid

There's definitely more I just can't think off anything else

I'm not really a first person shooter game person & really don't like 1st person pov in games. I don't know why I just don't care for the perspective.

TV

*The walking dead (I fell off on season 7 I think)

TVD

Old law & order svu/criminal minds reruns

You

Bob's burgers

Invader zim

Blue eyed samurai

Live action one piece

Owl house

Amphibia

The imperfects

Voltron legendary defenders (I was very late to the party but I remember chaos)

She-ra princesses of power

ATLA

The legend of korra

Adventure time

Gumball

Arcane

Santa Clarita's diet

The boys

Gen v

Castlevania

Castlevania nocturne

The legend of vox machina

Supernatural (preferably season 1-9)

The umbrella academy

Lovecraft country

Moon knight

She-hulk

Alice in borderland

Sweet home

All if us are dead

Squid game

Ms. Marvel

Wandavision

Hawkeye

Peacemaker

Infinity train

Burn notice

6teen

Abbott elementary

Modern family

Pose

Freakazoid

The Simpsons

Old nick/cartoon network/Disney cartoons

[Can I say teen wolf even though I only watched 1 episode but I know the lore from fan-fiction/tumblr/clips from YouTube from my preteen years]

I obviously watch more things but like I said off the top of my head

Anime (yes this is a separate section from movies/shows)

*Black butler

Naruto/Bleach/haikyuu/sailor moon/one piece/Inuyasha (I'm on the 1st seasons & won't finish anytime soon but I do enjoy them

Assassination classroom

Tokyo ghoul

Demon slayer

The apothecary diaries

Kamisama kiss

Noragami

My hero academia

Soul eater

Fire force

Angelbeats

Dorohedoro

Spy x family

Attack on titan (I remember when the 1st season came out & watching it in the 7th grade I believe & got bored waiting for the next season. I did like it though & it was my first anime I watched & will probably catch up at some point)

Jujutsu kaisen

The ancient magus bride

Yona of the dawn

Maid sama

Durarara!!

Durarara!!x2

Angels of death

Death note

Trigun

Trigun stampede

Devil may cry

Tokyo ghoul re

Tokyo revengers

The God of high school

Helsing

Akudama drive

Helsing ultimate

Seraph of the end

Toilet bound hanako-kun

Nanbaka

Gangsta

The boondocks

Life lessons with uramichi oniisan

That time I got reincarnated as a slime

Fruits basket

Chainsaw man

Bed & breakfast for spirits

Kill la kill

Black lagoon

The promised neverland

Madoka magica (1st anime I watched by myself not what I expected by a long shot,but still enjoyed)

Little witch academia

Kakegurui

Kakegurui twin

Ouran high school host club

Komi can't communicate

Bungou stray dogs

BOOK

* maze runner

Hunger games

Anything by edgar allan poe

Hooky

I just recently got back into reading recently & I have a fuckton of books to start reading.

I flit from fandom to fandom,even returning to old ones. Anything that catches my interest & becomes my new hyperfixation. I usually juggle between a few at a time. Usually games/movies/anime. Also obviously I read fanfic on tumblr (duh).

Final notes: I like history/mythology/polytheism/writing/media/cooking/baking/winter/nature/animals & I'm a dog mom. His name is anubis & he's a dalmatian.

That's about all I can think of as of now

PS for the love of fuck dni MINORS/RACISTS/ANTI-LGBTQ+/INCELS/MISOGYNISTS/RADFEMS & JUST ANYONE WHO'S HATEFUL/IGNORANT.

I have to deal with enough nonsense,bullshit,& all around dumb shit irl keep it off my blog & away from me please & thank you.

Goodbye I love you *smooches* ♡

[videodrme]

travis/laura is a great ship

sure, he may have held her hostage for 2 months

and she can shoot him while he’s unarmed and maybe even kill multiple of his family members

and it’s possible for them to kill each other

and he can take her hostage a second time

and she can shoot him dead for no good reason at all or get both of them killed because she refuses to listen to him

and he can viciously stab her in an act of revenge

yep. a great ship indeed

[concussed-to-pieces]

Late For Life Day

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: The Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Merry holidays, happy Life Day! I hope you like this little gift. Enjoy! (I'm tagging all the folks that I tagged for Stay Safe, if I missed you I apologize!)

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @spoopyredacted @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @sporadic-fics @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @literal-fand0m-trash @hoodedbirdie @fioccodineveautunnale @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nelleedraws @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @pascaliprincess @kylolover96 @7to3sorcerer @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell @theorderoffallenstars @fan-g0rl

Life Day, huh?

Din grumbled, bringing his fist down on the panel in front of him. The cycle display jittered uneasily, but the date remained the same. The Mandalorian groaned, settling back into his pilot chair. A comlink sat in pieces on the control panel, still smoking from his clumsy attempts at resoldering it. He had never been particularly good at this. Hell, getting his breastplate to reattach to the gription harness had always been a trial, and this was far more intricate work.

"Don't know why I care so much now," he huffed at the ceiling. "A few cycles ago I wouldn't have thought twice about working through this." He then raised his voice, as if to address the frozen quarry in the hold. "It's your damn fault for running, bail jumper!"

As much as he hated to admit it, things were looking like he would miss the celebration. You would be worried. Worried and disappointed.

Trying to avoid that thought, Din held one of the small trinkets he had acquired up to the dim light from the viewport, turning it this way and that. Some of the Nevarran obsidian was chipped at the edges, but the majority of the surface was still a smooth, glossy black. They were simple ornaments, just silly little shapes that some artist had coaxed from the salvaged dark glass. Things for a Life Day altar or tree, like many family units across the galaxy had.

The celebration of Life Day had started on Kashyyyk, but in recent years it seemed to have slowly spread to other cultures while the chokehold of the Empire had loosened. He supposed they had the Republic to thank for the ability to freely partake in traditions, old and new alike.

This is The Way.

His throat tightened. Din carefully wrapped the baubles up once more, reorganizing them in his battered satchel.

Better late than dead, right?

Hopefully you would think the same.

…

"This is the worst." You muttered grimly, poking at the now beyond-dry remains of the ormachek you had attempted to stew for the evening meal.

The child looked up at you in confusion, their ears twitching as they continued to nibble on some of the pickled mudjumper that Omera had sent for Life Day. The kind woman from Sorgan made certain the child was well-fed, if nothing else, and it was nice to get periodic updates regarding the spotcha-brewing settlement.

"Sorry kiddo, I'm just not up to par with your dad’s cooking yet. How about some gelfruit bars? I was saving them for later, but…" you trailed off, swallowing hard. "I...I mean we can break them out now, why not? Special occasion. Your first Life Day with--er, with me."

Mando's absence was like a silent shadow in the room that no amount of forced holiday cheer could keep at bay. You just hoped that the child didn't pick up on your worry. Din was two days late now. You hadn't been able to raise him on his comlink and the festivities had begun winding down yesterday. You had barely seen anyone in the streets today, the local population clearly tucking in early after their rowdy or solemn celebrations. Food vendors were still operating, of course, but with the prices heightened for the added demand, the best 'treats' you had been able to get ahold of were that cut of ormachek and a handful of gelfruit bars.

Now, unfortunately, the night was shaping up to be strictly gelfruit and the cookies you had made with the child. You had hoped to save the sweet treats to enjoy when Din arrived, but it seemed he might not be coming.

Not tonight, anyway.

You bit down into a tasteless chunk, then chewed for a good five minutes while the child watched in mute fascination. Finally admitting defeat, you swallowed the jerky-like substance with the aid of the spiced beverage you had made for the meal. "Alright!" You exclaimed brightly once you'd finished shuddering, "We've got the cookies we baked earlier, and the gelfruit bars. Which ones should we eat first?"

The child immediately reached for the cookies that they had helped with and you couldn't help a smile, handing one over. They were simple and sweet, little cutouts of stars or trees just like they would have been on Kashyyyk.

Later on, the two of you would snuggle up together on the lone cushion and enjoy some more of the warm beverage you had prepared, the familiar spices stirring fond memories in you. After that, there was the yearly rerun of the very first 'galactic wide' Life Day broadcast, when the then-princess Leia had performed for the Wookies during their celebration. You were mainly just pleased you were even able to catch the (admittedly grainy) feed, since your old holocaster had a few quirks that made operation interesting.

...

Din hesitated in the doorway of the tiny, pod-like abode. His cape and cowl were heavy with wet snow after his trek from the hangar, and he knew you would have very little patience for him after he had returned so late. The Mandalorian diligently began removing his soaked garments as best as he could, his cold-numbed fingers making the task a bit more tedious than it needed to be.

A crackling broadcast echoed tinnily from the common area, bringing the sound of a vaguely-familiar melody.

"We celebrate a day of peace, a day of harmony…a day of joy we can all share, together joyously…"

Djarin paused, setting his satchel full of trinkets carefully aside before he moved to unstrap his greaves. Karga had made certain to include a few more delights for the child, the grizzled man pointedly bringing up the fact that Din was working instead of spending the holiday with his family.

His family. A clan, yes, a clan, but a family. Din's stomach pitched nervously even now as he thought of Greef saying that. His family.

He ought to have gotten past this already. After everything else, everything else, this was nothing.

And yet...and yet it was everything. The most important things in his world were waiting for him in the room down the hall, but Din couldn't bring himself to face either you or the kid just yet. He needed to take a minute, needed to rationalize this.

His job was difficult. Demanding. There was no guarantee of his presence on holidays, on any day really. The danger alone would make any sane person balk, but you never had. It was always a drowsy, "stay safe" as he left the bunk at whatever too-early hour during the cycle, your fingers tracing the sign like a protective ward on his breastplate.

His family. The thing to come back to, the warmth and comfort that he had slowly, tentatively grown to trust. Stay safe.

“...a day that brings the promise, that one day, we'll be free…to live, to laugh, to dream…to grow, to trust, to love...to be.”

The song appeared to be drawing to a close, and Din felt like his contemplation was also coming to an end. He could slouch in the tiny, cramped entryway until the next Life Day, but it wouldn't do him any good. There were still a few minutes left before the holiday was technically over, and both you and the kid deserved an apology.

He would have to be blunt, he reasoned with himself, about the possibility that he might not be around for certain dates or times. He shouldn't have promised that he would be present in the first place. It had been a rare moment of weakness, a snap decision fueled by childish excitement as he thought of spending Life Day with his clan. He couldn't be so flippant about giving his word in the future, it wasn't fair to get the kid's hopes up.

Speaking of the kid…

A very familiar set of ears pricked up when Din peered around the doorframe, the child making a curious noise from the shelter of their blanket fort. You were sound asleep, and the holiday broadcast was continuing to rattle on in the background.

Din crept forward stealthily, scooping the kid up and rocking him back and forth in silence. The little one clung to him, then yawned wide as if to admit defeat. "C'mon kid, it's bedtime." Djarin murmured, smiling beneath his helmet.

The lack of struggle only drove home the point that the child was clearly exhausted. Add that to the fact that you hadn't so much as shifted your weight when Din arrived, and he was starting to think that both the kid and you had been waiting up for him.

Guilt laid thick in his throat and the bounty hunter mutely vowed to be more conscientious in the future, instead of expecting you to just work around his at-will employment.

His family.

…

A kiss brushed against your mouth and you hummed, your hands on habit rising to bury in Din's curls. "You're late," you mumbled into his chin.

A sigh gusted across your neck. "I know. I'm sorry."

"We stayed awake as long as we could for you." You could feel his lips curve into a smile when you continued, "the kid said we should save you a piece of the gelfruit, but that may have been a ploy so he could steal it later."

"You guys had gelfruit bars? That's it?"

"Well, no." You admitted, finally opening your eyes. All you could see was the bounty hunter's rough silhouette, aided by the wan light from the holocaster. "I tried to stew some ormachek. That didn't turn out too appetizing though, so we had to fall back on our emergency supplies of cookies and gelfruit bars."

Djarin chuckled and you could halfway see him shaking his head at you. Then, there was the crinkle of a wrapper and something that smelled incredible was being gently pressed to your lips. "Eat."

"What is-" you began to ask, but then stopped. Whatever it was, it was flaky, buttery, just the right texture, just the right amount of spices. "Maker, that's delicious." You mumbled through your mouthful.

"Karga sends his Life Day greetings." Din informed you wryly. "He hopes you and the kid are well. Was very nosy about me working through the holiday, like he wasn't the one who gave me the damn job in the first place."

"I'm glad you're safe." You said once you swallowed, your voice quieter than usual. Djarin groaned, gathering you into a hug. The bare skin you could feel was cold to the touch, as if he had only just come in from the elements. You did your best to maneuver the blanket up over his shoulders, working behind his back to wrap the both of you up.

"Thanks." The bounty hunter remarked after several moments of comfortable silence. "It's still snowing out, I was soaked by the time I got here."

"Poor thing." You murmured, not missing the way his hands had fisted greedily in your tunic. "Did you put the little one in his bassinet?"

"Yeah, he was half-asleep already. Went without a fuss." Din's hands shifted to your breasts, the Mandalorian moving in slow, lazy circles. "I've got a few more things in my bag for him. Some from Karga, too. I swear, Greef wants to buy my loyalty."

"Wouldn't be the first time." You needled, sighing as Din stroked you through your tunic. "Do you want to…?"

In a strange moment of awareness the man rasped, "my hands are still cold."

"Your everything is cold."

"Yes, but my hands are what I'm touching you with." He shot back, playfully nudging his frigid nose into the hollow of your throat. "Last thing I want is to give you a shock."

You slid a hand down his chest, gently groping him through his flight suit. Like him, though, you kept your motions loose and lazy. Right now, there was no rush. It was just the two of you, cozy and content while the last sands of Life Day ran out.

Din's breath caught, like he hadn't been expecting you to touch him. "O-Oh, you don't-"

"I'm going to." You weren't sure if he could see you smiling in the shadows, but you did all the same. "I'll help you warm up a little."

The Mandalorian grunted, letting you unzip his suit so he could shrug it off of his shoulders. The undershirt came next, clinging briefly to his skin before you were able to strip it over his head. "I'll be here for the next Life Day." He promised abruptly. "I...I don't want to miss anything else with you. You or the kid."

"We don't want to miss anything with you either." You replied, clasping his hands in your own to try and warm them up. Din wedged himself in between your legs, growling wordlessly into your mouth as he pressed your back against the cushion with the weight of his body. "I love you, Din." You gasped.

"I know." He breathed, smiling briefly while he cupped your cheek. "Thank you." Seeming to believe he had reached an acceptable temperature, the Mandalorian shoved your sleeping tunic up to your stomach and then impatiently tugged your underwear down. "This is all I've been able to think about since I left." Djarin confessed in a low tone, like he was a little ashamed. "G-Getting back to you, I mean, not uh--"

"I understood what you meant." You assured, interrupting him before he could spend the next cycle explaining himself. "I've missed you too."

…

It wasn't a surprising thing for you to say. You made it abundantly clear with or without your words, with or without the Basic or Mando'a or the gestures. You missed him. You loved him.

You missed him. You loved him.

Din was unsure if he would ever get used to that. Truthfully, he hoped he didn't. It would keep him grateful, keep him grounded.

Keep him returning to you with the hope of hearing it again.

"I…" He stammered, his voice faltering. His words always seemed to fall short when he was with you, and so as usual, the Mandalorian found himself leaving them behind in the favor of showing you what he meant instead.

I love you.

He couldn't get enough of having you like this. Spread out beneath him, sobbing his name into his ear as he slowly worked you open with his fingers. You arched and whimpered and Maker, it took everything in him to be gentle, to be careful.

I love you.

The stress and worry bled out of Din as he settled between your thighs, his forehead meeting yours when he gingerly pressed into you. You were always so eager though, so welcoming and warm and everything he had never known he was looking for.

"I love you." He managed to pant, nosing pitifully against your cheek for a moment. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't...be here for it."

Your hold on him loosened momentarily, then, "I know," and you cradled his face in your palms. "But it's still Life Day."

What?

The man paused, staring down at you in confusion. You, in turn, smiled mistily up at him. "It's still Life Day to me, because you're here safe. You didn't miss it."

It was not a perfect Life Day. He had entirely missed it, your platitudes notwithstanding, and all he had to show for it was a few extra credits and some fragile shine for the display whenever the next date rolled around. He would miss other Life Days, he was certain. Other important dates, important events.

"As long as you come back to me, it doesn't matter how late you are." You assured him, your expression guileless.

Din couldn't help but believe you, and he agreed wholeheartedly. "Even if I'm halfway across the galaxy, I'll come back to you." He pressed his forehead to yours once more, like he still had his helmet on. "This is The Way."

"This is The Way."

All in all, Din mused grudgingly before he fell asleep beside you later that night, it could have been a much worse Life Day.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

A collection of fics I’ve read (/reread) and thoroughly enjoyed in the past week-ish from all kinds of fandoms and genres.

Umbrella Academy

✩ Fighting (Pre)Determinism by chibi_tantei

They go back in time, determined to rewrite their own family history. Only problem is, only one of them looks the proper age to get near their younger selves.

Or, six months after Five stormed out, determined to time travel, he returns home. His siblings are happy to have him back, but he's acting differently...

(Or, Five goes undercover as himself. Twice the siblings should make saving the world easier, right? Yet somehow, he's only now realizing how many issues his family has to fix.)

Side Effects May Vary by CivilBores

Allison crosses her arms. “Five,” she says firmly, “when was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know,” Five says honestly. At Allison’s expression, he quickly adds, “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what it’ll take for all of you pea-brained idiots to realize that.”

“We may not be as intelligent as you, Five,” Allison says, “but at least all of us are smart enough to know how to take care of ourselves.”

OR

A week after the world is saved, Five convinces himself that he is still experiencing lingering side effects of paradox psychosis. His family has something to say about that.

rude awakening by Soulykins

When Five wakes up, he just knows someone is in the room with him. Of course, even he didn't except to come face to face with the Handler who he'd thought to be very very dead. And he especially didn't expect her to break into his room and watch him sleep while waiting for him to wake up.

It's very fortunate that Diego and Klaus show up to wake him up and take offense to some random lady in the same room as their very uncomfortable, very thirteen-year-old brother.

✩ Apocalypse Please by Dynamystic

The movement caught the older woman’s eye, her keen senses zooming in on the Girl’s quarry. The Handler nearly dropped her cigarette, “Don’t you dare, you promised.”

And there was the Handler’s second mistake. Sloppy. No one told the Girl what to do.

“Like you said,” She leaned over the man, very deceased, and reached out a feather light touch along the ash covered cheek, “Circumstances have changed.”

_____

On April 2nd, day two of the apocalypse, Klaus Hargreeves woke up.

BNHA/TUA Crossover

An Unexpected Future by aseies 

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to finding a way back to your own time as soon as possible,” Nedzu said. “I want you to know that U.A. will do everything in its power to help you achieve that goal. Time travel is a complicated equation to solve, but I’m sure if we put our heads together we’ll come up with something!”

Five raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’re just going to do that out of the goodness of your heart? I’m not even old enough for high school yet.”

“Well, we’re all heroes for a reason, no? What good are we if we can’t help a single child in need?” Nedzu pointed out with a pleasantly neutral smile as he sipped his tea.

OR: Instead of time traveling into the apocalypse, thirteen-year-old Five Hargreeves teleports in the middle of the USJ fight.

He gets a couple of new dads out of it.

BNHA

next time, next time by aworus

Over and over again, Aizawa Shouta is woken by the same alarm, at the same time, on the same day.

The roof access door alarm is triggered. It is 7:56am. It is Saturday.

And over and over again, Aizawa Shouta is just barely too late to stop Midoriya Izuku from stepping off of the ledge and splattering onto the concrete below.

don't forget (all you gotta do is call) by carolinaa

Aizawa's seen signs of something wrong for a long time. It takes a student's direct words to put change into motion.

The Way Things Burn (and the way they heal) by Trixree

Before the training camp attack—before the dorms and the close quarters and the security measures and the curfew and the living-in-his-classmates-back-pockets... Bakugou notices something.

Todoroki Shouto is fucking weird.

-

In which Bakugou plays at being an amateur detective and teams up with Izuku to completely fuck up Endeavor's whole damn day (and possibly his entire life, too.)

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter One

Master List

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x OFC Baast’Mal

Warnings: I'm making this up as a go, Canon divergent from the series during chapter 13, mild violence

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn't do it on purpose, but I'm new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I'm trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We'll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

***

In the sweltering heat of the jungle, Din Djarin crouched to better scan for tracks in the rotting foliage at the base of the tall trees. Pools of light made it difficult to adjust correctly for the shadowy depths; add in the thermal activity of the plants and animals in this stinking sewer of a planet, and he was having a hard time tracking his quarry. 

When he'd accepted the puck, he hadn't known what he was getting into as her chain code was surprisingly sparse. The only additional information he had was her name - Taa Marel - her last known location and face. 

And what a face. Even on a holo, she was stunning, not that the Mandalorian would let that sway him one way or the other. 

He'd tracked the stolen ship from Bogano, where she'd initially been hiding out to this skug hole of a world that was made to torment men in beskar, causing them to swelter in their helmet.

The kid, however, loved the place. 

Constantly cooing, riding in his pouch, he touched everything he could get his chubby green fingers on. Leaves, flowers, bugs; those, of course, went straight in his mouth. By this point, Mando accepted the womp rat could and would eat just about anything.

Upon arrival, they'd found the ship nose down, destroyed, and abandoned, but the crash landing had created just enough space for Mando to set the Razor Crest down. Then the hunt began.

After three hours of slogging through the heat, he was ready to kill her. After four, he decided death was too good for someone who made him sweat this hard. After five, he was determined to make her suffer. But they were closing in. He could feel it like an ache in his bones.

Tracks led forward, but something didn't sit right with that. They were too obvious. After hours of following such a well-covered trail, this was an insult to his skills. Footprints led straight down a game trail like a beacon meant to lure him astray.

It wasn't right, too easy by far, and the skin on his nape crawled.

He looked up, straight into the eyes of the woman he was hunting. Even through the distorted colour of heat vision, he could see they were a vibrant green.

He moved on instinct, whipcord shooting out, wrapping around her shoulders, and dragging her out of the tree.

She screamed the battle cry of a hunting cat, an inhuman sound before she twisted mid-air and landed lightly, crouched but on her feet. 

"Taa Marel, I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold," he warned her, hand hovering over his blaster.

"That is not my name. And I choose option three."

Her voice kicked him in the groin and made his dick twitch. Stunned, he could only watch as her hands came up and nails like talons shredded his whipcord. 

Someone had left a few things out of her chain code.

"Put the child down."

Mando blinked. "Why would I do that?" 

What did she want with his foundling? Had she heard about him? Would she attempt to take him? 

"I intend to kick your ass, Mandalorian, but I do not hurt children. Put him down."

Surprised, Mando reached for the strap across his chest instead of his blaster. "You're not going to run?"

She lifted a proud chin. "You will continue to hunt me. I would rather die than return to that hell hole, but I will not go easy. I will fight."

She was beginning to impress him with more than just her face. 

Din lifted the strap over his head, his eyes fixed on the target, studying her outside of the holo he'd memorized. 

She stood with her chin raised, body slightly turned in a stance that bespoke proper training. If one could call it that, her green tunic had no sleeves, crossed over her breasts, tied just beneath them, and ended a few inches thereafter, baring the wealth of sun-darkened skin over tightly packed muscles. Pants hugged slim hips, billowed at her thighs, and tied tight to her calves thanks to the soft, short boots that went to her knee. 

Sweat gave her a sheen that made her glow, her vibrant eyes shadowed behind thick, long lashes. Her face was a treasure trove of sculpted brows, sharp nose, and high cheekbones over lips that looked like ripe fruit, begging for teeth. 

A mass of hair, the colour of sand, fell in heavy waves to her hips. It began to darken toward the tips until it was as black as the deepest corner of space.

As he moved the kid, she untied a thin cord from her wrist and slowly began to bind her hair in a low tail.

He'd never met a woman like her, a bounty like her, ever. This one - fugitive or not - had honour in her.

The kid cooed and waved. Her lips twitched into a smile as she winked and waved back.

"Fear not, Mandalorian. Should I kill you today, I will raise your foundling as my own."

Din's blood ran cold. "You won't get the chance."

He hung the child's satchel on a low tree knot and drew the beskar spear from his back in the same motion. Though he'd won the spear from magistrate Morgan Elsbeth on Corvus and helped the Jedi Ahsoka Tano defeat her forces, the Jedi held no answers when it came to the kid. Though, Din wondered if that had more to do with him than the little green monster. She'd told him to seek another Jedi, someone with more training than she, but had given him no direction in which to search.

"He is rather cute," she smirked. "But his kind age so slowly. You will be long dead before he is grown."

Mando paused. "You know of his kind?"

She arched a brow. "You do not?"

He lowered the spear and held up his off-hand. "I am tasked with returning him to his people."

Her posture never changed, but her eyes filled with sorrow. "He has no more people. The last of his kind, or what was thought to be the last, died some years ago. Master Yoda was his name."

"I'm to help him find the Jedi," Mando murmured.

Her eyes lost their sadness. "I cannot help you."

"Will not."

"They are one and the same," she whispered. 

Lightning fast, she rushed him. Mando barely blocked the first swipe of her claws before the second clanged off his pauldron. He used the spear's shaft to knock her back, even as she kicked him in the ribs, bypassing the beskar.

"Do you know the life you condemn me to, Mandalorian, if you return me to that horrible place?" she asked, crouched once again, a few feet away.

"You're a bounty. I don't make deals," he stated, watching his quarry while keeping his body between her and the kid. His ribs smarted, but he'd had worse.

"No. You just work for the people who Purged your planet!" she spat, leaping and clawing. 

She was fast, damn fast. Barely able to keep up, it was all Mando could do not to lose ground until he saw an opening and swept the butt of the spear at her leg.

She jumped back, breath coming hard.

"I didn't ask who the bounty was for." Greef Karga offered him the chance for a big payday, and right now, they could use it.

"You work for the Empire," she sneered. "Returning me to torture and experimentation. Do you think I was always like this!?" She stood and held out her arms, flexing fingers tipped in dark claws. She bared her teeth, revealing wicked-looking canines, then lifted a portion of hair to reveal a sharply pointed ear.

Again he paused, a thing unheard of, to ask, "What are you?" Her chain code said human, but she was certainly not that.

Her proud chin lifted in defiance. "Do you know what a Zentari is, Mandalorian?"

Din inhaled sharply. "That's not possible. They were wiped out."

"All but one. I am Baast'mal, last of the Zentari. The Empire took me as a child and used my gift to ruin me. They bound my blood to the Corellian Sand Panther and Manka Cat. They have so thoroughly defiled my biorhythms that if the constellations were kind enough to cross my path with that of my mate, I do not know if I could bond with him." Pain flickered across her features. "I am sullied, broken. I am a monster," she whispered before shaking herself free of the melancholia and raising that proud chin once more. "So kill me if you can, Mandalorian, for I will not go willingly."

The beskar spear fell from his fingers as Din dropped to a knee and bowed his head. "I am a Child of the Watch. I must offer aid, Zentari. This is the Way."

"The Way?" She took a step back. "The Mandalorians no longer follow the Old Ways. They no longer conceal their face from all but their riduur and ad. The creed is long dead."

He shook his head. "My Tribe is one of zealots. We hold to the old ways of Mandalore. I only recently learned of this as I was raised with them in hiding. The Purge took much, but the ways of the Zentari are remembered in the covert."

She hesitated, eyes wary. "I have faced Mandalorians before. They knew not the Way."

Din stripped his gloves from his hands and held them out, palms up as if catching water. He raised them above his head and brought them down over his helmet, appearing to another as if he washed with air. "Zentari of the Bright Star, may the constellations bless this warrior with a treasure greater than beskar that they would be mine. Cyar'ika. Ka'rta. Riduur."

She inhaled sharply. He watched her fight tears, lip trembling before she closed the distance between them and knelt. She dipped her fingers into his cupped palms as if they held water, brought them to her brow and stroked them down over her eyes and out along her cheeks. 

Her hands shook as she lifted them toward his helmet and laid her palms lightly on the sides of the beskar. 

His hands gently grasped her wrists, her skin warm and soft beneath his fingers. She wouldn't remove it, that he was sure of, but it was an instinct he couldn't deny when someone touched his helmet.

Her voice was whisper soft when she spoke. "Mandalorian, Holder of the Creed, blessed of the constellations. May you raise warriors strong in the Way and find your riduur. Your cyar'ika. Your ka'rta." 

"This is the Way," he murmured, shaken by the encounter.

"This is the Way," she agreed as she drew him forward until his helmet lightly kissed her brow.

The shudder that raced through her raced through him with equal intensity. The Zentari race was a myth, a legend, a beautiful dream. They were so lost to time Din felt like his heart would burst with joy. 

"Have you ever removed your helmet, Mando?" she asked softly.

The shortened form of address made his heart skip. "Not before any living thing." The Droid on Nevarro didn't count, and no matter what Bo'Katan said, the creed was his way. He would never show his face to any besides his wife or children. 

Let Koska scoff as she liked at his traditions. She had not found a Zentari. She likely wouldn't know what to do with the Zentari if she did.

Din rocked back on his toes and pushed to his feet, surprised when she followed him with equal grace. "Zentari, we should return to my ship. The Alor will want to meet you. The covert will rejoice."

"Baast."

He froze as her hands landed lightly on his beskar covered chest. "What?"

"To you, I am Baast." She stared into his visor as if able to see his eyes. 

"Baast," he murmured, wishing he could speak her name without the modulator.

"Yes, Din Djarin," she smiled. 

He still held her wrists, and his hands became her shackles. "How do you know that name?" he demanded.

Long lashes swept her cheeks, a coy smile curling her lips. "Grogu told me."

His grip tightened more. "Who is Grogu?" 

She tilted her head to look past him at the kid cooing at them. "He is Grogu."

"You can understand him?" Din asked, his shock registering even through the modulator. 

"Not in words, but he speaks to those who can listen. Images. Impressions. The Force is strong in him," she smiled at Grogu. "He loves you."

"He's okay." Mando was grateful for the helmet that hid his foolish grin.

"You fool no one," Baast chuckled. She gently twisted her wrists, reminding him of her bondage. 

He let her go and stepped back to pick up the spear. 

"You are a man blessed of beskar," she murmured. "You must be a great hunter."

"Something like that," he murmured. It still shamed him how he'd acquired his armour, but if he hadn't turned in the kid - Grogu - he wouldn't have been as well-equipped to get him back and keep him safe as they ran from the Empire.

Baast headed for Grogu, her smile growing as she lifted down his carrier and situated the baby against her chest. Grogu giggled and babbled something Mando didn't understand.

"Oh, I see," Baast chuckled, casting a side-eye his direction.

"What?" Mando muttered.

"Clan of the Mudhorn. A clan of two." She flicked her claws over his sigil. "I wondered. Grogu explained."

Mando glared at the kid- Grogu. "Don't tell her all my secrets."

Grogu cooed. Baast cuddled him and smiled slyly. By that look, he was pretty sure it was too late for his secrets.

He turned to go, heading back the way he'd come. It would take hours to return to the Razor Crest, and it was already getting dark. 

***

They didn't make it back to the ship before nightfall, but he found a hollow tree in which to spend the dark hours. Creeper vines had choked the life out of the behemoth, leaving them in a cage of vines and dry, dead bark with a wealth of firewood to choose from. 

The fire burned brightly, drafting well, casting shadows across Baast's face and keeping the larger predators at bay. She slept curled around Grogu, lips gently parted. The air had finally cooled at sundown, but now he could see the shivers and goosebumps developing on her flesh. 

Slowly, he leaned forward to remove the cape from his back. Then, just as quietly, he rose, rounded the fire, and draped it over her and Grogu. She stirred but didn't wake, and Din returned to his watch on the far side of the fire.

A Zentari. He could scarce believe it.

She was a myth made flesh—a beautiful dream. Once, when Mandalore still followed the old ways, Zentarus was where many warriors sought their mates, their most cherished riduur. 

A Zentari was always fast and strong and incredibly rare. They grew quickly but aged slowly, their years stretching out into eternity, some said. Fine in face and form, when they met their match, they bonded, taking on traits of the other and giving a few as well. 

A Mandalorian could live a very long time with a Zentari mate. 

But most Mandalorians came home empty-handed as a bond with a Zentari could not be forced, but those who the stars smiled upon, those most blessed with a cherished mate, bonded in ways that grew legends. It was said their children were the most incredible of warriors.

Baast'mal was everything he imagined when told stories of Zentari as a child new to the Tribe. It didn't hurt that she was the most mesh'la female he'd ever seen. Fast. Strong. Deadly. He wondered at what the Empire had done to her, how they could force the blood bonds on Sand Panthers and Manka cats, and just what other mutations they'd caused.

He also wondered at her Force sensitivity. What she felt or even what she could do had not been discussed, but Mando knew there was more to her than he had yet discovered. 

But it was the ache in him, the growing need to once again touch her skin that concerned him. 

It was primal. Feral. It clawed at him. It had him itching to be closer - much closer - to her. He wanted to show her his face and hope she found him as pleasing as he did her. 

Din had nothing to go by in comparison. He'd seen his reflection before, of course, but he had no way of knowing if a woman would think him handsome. He'd had encounters before, ones in which everyone walked away satisfied, some paid for, others freely offered, but the helmet and the beskar never came off.

With her, he wanted to be bare, stripped off all trappings. Din wanted to feel his naked skin against hers. He wanted to taste it.

"You are a very loud thinker," she mumbled, bright eyes glowing softly beyond the fire. 

Mortification filled him. "I'm sorry, I-"

"I do not know your thoughts, Mando," she clarified, "just feel a gentle buzzing from the beskar. It restricts what I pick up from you."

Relief almost had him sagging. Baast closed her eyes, but he was loath to let the conversation end. 

"How old are you?" She looked young, maybe twenty-five.

Her brow twitched, amusement in her smile. "It is rude to ask."

"I wondered how long the Empire had you," he explained. 

Shadows darkened her eyes. "Forty years."

"But they've only been around for thirty," he frowned.

She gave a hollow laugh and sat up. "They have been around much, much longer. I remember the day they came for us. They slaughtered all who fought, men and women. Every child they could catch was rounded up and taken away." She looked away, down at dark claws. "I was the only Zentari to survive the experiments."

"I'm sorry." He was. "I know what it's like to lose everything."

She tilted her head. "You were a foundling."

It wasn't a question, and Din didn't answer her.

"They began experimenting with my blood almost immediately. I was ten when they bound traits of the Manka to me. I was fifteen when they brought in the Panther."

"How? Why?"

Her eyes burned into his. "Because they could." She flexed her fingers. "Because they are depraved. Because they are monsters, who turn others into abominations."

"You're not."

She looked at him in surprise.

Din shifted until he stood and made his way around to her side, where he offered his hand. Baast took it and joined him in the shadows as he led her a few steps away from Grogu. He stripped his gloves from his hands, the need to touch her no longer under his control.

Slowly, he reached up to caress her cheek. He pushed her hair back, revealing the pointed tip of her ear. Her eyes gleamed from behind heavy lids when he stroked his fingers down her tricep and finally cupped her elbow.

He closed his opposite hand around her nape; his thumb pressed to her spiking pulse. "You are no monster."

"My blood is sullied."

"Perhaps. But you remain unbroken," he murmured. "You lived. You escaped. Mesh'la, you are a beacon of shining hope to my Tribe. If there is one Zentari, perhaps there are others."

She closed her eyes. "There is not."

"How do you know?"

A tear trickled down her cheek. "I felt the last die three years ago. It was what gave me the strength to escape."

"Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore," he murmured, rubbing his thumb on her pulse.

"Pressure makes gems; ease makes decay?" A small smile twitched her lips. "Am I a gem, Mando?"

"No." 

She arched an amused brow.

"You are something more precious than any gem," he murmured.

Colour dusted her cheeks. "A Mandalorian who has a way with words? I truly have seen it all," she teased.

He sighed and made sure it echoed through the modulator. "Get some rest." He attempted to move away, but she grabbed him by the belt.

"Stay."

"Baast?"

"Stay." She took his hand, led him closer to Grogu, encouraged him to sit against a fallen chunk of tree, and then curled up beside him, tucking herself under his arm.

"The beskar is too hard," he worried.

"No harder than a prison cell, and you are much warmer. I have not known the comfort of another since I was seven," she admitted.

He sighed again but gave in, curling his arm around her.

"Thank you for your cape."

"Hm."

Her chuckle was more of a low purr. When it rippled through him, Din swore he felt something inside him purr back.

Next Chapter

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

We can ask you anything? Niiiicccce 😊 In that case I would like to ask if you have a little snippet of your Southern Discomfort Story for us 😁 Only if you have one and if you want to share it. Thank you!!! ❤️

I would love nothing more, Anon ❤

The chapter still isn't finished, or beta'd, so please forgive all spelling/grammar mistakes, but I made it a long one for you.

(CW: language, mentioned minor character death, murder, prejudice of religion/witchcraft)

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Rick Grimes/Daryl Dixon

Status: On-going AU

Word count of snippet: 1,405

--

Southern Discomfort: Possessed

--

Chapter 17:

(Working titles:

The House that Built Me

OR

Arsonist’s Lullaby)

--

--

There was no sign of Daryl outside the trailer. Rick broke out into the midday sunshine and spun in all directions looking for the familiar head of dusty brown hair. 

“DARYL!” he hollered loud, the sound carrying over the side of the cliff and bouncing about the quarry. There was no way the redneck hadn’t heard him, but he didn’t emerge and Rick’s nerves seized in a kind of panic he hadn’t felt in a while. Hopelessness and uncertainty crept over his skin hotly, smothering to the point it was difficult to breathe. Calm the fuck down Grimes, think: where would he go? What was he looking for? What direction is it from here?

“He left the truck,” Dale said behind him, leaning out the open door of the RV, and also scanning the trees for anything that might resemble the young Dixon. “You got the keys?”

“No,” Rick rasped, checking his pockets on reflex as he said it. But he knew Daryl had driven, had stuffed the keys in his back pocket like he always did. Merle would kill him if he left them in the visor, begging to be lifted by a tweaking drifter or some stupid local kid. 

If Daryl didn’t take the car, he’d gone through the woods. Where was he headed?

“What’s the closest road, cutting through the swamp?” Rick asked, chucking his backpack in the bed of the truck and scrubbing at his face to wake himself up. Fucking focus, Grimes. 

“There’s the main tractor road just South of us,” Dale told him, stepping out onto the gravel and walking up to the panicked deputy. “It cuts right to the backwoods turn-off-”

“-by the entrance to the Greene farm, I know where he’s going,” Rick said in a rush, turned and ran for the swamp. Pushing past the barrier of humidity and entangled branches, and slipping in between the trees with an urgency that wrapped around his chest like vines. His footfalls found the rhythm that used to run through his blood, thundered against the ground in time with his racing heart, panted breath steady but quick and pushing him further faster. Farther. Deeper into the wilderness as wet and hot as he ever remembered from his childhood. Damp and clinging to his skin and clothes, seeping into him and trying to all-encompass the man who had escaped it for six solid years. 

Every inch of the swamp looked the same, flying by him as he tried to gain as much ground as possible in the direction he hoped would lead him straight to the turn-off road. Once he did, he could make it back in less than 20 minutes if he kept running. Or - if he kept going the same way Daryl did, as the crow flies and through the dense forest - he could make it in 10. 

Breaking out of the treeline on to the tractor road was like jumping into a river, cold and chasing breath from his lungs, but Rick didn’t stop his momentum. Crashing back into the woods on the other side of the road, and picking back up the pace he didn’t dare to abandon. He hadn’t been checking for signs that Daryl was going the same way. Even after all the weeks and months of tracking lessons from years ago, where Rick spent more time looking at Daryl than the ground, Rick knew he wouldn’t be able to pick up any trace with his head still spinning like it was. Reeling from what they heard, from Daryl’s outburst, and from his quiet crumble into whatever trance had captured him back in Dale Horvath’s RV.

Everything was so fucked up, Rick hadn’t in his wildest dreams even come close to guessing the truth.

Dale hadn’t wanted to say everything outright, shame and guilt of his failure turning his words into sparse descriptions. He’d focused on the parts that were important to him: the case driving him into the ground, his wife’s cancer, how he couldn’t get anyone to talk to him about what happened. That everyone knew, and no one would speak of the events leading up to the fire. But Rick was putting the facts in neat rows, and plucked out the important parts to them - to him and Daryl. Even as he ran like his life depended on it.

Daryl’s mother used to do what Daryl did now, but for the whole town. The good people of White Oak, honest-to-goodness Christians that they were, would never admit they had something like Trisha Dixon at their beck and call. To fix their problems, bless them with some supernatural amount of good luck, or who fucking knew what else - but as soon as the fires destroyed half the town in 1979, they turned on her.

Rick didn’t understand that part. The older man had said that the fires continued in 1980 and no one knew why, unnatural fires that didn’t start because of a draught or a lightning storm. That was why they turned their backs on her, the superstitious pricks probably thought that it was God trying to punish them for accepting a heathen pagan. But it couldn’t be just that.

Would they really go that far? After the church burned, would that have been the final straw? Rick could see a vast majority of the picture now, the horrifying truth of what was dragging this godforsaken town down into the depths of hell, but there were still pieces missing. 

What would convince a whole town of God-fearing people to burn a woman in her own home? 

Like it’s the damn Dark Ages. What did they think they would accomplish? That’s what Dale had said, and Rick felt cold fear trickle down his neck. This wasn’t the 1800’s, they couldn’t just ‘burn the witch’.

Good God, that’s exactly what they did.

Rick was going to throw up. He stumbled into a tree, hitting it hard and bracing himself as his heart hammered right up into his throat and he retched - bent over and trying to breathe. Fuck, he couldn’t stop, he had to keep moving. He couldn’t lose Daryl. Rick pushed himself off the moss covered trunk, put one foot in front of the other laboriously, and continued until his rhythm found itself once more. 

He had to get to Daryl, he had to get him to pause and fucking talk to him! Neither of them could do this alone, and Rick would fight tooth and nail before he let Daryl push him out again. Rick couldn’t even figure out what their next move should be, not until he knew where Daryl’s head was at. What he was focusing on in all this. Rick had his facts, but Daryl had a decade worth of lies and betrayals to sift through, and a dead mother who hadn’t died by her own hand - shit, that’s what everyone had been telling him for years. He had always said his mother burned down their house, fell asleep in bed with a lit cigarette, that she liked her wine a little too much. 

Those aren’t the words of a 7-year-old boy. 

That was what a grown up would say, to explain an accident that wasn’t an accident. The whole town knew. That meant all of them were guilty. No one had told Daryl what happened even as an adult. They had ostracized him his entire life, and it wasn’t just because of the bullshit prejudice that ran like a vein through the whole county. Rick bet they all couldn’t even bare to look at Daryl Dixon as a child, knowing what they did. 

His whole life, Daryl had thought everyone hated him on principle. For being a Dixon. For being white trash. For who his father was and who he was supposed to turn into. But it hadn’t been that, not entirely. They had all lied to him, everyone in town, the teachers at school, his neighbors, his Pa, his brother- Merle.

“Fuck,” Rick cursed out loud and began to run again. He’d cut right past the turn-off road and was still in the swamp, the trees all looking the same until they didn’t. He knew this corner of the woods like the back of his hand. “DARYL!” he shouted, the sound barely passing the few trees around him, muffled by foliage and damp. Then he saw movement ahead, and hope quickened his pace.

“Daryl, slow down!” 

[therandlegacy]

Accursed, First Gaze

Fandom: SWTOR

Pairing: Elav’Nilm x Tiriza Kaann (Jedi Consular x Bounty Hunter)

Synopsis: The first time Elav and Tiriza “meet” technically.

Word Count: 358 words

Author Notes: tumblr prompt of One word, Mircostory. Word: Accursed (used twice)

@thephoenixmagician sent this one!

Elav x Tiriza

(Taris, JC Chapter one in-game setting)

This ‘rogue’ Sith apprentice was a blasted pain in her ass. Well…that wasn’t saying much given that the very few Sith she’d actually dealt with were also blasted pains in the ass… The main difference here, however, was this apprentice was also a bounty…a ‘hush-hush’ discreet, don't let anyone know or you’re dead, kind of bounty and he was giving her the most annoying time.

Tiriza Kaan was a Bounty Hunter and a damned good one so ‘chasing’ was a part of the job. Bounties rarely just came willingly or just walked up to her after all. She did love a good chase but that didn’t mean she had to like chasing this blasted apprentice through the accursed, toxic ruins of Taris.

She was taking a moment to scan her vicinity, to relocate her quarry’s last position. He’d led her deep into the toxic wilds, probably in an attempt to shake her off but all she needed was a singular moment to steady her breathing. Royal blue eyes scanned everything around her, her montrals quivered slightly as she ‘felt’ something approaching. A person from the very faint footfalls on the brush…not the same as the heavy-footed Sith she was hunting.

A blue-skinned Twi’lek appeared in her line of sight, just beyond the waist-high brush before he pushed aside branches, sidestepping the shrubbery and ruins with practiced ease. He was a good distance away and his garb didn’t strike her as mercenary.

Not another bounty hunter…good, Tiriza thought. She should’ve left then, she was hidden enough in the shadows and foliage but she gave the Twi’Lek another glance and met his pale violet gaze.

Something…strange…moved over her senses, her montrals and lekku shivered slightly. It wasn’t…unpleasant but she didn’t know what the kriff it was. Furthermore, she found it difficult to pull away, to look away from those pale violet eyes.

It was but a moment in time but time also seemed to have stopped before she finally managed to tear away, move back into the shadows…letting the accursed ruins of Taris swallow her from that all-too-piercing gaze.

[deputytrash]

Silence

Summary: just a quick soft pre-relationship Din as you grow on him more and more. gender neutral.

Rating: Teen for potty mouth

Warnings: none

Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV)

Relationship: Din Djarin/Reader

Words: 550

Read on A03

It was the middle of the night when the Mandalorian made it back to the Crest. The forest was quiet around him, light from the planet's moons flowing between the foliage above him. It had been a three hour walk back and he was exhausted. He'd spent the entire journey weighing the pros and cons of killing the talkative quarry. A dead quarry would've given him some much needed quiet, but he'd eventually decided he didn't want to drag the creature's corpse all the way back to the ship.

He opened the door to the crest, moving through the ship with firm footfalls and promptly shoved the quarry into carbonite. The freezer hissed to a finish and Din felt the taut muscles in his neck relax just a bit at last. Silence.

Well, almost. He perked up at the noise from the cockpit, realizing he hadn't seen you in your bunk on the way in. He made his way up the ladder. It sounded like you were singing. You weren't particularly vocally talented, truthfully, but he smiled at the sound regardless. He paused briefly before pressing open the door.

He found you dancing, headphones covering your ears and baby in your arms. You were feeding him some sort of jerky, swaying your hips and bouncing him to the beat. Your voice sung along to the lyrics, dramatically putting your all into every word with a grin. The Mandalorian relaxed against the door frame, legs crossed, just enjoying the scene. He could just hear the music over your headphones, beat thrumming away as the baby babbled along with you between bites.

He felt the frustration and stress from the night soften into insignificance as he watched you dance careful little steps around the cramped cockpit. He hadn't thought ahead enough to consider that his presence would scare you until you did a little spin and jumped out of your skin. You yelped a quick curse word and clutched the child closer until recognition registered on your face.

You came down from your shock with an equally embarrassed and relieved laugh. You pulled off your headphones, relaxing your hold on the baby. Your cheeks were red as you laughed about how he'd just scared the absolute shit out of you.

Din apologized, embarrassed as well. He made his way to the pilot seat, rubbing a gloved hand over the baby's head and giving you a soft nod on the way. He was determined to at least get on the way to his next location before he rested. The quarry had a few too many friends for him to fully trust that he wouldn't be followed. You secured the child and situated yourself in one of the seats behind him. You told him about various things the child did and filled him in on anything funny or weird that happened while he was gone.

He settled into the ride as he listened to your voice, noting when it slowly began to grow heavy with sleep. The Mandalorian laughed at the irony as silence evaded him even now. As he put the ship onto its course and turned to move his little found family into their respective bunks, he decided that the sound of your voice was better than any damn peace and quiet.

[gigi-sinclair]

So @arcticelves is having a birthday today, and we have to celebrate! Thank you so much for all you’ve done for The Terror fandom, and for inspiring me personally. I started this a long time ago, based those images from The Transformers: The Last Knight and any picture of Matthew McNulty in period dress ever. It never went anywhere, and it’s definitely not complete, but here, for you: “For Honour and For Glory.” 

Edward notices the horse, a lovely chestnut mare, before he notices its rider.

His brother knights would laugh to know it. George would laugh, in any case. “No wonder your bed is always empty,” Edward can hear him saying. “When you'd rather stare at a pretty horse than a handsome man.” John would shift awkwardly in place, and try to ignore them.

George would be right about one thing, though. This stranger is handsome. His hair is thick and black, his beard just as dark. He wears burnished armour and a fox fur collar that draws even Edward's gaze, as disinterested as he is in fashion. Most remarkable are the man's eyes. They're a piercing light blue Edward can't recall ever seeing before.

“Sir Edward? Sir George? Sir John?” The man asks, as he brings his horse to a staggering halt before them.

George stands up. “Indeed.”

The man casts his beautiful eyes about. Edward feels at once self-conscious. Their camp is rustic, nothing more than three small tents and a cooking pot over the fire, but they are simple men, with simple needs. They made that decision long ago.

“I come from the court of Lord Crozier,” the man says. Edward knows of it. From what he's heard, that place is the opposite of simple. The man dismounts, stumbling a little as he puts his foot on the ground. Edward resists the urge to offer him a hand. “We are in need of help.”

“You are in need of mercenaries,” Edward assumes. It is their occupation, after all. The three of them are known for it, and they are good at it.

Crozier's man turns to look at him. “We are in need of you,” he replies, his gaze meeting Edward's. He holds it until Edward has to look away, his throat suddenly dry and palms suddenly damp. He lets George go through the pleasantries of telling the man where to tie his horse, of inviting him to sit by the fire, of offering him a slice of boiled boar meat from the pot. Edward concentrates on calming his hammering heart.

“We are besieged by a beast,” their visitor says, once they're all seated. He calls himself Thomas. He doesn't give a surname, nor does he call himself “sir” or “lord”, although he is dressed as a knight or a nobleman.

“A beast?” John repeats. “What type of beast?”

“Some believe it to be a bear, but it's unlike any bear I've ever seen. It's stealthier. Stronger. It brushes off our spears and arrows as if they were nothing. It was under the control of a warlock, it seems, but now the warlock is dead, and the creature has turned rogue.” 

Edward exchanges a glance with George. Clearly, it does not go unnoticed. Thomas draws himself up. “I am aware of how this sounds, gentlemen, but I promise you, we are being terrorized. The creature stalks us. There have been times we could not leave the castle for weeks on end.” With a dart of a quick pink tongue, Thomas wets his lips. Edward pretends not to have noticed. “The beast killed Lord Franklin.”

“Lord Franklin?” George blinks.

“You knew him?” 

“We did.” George looks at John, then at Edward. “We have done work for him in the past.” Edward never cared overmuch for the man. Sanctimonious was the word that best described him, but his gold was as good as anybody's.

“Lady Jane Franklin controls his lands, for the moment,” Thomas says. “With the support of Franklin's favourite, Sir James. But it is not a stable position. Our lands abut theirs, thus any instability in the region affects us as much as them. We cannot properly defend our lands while the beast is at large.”

“Well, you certainly make a very interesting proposition.” George smiles kindly. “I think my brother knights and I...”

“You say 'our lands',” Edward breaks in.

A flush comes to Thomas' face. “In, in, in the sense that we are all devoted to our lord...”

“You are Crozier's heir.” Edward is not as sure of it as he sounds, but when Thomas' blush deepens, he knows he's right. He heard rumours of it, that the childless Crozier took a beloved servant as an adopted son. Obviously, this man is he.

“Crozier sent his own heir out unaccompanied?” John frowns. “When the roads are fraught with far more dangers than a large bear?”

“I left my guards in the village,” Thomas says. “I thought if I approached you humbly, you might be more inclined to offer your assistance. Please. We will be deeply grateful if you can help us. I will be deeply grateful.” Again, Thomas' gaze catches Edward's and holds it. Am I so obvious? Edward wonders. He looks away.

“Why don't you go back to the village, my lord?” George suggests.

“Thomas,” Thomas interrupts.

“Thomas,” George repeats. “The inn is reputable. We will find you there when we've got an answer for you. We shan't keep you waiting long, sir.”

“If that is your wish.” Thomas pushes his hair back from his face. “Thank you for your consideration, gentlemen.” Edward determinedly does not watch as Thomas returns to his horse. It takes him a couple of tries before he can hoist himself into the saddle, and another minute of pulling at the reins before the mare heeds him and leaves the patch of grass she had been happily munching.

“It's madness,” John says, the moment Thomas is gone. “The man is mad. We're not hunters.”

“That's exactly what we are,” Edward points out.

John huffs. “You take my meaning. We do not chase bears, no matter their size or strength.”

“What if it isn't just a bear?” George asks. “Thomas said there was a warlock involved.”

“No,” is John’s immediate reply. “God does not grant us warlocks. Or witches, or demon bears, or anything else.”

“God does grant us lovely men, though, doesn't he, Edward?” George beams at him. “I tell you, if I hadn't pledged my heart to my lady, I might even look twice at that one myself.”

“Stop it!” John stands up abruptly, nearly knocking over the pot. George reaches out to steady it with a hand. “Stop it at once. Both of you. We're not entertaining this idea a moment longer.”

“All right, all right.” George holds up his hands in surrender. “But let me ask you this, John. How long has it been since we were last paid?” Too long. “And how much might we charge Crozier to dispatch something that has been harassing him so badly?” A good deal.

“I'm not too proud to go after a bear instead of a horde of armed men for once,” Edward decides. It might even make for a nice change of pace.

“There we have it, then. Two against one, John.” George shrugs. “Nothing you can say to that.”

From John's pursed lips and creased forehead, it seems like there is a great deal he could say, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“I'll deliver the news.” Edward ignores the resultant smirk from George. There's nothing to smirk about. It's simply his duty, as the de facto leader of the group. “You two break camp and join us in town.”

“Yes, sir,” George grins, heading for the tents even as John scowls on.  

The village inn might be reputable enough, but it isn't what one would call luxurious. Thomas and two men, in bright red coats that would be visible a mile away to any highway bandit seeking wealthy quarry, sit in a dark corner of the musty room, mugs of ale before them. Thomas looks up when Edward approaches.

“We will leave at once,” Edward says, by way of greeting. He tried out several on the way over; that was the best he could come up with. “If we ride hard, we should make it to Beechey Island before we have to stop for the night.”

A bright smile lights Thomas' face. Lovely, George had called him. Edward thinks stunning might be more apt. “Why not ride through?” Thomas says. “The sooner we get back, the better.”

“Not even we travel the woods in the dark if we can help it.”

“We did it on the way here.”

“Then you were fools.” Edward stares at the two guards. They conspicuously don't look back. “And damned fortunate you weren't murdered. We stop at Beechey.” His voice is firm. Thomas seems of a mind to argue further, but he apparently thinks better of it.

“Thank you very much. Sir...John?”

“Edward.”

“Sir Edward. I can't tell you how grateful I am.” The fractiousness in Thomas' expression changes into something else. His gaze dips down, then raises back up to Edward's face. Edward can feel himself flushing, glad that the room is dark enough to hide it.

“You don't need to be grateful, just pay us on time,” Edward snaps, more roughly than he intended. Whatever Thomas’ expression belied, it disappears, and Thomas goes briskly to his feet.

“Of course. You needn't worry about that. Get the horses ready, men. We leave as soon as Sir Edward gives us the word.” Thomas' guards go. Thomas hangs back. Edward should say something to him, he knows, but his mind is distressingly blank.

“Thank you,” Thomas repeats. Then, he too is gone, headed for the lone sliver of sunlight that marks the front door.

I'm going to regret this, Edward thinks, but even as the words form in his mind, he knows he wouldn't retract his decision for anything.

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak forgot something kind of important. At least it gave Torn time enough to get him presentable.

Daxter ducked between legs and strangers alike, scurrying along the ground on all four paws. He dashed quick from the port and used all of the little known side alleys that only three years in Haven could teach an ottsel. Two of those three years he’d worked hard to unearth and learn the layout by himself despite Haven’s insane size. It’d taken him the better part of the first year to just learn how to traverse the city at barely two feet tall; after all the distance Jak could travel at a dead run in an hour Daxter could barely achieve in three.

And he wants this damn thing pronto, Daxter grimaced to himself. Really buddy? It ain’t easy getting’ around by myself and it ain’t like I could ask anyone! I can’t even jack a damn zoomer, sheesh.

Sometimes Daxter felt like Jak could be so inconsiderate, taking his willingness to help a pal out for granted. Still Daxter persevered, and yeah maybe he realized after he’d finally reached the beginning of Main Town that he could’ve asked Tess for a ride but damn if Daxter weren’t determined to do this one his own by that point. Even still Daxter had a limit, and one that rapidly began to approach given how much his chest burned and his legs and arms hurt.

Jak’s just gonna hafta deal with me bein’ a bit late, Daxter reasoned to himself. I’ll make it up t’him later. He skittered to a halt over by the nearest bridge. His chest heaved as he flopped down against one of the rails supports, the small backpack that Tess had scrounged up for him to carry the key in thunked heavily against the ground. Exhaustedly Daxter brushed along the fringe of what would have once been his bangs to wipe away the sweat that had gathered. He grimaced at the feel of slick fur and resisted the urge to growl out of annoyance.

Sometimes he really hated being an Ottsel. The fur and two feet tall were prime reasons to resent the transformation, no matter how used to it he’d gotten. Daxter puffed out a breath and pressed his head back against the rail and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, why s’it gotta be so far?” Daxter grumbled to himself bitterly. He didn’t see the glances from the others who meandered around Main Town, going about their business, but he knew they were there. He’d gotten stares like that all the time, although the ones that he and Jak got together where by far the most hilarious of the lot.

“I think I found him.”

“Really? That small thing?”

“Well Commander Torn did say an orange rat, right?”

“I thought he was joking.”

Daxter opened one eye to look for the voices the minute he heard ‘Torn,’ a snarl on his lips. He wasn’t a rat Precursors damn it all! His gaze found a small trio of slightly armored teens that he vaguely recognized from the few times he and Jak spent more than a night at the Underground barracks.

“Oi!” Daxter yelled. He jumped to his feet, quite suddenly energized, hands on his hips. “It’s ottsel. O! T! T! S! E! L! Get it right, ya jerks!”

The three teens turned and shared a look before they seemed to nod in agreement. One of them approached and Daxter noted he wore some sort of half-KG mask. He vaguely remembered Tess had mentioned something about the Underground’s members were now forced to be recognizable since the metal head invasion.

“You Daxter?” the one on the left said. Her voice rang with the tinny quality that Daxter associated with the KG.

“Ya work for the Tattooed Wonder?” Daxter shot back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled down.

“Yeah it’s definitely him,” the one on the right said. He shot a side glance to the girl. The one in the middle, closest to Daxter, snorted disdainfully.

“This job sucks,” the middle one grumbled and turned his gaze away from Daxter to look instead at his companions. The one on the right’s eyes crinkled in the amused way and the one on the left looked like she was hiding a smile under that mask.

“What job? Searchin’ out the good ol’ Orange Lightning?” Daxter didn’t quite leer, but he did drawl out the words. At least two of them seemed decent.

The girl on the left laughed. “Definitely him. Come on, orange lightning. Commander Torn’s asked us to pick you up.”

“Said something about it taking too long,” the one on the right said.

“I still don’t get why we’re stuck with carrying this pet,” the middle one huffed.

“You can carry me anytime you like, gorgeous,” Daxter winked to the girl, who laughed good naturedly with the guy on the left while the middle one growled. “I’ve been lookin’ for a cute ride like you. I got one mean delivery I gotta get over pronto, y’know?”

“I might have heard,” she replied as she reached out a hand for Daxter. He quickly scurried over and then up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Damn is this what it feels like to be him?” she said almost reverently.

“All th’ time, babe,” Daxter nodded. “Now c’mon! I’ve wasted enough time huffin’ it by myself. Ol’ gravelly shoulda sent someone sooner.”

“We should just shoot it,” the middle one hissed.

“Aw, I like you too grumpy!” Daxter cooed back, face twisted into a sickly sweet grin.

“I’m gonna shoot it,” ‘grumpy’ snapped and reached for his gun.

The one on the right grasped his wrist before he could do anything and hissed, “Do you want to get on Commander Torn’s bad side?”

“But it’s annoying.”

“It,” Daxter said sharply, “is a he, and he happens to be the one who saved all your asses with his trusty sidekick Jak who just happens to be his best fuckin’ friend and can, y’know, get growly.”

Grumpy swallowed heavily and backed off at the look he received from his two partners.

“Told you,” the one on the right mumbled. “Bad idea, man.”

“Yeah,” Daxter agreed. “Listen to your conscience over here.”

“Fuck you,” grumpy spat.

‘Conscience,’ snorted a laugh in response.

“Funny,” Daxter’s current shoulder seat laughed softly. “Come on, we best hurry. We’re gathering a crowd.”

Grumpy and conscience exchanged glances, paled, and quickly began ushering their female compatriot onwards.

“Weren’t we supposed to not draw a crowd?” conscience uttered.

“Your fault,” grumpy spat.

“Oh hush,” Daxter interrupted, “and get movin’!”

All three started to run at that. Daxter relaxed against the gentle lull of a shoulder at full run, a wide grin across his face. Now he’d get there in a decent amount of time. He’d have to thank the Tattooed Wonder for giving him such a lovely ride, too. Daxter paused, then frowned, then wanted to cry at the realization he actually had to thank the asshole who called him a rat.

Torn stared at his communicator in faint horror, although Jak figured a good majority of that actually was for show. Torn had to be acutely aware of how uncomfortable this entire situation made the teen, give that Jak practically gouged his legs throughout a good chunk of the process. The act did serve to put Jak into a more comfortable mindset, comfortable enough that his eyes were black with dark eco—just tinged purple instead. His skin looked a bit paler than normal, but that could be associated to nerves rather than eco.

“Why is your rat insisting on riding one of my men up the elevator?” Torn’s voice practically squeaked at the end he wheezed so hard.

Jak scrubbed a hand through his now groomed, wrapped, and braided hair. It hung in twisted, braided dreadlocks that suited the young teen and at the same time felt like a punch to the gut. If Torn didn’t know that Jak happened to be the young kid he’d once looked after—and thus had to be related to the late King Damas—then the resemblance sure as hell would have told him as much. Granted Damas never did quite wear the locks as well as Jak could.

“Mar you have to have some Wastlander in you,” Torn muttered as he flopped onto the couch.

“What does that mean?” Jak blinked at the sudden non-sequitor.

“Your hair,” Torn waved a hand. “No Havenite can wear it like that so easily. You see it more on Wastelander’s than anything.”

Jak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could get a word in about it Torn shifted and spoke up again.

“Seriously though what does that rodent think he’s doing anyway? He could put her at risk!”

“His name is Daxter,” Jak pointed out, “and he’s probably exhausted. I forgot how far Main Town is from the bar.” Jak leaned forward from his spot on the bed and scrubbed at his face. “He’s probably pissed about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you like him nagging you or something?” Torn quarried. When Jak didn’t answer at first the commander shifted to stare at the teen, concerned.

Jak sighed. “…sort of.” He licked his lips. “It’s…I didn’t speak for a long time, Torn. Dax talking…it’s normal.” He smiled fondly. “He spoke for the both of us.”

“He still does,” Torn grumbled.

“Yeah.”

Despite being an ottsel Daxter at his core didn’t change. Jak relished in that, relished in how much his friend still remained his friend because damn if he didn’t regret that accident so much. He opened his mouth to speak some more when a sharp rap at the door sounded throughout the room. Torn got to his feet and Jak likewise pulled himself up.

They shared a glance—looks like it was showtime. Jak got to his feet, Torn shortly behind him. Jak wanted to get the door, but Torn motioned for him to stay—they’d gone over, repeatedly, in the wait for Daxter to show up and in the time that Torn worked on his hair, how the people around Jak were expected to act. How Jak would be expected to act. While it sat wrong with him to hang back, he still let Torn take the lead and open the door.

This whole insane plane hinged on Jak, after all, and if he didn’t show the right response at the right time then any credibility as being the last heir to the House of Mar wouldn’t matter. It grated to act like some damned nobleman when first and foremost Jak was anything but; still he waited, anxiously as evidenced by the slight shift from foot to foot. Torn slipped the door open, took one look out into the hallway, and sighed in relief.

“Ashelin,” Torn greeted sharply, and stepped back.

“Commander,” Ashelin responded in kind. She stepped into the room first, behind her followed an Underground fighter with Daxter perched precariously on her shoulder. Jak zeroed in on his best friend, and a small nervous smile flittered across his face.

No one said anything at first, or at least no one but Daxter and Jak. Jak’s little twitches—almost completely unnoticeable—clued Daxter into the bigger picture within a minute. The conversation went on much longer than that though, with an ever growing darker expression on Daxter’s face. The ottsel glanced between Jak, Torn, and Ashelin with a scowl until Ashelin couldn’t take it anymore.

“What!?” the young Praxis heiress snapped out. She looked to Torn for back up, but Torn refused to respond. He’d seen the silent communication in action too much to even attempt to counteract it.

“Nothin’,” Daxter said eventually after a pleading look from Jak and a slightly pulled face. “We’ve got a show to get on the road, right?”

“What do you mean we?” Ashelin demanded. “You were just delivery—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Jak to deal with just you,” Daxter shot back, “and my ride here ain’t either. We’re both goin’ an’ you’ll just hafta deal there princess. You roped Jak into this thing and ya better handle the consequences. We’re a pair an’ that is that.”

Jak smiled.

“Dax’s always had my back, Ashelin,” he said softly. “Besides, as I understand it if I just walk in with the Ruby Key they’re going to demand how a priceless artifact integral to this city’s history just so happened to disappear and then reappear with the House of Mar.”

Torn smiled, and nodded once in approval when Jak glanced his way. He spoke up to catch Ashelin’s attention. “Look at that Ashe, the kid has a knack for this,” he teased for a second before he added seriously, “He has a point and you know it. Especially when you know it was this very council that ousted the last King we had.”

“That was my father—” Ashelin counteracted, only to be cut off with a look.

“It might have been your father,” Torn said carefully, “but even your father can’t intimidate the other sage lines. At least three quarters of them had to be in agreement. Not to mention the other minor noble houses.”

Ashelin bit her lip, frustrated, but she had to admit Torn was right. Although neither of them had been there for the original banishment of the House of Mar, they both knew the aftermath intimately enough. Still—Ashelin turned toward Daxter and with a sharp look assessed the situation.

“You can’t just waltz in with the Ruby Key, either,” Ashelin pointed out. “You’re too involved with Jak.”

“Ah, but I’m involved officially as of this past year,” Daxter pointed out slyly. Jak didn’t bother to fight down his smile as Ashelin blinked in slight surprise and Daxter continued barreling on, head held high. “In fact I was quite the respected bug hunter up until the business went up in smoke; I merely stumbled across this here puppy,” Daxter patted his bag, “without knowin’ what it was. I’m just a poor ottsel—we’re not taught Haven’s history.”

“If anything Dax only realized what the Ruby Key was after he and I got involved,” Jak added softly, and completely convincingly. Any protest left Ashelin.

Torn glanced at them, then asked, “How will you explain your closeness?”

“How do you explain a soul brother?” Daxter shot back full of complete self-confidence.

“We click,” Jak shrugged, and it was the honest truth—he and Daxter had always just clicked like that.

Torn appraised them for a second more—and almost let out an amused snort when he realized the soldier before him was still star-struck and drooling; kids these days—before he nodded sharply. He turned to Ashelin and said, “They’re good.”

Ashelin looked ready to protest, so Torn stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “They’re good, Ashe,” he said sharply. “Trust me.” It took a second longer before Ashelin let out an explosive breath. They’d wasted enough time already on this whole mess, and so with a sharp turn she motioned for the group to follow.

“Look alive soldier,” Torn said under his breath to the young girl. She jerked, flushed, and then straightened her back and fell into step just behind Jak.

[sailorportia]

Femslash February 2020, Day 3

Fandom: Revue Starlight Relive Pairing: Yumeoji Fumi/Otonashi Ichie Prompt: Movie AU

approx. 2,000 words, rated T

also available on AO3

Summary: Fumi couldn't believe she was actually going to go through with this. It was a terrible plan. Idiotic. Borderline delusional. Aiding and abetting the escape of someone accused of piracy was a hanging offence.

But she didn't have any other choice.

Tags: Movie AU, Pirates, Comedy

Fumi couldn't believe she was actually going to go through with this. It was a terrible plan. Idiotic. Borderline delusional. Aiding and abetting the escape of someone accused of piracy was a hanging offence.

But she didn't have any other choice.

Breaking into the town jail was even easier than Fumi thought it would be. The guards were absent, most likely assisting the other military personnel to sort out the carnage left by the pirate crew of the Frontier. In the midst of all the chaos, nobody would figure out what Fumi was up to until it was too late to stop her.

Fumi looked through the cells for her target, finding each of them empty, until at last she found relief and her quarry in the last cell. Slumped up against the wall was an exquisitely dishevelled pirate, her messy pink hair no doubt a host to all sorts of sea creatures. The pirate appeared to be asleep, but Fumi wasn't going to let that be a problem. She picked up a piece of debris off the floor and threw it between the bars. The debris struck the pirate in the boot and she sat up

"You're still here," Fumi said. "Otonashi Ichie, was it?"

"Captain Otonashi Ichie," she corrected. "A cannonball crashed through the wall of the cell next to mine and everyone else got out. What are the odds of that?"

Fumi was in no mood for small talk with a pirate. "That ship, the Frontier. You know something about it, don't you?"

"I might. It's an infamous ship. Lots of people know something about it."

Fumi slammed her fist against the cell door. "I need answers. That ship's crew didn't just raid and pillage the town, they also kidnapped a girl—Yumeoji Shiori."

"Yumeoji Shiori... why does that name ring a bell?"

"That's the name of the girl you also kidnapped!" If it weren't for the iron bars between them, Fumi would be throttling her. There had been some commotion the day before concerning her sister and Ichie, who apparently had saved Shiori from drowning, only to hold her hostage only moments later when Commodore Yukishiro attempted to apprehend her. What ensued was a haphazard chase through the town, terminating in a swordfight between the pirate and Fumi. She had wished she could've been the one to put the pirate out of everyone else's misery instead of allowing her to be captured and jailed, but after last night's raid, the scallywag appeared to be Fumi's only hope for rescuing her sister. If Ichie turned out to be a dead-end—through incompetence or malice—Fumi would give the hangman a day off to carry out the job herself.

Ichie snapped her fingers. "Right! Sweet, little Yumeoji-san. Hey, I wouldn't have had to do anything drastic if those nasty navy types would've minded their own business and let me get away with a good deed."

"What's it to you, anyway?"

"She's my sister."

Ichie looked closely at Fumi, eyes widening when she recognized the resemblance. "But you're so shabby? Don't get me wrong, the whole blacksmith thing is a good look. Those buff arms? Woof! But you don't exactly blend in with the prim and proper governor's daughter. If your sister's at the top of the food chain, how did you end up as a blacksmith?"

"It's a long story."

Ichie laughed, waving a hand at the confines of her jail cell. "I've got time. All I've got is time and the clothes on my back. That is, until one of your navy buddies decides to take that away from me too." She mimed a noose and her own future hanging.

"Cry me a river," Fumi said. "If you've got time, use it to tell me everything you know about the Frontier. Where does she make berth? How large is her crew?"

Ichie squinted. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm going after them."

"You?" Ichie raised an eyebrow. "On your own? Don't you guys have people for that? I already know the answer, because I've met them."

"Commodore Yukishiro isn't doing enough. With every second that passes, the pirates get farther away. Who knows what will have happened to Shiori by the time the fleet finds her? I'm going after her

"A lone blacksmith up against the terrifying Captain Kocho and her crew of murderous buccaneers? Your muscles are impressive, but not that impressive. They'd eat you for breakfast. You'd need your own crew to take them on, but who's going to sign up for a suicide mission led by some landlubber? Face it, you're screwed."

Fumi couldn't believe she was being lectured by a pirate, one who she'd helped capture, no less. "And you have a better idea?"

Ichie grinned. "Set me free, and I'll lead the chase for the Frontier and your darling sister. I can muster a pirate crew to rival Kocho Shizuha's, and you'll have your rescue, sweetheart."

"Why would you help me?" Obviously the pirate would say whatever it took to get her freedom, and Fumi wasn't about to let herself be fooled by this woman.

"Let's just say I have a grudge against the captain. And the entire crew. Shocking, I know, that somebody as cheerful as me could hold a grudge."

"I guess I can believe that."

"I also can't not help a pretty girl in need." Ichie winked. "So, how about it?"

Fumi blushed, but didn't dignify the scoundrel's flirtations with a response. "I don't really have any other choice. I accept your proposal."

Ichie gasped and clutched at her heart. "Proposal? I'm not ready for marriage yet, but we can start out as friends."

"You know damn well what I meant!"

"Alright, alright. Just get me out of here before your navy buddies show up."

"That's not going to be a problem," Fumi said, flexing her arms. "I put these doors together, I can take them apart. I can take apart a lot of things, so jot that down." She gave

"Bold of you to assume I can read."

Fumi made short work of the cell door, dismantling the hinges and tossing the whole thing to the side.

"Whew, that was surprisingly attractive," Ichie said. She stretched and yawned like a cat as she left the cell, clapping a hand on Fumi's shoulder as she lowered her arms. "We're going to need a proper ship if we're going to catch up to the Frontier. Are you prepared to commandeer a ship of the fleet and engage in acts of piracy in service of your quest to save that adorable little sister of yours?"

"Without hesitation." Fumi had failed Shiori by allowing her to be captured by pirates; she was going to do whatever it took to rescue her, damn the consequences. If consigning herself to life as an outlaw was the price of her sister's safety, so be it.

"Alright, just checking," Ichie said. "Also, now that you're conspiring against the crown like a proper criminal, you can lay off with the anti-pirate talk. Just because I'm a black-hearted brigand doesn't mean I don't have feelings."

"Your feelings can walk the plank. Is that pirate-y enough for you?"

"Eh, it could use some work," Ichie said. "No time for that though, we need to nab ourselves a ship first. Lucky for you, I have a genius plan."

*

"What part of this is a 'genius plan!?'"

"Less talking, more running!"

Fumi didn't know how she had let herself get talked into this mess, but she was pretty damn sure she wasn't going to be allowed to come back to Port Siegfeld after this disaster. If she lived that long.

Ichie's plan was to create a distraction that would require the attention of every sailor and officer's attention then commandeer the only ship that wasn't under repair. The pirate had determined the event which would draw the most attention would be a series of explosions on the part of town farthest from the docks. It made sense in theory. They stole gunpowder from the unattended magazine and detonated it in clusters just as they planned. What they hadn't anticipated was how quickly the navy would respond.

"I'll have your head for this, Yumeoji Fumi!" Commodore Yukishiro yelled as her platoon caught sight of the fleeing bandits. "Fire at will!" A spray of musket balls narrowly missed Fumi and Ichie, sending splinters of wood into the air.

Ichie groaned. "This is probably a bad time, but do you think you could maybe stall that mean lady with the nice hat? We're gonna need a minute to get this ship ready to go."

"Must I do everything myself?" Fumi skidded to a halt and turned on her heel to face Commodore Yukishiro. Akira was getting closer, a good distance ahead of her troops. On the narrow dock, they couldn't shoot at Fumi without the risk of hitting their superior. That was a small relief though, given that Akira wouldn't hesitate to cut her down herself.

Good thing Fumi had a plan for that.

She raised her sword to block Akira's first strike. "I'm sorry, Yukishiro, but I can't just wait for you to bring back Shiori. I'm going to do what it takes to keep her safe."

"By allying with a pirate?" Akira struck again. "A woman should have some limits to the depths she'll sink to, no matter her intentions."

"If you think that was underhanded, just look down."

Akira's fierce purple eyes flicked downward, then widened in terror. Fumi still had one of her improvised bombs, and now it rested on the dock, fuse lit. With seconds to spare, Akira dove off the edge of the dock and into the water. Shame about her fancy uniform getting wet.

Fumi ran toward the ship, not bothering to look back as the dock was torn apart in the explosion. Hopefully it would impede anyone from following her. Her time was running out. That damn pirate better have readied the ship to sail. If she had used this as an opportunity to bail on her...

"Up here, Fumi!" Ichie called out, tossing a rope to her co-conspirator. "This ship's got everything it needs except a first mate!"

Fumi couldn't help but grin as she climbed the rope and boarded the ship. They had actually done it. Soon they'd be out of the bay and on the open sea, hot on the Frontier's trail.

"Nice job with the explosion, by the way," Ichie said as they made adjustments to the main sail. "I was worried you wouldn't be able to take care of yourself. Glad I won't be babysitting you the whole time."

"Strong words from a wobbly-legged drunk I fished out of the town jail."

"Cocky! I like it! Keep up that attitude and you'll handle the brothel fine."

"Brothel!?" What exactly had Fumi gotten herself into?

"Cool it with the blushing or Captain Kocho is going to see us coming. A brothel is the best place to find a pirate with nothing better to do. Don't worry," Ichie said, slipping an arm around Fumi's waist. "I'll make sure none of those scary ladies of easy virtue do anything lewd to you."

"It's not them I'm worried about!" If her first concern wasn't Shiori's rescue, Fumi would have drowned Ichie and then herself. She couldn't believe the audacity of this woman. First she saves Shiori's life, then threatens it to save her own skin, has a sword fight with her hostage's sister that leads to her capture, then assist said sister in a rescue, topping it all off with flirting with her? Did everything just slide off this woman, or was she just deranged?

Ichie was the last person Fumi would've wanted at her side, but she couldn't deny the results. The pirate was her best bet, and if working with her was what it took to save Shiori, Fumi would submit herself to this fate.

But she definitely wasn't going to get attached.

[cactiem]

Danger (Soulmate AU) (Part 1)

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Requested: Nope

Summary: When you are born everyone gets a meter on their wrist telling them how much their soulmate is in danger. For you, the bar is almost always full while Sweet Pea's is always empty accept the time it wasn’t worrying him.

GIF Not Mine 

Part 1 -> Part 2

The moment you were born you were marked with a meter that shows how in danger your soulmate is. You didn’t fully understand what it meant until you were twelve years old, sure you were told by your parents what the meter meant but you didn’t understand it. You remember that day clearly. The meter, that was on your wrist, was never really full. There were times where it was around half full but never to the top. One night, you were trying to fall asleep and, like every night, you stared at your wrist. When the bar shot straight up to the top within seconds you screamed. Your parents came bounding into your room thinking that you were hurt or something but as you thrusted your arm into their direction with tears streaming down your face they knew what was going on. You didn’t know who your soulmate was but the thought of them in danger, possibly hurt, scared you. That was when you fully understand what the meter on your wrist truly meant.

Ever since that day you were used to seeing the bar up near the top of the meter. There would be weeks where it was empty, or just below a quarter full. It got so bad that you were more concerned when your soulmate wasn’t in danger because when that happened the thought of them being dead always crossed your mind.

For Sweet Pea, he didn’t need to be concerned about you. For as long as he can remember the meter on his wrist never went over a quarter. That meant you were never in danger. When he was younger, the fact that the bar was empty confused him. All his friends bars were somewhat full while his remained empty. It wasn’t until his grandma sat him down and told him that the fact that it was empty wasn’t anything to be concerned about and that it meant his soulmate wasn’t in danger. Since that moment, looking at his wrist comforted him as apposed to concerning him. There was a little voice at the back of his head that wondered what the meter on your wrist looked like. All Sweet Pea knew was that he owed you an apology, whenever you meet, for everything he’s put you through.

It was a typical Friday night for Sweet Pea and his friends. They were all hanging out at the quarry like they normally do. Everything was the same until Fangs pointed it out. Him, Sweet Pea, and Toni were sat on one of the couches chatting. As Sweet Pea took a sip of his drink his jacket slid up a little revealing a bit of his wrist to Fangs. "Dude, is your soulmate okay?" He asked. Sweet Pea furrowed his eyebrows at his friend not understanding where this was coming from. Fangs pointed at his own wrist as if to tell him to look at it and he did. He wished he didn’t though. The bar was now full. For the first time ever you were in a lot of danger. Sweet Pea's whole face fell and he could feel his stomach dropping. His mouth opened then shut like a goldfish. Words weren’t being formed as panic rose inside of him.

"Pea, calm down, okay." Toni tried to get the tall Serpent to calm down.

"Calm down?! How can I calm down Topaz?!" Sweet Pea blew up but it didn’t phase Toni or Fangs one bit.

"Maybe your soulmate accidentally almost burnt their house down. That’s why the bar is full." Fangs said trying to take Sweet Pea's mind off the worst case scenarios.

"I know my soulmate, okay. They’re in serious danger right now." Sweet Pea's voice cracked telling Toni and Fangs that their friend is upset. They’ve never seen him upset before so it must be serious. "Their bar is always low. This is the first time it’s been this high. I- I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who it is. I just feel so damn helpless." Sweet Pea brought his hands up to his eyes, rubbing them with the heel of his hands to rid them of any tears threatening to fall.

"We’re going to find out if your soulmate is okay." Toni said, her voice full of determination.

"How?" Sweet Pea asked, unconvinced that he can actually do it.

"I don’t know how but we’ll do what ever it takes. Even if that means driving down every damn street in Riverdale and checking the hospital." She told him causing a small smile to break his frown.

Requests are open

A/N: Part 2?

Tag List (Still Open): @mayasmedberg @lunarmoonwolf @princess-of-the-fandoms @live--aloud @betty-dale @thejulietfarciertlove @fangirling-central @angrykittty24 @kytty27 @rhyxn @notalwaysfair @serpentbaby @rochyu @inspiredbynewt @pharaohkiller @sweet-fogarty-topaz @aya-fay @jcc04220 @lostnliterature @southsideicons @superchals @serpent-squad @southsidemistress @mantleandpea @everheart12

[write-havoc]

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 44

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

——— Negan’s POV ———

Fuck, it’s kinda cold out here. I’m standing at my gate like a fuckin’ idiot waiting for Rick to get here. My guys outside the gate radioed in and said he’d be pulling up any damn minute now. It’s his first time here, and I wanna make the right impression. Namely, I want him to see that I am on top of my shit. And I want him to think of The Sanctuary as the fuckin’ powerhouse it is. A well oiled machine. A fortress. Not a place to fuck with.

Not that I think Rick’s a threat. Even if we hated each other’s guts, I think I could fuckin’ take him. But we’re not enemies. Surprisingly. We’ve actually been working together fuckin’ well, his men and mine. Me and him might be different, but I can respect what he’s doing with his people. When he gets his head out of his fuckin’ ass, that is.

He’s told me all about the shit he’s done. How he’s saved people. How he’s lost people. His fuckups and triumphs. He’s made mistakes that cost lives. But he also ripped some motherfucker’s throat out with his teeth to save his kid. Which is equally fucked up and badass.

But he’s on the right path now working with me. He sees that. He’s on board with the whole working together shit. And honestly, I think I’m on the right fuckin’ path working with him.

When I started this shit, it was all about amassing resources. Going out and scavenging everything important before anyone else did, so I could feed my people and keep them safe. It was all about my fuckin’ people. The first group that attacked my men, I was honestly two seconds from fuckin’ killing them all outright. Then I thought, “Why not use them? Use the shit outta them for thinking they could fuck with me. Take what shit they got and get them to find me more.” So that’s what I did.

Then I did it again when another group thought they were tough shit and stepped to me. And again after that cuz people are fuckin’ dumb as shit and fuckin’ shitty at risk assessment, apparently.

Even with Hilltop, the plan was always for me to control them. Not in the same fuckin’ way as the others, but I would use their resources all the same. And I really thought I’d have to be more hands-on there like I am at The Sanctuary, but I’m not. Jesus is a perfect fuckin’ governor for me. Loyal enough to me that he runs that shit the way I would. Loyal enough to his people that he’ll keep them living well. It’s really all a win/win.

This shit with Alexandria is different. I don’t have a hand in shit there at all, which normally would bother the fuck outta me. I know I’m a fuckin’ control freak. But I guess I’ve fuckin’ changed. Cuz I realize now that my influence doesn’t have to be by the fuckin’ sword, as it were. I can find likeminded fuckin’ groups, like Alexandria, and work with them to make this shitty world a little better. Which, in the end, is good for every-fuckin’-one.

Alexandria has been working their asses off for me, doing shit that would be fuckin’ difficult for me to do on my own. And I’ve been giving them fuckin’ food so they don’t starve to fuckin’ death. But me giving them shit is temporary. It always was. After they start getting enough of their own food, we’ll renegotiate. But we’re still in this shit together. Again, win/win.

Fuckin’ finally , the Alexandrians pull in with a car and a pickup truck with a cab on the bed. Rick, Daryl, Aaron, Glenn and some fucker I remember seeing before but haven’t been properly introduced to yet get out. Aaron comes right up to me and gives me a hug like I’m family. I guess I am.

“How’s it fuckin’ been?” I ask Aaron and pull away to talk to him.

“Pretty good,” Aaron answers. “Chuck alright?”

“She’s fuckin’ fine.”

“I brought her a little birthday present since I missed her actual birthday.”

“She’ll fuckin’ love that.” I smile at the man. “But let’s get to business first.”

I go over to Rick and shake his hand.

Rick gestures to the guy I don’t know yet. “That’s Eugene.”

“Hello,” Eugene says in a weird ass monotone voice. This dude is one strange looking motherfucker. He’s got a pair of those long baggy shorts paired with a wrinkly button up. And an honest to god mullet on his head.

“Holy shit!” I call out with a fuckin’ laugh as I face mullet man. “You must’ve just fuckin’ time travelled from 1993 sporting hair like that!”

“Though traveling through the space-time continuum would be fairly awesome and, were it possible, could more than solve our current problems re. the dead reanimating through manipulating the past to change the present, I assure you that I have not come here from the aforementioned year as traveling to the future is, in fact, nigh on impossible. Especially with the technology available in 1993, which would have been the ‘present’ to our ‘future’ in this context, if you will,” he runs all together in that same monotone voice.

I fuckin’ stare at the fucker for a minute before I burst out laughing. “Ho-ly shit !” I throw out my thumb at Eugene. “I fuckin’ like this dude. You are weird as fuck, you know that?” I say to him.

“I am fully aware of the unique idiosyncrasies that set me apart from the population at large, yes,” he answers my rhetorical question. For some reason.

I look over to Rick and he looks back at me almost embarrassed. “Eugene is, uh... Anyway, I brought him here because he’s been working on some things for us. And you.”

Glenn jumps in. “Eugene is our resident nerd. When we need something engineered, he does it for us.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So what is it, exactly, that you have for me?”

They lead me to the truck and open up the back. It’s full of equipment. Like, radio equipment, I guess.

“We found a hobby shop,” Aaron starts to explain, “It was filled with all this stuff. Eugene’s been working on it.”

“What the fuck is it? Ham radios?” I guess. I seem to remember a neighbor when I was a kid being into this shit. He would sit for hours in his garage talking to people all around the fuckin’ country.

“That is correct.” Eugene picks up something from the truck and holds it up to show me. “Receivers, transmitters, antennae. We have the equipment here to set up our own long distance communication centers. This will allow us to give and receive orders. Send out positions. Establish ETAs PDQ.”

“We can all keep in touch instantly,” Rick fuckin’ translates. “Instead of having to send someone out to get within walkie range. We have enough here for you, your outposts, and Hilltop. And we already set up a radio room back at Alexandria.”

“Shit!” I call out. “That seems fuckin’ useful.”

Rick nods. “It’ll be safer for all of us if we can contact each other.” His tone is weird. Like he’s worried about an attack or something. And I haven’t even told him yet that one of my communities was wiped out, so...

“Did something happen?” I ask.

“Shit’s kinda picked over around here, so we went out on the other side of the river scavenging,” Daryl explains. “We ran into a group of walkers. We let ‘em pass, but they got turned around and followed us. It wasn’t natural. Someone turned ‘em back to us.”

“You guys all make it out?” I ask.

“We lost a couple,” Daryl answers. “We had ta’ kill the whole herd, since we couldn’t get ‘em back across the river and to the quarry easy. We didn’t want ‘em to follow us back home so we had ta’ take ‘em all out. Took a while. Two of ours got bit. Went out fightin’”

“Shit.” I rub my hand down my face. “You still good on ammo?” I assume in a herd situation, they had to use their guns. And if shit like this keeps happening, all of us, Sanctuary, Alexandria, and Hilltop, are gonna have to work together to get through it. And everyone is gonna need fuckin’ weapons and the ammo that goes with them.

Not that I would give them my ammo. I’d just... I don’t know... station some guys around their fuckin’ gates so no one picks them off, or something.

They all look around to each other subtly. But I see it. They’re definitely keeping something from me. And that pisses me off.

“We have enough,” Rick answers vaguely.

“‘Enough’?” I spit back then suck on my teeth. “You know... I didn’t fight you when you took weapons off the fuckin’ table when we were negotiating trade. Even though weapons were really all you fuckin’ had to trade for the food I’ve provided. But we got past that shit and now we’re both doing pretty fuckin’ well.” I let out a fuckin’ breath and run my hand down my face. “But you acting all fuckin’ weird about the subject of weapons now is not bolstering a sense of camaraderie in me. Especially since I was only fuckin’ asking about your ammo situation to make sure you guys were o-fuckin’-kay. Like the fuckin’ generous gentleman I am.” I walk closer to Rick to stand directly in front of him. “But are you being fuckin’ selfish , Ricky boy? Am I being taken advantage of? Because that would seriously,” I push in closer, “piss. me. off.”

“Rick,” Aaron jumps in, “we should tell him. He’s gotten us back on our feet with pretty much nothing in return.”

Daryl lets out a huff. “Shut up, Aaron. Just because he sticks it in your niece, don’t mean we can trust him. It don’t make him family.”

Before I can turn to swing Lucille at that redneck fuck’s skull, Aaron gets in his face. And he’s pissed. “It’s not about that! Are you forgetting the fact that Negan turned the other cheek when we almost killed him and his people? If I were him, I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with us after that! Hell, if roles were reversed, what do you think you would have done?” He turns his head to Rick, “Or you? But, he,” he gestures back to me, “gave us food. He’s working with us to make the place where we all live safer. And he saved your life, Daryl ! So stop being such a fucking dick!” He lets out a heavy breath. “And don’t ever talk about Chucky that way again.”

Everyone is silent for a minute, including me. Sometimes Aaron fuckin’ surprises me. He’s all cool and calm, but when he gets riled up, he can get shit done.

I turn back to Rick and I see him wrestling with whatever it is he’s not telling me.

Rick finally lets out a breath. Apparently making his choice. “We have the means to make more bullets.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Make more bullets?”

Rick nods.

I look over to Eugene, who looks like he’s about ready to shit his pants. I point to him. “Courtesy of Professor Hockey Hair, the resident nerd, I’m assuming.”

“Th-That is correct,” Eugene confirms. “I know the proper recipe and techniques for casting and reloading bullets. A-And if the time comes when stockpiles of gunpowder become scarce...” He looks to Rick for a little reassurance in what he’s saying, “I-I am confident that I could devise a way to make more.”

“That’s fuckin’ interesting.” I scratch at my beard. “You’re a sneaky fuck, Rick. And I don’t exactly like you hiding shit from me. Considering how fuckin’ generous I’ve been to you.” I swing Lucille up onto my shoulder. “But I fuckin’ understand why you kept that shit to yourself.” I lean into him. “I also have the means to make more bullets,” I whisper.

It’s true. I do. That shooting range we took over had all the shit we needed. And we have more than one of those prepper people that know how to do all that shit. Plus , we’ve already scavenged a shit ton of bullets and guns. Ammo supply is not a problem for me. It just fuckin’ bothers me more than a little bit that Rick fuckin’ thought he had one over on me.

Rick looks at me like he’s fuckin’ shocked at what I said.

“Look Rick, I’m gonna lay it all out there. Something’s fuckin’ coming. I know it. You know it. Or else you wouldn’t’ve brought that radio shit here for me. Now, I am fuckin’ confident that me and my men can fight off whatever comes at us. I got the numbers. I got the fuckin’ weapons. And I’m fuckin’ smart as shit. But this world has to be more than just fighting. I want to build something more. That’s why I’m working with you. That’s why I didn’t fuckin’ kill you and march to your goddamn home and kill the rest of you.”

“Negan,” RIck starts, “I don’t want to fight you. We ,’’ he gestures to his guys, “don’t want to fight you.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You’re right. The shit I’ve seen... The people we’ve come across... Sometimes we just barely made it out alive. So you are right. We shouldn’t keep these things from each other. We need to work together . As allies. True allies.”

I nod. This’ll be good, being allies. It feels weird to admit that I’m gonna actually work with another group, but it’s the best for fuckin’ everyone. My people, Rick’s people, my family.

My family .

My lips curl up in a smile. “Sounds fuckin’ good, Rick.” I turn back to the others. “Dr. Smarty Pants, get the shit you need out of the truck. There’s a room on the second floor that will be a fuckin’ perfect radio room.” I turn to face the door and gesture for everyone to follow me. Which they do.

When we get to the room, which is a small empty office that we never used for anything, Eugene and Glenn dump the equipment in their hands onto the desk.

“Chucky always liked stuff like this,” Aaron starts. “She could help Eugene out.”

I shrug my shoulders a little and get my radio out to call her. I know she gets fuckin’ bored sometimes. Not to mention that she’s complained about not fuckin’ earning her keep here, no matter how much I tell her that she doesn’t need to work. Helping with this shit might make her feel more fuckin’ useful.

“I do not require help,” Eugene drones. “To be honest, anyone else will most likely be in the way. Unless your wife has a degree in engineering and a doctorate, she won’t provide any more knowledge than what I already possess. I sincerely doubt that she would be of any assistance to me.”

I glare at that chubby fucker. “You saying my girl is fuckin’ stupid?”

“No,” he answers hesitantly. “But I am aware that I possess an above average intellect, so statistically speaking, odds are in my favor that I am much more intelligent than your... girl.”

I scrunch up my face and turn to Aaron. “Is he fuckin’ serious?”

Aaron nods and he doesn’t look fuckin’ impressed. “Probably.”

I shake my head and hold my radio to my face. “Chuck. Pick up,” I say into it.

“Everything okay?” her sweet voice comes through a second later.

“Yeah, baby girl. Everything’s good. Just come down to the second floor. To the room at the very end of the hall. And, uh, dress fuckin’ casual.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.”

I put my radio away and turn back to Eugene. “If you fuckin’ upset my girl when she gets here, I will get upset. And if you’re as fuckin’ smart as you say you are, you’ll realize just how much of a bad fuckin’ idea it would be to upset me. Got it?”

Eugene fuckin’ swallows hard. “Consider that message stamped received. Loud and clear.”

“Good. Now get shit started.”

Eugene gets to work setting shit up on the desk as the rest of us shoot the shit. Glenn immediately starts to talk about his wife, Maggie, who I’ve met. She’s fuckin’ pregnant, too, though she’s not quite as far along as Chuck from what Glenn’s saying. But he couldn’t look any fuckin’ happier if he tried.

“Maggie hasn’t really had morning sickness too much, thankfully,” Glenn comments. “But she keeps saying she wants pickles.” He laughs.

“I got a guy that makes them. I’ll send a jar home with you.” I chuckle. “Earn you some fuckin’ brownie points.”

Chuck walks through the door and we all turn to her. She has those black leggings on that makes her ass look so fuckin’ good. And a T-shirt I brought up for her that has the Joker on it. It’s kinda loose on her belly, but you can still tell she’s fuckin’ pregnant.

“There’s my girl,” I call out and walk to her.

“Oh, uh...” She looks around at the other guys in the room then back to me. She looks nervous at first, but once she sees my fuckin’ expression, she calms down. “Hello.”

“Everyone. This is Chuck.” I put my arm around Chuck and turn her to face Rick and the others before I point them out. “Chuck, that’s Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and the guy with the haircut over there is Eugene.”

They all greet her.

“Hey there, Chucky,” Aaron says with a smile and comes over to hug her.

“Hi, Uncle Aaron.” She hugs him back.

Aaron puts his hand on her belly. “How are you feeling?”

“Really good,” she answers. “Still waiting to feel the baby move. But it might take a few more weeks.”

Glenn comes closer to her. “Oh wow. You’re so big.”

Chuck gives him a look and I know what she’s thinking. Cuz she’s not fuckin’ big. Depending on what she wears, you can barely see her belly.

“I mean, your belly’s big,” Glenn tries to backstep. But he’s definitely not saying the right thing cuz Chuck is still giving him the stinkeye. “Not, like, big like,” he holds his hands out on his own stomach, “ fat . I just mean...” He laughs nervously. “My wife’s pregnant, too, but she’s not even showing yet. Not as much as...” He chuckles again as he rubs his hand on the back of his neck.

Chuck’s expression gets softer. “How far along is she?”

“Eleven weeks.”

“She’s not too far behind me. I’m seventeen weeks.”

“Well, you look great!” Glenn looks her up and down.

I know he’s not fuckin’ checking her out, but I glare at him all the same.

He notices me burning a hole in his fuckin’ face with my eyes. “Uh... Great meaning healthy,” he clarifies. “I just think it’s so awesome that we all are in a place where we can raise kids. Have families. I never thought that would be possible again.”

“A-fuckin’-men!” I clap Glenn on the shoulder a little too fuckin’ hard, making him rub the area right after. “Anyway, Eugene is setting up some radio shit,” I direct to Chuck. “I thought he could use some help.”

“Oh, yeah. I can help.” She goes over to Eugene and he starts fuckin’ blabbering on about what he’s doing. And Chuck jumps right in. No matter what that brainy fuck says, my girl’s no goddamn dummy.

I stand back and watch them work as Daryl, Aaron, and Glenn start to fuckin’ talk about shit. Rick comes up to me and stands silent for a minute.

“She doesn’t look like your type,” Rick comments discreetly. He’s a dour motherfucker usually, but I can tell he’s fuckin’ joking with me now. Otherwise, I probably would’ve introduced his teeth to my fuckin’ fist.

“And what exactly do you think my type is?” I answer quietly.

He shrugs. “I guess I should’ve said that you don’t look like her type.”

I laugh. “You’re probably fuckin’ right, there, but for some reason, she’s still with my sorry ass.”

Chuck looks back at me and gives me one of those sweet fuckin’ smiles that makes my damn heart fuckin’ melt.

“I’m an incredibly lucky fuckin’ man.”

It doesn’t take Chuck and Eugene long to get shit done in there, even with them fuckin’ talking about comic books the whole goddamn time. That mulleted fucker is weird as shit, but fuck if he doesn’t seem actually normal talking about nerdy shit with Chuck. And she seems fuckin’ happy, too.

Eugene calls out to Alexandria and they answer back. It sounds like Carl, actually. So everything is up and fuckin’ running.

After that, Aaron and Eugene go off with Chuck to go hang out and probably do some nerdy shit. I trust Aaron to be alone with Chuck. And I’m fuckin’ sure he won’t let anything happen to her, so if he’s okay with Eugene being around her, I’m okay with it, too.

Besides, my saviors have been told that they are to keep an eye out on Chuck whenever they see her. So I got nothing to worry about.

Me, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn head over to my meeting room to discuss shit. I tell them all about my community that got wiped out and they agree that it sounds fuckin’ fishy. Especially with the similar shit that happened to them, too.

Rick tells me that Eugene came up with some sorta contraption that spins in the wind and makes a loud whistling noise that the biters will fuckin’ hear out in the wild. They’re planning to put it in the quarry to lead the dead fucks to it. Which is a good fuckin’ idea. Get the wanderers to drop right in to where we want them all on their own.

I’ve been looking over the maps and came up with some other places to corral the dead before winter hits, so I bring that shit up with Rick. He agrees to help set up the other... what the fuck should I call them? Dead zones . Yeah. Me and Rick are gonna set up a few more dead zones, complete with Professor Smarty Pants’s whistling machines, around my area. We get all the logistics of that fuckin’ stuff outta the way before I give Rick and his guys the ten cent tour my Sanctuary.

———   ———

  A few days later, Chuck stands at the gate to see Aaron off. The other Alexandrians only stayed for a few hours the day they arrived, but Aaron stayed longer to visit with Chuck and celebrate her belated birthday.

Once the car leaves, Chuck goes back inside, headed upstairs to meet with Negan for dinner. On her way to the stairwell, though, she gets stopped by Julie, whom she met for the first time at the pregnancy announcement party.

“Oh, hello, Julie. How are you and...” it takes a moment for Chuck to remember the woman’s daughter’s name, “Nicole?”

“We’re great! How are you and your little one?” she asks cheerily as she motions to Chuck’s belly.

“We’re great, too! Thanks for asking.” Chuck still finds it surprising that people care about her and the baby, but she’s getting used to it.

“I wanted to tell you that me and Nicole loved your music at the parties. Some of it was a little too rock and roll for me, but it was still good. You’re very talented.”

Chuck’s cheeks redden at the compliment. “Oh, thank you! That’s so nice of you to say.”

“I think that the younger children would love to hear some live music, too. And maybe even be taught how to play. The classroom here is basic at best. We only have three teachers, one math, one English, and one elementary teacher. My husband is the math teacher and he’s kind of in charge of the kids’ education. The teachers do their best, but the kids could use something more... fun to learn. Maybe even the older teenagers could join in with the music, instead of only having their jobs to worry about. Give them something to... work towards, I guess.”

“That’s a good idea!” Chuck concurs. “I wonder if there are any music teachers here that could teach them.”

Julie laughs. “I mean you . You could teach them.”

“Me?” Chuck giggles nervously. “I’m not very good with kids.”

“Well... It’ll give you some practice before your little one comes.” Julie smiles hopefully.

Chuck thinks it over for a moment. “You know what? That sounds awesome! I would love to do it! I can start tomorrow.”

  The next day before the classes start, Chuck heads off to the classroom on the first floor. Chuck’s never been there and has to be shown the way by the saviors she’s employed to carry a couple of guitars and a few keyboards to the room. The room is down a back hallway and in a completely remote part of The Sanctuary.

  I’m guessing when they first set this place up, they weren’t thinking about children being around. If they had thought about it, they wouldn’t have put the classroom in such a dreary place.

  Once she gets to the room though, she sees that it looks pretty much like any school room. Well actually, like three schoolrooms in one.

The walls are painted a cream color and the floor is covered in industrial tile in a grayish blue. One wall is obviously for little kids; a rug in primary colors sits in front of a chalkboard with a big colorful alphabet along the top of it. The other two walls look more like high school rooms with a few desks set up before the chalkboards, one for math and one for English. All of the different areas are separated by movable partitions.

The saviors start to set the instruments down in the unoccupied corner as the teachers, Chuck presumes, make their way to her.

Everyone introduces themselves. Graham Harrison, Julie’s husband, is the head teacher and teaches math. Leon Smith is the English and literature teacher. And Laurie Kennedy teaches the young kids.

After the introductions, they have some time to talk before the children come in.

“When my wife said she asked you to come here and you agreed, well, I was shocked to be quite honest,” Graham comments with a nervous laugh. He looks like the quintessential math teacher. Lanky, balding, wire rimmed glasses, outfit all in beige.

“Oh?” Chuck says with raised eyebrows.

“You wives... Well, I mean, the wives before you, I suppose, never really came down below too much.”

Chuck is a little offended at his insinuation, but shrugs it off. He’s not exactly wrong. “I like coming down here and earning my keep.” Chuck suddenly realizes how her statement sounds, so she tries to clarify. “Not that the wives don’t want to earn their keep,” she spits out quickly. “But... They just- It’s hard to understand if you aren’t in their position. It’s kinda complicated, I guess.” She lets out a huff. “Anyway, I just hope that I can teach the kids well. I’m not exactly trained in education,” she tries to change the subject.

“I’m sure the kids will be happy to have something new and exciting going on down here,” Laurie cuts in.

Before too long, the kids, three toddlers, five between the ages of five and ten, and seven ages ten to fourteen, come in. Chuck knew that at age fifteen, people could start earning points, so most teenagers take that route instead of wanting to continue school. Though the teachers say that some teens in the workforce still come in after their shifts to learn more advanced math from Graham or to discuss more in depth literature with Leon. Chuck hopes that she’ll get to meet those kids, because if she were their age now, she would probably be trying to get extra lessons, too. She always enjoyed learning.

Graham introduces the children to Chuck and she starts to play some kid-friendly songs for them on the guitar and keyboard. The kids all respond well to the light musical fare. After that, Chuck asks who would like to learn how to play music on their own. They all enthusiastically raise their hands. Even the older kids who are just starting to get into the “too cool for school” age.

Chuck spends an hour or so going over the very basics of music before it is time for the kids to get along with their regular studies. All in all, everyone seems to have enjoyed the music lesson. Chuck included. And she’s looking forward to more days teaching the children.

Chuck looks at the time and realizes that it’s almost time for her gardener friends to have their lunch break. Feeling a bit peckish herself, she decides to go out to the gardens to wait for the ladies to go on break so they all can have lunch.

Chuck leaves the building and walks out into the crisp fall air. She’s still wearing a light sundress, but added a cardigan because of the recent cooler temperatures. Chuck turns the corner of the building to head to the gardens, but stops short at what she sees. Ducking back behind the corner so she’s not too obvious, she watches with a huge smile on her face as Simon and Patty chat near the greenhouse all alone. And they’re not just chatting . They step in closer to each other so they’re almost chest to chest. Simon lightly brushes Patty’s hair off her shoulder. Patty laughs and touches Simon’s chest.

  Oh my god! They’re flirting! That’s so adorable! I love it!

  Chuck is started away from her thoughts by a sharp pinch on her butt cheek. She instantly flips around to see Negan’s smirking face.

“Negan!” Chuck slaps him on the chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, baby girl. But I couldn’t resist.” He takes her hand in his ungloved one. “Jesus, Chuck. You’re fuckin’ cold.” He passes Lucille off to her to hold and shrugs off his jacket, holding it out to her after. “Put this on.”

“I’m not that cold.”

One look from him tells her that it’s useless to argue with him.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” She trades Lucille for the jacket and throws it on. As soon as her hands pass through the warm sleeves, she realizes just how cold she actually is.

“Since it’s getting cold, maybe I should get a leather jacket like this of my own,” she teases. “We can match.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out for one,” he throws right back with a smirk. “But I think you’re gonna need a different style to fit that fuckin’ belly later on.”

“Shoot. You’re right. I really need to get on finding some warmer maternity clothes. It’s gonna be winter.”

“Like I’m gonna let you out-fuckin’-side when shit freezes over,” he says partially sarcastically and pulls Chuck into him to kiss her. Chuck isn’t really sure just how much truth is in the statement.

She pushes away from him and throws him an angry look. “ Let me? So I’m just gonna be locked up for a whole season?”

“Fuck no!” he calls out. “It doesn’t freeze over right away. You’ll just be locked up for a fuckin’ month or so,” he jokes back with a satisfied look on his face.

“Pssh,” Chuck dismisses. “But since we’re talking about seasons... You know what the best holiday of Fall is...?” she says with a lilt to get Negan to say what she wants.

“Thanksgiving?” he responds instantly.

“What?! No! Thanksgiving? No!”

He laughs, knowing full well that that’s not what she meant.

“ Halloween is the best holiday! And it’s next week. We should do something for it.”

“How many fuckin’ parties do you want, baby girl?!” he calls out pretending to be shocked. “It seems like all I’m doing is organizing fuckin’ parties for you!”

Chuck laughs. “I didn’t ask for those parties, if you remember correctly. And this doesn’t have to be the whole Sanctuary. Just something set up in one of the rec rooms or something.” She looks up at him with a sly smile. “You know, this place does have kids and they should get to have some fun.” Chuck adjusts the oversized jacket on her shoulders. “Besides, Halloween’s awesome.”

Negan pulls her back into him and kisses her sweetly. “If you wanna organize that shit, I’m fuckin’ okay with it.”

Chuck smiles wide in excitement. “Yay!”

Negan kisses her again and pulls back. “So why the fuck were you just standing here when I came up?”

“Oh.” Chuck turns around and points to Simon and Patty, who are still chatting. “I was spying on them.”

“Oh, shit,” Negan says with a smirk. “Simon finally found someone to put his dick in.”

Chuck slaps him on the chest. “Don’t be vulgar! I think they’re cute together.” Chuck giggles as she thinks about the things Patty has said to her about Simon. And how hot she thinks he is. “But Patty is definitely DTF with Simon.”

Negan laughs. “Jesus Christ! ‘DTF’? Where’d you get that fuckin’ potty mouth from!”

“Ha ha.” She nudges him with her elbow. “Very funny.”

“Well, unfortunately I’m gonna have to interrupt their foreplay. I was actually looking for Simon when I found you gawking.”

“Oh. Okay.” Chuck takes Negan’s jacket off and hands it back to him. “Here. I’m going in to eat lunch anyway.” She gets up on her tiptoes and kisses Negan. “See ya later.”

  ——— Negan’s POV ———

I get my jacket back on and watch as Chuck heads for the door. It is getting fuckin’ cold now. And I can just guess that Chuck’s gonna want to play around in the damn snow when we get some. So, I gotta make sure to get her some cute ass winter clothes that’ll fit her baby bump as she gets bigger.

I walk up to Simon and his apparent conquest, but they’re too busy to notice.

“Ahem!” I over exaggerate.

Simon turns around to me and clears his throat nervously. “Oh, hey, Negan!”

I raise my eyebrows at him and chuckle. “Am I fuckin’ interrupting?” I tease. Knowing full well that I am.

He shoots me a look. “You need me for something, boss?”

I point away telling him to take a walk with me.

He nods and looks back to Patty. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says quietly. Like he doesn’t want me to hear.

“Yeah. See you later,” she responds in such an overtly fuckin’ sexual way. Chuck was right. That girl is definitely DTF.

I start to walk away and give Simon a fuckin’ moment to catch up to me as I lead him to a quiet fuckin’ corner of The Sanctuary.

“What’s up, brother?” he asks when I turn back to him.

“We just got word back from some of our fuckin’ guys looking for our mysterious dead herder group outside. Andy and his brother didn’t find shit out their way. But TJ found some tire tracks. And Regina found evidence of the fuckin’ dead in a random storage container hidden out in the fuckin’ woods.”

“Shit.” Simon scratches at his cheek. “Did they find the group?”

I shake my head. “Whoever these fuckers are, they can cover their tracks.”

“So we still got nothing?”

“For now. But we both know they’re out there. And they’re biding their fuckin’ time for some reason.”

“We should watch that storage container to see if they come back to it.”

“I already got guys on it,” I respond. “I want you to go out on the next scheduled pickups and offer them the same deal I wanted you to offer the library people. There’s only, what, thirty some people in the two groups?”

Simon nods. “About.”

“I know some of them hate my guts, but I think once they see that they can be fuckin’ safe and protected, and fed, they’ll change their goddamn tune. Tell them they can come here or go to the outposts or Hilltop, if they want. Their choice. And fuckin’ stress that they are on probation. If they fuck up, the punishment is a date with Lucille. No exceptions.”

“Sure thing, boss. I don’t think we’ll really have a problem with them.”

I nod and scratch at my face. “So you and the gardener, huh?” I change the subject.

He gets a goofy fuckin’ smile and shrugs. “We’ve been talking.”

I laugh. I’m pretty fuckin’ good at reading body language, and the shit their bodies were saying heavily fuckin’ implied that they do more than ‘talking’. “You hitting it when you see her tonight?” I ask. He had to’ve known I’d fuckin’ hear him when he said he’d see her.

He chuckles and shrugs again. “Probably. She comes on pretty strong and knows what she wants.”

“Is this just a ‘fucking’ thing or you actually like her?”

He smiles again. “I like her. I really like her. Actually.”

I smile back at him. I’m happy for the fucker. “Good for you, brother!” I clap him on the back. “I’m fuckin’ happy as shit for you!”

He laughs and nods. “I’m actually happy, too. For once.”

Shit. I don’t think he fuckin’ meant to, but that shit actually made me feel guilty. For Chuck. And Lucille.

“You deserve to be fuckin’ happy, Simon. You’re one of the best fuckin’ men I’ve ever known, even if I don’t say it enough. I love you, brother.”

He looks at me a little shocked. “Shit, Negan.” He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles nervously. “Are you getting some of Chuck’s pregnancy hormones, because that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Pfft,” I dismiss him. “Fine, I take it all back. Fuck! You try to say something nice...” I joke.

As we walk back into the building, I think about what he’s said. Am I getting fuckin’ soft? If I am, is that a fuckin’ bad thing?

Hmm. What-the-fuck-ever. I’m happy. My girl’s happy. My friend’s happy. That’s all that counts right now.

[lollercakesff]

the hole we’re in

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Joyce Byers x Jim Hopper

Warnings: Reference to past non-con.

Word Count: 2,348

AO3

This is a parallel to ‘the breathing triangle’. Though they don’t share content, it’s the same idea from the other perspective. I wanted to incorporate the other side but wasn’t quite sure how, so I broke it into two.

This guy's walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out.

A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, 'Hey you. Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on.

Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, 'Father, I'm down in this hole can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on

Then a friend walks by, ‘Hey, Joe, it's me can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here.' The friend says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out.'

He loves her, he loves her, he loves her.

“Are you sure these are the right notes?” He asks again, just to be sure that his homework is flawless. He needs this, badly, to not flunk out of his last English class ever.

“Hopper, would I ever give you substandard notes?” Joyce responds before turning back to her locker.

“I could kiss you right now,” he adds lowly as he sneaks a glance at her. Truer words. Never spoken. All that jazz.

“Just make sure your car starts tonight so we can actually get to Meredith’s party, okay?”

He’d rather they ditched the party. He’d rather she look at him and actually see him this time. But he keeps those damn thoughts to himself.

She isn’t his Joyce. Not today. Hasn’t been for over a month. He tries not to think about it. Maybe she really is sick, the splatters on his shoes would confirm it. But this was more than that - there was a light out in her eyes, the small one that twinkled when she finished a good book or made the perfect dick joke. It was gone and he didn’t know why.

At first he thought it was because she was pissed about him missing Meredith’s party, getting stuck at home with his tyrannical father. But it had gone on too long and didn’t feel like her grudges - those were tense and focused - this felt cold and empty.

He needed to know what was going on but he wouldn’t push it - that wasn’t his place. If he knew anything, he knew that forcing Joyce into a corner would only result in them both getting burned, his cheek still searing from the last time they argued and she outright slapped him. They’d both recognized it then, the heat that spiked like sparks between them, and it had scared them both into submission, apologies and silent oaths left unsaid.

But he had to figure out what was going on. Whatever it was it was eating away at her, radiating off of her like smoke, and he couldn���t help but worry that it would drag her under and away from him, somewhere she wouldn’t come back from. Somewhere he couldn’t go. Somewhere without him and her, together.

“Joyce, come back to the car,” he barked as she stumbled onto the shoulder of the road from the passenger seat.

He’d never seen her like this, disjointed and torn apart. It was freaking him the fuck out.

The weeks had started to blur into one another as Joyce pulled further and further away from her friends, segregating herself from their lunch conversations, hiding out at the back of class and giving up the secret smoke breaks that they used to share. He’d been determined not to give up on her though, remaining steadfast at her side as best he could even when she pushed back at him.

But now she was crying and he couldn’t let her walk away, not like this, that wasn’t the friendship they had.

“Joyce, hey, talk to me,” he added as he came around the side of the car, his own tears burning up inside of him as he pulled her against his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt.

This had gone on long enough. It wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right.

“You have to tell me what’s going on. I’ll help you. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it,” he promised, arms holding her too tightly. He could feel her shudder, her body forcing space between them. He remembered shouting:

“Don’t leave it like this.”

“Don’t leave me like this.”

And he knew it was too much then. A weight that would crush her. The thing that was wedged between them that was forcing her to quicken her pace into the treeline leaving him rejected, shattered, as she disappeared from view and the love he so badly wanted her to return.

Vietnam. Fuck Vietnam.

Look at where he was now, married, cutest kid on the planet and a mind that only assaulted him with memories when he had one too many beers to drink. Those were the nights that a country and a person dug into his skin and pulled at him until he couldn’t close his eyes.

He didn’t do that anymore, Diane hated it, so he gave it up and threw himself into his new life as a city beat cop and a family man.

It was what he wanted to get lost in. What he’d wanted all those years ago before Joyce up and left him to figure out his shit on his own. No word of goodbye, no explanation. He’d tried so hard not to be bitter and Vietnam had wiped it clean leaving him only with imaginings of what could have been.

But he was happy now. Or he was. The jury was still out.

Sara was sick again.

He was one drink away from that awful edge.

Everything collapsed in a big, bright, beautiful explosion. It dragged him under, drowned him and ran a crack through all he held dear.

Sara was gone. That was true.

Diane was gone. That was also true.

Hawkins had welcomed him back with a cold beer and easy prescriptions, the kind he found himself getting lost in as he started as the Chief of Police. He had to hide it - or at least pretend to hide the resemblance that he was a wreck - in order to stay employed but nights like these were too much and he couldn’t stop the way he tried to drown himself on solid land with round after round that the bartender didn’t question.

Sometime over the course of the night Joyce had appeared, all bad memories and sadness, her small frame still a shadow of his as she sat beside him and downed her drinks in time with him.

When they made it back to his trailer he’d pulled her to him, all instinct and messy history clouding into the press of his lips to her neck. But then she was standing and his joke was falling flat and she just stared at him. Mouth agape and torture scraped into her features.

And then she was talking. And he was hearing her. And everything raked over him like hot coals.

“I don’t remember how I got there. I don’t remember who I slept with. I don’t remember saying yes. I certainly didn’t want to get pregnant with a child I couldn’t look after. It was stolen from me, Hop. Someone stole my life from me. Stole… This.”

His training told him to say something, anything, to give her something to hold onto. He’d heard these situations before. They were fuzzy, but he’d heard them.

But a part of him - the shitty part where he stuffed down the thoughts of the soldiers’ crimes - didn’t want to believe was she was saying. Refused to put the pieces together and believe her. She would have told him then. She would have come to him. He’d been there for her.

So he sat there frozen as she wrapped her arms protectively around herself, watched her let herself out as the realization of what she’d said, what she might have experienced, flooded into him and ended with his fist embedded in his wall.

The vanishing of Will Byers was the catalyst to the careful life he’d built after returning to Hawkins. The one where he stayed away from Joyce Byers. The one where he couldn’t face her in the daylight for fear of his failures as her friend. As a man. As a cop.

He’d let her down and he couldn’t deal with it. So instead he added it to the laundry list of shit that gave him reason to drink every time he didn’t have to work. Put it down next to the reasons he checked with his one-night-stands before he took them home.

The vanishing of Will Byers forced him back into the land of the living and made him work and work and work until the body floated to the surface of the quarry.

Loss. It had pushed into him until there was no space left for him to breathe, no room to move or run or escape. Will Byers was dead and now he was the doctor telling this boy’s mother that there was nothing they could do. That there was nothing that they could do to save his daughter.

It choked him.

The look on Joyce’s face when he informed her. The look that tore every shred of small hope that he had pieced together with tape a glue over the last year. It destroyed him.

“He spoke to me Hopper, in the lights,” she insisted after a brief shake of her head. The look had disappeared and she was steadfast, determined, strong.

“Try to get some rest, Joyce,” he bid as he closed the door on her. Returning to his truck he stared at the small house that he’d worked so hard to avoid. The place that was home to one of his biggest regrets.

She was still his Joyce. Somewhere in there. The smart girl who’d been victimized three times by men - the hidden one, the ex one, and him. Maybe he needed to believe her this time. Maybe he’d spent too much time not believing her and that’s why they were here, estranged and in a constant state of conflict.

He decided to look then. To really look and see what she was seeing, through her eyes. Suspending his disbelief he followed the loose threads that pricked at the back of his mind until he was sliding his swiss army knife into rubber, his fingers pulling out stuffing instead of organs.

When he kneeled over the real body of Will Byers and forced his hands to compress his chest over and over again until the coughing brought him back to life - the same act that hadn’t saved his Sara - he knew then as Joyce clutched her boy that there was hope, even in all this shit they were wading through.

He made a deal with the devil then to give her back her son, to try to repay some of the unspoken debts he believed he owed to her. Disappearing into the agency he relived the worst moments of his missions in Vietnam until one day they let him go, gave him a free pass to keep the town under control and closed their active unit.

That’s when El finally came out of the woods - the girl having been a fighter who had seen too much, felt too much, suffered too much. He saw the parallels between them and refused to let her fall through the cracks like he’d done since coming back to Hawkins.

So he got himself clean. Started accompanying Joyce and Will to the doctor’s, even as he stood by and watched her fall for Bob Newby. Hid El away. Found himself in the process and when the monster’s came back he was strong enough to face them. Strong enough to be there for those who needed him.

Strong enough to feel human again.

She’s laying here, next to him, her dark eyes focused on his.

It hadn’t been what he expected when he dropped El off at the Snow Ball, not by a long shot. But somehow Joyce and him had found their way back to each other, even if just for this moment.

After their kiss - the one that had breathed new life into him as she forgave his trespasses - he’d offered up a warmer locale in the form of his trailer. She’d followed him in her own car, assured that she could leave whenever she’d wanted.

But she hadn’t yet. The dance would be ending soon and they would both have to go, but neither of them seemed willing to break the truce they’d forged in these stolen hours.

No. He just wanted to keep laying here. Watching her watching him. He could get lost in this.

“We can’t go back to when we were teenagers. But we can start again,” she whispered as he ran his hand across her cheek, letting it drift to the swoop of her t-shirt where it caught in his finger.

He didn’t want to say the wrong thing so he said nothing, scooting his knees until they pressed into hers. She mimicked the movements of his hand, tracing across his beard until her palm grazed the curve of his neck, exploring, trailing flames.

They’d never had this. Not ever. And it felt like they’d been robbed all these years - of this feeling and of each other. He had to seize it now. Had to believe that this time it would stick.

Time slows and rebuilds the bridges they’d shattered. It heals and grows the space between them and he feels like he’s climbed out of the hole, like his friend has finally shown him the way.

The pills didn’t save him. Jesus didn’t save him. But his friend, the one who’d been down a rabbit hole of her own and had somehow found her way out, was tugging him back into the world, one touch at a time, and goddammit he was going to follow her this time.