#i have a feeling the rifle is gonna be the worst looking part of this

[s1nful-sa1nt]

very unhappy with how her blaster rifle is turning out but i'm trusting the process

but yeah after literal months of doing fuck all i've finally made a bit more progress

[sansaorgana]

I’m not quite sure if your requests are open or not so if they aren’t just ignore this!♥️ but if they are, hi!!! I was wondering if you could do an Austin Butler/Buck Cleven x Reader who plays hard to get with him. She is like head nurse or something, a badass who was trained by her daddy in the arts of war, like I’m talking knowing how to throw hand grenades, shooting rifles or knowing how to work a plane despite her role in modern day 1940s society. I don’t like reading abt Y/N being naive yk?

hello! 💕 this story takes place when the boys are still in the USA and training. I believe I've read somewhere they actually spent two years in Texas so... the Reader is a girl from Texas and a daughter of one of the badass Colonels at the base who is training Buck and others. she is also a head nurse at that base (I assume they also had sickbays even though those were training bases...? I literally know nothing about the military lmao). I hope she will be strong enough for you 😌 I personally don't find every sweet and more period-accurate female character to be weak or naive but it was still nice to write a different type of character for once 😅

I might post less frequently in the upcoming days because I am catching up with my uni work finally after a few weeks of abandoning it to write fics lol

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

Bucky laughed at the sight of his friend going inside the sickbay after a training flight. He was going there for the fifth time this week and it was all because his friend had a crush on the head nurse, young (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Miss (Y/L/N) was a daughter of Colonel (Y/L/N) – the Colonel (Y/L/N) – the scariest and the roughest man around. He had a scar right across his face and he was known for being so strong he could rip the tree out of the ground with his bare hands… or so the legend said.

His daughter was just like her father. She was feminine of course in her nurse’s apron and her hair done up neatly so it wouldn’t interrupt her work. Her hands were soft and her lips covered with red lipstick. But she was a tough girl who didn’t mind swearing a little and scolding all the boys at the base for their irresponsible behaviour. She probably didn’t know that they all acted this way just so they could get to the sickbay and be treated by her.

At least that was the case for Buck.

She sighed at the sight of him and rolled her eyes as she approached him when he entered the room.

“Major Cleven… Again?” She raised her eyebrows at him and he blushed. “What is it this time?”

“I am… I am dizzy,” he made up a pathetic lie and she huffed at that as she pointed at the chair for him to sit down on.

“I will give you something for that but if you keep having troubles of this sort, I’m gonna tell my daddy to not send you to Europe, you know?” She teased and he swallowed thickly at that comment.

“Please, don’t, Miss (Y/L/N),” he pleaded, his eyes carefully following her every movement as she looked at him with a smirk.

“Well, we don’t want weak pilots like you to defend our country, do we?” She teased.

“It’s not because of flying… It’s… I don’t know, it’s something else,” Buck hated himself for the way he acted around her. She was so intimidating but so tempting at the same time. The fragile part of his masculinity was simply scared of her but his other, brave side wanted to be around her all the time. And he was very well aware how many other men wanted her, too. But his feelings were real. It had very little to do with desire. He was serious about her.

She approached him and handed him a pill and a glass of water. He swallowed it and she squinted her eyes at him.

“I swear to God, you boys are the worst bunch I’ve ever dealt with,” she shook her head. “I hope in Europe I will handle real men,” she rolled her eyes.

“You’re going to Europe, too?” Buck asked as he widened his eyes.

“Of course, Major. It brings me no pleasure to be here and help buffoons like you,” she chuckled. “I signed up already and my daddy wants me to be assigned to the 100th.”

“That’s where I will go, too,” Buck’s eyes sparkled as he realised that she wouldn’t get rid of him so easily.

“Oh God…” (Y/N) sighed. “I hope you’ll be long gone by the time I get there.”

“I hope not,” he blurted out and she froze for a second before laughing.

“Oh, you’re cute, Major,” she admitted before walking away to deal with the next man entering the sickbay, coming up with some fake injury just to feel her hands examining him and hear her mocking tone scolding him for his irresponsibility.

You liked Bucky Egan because he was funny and he didn’t care about you. He could have any woman he wanted so he wasn’t showing off when you were around – or playing a victim like so many “injured” Majors, Captains and Lieutenants. You were growing sick of all of them, coming to you with every single papercut and making puppy eyes at you.

You were having a beer with Bucky behind one of the buildings in the evening. Consuming alcohol was forbidden but who would fire you? You were a daughter of the roughest Colonel in that base. And Bucky was under your protection – and one of the best pilots around.

“Alright, but if you had to go out with any of them, who would that be?” Bucky asked, teasingly.

“For fuck’s sake, John,” you rolled your eyes and leaned your head back to rest it on the wall. “It would be you.”

“But I don’t want you,” he laughed.

“You…,” you hissed at him and you both giggled. “That’s why I would go out with you.”

“Oh, you like the ones who don’t want you?”

“No, I like real men,” you told him. “Like my daddy is.”

“You know that my best friend is madly in love with you, right?” Bucky pushed your arm playfully.

“Curt Biddick?” You asked. God, that one was insufferable.

“Yeah, him too. But I mean the other one.”

“Buck Cleven?” You asked as you felt your cheeks heating up for some mysterious reason.

“Yeah, that one,” Bucky nodded. “He’s a good guy and a hell of a pilot. He’s tough, too, just in a different way.”

“Yeah, he’s cute, bless his heart,” you admitted.

“So, you’d go out with him?” Bucky raised his eyebrow at you.

“Stop playing matchmaker, it’s not gonna happen. I ain’t dating any man from this base,” you took a sip of your beer as you shook your head.

“Why not, though? You don’t want to marry a man like your daddy? I thought you wanted to,” Bucky asked.

“Y’all would be scared of a gal like me, let me tell you,” you giggled. “I can shoot a rifle and throw a grenade. My daddy wanted a son, you see. But my momma gave him only girls so he raised us like boys,” you told him. “All that discipline, I ain’t joking, Bucky,” you pushed him because he was laughing. “We had to get up at 5am, make our bed, do morning gymnastics,” you teased.

“Really?” His face became more serious.

“Nah,” you shook your head. “Only sometimes. But he took the whole business of teaching us self-defence very seriously. I remember asking him, where the hell would I even get a grenade from in case some boy was following me home, daddy? And he said: easy, sugar, they’re in my drawer next to the gun,” you laughed and so did Bucky.

“You know what I think?” Bucky put his bottle of beer down and shot you an odd glance you did not like at all.

“What, Egan?”

“You’re gonna get angry when I tell you.”

“Just tell me,” you rolled your eyes.

“I think you need a man who’s gonna see a woman in you. Like yeah, we all know you’re tough and shit. And all these boys want to be around you because you’re like a mother that they have left back home in the way you scold them and take care of them. But I think you just need someone to see a woman in you. Has anyone ever…?”

“You asshole,” you indeed got angry. You didn’t want him to be right and react in such a predictable way but you did.

You stood up and went back to the building to go to sleep, leaving Bucky Egan without a word.

You didn’t know what Bucky had said to Buck but Major Cleven hadn’t visited the sickbay in a week now and you hated to admit but you missed it. In fact, you were the most excited when it was him coming inside with some adorable injury or illness. There was something about him that was making you swoon even though you would never ever admit that. 

On that weekend most boys had a night out and you stayed inside the sickbay to deal with the paperwork. One of the head nurse’s duties sadly required filling some papers, too.

After a while, you heard a light knocking upon the front door and you sighed before standing up and opening them, shocked to see Major Cleven.

“Major?” You asked. “What is it again? The mysterious dizziness has had its comeback?”

“N-no,” he shook his head.

“Why aren’t you out with all the boys?”

“I didn’t want to go,” he admitted and you squinted your eyes at him.

“So you decided to catch me in an empty room instead? I have a gun here and I know how to use it,” you threatened although it was hard to believe that a man like Major Cleven would ever hurt any woman.

“I wanted to ask you if you’d go out on a walk with me, Miss (Y/L/N),” he widened his eyes at your threats. “It’s a warm and nice night.”

“Ugh, fine,” you shrugged your arms and grabbed a cardigan to put over your nurse’s outfit. He waited for you outside nervously with his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t want to be a bother, we don’t have to…” Buck told you as you were locking the door behind you.

“You’re lucky, Major, I needed a distraction from the papers,” you told him and joined him.

“Yeah, the paperwork. I don’t like it either,” he looked down and you two began to walk slowly towards the gates leading out of the base.

“And who does?” You chuckled and looked at him as you bit on your lip. He was adorable; something about him was making you feel protective. But on the other hand you knew from your father he was one of the best pilots and he was a man of honour. Your father was usually rolling his eyes at the mention of most men at the base. But never about Major Cleven. Your father rarely respected the young and new ones but something about that Major was making your daddy go easy on him.

“I wanted to apologise, actually,” Buck told you when you two finally left the base and began to walk alongside its fence.

“Hm? About what?” You asked.

“Bothering you five times a week with made up dizziness or papercuts,” he laughed nervously.

“And what made you apologise? You’re not the only one who’s been doing that, Major, but you’re surely the first actually saying he’s sorry,” you raised an eyebrow.

“Bucky told me it’s annoying you and that it’s not really a way to get to you,” he admitted as he looked up at your face.

“Why the hell would you want to get to me? You’re a sweet man,” you snorted at him. In the dim light of the moon and the base’s lights from afar you could see him blushing.

“What does it have to do with it, Miss (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked.

“I’m not sweet, Major Cleven. A guy like you… You should be out there in town with them boys and look for a sweet little naive doll for yourself,” you teased him. But deep down it hurt you that it was true – you were raised for a tough girl but sometimes… Sometimes you wished you were softer.

“You think so low of me, Miss?” He only shook his head with a nervous chuckle. “That type of woman you’ve mentioned… They’re nice and kind, I don’t mind them, they’re sweet, yeah. And they make good wives to lots of men but you… You’re the first one who actually impressed me,” he confessed.

You went silent for a moment. You liked that he wasn’t complimenting you while saying mean things about others.

“You’re a real gentleman, Cleven,” you pointed out. “And so smooth. You’d be a sensation if you stayed here in Texas.”

“Would I?” He stopped his walk and so did you as he turned around to face you better.

“Yeah. But if you stayed here, you’d soon realise there are more gals like me ‘round here. And I’d lose all the charm,” you teased.

“Then maybe I’d finally leave you alone, which I assume is your wish.”

“Oh, far from that,” you risked as you raised your eyebrows, waiting for his next move.

He hesitated for a while and then he smiled smugly and joined his lips with yours in a sweet but passionate kiss that took your breath away.

Bucky had been right – it was nice to be treated like a woman.

“Will your daddy shoot me for that?” Major Cleven asked with a chuckle after finally breaking the kiss.

“It’s not him you should be worried about. I can shoot, too, Major, and my daddy wouldn’t get rid of the best pilot,” you teased.

“But you would?” He grabbed your chin gently.

“The best pilot? Surely. But would I get rid of Major Cleven? Never,” you chuckled. “God, I’ve missed your made up migraines,” you confessed.

“I can fake more of them,” he smirked.

“Yes, please,” you chuckled and leaned in to kiss him again. “But let’s keep it a secret for now.”

“Why?”

“Because if my daddy finds out about us, he’ll make sure we won’t be sent to the same base in Europe and we don’t want that, do we…?” You looked up at him, your heart pounding so fast in your chest as it had never done before for any man.

“Oh, no, no, we don’t want that at all,” Major Cleven bopped you on the nose. “Who will deal with my headaches there otherwise?”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[grandlinedreams]

Hello, I've been reading Ur fics lately (esp with law) and I love them

I was wondering if you could make angst? Like... Let's say there's this big battle, like the one in wano, where reader and law gets separated, but after the battle Law finds reader unconscious and being treated by chopper who then explains they had severe wounds and might need blood transfusion.

It also just happens that he was gonna confess to them after all of the chaos so that they'd be safe in his arms. And that might not even happen since now they have each foot on both worlds.

I'd imagine Law going along with talking to them even if they're unconscious just to keep them here in the living. (If they're alone ofc)

I hope that's alright

OUGH some angst my beloved,,,i can absolutely do that, I hope I do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: angst, serious injuries, some brief medical talk, hurt/very little comfort, keeping in line w Law literally calling none of the Strawhats by their names, open-ended]

Truth be told, Law doesn't keep much of an eye on you during battles. It's hard enough keeping an eye on what the enemy is doing ㅡ especially if the Strawhats are involved. They ㅡ especially their captain ㅡ have a knack for blowing careful plans out of the water and he's forced to play damage control until it's over.

You're also fully capable of looking after yourself, and he trusts you and your skillset. So when he doesn't immediately find you once things have started settling down, he doesn't think much of it.

When five minutes turns to ten, then to fifteen, then half an hour, however, alarm bells start going off in his head. You've never taken this long to check in with him. Has something happened? Have you beenㅡ

No, he won't let himself think of that option. Not now, not ever. So he keeps as optimistic as reality will allow him ㅡ until he hears his name being called.

"Oi, Law!"

It's Sanji. "What is it, Blackleg?"

The blond's expression is his first warning that whatever it is, it isn't pleasant. "Chopper told me to come get you."

That's his second warning. Eyes narrowing and trying to rifle through potential scenarios from best case to worst, he follows Sanji silently until they reach where Chopper is ㅡ and Law stares at who the little reindeer is desperately trying to patch up.

It's you.

Part of him whispers harshly that this is par for the course, that he's worn out his luck in terms of keeping you safe ㅡ another notes that he's never seen you look more fragile.

"What happened." It's a demand as he takes in the bandages all over you, trying not to think about how most of them are already soaked with blood. Your blood.

He barely hears the explanation above the rising ringing in his ears, but he gathers enough to find it in himself to mentally curse your perchance for heroics. He's told you time and time again that your self-sacrificing attitude will get you into trouble, and now it has. (As if he isn't guilty of it too from time to time, but that's neither here nor there.)

"They need a transfusion," he says, kneels to gather you into his arms, trying not to focus on how limp you are. "I'll take it from here."

If Chopper protests, he doesn't stick around long enough to hear it. From the second he sets foot back on the Polar Tang, it's a blur.

Bandages are stripped from you and replaced, an IV of fluid in one arm, blood in the other. One of the defaults to joining the crew is letting him know blood type so he has it on hand, and he's never been more grateful to have it and less so that he needs to use it.

For the next few hours, Law hardly blinks, barely lets himself breathe ㅡ afraid that somewhere between, you'll slip from him. He can feel the cold circle of death around you, measuring, evaluating. Deciding if you go, or if you stay.

He wants you to stay. If there were ever a way to guarantee that you do, he'd do it now ㅡ but there isn't. So he sits, counts your breath (in, out. Up, down.), and waits.

And he talks.

He tells you that you're a pain, that you need to stop thinking so much of others before yourself, that a quality like that is only admirable until it means a grave instead of life. That you shouldn't be so cavalier with your time, that there are people who care about you, and what are they supposed to do if you die?

He means himself in that too. He's gotten accustomed to your presence, the way you've slotted your way into his routines and habits like you belong, and perhaps, were he a romantic, he'd say you always have. But he hardly has time for that, barely lets himself entertain it ㅡ too soft, too ideal, too good to be true. Always too much of something.

But he wants it, wants you ㅡ wonders if he'll even get the slimmest chance to tell you now. Law could tell you now, but he doesn't. He's afraid if he does, it'll tip the scales further from his favor and he'll undoubtedly lose you.

He can't do that.

It isn't fair ㅡ but when has the world ever felt fit to treat him in a way that could ever be seen as kind enough to be called fair?

[mickyaltierisgf]

Hii! I really enjoy you're Romickey posts (i think thats how their ship name idfk) I was thinking to do a little angst and fluff

Basically Roman comes home after a long day upset (maybe a little teary eyed) and he just had a rough day in general, so Mickey and the reader basically comfort and make him feel special <3

Take you're time btw!! You're so cool ❤️

I wasn't sure if I should go with headcanons or a fic, but it ended up as a fic so...enjoy!

romickey x gn!reader

the greatest films of all time were never made

A bad day on set was, unfortunately, the norm for Roman.

Working at a studio seemingly fraught with misfortune was sure to be stressful, and dealing with a character like John Milton didn’t help matters. Usually, Roman’s moodiness manifested itself in frayed nerves and sometimes mild headaches. He always settled pretty quickly when he got home, though, and it didn’t take much to sooth him, unless he’d had a particularly long and difficult shoot that day. So you could tell right away that this wasn’t the usual ‘bad day’ you were all used to.

Roman was silent and didn’t pay you or Mickey much mind as he walked past you to the bedroom. You wanted to follow him and find out what was wrong, but you figured he would appreciate a bit of privacy right now. When you looked around, you realized Mickey had followed him instead, and you facepalmed.

You walked into the room and saw Mickey rifle through the drawers looking for a fresh shirt for Roman. He ended up handing him one of his own shirts, which you weren’t even sure was clean, and amazingly, Roman put it on without fussing. You grabbed his discarded shirt, one you had gifted him, and noticed the large stain on it.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, concerned, knowing the shirt couldn’t have been the sole reason for his somber mood.

"They cancelled the movie," he answered dully. You had never seen him so dreary. He was always very vocal and dynamic, qualities that were maybe in part due to his profession but also seemed inherent to him. But now he was pale and almost curling in on himself, and it was so far removed from his usual behavior that you felt a bit unsettled.

"Cancelled? But the movie was done, wasn’t it?" You asked, puzzled.

"Almost. We were about to go into post-production, but Sunrise pulled the plug," he explained. He looked at you for a few moments before turning away again, and you noticed how glassy his eyes were.

"There’s going to be a lot of backlash for this; maybe it’ll convince them to reverse the decision," you commented with a hopeful lilt in your voice.

Mickey came to sit next to Roman on the other side. "They won’t care about the backlash. It’s Hollywood; the only bad press is no press. Besides, people are gonna forget all about it as soon as the next bit of trashy gossip comes up."

"What about all the money and time lost?" you argued.

"They've got a bunch of other movies lined up for release. They’ll make the money back easy."

"This isn’t going to look bad for anyone but me. I’m the director. If they thought the movie wasn’t good enough for release, it’s gotta be my fault, right?" Roman said, despondent. He was avoiding looking at you or Mickey, and the way he clenched his eyes shut suggested he was trying to keep tears from falling.

"Hey..." Mickey nudged him lightly. "They’re all full of shit, anyway. Variety’s trash; you’re not a parasite," he said softly.

You looked at him quizzically, and as Roman turned to him slowly as well, you coughed into your fist to smother laughter.

"He’s right," you said, still covering a chuckle. "You’re not a parasite or a pariah. Who even reads Variety anyway?" you scoffed. "But you could be anything else you wanted to be, Roman. Even a pirate," you added teasingly, trying to get your dejected boyfriend to crack a smile. "We’ll support you no matter what,” you affirmed encouragingly.

"I’d let you plunder me," Mickey agreed with a lecherous grin.

"That is the worst pickup line I have ever heard," you snorted, but you were relieved to see Roman roll his eyes slightly and a half smile tug at his lips. It was only a small sign of positive emotion, but more than you'd seen from him until now.

"It’s not a pick-up line if the person in question is already picked up," Mickey says contrarily.

"Anyway, I’m going to draw you a bath and wash the shirt, okay?" you ask, grabbing Roman’s hand and giving it a light squeeze.

"I’m not sure that stain’s coming out. You might just have to throw it," he says, the half smile falling off his lips again, making you almost frown as well.

"If it won’t come out, it’s no big deal. I’ll get you another one," you promised.

You got the stain out for the most part, but there was just the faintest bit left if you squinted at it in the right lighting. You resolved to get Roman a brand new shirt, though you still held on to this one, figuring he’d like to keep it anyway. You laid out some clothes for him while he was getting out of the bath and went to greet Mickey, who was coming through the doorway with food.

"That was pretty quick. I thought the traffic would be killer," you commented, helping him with the bags.

"Not if you don’t let traffic lights stop you," Mickey said flippantly.

Roman joined you, looking a bit refreshed but still rather downcast.

"I got your favorite from that place over on Kinney Blvd," Mickey said to Roman. "And some booze," he said, holding up two bottles of wine. He put them down on the table.

Roman didn’t speak much, but you were glad to see him eating contentedly. You only took a few bites of your desert and pushed the rest towards him. Before he could fully voice his refusal, Mickey grabbed it and scarfed it down instead. You shook your head a bit, but you grinned at him anyway.

"Thanks," Roman said, perking up a bit. He sat at the table and grimaced as Mickey bent down to lay a wet smack on his forehead and cheek. He didn’t swat him away, though; in fact, you almost thought he leaned into the touch a little bit. So you and Mickey shifted your chairs closer to him and dug into the food.

Later, you sat on the couch together, your hands carding through Roman’s hair gently. He was usually meticulous about his hair, but he did occasionally let you and Mickey touch it. It was particularly soft and fragrant now as he laid his head on your shoulder. He completely relaxed against you, and if not for Mickey occasionally feeding him chips, you’d think he was asleep. Roman made a few off-the-cuff comments about the movie, but rather than bicker, Mickey looked pleased as he laid his own head in Roman’s lap and stared up at him instead of at the TV.

Later still, when you all retreated to bed, you and Mickey laid on either side of Roman. The middle was almost always reserved for you since Mickey tended to shift around and cuddle and would inevitably disturb Roman’s sleep. He put up a tiny protest now at being relegated to the middle, but he settled in quickly and seemed perfectly cozy between the two of you.

"We’re supposed to start shooting another movie in a few weeks. But right now, I don’t even know if I want to," Roman confessed quietly.

"I’ll kill Milton for you," Mickey proclaimed suddenly.

"It wasn’t his call," Roman sighed.

"Give me the names," Mickey demanded.

"Tarantino," you declared with a false, ominous tone of voice. "He was the fiend behind this."

Mickey went silent for a beat at this proclamation, then stated confidently, "Hell, I’d kill him too. Say the word, and I’ll send you his feet," he said, sounding almost too serious compared to his usual jokey speech.

"I might not jump straight to homicide, but I’ll key his car or like, graffiti a giant dick on his garage door," you offered Roman, tucking your face against his neck and inhaling his scent.

"Yeah, well, thanks for offering to murder Tarantino and deface his property, but I really don’t want his feet," Roman said deadpan.

"Can we at least send him some hate mail?" you asked.

"Now, that’s taking it a bit too far," Mickey interjected gravely. "We have to at least respect the man’s artistic integrity."

"You literally just offered to kill him for no reason."

"Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still admire his work," Mickey argued.

You snicked, and Roman followed suit, and you couldn’t see each other that well in the dark, but you were sure Mickey’s beaming smile matched your own.

end

[mondaychildsworld]

I know the end

Previous chapter / Next chapter

Part Six / ?

Rating: E

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter summary: As you're captured, locked up and get severely hurt, Joel and Ellie is closing in on your tracks. There's thin line between life and death, but somehow the unimaginable happens and you can soon put this behind you. (happy end I promise)

Warnings: This is my worst chapter I've written. So if you don't vibe with any kind of violence, torture, blood and being treated very badly this is you que to skip this chapter. TW: violence, threats, getting burnt, blood, slight insinuation of SA (we're good tho), just straight up torture.

A/N: I'M SO SORRY for this chapter. I feel HORRIBLE for putting my character through this much pain. But she will be ok. It will be ok in the end. I would never end this story on a bad note. But this world is not a nice place to live in either, so it would be hard to write a dystopian story with just fluff and happiness because that's not realistic. But I promiiiiiise you some feelings and smut in the next one very soon to make it up to you. Like... in a couple of days 🤭

And here’s my tiny taglist: @boofy1998 @orcasoul

December 5th, 2023

It’s cold. And hard. Your fingertips trace the surface you’re laying on before you open your eyes. When there’s a big snort in the distance. The sound is not human. You open your eyes in panic. The first thing you see is the ceiling. You quickly sit up and look around. You’re in a stable. 

You stand and peek through the bars surrounding the top part of the stall. Opposite of you are kind eyes and the soft nose of a horse. You relax. 

“Hi there buddy.” you say and you try to open the stall door. Locked. “We’re both locked up in here I guess?”

The horse keeps staring at you, their new neighbor. On the door to his stall is a nameplate, someone had carved “Tucker” in the wood. After greeting your companion and having a look around your stall you try to kick the door open, to see if you can break the lock. 

You sigh when the lock doesn’t give up and start circling around the small room. You got captured, hit in the head and locked up. Great. Now you need to figure out how to get the hell out of here. 

The horse suddenly gives off a fussy neigh. He draws his ears back at the exact moment a door down the hallway bursts open. You curl up in the corner of the stall and hope that they’re not here for you. You hear footsteps approaching and stop right outside your stall.

“Well, well, well…” you hear the man’s voice say. “Look who’s awake.”

You hear a laugh. There must be two men. You nervously glance up and see two faces outside of the metallic bars. You recognize them from before.

“I told you I didn’t want to disturb you” you try, but you can see on their faces that they won’t accept your weak attempts of talking your way out of this. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you” the guy to the left, the one with a dark blue beanie mimics you. He clearly wants to make fun of you and the other one laughs. 

“Tell us why the fuck you’re out here sneaking up on us and where your group of people are.”

“I’m alone, I don’t have anyone.” you try. It is true. You were alone. But it still feels like you’re lying. 

“Yeah, no one’s gonna believe that.” the one to the right tells you. He was the one to slam the butt of the rifle in your head. He’s blonde and has a long beard. “You better give us better answers or you’ll soon regret not cooperating with us.”

“I’m telling you the truth, I got here alone.”

“Bullshit.”

“A pretty girl like you wouldn’t make it out there all by yourself.”

You frown and feel nauseous at the fact that he called you that, it certainly was not meant as a compliment.

“Alright, I’m gonna tell you…” you start, and you do gain their attention because they’re suddenly listening carefully to what you have to say. “To… go fuck yourselves.”

Their hopeful expression falters. The guy with the beanie kicks the wooden door of the stall. You’re kind of happy that you got them like that, but you’re scared at the same time. You try your best not to show it.

“If you wanna play with us, pretty girl, let’s play.” the bearded man says and they leave the stable. 

You still hear them talking outside for a while. There’s a crackling noise, footsteps, and a clunking noise of metal. You hug your legs even tighter to your chest. You can’t help but shake, from the cold or from fear, you can’t tell. 

When you hear the men walking down the hallway of the stable again it’s like you can sense that something's wrong. It’s something in the breeze of winter air flowing inside of the building, like it’s trying to warn you. A chill goes down your spine. 

There’s more men this time. The one from before, the guy with the blue beanie unlocks your stall and walks inside. He’s closely followed by two other men you don’t immediately recognise. They roughly tug you away from your safe corner and pin you to the ground. 

You try to fight yourself free but they’re three, and strong. Way stronger than you. 

“Pretty girl, are you cold?” the guy with the blonde beard appears by the stall door. 

“Fuck you!” you yell at him and squirm. You caught yourself thinking if this is what you think is about to happen you’d rather be dead but when you see the item in your hand, and you’re filled with an even bigger fear. 

When he takes a step into the stall you see the glowing iron in his hand. It’s an old forging tool, all bent and broken, but glowing hot. 

“You have a choice, tell me the truth about why you were sneaking around our farm or… you’ll get a little bit hot.” he smirks down at you. 

“I was j-just passing b-by.” you cry out. “I was just l-looking for a hiding s-spot for the night.” 

You’re hyperventilating by now. The tears are streaming down your face. 

“Hiding from what, sweet thing?” he asks again. 

You don’t know what to answer. You didn’t hide from anything specific. Maybe Joel and Ellie, maybe from raiders and infected, but maybe just as much from yourself. From whatever future you had. By the looks of it now, that future seemed incredibly short. 

“N-nothing.” you sob. 

”Not the right answer!” he yells at you and nods towards one of his men. He reached over you and tore your shirt open. The buttons rip off and you hear them fall to the ground.

“Let’s see how pretty you are after this” the blonde man says and leans down towards you, with the glowing iron in hand. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for what is about to come.

Afterwards, they had left you all alone on the ground with burn marks covering your upper body. You were still in shock. You did your best not to look, but cried while you tried to button up your shirt again. It was ruined. You were ruined. It was all about survival now. 

As soon as you gained some sort of normal awareness back you started planning your escape. By sunrise you were ready. You were hurting too much to sleep anyway.

There was a small window at the top of the wall, close to the ceiling. The metallic bars were too high to climb and squeeze over, but you could maybe fit through the window.

Your problem was to get yourself up there. But you had time to think and look around. There was a bridle on a hook on the door to the horse’s stall, and a broom standing close to yours. If you could reach the broom, you might be able to reach the bridle, throw it up to the old handle on the window, drag yourself up and push the window out. After that you’d get back inside, take Tucker and leave on horseback. 

You set your plan to work and you were determined to get out of this hell hole. The pain was almost unbearable, as you had to put your arm between the bars, shove yourself closer and lean all your weight onto your upper body to reach the broom. 

You gasped loudly as your fingers brushed the broomstick. The movement hurt too much. You had to pause and recollect yourself a couple of times before you successfully reached the broom.

“Yes!” you mumbled to yourself. 

A couple of minutes of trying to wind down and you were ready. You stuck the broom out from your stall, holding the brush part. Tucker jerked back when you reached the broom towards his stall. He nervously stamped around and let out a dull neigh. 

“Sssh sweet boy.” you hushed the horse. “Don’t you worry Tucker, I’m getting you out of here.”

You catched the bridle with the broomstick and sighed in relief. Tucker neighed once more, louder this time. You flinched and hushed him again. You don’t want to get caught, so you’d need to hurry. 

You threw the bridle up high towards the knob at the window frame. You had to throw it a few times before it stuck. 

You took the brindle and put your foot inside of the loop. After a deep breath you braced yourself and pushed yourself up. There was a shooting pain in your whole body from the strain of the movement. 

Just as you pushed the window open Tucker neighed once more and reared. 

“No, no, no, Tucker!” You try to calm him. 

Meanwhile you had your leg swung up and almost outside of the window, the door bursts open and you hear rushed steps. You hurriedly try to crawl out from the window.

“She’s escaping!” someone yells. 

A couple of seconds later, when you’re halfway through the window someone takes a forceful grip on your pants and shoves you back down on the floor. Your ankle is stuck in the bridle. You feel your foot twist and there’s a sudden pain in your ankle. As you hit the floor with your head first there's also a sharp pain in your jaw. It makes you dizzy. 

A painful gasp escapes from your mouth and when you look up, the stall is filled with men once again. You don’t really see who is who, it’s more like dark shadows towering over you. But when your eyes can focus you see one thing, the blonde beard that belongs to the man who burned you. 

“If you only cooperated from the beginning you could’ve had a nice life you know.”

He continues. You spit blood. 

“It’s too late now. If you were a good girl I might’ve decided to keep you.” he says and laughs in your face. “But now, no man alive would even want to touch you with a ten foot pole, not that you’ll leave this stable alive anyway.”

“Mmh…” You sigh, and try again. “Mmhf, f-fuck you.”

“You fucking whore.” He said furiously. That’s the last thing you hear until you feel the harsh pain of a kick in your stomach. Right at your burns. You can almost recall thinking, this is the end, as you once again drift off to unconsciousness. 

“She can’t have gotten too far on foot, right?” Ellie asks. Joel just hums in response. He hasn’t been feeling up to be chatty with Ellie since you left. There is just a dreary cloud hanging over him these last couple of days.

“Why did she leave, anyway?” Ellie asks again. He decides not to respond at all. “Or like, would you guess why?”

He sighs.

“I just hoped she would’ve said goodbye.” she says and looks out through the car window.

“Me too kid.” he mutters.

When he noticed that you had left he had packed up all the things in the truck and went out to look for you. Ellie had found traces in the snow, and they guessed you followed the road up north. So they stopped every few times to check abandoned buildings for any sign of you. 

They figured you didn’t stay too far off from the road, because they did find evidence of someone staying in sheds, caves in the forest or other buildings they found along the way. You had hidden the tracks after yourself pretty well. But Joel was experienced. He didn’t know much about your time before the QZ, but he had lived out there as a raider. So he did know a thing or two.

And you definitely had left a thing or two behind. You were good, he had to admit. But there were remains of a fire you didn’t have time to put out, for whatever reason. In one of the buildings he found an empty can of food you had brought with you. He knew, because the can wasn’t covered by dust and he was the one who found that specific brand the last time they stocked up. 

It was getting late, and it was time for their last stop for the day. He parked the car close to the road, but well hidden just in case anyone drove by. They hadn’t met even one person or infected for a long time, but he didn’t want to risk it.

“Cabin over there?” Ellie points it out through the trees and raises her eyebrows at him. He just nods and they start walking towards the little timber building.

Someone definitely had been there and left in a hurry. There’s signs of a fire someone tried to put out, very sloppily. As they quickly had to get up and leave. Beside the fire lies the insides of a small animal, rabbit, he guesses. 

He has a bad feeling about this, but enters the cabin anyway, You could be inside of there, hiding. He swings the door open, rifle ready to shoot anyone who isn’t you. But it’s quiet and still. The room is a big mess, practically trashed. He lowers the gun and sighs. Fuck. He hopes this trouble isn’t your trouble, in that case the hope of finding you okay just drastically declined. 

“Woah, look at this Joel!” Ellie exclaims from above. He confusedly looks around and finds her on the edge of a loft. He completely missed it. And he completely missed her climbing up there.

“Who told you to go up there?” he snaps at her.

“It’s her,” she just says and lifts her hand up. She holds a blue book. “She was here.”

She tosses the book down to Joel, and he catches it. Quickly he flips through the pages. It’s a notebook. A diary, dated from before the outbreak. Soon he reaches the last written page, dated to this year. He starts to read.

You had signed off with your name. This was proof. You had been in this very cabin, very recently. You can’t be too far away now.

December 6th, 2023

Maybe this is what it’s like to be dead. You always thought life after death would be like floating on a warm, soft cloud. Content. Calm. Together with your loved ones that you lost. With Julie. But this is cold, and hard. Your face feels wrong. Swollen. Misplaced. So maybe you weren’t dead just yet?

Your eyes flutter open and you see the ceiling. The same damn ceiling you saw last time. 

There’s a disappointed knot forming in your stomach. You were severely beaten and went unconscious once again. The concept of time is long lost. It’s hard, not having the energy or will to move your body. 

After some time of drifting in and out of consciousness, you can’t tell for how long, there’s a sound of light footsteps on the other side of the wall. Right outside, the snow crunches slowly. Is this real or a hallucination? Once again, you can’t tell. All you can do is lay in your own pool of blood and wait for the end. Every muscle in your body hurts.

When Tucker lets out a curious snort, you slightly open your eyes. If you convinced yourself you might be alive before, this definitely makes you consider the opposite. There’s a face peeking through the metal bars, a small face belonging to a girl. 

“Ellie?” you mumble and feel the world spinning.

“Oh my…” she looks outright shocked. 

“Are you in heaven?” you quietly ask her. Maybe, just maybe, some sort of higher power sent her here to guide you? So you soon could be reunited with Julie, floating on the softest clouds there could ever be. You don’t believe in god, you never did, but you don’t know how to explain what’s happening to you any other way. 

Ellie’s face disappears for a minute or two, but you can hear her. You just blink up at the ceiling trying the grasp what the fuck is happening right now. The door slides open and Ellie is quickly by your side. She drops the heavy padlock to the floor. 

“Stay with me.” she shakes you carefully. You open your eyes even more and try your best to look directly at her. “Let’s get out of here.”

She carefully pulls you up to your feet, quickly slides and arm around your waist and starts walking. You limp. As you leave the stall you glance back, and see a pool of blood on the floor and immediately feel nauseous. 

When the both of you are outside you’re blinded by the sharp light. The white snow burns in your eyes. A couple of steps later you find Joel in the hallway of the main building. The door is open and you see him holding a man down to the floor. There’s something wrong with your vision, it’s doubled and it’s hard to focus. There’s blotches of red in the snow, on the floor, on his hands. 

“Where is she!!!” he yells a few inches away from the man's face as he shakes the guy beneath him. He holds the man’s collar with an iron fist. The whole world spins around, you’re dizzy, but you know what you see. It’s him, it’s Joel. 

Ellie shouts after him but he doesn’t hear her immediately. He punches the man in the face a few times before he jerks his head up and locks eyes with you. He leaves the man on the floor and rushes up to you. He pulls you in tightly, but you don’t have the energy to respond to his embrace. Your entire body is limp. There’s no strength left.

“What the fuck did they do to you?” He mumbles as he breaks away for the embrace to look you over. Your shirt is ripped open in some places, burn marks peeking through the tears of fabric. Your face… however it did look like now -  probably just as horrible as it felt.

You try to speak, but your brain and your tongue aren't cooperating. You try to answer him, but all you get out of your mouth is an incoherent mumble. He looks back down with worried eyes, looking straight into yours. You try to hold his gaze but it’s impossible. 

It feels like someone dims the sun down, like the sun is an old light bulb that flickers out into darkness. You’re exhausted. There’s arms firmly grabbing you, holding you up. You blink a few times and feel that you’re being lifted up as you’re drifting off into the quiet darkness. 

December 8th, 2023

When you wake up you’re surprised you find yourself in a bed, and not on the cold floor of the stable. You’re covered with blankets, not by dirt in the pool of your own blood. You smack your mouth a couple of times. It’s still dry. 

“He-hello?” you manage so get out. The room is dark. You find a source of light, and try to focus your eyes. The light comes from a gap in the door. 

You slowly sit up a bit so you’re leaning back your weight on your elbows. You clear your throat.

“Hello?” you croak, a little bit louder this time. 

You hear footsteps right outside. The door creaks open and you see the silhouette of a girl. You blink a few times and fall back into the pillow. It’s Ellie.

“Hi, you’re awake?” she asks. 

“Mhm, could you…” you need to pause to cough. “Water, please.”

“Sure, of course.” she leaves the room and soon comes back with a bottle of water. She screws the cap open and helps you take a sip. 

Water has never tasted this good. Ellie sits down on the edge of the bed and helps you dry off the drop of water that escaped down your chin. 

”Sorry.” you mumble. ”What time is it?”

“I don’t know, late.” she just looks at you, like you’re fragile. 

“Where… where are we?” the last memory you have is a blurry mix of snow, blood covered knuckles and large arms carrying you away from the stable. “Where’s Joel?”

“He’s out, he keeps guard of the house. We’re safe but you know, he’s stubborn like that.” she nods and you roll your eyes. You know. 

“We’re at this house, I think this place is called Cora. I found it on the map.” she presses her lips together before she continues. “It’s late, you should sleep.”

You don’t know where Cora is, and you don’t get the chance to ask. She puts the bottle down on the little nightstand next to the bed. She leaves the room and shuts the door, but leaves a small gap. 

“I’m right outside, just tell me if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

You can’t sleep. You lay there bright awake until the sun comes up. If you could, you’d heave your legs over the bed, put on your shoes and sneak right past Ellie and find Joel. But your body hurts too much, so you stay. 

It feels weird being safely tucked in on a real bed. Guarded by the people you left. You’re safe, out of harm’s reach. There’s a pang of guilt in your chest. You don’t deserve this. You really thought that stall in the stable would be the last thing you’d see. That you’d soon be reunited with Julie when you saw the pool of your own blood grow beneath you. You tear up a bit at the thought. This wasn’t how it was going to end. You have mixed feelings about it all. 

After a few sleepless hours on your own you hear mumbling on the other side of the door. After a minute or two, Ellie enters the room. She brought soup. 

“Oh wow, this is way too fancy for me.” you joke a bit and heave yourself up to a sitting position in the bed. You try to accept the tin can but Ellie insists on helping you eat. Classic chicken noodle soup. It tastes delicious. 

“This is all we have for today,” she says apologetically. “Sorry… you must be hungry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” you say and while you give her half a smile someone leans their shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed. You look up and see Joel. You stiffen a bit and your eyes lock with his. 

“Hi” you say, voice raspy. 

“Hi” he sighs back, worriedly. 

There’s silence for a couple of seconds. There’s so much tension in the air that Ellie has to sense that something must be wrong if you two stay quiet for longer. So you’re the one to speak up, when he doesn’t. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay” you tell him, you don’t know who you’re trying to convince. Joel or yourself. He’s not convinced, the worried look stays on his face.

“Sure” he looks at you straight faced. He doesn’t believe a word you say. You see it in the way his brows furrow and that line between them becomes even more visible. So you opt for a different take.

“How did you know I was there?” you ask. Ellie is quick to answer, and explains that they traced your tracks in the snow and found some of your belongings scattered in the forest. They knew no animal or infected could be behind all that. 

“I told her to stay back but apparently someone doesn’t listen to orders.” He shoots Ellie an accusing glare. He’s not entirely happy with her. 

“Will you please remind me again, who found her?” Ellie argues back. “Who got her out? Without causing any trouble?”

She was right. She was the one who picked the lock and quietly got you out while Joel was outside creating chaos. But Joel doesn’t seem to be too impressed with Ellie’s rescue mission.

“Hey, what if you were hurt?” he’s visibly upset. “What would I tell Marlene then? Oh, yeah, ‘that girl you told me to drag over half the country got herself killed’?”

Ellie gives him a glare and a second later, storms out muttering something you can’t hear. 

“Not too far!” Joel yells after her. He gets an annoyed ‘I know’ back. 

So you’re back to silence. You sit in your bed, fiddling with the hem of the blanket, nervously biting the inside of your cheek. After a minute of Joel just standing there looking at you worriedly, he finally sits down on the bed next to your legs. 

“Did you kill them?” you ask after a while and nervously look up at him. He keeps his gaze down towards the floor. 

He doesn’t answer straight away. He hesitates for a couple of seconds before he clears his throat and finally speaks to you. 

“That’s not important.”

“Did you or did you not?”

“I did.” He's now facing you, instead of studying the flecks of dirt on his shoes. “I don’t know about them all, but I would be surprised if more than one or two got out of there in one piece.”

“I’m sorry if that bothers you.” he adds after a couple of seconds of silence. 

“It doesn’t.” you answer quickly. You think for a second and then add, “I’m glad.”

He just looks at you, a bit oddly and squints a bit. Like he doesn’t believe you. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” he just says calmly, back to his usual stone face expression and gets up from the bed and leaves the room.When he comes back he has brought some warm water and a cloth. He cleans your burns and dabs your swollen face with the damp cloth. The piece of fabric is stained red. You flinch at every touch. But you will be okay.

[sayafics]

Ghosts - Chapter II

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Masterlist

It had not taken long for the newly formed pair to make their way to Rick's house, Casper's calves burning as she pedalled harder with each metre they drew closer to their destination.

Rick looked distracted. He felt numb. The only person he was concerned about was his son, Carl.

Casper was not sure what he had been trying to say, but through his panicked mumbles and frantic breaths, she was able to make out that he needed to look for his family.

His son, and his wife.

She did not know why, but she could feel her heart get a little heavier at the sound of the word passing his lips. She did not know this man, she had just met him; but she blamed it on the way he looked at her, looked through her. As though he saw her for all she is, as though she was not an enigma, as though her memories had not escaped from her, as though she was just as lost as he was. And in many ways she was.

Rick could not help but see her as someone to protect, when he had first seen her laying on the hospital bed - frail and vulnerable just like he was.

There had been no one to save him, no one to grab him and pull him into safety.

He had been caged away under the hope that he would pass in his sleep. But he did not, and he would be damned if he tried to do that to someone else. Another person, another human.

His heart ached at the prospect - when he first approached her bedside, she had looked as though she was in pain, her features twisted in agony as empty vials sat haphazardly on the nightstand - painkillers.

He did not know what she had been through, and if Casper was being honest she could not remember it herself.

The dead were walking. The dead had risen.

And supposedly, if the duffelbag was anything to go by, she had been an active participant in the chaos around her.

But she could not remember. And the frustration of that ate at her, delving into a gaping hole deep within her heart, causing it to fester in paranoia and dread. What had she forgotten? Who?

She had not touched the weapons in the bag since she had found it, fearful that they would feel right.

They couldn't. Shouldn't.

Fear was a powerful monster, one she would not put a fight up against. Not now.

***

Casper was currently rifling through Rick's wardrobe in the bedroom that belonged to his past life - before the apocalypse. Her heart sinking at every agonised cry the man gave out as he realised his family was not here, and the possibility of them being dead or lost or in danger was too high for him to be able to control his emotions.

The two had been through a trainwreck of emotions, but unlike Casper, Rick actually had something to lose, and all his hope had been crushed when his worst fear had come true and his family had been snatched from his grasp.

The sounds of his sobs only strengthened her resolution - she would help him find his son, and his wife. She would help Rick.

It was not like she had anything more to do.

As Casper began pulling on the clothes she had found - a big red jumper, which she assumed belonged to Rick, to cover up the parts of her body she has not had time to investigate, and a pair of black shorts to compromise for the scorching Georgia heat.

She was lucky, as traumatic as it may have been, that Rick's wife had not taken her shoes in the rush as it meant that Casper could trade out her flimsy slippers for a pair of beaten trainers. At least this way, it would be easier to outrun the dead.

She had only just finished tying up her laces before he heard a thud, and then - "Daddy, I got the sumbitch. I’m gonna smack him dead!"

Casper held her breath, waiting for Rick to reply.

Maybe this was his son?

Or maybe this was a friend?

Whoever it was, she prayed they were not an enem-

"He say something? I thought I heard him say something."

Another man spoke instead, a deep voice that was full of suspicion and full of caution. With a hesitant hand, Casper began to push her duffelbag under Rick's bed, hoping the strangers would not see it and take it for their own.

They needed it - her and Rick.

The voices continued, "He called me Carl."

"Son, you know they don’t talk. Hey, mister. What’s the bandage for?"

There was a beat of silence, Casper straining her ears to catch a ragged "w-what?"

"What kind of wound? You answer me, damn you. What’s your wound? You tell me or I will kill you."

Casper did not wait for Rick to respond after that, fear flooding her mind and pushing her into autopilot as she leapt up from her place on the ground and bounded out the door - weaponless and defenceless.

She almost stepped back as she took in the scene, a child no more than 9 with a shovel gripped tightly in his hands, a man who was shorter than Rick but still large in stature lumbered over Rick's unconscious figure, a gun lowered at his side.

At the sound of her footsteps, they both looked up to her, but she did not let that stop her. Moving closer, she raised both hands placatingly - "please, let us go. We don't wish any harm, we were just passing through."

"What's his wound?"

"I-I'm, I do-"

The man shifted towards her, hand tensing around the gun as he got ready to aim once again if she left his queries unanswered.

"Wound?" The word having emphasis placed on it, as he seethed in anger and desperation.

"He didn't tell me." Her voice was quiet, quieter than she would have liked. But it had seemed to be enough to calm him.

"You don't know why he has the wound, but you feel safe enough to travel with him?"

"Should I not? He can't do much to me, he's passed out on the floor right now... I hope," realisation crossing her face as she began to think that Rick could actually be dead instead.

A light snort escaped the man standing across her, he shook his head lightly - "he passed out, might have a concussion. My boy was being cautious, now I am doing the same. If he was bit, it's not safe for you to be with him."

Bit?

Casper tried to hold her confusion, tried to keep the playing field as equal as possible and not give him the advantage of having knowledge over her.

She did not know why a bite was so important, but what she did know was she could not drag Rick's unconscious, malnourished body across Georgia. Not when she herself was in almost a bad state like his own.

"He wasn't."

They looked at her skeptically, "I promise, he's not."

They regarded her for a moment longer, before the older man looked towards Rick's unconscious figure.

"We can give you refuge, for a night or so. An apology, for our over-cautious treatment," a ghost of a smile present on his face as his expression became doused with uncertainty.

Casper was not one to turn away from a truly good offer, and honestly, it was probably her best option, too.

***

Casper sat unceremoniously next to an unconscious, tied-up Rick Grimes - she placed herself at the head of the bed, her body turned towards Rick and Morgan as she leaned against the headboard, watching carefully as Morgan replaced the bandages that had been taped against Rick's side for almost a month now. Duane stood to the side, baseball bat at the ready.

Casper almost quirked a smile at the sight.

The wound had begun to scar, and it reminded her of a gunshot wound, but she did not dare to volunteer her thoughts - fearing, if she was wrong, Morgan would turn them out at the dead of night.

Casper may not have remembered much from before the hospital, but she did know that the thought of being out in the dark sent chills down her spine, and she was certain she saw a figure with every glance she gave towards a dark corner. The shadows were haunting her. Her past was. And she would do her best to outrun the truth.

Just then, the bed shifted slightly under her as Rick began to awaken. His body subconsciously leaned towards her own, the movement causing the bare skin of his shoulder to brush against that of her knee.

The movement had also gained Morgan's attention, pulling him away from his tasks to focus on a now awake and alert Rick Grimes.

It seemed even after taking in his surroundings, seeing where he was and with whom - he had not moved from his place next to Casper.

Whether it was to seek comfort or provide it, she was not sure, but she did know that her skin began to heat under the prolonged contact. The knowledge of that caused her to bring her hands to her face, brushing her hair back into a ponytail with the hair tie she had found, hoping her face would cool with it out the way.

"Got that bandage changed now. It was pretty rank. What was the wound?"

"Gunshot." Casper relaxed at this words, and as though he felt the tension leave her body, Rick leaned in more towards her, the slight weight he placed against her a comforting reminder she was not alone. They were as lost as each other. They were lost together. So they would survive together.

"Gunshot? What else? Anything?"

"Gunshot ain't enough?"

Morgan made a motion to step forward at that, and Casper continued to stay quiet.

"Look, I ask and you answer. That’s common courtesy, right?" Morgan leaned closer towards Rick, looking for any signs he may be lying.

"Did you get bit?"

"Bit?"

"Bit, chewed, maybe scratched– Anything like that?"

"No, I got shot. Just shot as far as I know."

Morgan reaches his hand out towards Rick, Casper can feel him flinch against her knee and gives in to the instinct to place a hand on his shoulder - the shoulder that was still touching her knee.

Rick relaxed under her grip, and Morgan continued in his motion, placing his hand against Rick's forehead - "feels cool enough. Fever would’ve killed you by now."

"I don't think I have one."

"Be hard to miss."

There was a beat of silence. And then Morgan pulls out a switchblade, the sight forcing Casper to her knees as she gets ready to protect Rick and herself.

"You try anything - either of you. I will kill you with it, and don't think I won't."

And with those words, he reached towards the cords, which held Rick's hands and cut them free. He returns his switchblade to his pocket, beckoning the pair to join him and Duane when they are ready to, before leaving the room with his son in tow.

The pair sat together in an awkward silence, but still Rick had made no move to get away from her.

If anything, Casper jolting to come at their defence had changed their positions, so now Rick's bandaged side pressed firmly against the bare skin of her legs.

Lost. Together.

[balzabul]

sorry im gonna be mean abt starfield for a moment like i LIKE it dont get me wrong and i was v excited for it for years but there are small things that pick at me abt it that like, given the enormously long development time and the constant claims (from bethesda) that they're the best of the best when it comes to open world sims should Not still be something im noticing after release lol

you can't interact with items or read notes directly from the world, you have to add them to your inventory and then go looking for them, just like one of the worst parts of skyrim

actually you CAN but only with equipping gear and weapons. why restrict that ability i do not know.

menus require SO much tabbing in and out and back tracking, the whole ui is so unoptimized.

the inventory in particular feels like a step backwards even from the nightmare that is the modern pipboy

bethesda has learned nothing in the last 8 years since fallout 4 about combat, it's still awful and enemies are nothing but damage sponges. 8 consecutive shots to the head with a sniper rifle should not leave grunt enemies with more than 50% health LOL

SPEAKING OF COMBAT THEY *REMOVED* LIGHT MELEE WHILE USING A GUN FROM FO4 AND 76??? like there's no bashing or punching to get enemies out of your face you have to unequip your gun. which can't be done with a hotkey lol

another innovation from fo76 they scrapped is being able to access traders directly, without a dialogue prompt (pressing R instead of E when activating a merchant) so, just like skyrim, you have to go through the ridiculous "do you want to buy?" "i do want to buy" "you should buy!" *merchant inventory loads for 5 seconds*

doubly frustrating when like half of these problems were modded out in both skyrim and fo4, and even fo76 where possible. like bethesda your audience clearly hates these things. a lot.

like these are all small and i guess nit-picky but if you're making a current-generation "super technologically advanced" (their words) simulation you should probably, idk! make it feel good to play! and not like a 12 year old game!

[selamat-linting]

One day about a month ago, I really hit bottom. You know, I just felt that in a Godless universe, I didn't want to go on living. Now I happen to own this rifle, which I loaded, believe it or not, and pressed it to my forehead. And I remember thinking, at the time, I'm gonna kill myself. Then I thought, what if I'm wrong? What if there is a God? I mean, after all, nobody really knows that. But then I thought, no, you know, maybe is not good enough. I want certainty or nothing. And I remember very clearly, the clock was ticking, and I was sitting there frozen with the gun to my head, debating whether to shoot

All of a sudden, the gun went off. I had been so tense my finger had squeezed the trigger inadvertently. But I was perspiring so much the gun had slid off my forehead and missed me. And suddenly neighbors were, were pounding on the door, and, and I don't know, the whole scene was just pandemonium. And, uh, you know, I-I-I ran to the door, I-I didn't know what to say. You know, I was-I was embarrassed and confused and my-my-my mind was r-r-racing a mile a minute. And I-I just knew one thing I-I-I had to get out of that house, I had to just get out in the fresh air and-and clear my head

And I remember very clearly, I walked the streets. I walked and I walked. I-I didn't know what was going through my mind. It all seemed so violent and un-unreal to me. And I wandered for a long time on the Upper West Side, you know, and-and it must have been hours. You know, my-my feet hurt, my head was-was pounding, and-and I had to sit down. I went into a movie house. I-I didn't know what was playing or anything I just, I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts and, and be logical and put the world back into rational perspective

And I went upstairs to the balcony, and I sat down, and, you know, the movie was a-a-a film that I'd seen many times in my life since I was a kid, and-and I always, uh, loved it. And, you know, I'm-I'm watching these people up on the screen and I started getting hooked on the film, you know. And I started to feel, how can you even think of killing yourself. I mean isn't it so stupid?

I mean, l-look at all the people up there on the screen. You know, they're real funny, and-and what if the worst is true. What if there's no God, and you only go around once and that's it. Well, you know, don't you want to be part of the experience? You know, what the hell, it's-it's not all a drag. And I'm thinkin' to myself, geez, I should stop ruining my life - searching for answers I'm never gonna get, and just enjoy it while it lasts. And, you know, after, who knows? I mean, you know, maybe there is something. Nobody really knows. I know, I know maybe is a very slim reed to hang your whole life on, but that's the best we have. And then, I started to sit back, and I actually began to enjoy myself

[aceghosts]

WIP Tuesday

Hey Everyone! I was tagged for WIP Tuesday by @clicheantagonist, @hoesephseed, @henbased, @thomrainer, @adelaidedrubman, and possibly others. Apologies, it has been a while. Thank you all for tagging me! I

Tagging: @allthearchetypes, @sstewyhosseini, @marivenah, @natesofrellis, @bluemojave, @indorilnerevarine, @derelictheretic, @chyrstis, @p0lkadotdotdot, and anyone else who wants to do this! I'm sorry I'm blanking a little on names lol!

Since I’m aiming to have a Mass Effect one shot out for all of you soon, I think I’ll just share some FC5 and Resident Evil stuff under the cut.

First snippet comes from Chapter 6 of the Five Years Later AU. Now, that everyone knows about Ethel and Peter, I don’t feel bad about sharing part of this chapter. Also, this is still first draft stuff. So, I apologize for any inconsistencies, errors, and the like. Here is the snippet:

               Trying to play their questions off, Blue rolls their eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what weird narrative you’ve cooked up in your heads, but I did not visit Joseph Seed. I don’t want anything to do with him or Eden’s Gate for the rest of my life. So, fuck off.” They were done being nice or polite about this. The familiar wrath burns within them, the ‘WRATH’ scar itching. Instinctively, Blue brings their left hand up to their chest, right where the scar lay.

               Ethel tilts her head, stepping forward towards Blue. “Are we making you angry? After all, that’s where the Wrath tattoo lays right? I’ve seen the examination photos of it.”

               Blue looks at her like she grew several heads, dropping their hand to their side. “Of course, I’m angry. You keep bringing up the topic that contains some of the worst memories of my life, and then don’t understand why I don’t want to talk about it. For the record, a tattoo is something you want. What John Seed gave me was a fucking scar, not a tattoo.”

               “You still haven’t answered the question about your relationship with Joseph Seed,” Ethel states, moving closer to Blue.

Buckle in everybody; it’s gonna be a rough chapter.

As for Resident Evil, I’ve been working on the first draft of Hunter’s fic. I’m really interested in this one, and I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it. I thought I would share two snippets from that. Have some Ada and Hunter content:

               Ada looks up, sighing as Hunter returns to their seat. “He isn’t going to be happy with that.”

               “Yeah, well, fuck him. Who is your boss? The Queen of fucking England?”

               She laughs. “No, but he has a lot of influence. My employer could make life very difficult if you don’t choose to play nice.”

               “Ada, I’m dying. My life can’t get any more fucking difficult.”

               Her eyes widen, looking at Hunter with a mixture of pity and curiosity. “Hmm...You know, he never told me why he was interested in recruiting you.”

               “Would you believe me if I told you that it was my winning personality?”

               Ada laughs, a real fucking genuine laugh. “No. So, will you tell me, Hunter?”

And have some Hunter and Wesker content:

               Another group of guards comes round the corner, and Wesker wastes no time murdering them. In Wesker’s blind spot, Hunter notices another guard approaching him, hoping to get the drop on an occupied Wesker. Holstering the assault rifle with the empty clip, Hunter runs toward Wesker and the additional guard, crossing the distance in a blink of an eye. As they reach Wesker, Hunter yells, “WATCH OUT!”

               Wesker nods, ducking below the thrown fist of a different guard. They leap, sliding over his back as they kick the approaching guard in the chest with both their legs. Hunter hears his bones crack under the impact of their kick, throwing the guard backward through a wall. They land deftly on their feet, readying for the next combatant. Another guard comes for them, and Hunter aims a high kick, catching the guard in the chin and knocking him backward. A third guard comes for them, and Hunter aims a kick at his knee, his knee cracking under the pressure of their kick. They grab him by the collar, throwing him into a guard gunning for Wesker. Together, Hunter and Wesker finish the remaining guards, the combination of their enhanced strength and speed, giving the duo the advantage. As they finish off the last guard, Hunter catches Wesker staring at them. “Something wrong?”

               He smiles, a chill running up Hunter’s spine. “No. Quite the opposite actually. Have you ever tested your abilities?”

               They shake their head. “No. I was too busy trying to kill the people who fucked me over.”

               “We should; I think your results could prove quite interesting.” Wesker turns away from Hunter, his black coat trailing after him. “Come along, Hunter. We have more to do.”

Writing action scenes is a pain. >=(

[unrequitedloveletter]

The Halloweek of Angst: DAY FIVE

Forever- Jesper Fahey

I didn’t do Jesper justice with the first fic I wrote for him with this event. I’ve so far piped out blurbs/blurb adjacent things because my brain just,, decided it was blurb time? idk, but here’s day five, and the second last day of the Halloweek event wherein the fics aren’t ones that involve Kaz! I did try my best to make this one angst but it ended up being more hurt/comfort-y with some adorable “i would die for you” type confessions because its friday and because who doesn’t love an “I would die for you” type confession??

The crows are around 22 in this one!

Fic type- hurt/comfort with a fluffy-ish ending

Warnings- mentions of death, blood, stitches, chest tubes and just general medical supplies including needles, a medical thread, and medical tape

The air in Ketterdam was as it always tended to be in the final days before a storm. It was thick, the fog almost thicker, making it borderline impossible to see. Still, Jesper moved forward, knowing the route to the Slat from Fifth Harbor like he knew the back of his own hand. 

In one hand, Jesper held a rifle. His other was clutching the strap of the satchel that crossed from his left shoulder to his right hip, making sure that it wouldn’t be so much as at risk of falling or slipping off of his frame. The contents of the satchel were too important, one of them too reactive to water, to risk allowing the crossbody satchel to get any water near the bottom of it, where most of the supplies rested.

The moment he reached the Slat, breathing in a breath of relief, Wylan was at his side. 

“Did you get it?”

“Why you needed an ingredient that was reactive to water is something I would very much appreciate knowing,” Jesper said, spinning the revolver on his finger before he tucked it back into its holster. He took the bag off, passing it to Wylan and feeling relieved that the specific, fabrikator made material wasn’t his responsibility anymore. 

“Making a bomb,” Wylan said. “I don’t know how they’ll use it, but I was asked to you by the love of your life, who, rather unfortunately, isn’t doing as well as Nina hoped they would be by now. No healers are in the area, but Nina is doing the best she can. I’ll just get the material I need from the satchel, and you can take the rest of it up.” 

Wylan grabbed what he needed. Jesper took the rest of it upstairs, heading into your room without a second thought, passing the satchel to Nina as he sat at the end of the bed.

“Their heart is beating still,” Nina said. “The less severe of their wounds have been healed, and I’ve managed to get the more severe ones to stop bleeding. You got everything?”

“Gauze, medical thread, a few needles, a chest tube if it’s needed, some whiskey to disinfect. I would’ve gotten proper rubbing alcohol, but it seems that the fog and the storm have caused quite a few medical emergencies. I couldn’t find any in the shops.” 

Nina shrugged. “Whiskey works. You’re welcome to stay, if you want.” 

“Do you happen to know why Y/N wanted Wylan to build them a bomb?” 

“They want revenge, Jes. They want to kill their assailants. Why?” 

Jesper shrugged. “Eh, bit of mundane curiosity, the smallest of urges to kill their assailants myself, nothing worthy of note,” he said. “If they don’t make it, there’ll be no question about me using the bomb, right?”

Nina shook her head. “Nah. Revenge for the death of someone who was practically your soulmate? Seems only fair. You gonna stay or go?” 

Jesper sighed, glanced at you once more. “I think I’m gonna grab a drink, perhaps. The moment you have an update--”

Nina cut him off by nodding, giving Jesper a look as though to say that doing so was common sense, and though a large part of him wanted to stay, there was an even larger part of him that would experience one of the worlds worst heartbreaks in staying. There was to be pain in seeing you getting stitched up because two idiots had decided to make you their target, knowing that you would wake up in pain because of your wounds and still, you’d be up, trying to go out and fight the bastards even despite Nina and Inejs insistence that you rest. 

So, he left, feeling some part of his heart break whilst the other began the process of drowning in guilt for doing so as he went. 

He didn’t want you to die, but he couldn’t bare to see Nina make sure you lived. Such a thing was one that was going to eat him up inside, and he resented himself for it.  

--

Two hours later, Jesper heard a familiar set of footsteps heading down the stairs. He glanced at Wylan, who’d been sitting to his right, and Wylan only grinned. 

“An explosion will occur in the East Stave no later than midnight,” he said. “I’ll get Kaz to plant the bomb. It’s out of his way, but he’s the only one of us who needs to leave the Slat tonight. He can make himself useful in the regard of revenge.” 

With the words, Wylan got up, and not ten seconds later, you took his spot, ordering a round of brandy like it was just another goddamn Tuesday. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t--”

“You’re finnicky about blood and death in the general sense. You don’t need to apologize. I get it. I’m just glad that you stayed, didn’t go out seeking your vengeance.” 

“I almost did,” Jesper admitted. Rarely did he think to kill someone else, but it seemed that when it came to you, he was willing to kill a thousand people if it meant that the revenge Jesper had been seeking had been found. “Wylans gonna get the bomb to Kaz, and at worst, your assailants will be severely injured.”

“No, at worst, they won’t have been there at all,” you said. “But I do owe him my thanks. I owe you my thanks, as well.” 

“You have nothing to thank me for.”

“The medical supplies that saved my life?” You spoke. “The whiskey that cleaned my wounds? Was it someone else who got those, or was it you, the only man willing to move through the thickest fog Nina Zenik had ever seen, just to make sure I had so much as a chance at making it out of the attack doing at least decently?” 

“I--” Jesper had done that. He’d done it because you were the love of his life, and the thought of losing you was terrifying, much less the reality that’d faced him two hours before, the reality that you would’ve died had Nina not sent him off.

“The thought of losing you is one that I simply can’t stomach. I know that we’re in Ketterdam, and I should expect to be confronted with the fact that losing you in this town is incredibly easy, considering the amount of enemies that the Dregs has as a whole, but every time that you dance toe to toe with death, I will do whatever I can to make sure you stay alive. You are the love of my life, Y/N. I refuse to lose you to a couple idiots who think that they’re brave by trying to get you killed.” 

“Jesper, I--” you cut yourself off, knowing that you felt the exact same way that Jesper did. You been in love with Jesper Fahey for five years. Five years had been spent loving him, and it was as a direct result of such that you knew that you were willing to kill someone who so much as made a threat on his life. You would’ve died if it meant he lived, and such feelings were ones you’d not felt toward anyone else. You could’ve died the following day and you would’ve died happy, knowing that you’d loved Jesper Fahey and he’d loved you in return. 

Jesper stood, and the moment you followed suit, he pulled you into a hug. He let himself be glad that you’d still been alive, told you that he loved you and mentally promised never to stop doing so. 

He pulled away just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, and as he did, you breathed in his scent. Bourbon, gunpowder, and woodsmoke. It made you smile without realizing that you’d done so, and as he pulled away, hand still linked in yours, you caught yourself in the smile, but allowed it, for you were looking at the man you’d love forever. 

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '19 Prompt No. 12 — "What if I don't see it?"

Category: Original WIP: Drowning Future AU Rating: T Timeline: two years in the future from the end of book one, in an alternate universe where Thrive did not leave CW: none Word Count: 981 Additional Notes: these were the pieces that birthed the AU in the first place woweeee

***

PART II ➳ PART I

Chk-chk-chk-chk!

Warren's heart sank and he turned the rifle over, patting his chest pockets for more rounds. "Fuck," he yelled. "Oh god, I'm out!"

Thrive didn't hesitate, abandoning his fight with the Foremaster at the end of the sewer tunnel to sprint back over to where Warren was cornered by a Headmaster. He threw himself between them, swinging his hands up to lift a shield that caught the immediate swipe of a tentacle blade.

"Get through the grate!" he ordered.

Warren spun around to eye the mouth of another drain down the path, dark and damp and closed off with a few metal bars. "I think that's a dead-end..."

"It won't be for long."

Warren ducked out from behind Thrive's shield and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, feet pounding on the cement and through rainwater, dodging veteran rifle fire and swinging blades. A silver flash sliced through his left jacket sleeve, spraying a small amount of blood, but he ignored the sting to push forward.

With difficulty, he squeezed between the bars, standing back so Thrive could follow. Before he was able to ask what came next, Thrive raised his arms and yanked them downward, bringing concrete from the ceiling on the other side down on top of a Foremaster who let out a primal shriek before perishing under the weight and the trauma.

The eliyi attempted to dig through the cave-in but it soon became clear they weren't going to succeed anytime soon.

Warren tried desperately to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest as he realized they'd essentially buried themselves within a ten-by-fifteen-foot bomb shelter. Not a shred of light to be seen. He backed up as far as he could go and his back hit the wall behind him. He could feel and hear the water draining somewhere behind him but he couldn't see anything.

"I can sense you're starting to panic," Thrive said gently. "I'd like to remind you that I can see everything here and I know for a fact I can get us out."

The eliyi continued to attack the rubble to no avail.

Warren's fingers started to tingle. "This is pointless."

"Get a hold of yourself," Thrive said. "Our chances of survival here are massive."

"Well, what about everywhere else? We've been running for two entire years, and nothing's being done. We're not getting out of this."

Thrive paused, listening to the eliyi slowing down outside. When he spoke again, his voice began to move closer. "Warren…the worst thing you could do is to give up after all you've been through up to this point. You're much stronger than that."

"No, I'm not. I'm not! There's no point in running anymore, because where the fuck are we gonna go?! They're gonna be all over the goddamn country and then what?!"

"Then we deal with it, and we look to the future, where there has to be an end."

"What if I don't see it?" Warren retorted. "What if I can't even think of pretending to fathom an end to this horrific nightmare?! What if there really is no relief from any of this?!"

"Then I will give up right alongside you."

Warren fell silent. The unexpected desolation within those eight words made Warren's stomach do an uncomfortable dive. He was breaking, and he'd never thought he'd see that, and he didn't want to see it now.

"Hey," he murmured at length. "…Don't."

The eliyi appeared to have moved on. Thrive stepped noisily away, blasting the rubble clear and slipping through the bars into the spotlight from the open sewer mouth above them.

Warren followed him. "Thrive—"

He turned. Looked him straight in the eye.

"I just need a break. I just want…a day of nothing." Warren shook his head. "And I feel guilty as hell for even…dreaming of that. I'm not as strong as you think I am. I'm not as strong as you are."

Thrive's brow twitched. "What do you suppose went through my head when you were impaled by that eliyi last month?" When Warren didn't answer, he clenched his jaw. "Nothing. I didn't have the faintest idea of what to do. I was at a complete and total loss. For the first time in my eight thousand years of life, I had no plan to move forward. My brain had practically shut down. How does that equate to strength in your eyes?"

Warren's breath caught in his chest.

Thrive's gaze shifted from steel to molten heat. "…What are you doing to me, Cougar?"

It was Warren's turn for his brain to shut down. He dropped his rifle against the wall and Thrive met him halfway, gathering him into his arms, kissing him like tomorrow would actually never come, all but bruising their lips and their muscles as they held onto each other in grips that begged for life, for hope.

Thrive clutched Warren's face as he eventually broke from him. "Don't ever slip away from me again," he demanded, his voice wavering. "You are too priceless to lose."

Warren embraced him again, fighting the overwhelming emotion threatening to dislodge itself from the back of his throat. His heart soared and ached at the same time.

They found a safe place to stay until dawn in a pilfered gas station stock room. Thrive bolted the back door, set up a few emergency candles as the sun went down, and rolled out a few cheap blankets from their rucksacks. They held each other, let the passion and the heat of the moment take over, just for a while.

Warren awoke the next morning to find Thrive half-dressed and sitting with his legs folded under him in the wide-open door, letting shining sunlight inside the room and staring out into the deserted street behind the gas station.

They didn't move until Warren couldn't ignore his need for food any longer.

[bobgoesw00t]

Top 10 Video Games of All Time: bobgoesw00t Edition (Part 03)

I realized yesterday that if I’m gonna get the rest of this list posted by the end of the year that I need to step it up and post one every other day (with the exception of my top pick as I’ll be spending that afternoon with my family at our Christmas/Wintersday/Holiday party...as long as none of us get COVID within the next two weeks...but if that doesn’t happen, I’ll be back on the 27th with that post), SO HERE WE GO NUMBER 08 GOES TO:

Now I know a lot of people will tell you this is one of the worst entries in the franchise but let's all be honest, that award probably goes to Halo 5 Guardians. While Halo 5 has PERFECT gameplay IMO, it's campaign is a load of crap (with the exception of the opening cutscene which is FUCKING PHENOMENAL), War Zone is super one sided 99% of the time unless it's War Zone Turbo or War Zone Firefight and it's inclusion of loot boxes without any system to increase the drop rate of rarer items is a load of bullshit. But that's not what I'm here to talk about, I'm here to talk about Halo 4.

The first time I watched the Prologue upon booting up the campaign, I literally thought I was watching a live action cutscene and I continued to think that for a longest time. The one thing this game has going for it to be honest is how GORGEOUS it is and the team at 343 pushed the Xbox 360 to it's limits in order to get the game to look that good. The story was the most emotional one we had gotten at the time of release and seeing John struggle with completing his mission of saving humanity while not wanting to let go of Cortana is heartbreaking and it stabs me in the feels EVERY DAMN TIME!!!

While most people detest Spartan Ops (while loving the gorgeous cutscenes at the start of every episode), I was one of the minority in loving it. Having a series of bit-sized campaign missions to play each week while using my custom loadouts (one of my favorite gameplay features which I'll go over in a bit) was a good way to keep me coming back to play the game and it kept the multiplayer from getting too boring for me.

Speaking of which, I KICKED ASS in the multiplayer when the game launched and I think that's been some of the most fun I've ever had in Halo multiplayer. The fact that each of the guns felt good to use and they all sounded like they packed a punch (ESPECIALLY the DMR! The Halo Reach version of that gun is good in the campaign and Firefight but it totally sucks in the multiplayer IMO and it lacks the OOMPH the Halo 4 and 5 versions have that let you know it's a beast) is awesome. Hell, the Halo 4 Magnum is my favorite version of the weapon as it took everything about the previous pistols/magnums and melded them into a great sidearm. And the game's Assault Rifle is good as well to be honest, not just from an audio perspective but it has a good clip size, max ammo count, fate of fire (without feeling like a pea shooter like in Reach and Infinite at times), and it has decent range.

Gonna talk about gameplay real quickly before I give the score and the two honorable mentions for this entry and all I have to say is THANK GOD 343 GOT RID OF SPRINT AS AN ARMOR ABILITY!!!!!!! That's one of my BIGGEST criticisms with Halo Reach, Sprinting is locked behind an ARMOR ABILITY when literally every other First Person Shooter at the time had Sprint as a default ability that can be used at any point. The other Armor Abilities in Reach are great (Drop Shield will SAVE YOUR ASS in the campaign on harder difficulties) but I still can't get behind Sprint being something that needs to be swapped out for other options. Halo 4 also has some good abilities, with my personal favorite being the Thruster Pack as it's basically the games version of Evade from Reach and it has many uses outside of the obvious "dodge out of the way". Also LOOOOVE that they FINALLY let us use custom loadouts outside of private matches, something I was HIGHLY disappointed in when Reach came out cause in the previews and stuff before it came out, Bungie had said we could make Custom Loadouts but didn't specify that it was exclusive to private matches.

Overall, Halo 4 ended up being everything I wanted it to be and more, and it continues to be my favorite entry in the franchise, but Halo Infinite is a VERY close second for not only addressing the problems Halo 5 had, but also for bringing in an open world setting and giving me the one thing I never knew I needed in a Halo game...A GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING GRAPPLING HOOK!!!!! So I have to give Halo 4 the same score I gave it ten years ago:

A 5 out of 5

Honorable Mentions this week are:

Halo Infinite: Only fitting that I include my second favorite entry in the franchise.

Star Wars Battlefront II (2005): While the 2017 game is in a stable place now and is a lot of fun, matches can tend to be super one sided for me and nothing will ever beat my memories of spending hours playing Mos Eisley Hero Assault on my computer, abusing Aayla Secura's Force Pull from on top of the ship half buried in the ground and WAILING ON THE POOR SUCKER THAT WAS UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO BE MY PRAY xD

Also, I should mention that you'll be seeing a trend with the games that I've picked as my favorite video games of all time xP

[dameronology]

kissing away tears with frank castle pls???

frank my man😎

You'd never seen Frank Castle cry before.

He had just never seemed like the type. Not that there was a type of person who was completely immune to crying, but he was hardly a man of many emotions. You had seen him illicit a few; rage, hunger, tiredness. Of course, there were softer ones too - in the quieter moments when it was just you and him. For a long time, it had just been Frank against the world. Now, he had you by his side and he'd damned if he didn't show some affection every now and then. It was all so quintessentially him; a hand on your thigh under the table, a large palm splayed out in the small of your back in a busy area. Always protecting you; always looking out for you.

But crying? No, you hadn't seen that one. Even after spending the better part of a year with Frank, you hadn't seen him shed a tear. There had been a close moment when you'd watched Marley & Me but that was the extent of it. And you couldn't blame him, really. The man was the text-book definition of emotional exhaustion. You probably would have turned yourself off completely if you'd dealt with the shit he had.

You couldn't quite comprehend the feeling of seeing Frank cry for the first time. Initially, you'd thought he was laughing, or at least pretending. Because he didn't cry, right?

No, all humans cried. Even the hardest ones.

He'd come stumbling through the front door, rifle tossed to the floor. His eyes were red, cheeks streaked with tears. It had taken him just moments to grab you, large arms gripping your waist and pinning you flush against his chest. He didn't look like The Punisher in that moment - just Frank. A man who had dealt with too much and processed it too little. A man who had the worst fucking enemies and yet, found the worst of them in his own goddamn feelings.

You didn't protest - you just let him hold you.

"Frank," you murmured. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you shoved him back and forced him to look at you. "Frank, look at me! What's going on?"

He looked like a kick puppy; watery eyes and quivering lips. There was blood on his forehead, but it didn't look like his, in the same way that the red on his hands didn't seem to come from his cuts. You couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of shit might have caused him to actually, physically cry. You knew what he did and you'd heard stories but like hell could you ever have truly begun to understand what it felt like.

"Frank," you whispered. You ghosted a hand over his cheek-bone and he softly leant in to it, a sigh escaping his lips. "Talk to me."

"You weren't here when I left-"

"- I worked late tonight," you reminded him. "I always work late on Tuesdays-"

"- I heard something over the police interceptor," he cut you off, hands gripping you even tighter. "Someone who matched your description way too goddamn much was found dead about five minutes from your work, and I just...I got this feeling in my stomach, you know? That something had happened. And you weren't answering your phone. You always answer your phone. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"Shit," you murmured. "I'm sorry. It died on the subway and honestly, I just got caught up with Gilmore Girls-"

" - fucking Gilmore Girls," Frank snorted - but he was smiling. "You drive me insane. You know that, right?"

You smiled back. "I know."

"I...I don't get scared. You know I don't get scared, right? But I was...I was terrified," Frank continued. He moved his hands from your waist, one coming to your neck and the other to your shoulder. "Felt that feeling once before. You know what I mean. Can't do that again. Can't deal with that again."

"You won't," you quietly insisted. "Frank, you won't. I'm here. I'm alive - had a long shift, yeah, but I'm safe and I'm well. You protect me. You know you protect me. No-one's gonna get to me like that, baby."

He nodded. "Not for as long as I live."

You reached up, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks until his tears were almost gone. He'd done the same for you enough times.

"I love you, Frank."

"I love you too."

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

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Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[justbreakonme]

Not Forgotten

Assistant preferred to work to music, and so Villain watched as she put headphones in and cut Sidekicks pant leg down the side and tossed it off to the side, her hands moving almost imperceptibly to the music. They could tell what song they were listening to based on the tempo of their movement… They couldn’t help a small twitch of a smile as she carefully eased his shoe off and tossed it aside as well.

They sighed, deciding to be useful while he was knocked out.

Assistant…well, they had their differences. They usually agreed on the big stuff, but sometimes they didn’t, and conflict wasn’t something they dealt with well. They didn’t want to fight with her, especially not over this…but all they could do was hope she’d at least see their side.

Clothes. That’s what they had been going to get. It wasn’t like he had had time to pack an overnight bag, so now Villain had to be a hospitable host.

They went to the bathroom first, grabbing a spare toothbrush and toothpaste, then one of hundreds of plastic combs they had stashed in the bottom drawer. They snapped one at least every week and they just bought them in bulk now.

They grabbed two, just in case.

After dumping that in the spare bathroom, they turned on the light in the spare “bedroom”. It really was just a bed, in a room. But they fluffed the blankets and looked it over. It would be good enough for Sidekick.

It was strange. They’d never thought about Sidekick much. He’d never been much of a threat, but he was rather…annoying. He would usually be the reason Hero escaped, and now Villain wondered how many times Sidekick had been ditched before, and maybe this was just the first time he wasn’t able to escape.

The thought paused Villain in the process of rifling through some of their old clothes. Maybe they were more right in this situation than even they had known.

Shaking their head, they turn back to the clothes, pulling out some old tee shirts and a pair of pajama pants. Sidekick was much smaller than Villain probably ever was, but the pants had a drawstring waist and the tee shirts would just have to make do. They could order him some clothes later that actually fit.

“Villain,” Assistant called from downstairs, “You should probably come see this!”

They were downstairs in a heartbeat, clothes still gripped in their fist, and…

God.

Assistant had clearly had to roll him over to examine the back of his leg. His leg was, horribly, not the worst part of the situation.

Across the back of his thigh was a huge gash, that extended up. Villain could see where Assistant had quickly slashed through the back of his shirt, to reveal so many more.

His back was shredded raw, bleeding in places.

“Those aren’t new. They were reopened yeah, but they aren’t new,” Assistant looked up at them, then back down at Sidekick in horror, “Were Hero and Sidekick somewhere else maybe?”

“No… not that I’ve heard. Last time I saw them was when I finally got a good shot in on Hero.”

Realization seemed to dawn on both of them at the same time.

“I got that shot because Sidekick was down… You don’t think…?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Hero’s never been too worried about anything that isn’t filmed.”

“Well…” Villain sighed, feeling like there was a gaping hole in their chest as they looked down at Sidekick, “Can you help him?”

“Of course.”

Assistant reached for her bag, then paused.

“You were probably right to bring him here.”

“Wow, admitting I was right and having a heart? Who are you and what have you done with Assistant?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay.”

Assistant was about to put her headphone back in, but she paused again.

“He’s gonna probably be starving later. And I know you live off of crackers and coffee, but if you want him to get better, that cannot be the same for him. So if you’ve got nothing here, you should get something. It doesn’t look like Hero made that a priority either.”

“Good thinking… If I run out for a moment, can you…?” they trailed off, gesturing to Sidekick.

“Yes, everything will be fine if you go grocery shopping.”

“Alright. Well, call me if there’s anything new. I’ll be back soon.”

And that’s how Villain, the creator of chaos and terror, ended up pacing the cereal aisle.

Tagging @ash-den again in case you were interested in the sequel

[wearywinchester]

These Moments

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: At first Dean thinks kisses on the nose are worth an eye roll, but it doesn’t take long to change his mind.

Requested by @halietigges : “It’s me again! I wish to request another Dean Winchester based on this prompt please: Kisses on the nose. ❤️”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of injury, blood, swearing, comfort, fluff, kissing

One

You bid Sam a goodnight as you stood outside the door to your motel room, him at his before you twisted open the door knob. A sigh was immediate at the sight before you, one you can’t say you didn’t expect to find but one you hoped would be the opposite. There Dean sat, hunched over in his seat at the tiny motel room table with his head resting against his fist.

He’d been like that when you left, only this time he’d been a little more frustrated. That crease between his brow is just a little deeper, and those dimples by the corners of his mouth a little more pronounced. He’d been glued to his laptop ever since you got there, newspaper clippings scattered along the scratched up and tattered hardwood table. He was researching this case for hours, and to be fair it was trickier than most. Each time he read over an article it brought with it something new, something that took him down a different avenue of just what kind of monster you’re dealing with.

Normally, he wasn’t one to dwell on research too much, jumping on the first lead he gets and hoping for the best and usually that’s all there is to it. Normally, Sam is the one nose deep in a book or scrolling through articles because that’s what he liked to do. But every once in a while Dean will get like this, will stress himself out to the max on a case.

You locked the door behind you and tossed the keys on the table, his eyes still on the screen as you stood with a brow raised.

“De,” you say after a few moments, another sigh in your words especially after his only response is a half-hearted hum. “Dean.”

Green eyes flicker to you at the extra insistence on your tone, taking in your expression with his brows still furrowed. His shoulders relax a fraction, maybe even half that as he squints up at you. “Hi sweetheart.”

You simply hold up the grease stained paper bag in your hand, two burgers and two orders of fries inside from the diner right down the street from the motel. You saw a brief moment of excitement in his eyes at the thought, at the smell, of the food in there just waiting to be eaten, but it wasn’t so easily swaying to him as he hummed once more.

“Thanks,” he says, the single word coming out distracted as something in whatever article he’s got his hands on pulls his attention.

You huff this time, a little bit of frustration simmering in your stomach. You reach over and close the laptop, eying his narrowed stare and the clench of his jaw as you tilt your head and smile at him.

“Y/n, I was reading that,” he said, less than amused.

“And now you’re not.”

“I’m not gonna get anywhere with this douchey vampire if I don’t read up on the articles in this town. We can’t have Count Dracula getting his freakin’ fangs hooked in someone else,” he says, voice a little louder than before as he rubs his hands down his face.

Your shoulders slump a little bit at the stress he’s got written all over him, biting the inside of your cheek as he stands to his feet. You can see it in the tension in his shoulders and the way his hair stuck in every direction as he runs his hands through it for what has to be the millionth time in the last hour. Dean Winchester knew exactly how to stress himself out with the absolute worst ways of handling that stress. You weren’t blind to the fact that there were three empty beer bottles on the table.

“You’ve been at it ever since we got here, Dean. I’m telling you to take a break,” you say.

He was quiet and you watched as he rifled through his duffel bag in search of his dad’s journal, the one that quite possibly was in Sam’s. You watched him dig and dig and dump everything out on the bed before inevitably stuffing everything back inside with hasty movements and huffs and puffs, throwing the bag to the ground and nudging it less than nicely with his boot.

“Great, now I can’t find dad’s freakin’ monster diary,” he grumbles.

You grab his wrist before he can pace around any more, his huff puffing warm against your face as he stared down at you in discontent.

“Would you relax?”

“I am relaxed.”

“You’ve had three beers since I left, Dean. And you haven’t even started eating the burger I got you,” you counter with raised brows. “And you got that look on your face when you’re stressed too.”

“Look? What look? I don’t have a look, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s that broody, pouty look you’ve got going on right now, actually,” you say, smiling up at him as he rolls his eyes.

He looks back to you at the feel of your hand on his cheek, the tension in his jaw relaxing as he exhales a sigh. A soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth when he hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s then that you drop your hand to press to his chest as you lean on your toes, pressing a kiss to the very tip of his freckled nose in that moment.

You watch the flurry of emotions flicker across his expression when you stand back on your heels then, his brow raising slightly. He swears kisses on the nose are the cheesiest thing possible, swears by it, but you don’t fail to notice the way he relaxes at the action, and you definitely see the softness of a smile pulling at his lips as he looks down at you, his gaze following you as you pull away from him and grab the paper bag from the table while he takes a seat on the bed.

You open it up and give him his food, nearly losing your balance when he tugs on your hand and pulls you down with him. He’s still plenty tired and you can see that clearly, but you can tell he’s relaxed a little more now.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your lips before kissing you, lingering and sweet as his hand settles on your cheek briefly.

He kisses you once, twice, three more times before he’s got his hands on his foot, humming at the mere sight of his bacon cheeseburger.

“You’re welcome, De.”

Two

It was quiet when you woke up, quiet save for the soft patter of the rain coming down against the Impala. It couldn’t have been late, not with the way it’d still been fairly dark outside. The cloudy, rainy weather certainly didn’t help you want to get up and keep driving, absolutely not, even if you’d been laying on top of the older Winchester for the better part of a few hours stretched across the front bench seat that wasn’t quite so accommodating. Sam was in the back seat, likely even less comfortable with the amount of room he’s got back there.

But you were comfortable, you were plenty comfortable as you laid on Dean’s chest, his jacket sprawled out over top of you at some point in the night. You didn’t fall asleep with it on, didn’t remember it, but he must have covered you when he noticed you were cold. It was toasty and warm now, the fleece lining having worked wonders to combat the chilly fall temperatures seeping into the car.

He’d been snoring softly, a given, the sound vibrating against your cheek, rising and falling slightly as he breathed. Your legs were a tangled mess, his back curved and pressed against the door as his head rested against the window. It wasn’t entirely ideal sleeping crammed up in the Impala in the middle of who-knows-where, but there wasn’t a motel with a vacant room available so it would just have to do.

You stretched a little against Dean before you looked up at him with a yawn, head resting on his chest as you looked at him with tired eyes. He’s got that crease between his brows still, even when he’s sleeping, a telling sign he’s stressed and you know why. This demon’s got you driving all across the state with no chance of letting up on the chase soon.

You sigh softly as you hug him a little tighter, as tight as you can with the fatigue you’ve got weighing heavy on you. It’s enough to have him stirring, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a half smile.

“Ease up with all the wigglin’, would you, sweetheart?” He asks, humor in his tone as he murmurs the words.

You look up at him with a narrowed gaze and a frown, something that draws a soft chuckle from him the second he sees it. He runs his hand over your head and down to your shoulder, tugging up on his jacket that rested over you when he felt the cold of your hands seep through his shirt.

“Just for that, ‘m not gonna,” you mumble, moving around a little more for the sake of getting comfortable and not at all to prove your words true.

“Yeah, I know you won’t,” he sighs, a certain contentment in his exhale and you hum.

“Anything happen with that demon?” You say softly, his gaze focused outside the windshield for a moment before it drops down to you.

“Not a damn thing.” His lips purse, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth.

You hum again as you give him a gentle squeeze, leaning up to press a kiss on his cheek, and another for good measure before laying your head back down. You didn’t fail to see the smile he’s got on his lips, or the way it lingers as his eyes fall closed for a moment. And you definitely didn’t fail to notice the way his arm wrapped a little more snug around you, legs tangling up all the more.

“Don’t worry, Dean. We’ll kick some demon butt soon,” you mumble.

You feel that chuckle again, rumbling quietly within his chest. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

He smiles down at you then, soft and telling of those very three words without the need to say them out loud. It’s a look that’s always been reserved for you and no one else, because there isn’t anyone quite like you and there never will be. You’ve just got a way about you, a special hold on his heart that he’s not ready to admit you’ve got but you have your guesses. But you won’t tease him about it quite yet.

He smiles and he dips his head down, pressing a kiss to the very tip of your nose. Those kisses he swore were too cheesy. You knew he loved them and this was proof enough.

He kissed your nose and ripped his head back against the window, letting his eyes fall closed once more.

Three

The hunt hadn’t gone entirely as the three of you anticipated, as the three of you hoped. In fact, it was one more thing away from being an absolute train wreck and that much was clear. You nearly wound up dead that day and Sam was coming up on being halfway there, and as a result, Dean was trying his best to refrain from bursting in frustration.

You could see the way his worry ate him up inside, you can’t say you blame him. His biggest fears nearly came true all in one day over some rogue spirit after you told him it’d be fine. You told him it’d be fine and it couldn’t have been any more the opposite of that. He was so in his head about everything else that happened, so in his head about you that he nearly forgot about the cut dragging across his forehead and the jagged scratches adorning his jaw.

He was so fixated on the potential nightmare of losing you and Sam, the nightmare that replayed in a taunting loop, that the pain he so clearly felt was indistinguishable amongst his anger. He was like that all the way back to Bobby’s, wordless as he white knuckled the steering wheel and didn’t spare a glance to anything but the road ahead.

When you got there, he headed straight for the room the two of you had been staying in, the one he always stayed in at Bobby’s. You were hot on his heels, quiet as you followed behind him until he spoke up.

“You don’t have to coddle me, Y/n. I’m a big boy,” he snaps, anger in his tone.

“Someone’s gotta patch you up and we both know it’s not going to be you.”

“I’m fine, Y/n. I’ve had worse.”

He was being short with you, that much was clear.

“Wasn’t asking.”

You watched as he huffed, nostrils flaring as he did so and you heard the door slam shut behind you once you walked into the room. He tugged off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair hastily, sitting down on the bed. You could feel his eyes on you, his stare full of a hundred and one different emotions you were sure, you were certain of it when you snuck a glance his way.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you dig through your duffel bag, snagging the first aid kit. He’s got that broody look again when you move to stand between his thighs, his palms pressed to the mattress as he leaned back on them a bit.

“Stop doing that,” you say, brushing the pad of your thumb along his bottom lip, the indents of his teeth present amongst the pink of his lip from having been biting it from a nervous habit.

He simply rolls his eyes and looks away, an action that’s only brief as your hand presses to his cheek and redirects his gaze back to you.

“You know, I’m relieved you’re so carefree about this,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word as he looks up at you. “Honestly, it’s really nice to know.”

“Dean—”

“No seriously, that’s just great,” he says, his tone the opposite of serious and every bit representative of the anger and frustration and fear simmering within him. That very fear was pooling in his eyes as he sat there and let it twist his stomach in knots.

You say nothing more other than your huff through your nose, wasting no time in cleaning up his jaw. You saw the way his eyes lingered on your shirt, lingered over the wrinkles in the fabric where that spirit reached right through you and quite literally almost stopped your heart. She would have had Bobby not gotten to her grave in time. You would have been just as gone as she was.

His anger was inevitable, and it wasn’t directed at you, not really. Ideally, he wished you’d never hunt again. Ideally, he wished you weren’t as brave as you are, so eager to dive into every hunt as a hunter should. But he knows he can’t ask that of you, knows he won’t ever have it his way and it kills him. Hunts like this kill him. Every time there’s a close call, every single time, it tears him up. The mere thought of losing you makes his stomach churn, makes him get in his car and drive till that very thought leaves him alone.

But to see it, to actually see it almost happen, it nearly sent him over the edge.

You were gentle as you cleaned him up regardless of your own frustration with the older Winchester’s mood, regardless of his attitude. You were light handed with your actions and you were trying your best to be quick but it was becoming distracting when he’s got that look on his face.

You were nearly finished with that cut on his forehead when you couldn’t bear the look in his eyes any longer or the way they continued to bounce over that part of your shirt.

You settle your hand on his cheek, gentle as you tip his head back slightly to look at you. You can feel the tense of his jaw in your palm as he does, but despite that you can see every ounce of vulnerability in his eyes, eyes that are seconds from glossing over. It was something subtle, something you wouldn’t be able to see if you didn’t know Dean Winchester like the back of your hand. Something you wouldn’t be able to tell if you hadn’t seen the slight quiver in his bottom lip.

Your gaze was soft and patient as you looked at him, thumb brushing back and forth over his freckled and pink tinged cheek. It was quiet as he looked at you, quiet as his brows furrowed a little bit more.

In a matter of moments, you brought your other hand to settle on his other cheek, cautious of those scratches he’s got there. After a passing moment or two you dip down, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. He’s not so eager to stray very far, his forehead resting against yours.

A kiss to the nose. It was something awfully simple but something that worked wonders to soothe the heavy weight of his worries. To soothe the fear that sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t going anywhere, it was still very much there, but that small act of affection lessened that weight for the time being until the next hunt. Until the next time you’re in danger.

His anger, his frustration, it dissipates a little more at that, and in a matter of moments his lips are one yours in a kiss that’s just as gentle. It’s a matter of seconds before he’s pulling back to look at you, gaze careful as it bounces across your face and back to your eyes.

It’s the softness of your smile that does it, that smile that always makes everything better. He might still be all kinds of torn up about the events of that day and he’s damn sure he’s not going to get over it in a while, but for now, for now in that moment he’s okay.

You’re okay.

Four

The diner was quiet as you sat at a booth, but you can’t say it comes as a surprise because it is two o’clock in the morning. Romantic dates weren’t exactly Dean Winchester’s area of expertise, and you were more than okay with that.

But traditions were.

He liked the idea of traditions, something steady to hold onto and something that was constant. A whole lot of things he didn’t have growing up. And one of those traditions is late night diner trips with his sweetheart. It was always burgers and fries and a slice of pie. It was always that without fail on just about every hunt you go on. He tried to take Sam along once or twice, but he said one too many things about cholesterol and called it quits with the eye roll of a century and a scoff around a mouth full of cheeseburger.

But he was more than happy with some quality time with you.

It was a small diner, one that smelled like a whole lot of bacon and a hint of maple syrup for the truckers passing through getting an earlier than early breakfast. He took the side facing the door, he always did that. You knew exactly why even if he never says it, it’s for your own safety.

“You know, I think pie is so much better when it’s the last slice,” he says, talking around a mouth full of apple pie and vanilla ice cream.

“I’ll bet it is, De,” you chuckle, sipping on the last of your milkshake. “It’s always you that gets the very last one.”

“And I like it that way,” he says, humming against a heaping forkful he stuffs into his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, a smile playing on your lips as you looked at your beau. He’s got ice cream in the corner of his mouth and tired eyes, but he insisted he wanted to go grab a bite to eat and you’d never turn down a moment like this, not in a million years. Even if they’ve got their radio set to the cheesiest hits from the nineteen-eighties they can find. Dean ran out of quarters for the jukebox on the table, playing out all the classic rock hits he can get his money’s worth of.

His slice of pie lasted all of a minute before he set his fork down on an empty plate, rubbing his hands together with a satisfied hum and a lick of his lips.

“We’re coming here next time we’re in this state. Hell, maybe we’ll even stay a couple more days ‘cause that—” he says, pointing at his newly emptied plate. “Was freakin’ delicious.”

You can’t stifle your smile or your laugh for that matter, shaking your head at his antics as he slaps some cash on the table and gets up from his seat.

Your hand slips in his in a matter of moments, instinct at this point as he holds the door open for you on the way out, and again before you get in the car to head back to the motel. It wasn’t that long a drive, not even long enough for him to finish singing that AC/DC song they’ve got playing on the radio but you don’t mind it, you were tired anyway.

You’re seconds from opening the door to your shared motel room when he stops you in your tracks, your brow raised in amused curiosity.

“Dean, are you walking me to the door?” You ask with laughter in your voice.

“What, can’t I be a gentleman?” He asks in faux offense.

“I don’t think you’ve ever walked me to my door, De. Not even that cliche first kiss on my doorstep.”

He pretended to mull it over in his mind, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth and you knew he was up to no good.

“Well, to be fair, sweetheart, I’m pretty sure Bobby would kill me if we were kissin’ on his doorstep,” he said, that smirk widening. “Besides, we did a whole lot more than ki—”

There it is.

You shut him up with a kiss that he very much was more than happy about, his hum pressing against your mouth and his kiss tasted every bit like his ice cream and apple pie. A kiss that was much shorter than he would have liked but the smile he’s got on his face is something else. It’s softer than soft and he’s trying not to get weak in the knees with the way you’re looking at him, and you’re trying your hardest to stifle your laugh.

But in a matter of moments he dips down and kisses your nose, soft and tender as his forehead rests against yours.

“Us and these damn nose kisses,” he mumbles, kissing you once more with a quiet laugh, shaking his head against yours.

You and those nose kisses.

—

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