#maybe the season 2 thing was just my season 2 slump like maybe it's just a personal thing

[jrueships]

UNCANCEL WINNING TIME. N O W.

[tonyspep]

walkin' with his head down, i'm the one he's walking to

A/N: this is for the summer fic exchange!!! it started out as something completely different, but here we are. This is for the amazing @laurenairay I really hope you like it and that your summer is going well. This is my first time writing for Quinn Hughes so here's to trying something different. Quinn is so cute, so I hope I did him justice. This was inspired by “Call It What You Want” by Taylor Swift, which is so hurt/comfort to me. So here we are with Quinn being comforted after the game seven loss to the Oilers this year. thank you to @wyattjohnston for hosting this amazing exchange!!

Walkin' with his head down, i'm the one he's walkin' to

summary: the series didn't end the way you or quinn was hoping, but you weren't going to let him hang his head for too long

rating: t

i'm laughin' with my lover, makin' forts under covers

trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right

starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest nights

“call it what you want” - by taylor swift

The final seconds ticked away and it was obvious this game wasn't going to end the way you or Quinn wanted it to. He and the rest of the Canucks gave the series everything they had, but McDavid and Draisaitl and company proved to be too much in the end. You felt Brock's girlfriend Bella wrap her arms around your middle, a soft sob escaping her as she rested her head against your back. It was hard for you not to cry, too. The boys had worked so hard to get to this point, they had fought all the way back to take the series lead, only to falter in the most important game and now the off season would be starting.

“I thought they had it,” Bella murmured and you could only nod. You really believed this year was going to be their year. They won the Pacific Divison. They beat the Preadators 4-2 and had home ice advantage in this series, which you knew would be tough, but still..

A tear couldn't help but trickle down your cheek. They had all the pieces to go far, maybe even all the way, and instead they would be packing up their lockers, doing exit interviews and the summer would be starting earlier than any of you anticipated.

“Me, too, Bells,” You agreed with the blonde who had become your best friend since you started dating Quinn just a little over a year ago. The two of you hugged each other tight, watching as the fans made their way out of the arena. You separated from each other after giving each other a kiss on the cheek and went down the steps to the locker room.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as you waited for Quinn to appear. Out came Elias, skull cap pulled over his buzzed blonde hair, flashing you just a brief smile before his handsome face transformed into more of a grimace. JT was not standing tall, but hunched until he was embraced by his family. Brock gave you the best grin he could muster, nothing like his usual sparkling grin that you had come to know almost as well as Quinn's soft smile.

Then came a familiar head of soft brown hair, longer than it was when you first met Quinn in the hallway of your shared apartment building in downtown Vancouver. His head was down, his shoulders slumped, like they were holding the weight of the world. Your heart couldn't help but break. You knew how hard Quinn had worked to get to this point, how he took on the burden of being Captain and how seriously he took the C on his chest. He didn't want the Cup for himself, he wanted it for Brock, for Elias, JT, Thatcher, for Coach Rick Tocchect. He was so selfless and put the team first above anything and everything else.

All you wanted to do was take his pain away, to put the bashfully sweet smile you knew so well back on his face.

“Hey, you,” Quinn gave a weak laugh and there was a hint of the smile you fell in love with on his lips, making your heart lift slightly. “You can really smile you know,” You tease, reaching for Quinn's hand. “I know this didn't go the way we wanted to, but if you don't smile I'll think you're not happy to see me,” You joke and Quinn does laugh, for real this time. “Y/N,” Quinn's voice is tender as he cups your cheek in his other hand. “I'm always happy to see you. If you weren't here right now, I'd be going home to a dark apartment to just sit on my couch and think about all the things I could have done better. Instead, I'm going home with you, which makes this easier than it would be otherwise.”

You flush from Quinn's words. You want this to be easier for him, to ease some of the weight he carries and you think you know just how to do it.

Quinn can see the wheels turning in your head, see the spark that's suddenly taken over your deep eyes. He arches a brow and you kiss his cheek, teasing, “Just wait. I know just how to make this not seem so bad, but you tell me if it's too much, okay? I just want to be here for you, however you want me to be, Quinny,”

His cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, showing through the playoff beard he's grown. Your heart skips a beat; even a bit run down after a hard fought series, Quinn is still the cutest boy you've ever known. With his big sad puppy eyes, his soft mop of dark hair that curls over his ears, his pink lips and warmly handsome face.

“Relax,” You say as you unlock your shared apartment's front door. “Just sit on the couch, don't do anything except take off your shoes, take a shower if you want, change into something comfy but leave everything else to me, okay?”

Quinn chuckles to himself and gives a joking salute, “Yes ma'am, but there is one other thing I want to do before you do whatever it is you're going to do.”

You blink curiously as you tilt your head, wondering what this one thing could be and then Quinn is touching your cheek, so gently as he presses his lips against yours. This kiss is the sweetest, softest kiss you've ever experienced. You continue kissing each other softly, neither of you wanting to pull away as your fingers sink into Quinn's wonderfully soft, thick dark hair. He nips on your bottom lip, gently, making you moan his name as his other hand wraps around your waist, anchoring you to strong frame.

You break apart out of necessity and Quinn says, “Now I'll go relax and leave you to your surprise,” and you're so tempted to follow him, heat thrumming through your veins, want clouding your thoughts as your eyes follow Quinn until he disappears down the hall.

Somehow you resist the urge, remembering that this night is about Quinn, that even though the game ended in disappointing fashion, you weren't going to let the night end that way.

Flipping through your contacts, you find the one you were looking for and you can only hope you have all the ingredients for the recipe you're planning. Talking to Ellen Hughes feels so much like talking to your own Mom. Her warmth radiates from the other side of the phone as you facetime and you feel relieved that you do have all the ingredients for her famous Kugle, which is Quinn's favorite food.

You're not the best cook but Kugle is easier than you expected. You laugh with Ellen as she goes over the recipe step by step with you and after the casserole goes into the oven, you see Quinn standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking adorably cozy in a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

“Is that my Mom?” He asks, his voice so childlike his big brown eyes lit up with hopefulness and Ellen answers for you saying, “Hi, Sweetie. Y/N just called me. I'm so sorry...” and you leave the kitchen, letting mother and son have this time together, knowing Quinn needs the comfort of his Mom now more than ever.

“You made Kugle,” Quinn's voice is full of wonder as you reappear in the kitchen after changing into something comfortable yourself. “Is that why you called my Mom? So you would know how to make it? I could have helped,” He huffed a little, a pout forming on his beautiful lips, which made you laugh. “I'm the only one of us that knows how to make it. Mom shared her secrets with me,” He's proud, his chest puffing a little and how did you get such a sweet guy to call her your own?

“If you made it that would defeat the purpose of you relaxing,” You shake your head as you and Quinn walk toward each other and share another kiss unable to resist each other.

While the Kugle continues baking, you reveal part two of your of your surprise. After changing into your comfiest outfit – a shirt that used to be Quinn's and a pair of well worn shorts – you set up a fort in the living room with all the blankets and pillows in the apartment. “A fort?” Quinn's eyes are bright like they should always be and you smile just as bright. “A fort,” You confirm. “Figured after tonight you could use something fun like a fort and something comforting like your Mom's Kugle,”

Quinn wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I like the way you think,” He kisses your cheek and you blush.

Getting under the blankets, you fire up Disney Plus and land on Toy Story. You know Quinn as well as you know yourself after having been together for nearly two years now and you know how much he loves this movie. Just like if the roles were reversed, Quinn would know to put on Pretty Woman or Tangled.

The familiar credits start just as the oven dings and before Quinn can get up, you push his shoulder gently saying, “I don't think so, you stay right here,” and he knows better to argue with you, so he stays put, laughing as the toys in Andy's room start to move around, letting the audience in that they're alive.

“You're a Toy!” Quinn shouts along with Woody after the new spaceman toy “lands” in Andy's room and you laugh, getting in a few Bo Peep lines and Slinky moments as Quinn can't help but get in the Woody lines before they happen. It's no surprise the cowboy is your boyfriend's favorite and you can't help but remember your first Halloween together this year when you dressed as Woody and Bo Peep to the Canucks party.

You enjoy the Kugle even stealing some of Quinn's who says, “Hey,” and shields his plate from you.

You're snuggled up together as the last credits play, Quinn humming along with “You've Got A Friend In Me.” He kisses you on the forehead and sings in your ear, “Some other folks might be a little bit smarter than I am, bigger and stronger too, maybe but none of them will ever love you the way I do, it's me and you,”

You giggle sweetly as you finish the song with the familiar refrain, beaming up at Quinn, “Boy and as the years go by our friendship will never die. You're gonna see it's our destiny. You've got a friend in me. You've got a friend in me. You've got a friend in me,”

You kiss each other softly, your tongues meeting as your hands move over each other's bodies. Your foreheads come to rest against each other's, your breath coming in soft pants as you look lovingly at each other, Quinn's big hand on your back, his fingers moving over your spine as you sigh, “I love you so much, Quinn,”

His cheeks flush – even though you've been saying I love you for months, it still makes him blush, like he can't believe you love him, which is insane, how can he love you – and your heart flutters like always whenever you're under the stare of his warm brown eyes. “I love you, too. This was amazing; just what I needed after tonight,” He says softly, his voice so tender and honest.

In your fort it's like nothing can touch you here, like, what happened tonight – the devastating loss – didn't happen. You hope you've given Quinn just a little relief, that his heart doesn't feel as heavy as it did when he watched the last seconds tick away or when he was in the handshake line or addressing the team in the locker room after, and the soft smile on his face as he holds you close tells you, you may have done all of that.

The next morning, you wake up in Quinn's arms, the safest place in the world and you smile at how serene he looks sleeping. The worry he carries with him is gone, the lines in his face smoothed away while his long, thick lashes resting on his cheeks. You see the smile creep across Quinn's lips telling you he's awake and his voice, thick with sleep, teases you, “Take a picture it'll last longer,”.

Quinn's humor is sneaky and you poke him in the ribs. “Like you haven't been staring at me too,”

Quinn's eyes open as he stretches and he says, “Can you blame me? I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you,”

“Smooth,” You remark and Quinn laughs. “It's not often, I am,” He admits and after a lazy kiss you find yourself sitting on the stools of your kitchen's island as Quinn makes breakfast.

Last night may not have ended the way both of you wanted, but today was a new day and there would be a new season on the horizon and you would make sure Quinn's days leading up to training camp and then opening night would be the brightest. You wouldn't let him get down on himself or believe he could have done more. You were going to make him believe in himself and believe in the team he had help build up to be one of the best, and that started today.

[scoops-aboy86]

Realize You’re Living (Secret Admirer pt 5)

Steddie Week 2024, July 5: Reunion / exes to lovers or getting back together / Wasted Years by Iron Maiden

Sorry. Not for the delay in posting, I just think I'm gonna get yelled at for reasons.

wc: 2815 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

There isn’t time to send Steve another letter before Friday. 

There isn’t time, not through the mail, and there’s no way Eddie is risking physically putting something in the Harrington’s mailbox himself. That would mean running the risk of someone finding out, and that still ignites an old fear in the most primal part of his brain that screams at him to run. No matter who it is. 

On the other hand, standing Steve up for their phone date is not an option. The very idea makes his insides freeze over. They’ve both had to reassure each other that they want to continue this epistolary romance, Jesus H. Christ—there’s been too much hot and cold already to pull something like that. 

Eddie rolls over on his bed to lay face down and screams into his pillow. It's like they’re in a relationship, except Steve doesn’t even know who he is. It's absurd. An absolute clown town of his own making.

Okay. Okay, no, he can do this. (Can he?) All he has to do is relax and stay calm until tomorrow night. He’ll call at 10:30 on the dot and play Steve some Iron Maiden or something, maybe a little Dio, a smidge of Black Sabbath, throw in a dash of Judas Priest… Basically play the guy a mix tape, live. 

He whips his head up and all but dives for his side table, looking for the tin where he keeps his weed. It’ll help him chill out enough to come up with a song list. And he needs all the chill he can get. He’s lost his mom to cancer, his dad to addiction and prison, and his childhood home with them—he refuses to lose Steve if he has even half a chance of actually having Steve. Because if this whole secret admirer thing is going where he hardly dares to hope it is, this could be the most important mix tape of his entire goddamn life. 

Steve spends all of Friday so on edge that Robin starts threatening to drop banana peels in the circuit he keeps pacing behind the counter. 

“What is with you today, dingus?”

He stops, tapping his foot restlessly and removing his hat so he can rake a hand through his hair. “Nothing, nothing, I… have an important call tonight, is all. I think.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Oooh, is it a pretty girl?” she teases.

“Maybe,” he mutters with a halfhearted shrug. He really still doesn’t know, and it doesn’t seem likely he’ll find out tonight. “I’m not even sure they’ll call. It’s… kind of a blind date sort of thing.”

“A blind phone date?” Robin looks like she doesn’t know what to do with that, which. Fair. “Is that a thing?”

Steve shrugs again. He goes back to pacing. “It might be. I’ll find out tonight I guess.”

She gives him a minute before butting in again, spraying more Windex on the display case to get the lunch rush’s grubby child fingerprints off the cool glass. “...Is this because of the board?”

Again, Steve stops. “What?”

“The You Rule / You Suck board. Have I accidentally degraded your confidence in yourself so much that you’ve turned to blind dates as an alternative to trying to seduce any and every girl who walks in here?” 

Her tone is flippant, but because they’ve been on better terms recently—especially since Steve started offering her rides (and let her take control of the tape deck after that time she threatened to throw all of his Wham! tapes out the window)—he decides to take it as a genuine question. 

“No. Well—No, it’s more the hat than that. It messes up my best feature, you know?” He runs a hand through his hair again, fluffing it up more, then slumps against the back counter next to the milkshake blenders with a sigh. “It’s kind of a pen pal thing. We’ve been talking for a while but we haven’t met, but… I think it might be going somewhere good.”

Robin stops her bored polishing of the display case, only half of the afternoon rush’s smudges and fingerprints wiped away, to laugh with a slight shake of her head. “Oh wow, King Steve is a romantic. Who knew?”

“Not me before junior year, that’s for sure,” he scoffs honestly. 

She studies him thoughtfully for a moment. “Makes sense. Kind of lines up with something I heard the other day, when—”

But then they’re interrupted by a couple strolling in for some ice cream. Robin rushes through cleaning the rest of the glass so as to get out of their way, and Steve scoops and rings them up while she moves on to wiping down tables, conversation forgotten. 

Eddie’s finished his playlist and his plan is to call early. Not too early, just… a minute, five minutes tops. His uncle leaves for work before 10, so he has plenty of time and he’s buzzing with nervous energy. 

Way too much nervous energy to carry into the Big Call tonight. 

By the time Wayne is out the door, Eddie’s already started on rolling a joint and rereading Steve’s letters from start to current. If he’d been smart he would’ve written out copies of his own for a more complete read, that in depth analysis his English teachers never shut up about… but alas. 

Usually his memory is pretty good, especially when it comes to his own work. He also hadn’t expected this to go on as long as it had; not really. But now he can hardly imagine what it would be like to know Steve only from a distance anymore and that… colors things. Fuck only knows what he’s remembering wrong because of a simple difference in perspective. 

Because Steve has let him in, Eddie acknowledges as he lines the weed up on the paper. He’s written things about his home life, about his old friends, and definitely about his injuries over the past couple years (though oddly enough never much about what actually caused them) that Eddie would bet good money that no one else knows, if only because Steve doesn’t seem to have anyone else to tell. Maybe those kids he babysits (begrudgingly but genuinely dotes on, Eddie’s seen it from a distance). But really, how much can you realistically talk to a thirteen year old? Eddie remembers being thirteen; he hadn’t listened to anyone for shit. It was a miracle Wayne hadn’t just released him into the woods like a wild animal. 

And all Eddie’s been doing is pulling Steve close, while steadfastly keeping him out. God. 

He licks the joint to seal it, lights up, and keeps rereading. 

Steve is standing by the phone in his kitchen watching the second hand on the clock. How it sneaks around the clock face, slow but steady, until it laps the 12 line and it’s 10:31. 

He slumps back against the kitchen island with a groan. That had been an absolutely excruciating minute, and he’s staring down the barrel of another fifty-nine more until he can reasonably give up hope. Because anything under an hour is just running late, right? Something could have come up, something unavoidable like… family coming home unexpectedly, making a private conversation impossible. 

… Okay, maybe that was a stress dream he’d had last night about his parents, but something like it could happen to anyone.

10:32. The second hand barely makes it past fifteen this time before the silence is split by the shriek of ringing in the otherwise silent house. Steve multitasks, jumping out of his skin and lunging to answer the phone at the same time.

“HelloHarringtonresidence, thisisStevehowcanIhelpyou?” he rushes out. 

There’s no response except breathing on the other end of the line, which would be creepy if it weren’t exactly what he was hoping for. 

(Eddie is pressing a hand over his mouth, keeping in an equal parts amused and disbelieving laugh at how Steve had answered the phone, all flustered and cute and overly formal in an automatic sort of way that suggests an ingrained habit. From what he knows about Steve’s parents, he’s not terribly surprised, but it’s still such a delightfully dorky greeting.

And it seems like Steve really was waiting by the phone for his call, which makes Eddie want to fucking dance.)

“Is that you?” After a second, a light bulb goes off in Steve’s head and he adds, “Oh. Uh, tap once for yes, twice for no?”

It takes a few seconds, but then he hears a single tap against the plastic of the other receiver. 

(Smart, Eddie would tell him if he could. If he dared. He sucks hard on the last of his joint before letting the smoke billow from his nose like a dragon and putting it out in the ashtray by his bed. Maybe he mashes it in a little harder than necessary, blaming it for being late even though that’s really just another one of his bad habits at this point.)

Relief breaks over Steve like a wave. “Oh my god, it’s you. You’re the, um, my secret admirer?”

Tap. 

(Yeah sweetheart, it’s me.)

Steve does a little bounce on the balls of his feet and pumps his fist, too giddy to feel stupid about it with no one watching. “Holy shit. I mean, t-thanks for calling. Sorry, my parents make me answer the phone like that.” 

Nothing. 

(Eddie is smiling. Beaming, really. I figured, he imagines saying. At first it makes his heart feel full just thinking about it, but then has to stop that line of thought before his anxiety conjures up all the ways Steve Harrington, until recently Hawkins High’s resident ladies man, might react to the surprise of being on a phone date with a guy. Jesus, how is he high and still so nervous?)

“Right, you can’t answer. I mean, you can, if you want, but you don’t have to. This is, this is to see how I like your music.” Steve rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Did you want to play something for me now, or…”

Tap. 

(All the tapes are on standby, spread out in chaotic order around the second-hand player he got last year after Wayne’s old one crapped out on him. Eddie cranks up the volume as high as it’ll go; he’s used to it, the neighbors are resigned to it, and Steve won’t be able to hear it well enough to count through the phone otherwise.)

The first song starts, and Steve twists the phone cord between his fingers as he stands in his kitchen and listens. There’s a heavy beat and a noticeable bass line, even over the phone, nothing like the pop rock he usually listens to. But…

“… I definitely didn’t hate it,” he says once the last notes fade out. 

(Eddie is vibrating as he hits pause and ejects the tape, elated, a few of his worries already soothed. Steve doesn’t hate metal. That doesn’t necessarily mean Steve will like him, but it’s got to make the odds at least a little better, right? He wants to say fuck yeah or I love you or, fucking… shriek wordlessly or something, but presses his hand over his cotton-dry mouth instead, hard enough that his gums ache a little.)

“It kind of reminded me of AC/DC? Like Back in Black, or Hells Bells.”

(They’re not one of Eddie’s favorites, didn’t even make the playlist. But they’re harder rock than he expected Steve to be familiar with, and suddenly he has a wild urge to know what the guy thinks of You Shook Me All Night Long.)

“One time, the radio played Big Balls in the car and my mom literally clutched her pearls and said, ‘I don’t think he’s talking about ballroom dancing, Richard!’” 

(Eddie grins as the funny little falsetto Steve put on for the impression fades into a rich laugh, like he’s so tickled by the memory that he can’t help it. There was probably some appalled, classic white-anglo-saxon-protestant-sucking-on-a-lemon expression on her face that he’s picturing, while Eddie can only imagine. It’s okay, Eddie is too busy wanting to pour Steve’s laugh into a bathtub and soak in it.)

Tap. 

“Yeah, really not,” Steve agrees, his cheeks almost aching from smiling so wide. He feels lighter than air just knowing he’s on the phone with the person who’s been writing to him the past couple months, knowing he’s proving that they’re genuinely at least a little bit compatible. “So, what’s the next song?”

It goes on like that. Steve doesn’t know the artists or albums or track titles, but figures that Secret Admirer will fill him in with the next letter. There are a couple of songs that are more shouting than singing for his taste—“I like songs I can sing along to once I know the words, you know? Really belt out in the car after a long day, or something,” he explains, and gets a yes tap in response. 

(Eddie has to improvise. Instead of another WASP song, he reaches for an Iron Maiden tape he’d put aside as a half-assed backup and scours the track list, trying to decide… Ah, that one. He pops it in and turns the volume down for a second so he can check that he’s fast forwarding to the right spot on the tape.

This one’s for you, sweetheart, he thinks, lighting a second joint—not for nerves this time, but just for fun. He leans back and lets the smoke fill his lungs, fill his mind, send him floating off to whatever time of that big house Steve is curled up in so he can spiritually throw an arm around the other guy’s shoulders.)

Steve likes the instrumentals in the intro of this one. He doesn’t really track the words at first once they start—usually doesn’t, on a first listen-through, with so much new to take in. But he starts catching on to the shape of them by the first of what turns out to be the chorus. 

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years

Too much time on my hands, I got you on my mind Can't ease this pain so easily When you can't find the words to say, hard to make it through another day And it makes me wanna cry, throw my hands up to the sky

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years, hey!

He listens, slowly untangling himself from the long phone cord and taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. When the song finally fades out and he hears the far-off click of the tape being stopped and taken out, he asks hopefully, “It’s about seizing the day, right?”

Maybe they’re building up to telling him who they are, or at least giving him a little more. 

(Eddie freezes, not expecting Steve—who had told him he didn’t get things on the first try—to venture any insights. Especially on a song that hadn’t been on his list, a last minute change-up that he’d picked with the transformation from King Steve to just normal guy Steve in mind and how Steve seems so hung up on apologizing for the douchebag he used to be. 

Or at least, used to be on the outside. Every day, Eddie gets a little less sure that persona went much further than skin-deep.

A tiny sound curls out of Eddie’s throat, a barely audible, inquisitive hum. Something that says please, keep going. He knows Steve has heard it because of the quick intake of breath over the line.)

Steve clutches the handset so hard that his knuckles go white. It’s the first sound, the first crumb that Secret Admirer has given him that’s really them, not a tap on plastic or other people’s music. Too quiet to make out any distinguishing features, but it’s something. 

It feels like everything. 

“You could, you know,” Steve says softly. “You could… make a stand? If you told me who you are, or just anything more about you, I… I really like you. I know for sure that I want to know you. Maybe that makes me a romantic sap, but it’s true. What if we find out we could have our golden years right now?”

(Eddie is freaking out. The mellow of his high isn’t helping anymore, all the floaty syrupy hopefulness of it stripped away. Oh fuck oh balls oh shit, shit, shit!

He’s hyperventilating, knows Steve can probably hear it, and he’s nothing but a goddamn coward in the end.

He can't do this.)

There’s a single clunk, and then all Steve hears is dial tone.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

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@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister

@dolphincliffs

[lafrexniere]

It was and is You - CL16 - part 2.

Note: Here's part two, part one link-> part 1

Saturday

You had set an alarm that morning to make sure you didn’t miss your “morning coffee”. You had assistance from your three friends in choosing your outfit and helping you get ready. Allie did your hair, Liv did your makeup, and Mila chose your outfit.

“Can we please meet him,” Mila begged.

“Don’t ruin this for Y/N, you know how she is about guys,” Liv said. Your last relationship of three years ended in the middle of your last season putting you in a slump. It had been a year and now here you were with this guy who you clicked with instantly. 

“Yeah, but she needs our help, right Y/N?” Allie said slyly knowing her full intentions.

“Okay the last thing I need right now is you fan girling over him while we are just trying to get to know each other,” you said, “Maybe just maybe in like an hour after I’m down there you can possibly join me for breakfast when he has to go,” hoping to ease their eagerness, it seemed to work.

“Yes! See she does want us Liv,” Mila grinned. You rolled your eyes looking at the time seeing a message light up on your phone.

Charles: We are still good?

You: Yes heading out now 😄

“I have to go,” you said swatting their hands off of you. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, grabbed your purse then dashed out of your room. You got on the elevator expecting it to stop on his floor and it did. You looked down then back up to see the brunette enter the elevator.

“Hello again,” he smiled.

“So you were the driver my friends are obsessed with, it was you, that explains the mystery,” you said.

“It is me,” he shrugged. The elevator door opened and you made your way to one of the tables in the lobby ordering your coffee and espresso. The two of you began talking, finally getting to learn more about Charles and about your shared interests. You both were athletes with crazy travel schedules, you both played an instrument, and you both agreed that after this weekend you would stay in touch.

“I want to make a deal with you,” he grinned.

“Oh what am I getting into,” you teased, knowing that it would end up with you being happy.

“If I place top five today we can do this again tomorrow, even though I prefer to take time to myself the day of a race, because I would like to see you again,” he said.

“And if not?” you trailed off. You were distracted hearing giggles coming from the elevator area, you looked up to see your friends watching you from a distance back. 

“Y/N?”

“Oh my god I am so sorry, I am so sorry,” you whispered over and over again as you watched your friends walk over.

“Hi Charles,” Mila said running her finger along his shoulder, “I’m Mila,” she said batting her eyes.

“And I’m Allie,” she said doing the same.

“And I’m Liv,” she said giving both of them a stern look.

“So this is the famous girl group I have heard about,” he laughed. You put your head in your hands embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” Liv mouthed to you. You rolled your eyes knowing this would happen. You watched Mila and Allie compete in trying to woo over Charles and he was nice about it he played along, but always continued to look at you and talk about what he knew about you. Your friends went to a different table waiting for you to join them once Charles left. He looked at the time and noticed it was time to leave for qualifying. His car would be outside in moments to pick him up. 

“So will I see you after again?” He asked standing up. You stood up with him,

“Yes definitely,” you blushed. He opened his arms to hug you, you wished him good luck with a hug and went back to your friends table to share only the important details of your date.

“So you agreed to the deal right, he has to finish in the top five it’s Monza!” Mila said.

“Can we please come again, but we won’t flirt,” Allie begged.

“Oh please, you can’t help yourselves,” you said. 

“Hey I held them back,” Liv said. You nodded at her thanking her for her efforts. You continued discussing and telling your friends to back off. You texted Charles under the table apologizing once again for what had happened.

You: I am so sorry again, they can be a lot sometimes 🫣

Charles: Stop worrying I’m fine, besides they could have done worse

You: I guess so, but don’t let what happened this morning distract you

Charles: If anything I feel more ready after talking to you

You smiled and your friends caught you texting.

“Y/N stop it’s girls time,” Allie whined. 

“Jealous?” you smirked. As time went on the four of you got ready for qualifying and made your way to the track. The drivers came on the track making their way around the track competing for times. At the end of the hour Charles had not only finished in the top five, but the top three. Your friends all jumped and screamed for joy rushing down to the spot where you would meet Charles after. After moments of waiting you saw him, once again your eyes met through the crowd, it helped that you were in the front this time. There were tons of voices yelling for him around you but you remained silent knowing he would make his way over to you. As he approached you, the butterflies bubbled in your stomach, you felt your face heating with each step he got closer to you. He reached out his hand to you over the barrier you were waiting behind. You took it,

“Do we still have a deal?” you asked.

“Oh we have a deal,” he said firmly pulling your hand to his shoulder, you hugged once again infront of this large crowd. You could feel the weight of all the pictures being taken of you by all the girls around you.

“Talk to you later,” you grinned pulling out of the hug. He winked and went on to signing and taking pictures with the other fans around you. You and your friends ran off shouting bye. The four of you went out for dinner once again debriefing.

“Y/N you have to see this,” Allie said flipping her phone around. You took her phone scrolling through seeing tons of pictures of you and Charles all over social media.

“Y/N your famous,” Liv smiled.

“Oh please remember us,” Mila laughed. You looked up this media on your own phone and sent it to Charles.

Charles: So they are calling you the mystery girl

You: It’s not going to take long before they figure out who I am, we exchanged medias they can find me through yours

Charles: Is that a problem?

You: No, but are we… well what are we?

Charles: You will have to wait until tomorrows deal 😏

You rolled your eyes putting away your phone for the rest of dinner. The three of you made your way back to the hotel, still discussing you being Charles’ mystery girl. You texted him a quick good night ready for your coffee date the next morning once again. You drifted off to sleep having a dream of tomorrow’s race outcome, little did you know it would be a dream come true.

[pixydustworld]

The marriage law was announced at 2pm on a Tuesday.

By 2:15 Hermione had already drafted a motion to dismiss the law entirely. It was a good motion, too. If she’d sent a copy to Ron, he would’ve replied with: wow! lots of words! good stuff!

At 2:17 her motion was denied.

“It’s best to just accept defeat.” Malfoy said from his side of the office, bookshelves neat, papers all stacked in order. “You won’t win this one.”

“I’m not in the habit of giving up.” Hermione snapped. Her side of the office was cluttered, less pristine. Her bookshelf had a nasty habit of overflowing all over the floor, stacks of books balancing precariously on every surface. “A fire hazard.” Malfoy had sneered at her once, “Breaking several codes.”

“Hm.” Malfoy said, “I hadn’t noticed.” He was smiling softly, like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Waiting, almost patiently for her to smile. Stupid man with his stupid grin, Hermione wanted to throw a book at his head.

“This is archaic.” Hermione hissed. “The Ministry has gone too far. They can't force us to marry anyone.”

Even as she spoke, a squirming feeling of doubt was beginning to take root in her chest — being friends with Harry came with many things. Companionship and love, but it also came with a healthy distrust of the government (like a free gift basket! but terrible one).

Malfoy ignored her complaints. "Marriage Acts aren't as mid-evil as you're making them out to be." He said, with that annoying voice he used when he knew he was right about something, "They serve a purpose."

"A purpose?" Hermione could practically feel the beginnings of an aneurysm. A fitting death, slumped over her desk, surrounded by unfinished documents and discovered by Draco Malfoy, "Are you actually defending this?"

She would have to find a new partner. A new office, one where he wasn't constantly surrounding her, swimming on the edge of her peripheral vision. Maybe Dean Thomas would let her set up a current workplace in his records closet, he was always bragging about how it was big enough for him to take naps in during work —

"No." Malfoy said, somehow even more amused now, "I don't support it."

"Oh." Hermione said, very eloquently, "That's good."

"But," Malfoy continued, still distinctly unruffled while Hermione was very ruffled, "Most people will be unfazed. It's a Pure-Blood tradition. My parents have always planned to arrange a marriage contract.” Malfoy shrugged, “It’s not absolutely unheard of.”

“Well," Hermione said, out of breath from all the pacing she was doing, "Your parents are terrible.”

“Of course.” Malfoy said, like it was obvious. “They would never allow me the opportunity to sully the Malfoy name. Producing the correct heir is the only thing I’ll ever be good at.”

Hermione frowned. “Hearing about your family isn’t good for our working relationship. It makes me feel bad for you.”

“We can’t have that.” Malfoy said.

“No,” she agreed with a sigh, “we can’t have that.”

“So, tell me Granger. What is your plan?” His grin became less self indulgent, more fake. “You’ll have to marry someone. It'll undoubtably be the event of the season — have a fiancé you’ve been hiding from me?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I could hide anything from you?”

Malfoy knew when she changed the scent of her shampoo, when she switched up her coffee order — he even knew if she was sleeping less than usual. It was impossibly annoying to be around someone so observant, someone so intent on cataloguing her every move.

"If I had a secret fiancé, which I don't, I'm confident that you're competent enough to have sniffed him out by now."

Malfoy responding grin was slow and syrupy. "You think I'm competent?"

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Is he shorter than me? Is that it? Didn’t want to introduce us because you knew he’d feel bad?”

“You’re taller than everyone.” Hermione said, annoyed, again, “You would obviously be taller than my imaginary fiancé. You’re like an angelic giraffe.”

“You think I’m angelic?”

“No.”

"Two compliments on top of each other, are you feeling alright, Granger?"

"Shut up."

At 2:20, Hermione began to clean her side of the office, desperate for an excuse not to talk to Malfoy.

At 2:22, Harry slammed through her door, completely demolishing the (very little) progress Hermione had made in cleaning up her side of the office.

“I’ll marry you.” Harry said, slightly out of breath, like he’d sprinted all the way to her office, “Do you think we can kiss without making a face? We’ll have to practice.”

“I’m not marrying you.” Hermione said from the floor behind her desk, “You are engaged to Theo.” She was laying on her back with a book covering her face, feeling rightfully sorry for herself.

“Theo won’t mind.” Harry said in the voice he reserved for whenever he wanted people to listen to him (i am harry potter! and i did not spill mustard on the couch! you have to believe me, i saved the world!) “It will be quick. I can get us rings before the day is over.”

"No." Hermione said, still on the floor, "I've gone along with enough of your stupid ideas. This is too much."

Because, despite it all, Harry would do this. Without hesitation, blind loyalty and unwavering determination — Harry would marry her and be pleased with his choices. He was lovely, but at times, Harry could be a misguided idiot.

"This is where you draw the line?" Malfoy hummed, "Interesting to catch a glimpse into the inner workings of your mind."

Finally scrambling to her feet (after a few more seconds of wallowing) Hermione was horrified to find a familiar look on Harry's face — one that promised something stupid.

"I'll figure it out. " Harry said, with a shrug that reminded Hermione of their childhood (occidentally, the stress headache she was feeling also reminded her of their childhood). He pointed a stoic finger at her. "Don't make a face when I kiss you."

Then, he left.

“Theo wouldn’t mind,” Malfoy said in a helpful voice, “He’d probably marry you as well. Would it be Granger-Potter-Nott? Or Granger-Nott-Potter? Better figure that out soon. Potter seems eager to find those rings.”

Hermione threw a book at his head.

Malfoy caught it with ease, his stupid Quidditch hands.

“I have an idea,” Malfoy said after a moment.

Hermione ignored him. “There has to be a way out of this.” She was pacing again, sensible shoes kicked off to the corner (where she’d undoubtedly forget them) “I could write another motion? A longer one this time. With more quotes.”

“Marry me instead.”

Hermione stopped pacing. “Excuse me?”

“I’m your best option.”

“I have many options —

“Weasley already tricked someone into marrying him and Potter is engaged to my only friend.” He frowned, in a mocking sort of way. “Did I leave anyone out?”

“No.” Hermione said flatly. “You didn’t.”

“Alright then. Marry me.”

“Hah.” She said, “Hah. I take back everything I’ve ever said about you. Malfoy, you are funny.”

“I’m being serious.” He said, looking annoyed. Fantastic, they were both annoyed. Like they always were.

“We can get married before the law passes and then you can do what you do best.” Malfoy continued, like that was a totally normal thing to say.

“Which is?” Without her shoes, the height difference was unbearably noticeable. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. At some point he'd stopped being a willowy wraith of a person and began the unfortunate process of filling out.

He didn’t look away. “Destroy everyone’s expectations and free the downtrodden.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What would you get out of this arrangement?”

Malfoy shrugged, too practiced to be nonchalant. “I’d be married to a war hero. It would do wonders for my reputation.”

“And you would be married to me.” Hermione said, beginning to feel like this was getting too real, “We both know that would never happen.”

“Never?”

“Never.” She agreed.

He wasn’t smiling that lazy smile from before, this one was different. Sharper. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Besides,” Hermione continued on loudly, “you’re no gentleman. No need to pretend. I don’t need saving, I’ll figure this out myself.”

“You don’t need to.” Malfoy said, “I will help. I want to fuck over the Ministry for many reasons, but mainly because they declined your motion.”

He was on her side of the office now, leaning casually against her desk, inches away from where she stood. He was too pretty up close, like staring at the sun.

“It was very good.” Hermione breathed.

Malfoy nodded, almost too good at pretending to be sincere.

“I’m sure it was good. You touched it. Everything you touch is golden.”

“You truly want to help me?”

“I’ve only offered several times.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “All to fuck over the Ministry? No other reason?”

“Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Hermione's eye twitched.

"Don't tease me." She managed to hiss. "Not about this."

She saw when he realized, a flicker of excitement in his eyes — when he noticed her apparent misery at how completely and helplessly she was drawn to him.

"I'd never dream of it." Malfoy said warmly, "You could kill me with ease, only an idiot would be careless around you."

She thought of all the long nights they spent together, crammed in their tiny little office. How she looked forward to her day, if only to see his stupidly pointy face. How she tried to date, but couldn’t. Because it wasn’t right — her dates were too kind, too short.

Not him.

How, through everything, he was the first person she thought of in the morning, the person she thought of in the darkness of the night, when no one could see her wandering hands — the person she looked at for a challenge, for relief and support.

Despite her best attempts, Hermione Granger had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy and now, here he was, seeming to share in her suffering.

“We’d have to consummate the marriage.” She said, giving him one last out. “You’d have to see me naked.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“I’m very bossy,” she said, “and I work all the time.”

“Good thing we share an office.”

“I’m not easy to love.”

Malfoy scoffed. “It’s been easy enough for me.”

He was close enough to touch, so uncharacteristically open. Looking down at her with fondness she didn’t know he possessed.

“I’m selfish.” Malfoy warned, “Do not forget that. I will help you destroy this law and anything else you want. Burn it all down if you want to. But I won’t be letting you go. Not now, after I've gotten you."

“I suppose that’s fine.” Hermione said softly, watching as his hand moved to touch her face, warm against her skin. "It'll be bearable to be around you, I suppose."

As he held her face in his hands, Hermione watched as his grin transform into something different, something new — a smile she'd only seen glimpses of, one only for her. "I'll work very hard to make our marriage a tolerable one." He said.

"Good," Hermione breathed, stretching up to kiss him, to finally press her lips against his, "I can't wait."

Hermione was married at 3pm on a Tuesday.

It was a small ceremony.

Harry, although he'd never publicly admit it, was relieved.

Despite his best attempts, he would've made a face when Hermione had kissed him.

[erideights]

With my 6th sense. (3)

Pairing: Hunter x fem! jedi reader

Rating: SFW

Wordcount: 3K

Chapters: (1) (2) (4)* (5)* (*not posted yet)

Warnings and tags: extremely light swearing from frat boy Hunter (because no one can tell me he didn't before he became all soft in TBB), canon-typical slight violence, tension between characters, maybe plot convenience (but let's be real, who doesn't add it?? The Clone Wars was just it all the time)

Summary: Another day, another suicide mission for the squad. This time commanded by a jedi general Hunter doesn't seem to really get along with.

A/N: I've been struggling a bit with making Hunter so distrustful, thinking it was maybe out of character, and then I rewatched episodes 1,2,3,4 of The Clone Wars season 7 where they are introduced, and actually saw how suspicious he was of Echo at first. So yeah, it's pretty accurate and I love it. Enjoy!

Blurred streaks of light turn into distant stars as the Bad Batch’s shuttle, the Havoc Marauder -she still wonders who chose that name but will wait some more to ask- drops out of hyperspace, Serenno now looming ahead. Tech worked thoroughly to disguise their shuttle as a Separatist cargo vessel during their long trip, modifying all their scanner parameters, and now they are moments away from testing his handiwork and to see if the general's creative idea is a stroke of genius or a suicidal move.

Hunter’s mind is a swirl of doubts, tension painfully pulling from his muscles while seated in the copilot seat. Usually, when he’s the one that proposes the reckless strategies, he doesn’t worry so much about the outcome. Maybe because if everything goes wrong, he would blame himself, but this time he wouldn’t have that privilege. He glances at his General as his thoughts wander to her, far too relaxed given the circumstances. That playful smirk tugging at her lips and how calm she seems to be does little to ease his nerves. In fact, it infuriates him more. Her confidence is both reassuring and unnerving at the same time.

“Alright, everyone, get ready,” Tech instructs, his hands flying over the controls. “We’re approaching the Separatist control station.”

And as on cue, the mechanical voice of a battle droid echoes through the cockpit. “State your designation and cargo,” it demands.

Tech adjusts his goggles and leans in, voice steady and authoritative. “Shuttle TR-77, carrying supplies for the main base on Serenno. Transmitting clearance codes now.”

Hunter’s jaw tightens as silence falls over them. Oh, he really doesn’t trust this plan. What if they see through the ruse? What would happen if a damn droid decides to take a peek through the front of the ship?

The jedi, sensing his unease filling the room like toxic gas in a locked closet, leans closer to his seat, calmly resting her arm against it. “What’s the matter, sarge? Don’t trust Tech’s hacking skills?”

Before Hunter can respond, his lip twitching in what she would say is close to a snarl, Tech beats him to it. “Actually, based on the statistical data and previous successful infiltrations, there is a 97.6% chance this will hold up. The algorithms I use to—”

“Tech,” Hunter interrupts, keeping his eyes on the screen, “focus.”

“Roger roger, TR-77, you may approach and land,” the droids finally confirm.

Hunter exhales slowly, thinking he is subtle enough, but he isn’t. “See? Told you it would work,” she says with a playful grin, chuckling lowly.

Wrecker, on the other hand, slumps back in his seat, clearly disappointed. “I wanted some action.”

“Just wait,” Crosshair says dryly, biting into his toothpick. “Things always blow up eventually.”

…

Everyone’s getting ready by the time the cargo ship descends smoothly through Serenno’s atmosphere, the planet’s thick cloud cover parting to reveal a dense, sprawling forest below on its way to the main base. Tech’s hands move deftly over the controls, detaching and guiding the shuttle to a discreet landing spot near the edge of the forest. The ship lands with a soft thud, -smooth in comparison to the disaster the sergeant pulled off hours before-, and blends seamlessly into the surrounding greenery.

Hunter’s gaze sweeps over the calm landscape before he turns to his team. “Alright, lads,” Hunter calls them, drawing everyone's attention to him, his tone commanding while reluctantly checking everything is in place with his new outfit. “Let’s get this started. Crosshair, you stay here near the Marauder. If things go south, we’ll need a quick escape. General, you’re with me on the front. We’ll scout ahead and ensure the lab is clear once we find it. Tech, you’re with Wrecker.”

So, he’s the one giving orders now, huh? (Y/N) raises an eyebrow and rolls her eyes at how bluntly he ignores her rank and command, her authority to be the one to give the orders there, but keeps her thoughts to herself because, in the end, he knows best how his squad works. Hunter’s need to assert control could be a problem, though. “Want to keep an eye on me, sergeant? Afraid I might steal your thunder?”

Hunter’s expression remains hard to read, he could be annoyed or incredibly calm at the same time. He steals a quick glance at her, though. “I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

She nods, pressing her lips in a cocky frown. “Sure thing.”

And so, with their roles established, the group splits up. Hunter and (Y/N) are the first to go into the forest with Tech and Wrecker close behind, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The canopy above is dense, allowing only slivers of sunlight to pierce through, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.

Hunter’s enhanced senses stay on high alert at all times. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, the humidity in the air around them, and the wet earth underfoot, he hears it all, smells it all. He crouches low, his improvised, ‘’undercover’’ helmet under his left arm, examining the ground where faint tracks of heavy machinery have disturbed the soil, he guesses, a month ago. “This way,” he huskily murmurs.

The jedi just watches him work, intrigued by his meticulous nature. She relents her steps at some point, letting Tech and Wrecker reach her and then, she leans softly to the first. “Remind me what he… does, exactly.” She inquires kindly, raising an eyebrow in the direction of the squad leader.

The clone, who was just checking his datapad until now, looks at her and then at Hunter, nodding in understanding. “He’s just tracking. Hunter’s abilities are actually extraordinary. All his senses are heightened to a level and precision that are almost superhuman. He can track a target through environments that would be impossible for others, or feel electromagnetic fields around him.”

Amused and finding that genuinely interesting, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Does he, now?” That’s the closest thing to a… physical, weaker version of the Force. More or less. “That’s impressive.”

“Indeed,” Tech continues, more than happy to talk to whoever was ready to listen to him. “The Kaminoans designed him with an acute awareness that allows him to detect even the faintest traces of a trail. But it’s not just physical; his brain processes these sensory inputs at an accelerated rate, making him an unparalleled tracker.”

And from there, she assumes correctly, comes his name. Originality might not be their strong suit, but it… suits him and that inherent masculinity that seems to ooze out of every pore of his skin. And she must admit, she has heard much worse.

The Jedi nods, now in deep thought, her eyes lingering on Hunter’s back as he leads them through the dense forest. He moves with the precision of a well-oiled machine, every step calculated to avoid detection. Though, she highly doubts there’s anything to worry about there in the open; according to their -Tech’s- calculations, security, both outside and inside, should be minimal. After all, they are deep in Separatist territory, only someone desperate or straight-up (borderline) suicidal would even think to try to infiltrate.

With ease and guided by their human map -better than calling him loth-wolf- the team gets deeper into the forest, the mechanical sounds of the hidden laboratory under their feet growing louder and more annoying inside the sergeant’s ears. And then he stops, raising a hand, signaling them to halt. ‘’This is it.’’

In front of them, in a small clearing surrounded by younger trees than what they’ve seen before, stands a stone structure no more than 3 meters high, covered in fallen leaves and vines. A good way to make it pass slightly more "unnoticed". Judging by the way there is absolutely nothing behind it, it is easy to assume it is an elevator.

Tech approaches the concealed entrance, his fingers dancing over his datapad. “Definitely the place. I’ll start bypassing the security.”

Hunter turns to her, his gaze steady. “Stay sharp. We don’t know what’s inside.’’

“Well, in that case maybe we should find another way in first and make sure it’s clear,” she suggests, her eyes scanning the ground, her feet taking her from one side of the lab entrance to the other. She starts kicking at the large piles of dry leaves accumulated, without success the first three or four times.

The hell is she doing? Hunter frowns, curious, arms crossed and senses alert, but he doesn’t seem to hear or feel anything nearby besides the lab. ‘’What do you suggest, General?’’

“Ventilation ducts,” moving a few meters away, in the direction of one of the few thick trees she spots around, she bites her lower lip, focusing on finding them and proving her point. ‘’An underground base must have ventilation ducts to the surface, right? We both could sneak in and wait for them inside.’’

Once in front of the large, tall, and open roots of the tree, she takes a closer look, squatting on the ground. Inside them there only seem to be dead leaves and some mushrooms, but a blinking light, very small but red, proves her right.

She scoffs ‘cause in the end, the Separatists and the Republic are not so different; there are very similar shelters on Naboo with the same technique to cover their ventilation ducts and secret doors to escape. “Found them.”

That was really clever. Smart. And there’s a part of him that’s surprised of not having thought about it himself. So as Hunter approaches from behind, taking a look over the Jedi, he nods to himself, pleased and annoyed in equal parts. Though he wouldn’t admit it. Nor let it show. He is too proud to give her any kind of credit, but… he likes her style. 

He just finds her perky personality annoying.

She looks back over her shoulder, her lips curling into a playful smile as soon as she catches a glimpse of approval in his eyes. Her head tilting in a gesture that invites him to go with her. “Shall we, sarge?”

…

Her feet land softly and silently on the pristine metallic floor of the base, Hunter behind her with a subtle, deaf thud. Their movements are silent and precise, not daring to pronounce a single word until they verify it's all clear. Both start walking around in sync, searching for the elevator door to let the others in. The interior is a stark contrast to the forest outside—sterile, metallic, and illuminated by cold, fluorescent lights. The walls are clean, with a couple of terminals next to each door. The air is filled with a faint hum of electricity and the occasional beep of automated systems in the distance or mouse droids. It is a place of cold efficiency and clinical precision, a far cry from the natural chaos of the forest above.

Under his helmet, Hunter’s eyes scan the corridors, picking up every detail around them. The sterile smell of the lab, the faint whir of machinery, the subtle vibrations of the floor—all of it loud inside his brain. "Clear," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

(Y/N) nods and sends a quick message through her comm to give the green light to Tech and Wrecker still outside, closing her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. She might not have his cool enhanced, superhuman senses, but she has an extra one, her 6th one, that’s not warning her at all of any possible threats at this precise moment.

The other two clones don’t take long to reach them, with Tech immediately moving towards the first terminal he spots. His fingers fly over his data-pad, connecting to the system. "I’m in. Closing the cameras on loop and downloading the map of the lab now," he says, eyes focused on the screen. The personification of efficiency right there.

Looking at him from the corner of her eye, she would swear Hunter seems to relax for just a moment thanks to the lack of activity around them, his eyes fixed on the end of the open corridor, his mind racing even if his body doesn’t show it. "Find the communication center. That’s our primary target."

Tech nods, his eyes darting back and forth. "Got it. This way."

Moving through the labyrinthine corridors of the lab, passing closed rooms filled with half-constructed droids partially visible from outside, workbenches cluttered with tools, and scientists’ notes scribbled on boards, they find no more than a couple of scientists working in the distance, too distracted to notice them. As they pass another set of closed doors, though, Wrecker can’t resist peeking through a small window. "Looks like more droids in there," he mutters mostly to himself. "Probably more trouble waiting for us."

Let’s hope not.

Giving him a playful look, nudging at his arm, the jedi pushes him softly. "Keep moving, Wrecker. We’ll do some sightseeing next time."

"There won’t be a next time," Hunter grumpily corrects her, incapable of shaking off the feeling of being watched, even though he knows and feels there's no one doing so, and it’s just his paranoia. And she cannot help but glance at him again, over the black mask covering half of her face, his tension so strong she swears she can taste it through the Force. "Relax, sergeant. I thought your team enjoyed risky missions."

But the sergeant keeps walking, his eyes jumping to her for a second, shaking his head lightly. "We do, but I would rather fight a male yalbec than be balls deep into separatist territory."

"Fair enough."

And to keep being fair with his concerns, she must admit, it’s somehow unnerving not finding anything or anyone through the corridors. Almost too convenient, even if they already count with a minimum to nonexistent level of security.

Then they reach the communication center and Tech connects right away to another terminal in the middle of a control panel in the center of the room. And as he works, Hunter’s unease grows. Every second feels like an eternity inside that hell of a place, and he would love nothing more than giving Wrecker thumbs up to blow it all, and then he hears it. Something moving, or better said: a lot of things moving. In their direction. Slowly.

"Wait—" but it’s too late, the moment Tech connected his data-pad to the control panel, his actions triggered a silent alarm that woke up some droids. "We are about to get company," Hunter hisses in a low tone, pulling out his vibroblade.

Wrecker’s face lights up with anticipation. "Finally, some action!"

"Technically, it’s just a small guard squad checking for a false alarm. If we hide..." Tech starts talking fast, already searching for solutions to the problem.

"We can’t hide him," The General interrupts to point at Wrecker, noting matter-of-factly as she peeks out the hallway to check where the droids will arrive right after. "Have you blocked external communications?"

"Since we entered," he assures her with a small nod.

"Good. Let’s take care of these droids quietly and get out of here," Hunter orders, to which everyone nods without exception. Wrecker more reluctantly; he wanted a good fight.

‘’And remember—’’ squinting her eyes, she first glances at the sergeant, then at the biggest clone; so the one she trusts the least, basically, he enjoys maybe too much the idea of destroying everything. ‘’If we see the droid we came looking for, don't touch the motherboard. We need to bring the control unit intact to Coruscant.’’

A couple of mechanical voices give away the arrival of a squadron of battle droids within minutes, an experimental one for the way it doesn’t seem fully finished, sleek and deadly, keeping its distance in the back, silent, observing. Its design is already more advanced than the classical ones, with a menacing, insect-like appearance.

With a hiss, the regular battle droids open the doors and not even a second later, Wrecker smashes the head of one of them without mercy or having taken a real look at it. Hunter stabs another, as (Y/N)'s lightsaber cuts the third in half. Their big boy, true to form, engages the last one with sheer brute force, enjoying every second from the moment he lifts it into the air until he slams it against a wall. 

That was dramatic, poor droid.

"Is that all you got?" Wrecker taunts, grinning from ear to ear.

But unbeknownst to them, the experimental droid that kept its distance analyzed the situation from afar and seeing one of the intruders connected to the terminal, it bypasses the others, faster than the group can predict, and zeroes in on Tech. It lunges, pinning him to the wall by his neck, its mechanical fingers tightening. Tech's eyes widen in shock, his hands scrambling to pry the droid's grip from his throat.

And from here… everything happens just. so. fast.

Hunter doesn’t hesitate, vibroblade in hand, he plunges the blade into the droid’s motherboard in the back of its head, stabbing strong and deep.

"Hunter, wait! That’s the one we n—" The jedi scream comes too late. She didn’t think she would have needed to scream at all. But there she is.

The droid sparks and falls limp, and an ear-splitting alarm blares to life. Red lights flash throughout the lab, bathing everything in a crimson glow. The sound of the alarm echoes through the corridors, a harbinger of the chaos to come.

Silence falls over them as Hunter pulls back, his movements fluid, but his eyes wide with realization as soon as he processes (Y/N)’s warning. This cannot be happening. "Kriff—"

[quanxilemmebeyourgirlfriendpls]

Last at the Station

!! jjk season 2 spoilers !!

the day after the Shibuya incident

nanami/gender neutral reader

847 words

You felt sick to your stomach as you entered your joint apartment. Not once in your four years together had you felt alone here. 

He said he’d be back late. 

He said he’d be back.

“God, Ken.” you choked out as your knees hit the kitchen floor.

It had been a few hours since Shoko quickly called you with the news. She sounded overwhelmed and exhausted.

You still didn't know the details of where your boyfriend had gone the night before, but you understood that he would never come back from it. 

The scene before he left replayed in your mind for what felt like hours.

“Ken, do they reaallly need you out there right now? I wanted to watch scary movies and cuddle with you,” you whined as he got dressed to go. 

“I’m sorry darling, I know you did but I can’t leave them shorthanded. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” 

You knew he would always choose sorcery over you, but you wish he hadn’t just this once; if only he had rid his mind of this moral obligation for one night. 

After nearly an hour of trying to convince him to stay home, you kissed his cheek and told him to be careful out there as you sent him to his death sentence. 

“I’m sure I’ll be home late, but we can watch a movie if you're up for it when I get back, alright?” 

You weren't sure how long you'd been awake for at this point.

Staying up to spend quality time with your boyfriend was worth it, so of course, that was exactly what you did. 

What you didn’t know was that after hours of waiting, rather than a sweet, tired Nanami waking you out of your sleep—a worn-out classmate of his would be answering your frantic questions as she tried to process the never-ending night herself. 

What exactly does one do in this situation?

You had never lost a boyfriend before. Were you supposed to tell his parents? Do they even know what he did for a living? Were you putting the others in danger by telling anyone? Were you supposed to lie for the rest of your life?

Everything was so overwhelming and all you wanted to do was turn to him and fall into his arms like you always had before. 

How were you supposed to function without him here? 

It seemed that you slumped over and hit your head during your fall in the kitchen. Things were becoming fuzzy. 

“What do I do, Ken?” you said to no one as you stared blankly at your oven, face squished to the cold tile. 

Your head was pulsing, it was getting harder to ignore. 

How long has it been? Was that this morning? Is Shoko alright? Is Ken alright? Where is Ken? How long has it been? He sure is late. What movie should we watch? Does he even like scary movies? Did I forget to buy popcorn? God, I totally forgot to buy popcorn. Maybe Ken can pick some up on his way home, he’s late anyway. Jeez, he’s super late. What’s taking him so long? Why does my head hurt so bad? I’ll ask Ken to grab me some aspirin when he come in, I’m too tired to get up right now.

Soon the world went dark. 

When you opened your eyes the darkness still reigned. You had left the window open and were practically shaking on the kitchen floor. 

For a brief moment, you had forgotten reality, almost summing it up to some horrible dream. 

That’s when it hit you. He wasn’t coming back. There would be no popcorn, no movie, no fun and no Kento. God, there would be no Kento. How could there be no Kento? You couldn't even remember life before him and now he was gone? This couldn't be happening. 

You found yourself sobbing in a fetal position, unable to do much else. 

“Why?” you wailed to yourself. 

The headache was persistent as if you needed any more pain. 

Sleep took over you once more but this time it was a comfort.

As you were out, you saw Nanami. He was so bright. It was like a beautiful alternate universe that you’d never be able to reach yourself. 

The two of you walked along the beach in Kuantan. You had set up two chairs and a stack of books to surprise him. It was his dream vacation and you had planned it for his 29th birthday. The weather was perfect and he couldn't stop smiling, it was the happiest you’d ever seen him.

Then you woke again. 

Your practically empty stomach forced whatever was left out. 

That trip was supposed to happen. You had already booked the flight and bought the ingredients for the dinner the two of you would eat when you told him. He was supposed to make it to Malaysia. He was supposed to be happy and alive. 

Now it would only ever remain a dream, something to imagine when you didn’t want to accept fate.

• a/n •

hiii thank you for reading!! i've never written angst before and i honestly had no idea how to finish this so i'm just posting this as is before it sits in my google docs for months lmaoo

[marvelmaniac2000]

Summary:  Loki finally catches you time slipping after you guys break up. Little does he know the different lives you guys could have shared.

Characters: Loki x (Reader (Y/N) Mobius, Sylvie

Subject: Fingering, foreplay, french kissing, angst reader, dominant Loki, makeup sex,  Loki season 2 (non spoiler smut) , 18+ ONLY,

Intercourse, doggy style, slow burn emotional sex, 

Words:1.4k 

 (I wish I could watch Loki again for the first time. I love the aesthetic. It’s probably the only MCU show I’m able to keep up with at the moment. Everything else is not on my agenda lately to be written about.) Wrote this late at night tired af 🤡

   You TemPad back into the TVA with burning red eyes trying to hold back the tears. There was nothing in your mind that mattered but some sheer solitude away from loki. He completely messed up your life. He was just a regular variant that needed to be controlled. What made him seem like he was any different from the rest? Maybe you were the weaker link in the TVA that he was able to manipulate the most. 

   You stood in the middle of the TVA main monitor before striding down the hall toward a vacant interrogation room. You slumped down in the chair and exhaled. Loki was under Mobius' responsibility and couldn’t run off without knowing his where abouts at all times. This was your chance to disconnect from whatever was happening. Mobius warned you many times before to stay away from him but you couldn’t help wondering what made this man think he was different from the rest of the variants at the TVA. Every flirtatious moment, slight touch and seductive gazed sent major shivers down your spine when he was even near you. Loki was helping you guys track down the unknown variant but little did you know that the same viarant apparently named “Sylvie” was something of his own new desire. 

    You heard a slight presence from somewhere in the dark room. “I told you, didn't I? Mobius lingered from behind. “Please leave me alone in my own thoughts for a second before you rub it in my face” “Nahhh I think this is all too good of a moment to pass up” Mobius slid his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, just think about it for a sec…the guy fell for a female version of himself.. That isn’t someone worth gloating about... trust me” Mobius stood across from the table. “Well you know you can't help who you fall in love with” you whispered. “That doesn’t exist here. You had a job to do, and you preferred to be selfish and cause more timelines to branch out. I hope you’re happy” 

  “You and I both know that wasn’t the plan” you retorted. 

 “None of this was (Y/N)!.. “ He scoffed. Now you are a part of a case that I do not want my own friend involved in. It just became personal and more difficult, so I hope I won’t have to prune you.” 

   “Don’t worry. you won’t” you flipped your TemPad open and vanished.  

.............................

  “I care about you Sylvie and quite honestly I did at one point wanted to be with you but I don’t really like you in that way .” Loki reached out for Sylvie sitting down. “Look it doesn’t not matter what I think, the TVA is in complete shambles and that’s really the only thing that makes me happy at the moment.” 

  Loki looked up at Sylvie’s face and noticed a glimpse of hurt. “I think you’re a pain in the ass,” he chuckled. “Why? You got what you wanted but do you realize it won’t include you if there isn't a timeline to begin with?”

 Sylvie slid down off of the truck. “ I meant every last word. Now excuse me, I’ll like to enjoy my peace.” With a brush against Loki’s shoulder, Sylvie walked back into the restaurant. 

   Loki pinched his nose. His patience was running thin with everyone. For the love of god, he loved both you and Sylvie but only he couldn’t go back to the godly way of juggling several women at once. All he could think about was you right now and being wrapped up in your sheer company. Maybe he should just let Sylvie be alone for a while, he was sure she would be okay for the “time” being. First, he needed to find you and make sure you were not going to disappear from the end of time. 

    The gentle breeze swept your face as you inhaled the beautiful air from outside. You watched from across the street an amazing white picket fence house with a red truck parked right outside the garage. You moved your hands in your pocket and watched your variant self with a yoga mat and gigantic hand bag in the other. Also resting between your ear and shoulder was your phone talking extremely loud to whatever person there was. Just look at you, you did a sly smile to yourself and felt the sheer joy of seeing not only a different version of yourself but the most regular you but with Loki in it too. There he went trying to walk to the mailbox looking at maybe letters? Bills? Who knows. But it made you happy. Your variant self drove off in a hurry and waved Loki bye in the process. You wondered what it would be like to meet this version of him. Would he still look at you the same? Touch you? Or would he come off as a weird delusional variant? It wouldn’t hurt to try to see. Before you could take another step closer a strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into another dimension. 

   You lunged toward an unknown bedroom. You turned to meet Loki’s gaze staring right at you. 

“Why?’ That’s all you could spit out. “I’m pretty sure I’m the last person you need to talk to save the universe? Am I not correct?”  

  “Listen, I can explain” Loki gently closed the gap between you too. “I don’t need to hear your lies” you didn’t even want to look at his face.

“(Y/N) please I love you” he took your hands into his and gave you those big pleading eyes.

“What about Sylvie? Isn’t she more important?” You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Just a friend my dearest” he brushed your hot cheek with his thumb. Oh how much you missed his touch. 

 “I’ll prove it to you” he slowly pressed his lips against yours. You moan into his mouth and let him take the lead. “I’ve always loved you and only you” he kissed the crook of your neck and sucked on the area that made you squirm. Your hands roamed between his loose strands of raven black hair. You gasped, making your grip harder around his shoulders. You backed away and slipped off your TVA jacket and pulled your shirt off.

“May I?” Loki gestured toward your pants and gently undid your buttons. He locked his lips onto yours wanting access with his tongue. You hummed letting him dance around your mouth. His hands pulled your pants down leaving you with nothing but bare lace panties. Loki let fingers slip into your bare wetness. You bite your lip watching him dance his fingers around your clit in slow strokes.

“Oh how much I’ve wanted to pleasure you” Loki soft fingers builded up the milky white wetness of your flower while you cry out in moans into his ear.

“Loki” you whispered, grinding your hips to his hand. His pace quickened while he devoured your neck with his wet tongue. Your fingers scratched his jacket wanting more of him inside.

“Please” you breathed. Loki pulled his fingers away and sucked his fingers clean of your juices.

“Lay down” he gently gestured you toward the bed.

“I want you on your hands and knees dear” You do as you were told and kneel with your bare ass in the air.  You hear the sound of a belt buckle before Loki adjusted your hips toward his entrance. You gently hitched your breath feeling him tease his tip inside your wet dripping folds.

“Are you ready my love?” he bent over nibbling at your ear. Moaning while you feel him fill you up.

‘Y-yes” you breathed. Loki smirked, ready to make you his. 

<<<<< Likes, reblogs, requests, or comments >>>>> let me know

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[4seasonsofart]

Hunter or the Hunted? | Hybrid Thorfinn (Part 2)

A young Snow Leopard hybrid meets a Siren hybrid in the most unlikely of cases. Will a friendship blossom, or will the tides of fate pull them under?

Season 1: Thorfinn sees you after eleven years.

Hybrid Thorfinn x Reader

Hybrid Thorfinn (Part 1) Season 1: 6 year old Thorfinn meeting you.

1013: London Bridge

Over eleven years have passed since that faithful day, and the resentment within Thorfinn has only grown stronger. With each passing second, he came to hate Askeladd more. For what he took from him all those years ago. His anger was like an unquenchable thirst that could only be satiated by the blood of his fallen enemies.

Only one thing could temporarily snap him from his traumatized trance: the chance to duel Askeladd once again.

"Thorfinn. We have some work for you. Go bring me Thorkell's head."

Like a trained dog, he perks up at those words and scowls towards the man who ripped his life from its hinges. He replies snarkily and makes sure that the promise of the duel is kept if he completes his mission. 

"Promise me you'll give me my reward."

"Okay. Okay. The same as always, right? You're so stubborn. Getting so worked up about a fight you can't win. Maybe you get it from your father."

Askeladd states this in a coy tone as he polishes a golden goblet he obtained from one of his many Viking raids. He knows exactly how to push Thorfinn's buttons and how to make him bend to his will. He was just a foolish kid with a dream of killing him, after all. It has a sense of idiotic nobility to it, although Askeladd would never tell him that.

"Don't forget, Askeladd."

"Only those who fight on the battlefield get what they desire. That's the way of the warrior. My head's not cheap, you know. I'll duel you as often as you like. Go bring me Thorkell's head."

● With a new mission, he did as he was told, like a good little Viking boy. He leaped from the ship and landed on the edge of the bridge. Something appears out of the corner of his eye. A tail? He almost ends up with a sword through him as he takes one of Thorkell's soldiers down. He has no time to be distracted by things that aren't possible.

● He meets eyes with the Draugr hybrid, a hulking zombie-like man with an insatiable thirst for blood just like Thorfinn. His nature was much more relaxed and open. There was no malice in his eyes toward his new opponent. Thorkell just wanted to fight Thorfinn. Just to fight.

● A swing, a hit, and a miss and Thorkell is looming over the injured young man with a broken wrist. Thorkell's Dragur instincts were getting the better of him, and he wanted to attack the hybrid; he wanted to cause him pain; he wanted to taste his blood.

● All of Thorfinn's hybrid senses were overstimulated. He can't think, move, or hear anything without wanting to rip his heart out of his chest. It is all just too much.

● Thorfinn is able to feel his leopard ears twitch and hear such a silent, longing, and angelic sound. A sound he hasn't heard in over a decade but is able to easily identify.

● Thorkell raises his giant log to bash Thorfinn's head into the side of the bridge when he stops. The entire battlefield stops and stands in a trance. It is as if time has stopped once again.

Just like when... No, you couldn't be alive...

That same euphoric and peaceful feeling from his childhood floods back into his body. He sits completely lax against the bridge as his muscles have fallen asleep on him. His ears droop towards the top of his head as his tail slumps near his thighs. His hazel eyes close completely as something pulls him deep underwater.

The song lasted for less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity to everyone on the battlefield.

They all stand around each other with bewildered expressions, unsure if fighting is what they should be doing. Did they just get seduced by a Sirens song? Is there still a Siren hybrid out there? Who's side does this Siren belong to?

None of the soldiers had any answers. So they did what all soldiers do, and they began their bloody masquerade once again.

● Askeladd already had a plan in his mind as he watched a silhouette of a hybrid swim with Thorfinn towards the shore. Oh, this is an opportunity that cannot be wasted.

● With Thorfinn back on the shore and soon to rejoin the band of Vikings he had grown accustomed to, he stares at you in awe and fear. As if his past just came back to haunt him like his dreams.

The crisp fall winds nip at your fatigued bodies as you both stare at each other without saying a word. Thorfinn notices all of the changes in your body and how you have grown into something more coveted than the last time you both met. You notice how he has gone from an innocent child to a broken warrior, barely in adulthood.

He makes the first move and kicks you back into the water before clutching his broken wrist and dislocated shoulder. He takes a step back to get further onto dry land. He keeps his body language closed off and protected from you.

"Thorfinn..." You try in a hopeful tone. As if the years you spent apart were nothing and you just wanted a friend again.

"Stay away, beast."

Those three words break your heart once again. They had been told to you an infinite number of times. Yet, it hurt the most coming from him. Was it because he was the only one to show you genuine kindness for so long?

He hisses through gritted teeth as his tail raises and his ears perk up. He turns around and promptly begins running back towards the band he has known for so long. He just couldn't take seeing you again. You were one of the reasons that he kept trying to duel Askeladd and win.

A reason to live. A reason to fight.

You have actually been alive for the entire time? It feels like a stab in the chest. Like you betrayed the few months of friendship he had with you so long ago.

It doesn't matter why you left—you still abandoned him.

You probably didn't care for him anyway. Just another siren looking to use someone for their own gain. 

You are a beast—no better than Askeladd in his eyes.

[zoeykallus]

ALOHA ZOEY loving your work lately amazing writing as always! I don't know if you've seen bad batch season 2 episode 5 yet but if you have, may I request a fanfic with Hunter x female reader, like Hunter needing a stress relief either it's sex or the reader just holding him in her arms after him being so stressed out by phee and him worrying about Omega?

ALOHA! 😁

Thank you kindly! Yes I could do that... though I'm not sure, should I still mark it as possible spoiler?... Maybe I should, just in case, don't want to ruin anyone's experience with the new season.

Okay... Stressed Space Dad, coming right up!

Hunter x Fem!Reader One-Shot - On Your Shoulders

Warnings: Possible Spoiler for THE BAD BATCH SEASON 2 EPISODE 5 /Fluff/Tension/Comfort

_______________________________

Today has been a stressful day. Hunter sits at the bar counter, his shoulders tense and at the same time looking a little slumped over. Omega and Phee have been a chaotic team, constantly in danger, constantly frantically chasing a new idea, while he desperately tries to keep up while keeping them safe, especially Omega.

He doesn't like that Phee is putting this very lively adventurous spirit into her head, but on the other hand, Omega is having fun with it, and she seems to like the treasure hunter a lot. So Hunter gives Phee more leeway than he really wants, for Omega's sake.

He sighs, sips his glass, and is about to drop his head on the counter when he hears your voice and feels a pleasant tingle in his stomach.

"Hey chief. Are you okay?" you ask softly.

Hunter looks at you, he seems very tired, but he smiles at you.

"Sure, sweetie, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

You raise a brow and say with a smirk, "Because you don't look fine."

Hunter says quietly, "Wow, tell me what you really think. Am I supposed to be offended or concerned right now? Can I be both?"

A wry grin creeps onto his tired face.

You laugh softly, and your hand wanders gently over his back.

"I didn't mean it that way, and you know it. You look tired, stressed, like you've had a rough day"

Hunter gestures with his head towards Phee, Omega and Wrecker and says, "The chaotic duo has struck again, even as a trio today. I'm very tired indeed, but I'm fine"

You turn to Tech and say, "Do me a favor, keep an eye on Omega, our chief needs a break"

Tech looks up from his datapad for a moment and finally nods.

"Okay. Have a good night"

"You too, Tech"

Hunter refuses at first, but then allows himself to be led to one of the rooms in Cid's establishment, where you help him out of his gear and coax him to lie in bed after a hot shower.

He comes out of the bathroom freshly showered in boxers, putting on a shirt just as you freshen up the bed. Hunter drops into bed with a grunt and groans, exhausted.

"Some days I hate my position in this group," he says quietly.

You gently begin to massage his back and ask, "Really?"

With a sigh, Hunter says, his voice muffled a bit by the pillow he's lying on, "No, not really, it's just sometimes more tiring than I like, but I guess that's part of it."

He lolls under your massaging hands. You gradually feel the tension slip from his hard muscles. Hunter finally turns on his back and looks at you, grabbing your arms and pulling you close to him. You wrap your arms around him, and he wraps his around you.

Your head rests on his chest, and you feel the vibration of his voice as he says, "Sometimes it's just too much, some days I don't have the strength or energy for what I actually need to do."

Softly you say, "Because all the responsibility is always on you, Hunter, everything is always just on your shoulders. I think it's time to share this responsibility a little bit in the group. It makes sense that you are the leader, but you should give up some of your duties, then you will have more energy for the things that are really important to you, like Omega and me".

He takes a deep breath and strokes your cheek with his fingers as you snuggle closer to him.

"That's easier said than done, but you're right. I do need an idle occasionally to recharge my batteries, I'm only human I guess"

You say, smiling, "A wonderful human being."

With a comfortable sigh, he pulls the covers over both of you and enjoys the warmth of your body against his.

"But not infallible," he notes.

"You don't have to be, no one is infallible, absolutely no one. That's okay, it's human. You're better than you think you are and more than the majority of people you come in contact with deserve, Omega and your brothers excluded."

There is silence for a moment, but you sense that he is thinking. Finally, he asks, "You're alluding to Cid?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

He laughs softly.

"You sound like Tech," he teases you.

Smirking, you say, "I guess I spend too much time with you guys."

As he hugs you closer, he says softly, "You can't spend enough time with us"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@starwarsnerd111

[ike-mcswains-mortician]

hi lea RELEASE THE OAKWORTHY TAPES bye lea

(also what’s aasimar’s and aunties???? :o)

HI OK THE TAPES. also tagging @hermanunworthy cause i know you asked too :3

(slightly edited because i was completely incoherent when i sent this originally it was like 2 am)

so basically hermie is doing some fuckass shit, poking fun at normal and his teeny obsession or quoting the joker or something. doing classic hermie things. maybe even flirting w scary (which is canon now??? god i need money to listen to sophomore slump)

and normal just grabs hermie by the jacket and pulls him (way) down and kisses him (bc in my mind hermie is a lot taller than short king normal and it’s adorable - my favorite oakworthy pose to draw is herm using norm as an armrest i literally eat that height difference dynamic for breakfast lunch and dinner)

and it’s like. objectively the most awkward kiss ever and god it’s not good. neither of them have done this before but i mean when the voices compel you… but anyway normal lets hermie go and hermie is just windows bluescreening and like. incapable of moving. and normals really giddy now like hehehe ive wanted to do that for so long and it finally shut you up! maybe that means im getting to you with this whole teeny thing!!

and hermies just like. “that wasn’t in the script.” (i have literally imagined him saying that in EVERY kiss scenario i dream up to fall asleep to) and his face is RED bro and normals face is RED bro and they’re both like really awkward about it, but later they’re just like yeah no that was kind of a long time coming. because they are the mutual pining trope to ME!!! but also they both completely freeze up at acts of affection and normal gets super giddy every time and hermie secretly really likes riling him about it and AAAAAHH ANTHONY WHY DK YOU HATE ME

so yeah i got possessed and sent this to my poor friend who knows like. hardly any dndads <3

edit: forgot to add my delirious artists rendition:

—

AASIMARS AND AUNTIES!!! MY BELOVED!!!!! so basically it’s a season 3/au thing! starring aunts from the podcast (either literally or because the vibe fits) who have to fix heaven after willy fucks it up. honestly the plot is not really fleshed out yet but eh. so it’s casey wilson, mark likely, and birdie oak for the canonical aunts, and ellory and erin o’niel for the “yeah they have that vibe” aunts!! also shaderin is canon <3

anaunts is the delusional depressed mind child of me, @thedndgoblinwholivesinyourwalls, and @koymoa !! :D

[sassysnowperson]

Why am I not writing anymore?

I've been kicking this one around inside my head and have decided to share here. See if it helps me get it out of the incoherent jumble in my head and into some orderly thoughts.

Burnout?

This was why I stopped writing. I should have stopped writing at the pace I was probably about a year earlier, but I really wanted to hit a million words on AO3. I did! I'm glad I hit the goal, but oof, I felt it. But I don't think that's what's happening right now. I've had time to recover, work got a lot less stressful when I changed jobs, I'm happier. I'm not exhausted when I think about writing anymore. But I'm not doing it.

Well, wait, AM I not doing it?

I do have a couple people I chat with about fandom things. It's not writing for an audience, but it is creative. That's where I figured the energy was going. But interestingly, I started doing word count on my therapy notes, out of curiosity. Yeah, I'm writing at least 2k a week at work. It's not creative writing (but it is narrative writing) and its THE EXACT OPPOSITE of for a public audience, but it is burning similar energy in terms of sit down at computer and type time.

But is that really a bad thing?

Maybe not! I think the time at the desk is bad, but I don't have to write at my desk. Laptops enable gremlin writing everywhere. And maybe it's easier to write when I'm already in the habit of writing.

Really?

Maybe? I'm not pivoting from notes to fun writing, so the momentum isn't quite there. But I gotta admit, word counting the therapy notes did wake something up inside me.

Word counting? Seriously? What about The Story That Needs To Be Told? Creativity?? Having something to say?

Wow, inner voice, you got judgy real fast there. I think...I think you're part of the problem. Aside from like, three fics out of that million words I wrote, I never started knowing the complete story. I have a rough idea of what I want to say, or a dynamic I want to explore, and then I find the rest as I go. So if I'm waiting for The Story That Needs to be Told, I'm probably not gonna write again. I think I need to fall back in love with the process.

You wrote a million words in four years. What was the process that worked then, and why isn't it working now?

Well, part of it was the wordcount. Not making words for words sake, but having a solid metric to point to in terms of progress. I have ADHD, and the fact is if I want to do something, I need to make it fun and measurable. Tracking wordcount is both. But it wasn't just wordcount. It was also talking with people about things, gift giving, writing hangout time, and other people's excitement motivating me. I don't have that consistently right now. I have people that have made it clear they'll cheer me on (♥️), but I don't have it as a habit, as a part of my regular day to day life.

Why not?

Well, I stopped writing. That's kinda a big one. But also...writing took up a lot of time. I stopped watching new media, basically. I wrote the most while I was in a reading slump. I'm not comfortable with this idea, but I think I need to wrestle with the idea that I focus on one thing at a time. I don't know if I can watch all the Dimension 20 seasons and write like I did. I don't know if I can have a good reading life and a good writing life. That makes me sad. I don't want it to be true.

But is it? Sometimes sad things are true.

Too right, inner voice. And I don't know! I think I can safely say that without intentionality, I will tend to do 1-2 leisure activities at a time. But I now that I'm thinking about it, I suspect the trouble is in task switching, not the task itself. If I make a goal to task switch, maybe I'll be more able to.

And set more reasonable goals. You probably can't write 250k words a year and do other stuff.

Yeah, probably not. Maybe I should set a wordcount maximum, to make sure I do other stuff too.

But do you *want* to write? Do you miss it?

...yes?

Oh man I hoped I'd be more confident in answering that. Do I want to write, or do I miss being A Person That Writes?

Well, we already established you are actually writing a lot right now. So maybe let's phrase it as: Do you want to tell stories to a wider audience?

...Yeah. Yeah I do! I miss that! I miss being a storyteller.

So either you find some other way to tell stories...

Like framing my self-analysis as a conversation?

Maybe this whole method should have tipped you off sooner, yeah.

Good point. On both counts. Either I start a podcast or a twitch stream or something, or I go back to the way I'm most comfortable telling stories.

Writing.

Yep.

So what are you going to write about?

I don't know, inner voice! But waiting on that to be clear hasn't worked. Think I just need to start somewhere. But it's good to know I want to start.

[unfriendlyamazon]

restaurant au (kj moment)

of course the only other thing in my notes is a kaijou scene but i love contrast and i do want to write something where they connect over their shitty adolescence so here we go again everything subject to change but i started season 2 of the bear and i'm in the mood

Joey slumped forward, holding his forehead in his hands, and his chest burned.

“I can’t do this,” he said. “I don’t even know why I wanted to. Everything’s falling apart, my own sister is going to hate me, and it feels like I’m going to end up just like him.”

“It was your father’s restaurant,” Kaiba said from the kitchen. His voice was low and oddly soothing, especially made quiet by the distance. Joey sucked in a ragged breath. “Why didn’t you sell it? Why would you want to follow in his footsteps?”

The question burned as Joey swallowed it down. Tears beaded his eyes. An emotion welled up in him, laying so heavy on his tongue he almost couldn’t speak.

“I guess I–” He breathed in again. In and out. Keep breathing. “They’re not all bad memories, you know? That’s what makes it so hard. And the times I really remember being–being happy was when my dad was cooking. He showed me how to chop the vegetables, and he’d cook the meat, and we’d all sit down together and be, I dunno. A family. Sometimes I think the love of cooking is the only thing he really gave me.”

Kaiba was silent, except the light clattering of plates. Joey squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Kaiba was in front of him, holding out a bowl.

“Here,” he said. “Eat this.”

Joey took it from him. The bowl was warm around his fingertips, and an earthy smell rose from it. He picked up the spoon and ladled the heaps of rice.

“Takikomi gohan,” he said.

Kaiba nodded. “It’s not my favorite dish mind you–”

Joey gave a dry laugh. “It’s no filet mignon for sure.”

“--but my mother would make it for us.”

His mouth clamped shut. He spooned the dish thoughtfully before bringing it to his mouth. The shiitake mushrooms were the most obvious flavor, as they clearly made up the dashi used in the base, and the sweetness of the carrots hit alongside it. He could taste the subtle flavor of the sake underneath, and something light. Celery, maybe, or more likely mitsuba. Traditional, considering Kaiba liked western flavors. The blend was perfectly balanced on the short rice. He swallowed it gratefully.

“The memories I have of my family before,” Kaiba said, “feel warped and faded sometimes. I don’t have any pictures or keepsakes. But I remember this. These flavors. They remind me of a time when I had happiness. Well, almost. There’s an ingredient I’m missing, I’m sure of it.”

Joey took another bite. It was hard to swallow with the lump in his throat, but too delicious not to.

“Chefs like to cook for others to take care of them,” Kaiba said. “To bring joy to people. I think that all you’ve ever wanted to do is bring joy back to yourself. But it can be a mistake focusing on the past. On what was. You need to focus on the future.”

“Yeah,” Joey said, mouth full of rice. “You’re always fucking right.”

“I am,” Kaiba said, without his usual arrogance. “Do you know why I agreed to invest in your restaurant?”

Joey shook his head.

“Because you cook good food. You have passion for it. I think you can do it. And I’m always right.”

The last wall crumbled. The tears Joey’d been holding back flowed freely down his face, and he sobbed into his rice. Kaiba didn’t reach out to comfort him, only offered a napkin before standing back. Joey let the dam break. It felt right, here and now. Everything about this moment felt like it was supposed to happen.

[jewishvitya]

Ohh i love that i can ask questions (i love talking to people with the same interests)

Now, i have personal opinions on these, but i still need someone else's ><

1. Do you think that as Yuri (Plisetsky) ages that would affect his skills, and also how?

2. Do you think that Viktor will go back to skating? Do you think he'll try to reclaim his world records?

3. And if he does get back, do you think that will affect his relationship with Yuuri?

(Write as much as you want here, I re want your opinion🙏🏻🙏🏻)

Thank you🩷💜

This is delightful, thank you!!! Of course you can, anytime!!

1. I like imagining Yura getting one last good season before he grows faster than he can keep up with.

I think Yura gets very impatient with himself. It's one thing to have a skill and try to perfect it with practice, but it's another thing to have to relearn something you already knew how to do because your body changed and the balance is different and the same muscle memory you worked so hard to develop is failing you. This could feel different.

So he has a slump, but he gets back from it stronger. Yakov doesn't give up on him, he knows he can stay a great skater. He trained Viktor and Georgi and they're both doing great at 27 years old. He can pull Yura through this.

And Yura has examples of skaters coming back from this. He felt like he had a deadline before his body changes, but in the end, it was temporary and he'll do just fine.

Sidenote, I love imagining Yura getting as tall as Viktor - and then stopping. Which annoys him so much, even though he isn't a kid anymore and he knows at this point that he's being ridiculous. Taller shoes and hairstyles, just to make himself look a bit taller than Viktor. Everyone who knows him knows what he's doing. Viktor and Mila think it's hilarious.

2. About Viktor getting back into skating, I can go either way.

On the one hand, he was burned out, he's finally happy, he sees a future for himself where he isn't lonely on the pedestal, he didn't seem happy to go back to it, he looked like he was doing it for Yuuri, he's going to coach at the same time, there's so much there...

But for why Viktor might want to get back to skating. I think his last season was a plea not to be left alone, and he might want to tell a better and more hopeful story before he fully retires.

If I write something post-canon, I'm giving him gold in his national competitions (puts Yura in his place, just once. "Viktor Nikiforov is dead" AND VIKTOR KATSUKI-NIKIFOROV IS BETTER).

When I'm putting him against both Yuuri and Yura, though, the podium looks like. Gold for Yuuri. And Viktor and Yura can get either silver or bronze depending on my mood. Yuuri's gold is consistent, though. HE WAS ROBBED. Give Yuuri gold!!!

Viktor reclaiming his records only for Yuuri to break them again is a favorite of mine so there's a bias here too.

So the future I imagine depends on which feelings I want to explore. Sometimes I'll have Viktor feeling like he's going back to a place that hurt him because he wants to make Yuuri happy and give him the competition he always imagined, and sometimes he's eager to tell the story of the happiness he found.

3. I think if he goes back it absolutely affects his relationship with Yuuri.

If he doesn't really want to go back and he's doing it for Yuuri, O often have it so Yuuri realizes he's asking too much and finding a way to make it better. Either by asking Yakov to coach him so Viktor can focus on skating, or by trying to tell Viktor he doesn't need to do this for him. In either case, Viktor isn't happy. I don't think he likes to give up on things. These skaters are ambitious and stubborn, I think it's kind of necessary to be where they are. But he needs to balance things. Maybe even drop the idea of competing again. Depends on the story.

But the more fun option is if Viktor fully wants to do this. And it still won't be easy. Any non-skating aspect of their relationship will be put aside for a while, they'll have so much to work through. And I love that kind of hard work.

Also, this isn't entirely related, but I thought about this. They'll move to Russia which means not having Yuuri's family and support system. The way I see Viktor, he kept everyone at arm's length until Yuuri. His relationship with Chris was shallow, I see it in Chris's inner dialogue about him. With Yura, he trained with him for years, but it's only in Hasetsu that it feels like they truly made a connection.

He's always watching people, he cares about what they need and how they feel even when he's failing at recognizing things, but he's keeping himself at a distance. Until Yuuri, who basically opened him a door to human connection and gave him the path to bonding with more people. That's how I read him.

So now he has Yuuri with him in Russia. And his rinkmates are going to love him.

And Viktor will have to put his new way of connecting with people into practice in a place where he's known the way he was.

It's easier to act differently where people don't know you. They don't have expectations, so they aren't going to look at you weird when you defy them. Here people know him. It'll be tempting to just... slide back into old habits. But Yuuri is there. He's telling the story of being with Yuuri. He has to hold on to everything he got from the time in Hasetsu and bring it here.

I think this will influence them a lot too. Yuuri asked him to just be himself, and Viktor takes him back to the world that taught him he shouldn't. And he's going to have to make that jump, change how he acts, and see it's not that bad.

Also, Yuuri will get to see new and different kinds of support. Viktor taught him to recognize it, since before he says it felt vague. Now he really feels he can rely on people.

I wanted to say more about Yuuri but it's getting late and I'm going to get sleepy soon jfsjgsjsg

Thank you so much for the excuse to ramble about them. I love them so much.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Scary as a sleepy kitten

When - 10 or so minutes after He hasn't been himself, which takes place during the Chupacabra episode of Season 2

What - the finishing touches on Daryl's medical care, how Andrea's handling almost mistakenly killing the guy. You assure her that he's about as scary as a sleepy kitten right then. Then, there's digesting big bro Shane's descent from morality along with Daryl's simultaneous growth in it. Bonus is a hint regarding the Greene's barn. So sad there aren't any barn cats in there anymore, wonder what happened...

Genre - a little angsty, a little fluffy, a little found-family.

Who - You, Mangy Hick (that's Daryl), Patricia, Andrea, Papa Dale and his not good book, and sweet little Beth (who's got the same headcanon from the Fabulously Confident Reader stories about liking choose-your-own-adventure books)

Perspective - 2nd person, and 3rd Daryl

Pronouns - did GN again this time

TWs - some language, otherwise you just have a brief blow-up. The day's been something else, y'all

Length? - 10-15 minutes

References - when Daryl made that funny in Like a traditional Sunday dinner, the incident with Ed as seen in "Deserved" Part 1 but mostly Part 2 and its cooldown in It's not the end of the wo - oh. There's the continuation of big brother Shane's descent, a slow progression in a bulk of the chapters. Be sure to check out Invisible Tugging Strings, Part 1 and Part 2 , then Spell your last name, please. as well as He hasn't been himself

Official Masterlist here (find fabulously confident reader there!) and the Chronological Slowpoke Masterlist here

have fun and happy reading!

Apologies for the lengthy delay, slowpokes, my brain has been on power-saver for about a month, might could be evident in the chapter, too XD

...........................................

“Guess I'll just move this arm like a robot—oh-ho, check it, I can still do the tomahawk chop, y’all!”

And yeah, then his friend proceeds to make barely one and a half chops before wincing. The slight pout that forms afterward makes him want to smile, it’s damn cute.

“Hurt more than I thought it would.”

The twangy blonde lady looks entertained. “Tell me why, Y/N.”

Their pout turns more embarrassed. “…Movin’ the forearm requires these here muscles.”

He liked that their accent revved up more with the blonde lady—sorry, her name’s Patricia, he knows, got it.

“Which affects what?” Patricia asks.

“My shoulder and chest.”

“Which are injured and got irritated something serious today, along with what I’m fairly sure is maybe your C6 and 7, maybe the T1, whenever you first got hurt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they mumble.

Stop thinking Y/N looks cute. Also, what were those letter-number things?

Sighing, his friend stares at their upper arm.

So, during the, like, he doesn’t know, 5 minutes or whatever it was when the old man helped him slump to the bathroom so he could finally take a piss, Y/N’s upper arm was wrapped to their torso to prevent them from hurting it more. They keep overdoing it, and they keep taking their damn sling off, so Patricia made a compromise, he guesses.

And after doing a modeling-pose type thing with their wrapped arm and asking who was wearing their gauze better, them or him, Y/N immediately tried to do the tomahawk chop and move like a robot and why is he finding that so damn cute right now?.

Patricia winks at Y/N. “Name some of the muscles up there and I won’t put the rest in a sling."

You

“Ooh, bicep, tricep,” basics out of the way. “This, um, one of these over here is the brachialis, this is the deltoid, the teres major’s under here.” You got that muscle wrong on an anatomy midterm back during college and never forgot about it. “This here is the trapezius.” Because the dudes who do the trapeze at the circus got real big ones (or at least that’s how you remember it). “And, well, the clavicle is this bone, so the bone under it is the scapula, which means right about here’s the subscapularis muscle,” that she said you may have hurt, “Oh, duh, then ‘the major one is the pectoralis.’ And—”

“—Okay, no sling.”

Phew. “Thank you!”

“For now, anyway. Meanwhile, Hersh is givin’ me a look, let’s get to cleaning our friend, here.”

Him

The funny part is, as Patricia left, she made a face and said, “I don’t remember most of the muscle or bone names, I just took Y/N's word for it. Now, Daryl, don’t go gettin’ out of bed, stay put.”

Now he’s finally laying down, nothing else to be done to him. He’s so damn tired.

He’s scrubbed up, too. Got a big-ass bandage over his head, wrapped all around. That was a trip; Patricia and Y/N washed his head and neck over a bowl. He counted the seconds til it was over, half-listened to whatever they were chatting about to distract himself.

Once he was bound up like a cartoon character and given instruction to not get it wet, Hershel came back and walked him to the bathroom again, this time to clean everything else off.

There was a little stool thing in the shower, with the shower hose on the ground instead of hanging. “Don’t get your head or the bandage wet. There's a waterproof cover over the dressing on your side that you'll have to remove when you're finished. Now, I imagine you prefer total privacy, but if you need the help, I can assist, or I can get your friend Theodore, if your prefer.”

“M’fine.”

The simple response “I’ll be outside the door, Daryl,” surprised him. Made him feel stupid and ashamed and comforted all at the same time.

And he…he needed the damn help. Ain’t like the old guy hadn’t seen his back already, anyway.

Still, the old man mostly stayed behind the shower curtain at his request, and he didn’t see his junk or nothing, Daryl made sure to keep himself covered.

Part of him felt like some pathetic little cat getting a flea bath.

Today was something else.

So goddamned tired…

You

Not 15 minutes went by since he was escorted to the washroom and now he’s fast asleep under the sheets.

Lori and you stayed inside with Carl (and Daryl), and Carol and Rick brought in plates of food into the house for the four of you.

Carol cooked up some jerky with an egg for Daryl as a special treat with the rest of his meal. Menu for tonight is peanut butter sandwiches (sort of, they’re on saltines), hard-boiled eggs (not soft-boiled, you checked this time), with sauteed field greens.

Your poor friend must be ravenous, but it looks like tiredness won this round. He looks so different asleep. Sweet, even. It's silly, but his light snores almost sound like purring and now you're thinking about kittens.

Another moment in the quiet, and you figure you shouldn’t stand there like a weirdo anymore.

Well, his egg and the peanut butter sandwiches will keep until he wakes up, and the jerky and egg will taste great either way, but his portion of sauteed field greens won’t be nice cold. You’re only a little bummed when you slide your portion of little sandwiches onto his plate and take his portion of greens. He’s earned extra treats, he can have all the peanut butter he wants after what he found today.

You inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. Close your eyes and ask inwardly for help after offering more thanks that he came back alive, and found concrete proof of Sophia.

It’s nice to be in the quiet. It feels safer better to be away from Shane right now, too. You aren’t sure what you’re going to do about the sleeping situation other than tell your brother to set up his own tent.

You also take one of the cracker sandwiches, it’s been a rough day. But when you start to nibble on it…your appetite is gone. Which is so dumb, dude, you’d been stoked at the thought of chowing down when you were high on Daryl being okay and having found Sophia’s doll.

Daryl’s chest rises and falls. You listen to his light snores, and find it, as Amy would’ve said, “interesting,” (but understandable) that your stomach has a few butterflies at seeing him so peaceful and still.

You miss Amy. Which prompts you to consider that you should check on Andrea. Earlier, Dale had come in and asked a bunch of questions for her because she was too ashamed to see people. From wherever she is right now, Amy is probably hoping you’ll help comfort her big sister.

Patricia stops you before you exit the house through the side-door. “Been meanin' to ask, I heard you tell your brother to get out, earlier. Everythin’ okay?”

That question was unexpected, words aren’t working for you. You shake and nod at the same time, which is weird, so, you open your mouth to fix it, but nothing formulates.

After a second try, all you can stumble through is “I don’t know, ma’am,” before ungracefully scooting outside.

After 5 minutes of polite conversation on the steps, mainly between you and Dale regarding Daryl’s status, Andrea is still dumbfounded that she’d almost killed someone.

“He’s really okay?”

“He’s bandaged and resting now. You only winged him, but the falls he took earlier did the most damage, Andy.” You’re trying not to be angry with her, but failing. Which sucks, because you know she was trying to protect the group…

But that she still shot it even though it was against Mr. Greene’s wishes and she knew that indicates an unhealthy variety of pride. One can't be having that kind of attitude with a firearm, it ain't good. And Daryl was almost a casualty because of it.

And like, come on, there were five of you running toward her target, it was dangerous for her to attempt to shoot from that angle! Doesn’t she understand that’s irrespons—ugh, and isn’t Shane supposed to have been doing gun safety shit with her? Isn’t that his whole wannabe jarhead schtick—great, now you’re more upset about Shane!

“I’m glad you’re enjoying those, ” Dale tells you, nodding at your cracker and chuckling. “They’re the part of dinner I rushed to help make, this evening was…something.”

He shrugs, and you remember how Daryl grunted that today was ‘somethin’ else.’

“I suppose having spread the peanut butter on crackers was a small step up from offering it on spoons to everyone,” he muses.

You can’t help but hum, a spoonful of peanut butter sounds scrumptious right now. Makes a good breakfast or snack, too.

“Did Daryl eat enough?” Andrea worries. “Does he need anything?”

“He was asleep when I brought him his supper, but I left my portion of the crackers—minus this one—on his plate.”

“Come to think of it, I’m not sure he’s a fan of peanut butter,” Dale thinks out loud. “I offered him some for breakfast one morning, and now that I recall, he backed away from it.”

Not like peanut butter?

“—Oh my God, what if he’s he allergic?” Andrea breathes.

“Nah, he ate a peanut yesterday. I was havin’ one of the little packets for lunch and he tried one, he can’t be allergic,” you assure them. And surely he doesn’t not like peanuts. That would be so sad!

It gets quiet.

Andrea stares at her feet.

“I can’t believe almost killed him.” She inhales and buries her face in her hands. “I shot someone.”

And Dale is only meaning to ease her discomfort and add some levity—but whether it’s because of the new bond you have with Daryl, or maybe because here’s something of a flashback hitting you from how you’d had to actually shoot a living person a few months ago—when Dale jokes to you, “Like I told her, we’ve all wanted to shoot Daryl,” you become livid.

After two shallow breaths of your inner tea kettle screaming, this sentence: “Guess y’all will want sunshine over here to work on her aim, then,” seethes out as you stand and book it to the fields.

The past several days especially has shown you how wrong your initial conclusions about that man were. He’s a work-in-progress, make no mistake, but shit if he ain’t working on it!

Unlike your brother, who keeps getting worse, who just tried to flirt with Lori by saying he didn’t care about a missing, abused little girl—the same little girl Daryl was willing to almost die to find!

Horrified at Shane and about today; confused, embarrassed, overwhelmed, in pain, overtired, and therefore angry about everything, you walk, hyperventilate, and finally, quietly, start to cry.

Then you accidentally drop the peanut butter cracker and cry harder.

The light swish of your boots in the grass starts to crunch when you reach the sandy part by now-boarded-up well. You walk faster, neither wanting to be near the two-part walker inside nor in the area where apparently, Daryl dumped Merle’s ‘hard stuff,’ as he slurred to you earlier during his trauma assessment.

Soon you’re by the rocks you’d climbed the other night. You step up and sit on a lower one and sniffle another minute or so until the worst of it seems to have spilled out.

When will you get a better handle on your temper?

While you’re busy wallowing in self-pity, you notice Dale’s watch ticking and are reminded that you have to return it.

You stand.

Trudge back with your tail between your legs.

He and Andrea are still on the steps.

“I’m sorry. I let my anger get the better of me,” you tell them softly.

Dale waves you over. “Come back and sit if you like, kiddo. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been somethin’,” you mumble. “And you aren’t a bad shot, Andrea, I was being snotty.” About an inch to your left and he’d have been a goner, you leave out.

“I’m glad I wasn’t as good a shot as I’d hoped,” she sounds ashamed to say. Her head is still hanging low when she makes a one-sided smile and taps the spot next to her. “Will you be helping with shooting practice tomorrow?”

“If that’s still on, yeah.” Shane was enlisting your help with that, which means you’ll have to act civil…ugh, why worry about tomorrow, tomorrow will worry about itself. You take the watch off, hand it to Dale. “Here you go, Mr. H.”

“Ah, very good. I would hate to start losing track of the days, then we’d really be in for it. Let’s see…an hour until it’s time to wind her up.”

The breeze carries the smell of woodsmoke with it. You lean against Andrea for a moment, she leans back.

Then Shane comes into view.

When you catch his eye, you shake your head in warning in case he’s thinking about coming over and schmoozing with the others as if he didn’t just f—tomorrow will be better. Things will be better in the morning. He’ll apologize and things will be better and you’ll all have a good day and maybe Sophia will be found.

“Y/N, how about we talk later tonight?” Dale murmurs.

Did he see the face you made at Shane?

Best change the subject. “If we do, is it finally my turn to borrow that awful book I’ve heard so much about?”

“The Case of the Missing Man is not an awful book,” he chuckles back, then shrugs. “Maybe Jimmie Herron’s style isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. My Irma didn’t like his work, either.”

“Y/N, it’s really not great,” Andrea drones.

“Glenn said the same.”

“Amy had me read it so we could, um,” her gaze grows teary. She closes her eyes for a moment, then smiles and shakes her head. “‘Share the trauma.’”

You smile and shake your head, too. That sounds like Amy. “She finished it up in my tent while I was knocked out with a migraine, first thing out of her mouth to me when I woke up was how lame it was. Told me you had first dibs.”

“Then I lent it to T-Dog”

Oh, right. On the first half-week of the trek to Fort Benning, his nose was stuck in it. “He plowed on through it, didn’t he?”

“He wanted the torture to be over.”

You and she snort, Dale just chuckles again. “After you finish it, only Rick, and our young Carl—oh, and, uh your br—and Shane, they’ll be the only ones to not have done so.” He points his finger as if an idea just popped into his head. “But both Jacqui and Lori thought it was good.”

“Bless their hearts, they loved watching soaps, though, what does that tell us?” you giggle to them.

Dale lifts his hands in surrender. “See me later, troublemaker, I’ll lend you my ‘awful’ book and we can talk. I’m gonna hold you to it.” He looks at Andrea. “Young lady, will you be alright?”

“Yes. I'm just not ready to face anyone yet.”

“You know where to find me.”

She rests her arms on her knees and slouches again, stare fixed on nothing much. You go to rest your arms on your knees, too, and are immediately reminded that that particular position is a no-go for you right now.

“Y/N, after what happened with Ed, when did the feeling of wanting to hide go away?”

“Mine was an easier situation," you quietly point out. "And it wasn’t just me, Shane was the one who—" you grimace at the memory. "You were there.”

“Mm.”

To answer her question, “But I guess it wasn’t til, y’know, I faced people again that I got I didn’t have to hide. Shane's sense of 'duty' helped, too. But after I talked to Carol, saw Sophia smile at me, when I knew they were on my side, I didn’t mind so much about the rest.”

“Pretty sure everyone was on your side with that,” she mutters. “For what I just did…”

“Pretty sure even Daryl will, um, well th-that you were tryin’ to protect the group.” …oof.

She lifts her eyebrows. “You aren’t good at lying, Y/N.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se. “Objectively, you were tryin’ to protect the group.”

“I wanted to feel in-control and like I could do it.”

Oh.

She admitted that? If only your brain could come up with something heartfelt or whatever the situation called for to convey how much humility from someone so confident and self-assured means, instead of this: “I wanna be on your apocalypse survival team.”

A sigh leaves her, and she simply asks, “Just let me know how furious he is with me. I'm dreading how he’ll be when he’s up. I'm a little scared, while I’m being honest.”

“Hm?”

“Daryl.”

“You’re scared of him?”

She eyes you. “We’ve all seen how he can fly off his handle. He waved that knife at Rick and your brother, the axe at Jenner.”

Oh, right. That didn’t even consider cross your mind, that she’d be scared of his reaction to...being shot in the…head. Man, your brain is not working.

It can’t even configure a response again, now you’re just shaking your head like a confused mute.

“You don’t think I have to worry, Y/N?”

“No,” you answer truthfully. “You might would feel better if you saw him, he's probably up an eatin' dinner by now."

"I think now's too soon."

"Trust me, he’s holed up in bed now, he’s about as scary as a sleepy kitten.”

“Kittens have teeth and sharp claws,” she dryly states.

Your mind immediately hops to the exciting fact that you have yet to meet the Greene’s barn cat(s) as you stand and lead Andrea inside through the side door to get to Daryl’s room, waving to Beth reading her book as you pass.

“Beth, this is Andrea. Andrea this is Beth. She’s the one who made the pudding for Carl. She’s Mr. Greene’s youngest.”

Andrea smiles and goes in for a shake. Beth shyly waves, the returning of the handshake ending up as an awkward afterthought.

Sweet as she is, leaving her in peace is probably what she’s hoping for (the poor teenager’s home and front yard is full of wounded strangers).

And you almost make it through the full sentence before gasping in delight when you see what book she has.“We’re just checkin’ on Dar—is that a choose-your-own-adventure book??”

Him

There was this loud noise in another room, woke him for a second. Y/N’s laugh stuck out from the other sounds.

While falling back asleep, he remembered how he'd made them laugh really loud when he ripped that $20 bill that night at the CDC. How they’d belly-laughed so hard at his dumb, tipsy-ass joke had felt so damned unexpectedly good.

He’s back asleep before the amount of pain he’s in can really register.

You

“I’ll bring it over after I talk to Mr. Horvath. He’s the older man in our group, I love him to pieces, you probably saw him in his bucket hat?” you tell Beth.

Jimmy apparently has been poking fun at her reading choose-your-own-adventure books to pass the time because they’re ‘for kids,’ so, lending him The Case of the Missing Man was decided to be the best way to get back at him.

You hope y’all didn’t wake Daryl, it’d gotten a little animated for a minute. To make up for it, you tiptoe when you trek down the hall to his room, Andrea and Beth behind you.

Beth left something of hers in there before he was brought in, but she was hesitant to go in there (which you praised, teenage girls and unknown older men don’t mix). Anyway, she was hesitant because she’s a little, um, well, kinda intimidated by him.

Andrea invited her to join you two, citing “Y/N says he’s as scary as a sleepy kitten right now.”

At his door, you knock lightly and call his name. Wait for an answer, try again.

Upon listening more carefully, his snores sound through the door and let you know he’s still asleep. Slowly, slowly, you open it.

As subtly as you can, you step into room and pull the sheet that had fallen down back over his shoulder before the girls see the scarring.

Daryl stirs, then grunts something incoherent as he flinches, blinks, and tries to turn toward you.

“It’s just me,” you hush. “I was fixin’ your sheet, it’d fallen.” You tuck the sheet down over his shoulder, gently and slowly. “You’re safe in the Greene’s house. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

His muscles relax and he’s back to snoring before the pet name is finished slipping out of your mouth.

Still standing beside him, you watch his side rise and fall, rise and fall. Reminds you how grateful you are. He really does look so helpless and sweet right now.

You notice Beth peeking back and forth between you and him, but she quickly looks away.

Poor buddy. If the man is this tired, he’ll rest better with closed curtains. He’s big on privacy, besides. Carefully, you start to draw them shut. Andrea joins.

Once they’re all pulled closed and the room is dimmer, she puts her hand on your arm and gently pulls you back into the hall, Beth leading the way. You make sure the door doesn’t make too much noise as it shuts.

“Thanks,” Beth whispers.

“Scary as a sleepy kitten, right?” Oh, that reminds you, “Y’all don’t have a barn cat or two, do you?”

“N-not anymore.”

Aw, that’s sad. “I’m sorry, little one.”

“Oh, um—d-don’t get too close to the big, shuttered barn, okay?” she rushes to add.

Before you can both nod and tell her ‘of course,’ she then stumbles through, “There’s—it’s—the, um—it’s just not real safe!”

She looks so freaked out and nervous that you forget you’re supposed to respond.

Lucky for you, Andrea, smooth as ever, assures her “We’ll let Carl know not play around there,” and starts to chat about how she “steers clear of old barns” ever since she spotted “the biggest rat I’ve ever seen come out of one at a company retreat,” while Patricia comes downstairs hugging to her side what looks like a wedding photo.

Beth scurries away, you make eye contact with Andrea, then Patricia gets your attention.

“Sweet pea, about tonight,” she begins, hands pressed together with her fingertips toward you. “Daryl’s gonna need to be checked on—”

“—Of course. I’ll stay with him. Please do me a list of what to check for and how often?”

“Will do. Try and borrow that big watch again, you’ll need it. Prolly will do well to have somebody else, maybe Carol to help. I'll go find her. You know, there’s an old air mattress in the attic, I’ll have Jimmy fill it up. Just go grab your sleeping bag,” she tells you.

“Thank you!” You’d been hoping for a way to avoid Shane all night. Is this a gift from above or something?

A reminder of, “Don’t use your injured side to carry your sleeping bag in,” from Patricia sends you on your way outdoors to retrieve your stuff.

The air is cooling off as the sun sets. The sky is a hazy orange-pink.

“Y/N, I didn’t realize,” Andrea says, slowly walking beside you.

“Realize what?”

“You two.”

You, too? Is she talking about your shoulder, maybe? “What’d I do? Do you mean my wrapped arm?”

She peers at you, head tilted to the side. “You and Daryl,” she softly clarifies. “It was Dale who wondered first, after you had to excuse yourself.”

Me and Daryl? “What’d we do?” Perhaps she's referring to the search today? Andrea isn’t one to not speak her mind plainly, you wonder why she’s not being more succinct. She doesn't know about you having shot that guy. Dale has an idea, but he's tight-lipped about it.

“So, you and he…?” she trails off.

?

So, you start to fill her in about the search. “Before Daryl found the doll, we’d—”

—OH WAIT, now you get it!

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

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(for those wondering, the tomahawk chop is something Georgia Braves fans do)

> Masterlist link here

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[windwheeler-aster]

i’m not a monster

summary: although your university has given students two weeks off for the holidays, you’re still stuck in the library studying for the upcoming exam season. although, you seem to have lost focus and fell asleep on top of your textbooks... luckily for you, your long-term rival dottore is here to help

masterlist | advent calendar

pairing: dottore x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is a student and rival of dottore’s, and reader is not traveler

word count: 491 words (2 mins~)

genre: romance, enemies to more, modern AU

format: one shot

warnings: not proofread thoroughly 

a/n: ghghghg, i’m going to need to revisit this idea/concept with dottore (and other characters?!?!) in the future... but i hope y’all enjoy this💖

The holiday break was for students and staff to take a break from studies and spend time with their loved ones. Although, many students didn’t spend the break exactly like that. Some hosted huge parties in their parents’ house while they were on holiday. Others— like yourself— spent the whole two weeks panicking and studying for the upcoming exam season. And, for those like yourself who bit more than they could chew, they had rarely any time to relax.

Which is exactly why you had holed yourself up in your university’s library for a few days. You were strict with yourself while studying, too. Coffee and your textbooks were the only thing you could rely on, it seemed. Though, it was only inevitable that you would come down from your coffee-fueled ambitious high. You just wish you hadn’t crashed so hard while you were reviewing your textbooks for the nth teen time that day.

But, luckily, Dottore had just turned the corner in search of a book to satiate his own curiosity when he saw you, slumped over your textbooks.

Admittedly, he did chuckle at your pathetic state. Half of your face was squished down, adorably so, while you slept on the pages. He did cringe as he saw a small amount of drool leave your parted mouth. And the academic in him stiffened when Dottore noticed how you were wrinkling the paper in this position. So, really, he had no choice but to put you in a more comfortable position. For both you and the book.

Just like he had no choice but to make you lay down, head in his lap. And he certainly had no choice but to put his coat over you once he saw you shiver. Though, Dottore can’t really explain the soft smile that spread across his features when he caught a glimpse at the peaceful look on your face. They’re too cute to resist smiling, he reassured himself, anyone who doesn’t smile at that is ridiculous. Obviously.

Dottore looked over at your notes and sighed wistfully. He examined your handwriting, and smiled at the small details in it that made it uniquely yours. Some of the notes you wrote on the margins of your work earned a chuckle out of Dottore, too. 

“Oh, if only you didn’t have such a bad impression of me,” Dottore murmured, slightly wincing as he recalled your first meeting.

Rumors of his questionable ethics and dubious morals had spread around the university, and you joined everyone else in their superstitions. However, the only thing that separated you from the rest of the sheep was your brilliant mind.

“We could have been friends,” he mumbled. Dottore sucked in a harsh brush as he took in your face fully. “Or maybe something more…?”

Dottore looked at the time on his watch and concluded that maybe— just maybe— he’d need a nap too. 

Even if it is next to his so-called “enemy”.

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