#regularly scheduled tags life update!

[hneyteacup]

experiencing: stress

[black-salt-cage]

oh wow you take a couple month break and the followers pour themselves in despite the inactivity lol

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 1

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 1

Word Count: 4145

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Special Warning 2 : I advise reading the introductory chapters first, as they give a sense of the story, introduce characters and locations and, this chapter starts off immediately after the Sanji chapter. Your first interaction with Law is in those chapters! If you don't want to read the other characters, I recommend reading, at least, Law's Chapter since it's their first interaction!

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: First chapter of Law's story! I'm already writting chapter 4 so I think it's safe to start posting this. I'll try to update regularly, but life usualy kicks my butt so I'm aiming for one chapter per week (though this can change!) Also, this story is more sugestive than Ace's was, since reader has slight kinks (described in tags) that will influence the story. Read the tags, people, they're important! I guess this is it. Have fun!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

|Chapter 2|

The ride home is uneventful. You have come out empty-handed from your job hunt and, as your car drives by the clinic, you remember that there is still a very serious conversation to be had with your father about his surgery. He has to have the surgery as it will improve his lifestyle. 

Shanks is eating chips straight from the bag as he screams something at the players of a football game on the TV when you arrive. That is all fine. Except his posture, however, makes your eyes twitch. He's completely hunched over, and every time something exciting happens in the game, he jumps, throwing his back as if he doesn't have an injury on it. 

You bang the front door especially hard just to get his attention - he hates when you do that - but he simply yells an angry ‘careful, bug!’ without tearing his eyes from the television. Sighing, you enter the living room and place your body in front of the TV. 

“Hey! My game!” He yells, hands in the air and another jolt to his back. 

“Dad! Your back! You want to throw it out again?” You cross your arms in defiance, moving your body as he moves his head, blocking his view even as he tries to see behind you. 

“Bug, I'm being careful.” He whines, clearly more interested in what’s going on behind you. 

“I'm going to set up an appointment with Dr. Law. We are going to schedule the intervention and you are going to get surgery. But first, you will speak with him and get all your fears and worries out of the way. He seems very competent. You're in great hands. Do you agree?” Stomping your foot down, you raise your eyebrow at him. 

“Can I have some time to think about-...”

“Not if you want to see the game!”

Shanks grunts and falls against the back of the couch. 

“And don't make those sudden movements! You'll throw your back out!”

“Fineeeee!” He drags the ‘e’ so much that he sounds like an exasperated child. “Schedule the appointment.” A heavy sigh parts his lips. “Now get out of the way, bug.” You remain stoic, eyebrows raised even higher now. “Please?” He begs as he sits very straight on the couch. 

At that you nod in satisfaction, turning to leave the room and already dialling the clinic’s number to schedule an appointment at Law's earliest convenience. 

-*-

Unfortunately Law's schedule is not the same as your father’s, and there will be about a week where their schedules conflict. So, after speaking with your father and assessing his fears and worries, you decide to go alone to this appointment and see where it gets you. 

Does it seem silly that you are looking for the cutest dress to wear to the appointment? Maybe. But Law is freaking eye candy. How can you not want to look good and maybe catch his eye? And the only other thing he saw you in was torn clothes, so this time you want to be presentable. 

Besides, you can't stop thinking about those tattoos… Just how many does he have? How far down do they go? 

Sighing you deem yourself ready. Your father is with his neighbour and friend Benn Beckman, helping him around his property, so you pray your car works, pat it nicely, like your father told you to, and off you go.

Once you enter the clinic, Kaya is ready for you with a wide smile. You can't help but smile back at her, even though you know she is going to tease you about Law. 

“Good morning, Kaya. How are you today?”

She sing-songs your name as she pulls your father's file from the archive on the computer. “I'm doing very well, thank you. Just getting ready for another chapter of my novel!”

You arch an eyebrow, an intrigued smile on your lips. “Oh? What are you reading?”

Kaya giggles with a hand covering her mouth. “A romantic novel about a young doctor who falls in love at first sight with a patient's daughter. It takes her a bit longer to realise he's the love of her life, but she's getting there.”

The unamused look on your face only makes her giggle more. “That's not funny, Kaya.”

“It is to me! I have a bet going on with Shachi and Penguin. It's about you two, but I'm not going to tell you what it is. I have a lot of money riding on this thing, Usopp would kill me.”

As she fills you in about who Usopp is, and you lean on the counter, engrossed in your conversation, you don't sense someone approaching. 

“Nurse Kaya, you are paid to do your job. That does not include idle chitter-chatter with patients. I was calling you so you could let Mr. S. in.” He says your name and his low voice makes it sound like the most beautiful word in the world. “Good morning. I hope you're feeling well.”

“I-... Hmm, hmm!” You cringe internally and hiss through your pursed lips. A college graduation and a master's degree and this is the best you can do? Shit. 

Spying the hint of that sexy smirk he showed you last time, he glances around the waiting room. “No Mr. S.?”

With a heavy sigh you shake your head. “He ‘couldn’t make it’.” You emphasise with an eye roll and air quotes. “But I want to ask some questions to assuage his fears, if that’s alright with you?”

Nodding, he gestures towards his office. “Follow me.”

Your feet immediately follow him without contest. There's just something in the assuredness of his voice that makes you want to do as he says. Not to mention that now every time you do something he asks you to, all you can hear in the back of your head is that slurred, low-vibrato ‘good girl’. And damn it, just thinking about it sends shivers down your spine. 

After entering his office, he follows you, closing the door behind him and sitting across from you, his hands resting against his chin with his fingers entwined. 

The combination of his piercing amber gaze and the hand tattoos is making your heart race and you're glad you're not hooked up to any monitor now. 

“How have you been feeling?” He uses your name again and you gulp, actually thinking before uttering your response so you can articulate a clever answer this time, or an actual answer. 

“Perfectly fine. I'm in good health, Doc. Physically at least because if you could peek at my ebooks or listen to my audiobooks, you would say I'm unhinged!” You snort before regaining composure and cursing internally because that was way more information than necessary. “Fine, I'm fine!” You add with an eye roll. 

What is it with this man and his ability to render your brain into mush? 

“That's good.” You almost have to stifle a whimper. “And how's your father?”

This is a safe topic, so you feel more relaxed as you lean back and cross your legs, forgetting for a moment that you’re wearing a tiny summer dress. 

“His back has been fine, his habits, not so much. I fear he might come back sooner rather than later. And he's so afraid of the surgery that just speaking about it sends him bolting out of the room like lightning. I swear-...”

You stop talking as you notice that Law's hands have risen from his chin and are now covering half of his face leaving only his amber gaze - which is fixed on your bare thighs - and the slightest hint of pink on his cheeks. 

Shit. 

You just gave the doctor a peep show. 

Blushing, you uncross your legs and tuck them neatly to the side, like the old etiquette books demand, resting your hands on your lap as Law realises he was staring. 

Though he seems unfazed. “Well that aligns with what we've seen since discovering the hernia. Mr S. completely ignores caution when moving around and doesn't want to hear anything related to surgery.” He sighs and you tilt your head. So he was paying attention, not just staring at your nearly exposed thighs. 

You reach into your purse and take out your notebook with a sigh. “He has questions. I did some research too, so I jotted down a few more. If he won’t come here, then I need to be reliable enough to give him the right information. I’ve divided the questions by theme and organised them from the most common to the really crazy ones my father came up with and-... what?” You ask, annoyed at the amused look he’s giving you. “Do I have something on my face?”

He chuckles softly as he leans back in his chair. His piercing gaze should be unsettling, but instead, it makes your heart race and leaves you breathless. 

“It's not that. You're a control freak with a need for organisation and planning, and an endless search for perfection. You have high standards and expectations of others, but mostly of yourself. Am I right?”

Your mouth hangs open for a moment before you snap it shut, your cheeks flushing red. He’s right on the money. 

“Is that a proper diagnosis, Doctor?” You ask, crossing your arms in defiance. 

“No, not at all. I'm not a psychiatrist. That was just a random guess.” That damned smirk again. 

“Random?” You raise an eyebrow, a chuckle escaping your lips. 

“No. Not random at all. I tend to always be in control, so I understand it. But, there are ways to just… let go… and relax.” That damn sexy smirk is back again and you realise it does things to you. “But we’ll talk about that some other time, if you’re interested.”

A warmth spreads through your cheeks as your body responds to his intense gaze. 

“How about this, you lend me that notebook and I’ll take a look at all your questions. We won’t tell your father anything, and I’ll make him a house call with the answers. If we ambush him, he’ll have to hear us out.”

Biting your lower lip you run his plan through your mind. It’s flawless. Shanks will be caught by surprise, with no way to escape. 

“Sounds good!” You say smirking as you close the notebook with a light tap. “But I’ve paid for a full consultation. What should we do with the rest of the time?”

He makes a low hum, almost a grunt. Something primal and instinctive that makes your hairs stand on end. But when he speaks, his voice is calm. “The way I see it there are two options. Either I do a full checkup, or you ask for a refund. Which we don't offer.”

Well that isn't fair at all. He’s playing you like a fiddle. 

“Law, you're being unfair. That’s hardly an option at all. I just said I didn't want to waste this consultation.”

When he leans forward, his chin resting on his hands again, giving you a perfect view of his hand tattoos and long, slim fingers, you gasp for breath. 

“No point wasting it. Hop on the table.”

You don't know why your heart keeps pounding at an insane rhythm against your chest, but if you are about to be examined by a doctor, he’ll immediately realise that you're nervous. Still, you get up and do as he says, because, once again, you find it very hard not to obey his commands. 

Taking a deep breath and trying to calm your racing heart, you climb onto the examination table, fixing your eyes on your legs instead of on him. But when he approaches, you realise he's wearing spotted jeans. He looks like a cute leopard. How did you not notice that before? 

“Look at me.”

You do. Shit. What's with his hold on you? 

Law points his flashlight at your eyes, one at a time, testing your pupil reactions. You try to focus on the light, but all you can see is the yellow of his eyes. And he's very close. 

“Follow the light.” He moves it up and down, left and right and you follow it. Your breath keeps coming out in shallow pants and you scream at yourself in your head. You're being ridiculous! This is an exam! A professional one! 

“Now open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue for me.” You swallow hard before complying. In most of your books what follows this command isn’t exactly office appropriate. His gloved hand cups your jaw gently, opening it further as he shines the flashlight into your throat. “Say ah!”

The sound you make is rather sinful. You can't help it. You told Kaya you weren’t interested in men in general and you weren’t interested in Dr. Trafalgar Law in particular. But your body didn’t get the memo your brain sent out. Because you're twitching, throbbing, and clenching. And he is just there. Ready for grabbing and taking. 

But you have to be rational. You’ve just met the man. There's undeniable attraction, but there's no way you'll act on it. However the way his pupils darken at the sound that leaves your lips makes you realise that the attraction is mutual. 

And the two of you could have so much fun together. 

You close your eyes and dig your nails into the examination table, making the paper crinkle and tear beneath your fingers as you ground yourself. 

“You can close your mouth now.” His voice sounds hoarse, so he clears his throat as he takes a step back, removing the stethoscope from around his neck and placing it near his ears, not yet covering them so he can speak with you. 

“I'm going to listen to your heart, lungs and abdomen, checking for murmurs or abnormal noises, is that alright?” 

It's the first time he asks permission to do something and you realise it's because he's going to have to touch you, so he needs consent. “Yes.” Your voice seems weak and distant, charged with desire and want. You're pretty sure he picks up on that tone as well, but he doesn't comment on it. 

He places the stethoscope in his ears and the flat part against your chest. He starts with the lungs. “Deep breath through the nose.” Once again you follow all of his instructions. “Out through the mouth.” He keeps moving the piece on your bare chest and back, repeating the orders. His gloved hands are warm, big and firm and they make you feel things. “Your heart now.” He states and you gulp. Your heart is not going to be beating at a normal rhythm at all. 

He notices immediately as a small chuckle escapes his lips. You drop your gaze to your lap again as you bite your lower lip. “Interesting.” He replies and you don't really ask what he finds interesting, knowing the conversation could veer down very dangerous paths. 

Removing the stethoscope from his ears, he asks you to lie down as he reaches for a sheet, placing it over your lap and covering your legs. “Can you pull up your dress so I can listen to your abdomen?” You notice him asking again. He doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. 

And you're not. 

“Yeah.”

Adjusting the sheet to cover your panties, you pull the dress to expose your belly and he listens to whatever odd sounds come from it. There's a spot he touches on the side that tickles you and you squirm and twitch with a hearty laugh. He seems surprised and looks at you with a glint in his eyes before resuming the examination. 

“Palpation next. Abdomen first to check for irregularities.” He looks at you for confirmation and you nod. This whole ordeal is overwhelming. You try to look away from his form, his eyes and his hands, but it’s impossible. He’s focused on his task, professional and attentive, yet… There's a hint of mischief in the way he looks at you every time he presses your flesh.

And you can’t help but to blush as your breaths grow more and more ragged. 

“Joints and muscles next.” His hands trace your ankles and calves, then your knees - front and back - before climbing towards your lower thighs. You hold your breath, but he doesn’t go higher. “Sit up.”

“Yes, s-... doctor.” The flush in your cheeks nearly rivals his own. Neither of you expected this reaction. You were about to call him sir? Stupid, stupid, stupid! You should really start reading self-help books instead of filthy smut. But his voice… Law’s voice is deep, assured, commanding! You can barely help the way you want to bend to his words and do everything he asks of you. 

In fact, you’re pretty sure he’s deepening his voice on purpose. He’s been using a more commanding tone since the beginning of the consultation. He probably picked up your little kink when you told him to call you a good girl when you met. And now he’s taking full advantage of it. 

Trying to push the whole ordeal behind you, you sit up and close your eyes, willing your mind to focus on something other than the sheer sensuality of a freaking doctor’s appointment!

He keeps touching and squeezing you. Wrists, elbows and shoulders are next. “You’re doing very well.” He says, adding your name and making you blush even more. If you weren’t sure before, now you are. He’s doing it on purpose. 

And damn, it's working!

“Open your eyes.” You try to fight it, pressing your lips together and shutting them even tighter. “I need you to look at me while I do this, can you?” There’s tenderness beneath the firmness of his voice, and the combination sends shivers down your spine. Yet again, you do as he says and open your eyes, only to find his face directly in front of yours. “Good.”

Fuck. You’re about to declare the time of death for any decency you thought you still had, because the huskiness of his voice is enthralling and mesmerising. 

His tattooed hands wrap around your neck and you gasp, your pupils dilating as your hands grip the paper beneath you. His smirk is no longer veiled as he now knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. His fingers move, pressing against your thyroid and under your jaw, and he lets out a satisfying hum that you instantly want to hear again.

But closer to your ear, much, much closer. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“No nodules, that’s good. Now, take a deep breath, relax. You did very, very well.” You want to scream. You want to cry or smirk or laugh. Anything to express the warmth you feel in your chest from his praise. 

You discovered this little kink of yours some time ago but you were always too fearful to ask Ichiji, your ex-fiancé, to explore it in the bedroom. Ichiji was, by nature, violent and controlling, but in a frightening way. You never meant to tempt or provoke his behaviour intimately. Yet with Law…

Your mind was already picturing all kinds of scenarios, each hotter than the last. You knew, you just knew that you were screwed. There was no way you could get this man out of your head now. 

Even though he was very professional with his touching. It was your head that created all the scenarios. Your horny head!

As he sat down by the computer, typing away notes on your file, you composed yourself by pulling your dress down and passing your fingers through your hair. Taking a deep breath, like he said, to steady your racing heart. 

When your eyes landed on him again, his professional demeanour was back in place, as if it were a cloak he had donned over himself after all this teasing. “Tell me, have you done any palpation of your breasts?”

“What?”

The chuckle that escaped his lips was low and soft. “Self-examination? Looking for nodules or abnormalities. A breast checkup?”

Oh. Dumbass. “Yes, yes! I have. All is well.” With wobbly steps you return to the chair in front of him. 

“Any concerns with your health? Something that feels off, or any indispositions? Headaches, stomachaches, or any other aches?”

You keep shaking your head at his suggestions until a snort escapes your lips at his last suggestion. “Does heartache count?” Then you immediately blush and lower your eyes. Thinking about Ichiji earlier revived very unpleasant sensations within you.

Law stops typing while his piercing gaze returns to you. “I can’t offer any medical assistance for that, per se, but I can always lend an ear, if you ever want to talk about it.” As you glance up, the smirk on his lips is replaced by a stern smile. You nod and mumble a low ‘thank you’. 

“Anything else?” He’s not teasing now, nor being playful. He’s being strictly professional and that makes you realise he was teasing you on purpose during the examination. 

“No, thank you.” Your voice still seems very small. You thought that the mere mention of your ex was not enough to alter your state of mind so much, but it really affected you. Maybe it had something to do with being highly stimulated by all the sensations Law was provoking and then crashing when you came down from that high just by thinking about Ichiji and the heartache he caused you. 

His eyebrows scrunch and he stares at you for a while, waiting for you to add something else. When you remain silent, he gets up. “Okay. You’re all set, then.”

“Thank you, Law.”

And without barely saying goodbye, you hasten out of his office, quickly saying goodbye to Kaya and telling her you have to run some errands and you can talk some more another day - since you already settled the payment when you arrived. 

You had just unlocked your car when you heard your name. It’s Law’s deep rumbling voice again and you almost gasp.

“Law?”

He approaches you without his doctor’s coat on and you blush as your eyes take him in. His t-shirt shows off even more tattoos on his arms. Just how many tattoos does he really have? And why do you want to trace them all?

“Can I have the notebook?” You look at him with a raised brow. “You said you’d leave it with me so I can review the questions.” He says with a slight chuckle at your aloofness. 

“Oh!” Smacking your forehead with your palm, you reach into your purse and hand him the notebook with a slight shake of your head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He takes it in his hand and fidgets with the ribbon from the page marker. He looks slightly embarrassed and you don’t know what to make of it, since he seemed so sure of himself in his office. “Did… did I go too far?”

The look on your face is one of surprise. Does he think you’re acting like this because of his teasing?

“No!” You almost scream. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you try to compose yourself. “Not at all! You were very…” Endearing? Seductive? Sexy? Irresistible? “Professional. I’m just…” Another chuckle escapes you, accompanied by a sigh and a dismissive gesture. “I’m a mess! I’m still terribly affected by my past relationship and-... well, thinking about him stirred up some bad memories. I’m sorry.”

Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s completely understandable.” He seems much more at ease now that he’s sure you weren’t weirded out by all the teasing. 

“I’ll be reviewing these, then. I’ll make sure to schedule a house call so we can surprise your father.” 

“Oh!” You gasp in surprise as you reach for the notebook again, fishing a pen from your purse and quickly scribbling your number on one of the pages. “There’s my number. If it’s a surprise visit we don’t want Shanks to be the one to answer the phone.” 

Your easy smile makes him chuckle as he, once again, takes the notebook, tucking it neatly under his arm. “All right. See you soon?”

You nod. “Yes, Law, thank you.” He nods back but, before leaving, he reaches behind you, his arm grazing your side as he opens the car door for you. Such a random, simple gesture has you blushing, and once again thinking about how, in four years of relationship, not once had Ichiji held a door open for you. 

Muttering a muffled ‘thank you’, you climb into your seat. Law says goodbye again before closing the door to the car and walking away. 

You let out the biggest sigh to ever escape your lips as your head falls forward against the steering wheel. 

Why did your father’s doctor have to be so freaking hot?

|Chapter 2|

[sixhours]

happy birthday, baby girl - camping

Ellie has never had a birthday. Joel can fix that.

Series masterlist | Read on AO3 | In progress

Rating: Teen Chapter tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Ellie, Ellie Williams, Joel Miller, birthdays, swearing, canon-compliant, angst, implied past alcohol abuse/alcoholism Words: 7.1k

Notes: A bunch of birthday one-shots loosely based on this headcanon. This might be a five-times/one-time fic in disguise, it hasn't decided yet.

They walk out of Jackson at dawn. For four months, they’ve lived behind the protection of a steady rotation of guards and patrols and reinforced walls. Safe and sound, but Jackson is only so big, and Ellie can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic. Even if she doesn’t have to share her room with another FEDRA brat, even if there are no bodies hanging in the public square, even if Jackson smells like fresh-cut grass and woodsmoke and pine trees instead of piss.

No, Jackson is not Boston, not by a long shot. But it’s not the walls that have her feeling smothered. She’s not used to having so many people see her. Joel and Tommy and Maria and teachers and friends and neighbors; so many people who care where she is and what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with. There are rules to follow, schedules to keep, a community that expects her to contribute.

It’s fucking suffocating if she thinks about it too hard.

Today, not twenty feet outside the walls with Joel at her side, she takes what feels like her first deep breath in weeks.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah…fine. Just…it’s different than I remember.”

He blinks into the sun-drenched landscape, autumn just starting to tease the tops of the trees into a golden glow. It’s all familiar ground to him. He leaves the compound regularly for patrols and tells her about what they find at the end of his shifts–not a whole hell of a lot, usually.

But today it’s just the two of them, on foot, with a few supplies and a surprise destination of Joel’s in mind. She’s tried to harass it out of him without any luck.

“Is it…a lake?”

“Nope.”

“A racetrack?”

“Nope.”

“Is it a spaceship?”

This elicits a wry glance over his shoulder, at least. “Nope.”

“Umm…is it the ocean?”

“Kid, when was the last time you looked at a map?”

“When was the last time the maps were updated? For all you know, there could be a whole sea on the other side of those mountains now.”

“It ain’t the ocean, and I’m not tellin’, so you may as well stop askin’,” he says, but she knows he doesn’t really mind her questions.

His backpack and guitar are slung on his back, leaving her to carry the rifle. He has a small cooler in one hand and a walking stick in the other, something Tommy found and carved and sanded smooth. He’d promised to make Ellie one of her own this winter when construction work slowed down.

“How long does it take to get there?”

“Five hours, give or take.”

“And you’ve been through here before?” she asks, hoping her voice doesn’t betray her nerves. They’re walking through thick forest on a rough path, pock-marked with hoofprints from recent patrols.

“Yep. Meant to take you out here this summer but your cousin had other ideas,” he mutters. “Think you’ll like it.”

She shrugs.

“Figured it’s been a lot, these last few months,” he continues. “What with school…the new baby. New…everythin’, really. Thought we could use some time to, uh…I dunno. Talk. Just you an’ me. Like old times.”

Old times .

It’s a funny phrase under the circumstances, but it fits. It’s only been a year since Riley died, since Marlene found her in the mall, since she met Joel. Ellie felt like she’d lived a million lives in that time, like she’d stepped through a portal like Daniela Starr and wound up in an alternate reality. Even in her wildest dreams, she never could have predicted this. Never thought she’d survive a bite, that she’d live to see a life outside the walls of the QZ, that she’d travel across the country with a strange old man and ultimately find herself with a family, small and broken as it is.

She absently rubs at the scar under her sleeve. She’s fallen behind, feet dragging a little as she contemplates all the things that happened to bring her to this point. The mall, Kansas City, the hospital…

I swear.

She doesn’t like to think about the hospital.

Suddenly Joel’s hand is on her arm and she jerks away, realizes he’s been talking and she’s missed it, lost in her thoughts.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s nothin’,” he says. “I was just sayin’, I thought a little trip couldn’t hurt, get some fresh air before the snow flies…call it a birthday present.”

“You’re a little late, dude,” she says, picking up her pace to match his longer strides. “Or really fucking early.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, frowning. “Didn’t have a proper birthday this year. I figured you’re owed a few extra.”

“Does that mean I’m sixteen now? ‘Cause I can start patrol training at sixteen. Tommy said so.”

“Nice try, kid.”

She hefts her pack higher on her back, the hiking boots Joel found for her at the trading post rubbing against the backs of her heels. She’s not used to them yet, but she has to admit, they’re a hell of a lot better than her Converse for this kind of walking.

It’s an easy hike, a steady uphill climb on a narrow but well-maintained path. It’s clear it’s going to take longer than five hours when Ellie keeps finding things to look at; a cool black rock laced with glittery gold flecks to add to her collection, an iridescent beetle, a tiny dead bird carcass crawling with worms. Joel indulges her investigations the way he always does, grumbling good-naturedly, but he doesn’t rush her. They cross a shallow stream, Ellie hop-skipping over the rocks while Joel takes the wood patrol bridge, eyes on her the whole time.

The back of her left heel starts to throb about two hours in, but it’s easy enough to ignore.

It’s mid-afternoon, the sun already beginning to fall from its peak in the sky by the time they make it to their secret destination. They crest a hill and off in the distance, a wood structure sticks out over the trees.

“Is that…a treehouse?”

“Kinda,” Joel grunts, sweat shining on his forehead. It was cool when they left, but they’ve both shed their outer jackets in favor of tee shirts as the day went on. She doesn’t have to worry about hiding her scar out here. Eager to explore, Ellie runs ahead up the path and soon she’s standing at the edge of a clearing with a tower in the middle.

“Used to be a ranger’s station but they converted it to an outpost a few years back, I guess,” Joel says at her back.

“So cool,” she breathes, looking up at the tower, what looks like a cabin on stilts. Seeing it up close reminds her of the treehouse in the Swiss Family Robinson movie they played at the rec center a couple weeks ago. At the base is a fire pit and a lean-to, probably for tying up the patrol horses. Joel sets his guitar just inside the lean-to and puts his hands on his hips, squinting up at the structure.

“Can we go up?” she asks.

“Sure hope so,” he says. Joel goes to one of the thickets of shrubs on the far side of the camp and starts poking around. “Or we’re sleepin’ on the ground.”

“We get to sleep up there?”

“Yep,” he says, hauling a metal ladder out of the brush.

“Sweet!”

“Pull on that end,” he instructs, and she does, grabbing hold of the opposite rung and tugging until the ladder is fully extended. Joel lays it up against the side of the lookout so the top rung hooks onto a second ladder that’s attached to the structure higher up. He frowns and shakes the thing until it’s firmly seated, takes a few cautious steps up, testing its stability.

“Safe enough,” he pronounces, coming back to the ground. “You wanna go–”

He hasn’t finished his sentence before she’s leapt onto the ladder, climbing it like a monkey.

“–first? Jesus, kid, be careful…”

But Ellie is already clambering up, hand over hand until she reaches the top ledge. She pulls herself up to standing, walking along the side of the central cabin and down the wrap-around balcony.

“Whoa,” she breathes, leaning out over the railing. From up here she can see the whole valley and beyond. They’re too far to be able to see Jackson, she guesses, peering into the distance. It’s conveniently shrouded in trees.

Joel joins her, panting slightly. “Christ, few months of real cookin’ and I’m outta shape.”

“Sure you’re not just old?” she grins. “We could find you an oxygen tank and a wheelchair. Maybe one of those little electric scooters.”

“Brat,” he huffs, leaning on the railing, gently tugging her back by the handle of her backpack when she leans over too far. “Can still haul your scrawny ass around.”

“This is so fucking cool,” she breathes, turning around. The ranger’s station has huge plexiglass windows, and she cups her hands to one of the panes and peeks inside.

“C’mon,” Joel says, walking back around the building. He fishes a key out from behind a loose shingle near the door. “Let’s go set up.”

The lookout has obviously been maintained. Freshly stained boards stand out against the aging weathered ones like sore thumbs. The floor underfoot is solid, if creaky in places, and there’s a slight draft coming in around the windows. There are chests full of supplies and gear–enough rations to last a small patrol group for a couple of weeks, Joel says. Ellie wrinkles her nose at the familiar stock of canned goods and MREs.

If there’s one thing she has no complaints about in Jackson, it’s the food. Ellie didn’t know green beans could taste like summer, or that a fresh peach could drip sticky juice down her chin without being soaked in cloying syrup, or that soup could be more than a salty broth with shapeless chunks of mush. Until a couple months ago, she’d never had fresh whipped cream or apple pie or so many of the things they serve regularly at the caf. FEDRA rations couldn’t come close, and she can’t imagine going back to that.

She’s relieved to know they won’t be eating from the stockpile of MREs tonight. There’s not a single can in Joel’s backpack. Instead, he’s carrying pre-sliced potatoes and onions and cheese wrapped in foil, packets of roasted vegetables ready to be warmed over the fire, and several apples and granola mix for snacks. Joel said something about catching the rest of their dinner, but she wasn’t fully listening, knowing he wouldn’t make her eat the venison or rabbit or moose if they went hunting.

They lay down their bedrolls on top of foam mats on the wood floor, not dusty and ravaged by time but swept clean and tidy. Ellie flops down on her bed to test it out, staring up into the rafters. There are no cobwebs or birds’ nests. Instead, the exposed beams are decorated with odds and ends, trinkets left behind by other patrollers, random treasures found during scavenging runs. A broken lantern. A rusty horseshoe. Old farm tools. A doll that’s missing one eye and probably haunted, Ellie decides. She’s half tempted to steal it and bring it back with them to Jackson if she can figure out how to get it past Joel.

When they’re mostly settled in their makeshift camp, Joel asks, “Ready to go check out the water?”

“Water?”

“There’s a stream not far from here. You ever been fishin’?” Joel plucks two long poles off the back wall.

She rolls her eyes. “Dude, the Charles was a fucking sewer. No, I’ve never been fishing.”

That earns her a smirk. “Twilight’s the best time for brook trout. Let’s go catch dinner.”

Ellie gets up from her bedroll and makes the mistake of hissing in pain, unable to hide a slight limp from the chafing against her heel. She’s mostly ignored it until now but a few minutes of rest has brought the pain into sharp relief. Joel is immediately hovering at her side.

“What’s wrong? You twist it?”

“No, it’s just…these stupid boots,” she mutters. “Think I got a blister.”

“Let’s see.”

“It’s fine, man, I’m—“

“Sit,” he says in his you do what I say when I say it voice.

“I’m not a dog, asshole,” she grunts, but she does as she’s told, plopping back down on her sleeping bag.

“Foot,” he instructs, kneeling and putting out a hand. She undoes her laces and takes off her boot, peeling off her sock with a wince. The blister has already popped, oozing bloody fluid through the back of her sock. The top layer of skin has peeled away leaving a gnarly red patch of raw flesh in its place.

“Christ, Ellie,” he grumbles upon seeing the damage.

“It’s not that bad,” she says, even as she hisses. Exposed to the open air, the fresh wound smarts like a sonofabitch, as Joel would say.

“Like hell it ain’t,” he frowns, then goes over to the trunk of supplies. He has a first aid kit, but it’s little more than band-aids and salve. The outpost’s kit has gauze and tape and a flask of alcohol for disinfectant. “You been walkin’ on this the whole time?”

“Just the last hour or so,” she lies. “Wasn’t gonna be a whiny little bitch about it.”

He fixes her with a look that brings hot red patches to her cheeks. “Don’t say that. If you’re hurt, we take care of it.”

“Didn’t wanna slow us down–”

“Not on a schedule,” he mutters. “Leave somethin’ like this too long, it's liable to get infected. This is gonna sting.”

He wipes at the wound with a piece of gauze soaked in the alcohol, wincing along with her when the sensation of the cleaner on her raw flesh brings tears to her eyes.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” she rasps when she can speak without gritting her teeth around the pain.

“Don’t think we’ll have to amputate,” he says drily, then glares at her. “Yet.”

She rests her chin on her other knee and waits while he dabs salve on the wound, covering it with gauze and taping it in place. He pulls a clean pair of socks out of her pack and slides one carefully over the bandage, giving her toes an errant squeeze when it’s all done.

“Still gonna hurt, but at least you won’t be rubbin’ it raw. How’s the other one?”

“It’s fine.”

He scowls. “Swear to god, kid, if you’re hidin’ another blister–”

“Ugh, it’s not as bad. See for yourself,” she says, taking off her other boot and sock, sticking her foot directly in his face and wiggling it in front of his nose for emphasis. He swats at it and grumbles brat under his breath, before taking it gently in hand.

Two smaller blisters, still fresh, decorate the back of her other heel. He gives them the same treatment, padding the wounds with gauze so they won’t get worse.

“Was that so damn hard?” he asks when he’s done. “It ain’t a crime to ask for help, y’know.”

She shrugs. “Didn’t want you to worry–”

“S’my job to worry about you,” he cuts her off, then softens, gripping her chin gently between forefinger and thumb. “One I’m pretty damn lucky to have.”

Sometimes, even now, it’s a surprise that he cares. Her throat goes tight and she nods once.

“Now c’mon,” he says, groaning and stretching as he stands. “Fish ain’t gonna catch themselves.”

She puts on her boots and considers leaving them untied, eager as she is to see the water and the fish, but she can already hear Joel’s voice– gonna go ass over teakettle if y’ain’t careful –so she thinks better of it and re-ties the laces before bounding out the door behind him.

“Careful on the ladder,” he reminds her from halfway down, and she refrains from rolling her eyes, but she does take it slow, telling herself his old-man heart is fragile and she doesn’t want to be the cause of a heart attack.

They take a right from the tower and hike deeper into the forest toward the sound of running water. The stream sparkles in the last of the evening sun as they settle on the embankment with their fishing rods. Joel shows her how to dig into the soft parts of the soil for worms to use as bait (gross, but cool), how to wind them around the hook and stab them to secure them (just gross), and how to cast the line so it doesn’t get tangled in the brush on the side of the bank (nearly impossible).

After a few minutes, Ellie shifts from one foot to the other. “Now what?”

“We wait. If you feel a bite on the line, start to reel it in.”

They do. She holds the pole and she waits. And waits. And–

She slaps at a mosquito on her neck, then another one on her arm. Her nose itches and her hair tickles her ears. She recasts the line when it bobs and drifts too far, reeling it back in, watching as Joel does the same.

“So how long does this usually take?” she says when she’s cast for the fifth time and felt absolutely nothing. She watches the bobber drift along with the current. The sun has dropped behind the trees, taking most of the heat out of the air.

“Long as it takes.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Gonna take even longer if you keep yappin’ and scarin’ the fish away.”

She rolls her eyes, mimicking him. “‘ Yappin’ n’ scarin’ the fish away.’ ”

He side-eyes her, but his cheek twitches the way it does when he’s trying not to laugh at one of her puns.

“Did you used to fish a lot?”

“When I was a kid, mostly. Old man took us out once in a while.”

“So…early Jurassic period?”

“Yep,” he says easily. “Rode my dinosaur to the lake n’ back.”

“Har har,” she says, swatting at a mosquito that’s buzzing around her left ear. “I just thought there’d be, more, y’know…fish.”

“I liked it about as much as you do, at the time. Never caught much,” he grimaces, reeling in his line and casting it again. “Think the old man just liked gettin’ away from our mama so he could get shitfaced in peace.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Wholesome.”

“Not the word I’d use. Anyway, spent more time pushin’ Tommy in the lake than I did catchin’ fish.”

Now that sounds like fun. “Can I push you in if we don’t catch anything?”

“You can try,” he smirks.

More time passes. Ellie shifts on her feet and swats at more mosquitos, trying and failing to imagine Joel as a kid.

“Man…I wanna ride a dinosaur,” she sighs.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, but he’s smiling.

Then there’s a distinct tug on her line, so forceful and surprising she almost lets the whole contraption go.

“Joel!”

“What?”

“It’s…it’s going! What the fuck do I do?”

“Well don’t panic,” he says, setting his pole down carefully, wedging it between two large rocks. “Hold on, kid, I gotcha.”

“It’s probably a fucking boot or something,” Ellie says, holding the pole back with both hands to keep it steady, unable to reel in whatever is on the other end for fear of losing her grip.

“Dunno about that. It’s movin’. Here,” he says, offering a hand over hers to support the pole while she switches to turning the reel, the tension growing with each turn.

“Good job, not too fast or the line’ll snap,” Joel says. “Sometimes ya just gotta let ‘em run with it a little, wear ‘em out.”

Soon she can see the silvery green-red fish thrashing at the surface of the water.

“Holy shit!”

“Lookit that,” he grins, helping her lift the fish out of the water by the line as it writhes and flails. “Guess you get to eat tonight.”

She can’t help but be a little disappointed when she gets a good look at the result of her efforts. She’d been picturing a monster fish given how strong it had been, but the thing isn’t even a foot long.

“I thought it was gonna be a fuckin’ shark.”

“Sometimes the little ones fight the hardest,” he says softly, and she’s glad the fading light hides her blush. She’s pretty sure he’s not just talking about the stupid fish.

He puts the poor creature out of its misery by smashing its head with a rock, then promises to show her how to gut and filet the slimy, scaly thing once they’re back at camp. She silently vows to try a bite even if the thought turns her stomach.

“You gonna try again?” he asks.

She does, digging up a fresh worm and re-baiting her hook while Joel goes back to his line. By the end of the hour, they’ve caught two more trout and Ellie’s stomach is growling.

“Better than fishing with your old man?” she asks on the trek back to camp.

He huffs a soft laugh. ”Yeah, kiddo. Much better.”

Back at the lookout, there’s a pile of pre-cut firewood under a tarp in the lean-to. Ellie gathers small sticks and scraps for kindling from the surrounding woods and soon Joel has a fire roaring. The routine is familiar; night settling around them while they prepare dinner. Ellie takes pity on Joel’s knees and volunteers to climb back up the tower to fetch the cooler and cooking supplies.

By firelight, Joel shows Ellie how to strip the trout of their scales, gut them, and filet them without leaving tiny bones in the flesh. Then they throw the fish in the pan with a pat of butter and some salt and pepper that Joel brought with them in the little cooler, and set the other foil packets over the fire to heat.

The fish is flaky and tastes nothing like the gamey meat she’s used to, so Ellie eats her fill and tries to ignore how thrilled Joel looks to see her eat something that isn’t bread or fruit. He’s not subtle about it, offering her a second helping before she’s finished the first. It’s only a little smothering so she decides not to give him shit about it.

They’re full and sated by the time Joel pulls out his guitar and hands it to Ellie.

“You been practicin’?”

True to his word, he’d taught her how to play guitar when they got to Jackson. And he knows she’s practiced because he hears her every night up in her room with the smaller guitar he’d traded for, floundering through the chords to her favorite songs in the old, tattered copy of “100 Greatest 80’s Hits” she found at the trading post. She knows how to read music, but making her fingers do what she wants them to do on the strings is tough, and she doesn’t have the benefit of Joel’s calluses.

She stumbles through the first two stanzas and the chorus of “Don’t Dream It’s Over” before she has to stop and restart. Joel listens, eyes softened by the firelight, and suggests a slight adjustment to her posture that seems to help with the larger guitar.

Then it’s his turn. He makes it look easy; the music seems to come directly from his fingers, and his voice is soft but strong. It’s not nearly as bad as he thinks it is. She thinks he could have been a singer in the Before, but she’ll never tell him that. And his taste in music is still questionable, but it’s better than nothing.

The fire flickers and crackles and warms her. She slides off the log they’re using as a makeshift seat and puts her back against it, stretching out her legs. Between the darkness and the heat and the day’s long hike, she’s tempted to curl up at Joel’s feet like a cat and sleep, so drowsy that she doesn’t even notice when he’s put the guitar away.

“Bedtime, kiddo,” he says softly, nudging her with his boot. “Can’t carry you this time.”

“‘Cause you’re too damn old,” she yawns. “Need that scooter.”

“Uh-huh. Scooter ain’t gettin’ us up that ladder. C’mon, you first. I’ll clean up.”

She ascends the tower at a slightly less frantic clip and goes straight to her bedroll, barely having pulled off her boots before crawling into her sleeping bag. She hears Joel come up not long after, then he’s rustling around in the cabin doing Joel things–locking the door and loading the rifle and draping an extra wool blanket over her. By that point, she’s already sound asleep.

Then she’s being shaken gently awake. 

“Ellie…hey, kiddo. Wake up.”

“Whassit?” she grumbles. It’s not dark, but it’s not daylight. She can just make out Joel’s features looming over her.

“C’mere,” he says. “Wanna show you somethin’.”

She wriggles out of her sleeping bag, still blinking in confusion. Joel drapes the wool blanket over her shoulders and she pulls it tight around herself. It’s not cold enough for a frost yet, but it’s not warm. Outside, the moon is full and bright, casting lunar shadows on the landscape around them. It’s beautiful, but hardly worth waking up at the ass-crack of…what the hell time is it, anyway?

“What–”

“Shh,” he whispers, leading her around the balcony to the other side of the building. “Look over there. Not too far out.”

A black shape materializes, trundling slowly, cautiously along the western edge of the valley. A snout lifts into the air as if checking for something, and Ellie has the distinct impression it can hear them.

“Is…is that a fucking bear ?”

“Shhh, don’t scare ‘em,” he whispers, taking a seat with his back to the windows, legs dangling off the edge of the balcony. Ellie sits cross-legged next to him, wrapping her blanket around her to guard against the fall chill.

“Whoa.”

The bear is close…like, really fucking close. Even in the dim light, she can see the reflection off its sleek fur, the tip of its nose, its dark eyes. She finds herself reaching out to grip Joel’s wrist, surprised to be, well…a little scared. They never worried about animals during their time on the road. They never stayed in one place long enough, never had enough scraps to leave behind. There was the occasional moose or deer, and those were welcome because they were potential food. Occasionally they’d hear the haunting calls of coyotes, and those were enough to keep Ellie awake at night if her imagination didn’t do the job for her.

The real threat was other people, whether infected or not. But tonight, after months enveloped in the safety of Jackson’s walls, Ellie feels painfully exposed. She scoots closer to Joel. He knows better than to say anything, just puts an arm around her and tucks her against his side.

“Wait,” she says, eyeing the distance between them and the bear, then them and the ground. “Can’t bears, like…climb?”

“Not this far. That’s why I brought the food up. ‘Sides, she’s got other things to worry about. Look.”

It takes a second, but soon Ellie sees the smaller cub lumbering along behind its mother. The pair weave their way across the landscape, pausing occasionally to sniff the air.

“Den’s probably nearby if the cub’s out this late,” Joel says, rubbing at his chin.

“So bears have bedtimes, too?” she smirks.

She can feel his chuckle against her side, a deep rumble in his chest.

“We’ll wanna make a lotta noise on the way back, make sure they know we’re around. Shouldn’t be too hard for you,” he says, poking her lightly on the shoulder.

“You love it and you know it,” she says.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do,” he says, and she feels the warm press of a kiss to the top of her head.

“Hey, Joel…what do you call a bear without any teeth?”

“A gummy bear,” he says, so fucking smug. “You can do better than that.”

“Ugh, asshole. Okay, okay, umm…wait…gimme a sec…oh! Why did the grizzly wear a tank top?”

Joel sighs.

“He had the right to ‘bear arms’!”

“Terrible,” he groans. “‘Sides, bears don’t have arms, they have–”

“Dude, really? Don’t be that guy.”

He reaches up and musses her hair. Funny, when that jerk Michael Sumner did the same, she’d tried to break his nose. When Joel does it, it makes her chest feel warm and tight.

When the bears have wandered into the trees and out of sight, Joel yawns and stretches and gets to his feet. “You ain’t a bear cub, so it’s bedtime for you, twerp.”

“I don’t even have a bedtime.”

“Sure you do. You’ve just never stayed up late enough to see it.”

She’s pretty fucking sure that’s not true and he knows it, because she’s gone whole nights without sleeping and he’s been by her side every time.

“That was pretty cool,” she admits back in the cabin, when she’s wriggling into her sleeping bag and pulling the blanket over herself.

“Yeah,” he yawns into the crook of his arm, then reaches over to shut off the lantern. “Thought so, too.”

There’s another yawn and the briefest touch of his hand to her head before he says, “G'night, kid. Have good dreams.”

“Night.”

She lays awake, staring up at the rafters, too keyed up from seeing the bears to fall asleep right away.

For all of Jackson’s weirdness, their little house and her room and her bed have…grown on her. It helped that Joel had shown up at her bedroom door one rainy July morning and looked around the room with a certain determination.

“This place could use a new coat of paint, huh?”

It needed a lot more than that. They’d spent that weekend stripping the ugly wallpaper from the walls, and the following weekend covering the whole thing with primer and a light eggshell blue paint–leftover from the rec center remodel, Tommy said. Joel had shown her how to soften the wallpaper glue with a spray bottle and an iron set on low, how to cut in the corners and smooth out her brush strokes and use the angled brush around the edges so there weren’t blobs of paint everywhere. He’d repaired the broken shelves and traded for new bedding and curtains and added a wall mount for her guitar until the room was almost unrecognizable from what it had been.

Now the shelves hold her few books, her collection of cool rocks, her comics. The pictures and posters on the walls are all things she drew or found at the trading post. The photo of Joel and Sarah holds a prominent place on her dresser. It smells like fresh paint and the lemongrass wood cleaner Joel uses on the floors, and somewhere along the line, the bad memories faded a bit. Not gone…just not as sharp, not as vivid.

A sinking feeling settles in her stomach, a kind of unfamiliar, aching sadness. She knows the word “homesick”, but she’s never been lucky enough to have a home to miss.

She scoots closer to Joel until her forehead presses lightly against his shoulder. It isn’t because he smells like wood smoke and the lavender soap from the commissary. It’s not because the flannel is soft, or because he naturally shifts toward her in his sleep, ready to put an arm out if she needs him. It’s not because of that. She’s just a little cold.

He’s already snoring, the same rumbling cadence that drifts across the hall every night. It makes her think of the bear and her cub, tucked away in a cave somewhere nearby, curled up together. Safe. Home.

She doesn’t even remember falling asleep. When she wakes, she’s surprised to see daylight; faint, but the sun is almost up. Joel is…where is Joel? She sits up. He’s not in the cabin or outside on the balcony. She pads out the door, still in socked feet, wincing. Her blisters hurt, but not in the sharp, angry way they did yesterday. Just a dull, achy annoyance. She’ll live, as Joel would say.

Wisps of smoke rise into the air from below. She leans over the railing and finds him standing next to the fire. From this vantage point, all she sees is the top of his head, messy brown hair threaded with gray, the shoulders of his green flannel, and the mug of coffee steaming in his hand.

He looks up before she can call out to him, smiles while squinting up at her. “Hey, up there.”

She waves and runs back inside to put on her boots, then she descends the ladder–she’s gotten really fast at it, practically sliding down the rail–and jumps the last five rungs onto the ground.

”Jesus, kid, slow down. You’re gonna break your neck goin’ like that.”

“Morning to you, too, sunshine,” she chirps.

They eat around a small fire, finishing last night’s leftovers and some of the granola mix. Joel chops more firewood to replace what they used while Ellie packs up their camp. She restrains herself from stealing the one-eyed doll from the rafters.

Joel goes quiet after breakfast, focused on “leaving the lookout in better shape than they found it”, he says. But as they set off on the path back to Jackson, something feels off. They’ve barely covered the first mile when he clears his throat and catches her eye, that look that says something’s on his mind.

“So, uh…wanted to talk to you.”

She braces herself. She hears the conversation in her head in Joel’s signature drawl.

I’m sorry, but this ain’t workin’.

Time for us to go our separate ways.

You’re not my daughter, and I sure as hell ain’t your dad.

Part of her rails against it. There’s no way. Joel would never leave her, Joel would never…he would never .

But the other part–the small, mean, shameful part she keeps tucked deep down inside, the one that will always be there no matter how old she gets, no matter how long she stays with Joel–is waiting for him to make good on that threat.

She shrugs, muttering. “Okay, I guess.”

They’re side by side, almost brushing shoulders, and she straightens her spine and lifts her chin.

“Meant to tell you this last night, but…it was late n’…anyway. Outbreak Day’s comin’ up.”

“Uh huh.”

He screws up his face like he’s sucked on something sour, one of the tiny green crabapples that are just starting to grow on the tree in the backyard of the house they share. In the house where she sleeps now, in the room he helped repaint and redecorate. In the town where they live, where she goes to school, where he builds things. Home.

She suddenly remembers their conversation from months ago.

September 26th.

Joel’s birthday.

That homesick feeling wraps itself around her insides again and pulls, a steady downward tug of grief. Suddenly she wants nothing more than to be safe in Jackson’s walls, sitting at the dining table with Joel and Tommy and Maria and baby Isabel, laughing over some dumb joke Tommy told at Joel’s expense until milk squirts out her nose. She does not want to be here, does not want to be having this conversation, even if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about yet.

She picks up her pace, forcing Joel to do the same.

“That’s, uh…that’s kind of a rough…time.”

“For you and, like, everyone,” she says, practically marching away until he catches up, grasping her by the shoulder.

“Hey, would you slow down?” he huffs. “Let’s just…stop for a sec.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “If you’re trying to…to…pawn me off on Tommy again–”

“What?” he balks. “No, I–”

“Is this about the stupid Fireflies?”

He goes very still. “What do you mean by that?”

I swear.

“Nothing,” she mutters, kicking at a rock, unable to meet his eyes. “I dunno, I just…you’re being fucking weird, man.”

“No, it’s not about the…no. It’s–it’s…Christ, you know I’m shit at this stuff. Just…gimme a minute.”

He walks to the side of the path, hands on his hips, frowning. Finally he takes a breath and looks at her. 

“I’m not sure how I’ll…be for a few days. Might be…different, is all.”

“You gonna turn into a werewolf? Grow fangs and claws or some shit?”

He sighs in frustration. “No.”

“So, what? You gonna beat me or something?” She tries to smile, to make a joke of it, but her voice falls flat.

“No! Jesus, no, nothin’ like that,” he says. “Ellie, I’d never. Not ever . You know that, right?”

She looks at him for a long time, sees the desperation in his eyes, before nodding slowly. She wonders if he knows that a beating is the least of her worries as far as punishment goes. Doesn’t think he could take hearing about all the other shit that happened to kids in FEDRA school. For all his experience, Joel could be incredibly naive. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to think about it. She supposes she can’t blame him. If he knew just how broken and bruised she was, he’d probably run away screaming.

“I know, dude,” she huffs, trying to brush it off. “It was a joke.”

“Jokes are s’posed to be funny,” he says flatly. “And I’d never–ever–hurt you like that.”

She throws up her hands. “Then stop making me guess and just tell me what the fuck is wrong!”

“Alright,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Thing is…I used to drink. A lot. A lot more than…well, just a lot.”

Her brow furrows. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Joel take more than a sip or two from his flask when they were on the road, and only when it got cold. Come to think of it, she doesn’t think she’s seen him drink anything stronger than shitwater since they came back to Jackson.

“After Sarah…after the…everything…well,” he says. “I ain’t proud of it. Could say I come by it honestly–”

“Your dad,” she says softly.

“Uh-huh. An’ it was always worse this time of year. Come end of September…I’d lock myself in the apartment and, uh…lose a week or so. Tess usually left, stayed…somewhere else. Checked in on me, made sure I didn’t…that I didn’t, uh–”

“I get it,” Ellie says, lump in her throat. “The guy who shot and missed.”

“Right. But I’m not gonna do that,” he says quickly. “No drinkin’. Between you and Tommy and everythin’ else…can’t afford to. Don’t want to.”

She nods carefully, fidgeting with her hands, picking at her cuticles. Just when she thinks she’s found her footing, something like this comes along and throws her off again.

“Just don’t know how it’s gonna go,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I haven’t been sober for this in…well, probably since the…the first one. Might be a bit…a bit cross.”

“So…normal, then?”

He sighs and gives her The Look, the one that tells her this is supposed to be a serious conversation and she needs to take it seriously. But she’s fucking lost, as usual. Is this the kind of shit people used to do Before? Stand around and talk about their feelings? It would almost be easier if he used his fists. She knows he’s good with those. He sucks at words even more than she does.

Besides, what does he want her to say? Thanks for not drinking yourself to death? Thanks for not offing yourself?

He continues more softly, struggling his way through. “I just want you to know…if I’m…if…I’m not good…for a little while…it’s not you. Okay? There’s nothin’ you could do to…to make me that way.”

She remembers the first time he told her he was sorry, how lost she’d felt when he’d tried to explain how she shouldn’t have had to shoot that kid. No grown-up had ever been sorry for anything in her life and she’d long stopped expecting them to be. Now Joel was apologizing for something he might not even do…and it wasn’t even that bad.

“Y’know, you can always go to Tommy or Maria if–”

Her eyes snap to his face. “I want to stay with you.”

“I know. But…if you need to. I won’t…be mad.”

She shrugs, not knowing what the fuck to say. “Can we go now?”

He considers her for a moment, then ducks his head in a nod.

“Sure. Yeah…let’s go.”

They walk in muted silence for a while. Ellie thinks about their house in Jackson, thinks about Joel pushing Tommy into a lake, about him squeezing her toes through her sock after bandaging her foot, about his arm around her shoulders reminding her where she stands. She realizes that the things she knows about Joel’s past can probably be counted on one hand.

He had a daughter.

He killed people.

He was a smuggler.

Now she could add “He was a drunk” to that list.

And yet, none of those things, save for the first, made the person she knew as Joel Miller.

He made good pancakes.

He bandaged her blisters.

He taught her how to hold a gun and play guitar and fish and hunt. How to keep watch and protect herself.

The silence lasts until Jackson is a tiny speck in the distance. Finally she breaks it.

“I know you said…you’re lucky to worry about me. But…that goes both ways.”

He shakes his head. “Ellie, you shouldn’t have to–”

“I want to.”

He looks over at her sharply.

“I just…I don’t wanna go away ‘cause you’re having a bad time…or whatever,” she says, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, on each step ahead. “You’re always there for me when things are shitty. It’s only fair.”

He opens his mouth, probably to tell her it’s not the same because he’s a grown-up and she’s a kid or some shit, but she cuts him off.

“And I know it’s not about…me, okay? I get it. I’m almost sixteen, which is practically seventeen, which is basically an adult. I can handle it.”

His eyebrow goes up to his hairline at that, mouth twitching in a little smirk. His hands are full, so she grabs his wrist, circling it with her fingers, squeezing to get the point across.

Finally he nods, speaking softly in his familiar warm drawl. “Alright.”

She nods back, satisfied, returning his smile.

Together, they walk toward home.

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Friday Fight Night

Chapter Four of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Five

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3.4K

Chapter Overview: You help Benny and the guys get ready for FFN.

Notes: this chapter is just a bit shorter than what i usually like to post, but i didn't have a lot of time to write this week & i'm actually content with where i ended it ! sometimes u just have to stop a little short so u don't just start typing random shit to meet a bullshit word count u give urself u know? i updated the tag list so if i missed u PLZ LET ME KNOW & i will add u asap !! well as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Why is this so difficult? It's just like every other day at work, except for the fact that it's not. You have been standing in front of your closet for a good 10 minutes now just looking at your clothes. Suddenly nothing seems good enough to wear. Maybe something would be good enough if you knew how to dress for a fight. Should you wear workout gear? No, you weren’t the one fighting. Should you wear a tank top and a tennis skirt? Probably not if it gets as rowdy as Benny says it will. 

“Just pick a fucking outfit, you idiot.” You chastise. 

After yet another once over of your closet you pick out a worn, white t-shirt with an image of Speed Racer on it. It had definitely seen its glory days years ago when you were still in college. If it worked then, it should work now. You take it off its hanger, along with some jeans, and put it all on. You’re tying your shoes when your phone chimes next to you. 

???: Hey, we will be getting to the gym around closing time. Are you staying to help Benny set up? 

???: Oh, this is Frankie BTW

Seeing his name on your screen makes your chest tighten with excitement. You obviously gave him your number so he could text you, but now it feels so real. Something about Frankie texting ‘BTW’ makes you giggle to yourself as you sit on the floor.

You: Yes, I figured I would make myself useful. No point in going home since the fights start at 10:00 P.M. and I might lose my parking spot.

You have to set your phone down before you overthink the most basic text you have ever sent in your life. Just for good measure, you leave it on your bed while you go into the bathroom. Despite your best efforts to remain nonchalant about the whole situation, you find yourself putting on a little more makeup than usual. By the time you have wrapped up and returned to your room an unread text is waiting for you. 

Frankie: Good thinking. See you tonight then.

The rest of your morning has a bit more pep in it than before.

***

Your day at the gym passes by as usual. The only two exceptions were a truck load of last minute Friday Fight Night tickets sales and then compliments on how the gym was smelling. You made a mental note to smack Benny upside the head for throwing such a temper tantrum about it. In between customers you found yourself checking your phone more than you regularly do. You told yourself that it was just because you were excited about the fights and were counting down the minutes and not because you were hoping to receive another text from Frankie. Unfortunately, lying to yourself never really works out. 

In an effort to keep yourself occupied, you answer emails from people that are applying for a gym membership, make laps around the gym to see if you need to replace any of the wipes used to clean the machines, and collect all of the dirty towels for a load of laundry. Much to your dismay, these tasks don’t take very long to complete. By 3:30 P.M. you reluctantly slink back to the front desk where the single most unwanted guest is waiting. 

“There she is! My favorite receptionist! I’m still interested in knowing your name, darlin’.” 

“Good afternoon, Brunson.” You plop yourself down in your chair and pull up the schedule on the computer. “Just working out today? I don’t see that you’re with Benny.”

“You caught me. I want to make sure that I’m in good shape when I fight in a few weeks time.” 

For a few blissful seconds you allow yourself to indulge in the idea of Brunson getting clocked, hard, right in the jaw. 

“Well, enjoy yourself.” You scan his card quickly in an attempt to move him on his way.

“I always do so when you’re here.” He clicks his tongue at you while he walks past your desk. 

“God, he’s insufferable.” You mumble to yourself.

It’s 4:00 P.M. when Benny finally ventures up to the front lobby with you.

“Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you all day, man.”

“Because you haven’t,” He covers his face with his hands and whines into them before coming back up for air. “At first I couldn’t find where the white board I used to write out the fightin’ pairs was. Then there was somethin’ wrong with the beer delivery and they kept me out back for fuckin’ ever. That isn’t even coverin’ all the one on one sessions I've had today or the ones I’m still goin’ to have.”

It’s breaking your heart to see how stressed out he’s getting with all of the things he has to juggle today. You get out of your chair, walk over to him, and rub on his shoulder comfortingly. 

“It’s going to be alright, Benny. I’m staying after work to help you set up and Frankie told me that the guys are coming to help around closing too. You won't be in this alone for much longer.”

He places both of his hands on his hips and exhales deeply.

��Thank you,” You can see the earnestness in his eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He smiles down at you from his 6’2 frame and before you can move he pulls you in for a deadly tight hug.

“Benny!” You can’t stop laughing. “Let me go this fucking instant!”

“Friends like hugs from other friends, right?” He yells over your incessant protesting. 

“I’m going to kill you, you know that?!” Your tone of voice doesn’t even sound remotely serious. 

Eventually you get him to unlatch himself from you so the two of you can finish up the work day in order to prepare for this evening.

***

You stand back proudly and admire all of your handiwork. Benny put you in charge of setting up the beer table, so set up the beer table you did. You designed a poster to hang on the wall above the table so people would be able to clearly see their options and their respective prices. You set a long, metal tub in the center of the table and filled it halfway with ice. Then you made a little arrangement out of the beer and poured the last half of the ice on it to keep it cold. The cash box was fully stocked and set to the side. All in all, you did a pretty good job. Thankfully, one of Benny’s regulars volunteered to work it this evening.

“All done over here!” You call over to Benny. “How’s the sign coming?”

You watch in horror as he stands up to reveal a barely legible fighting roster. He must have seen your face flounder when you looked at it because he just tosses the dry erase marker over to you and crosses his arms. 

“Oh, Benny I-”

“I know it looks bad. I’ve never had a knack for all this creative shit.”

You squeeze his hand as you pass him while heading to the white board. He slides over the roster that has been printed on paper for you to use as your guide. You’re so engrossed with your new task that you don’t notice when the guys come in around 8:30 P.M..

“You sure are givin’ Benny a run for his money this evenin’. The place hasn’t looked this put together in…well ever.” That sugary, sweet southern drawl could only belong to one man. 

“Thank you, Will!” You toss over your shoulder.

“Aw screw you, dude. Maybe it would have been if y’all had gotten here when y’all said you would.” Benny notes.

“Blame Fish.” Pope snickers. “He couldn’t find the perfect outfit.” 

That got your interest peaked. You turn around to look at what Frankie is wearing. Regular work boots, soft looking denim jeans, a black undershirt, a worn blue button up with the top few buttons left undone, and finally his cap- oh god he’s looking at you. If you had been a smarter woman, you would have noticed that two thirds of the group standing behind you were looking at your sign. That damned one third of the group was watching you trail your way up his whole body. He’s like an oak; completely unwavering as you take him in. 

“Well, I like it. ” You squeak out as you turn your attention back to the roster. “Now why don’t you guys go make yourselves useful and help Benny?”

You hear a unified ‘yes ma’am’ come from behind you followed by the scattering of three pairs of feet. There truly isn't anything more sexy than men who can follow orders.

All five of y’all work tirelessly for the next hour to get everything finished before the doors open to the public. When you cross off the last item on your to-do list, you decide that you have earned a drink. You sneak over to the beer table and open one of the coolers that you set up behind it that contains the excess bottles. Much to your dismay, the bottle caps don't twist off like you originally thought. You’re on your knees looking around in the extra bags and praying that Benny had the foresight to get a bottle opener when Frankie walks up next to you. 

“Lose something?”

“Just my dignity trying to locate the stupid fucking bottle opener.”

He laughs jovially as he extends his hand to help you up. You take it and sheepishly hand him your bottle when he motions for it. The two of you walk around to the front of the table and you watch as he easily takes out his keys and pops the cap open with a bottle opener he had attached to them. You notice that instead of tossing the cap in the trash he places it back in his pocket along with his keys. Right when he starts to hand the drink back to you he pulls it back towards him. 

“Hey! What gives?”

“I have to test it to make sure it isn’t poisonous or something.”

“Oh my god, you dick.” You lean back on the table behind you.

“You won’t be saying that when I save your life.” He takes a small sip and passes it over to you. “Nope. It’s not poison. You’re in the clear.”

Now it’s your turn. You turn to look out at the gym while you take a drink of your well deserved reward. 

“Wait,” You look over at Frankie. “What if it's a slow acting poison and now we are both infected? I guess you have to stay here and finish this with me so we can go out together.”

He leisurely reclines next to you on the table and takes the bottle in his hand when you offer it to him. “That's some pretty sound logic. I can’t argue with that.”

You try to stop yourself, but you watch as he brings the frosty glass to his pouty lips. They look more pink than usual against the dark color of the bottle. His hands make the beer bottle look so much smaller than it really is. Your eyes wander to that nose you’re so fond of. God, what would it feel like on your clit as he ate his fill of you? Now that you’re closer to him you’re able to see the gray that's intricately woven into his beard and hair. Would it tickle the inside of your thighs when he buried his face in your pussy? Feelings you haven’t had for a man in a long time rock through your body the further you sink into your fantasy. Drifting even further, his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the chilled liquid. You want to decorate the sensitive skin with blossoming purple marks. 

“What?” He’s looking at you now. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” You say almost breathlessly. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hog it all.”

“I would never.” The low baritone of his voice reverberates through you. 

Benny, thankfully, yells from across the gym at the both of y’all before you do something questionable. 

“Hey, lazy asses! It’s showtime!”

You and Frankie both let out a breath neither of y’all realized you were holding. He looks down at his watch and then faces his friend with a mild look of annoyance.

“It’s 9:30, man. It’s just the boxers and the ring girls coming in right now.”

You notice that Frankie’s body immediately tenses up after he says this. Confused, you look over at Benny who has eyes as bright as the sun and is making a beeline towards you. 

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers down to you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Benny? What are you-?”

“I have a proposition for you.” He says while gripping both sides of your arms. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“I don’t think I have a choice by the look of things.”

“Please be my ring girl.” He gasps.

“Oh my god.” You let your head roll back. “Benny, are you serious right now?”

“Don’t say no yet. Just think about it before you decide.” 

You roll your head over to face Frankie and raise your eyebrows. You’re met with a shrug that is just as innocent as his grin.

“Does this offer have an expiration date?” You inquire shifting your focus back to the man that currently has you in a vice grip. 

“Just think about it.” He pleads.

“Fine, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna say n-”

“La-la-la! I can’t hear you! La-la-la!”

“Don’t you have fighters to go hype up in the locker room?” Frankie cuts in.

“Nothin’ I hate more than when you’re right, Fish. Catch y’all in between the matches!”

With one final ‘think about it’, he bounds off into the locker rooms. All you can do is laugh hysterically at what just transpired. Frankie probably thinks you have lost your mind with the way you are doubled over right now. 

“Hey let us in on the joke, why don’t you?” Pope sits next to you on the table. 

“I could use a good laugh as well.” Will adds blithely.

“What you two could use is a reality check.” you walk around the table and grab a beer for each of them. “God, I can’t believe him.”

You hand Will and Pope their drinks completely forgetting about taking the tops off. Fortunately, that didn’t stop them. Will snatches Pope’s beer out of his hand and positions the bottles where one has its cap resting just barely on the edge of the other's cap. Then he slams them down on his knee and Pope’s opens with ease. After he hands the open one off, he pops his own with a thick ring he’s wearing. 

“I’m thoroughly impressed, Will. What the hell was that?”

“You just gotta learn to make due sometimes.” 

Frankie and Pope both mutter ‘show-off’ under their breaths as Will explains to you the physics behind his little trick. 

“Okay, now back to what Benny was talking about.” You adjust your stance so you can better face the group. “Are y’all in on this? This ‘ring girl’ shit?”

“Can’t say it wouldn’t be fun though.” Pope prods his finger at you. 

“Oh, yes I can.” You say swatting at him.

“You know, Benny. Once he sets his mind to somethin’ he’s pretty determined to see it through.”

“That doesn’t even begin to answer my question, Will.” You groan as you take the beer from Frankie’s hand. 

The movements between y’all are so natural, so fluid that it feels like something you have been doing for years. You see Pope, almost in shock, watch you as you take a drink.

“Can I get some of that?”

“No way, man.” You shelter the bottle against your body. “Three is a crowd and you literally have an open one in your hand.”

“Will’s right,” Frankie reasons with you. “Benny is as one track minded as they come.”

“Tell him to get on another track then.”

“How about this?” Pope counters. “You go into the locker room with Benny and see what it takes to be a ring girl. Then and only then will he accept your answer of ‘no’ if that’s still what you want.”

“If that will get him off my case then that's fine with me.” 

You start to turn towards the locker room doors when a blue sleeved arm reaches over your shoulder and plucks the beer from you. 

“Hey, give that back!”

“I just want to make sure you don’t hog it all.” Frankie’s tone is thick with sarcasm.

“I would never.” You grin.

Pope waits until you have cleared the locker room doors before he whacks Frankie in the shoulder. Unfortunately, Frankie doesn’t see it coming because he is too busy hoping to catch one more glimpse of you.

“If that's how you act around women you think are ‘just cool’ then I’m terrified to see how you act around women you actually like.”

“The fuck was that for? And the fuck are you talking about, man?” He massages the spot where Pope smacked him. 

“Will, please tell me you aren’t as blind as he is?”

“Sorry, Fish. I see it too.”

“See what?”

“That you look like a goddamn catfish whenever you look at her! Eyes all big and mouth agape.”

“I do not.” Frankie mutters. 

“Come on.” Pope folds his arms across his chest. “You think she’s cute.”

“What are we in middle school? You’re being ridiculous. Will?” 

“I’ll be honest, I wanna know too.” He flashes that signature boyish Miller smile.

All Frankie can do is laugh nervously while he removes his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He knows that he’s in the middle of a losing battle and that he’ll have to concede. They are going to be ecstatic that a woman other than Rochelle has caught his eye. Especially when it's a woman that meshes so naturally with their group. No, what’s stopping him is that a part of himself wants to keep it a secret. To have something that is just his. No prying eyes, no unwanted advice, no consequences, and no one else has to get hurt but him. As soon as the acknowledgement of his affection for you falls from his lips, it's real. As selfish as it sounds, he wants to keep you at arms length. He feels like everything he touches breaks and he doesn’t want you to become the next casualty. You wouldn’t want him if you knew the truth about the things he has done. But then you smile or laugh and he can feel himself falling deeper and deeper into his delusions of grandeur. 

“Well, if you don’t like her then maybe I’ll ask her out.”

“No, you won't because,” Frankie puts his cap back on. “I think she’s cute. Are y’all happy? I like her.”

“Atta boy, Fish!” Will cheers. 

“I knew it!” Pope says as he pulls Frankie in for a hug. “She’s a good one, man.”

“I know she is. I just don’t know if I’m going to do anything about it right now.”

Will’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Why’s that?” 

“I don’t want to fuck it up. To drag her into the shit show that is my life. I don’t even know if she feels the same way either!”

The two other men nod in understanding. Frankie takes a sip of the drink he stole from you and sighs as he looks up at the ceiling. 

“All I know is…is that I like her.”

“Shh!” 

“Pope, you were the one that wanted to talk about this!”

“Shut the fuck up! She's coming!”

“Y’all ready? I’m going to open the doors for everyone!”

The three of them use the time it takes you to unlock the doors and arrive back in order to regroup from their previous conversation.

“Did you,” Will clears his throat. “Did you like the view back there? See a future in being Benny’s ring girl?”

“I like the view from right here, thank you very much.” 

“So,” Pope rubs his hands together. “Who ready to see some dudes get the shit beat out of them?”

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[lyutenw]

Blog Introduction 💕

Hello everyone!

I am lyuten, a 23yo full time university student and aspiring author. I have been writing for about 10 years now, and now I am thinking about self-publishing soon.

I try to be as diligent as I can with my books and uploading schedule, but sometimes life gets in the way. So, I usually upload my main wip on wattpad on fridays and will also start writing another wip as well.

I will also start uploading on tumblr every friday, but on here it will be behind on chapters, so if you cannot wait for the next chapter you can head over to my wattpad.

ALL MY WIPS HERE

Main WIP: A Crown of Despair

Introductory post Character Aesthetics Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII

Tag List: @angie-j-kay @mysticstarlightduck @boundedsea @pheonix-thefirebird @quillinhand @lottierae1 @puckpuckett @aalinaaaaaa

This post will be updated regularly with new chapters etc. Anyone that wants to be in the tag list please send me a message!

Find me here!

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 8 "Back to Basics"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.4k Chapter Tags: Trauma response, description of training, description of weaponry, use of a gun, PTSD/Trauma flashbacks, traumatic reaction, grounding, slight intimacy, description of wounds/scars, beginning of a friendship, drinking, eluding to being drunk at times (sensibly).

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 7 - "An Encounter")

Training Jack proved to be somewhat difficult - especially when he finally had a weapon placed back in his hands.

A/N: Thinking of changing the artwork for this series...thoughts? Also I'm officially scrapping an upload schedule. I started this as an every Wednesday idea, but I've found it too restrictive. I'm now just going to upload whenever I had a chapter ready! It'll still be regularly that this series gets updated, but that just gives me a bit more freedom!

Your time spent in the bar after work was somewhat different to how you first imagined it to be. Rather than the tipsy affair you had in your head, instead you opted for nursing a whiskey while plotting what training you could offer Jack. You swilled the contents of the glass around briefly as you contemplated what you had planned, your eyes scanning over scrawled notes littering the book you’d been using, before you were joined by a familiar southern drawl. 

“How’s it coming along?” Tequila had asked as he slid into the booth with you, a cold beer in hand. He took a swig of the drink as he got himself settled in next to you as you both awaited the rest of your party to join.

“I think I’ve got it nailed down. Here,” you pushed your notepad over towards Tequila, “have a look and see what you think?”. 

Tequila took another swig from his bottle before setting it down on a coaster and turning his attention to the book you’d been jotting down notes in all evening. Although your meeting with Jack was brief, combined with what Tequila had already told you about his rehabilitation after Jack had left had given you a good framework to start plotting with. You knew before Tex had given you more information that this would have to be a very different training plan, but you hadn’t anticipated just how different. 

Time. That was going to be the main difference - even in spite of the fact Jack had been a very well respected, and highly trained, agent for so many years, there was not an element of this that you could rush. Normally your goal was to get recruits to a high standard as fast as possible, and as you only ever dealt with the weapons training it was simple for you to streamline the process. All your training could be simplified as the more you practise, the better you get.

But Jack would have to be different. The kind of trauma he had faced over his life, totally unchecked too, made you take a different approach. You wouldn’t even dare put a weapon in his hands for a few weeks at least, and only would on the advice of Loretta. 

Tequila nodded slowly as he read over your notes, following the words with his finger - an endearing trait about Tex you’d picked up on when he told you about his dyslexia, and the struggles he sometimes had when it came to the admin side of his job. He’d found ways to make it work for him, and never didn’t turn in his reports, but there were still times you’d see him struggle. Your handwriting probably didn’t help, either…

“Looks good, London,” he said, smiling as he handed you the book back, “are you gonna start training him right away?” he asked. You nodded, placing your ribbon page marker into the book before closing the cover and tucking the book back in your bag. 

“No point delaying things. I imagine Jack’ll want to get going soon anyway. Sounds like he’s been itching to get back out there,” you said, returning to nursing your drink. Tequila chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. 

“You’re not wrong there. For months he was fine, and didn’t want to really think about it. But these last few weeks he’s turned a corner and there’s been a huge shift in him - and for the better, too. He’ll be pleased to know you’ll want to start immediately.” 

You smiled at Tex, finishing the last of your drink. 

“It’s good to have you back. I missed you; we all did,” you said. He pulled you in for a side hug, squeezing you tight into his solid frame. He planted a soft kiss in your hair, then released you. 

“I missed you too, kid.”

You’d spent the rest of that evening catching up with Tequila, finding out about his life in the UK with Astrid, who when she joined the table the two of you both almost broke down in tears after finally being reunited. She coddled you in her arms and it was like no time had passed at all - suddenly it was over two years ago,  the night before you found out where you were being stationed, and the two of you were drunkenly hugging like your lives depended on it. 

Tequila and Astrid would be staying States-side for a while, but that didn’t stop the two of you treating that night like you’d never see each other again. By the time the morning rolled around, and you peeled yourself off your bed, you cursed the fact you’d let Astrid talk you into three rounds of shots to finish the night off. Getting up to brew a pot of coffee, you thanked your lucky stars you’d told Jack to not meet you until the afternoon, and opted to type up his training plan from your work laptop at home so you could at the very least nurse your hangover in the comfort of your sweatpants and no bra. 

Jack’s training plan was a solid one, and this was probably the most thought you’d ever put into a recruit’s programme. Which sounded bad, given that for over a year it had been your job to train the next generation of recruits - but Jack was complicated, he wasn’t a fresh slate like so many who walked in through the doors of your office. There were so many adjustments you needed to make before you could confidently loosen the reins with him like your other students, even if he did technically have more experience than you in this line of work. 

The major adjustment you’d had to make with him was significantly dialling back on the combat and weapons side of things. Having spoken to both Tex and Loretta to get an idea of the kind of rehab programme he’d been undertaking, it was clear that the very last thing you should consider was putting a weapon in his hand. Which was something you knew anyway, but after re-reading his therapy notes once the caffeine hit your system that morning, you thought twice about also getting him involved in physical combat. 

That afternoon, once you’d made yourself look somewhat presentable, you’d started at ground level with Jack, and so began the next two months of you being his 1-on-1 trainer. Meeting at your office, he’d then been given a tour to the site as if he were a fresh-faced twenty-something who had been poached by Statesman, with no prior secret service training under his belt. He’d met all his new colleagues, some of whom he already knew , and learnt about all the recent developments that had happened since he’d been taken off active duty. 

Then, the admin work. How you didn’t pull your hair out with him you’d never quite understand - for a man who had been in a job literally engulfed with technology for the best part of two decades, it was like watching a fawn how to walk on ice when it came to him getting to grips with the new system and the way in which things were filed. Long gone were the days of brown envelopes containing classified information, a system he was so comfortable with, and in with digital. 

After the twelfth consecutive training day of getting him used to the system, you almost lost your rag at him. You were behind on your own paperwork now, with Jack’s training slowly becoming to the detriment of your own cases. At just turned four o’clock one afternoon, with your head in your hands, you grumbled at him. 

“How did you manage before?” you’d asked, genuinely curious how he’d gotten by if he was this shit with technology. He’d just shrugged, wiping his hands across his face in equal frustration at the fact he couldn’t grasp it. 

“I’d had assistants for years! I never needed to worry about any of this shit,” he’d said, which suddenly answered a lot of your questions. 

Jack was the biggest pain in your ass you’d ever known. You thought that for someone who had been given a second chance at life that he might be a little more grateful to the training you were giving him – and in the discreet manner in which you were giving it. Jack didn’t make it easy for you; for as much as you were happy with the cover story that he was brand new to Statesman, the former senior agent spent a fair bit of his time out chatting to other colleagues in a way where it was very obvious he clearly had a past with the company.

But still, you persevered. Sticking to your word, you didn’t tell anyone who he really was, even when you were asked about it. Schmidt had enquired about him on a few occasions.

“Tex says he’s new, but I’m not convinced y’know. Is there more to it?” he’d asked one afternoon you’d gone to get coffees. You’d just shrugged it off, answering with a non-committal, “Not that I’ve been told”.

But in spite of how much you wanted to ring his fucking neck some days, Jack gradually got the hand of it. He saw how much effort you’d put in, and when he’d noticed you not leaving your office one night just to catch up on your own work, he’d seen the sacrifice you were making to your own caseload just to make sure that he was getting the training he’d needed. 

Filled with guilt, he’d brought you a latte that next morning ( with an extra shot of espresso) , and had started pulling extra hours himself to make sure he had it nailed. He would repeat anything he didn’t understand time and time again until he cracked it. You found him one night cooped up in the library by himself in the corner, desperately typing away on a laptop. The smallest quip of a grin could be seen on his face, and you slinked away that evening with a sense of pride that he’d finally started getting it. 

After that night, spending time with Jack slowly got more tolerable. You’d be lying if you said that the two of you hadn’t got off to a rocky start - he was someone who had been so used to getting any privileges handed to him on a silver platter, and now for the first time in years he was actually having to work for it. It had obviously ground his gears, and he’d resented you somewhat while he was getting to grips with everything anew. As his training officer, you became the face of all his misfortune, in his mind you were the reason that he wasn’t progressing faster. 

But once he got over himself and let his ego calm down, he started to see that none of this was your fault, and instead you were doing everything in your power to help speed this along. In a way he started to admire you - how you held yourself, how kind you were, and how far you had come with Statesman in such a short amount of time. The two of you might have still butted heads from time to time, but on the whole it was getting to be a much more amicable relationship the two of you had. 

Finally, Jack started making progress in leaps and bounds. Not only was he finally getting the hand of filing the paperwork, and making record time for some of it now after hours of practice, but Loretta had finally cleared him for using firearms. 

“There ain’t a guarantee he’s totally ready. There never will be, child. But his sessions have been the most positive since I met the guy. I’d say it’s worth a try ,” she’d said. 

You were nervous about the prospect of Jack handling a weapon - you’d read his file and knew what a marksman he used to be, and how he could handle himself in seemingly any situation. Of all the agents who were serving with the organisation at the time of his accident, Jack had suffered the fewest injuries across the entire team, even in spite of how long he had worked here. There was a part of you who worried that he’d try and relive his glory days, and go too far too soon, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. 

But you trusted Loretta, and if she said his sessions were becoming more positive, and that this was worth trialling, you had no reason to not believe her. She was an honest woman, worth her weight in salt, and would never suggest Jack do something if she didn’t think he was ready to take on the challenge from a mental standpoint. 

So, just over two months after your formal introduction, you were finally in the weapons department. Jack marvelled at how the room had changed since his time in here last - even though this is where the two of you had met, he hadn’t really paid much attention to what this room was like. His focus had more so been pinned on the woman in a waistcoat who was to be his training officer for the foreseeable future… 

There were so many safety features installed here in comparison to when he was last in here for official training duties. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the dozens of additional locks and biometric keypads that now covered the cases of weapons and internal doors to the weapons room, a clear indicator of what went wrong with him. 

You let him have a session just getting used to the feel of the weapons room now - even if Loretta had said he could try the weapons, you were in no hurry to put a gun in his hand on the first day. You’d been strict about it, locking away all bullets and magazines behind a biometric lock tailored to you before his session had even begun, just to make sure that he couldn’t suddenly flip a switch and go all trigger-happy. 

But to your great relief, he didn’t. He happily took in his new surroundings, made notes as to the newer weapons that had come in since his time, as well as just get a feel for what a gun felt like again. 

Jack smiled taut down at the small silver revolver, engraved with Statesman’s ‘S’ on the leather handle. It was not all too dissimilar to the kind of pistols he once carried. It was almost bittersweet to handle them once again, and you stood back and watched how he reacted to having them in his grasp once more. 

“You alright?” you’d asked him. Jack had simply nodded, caressing the metal with his thumb gently, before putting them back in their allocated holder. 

“Yes, ma’am. With your permission, I think I’d be ready for us to start using them in training, if you saw fit,” he’d said. 

Truthfully, you no longer had a reason to say no. Loretta had cleared him, and after a couple of sessions where any and all ammunition had been under lock and key, you were satisfied that he was as ready as he could be to start that part of the training now. 

So, you agreed. 

But when it came to those sessions, you were instantly regretting your decisions. For the first time in weeks you were seeing the cockier side of Jack again, the side you’d come to learn  would come out in a situation when he thought he was the only person who could know the answer. It wasn’t very often he would drag up his prior stint with the agency in a session with you, mainly due to the risk of someone overhearing who was not meant to know anything about his former moniker. But also because he’d agreed, along with yourself, Champ, and Loretta, that he’d likely fare better if he didn’t focus on what once was, and instead only looked forward to what would be. 

You weren’t sure what exactly got into him this morning to make him such a colossal ass , but you had no fucking patience for it anymore. You were almost ready to call the session to an early close, but after making him wait for so long to give this a go, you figured you owed it to your student to at least let him have a go. 

That didn’t mean he remotely appreciated your generosity. 

“I know how to hold a fuckin’ gun, Mimosa,” Jack said, anger evident in his tone and an annoyance seeping in. You rolled your eyes ( for the fifteenth time this session, you might add ) and sighed as Jack gripped the handle on the pistol. 

“You used to know, Seltzer,” you said, earning you a disapproving grunt from the former senior agent. You knew it pissed him off no end to be called by anything other than Jack, or Whiskey, but that was a title his own stupidity has forfeited. You’d happily remind him of that whenever he so needed it - it helped to bring him down a little bit, you found. Normally you’d call him Jack, but today you couldn’t be fucking bothered with his childish attitude. 

“Stop callin’ me that,” Jack murmured under his breath as he started loading the pistol for the first round of shots. He had hoped you wouldn’t notice, but unfortunately for him your hearing was significantly sharper than what he gave you credit for.

“Seltzer, I’ll have less of that,” you said. Jack’s eyes darted up to meet yours, a flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks as he realised he’d been made. You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath as you caught the agent, virtually red handed, embarrassed that he’d been found out. 

Or slightly angry. You weren’t sure. 

“Sorry,” he said coyly, breaking eye contact. He rolled his shoulders back, warming up his muscles to get into position and start firing the pistol at the target.

You furrowed your brow as you watched how he held himself, lining his body up for the shot. The muscles in his shoulders tensed all wrong, his arms weren’t bent properly, and his feet were far too close together. You leant back against the bench at the back of the room, lined with weapons and ammunition, and crossed your arms across your chest. Jack wouldn’t hurt himself if he took a shot like this, so you didn’t need to intervene from a health and safety point of view. But you wondered if he took a shot like this, which would inevitably be off-target, it might make him realise he needed more help than he imagined. 

Jack got into position, albeit the wrong one, and inhaled sharply. He knew something wasn’t right, he could feel it. The gun felt too heavy, his arms were locked up, and his body felt like it was twisting in a manner that was now foreign to him. This was something he’d done day in, day out, for over two decades. He plainly refused to accept that he’d forgotten this ability, and instead of doing the sensible thing and asking for a correction, he carried on.

Like an angry bull going after a bull rider.  

He inhaled sharply and squeezed the trigger, releasing a bullet from the barrel, his breath never exhaling as he took the shot. The sensation of the bullet flying out the barrel careered up Jack’s arms and left a shaking feeling coursing round his body, his muscles still locked up and not releasing even once the bullet was out from the barrel. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the bullet fly out across the room, and avoid the target completely. 

Jack sighed at the miss, but what frightened him more than the disappointment that he’d failed was the feeling he was left with after. Not anger, not frustration - but anxiety. Even long after the sound from the shot firing had ceased ricocheting around the bunker the two of you were in, the noise continued to ring in his ear. 

The pitch of the bullet ringing around in his head got louder and more high pitched with every passing moment, and he screwed up his eyes to try and make it go away. It felt like the beginning of a sharp migraine piercing through his skull, and he’d not felt pain like this in a long time. It all concentrated near his temple, where the scar from his accident stood prevalent. 

A few seconds after the failed shot, you looked to Jack and saw that he wasn’t making any effort to move. Not just to get into a better position, but to do anything. He wasn’t reloading the gun, he looked as though he was barely breathing; the only thing that was moving was his face, which was painted with a pained expression. 

“Seltzer?” you said, pushing off the bench to step closer to him. He still held his position, but you could see that something else was taking over control over his body. 

He didn’t respond to your voice. Truthfully, he didn’t hear it. The ringing of the gunshot ran around his head, bouncing off the sides of his mind and sending a piercing shriek through him. Jack grunted, faltering on his stance, and fumbled with his weapon slightly as he tried not to drop it from the pain the noise brought him. He panted, quickly flicking the gun to have its safety mechanism on, before dropping it to the ground in a panic. 

“ Jack ?!” you said, now actually worried. At the use of his real name he seemed to snap out of whatever haze he was in, and his eyes darted around to meet yours. Your heart shattered as you looked in them, and all you could see reflected back was fear. 

“I- that’s never- I don’t know-,” he stammered, his mouth dry and making it almost impossible for him to form a coherent sentence. You unfurled your arms from across your chest and went up to him, reaching out and gently placing your hands around his trigger hand to comfort him. 

Jack shook throughout his body, and beneath your palms you felt every nervous quake which ran down through to his fingers. You gently applied some pressure, trying your best to ground him, employing techniques you’d picked up at MI5 for trauma responses within your colleagues. You’d all seen some shit in your time, and it had become rather useful you’d found. 

Jack closed his eyes, his ears still ringing and the world around him spinning while he stood in place. His heart thudded in his chest and he could hear every beat as blood rushed through his ears. He found himself clinging to you like a lifeline, finding that your touch was the only thing keeping him from completely spiralling. 

With your other hand, you softly interlocked your fingers with his which rested by his side. His hand gripped yours tighter and you watched as he screwed up his eyes to try and calm himself, his breaths deep and steady. With a gentle voice, and getting closer so that you could speak in just a whisper, you spoke. 

“You’re alright, Jack. I’ve got you,” you said. He had no reason to trust you yet on a deeper level, aside from the fact you’d kept the secret about his identity for over two years. But in this one act alone he learned more about you than he perhaps knew about some of his colleagues whom he’d been working with for several years. He’d spiralled a few times over these last two years, and had to learn on his own how best to bring himself back to square one - but perhaps with you by his side, that might be easier. He never imagined that somebody else might be able to quell his troubled mind in any way, let alone how he so desperately needed. 

Slowly, the grip Jack had on you began to loosen, and his eyes opened. You smiled softly up at him, never once letting go of him as he regulated his breathing and began to calm down. He shot you a watery smile once he was calm anew, and you felt him trying to retract from your grip. You let him, pulling your hands away. 

“You alright?” you asked, letting his hands slide out from yours. Jack nodded. 

“Yeah, I- I think so. I’m sorry, ‘bout that…,” he said, looking almost perplexed as to what had just happened. You smiled softly and tipped your head towards a bench at the side of the training room, notioning for him to join you. He followed you to the bench and watched you remove your Stetson, setting it down on the seat to your left, before beckoning for him to take the one on your left. 

“When did you last fire a gun, Jack?” you asked. He shrugged, then sighed. He took his own hat off now, revealing the head of thick brown hair beneath it - albeit slightly more grey at the roots than what you recall from seeing in that photograph of him just over a decade ago. 

“On the day I got injured. One of the last things I heard was gunfire, before I-,” he sighed, again, “-yeah…”. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. Tequila eventually gave me the details of what happened that day,” you said, looking up at him. It was then, without his hat on and so close to you, that you saw the scar on his temple. You gently raised your hand and brushed your fingertips over the scar, and Jack grimaced as you did. Deep down he didn’t hate how the feeling of your soft touch was on his skin, but he couldn’t show such weakness. Not when he was trying all he could to appear tough. 

He sighed solemnly, letting his tough facade slowly fade from view. Of all people, there was no point hiding this side of himself from you - you needed to know as much about how he was doing in order to help him, and he’d be damned if he was about to face setbacks all because he didn’t want his pride to get damaged. 

You retracted your hand from his scar, not wanting to draw too much attention to the area, and instead reached over to take Jack’s hand in yours. Your fingers softly slid between his, but it was Jack who responded with a tightening grip. 

He smiled faintly down at your intertwined hands, the feeling now so foreign to him. It had been a long time since anyone had shown Jack physical affection, and even longer since that affection felt like it came from a place of love and care. After his wife passed he’d not wanted anything with women beyond meaningless hookups, and the second things began to feel more intimate, he’d shut things down. On a couple of occasions he’d entertained the idea, but those relationships never lasted longer than a few months, and as soon as he felt as though she cared more for him than he felt he deserved , he ended things. 

So something as simple as having his hand held, while completely clothed, was almost bizarre. But he noted, as he watched your fingers softly curl around his, and your thumb caress the back of his, that he didn’t hate the way this felt. 

“Thank you, Mimosa,” he said softly, “You’re a credit to this organisation, you know?”.

“Yeah?” you asked, turning to now look at Jack. He turned his head and smiled at you, a pair of deep brown eyes boring into you and making you feel warm and comforted from the inside. Even though it was you who was helping him right now, you yourself took comfort in the gentleness that was reflected back at you. 

“Yes. Tequila really undersold you,” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes, not remotely surprised. 

“Oh jeez, do I want to know what he said about me though?” you giggled, and Jack laughed with you now. 

“Only good things, Mimosa. I promise!” he explained. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” you snorted. 

“Oh, stop,” Jack chuckled, his hand gripping yours tighter, “I very much got the impression that the two of you enjoy winding each other up. So for him to still be able to sing your praises? Yeah, I trusted that he meant every word. And he wasn’t wrong; not about a single thing.” 

“Thank you, Jack. That means a lot to hear,” you smiled. 

Jack nodded, then cleared his throat and loosened his grip on your hand. He’d calmed down enough now that he felt as though he could clear up in here for the day, and didn’t want to burden you any longer with his feeling of not being alright. He’d make a point to go and see Loretta after your session, he thought, and as you let him retract his hand from yours, both of you grabbed your stetsons and stood up. 

“You feelin’ better?” you asked, and Jack nodded, putting his hat back on his head. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’m gonna head and see Loretta before our next session, just to go over today. But I think for now I’m gonna have to throw the towel in,” he smiled. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” you said, shaking your head. “This was always going to be a strange adjustment, and a big step to take. See Loretta, and perhaps next session we’ll do more work in weapons that don’t involve guns.” 

“Sounds like a plan. Got anything in mind?” he asked. You grinned, looking over to one of the wall panels which was filled with ropes and lassos. 

“I might have some ideas cooking up, yeah,” you chuckled. 

Jack followed your gaze to the cabinet, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t get a twinge of excitement at the thought of gripping a lasso again. It was one of the parts of his job that he missed the most, the power that came from being so nimble with a whip or lasso. 

He noticed, as he turned back to look at you, the way your fingers danced over the handle of your own whip. He’d seen it before, but he grinned as he watched you fiddle with it, he noticed it was a very similar model to the one he once owned. The way the small switch stood out on the end, signifying yours would turn electric at a moment’s notice, had a buzz go through Jack at the thought of you using it. 

He’d been wanting to ask for a few weeks why you chose that weapon - it wasn’t exactly conventional when he made the choice, and with the amount of technological advancements that had come along since his time he very much doubted that it was any more preferable now. You turned back to look at him and were greeted with a cheeky grin, a far cry to the face of the man who you had just seen almost broken not ten minutes before you. You furrowed your eyebrows in curiosity, and folded your arms across your chest in defence.

“What made you decide to have a whip as your signature weapon, by the way?” he asked, that playful smirk never diminishing. 

Ah, fuck. Busted. 

You cleared your throat, a warmth dancing across your cheeks at the reality you were now faced with. You knew that your decision to carry this weapon out of slight admiration was bound to come up one day, but you had hoped it would be much further down the line than this. You began trying to pace away from Jack, your feet moving towards the door. 

But something stopped you. 

Jack reached out and placed his hand on your arm, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Now you were really done for. You dared to make eye contact with the cowboy again, and butterflies swirled in your stomach as you did. 

“Well? Come on, don’t keep me waitin’. I don’t know many that would choose such a weapon. Colour me intrigued!” he said. 

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled to yourself. You figured there was no better time than the present to rip this bandaid off, anyway…

“Fine, fine! Twist my arm, why don’t you,” you began, clearing your throat and inhaling sharply before continuing. 

“I read your file before I knew about you from Tequila, and your stats impressed me immensely. Your success rate, how little you got injured, and the kind of missions you were involved with. From a professional standpoint, I admired the work you did,” you said. “And then I finally got the chance to speak to Tex about you. He told me so much about you, but one detail that always stood out was your choice of weapon. I’ll admit, I was intrigued.”

“Really?!” Jack said, dropping his hand from your arm and replacing playful smirk for a smile of genuine joy. You chuckled as you watched him, slightly giddy, at the prospect that you might have for a second been inspired by him.  

“Yes, really . I couldn’t get my head around the benefit of a weapon like this,” you gestured to the whip by tapping the handle that was hooked to your hip, “But I was interested in finding out. So, on the downlow, I had my training officer show me the way with one”. 

“Who was your T.O?” Jack asked, the two of you now heading towards the exit. 

“Eve. She’s just got back from a prolonged, and well deserved, break. Have you ever worked with her?” you asked. Jack smiled and nodded.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure. Does explain a whole lot about you and your training style though, given she shaped you into an agent.”

“She’s the best. I’ve missed her these last couple of months, but it’s been nice to not be worried about her getting injured recently,” you said. Jack shrugged before opening the door for you, allowing you to step out of the weapons room, then followed by him. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. From what I recall Eve seemed to have a knack for getting herself into a pickle even when she wasn’t working!”. 

You laughed to yourself as you locked the weapons room door behind the two of you, turning the key in the lock and then entering the code 719002 into the door. He wasn’t wrong about Eve - even if he hadn’t worked with her for a couple of years, his assessment was alarmingly accurate. She was the best agent you’d ever worked with, but her ability to get caught up in minor self-inflicted accidents was almost comical.��

“You’re not wrong, I’ve seen her trip over thin air before,” you said, still giggling. Jack laughed with you, and then softened as you turned to look at him. 

“Thank you, for today. And for your patience in general. I know I haven’t been the easiest agent to train,” Jack said. You chuckled. 

“You can say that again,” you told him, winking playfully as you tucked the key to the weapons room in the inner pocket of your jacket. 

“Sorry,” he winced. 

“It’s nothing, Jack. You’re a pain in my ass, but… I’m coming to like having to deal with your… quirks ,” you chuckled. 

“ Quirks ?!” he said, not able to hold back a laugh. 

“Yes, quirks! You’re bloody impossible sometimes!”. 

Jack laughed with you, then shook his head in amusement. He knew you weren’t wrong, and that he had been reluctant to some of the changes which had been made recently, but every day he was grateful for the attention and devotion you showed him. 

“Okay, okay, fine . I’ll admit it!” he said, raising his hands as though he was in surrender. You giggled, playfully patting the side of his right rib cage gently as a physical way of telling him to knock it off. 

Jack smiled down at you, feeling totally relaxed in your presence. There hadn’t been many instances in the last two years where he’d felt like he was genuinely calm, or at peace. But something about this friendship that was blossoming between the two of you made him feel like nothing had ever gone awry, and that life wasn’t perfect. 

He had to drop his arms down to his sides fairly quickly, as he found the longer he stayed fooling around with you like this, the more he had the urge to pull you in for a huge hug. Something told him that you might not be totally against that, given the fact you’d already not shied away from using physical touch with him where needed, but that was a line he knew he shouldn’t cross. 

“Go see Loretta, Jack. And have tomorrow off, or use it for database study. I don’t want to overwhelm you given today,” you said. Jack nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll let you know when I’ve had my session,” he said. 

“Thank you. I’ll liaise with Champ and Tequila, and let them know about this too. You just get yourself some rest,” you insisted. 

“Thank you, Mimosa. I’ll see you soon,” he smiled, and then the two of you parted ways, heading off into respective parts of the building for the rest of the afternoon.

Even in spite of the drawback Jack had faced today, he was able to walk away optimistic, and with a spring in his step. He knew he still had a long way to go, and the hours he’d need to put into it would be nothing short of monumental. But with you as his T.O, he could actually begin to imagine his life after this was over. 

A second chance. Not one he ever thought he’d deserved, but one he was slowly beginning to earn. 

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[winniethewife]

You Can’t Always Save Everybody.

(Miguel O’hara x Spidersona!Scarlette Web)

Holiday Special

Last chapter ~ Next chapter

A/N: A break from the regularly scheduled updates for some holiday angst. Takes place in the same universe but before our story takes place. Image By @joycemelanee1 on twitter

Words: 435

It was the first Christmas after Miguel had died. Valentine had been invited to stay With Peter B. and MJ, they had just recently gotten married (for the second time) but despite their newly rekindled love they were more than willing to take in a stray with nowhere to go for the holidays. After dinner, on Christmas eve, Val wandered over to the window that looked out on the city, it had just started to snow, and she couldn’t help but think about last Christmas.

~

Valentine Looks around the room trying to spot Her husband, they had been invited to this Christmas party By the member of a band that was under the same management company as Miguel’s Band “Scarlet’s Web” the place was packed and the music was loud but that was relatively normal for her, Just as she was about to give up and call Miguel to figure out where he was when her spidey senses started to go off and she turned around to see Miguel sneaking up on her with a grin on his face. She gave him a smirk.

“Nice Try Tiger.” She laughs as he looks at her and snaps is fingers.

“Darn, Chiquita. Your pequeña araña abilities always get in the way of my fun” He says with a laugh. He pulled her in close holding on to her waist. “Well not all of my fun.”  He says flirtatiously.

“Whatever do you mean? I don’t think I’m getting in the way of any fun.” She says sarcastically. He laughs.

“No, No of course not. Mi Esposa es el alma de la fiesta.” He says flirtatiously as he grabs her hips sways against her, causing them both to laugh.

“Mi escandaloso marido, causando conmoción.”

“Hey, who you calling escandaloso? Eh?” He chuckles while leading in to nibble on her ear. “Chiquita, Que linda mi niña” He whispers as he continues to move with her in time to the music, their own private dance in the corner of the party.

“Merry Christmas Tiger.”

“Feliz navidad querida”

“You okay Valentine?” Peter B. asks, She had been standing at the window watching the snow fall for a while.

“Hm? Oh yeah…Just a little a haunted by the ghost of Christmas past.”

“I get that. If you need anything…I’d like to say I’m the ghost of Christmas Present. But really that’s just because my presence is a gift.” He winks at her and she laughs.

“Thanks. I’ll be there soon. I promise.” She says before looking out on the snowy scene of Earth-616B.

Won't you bring back my baby to me?

~

Translation

pequeña araña: Little spider

Mi Esposa es el alma de la fiesta.: My Wife is the life of the party

Mi escandaloso marido, causando conmoción: My scandalous husband, causing a commotion.

Chiquita, Que linda mi niña: Little one, how pretty my girl

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Tag: @femmeanonymelives

[punkshort]

hello darling i’m sorry to bother you but i just wanted to let you know that i looooved the first part of in another life 🤍 i wasn’t sure if it’d be my thing since i pretty much only read joel but i really enjoyed it. do you know when the next part will be out? no pressure or rush at all, just wondering. have a great day!! 🫶🏻

Hi there! It's no bother at all, thank you for asking because I have the entire month planned out.

My plan is to post part two next weekend - fair warning, I have a lot of things I need to update this month so I'm going to be annoying for a bit. Here's the schedule for the next two weeks:

Saturday I am posting the last chapter of Roommates, Sunday I'm posting another fic request, and sometime mid next week I'll post a "the way we were" / "look what we've become" one-shot just checking in with them since this month was the 1 year anniversary.

And the next weekend my plan is to update Swept Away and In Another Life.

I feel like I just ran a marathon typing all that out lol

I hope all of these updates won't be too annoying and clog up the tags/dash but I have a lot of requests that I'm trying to do quicker, as well as a handful of series I'm trying to keep updated regularly.

So brace yourselves and I apologize in advance for posting a ton of stuff!

[signiorbenedickofpadua]

Lecturing, please!

(For the WIP tag game, list of titles in the og WIP game post here.)

But of course! Several of you asked about this one, so I put a quick summary of the premise as well as a snippet from the fic in PART ONE, and I'll give you a continuation of that snippet here in part two, and perhaps the mystery of the identity of the handsome stranger might even be revealed in PART THREE!

Enjoy!

PART TWO

All this changed one day when Hob asked the class if anyone remembered what the first known book to be published by William Caxton was and was met by total silence. This was not an entirely unusual occurrence, but it usually happened only when he asked them about something actually obscure. “What, none of you remember?” he asked, then when his only response was a few head shakes, he added, “Did none of you do the assigned reading this week? Not a single one?”

Even if that was true, someone should have known that piece of trivia, surely? What did they teach the youth of today? There was some murmuring amongst the students, then one of the less shy ones piped up, saying, “I don’t think you assigned us anything for this week.” “Didn’t I?” He tried to think back to the end of the lecture last week and realised that no, he hadn’t said anything about it. He had been a bit tired last week. Actually, he was always a bit tired by this point in the week. Fridays right after lunch was not his favourite time to lecture. “Whoops, must have slipped my mind to mention it. Let this serve as a lesson to regularly check the schedule and instructions online and not rely fully on my reminders.” Some more uncomfortable whispering followed this, and another student said, “Um, it’s not actually online either.” She held up her phone as proof, as if he could read the text on the screen at that distance. He’d have to take her word for it. “Christ, all right. My bad. I humbly retract my scolding. I’ll look over it later to make sure it’s fully updated in future.” As he was mentally rewriting the next part of the lecture in light of his oversight, he was interrupted by a voice saying, “The Canterbury Tales.” It was a deep, rich, velvety voice which Hob couldn’t place for the life of him. He blinked, returning to the there and then. “Sorry?” “Caxton’s first major publication,” the voice clarified, and Hob looked over to see that it was Mr Front Row who had spoken up, because of course the man would have the most gorgeous voice to go along with his looks, just to torture Hob. “It was The Canterbury Tales. 1476, if memory serves.” Tired as he was, Hob had to look down at his notes to confirm this. “That’s…absolutely right. Huh.” He nodded at the man, then gave the rest of the class a pointed look. “At least one of you read ahead, eh?” he said, trying to put a humorous spin on it. There were a few scattered chuckles among the students, but the man did not smile—he very rarely did. However, the corner of his mouth twitched in a way which suggested that he was not far off. As Hob resumed his lecturing, he tried not to feel too pleased about making the man almost-smile, because no. Nope. Nuh-uh. Donotgo there. Not a good place to go at all. Best to just put it all out of mind and forget he ever heard that fucking voice. Given how quiet the man had been up until now, he’d likely not hear it again in a hurry. Hopefully. Unfortunately.

[ros3ybabe]

Mini Update & Check-in: September 24th, 2023 🎀

Hi my lovelies!

I haven't posted in a little over a week, a week and a halfish I think? I have been so busy with work, school, my mentorships, and studying Japanese all while being informed of a trip to see my boyfriend in about 2 weeks, trying to sleep more then 5 hours a night, and incorporating more self care into my routine. I've been a little spread thin.

I had about 5 crying breakdowns in the last 2.5 weeks due to stress and exhaustion and overwhelm, but after this week, everything should calm down and go back to normal (at least I hope?)

Here's some updates on my life:

I've been consistently studying Japanese on both duolingo and busuu, with the occasional use of renshuu as a tool. I created a study plan for using Genki I and have a list of goals for October that I will post by the end of the week! I actually bought a year of busuu premium cause I really like the app!

I have a presentation for my Food Fundamentals class due Tuesday by 2pm and its Sunday night and I haven't started because I'm so busy. But the threat of the dealine will push me into gear, so at the very least I know I'll get it done.

I get to go see my boyfriend in 2 weeks! His mom bought my flight tickets for there and back, and I get to see him for 4 days. I haven't seen him in 3 months in person, so I am incredibly excited! + it'll be a mini vacation from work and kinda from school, too, at least from my Monday and Tuesday classes.

I have been the most moody and irritable that I've been in a while due to my hormones being messed up (thank you, depo shot window for opening and reminding me to order my depo meds!), lack of sleep, overconsumption of caffiene, and a minor neglect of my mental health

I do see all the lovely things you guys send to my inbox, and I see everything I get tagged in. I apologize for not responding, I've been busy, and I honestly get so awkward with not knowing how to respond or what to say. But I am not ignoring you all, and I am so grateful for how kind and sweet you all have been. It makes my day every time I check my tumlr and see new things I've been sent. You all are so amazing and kind, and I am so very thankful for all the support and encouragement you guys send!

So that's just a little snippet of my life recently. I promise I will start updating a bit more regularly this week once things calm down. I miss posting my updates and my goals and sharing my thoughts with all of you. This blog has given me such a safe space to be my authentic self, and I'm so extremely grateful for this community and all 500+ of you guys!!

I think I'll post an update for Monday the 25th and Tuesday the 26th combined, and then I'll do each day following separately (that's my goal for now). I'm also going to be sharing my *tentstive* Japanese study schedule using Genki I textbook and workbook, my Japanese goals for the month of October, and I'm still working on that stationery review list as well!!

Thank you all!!! I love you guys so much 💗

Til next time lovelies!! 🩷

[thefootnotes]

⋆⋅welcome⋅⋆ call me ellis. he/him pronouns. trans, pansexual. fanboy. chronically online, i write fanfics and poetry. i stand with palestine. ambiverted infp-t. type six. sagittarius. gmt +9:30. founding fuck. just a jolly little fella tryna get by. i run @onedirectionandblank, the @bemyvalentinechallenge, and @thecornerwehaunt - please check them out.

autumnleavesforwinter -> holes-in-my-false-confidence -> timecanalwayshealyou -> roundagaininanemotionalblender -> theblackdog-taylorsversion -> fandomestloser

⋆⋅links⋅⋆ my ao3 my spotify discord: loneolecowboy - dms welcome.

fandom list, fic masterpost, requests, asks, tags beneath the cut

⋆⋅fandoms⋅⋆

one direction/solo - this is my main fandom. i rb all sorts, i discuss music, and i write fanfics. my main 1d fic atm is on hiatus. will be a few months before i return to it.

hamilton - this is my other main fandom. i rb my mutuals fics, and the occasional fanart. i discuss the songs and write fanfics. my main wip atm, watch the sun rise, is being updated as regularly as i can make work!

5sos - side fandom. i dont fic around here, but i *do* talk about their music a little bit (and calum. because like. calum.)

marauders - side fandom. i write fanfics (predominantly wolfstar) - all linked below.

rwrb - side fandom. i write fanfics, again, linked below.

heartstopper - side fandom. currently only wip fanfics, but hoping to get some out soon! mostly tara&darcy.

nevermoor - side fandom. currently only wips - mostly morrigan&cadence or hawthorne&___ fics atm.

noah kahan - side fandom. i discuss music and cry a lot. like a lot lot. was at melb. n1 of the stick season tour<3 (acoustic set!! view between villages!! passenger!! help me!!!!!) (seriously please leave asks/reach out, i love talking about noah.)

others:

ed sheeran

hozier

olivia rodrigo

conan gray

billie eilish + finneas

sabrina carpenter

doctor who

taylor swift

⋆⋅complete works⋅⋆

1d:

underneath the mistletoe - larry stylinson christmas au

tear away my tattoos - larry stylinson break-up au

just for a moment - larry stylinson break-up au

grey hairs - larry stylinson old age au

greatest fear - larry stylinson 1D reunion au

hold on - larry stylinson mental health au

orange juice - larry stylinson break-up au

gone - zayn's death au

they're singing deck the halls - larry stylinson advent calendar fic

challenge collections (including wolfstar, firstprince, 1d, hamilton)

whumptober 2023 - masterpost.

whumpcember 2023

whumpuary 2024 - masterpost

⋆⋅ongoing works⋅⋆

1d:

caffeine factor - ziam mayne coffee shop au - on hiatus.

letters from my bedroom floor - poetry compilation

hamilton:

watch the sun rise - fic post

⋆⋅coming soon⋅⋆

forever - fic post coming soon

2011 - fic post coming soon

painkillers series - series + fic posts coming soon

⋆⋅requests⋅⋆

i take fanfiction requests for almost any tropes and pairings, in the fandoms listed above. no explicit sexual content, no non-con underage, no a/b/o dynamics, and no y/n fics requests. one shots will most likely be written and posted within two months, depending on my personal schedule, and the complexity of the request.

⋆⋅tags⋅⋆

#mutuals - my lovely mooties #ask answered - asks #ellis is at it again - me completely bullshitting my way through life/being a complete dumbass. #ellis is angry again - me ranting/getting political

⋆⋅asks⋅⋆

ask whatever. be respectful. or dont. i dont really care.

⋆⋅mutuals⋅⋆

my lovely mutuals; @jittyjames 💙 @enchantedlandcoffee @keeganisabluegreener 💕 @felizusnavidad @surrowndedbylights💡 @fansykiltentragedry @queerhoodie @elledino @loveheartslouis @larrysballetslippers @braverytattoos @littleohs @hellolovers13 @parmahamlarrie @l0veproof @cc-horan28 🥔 @ravenclawdirectioner @mynightsoutofsight @weeping-in-the-willows 🍭 @skeelly @fandomgirl1999 @idontwanttobeabuzzkill @allll-these-ruins 🔞 @evilteapot 🫖 @lighter-like-a-feather 💋 @like-the-stars-i-shine @youareinlovetv @faintedlcve @abodyhasbeenfound 🌌 @anniesmusingsoneverything @starduckys 🦆 @lonelydncers @berryzxx @runwiththerain @foaming-sea @bodybetters @a-beautiful-fool 🦋 @half-eaten-baguetteee @fresasconsal @alltheliars 🔪 @i-must-confess-i-am-an-idiot 🍁 @kurtcobainsgreencardigan 🩷 @octoberconstellation @stars-over-ice-cream @rep-meow-tay-tion 🌻 @justlikeyou

(i am at some point going to assign you all like. emojis or tags or something. it is just 1:18am and im delirious so not right now.) (also this is absolutely everyone i follow who follows me back. i would like to get closer to a lot of these people, as i dont talk much to most of them. i also am always up for meeting new mutuals but im socially awkward so you gotta reach out lmao.)

⋆⋅thank you⋅⋆

this post is regularly updated for challenges/works/links, etc.

[pttwice]

important updates!

hello hello! :) i'm officially done with college! that also means that i'll have more time to write, so i have a few updates:

the first and biggest update is that i'll now be following a rough upload schedule! this will help me stay on track with writing fics more regularly and so i'm not disappearing for weeks at a time :)

as of right now, the fic schedule will be posted below. everything is subject to change depending on my day-to-day life, but i'm excited to be writing more regularly again

i'll be opening my request box the first week of every month! if you have anything you'd like me to write within that first week of the month, please send it in! :) i really do love writing what you want and this will also make sure that i'm able to get to everyone's requests in a timely fashion! (i'll always make a post the first day my request box is open and the last day)

i'll be traveling from april 1st until the 25th so the few fics and things that are going to be posted around that time will be from my pre-written and on a queue. this means i won't be able to respond to anything, but there will be a few things uploaded while i'm away :)

that's all i can think of right now, but i'm very excited to be writing again! 💚

if you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask me. even though my requests are only going to be open for a week every month, my inbox is always open if you want to chat!

[ stuff on tuesday and saturday tagged "joon had a thought" can be anything from a few pictures of the members to a short drabble! ]

[updates-from-po-town]

We’re back in business, baybieeee!

Long story short, being disbanded didn’t last long. You numbskulls missed us and we missed you. Team Skull is a family yo!

So since our poor Shady House just sat empty in our brief absence, we decided to slap a few dozen new coats of paint on it and move back in! And with Aether outta our hair, we can leave all that crap behind us and get back to our regularly scheduled chaos. No more wormholes and interdemensional horrors, just good old, family-friendly, petty crime.

Follow to stay up-to-date on what’s going down in Po Town, and send your asks if ya got ‘em!

Wanna be a part of the fam, but you're not in Alola? Check out the Team Skull Expanded Directory HERE!

NEVER LET UP!

~Account run by Head Grunt Calla

Pelipper Mail: OPEN!

((Follows from @ratt-teeth , ooc rules and info below the cut, please read before interacting! Last updated: 10/24/23))

__________

Heyo, it's the mun here! Everything here below the cut is blog info and housekeeping~

GENERAL INFO AND BLOG CANON:

This blog acts as the in-universe "official" page for Team Skull. It's run by Calla, who is considered the "head grunt" of the team. While it's supposed to be run as an official update account, she often uses it as a personal blog. More info on Calla can be found here and here.

While this blog is mostly gen, it's definitely more on the pg-13 side. Given the nature of Team Skull, there will be swearing, adult humor, and innuendo. If this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block, I promise I won't get offended!

In the history for this blog, Team Skull reassembled about a year or so after disbanding, this time without any influence from Aether. They're back to just being a gang of goofy hooligans.

Should also note that this will more or less follow Sun and Moon's canon. I didn't particularly care for a lot of the plot changes in USUM, especially regarding Lusamine’s arc, so I'll be disregarding most of them.

While anyone is welcome to interact, I generally prefer other human characters over sentient pokemon. This blog follows the canon that pokemon are only slightly more sapient than real life animals, and Calla will assume most pokemon-run blogs are just people role-playing, and she's just playing along. (Whoa, meta!)

The above rule also applies to canon characters from other franchises/series.

Pelipper Mail is open and will be treated as if it was actually delivered via Pelipper (or other flying Pokemon)

RULES AND BOUNDARIES:

This blog is generally LOW-STAKES. While Calla may occasionally make commentary on higher-stakes events, please do not attempt to rope me into high-stakes scenarios without discussing it first. Absolutely no ultra/death-stakes. While mentions of death are fine and expected (such as in a backstory or in reference to agriculture/Pokemon as food) I prefer not to participate in it directly. I'm mainly using this blog for goofy fun-times, so please be considerate.

If you OR your character are a minor, absolutely NO flirty/romantic interactions. Friendly interactions and banter are fine and encouraged, but both me and my character are full-grown adults. This is a hard line to ensure everyone’s comfort and safety.

No magic anons!

This one isn't a hard boundary, but I tend not to lean too far into things like fallers/alternate realities, Pokemon-human hybrids, etc.

☆ Overall, this blog's canon tends to be more on the realistic side. I started this blog because I loved the idea started by @/realpokemon of combining the whimsical Pokemon world with the mundane-ness of the real world, and the challenge of balancing the two. While a lot of blogs in the community lean into the more zany and fantastical side of Pokemon, I just personally prefer keeping things more in line with the mainline games but with a touch of realism more akin to the real world.

TAGS:

Original posts/relevant reblogs: #updates from po town

Asks: #answered asks

Out of character/maintenance posts: #ooc , #housekeeping and #behind the curtain

Posts involving Guzma and Plumeria: #guzma and #plumeria respectively

Posts involving my various grunt NPCs: #grunt spotlight

Posts that revolve around Calla or her opinions: #all about calla

Posts including the Team Skull regional branches: #team skull expanded

[watchingblsnowandforever]

[This is my nth time doing an intro post and I still have no idea how to go about it]

Heyy! I'm Koko =D

She/they 🏳️‍🌈

Age? Hm, maybe I'm a 100+ year old vampire, maybe I'm an adolescent. Who knows...

Welcome to my blog! *pushes stuff into a suspicious looking closet and forces the door closed* It's a mess, but then again, my whole life is a mess so-

8 Me Facts: love watching queer dramas (mostly South/South-East Asian, and especially Thai Bls or GLs), like learning languages (fluent in two, can speak bits of around eight, and I can say 'I love you' in about 12 languages), desi and very gay, love all animals, a sucker for love and given the chance a very sappy romantic, love taking pictures (especially of the moon and flowers), eternally sleep deprived (with a nonexistent sleep schedule) and I have around a million hyperfixations at any given point (I'm also passionate about a bunch of things)

Oh, and I also write. Sometimes. When my brain lets me-

My fandoms are too many, and I occassionally dabble in most of them, but mostly I'm active in the BL ones

Tumblr wifey @desi-yearning <3 [And as she so put it, I am "an absolute idiot" and a "self critical piece of shit" which... actually says a lot about me. (It's okay, sweetheart I know you love me. <3)]

if you wanna know more about me

My Watchlist (basically Thai BL and other assorted Asian dramas) My (sorta) crack posts: -> We Are -> My Love Mix Up Th My kinda dormant but very beloved Cherry Magic Th trash blog @achi-karan

I don't have Spotify, but music is at least 80% of my life, and I listen to anything that tickles my ears

My asks are always open, for song recs, for moodboard or aesthetics requests, or if you wanna rant about something or just wanna be silly <3

Some other stuff below the cut (my vague as hell DNI, BL lineups, maybe a BL rec list if I can get started on making one, my fics maybe)

GMMTV 2024 lineup in order of personal preference that I update mostly regularly

DNI: I cannot and will not keep anyone forcefully off my blog, and if I don't like you I'll simply unfollow. NSFW? Well, my blog is mostly a SFW space, but I do reblog a lot of bls, and not all of them are PG-13, but I do try to always tag these stuff.

[toodrasticallydumb]

20 questions for fic writers

Oh! Hello! I was tagged by @pinkytoothlesso11 ! Thanks for thinking of me pinky! I’m kinda new to the whole fanfic scene so i really appreciate it! This was already a long list of questions to begin with but i fear i may have made it worse…

OH WELL HAVE FUN SPORT :}>

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Unfortunately just 2, though I do plan to add a few more in the future as ideas flow. Might take me a minute ‘cause my schedule is just a little bit kinda sorta really swamped down with my main child which requires let me you, A LOT OF CARE DONT SIGN UP TO ADOPT KIDS PEOPLE IT’S NOT—

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Phew. ummmm it changes very rapidly (because i’m a girl w suspected adhd and can NEVER be told to shut up) with every chapter but as of this moment is 228,665! wow! i don’t really know how great of a number that is but i’m sure it’s a lot! I told you I can never shut up! (-whispers- Hey kid, u want some dRuGs? i mean- an update? That itty bitty word count is about to take another not regularly scheduled mini-skyrocket so get ready for it ehehe ;})

3. What fandoms do you write for?

For now, just Trollhunters/Tales of Arcadia, mainly Trollhunters despite the fact that the first of the Tales of Arcadia shows that i watched and really enjoyed was actually 3-Below, but oh well my man is in Trollhunters sooooo oopsie but i DO have some random snippets of fics for Miraculous (rewrite), the Star Wars sequels (rewrite), Batman, some for the Dream SMP, and weirdly enough also Raya and the Last Dragon (rewrite). All of which i prolly wont ever post because i wrote them a while ago and yeaaaahhh not my best writing but if i get enough people other than my best friend wanting me to post them, i might…

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

uhhhh i dont actually HAVE five fics to my name, so i’ll just…put em in order (w their long-ahh title names):

Trollhunter!Strickler: Destiny's Ill-fitted Chosen

'A MiStAkE' because I haven't updated in ages--A Stricklake month 2023 prompt collection

but i am so happy for the people who have left so many kudos on my work it really warms mah little heart ❤️

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. At first, I sorta struggled with it (who the heck am i kidding i STILL do) but since my fic USED to be two times a week updates i would feel like i couldn’t respond to a comment left after i posted a new chapter so i might’ve left some comments in the earlier days unanswered, super sorry. Nowadays i make it a point to reply back to everyone in the order that they commented in because (anxiety makes me think if i don’t respond they won’t comment anymore and know that i love reading their comments and that they’re so amazing for actually taking the time to write something back AND I DO LOVE IT I PROMISE IT JUST TAKES ME A WHILE TO RESPOND—) …because it’s pretty chill to geek out w em and see they liked stuff that i loved to write! I do have a backlog of comments to get to i just end up overthinking everything to match the person’s energy to be sure they know i love em.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Unfortunately, i haven’t actually finished a fully-fledged fic to say it has the angstiest ending bUt definitely a contender would be chapter 1 of my 2023 Stricklake prompt collection because i just leave it on the sad note and don’t do anything about it because angst and because spoilers for my actual story fic that will eventually make it to that point.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Happiest ending, huh? I like to say that most of the things i will/have chosen to write end happy/hopeful because i hate when books/tv shows end bittersweetly it’s like i have enough with life itself being bittersweet most of the time let me be happy LET THEM BE HAPPY. But that doesn’t exclude me from providing the proper banquet of angst that ends in caretaking, my absolute favorite trope.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh heck no. I would be devastated honestly, but thankfully everyone who comments is always the sweetest and kindest people ever and really encourage me to keep going, for that i am only thankful.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No. Just no. I love romance but i am a minor, so i’ve never consumed smut nor intend to ever write it. Give me a soft romance and loving gestures, I can allude to greater happenings but not details.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I don’t, sorry. I don’t know something in me just doesn’t sit well with crossovers, for the life of me I don’t know why. Like genuinely i wish i could get into them but maybe it’s like food on a plate? i don’t like the foods touching each other so maybe the same rules apply??? yeah i’m drasticallydumb

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that i know of, no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t believe so, and if someone did they’re in for a heck of a lot of work there…

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! I’d like to sometime but i have no idea how one even goes about making a co-written fic, on top of which i am a very sporadic person in terms of motivation and random ideas produced by a song i’m listening to while writing.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Stricklake obviously is a really big contender if not the winner, the ship that brought me to AO3, writing fanfics, and tumblr. But, if i had to pick other options i’d say Eugene and Repunzel from Tangled would be one of my ogs, another might be uhhh Chris and Aviva from Wild Kratts the og of the ogs.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Chapter 3 of my stricklake 2023 prompt collection, it just has a lot of moving parts and me and my best friend are chronic procrastinators and with the month pretty far gone it might just end up sittin’ there for the foreseeable future 😞 but who knows

16. What are your writing strengths?

Phew, that’s a dozy mainly because i’m not super sure. I’d like to think one of my main strengths is descriptions and really putting you in the mind of the character, i don’t really like spelling things out and i like a little investigating to get you where u end up, u know? I like to think my writing FEELS a little more like a show on a page rather than a true book, most to blame would be my maladaptive daydreaming taking up a lot of time in my planning for my writing.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Ah. How the turn tables. I would say that my weaknesses in writing mostly consist of me going a little *too* far into detail on meaningless things or making it too convoluted for people to understand, sometimes spelling it out is better in certain scenarios and i just really need to get myself past that. Another one i would say is that i go REALLY into detail not only in a sentence/chapter sense but also a complete STORYLINE sense, i hate time skips and i shoot myself in the foot wanting to completely document every moment of everyday w a character and hence it seems like a lot of time in universe hasn’t gone by. Trying to improve and grow tho 💪

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Can’t wait to do more of it! Especially with Claire and her family (including NotEnrique) speaking spanglish w each other automatically mainly because i am hispanic and completely fluent in Spanish and live in a similar household so i just love to add a little ✨personalization✨ to my dialogue and interactions in that way. Other languages………….yeaaaahhh i’m not super good will prolly use google translate and hope.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Trollhunters, my gateway into AO3. HOWEVER. if you promise not to tell, the very first fandom i read/wanted to write a fanfic for was actually, as far as i can tell, Wordgirl. don’t ask why. don’t ask me how. it just kinda happened. But, officially, it’s Trollhunters. (maybe with a side of Warrior Cats).

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Not hard at all! My pride and joy, my youngest baby in the grand scheme of my writing journey, Trollhunter!Strickler: Destiny's Ill-fitted Chosen! A surprise to absolutely NO ONE. It’s honestly so amazing to both write and see people read and enjoy as much as I do, he’s my little man ❤️ And doing so much rewriting and character growth and having so much written and planned for the future, it’s just my absolute fav