#rubble trouble series

[nitromians]

Oodlegobs invading Nitrome by beeeeesive

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

i miss who i used to be

Summary: In the aftermath of Ultron, two Sokovians find themselves contemplating their pasts and their loneliness in the present. When their paths cross again, they might just find comfort in one another's company.

Word Count: 1379 Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: grief/loneliness/a lot of reflection on topics of that nature A/N: First part of a short series of sorts? Childhood friends to lovers kinda vibe which maybe could have been a one shot but I wanted to try something different! I have the next part written but after that, let me know what you'd like to see happen between Wanda and R (any interactions/conversations to be had/etc.) and it might influence where this story goes 👀

Part 1 of 'half of my hometown' series masterlist next part ->

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If there’s one thing she knows, it’s grief.

Wanda Maximoff was born and raised in a war-torn country; she’s borne witness to a lifetime of destruction, endured suffering, and experienced the slow death of dreams. It seemed like there could be no worse feeling since she’d already experienced it all, but life seemed determined to prove her wrong.

After all that, it took her brother.

If her life were to be likened to the myth of Pandora’s Box, then Pietro Maximoff would have been her hope – the one bright light in her life that she believed could never fade, that would never leave her. From the second she was born, and for 26 years thereafter, Pietro had always been by her side; no matter what happened, they went through it together, reacted together, and emerged alive on the other side together. For all their disagreements, Wanda couldn’t think of a single experience she hadn’t shared with Pietro. Which makes this new feeling – the painful, unenviable knot of loneliness in her heart – all the more terrifying.

Pietro will never share it.

Months continue to pass, with Wanda taking notice of nothing but herself becoming more withdrawn, avoiding Stark's parties and spending more time in her room, where she can let the loneliness consume her. She really did try when the Avengers first brought her to America, but Pietro had always been the social twin, and the conversations only made his absence more pronounced.

Wanda's mood worsens as her loneliness grows, but only she can see the change in herself. The team hardly noticed the difference -- they hadn't even known her before her grief, so how could they see what it had caused in her?

Lingering on the thought, Wanda realises there is no one left who remembers the girl she used to be before the pain and grief and suffering. She used to believe that her childhood friendships would last forever, but those friends are likely gone, she thinks, lost to the rubble just as her family were. Wanda Maximoff is the last person alive who could ever remember her true personality, but now, even she isn’t so sure.

»»————-　★　————-««

On that same night, in that same building, you suffer from the same line of thought. Brought from Sokovia to America in your early teens, joining SHIELD was your way of doing good in a world you knew firsthand needed help. You hadn’t expected it to be your own teammates and colleagues who had been causing the troubles in the first place; some went under with HYDRA’s exposition, but many remained, passing test after test because, despite the presence of their names on documents approving the bombing of your birth city, they truly had no allegiance to HYDRA. They are SHIELD agents throughout, but that doesn’t make them ‘good’.

Your sense of hope is naive, really. It’s a remnant of the lingering childhood sentiment that you would make the most of your escape to America, to make real change and bring peace to the friends you left behind. By now, you’ve seen the worst of SHIELD, endured mockery for your opinions, watched the organisation fall and then rise again only somewhat cleansed to assist the Avengers, yet you still work for them. Perhaps it’s fear that keeps you here, perhaps it’s delusion, but either way, you find your workarounds and do your best to progress.

That’s the situation that leads you to now, patrolling the halls of the Avengers Compound at 2am, pondering what you are even working for now that the only evidence left of your country’s capital city is a crater full of rubble. 

Loneliness takes centre stage when you work night shifts – an unfortunate coincidence considering loneliness is what caused you to take the time slot in the first place. You don’t want to work with your colleagues, always feeling like you’re on the sidelines of the group, never quite as close to them as they are to each other – now exacerbated by the seed of doubt that any one of them may have seen your country as a necessary sacrifice, an inevitable fatality in a world of war. 

It’s easier to work alone, you tell yourself again, but you begin to doubt it.

With no country to return to, no relatives, and no friends at work, you wonder how else you can change yourself before you finally fit in. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to be alone.

»»————-　★　————-««

Those thoughts are interrupted by whirring machinery, and you suddenly snap to attention and creep towards the Avengers’ gym. An intruder wouldn’t settle down for a quick training session, you imagine, and lower your guard marginally, but still ready yourself for a confrontation – there shouldn’t be anyone around at 2 am.

You walk in, only to stall immediately when you see a familiar brunette on the treadmill. She’s not one of the Avengers you’ve met before, nor one of the ones you’ve only seen on TV despite living in the same building – she’s new then, you conclude, or an intruder, but that doesn’t explain why you feel like you’ve seen her face before. 

She looks up and her eyes widen when she sees you, before she shuts the treadmill off and quickly ducks her head. You don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters while she hurriedly gathers her things, “I didn’t think anyone would come in here.”

You know why you recognise her now, the accent giving it all away.

“You’re Sokovian.” The woman clearly wants to leave; her belongings are bundled in her arm and she’s taken several quick paces aiming to pass you to get to the door, but she pauses at your statement and finally raises her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re not.”

“I am,” you reply, somewhat indignantly.

“You don’t sound it.”

Your natural accent had slipped over the years, it was true, a mix of natural evolution and forced acclimatisation on your behalf as an attempt to better fit in had led to the accent you now had. Not good enough to fool your American-born colleagues, but enough, it seems, to fool your fellow Sokovian. You think carefully, the new accent is so well practised that you struggle to separate what comes naturally and which parts you condition yourself to speak with. Eventually though, you speak and let the traces of your Sokovian past shine through.

“It’s been a while,” you tell her, “13 years since I last saw Novi Grad. I thought I’d return one day but… I guess not.”

Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head ever so slightly, the action once again striking you with a sense of familiarity. She seems to shake herself out of it eventually. She tightens her grip on her belongings and finally inches past you, not speaking again until her hand is on the door handle. 

“I suppose neither of us can ever return home… your accent is rusty, Y/N, but it’s nice to see someone else survived.”

You jolt suddenly at her use of your name, but she’s gone before you can even turn around and acknowledge that she recognises you too; all that remains of her is the door slamming shut in her wake. 

Memories crash back to you of the first half of your life, it's enough that you need to take a seat before allowing yourself to reminisce. It's been thirteen years since you last saw Wanda, but you'd never forgotten the shy brunette you used to run to and from school with; the girl whose apartment you would visit whenever the power went out, to huddle together and make up stories to entertain yourselves.

You wonder briefly why she left the gym so suddenly, rather than staying and catching up, but you realise that even you need a moment to process the fact that one of your friends, a memory from your past, is not only still alive, but also living in the same building as you. It seems likely that you'll see her again, and you hope it's something that she wants too.

You're already planning to give her time, but no matter how the night started, the encounter plants a seed of hope in you that the future might just be a little less lonely.

next part ->

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General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

(Might do a series taglist for this too - let me know if you'd like to be added! @family-house-of-m you have no choice but to be tagged)

[kastlequill]

ii/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus bigeminus

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 1.4k synopsis: the second time you save gaz tags: whumptober, broken bones, blood and injury, wound tending, hurt/comfort, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: war ao3: read here ← prev | next →

II.

The first time you left the base’s vicinity to operate out in the field was under less than ideal circumstances.  

You’d been stitching up a deep laceration across the chest of an infantryman when your radio crackled to life. On the other end of the comms, Captain Price had informed you of his squad’s status after a particularly nasty ambush near a series of steep cliffs not too far off from the medbay. While Sergeant McTavish and that lieutenant had managed to avoid the worst of the damage, one Sergeant Garrick was currently still stuck under several large bits of debris. Before the captain tried pulling him free, he wanted medical personnel to be on standby. 

So here you were, staring at a pile of rubble, wondering just how far below laid the man out of whom you’d dug a bullet some weeks ago. 

“Have you been able to contact him, Captain?” you asked so as to fill the silence with something, anything other than your unrelenting thoughts of paranoia and worst-case scenarios. 

Price nodded, his hands grabbing onto the collar of his tactical vest. “Affirmative. We checked in just before you arrived.”

“Put him on the line.”

The captain unclipped a hand-held radio from his waistband and tossed it your way before turning around to convene with his remaining men. You raised the device to the level of your chin, pressed the button on its side, and spoke.

“Sergeant Garrick,” you greeted, tone clinical and matter-of-fact. “Can you hear me?”

A cough sounded through the static. “Nice to hear a familiar voice, Doc.”

You almost snorted at that; familiarity wasn’t exactly the first word you’d use to describe your professional relationship with the guy. The two of you hadn’t exchanged more than a few acknowledging gestures since that day his comrades dragged him into the clinic. In fact, until this very moment, you’d thought he had forgotten all about the interaction, reducing you to a mere vagueness in his pain-hazed memory.

It appeared, however, that the sergeant remembered plenty enough. While he had managed to stay out of trouble—and thus out of your orbit—during this past string of weeks, the pit in your stomach had never quite left.

Your initial premonition had proven correct. Injured again. Through no fault of his own, yes, but establishing fault was hardly important when it came to life and death.

“How are you faring down there? Try and rank your pain on a scale of one to ten.” While you waited for him to respond, you began to set up your equipment, digging for your stethoscope, for bandages and gauze. Once everything was to your satisfaction, a quick wave of your hand brought Captain Price back to the site, ready to excavate the final member of his team.

“Feels like a bloody mountain of rocks just fell on top o’ me, how ‘bout that?”

Damn soldiers. Always difficult, always stubborn. “A number, Gaz.”

“Between a three and a four,” he relented after a few beats of silence. His voice sounded strained despite his efforts to conceal the truth of his current state. “But no rush, yeah? The quiet’s not so bad.”

You handed the radio back to the captain, with whom you shared a look. Freeing Gaz was your highest priority; there’d be no more delays.

Price signaled for McTavish and the one called Ghost to approach the rubble, and, together, the three of them got to digging. Their gloved hands lifted debris, methodically removing boulders and slabs of earth in a way that would minimize the risk of it all toppling down. It was arduous work, but involving heavier machinery might do more harm than good.

Ten minutes into the unburial, they located him. Pinned beneath stone, in an air pocket—alive. McTavish and Ghost relieved the crushing weight, enabling Price to grab Gaz by the arms and drag him towards an open spot of land. There, he tried to sit upright, eager to become of use, but a single stern if I catch you moving before the medic gives the all clear, I’ll make your arse clean latrines for the next month, hear? from his captain had him stilling.

As you knelt closer to the wounded man, those brown eyes swiveled to meet yours, trapping you with their alert intensity. Dirt was speckled across the bridge of his nose, appearing more like a patch of constellations than grime, and a cut crusted with dried blood ran through his left brow. Dust clung to his lashes, exhaustion deep set in his face, and yet he looked. . .

Good. Too good, considering where he’d been for the last hour. Not the most professional observation, sure, but you were only human.

The longer you maintained eye-contact, the more recognizable the reverence in his stare became to you; it wasn’t uncommon for soldiers who’d been separated from their environment, from their very atmosphere, to view the mortal world as heaven itself once they returned. That same sentiment was now infused into his gaze, shining with wonder, like he had just found the answers to his life-long questions, had just stumbled upon eternal paradise.

The kiss of the wind, the hug of the sunlight, the confession of the birdsong. A utopia; Eden.

“Happy to see the sun, Sergeant?”

A flicker of confusion replaced the awe in his expression, but it was gone so quickly you questioned if it’d even been there in the first place. “Right, the sun, yes, that. Bloody ecstatic.”

Gripping his shoulders, you assisted him in moving from a supine to an upright position, your efforts careful and gradual. The amount of buckles and straps and zippers that constituted his tactical vest were unnecessarily complicated, in your opinion, which made freeing it from his body too damn difficult. After a minute of watching you struggle, Gaz took mercy on you; he brushed aside your unsteady hands, swiftly unclasping the vest and pulling it over his head with a wince.

The motion drew your attention to his face. You assessed his clenched jaw, the pronounced frown line between his brows, the strained muscles and bulging veins in his neck—all physical signs that did not particularly bode well.

“I’m going to check if anything’s broken. Is it alright if I feel my way around?” At his nod, you brought your fingers to his sternum. “This may hurt.”

And so began the routine of poking and prodding and pressing. He inhaled sharply when you touched along his midsection, over his ribs, but he waved off your whispered apology, motioning for you to continue your examination. Even through his clothes, you could discern what felt like misaligned bones, which was to be expected.

You leaned slightly away to retrieve your stethoscope then guided its ends into your ears, wanting to listen to his lungs. Carefully untucking his shirt from the waistband of his cargo pants, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric and rested the auscultatory device against the skin of his back.

“Take a deep breath in for me. Hold it. Then slowly, slowly breathe out.”

Ever the soldier, he heeded your directive, his chest filling with oxygen. No crackling noises, and his respirations sounded regular, so you concluded that he had avoided puncturing a lung. Thankfully.

However, that still left the matter of the tenderness you’d felt in his torso as well as the fractures his ribcage had sustained.

“His ribs,” you diagnosed, withdrawing your hand from his heat, hanging the stethoscope around your neck, then rising to your feet to better address the captain. It unnerved you, the height difference between you and every single one of these men, and you thus had no desire to further add onto that preexisting disparity by staying on the ground. “They’re almost certainly broken, but we’ll do an x-ray to confirm. The good news is that the recovery should be quick and easy. He’ll be field-ready in no time at all.”

Price nodded, and the majority of his concern ebbed away, frown lessening. “But?”

“But.” There’d always be a but in this field. No good could come without being joined by the bad; they were a package deal. “The bad news is he’ll have to visit the medbay at least once a week so I can monitor how it’s healing.”

If you had fully turned around to face him then, you would’ve seen the sly grin that now illuminated his features, the glint that entered his eyes. Alas, you did not, and so his following words caught you off-guard, bringing heat to your cheeks.

“Seems we’ve got awfully different definitions of bad news, love.”

tbc.

[thatoneluckybee]

School Bus Graveyard Episode 61 Thoughts

Okay thoughts time cause HU!HG?!?Q>?

The logo was altered!! Not by much but I love the detail that some falling rubble was covering the edges of the logo at the beginning of the episode.

Ben holding/protecting Tyler under the (table? desk?) is everything to me. Ben Clark is a golden retriever in all the best ways. I am dealing with the after effects of the Ben Fever we all got a few weeks ago.

Same goes for Taylor protecting Ashlyn! It’s so cute and Taylor has been coming in CLUTCH lately. I’m so excited for this development with her after Tyler’s injury. I just hope she’s able to target her (rightful) anger at the right people and not at the rest of the group. (Also ASHLYN CRYING BABY NO)

“Wanna Know How I Got These Scars?” Aiden, no, we do not, put your eyes back in please. (Also—I LOVE the shading and dramatic effects on this panel.)

Okay, the parents are DEFINITELY being affected by the rift and Phantom Dimension. Mike was dizzy when the kids all came back!! And I love how responsible both of Ashlyn’s parents (as well as everyone else so far) are being—Immediately jumping in to help when it sounds like someone is in trouble. I just hope this serves as a wake-up call for Aiden’s mom and dad.

We’ve seen Ashlyn scared before but… holy cow I don’t think she’s been pictured as this terrified before. And rightfully so! I want to give her a hug and a chocolate milk. Also, I adore how Logan immediately noticed and rushed to help. He’s really grown in his emotional maturity over the series and I’m loving the payoff.

Yes, honey, you are becoming phantoms. Is this confirmation of the theory? I’ll take it as confirmation of the theory.

…The parallels between the earlier panel of Tyler “waking up” vs Aiden now is…. oh my. And the altered text was DEEPLY disturbing. But I had to try not to laugh at imagining what he sounds like right now. Probably like he’s a 40 year old man who’s smoked a six-pack ev’ry night since way back when.

LILY BABY NooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO and Aiden IMMEDIATELY being concerned about Ashlyn is everything. In all honestly the ship concerned me at the beginning but I am ALL ABOARD and ready to set sail now. They both have grown so much and while it would have been iffy at the start it’s becoming a really sweet and wholesome relationship, regardless of whether it stays platonic or divulges into romance.

The flashbacks were INSANE. But also, let’s take a moment seeing these to appreciate HOW MUCH THE ART HAS IMPROVED!!! Supersupersuper proud of Red and her entire team. This was like a short montage of the growth and I love that so much. Also…. could this potentially count as an “oh” moment for Ashlyn?? And the immediate jump afterwards to Aiden’s maybe-dead-maybe-not body was such incredibly timed and perfected formatted whiplash!!!!!

Ashlyn initiating the contact was huge for her. We know she isn’t a fan of touchy-feely stuff or close contact so this is big. I thing there was a “some people are worth being uncomfortable for” comic with the BTW and TBH creature that sums up my thoughts on this? But yeah, I loved this. She’s growing more comfortable AND this was entirely respectful of her boundaries while also allowing her to push past her comfort zone? Amazing.

”So this is what it feels like” uhhhhhhhh I need a seperate ramble post for this cause I don’t want to trigger tag this one and have it filtered but I have… a lot to say. Very relatable and makes me appreciate these characters more. I love how this whole short scene was pulled off though. Definitely a lot of emotions for this one, I had to pause for a moment to process.

“I don’t like how much she’s shaking” MY HEART

Aaaaand THANK YOU RED FOR ANOTHER AMAZING EPISODE!!! I’ve got so many longer thoughts and theories and ideas and rambels and AUGHHHHHHH I can’t fit them all!!!

[tofulune]

༻skin/flesh/beating hearts

i. SKIN (down to the roots)

ii. FLESH (all that i am)

iii. BEATING HEARTS (new beginnings)

—"Darling, do you see the cuts from which i bleed? It's me you've slain."

Vi x F! Reader

Synopsis: You live underneath Vi’s ribcage as a squiggly, fading stick-and-poke Vi had pressured you into doing.

OR

A series of drabbles in which Vi copes with the loss of her first love (you).

Tags: [~300 words], character death, Vi in prison

When you closed your eyes for the last time, Vi was lying next to you, the both of you under rubble and ash. Vi doesn’t like to remember that day of grief, but the first thing she always thinks about is your paralyzed body as she held your trembling hand until eventually you were still.

It’s Vi’s fault.

That’s what she tells herself as she sits in her cell at night with nothing to do but ponder. If she had done that or if she could have done this. She furrows her brows and lets out another groan that gets her in trouble as cold voices shout back at her from outside and then she’s quiet, contempt.

Sometimes you haunt the back of Vi’s mind on those harder nights when she’s bouncing off the walls of her cell chest heaving and sweat dripping. She thinks she sees you in the shadows sitting with her.

When Vi makes her way back to the undercity there wasn’t even a trace of your existence.

Your parents were gone from their residence and people don’t recall any children they had.

No one sings of your name and you’re but another forgotten soul of the undercity.

For a moment, you’re only as real as Vi believes you to be. You’re only as much as the ink on Vi’s ribcage. She denies it.

It’s why when Ekko brings her to his tree and she sees the mural with your face right next to hers that she swallows a lump in her throat she didn’t know she was holding back.

You were beautiful, and it was something Vi had always known but almost forgotten.

And though Vi had her qualms about Ekko’s beliefs about Powder and what she’s turned into, with you it was different.

It was clear and bittersweet, like the bottle of whiskey you and Vi stole from Vander’s bar once, the two of you laughing through the night until your ribs hurt, until you fell asleep in Vi’s arms.

The mural is what made her realize you were gone.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,746 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: strong language, violence, gore, blood and injury, angsttttt A/N: All gifs made by me. :) This is Part 9 of a series! Find all the parts on my pinned post, the Master List! Summary: The group continues through the subway tunnel and runs into trouble with the dead. Coming out on the other side, they set off to resupply and regroup.

Previous Chapter - Part 8

As if the creaking and groaning in the pipes wasn’t bad enough, then you came to the corpses. None of you had seen the massive walker rise up behind Gage and Negan was the first one to spring into action. He managed to pin it up against the wall, but it struggled against him, nearly overpowering him as everyone stood watching. It looked as if Negan wouldn’t be able to hold it. “Ah, shit,” you swore aloud and darted over and stabbed it in the side of the head with your blade with a grunt of effort. It stilled immediately and slid down against the wall at your feet. Negan stumbled back, out of breath. “Jesus...” he murmured, glancing at the slime and skin that had slipped off the enormous rotter with disgust. You didn’t say anything in return and the two of you looked back at the rest of the group. All eyes were on you and Negan. You hung back and kept your mouth shut as the arguing started and rose to a near fatal conclusion.

Things didn’t get any better… It wasn’t long after, when you’d all nearly finished your work on clearing the tunnel, that Alden realized Gage and Roy were gone, along with most of the supplies you’d all set aside.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “This is what all our fucking arguing got us. That’s most of our rations, our batteries for the flashlights. And we’re blocked here anyway,” you said, gesturing to the train car. Negan was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Daryl punching him across the face to shut him up seemed to have made an impression, even if it was mostly to avoid Maggie’s rage overboiling and activating her itchy trigger finger.

There was more discussion about what to do next when Daryl suddenly shushed everyone and held up a hand. Growls, a distinctive sound despite the echo off the arched stone walls. The beams of your flashlights illuminated an approaching herd. Too many to count. Perhaps they’d wandered in to instinctively seek shelter from the storm, some part of their diseased brains compelling them to go underground. Perhaps it was random movement or pure coincidence. Whatever it was, you all snapped into action.

You stood alongside Daryl and the others as you readied your bow. Gabriel and Alden frantically tried to pry open the subway car door, but it was jammed shut. Arrows flew and weapons swung and knives plunged, but there were just too many. By the time Daryl gave the call to fall back you were already splattered with walker blood nearly head to tow.

“Up on top! Go! Go!” Daryl yelled. He ushered you toward the car and gave you a frantic look. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said.

“You better be,” you said, stretching and reaching for the first handhold you could find. You’d just been hauled to safety with the help of the others when you heard Dog barking and Daryl frantically shouting after him.

“Dog, no! Dog!” Daryl started toward the side where there was a narrow space in the rubble that Dog had apparently run through. You heard him yell to Maggie. “Meet me at the other end!”

“Daryl, wait! No—Daryl, wait!” Maggie’s frantic voice answered. You knew right then what you had to do, and you swung yourself over the back of the subway car and dropped to your feet again, perhaps a bit clumsily. Negan and Maggie looked at you in surprise. Maggie looked fearful.

“See you on the other side,” you shouted over the approaching growls. “You better go! Go! Climb!” you yelled over your shoulder. You darted after Daryl and soon caught up to him just inside the tight tunnel.

“Y/N?” he looked behind himself at your huddled form over the broken concrete. “No—go back! Stay with the others and—ain’t no way to know where this is goin’ or what’s on the other end!”

“I told you—I’m not separating from you if I can help it! Now hurry up. We need to get to Dog,” you said with finality.

Daryl gulped and turned back around, squeezing himself through the debris. You followed closely behind, glancing over your shoulder as if you expected the horde to follow you in. Finally, Dog’s barking was closer and you came upon an opening in the concrete that had clearly been made in the shape of a door. Daryl stepped out and turned around to take you hand and help you. His fingers squeezed around yours gently and he gave you a worried look. “I shoulda listened to ya. I mean fuck Negan, but I shoulda listened to ya. ‘M sorry,” he said, regret thick and heavy on his tongue.

“It’s okay. We’ll be fine. As long as we’re together, right?”

He nodded solemnly and then turned to look at your surroundings. You were in the remains of an underground camp in an old decommissioned tunnel. Dog was panting at Daryl’s side. It was eerie and silent and the air seemed heavy and dank. Daryl lifted the beam of his flashlight and shone it over graffitied words and a sprawling mural depicting a conflict of the classes. You noticed him swallow thickly and saw that his eyes were slightly glassy. You grabbed his hand again and laced your fingers with his and he looked down at it.

Your eyes wandered over the wall again and the detritus of people who were no longer here. “Do you think this is from before or… or after?” you asked him softly.

The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Both,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s see if there’s anythin’ worth takin’ now that most of our supplies are gone.” You nodded and the two of you started to move on slowly, scanning the heaps of moldering sleeping bags and clothes for anything useful. Daryl picked up a small plastic bag. He pulled out a 100-dollar bill and you read it in the glow of his light. Next, his fingers found a Polaroid photo of two smiling kids, a brother and a sister.

Your heart ached and your stomach felt hollow, as if it suddenly contained a chasm of space that was pushign up on your lungs. Daryl’s free hand drifted toward the left breast of his vest beneath his poncho and landed over the Polaroid of the two of you, stitched in safely there. His hand squeezed yours again and then he rolled the plastic bag closed and stuck it into his pack. There was another moment of silence and then he glanced over at you. “Back there. When ya helped Negan—”

You sighed and nodded. “I know. I—Look, I know what he did. He took a father away from his wife and child. He tortured you and who knows how many other people in one way or another… He’s got blood on his hands that will never completely wash off. But in moments like that—” you searched for the right words, hesitating. “I—I can’t just stand by and not help someone who is supposedly on our side now. Even if it is Negan.”

Daryl nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. Yer—yer a better person than I am,” he drawled, ducking his eyes. His hair fell into his face. “Ya always have been.”

“That’s not true.”

Just then, before you could say anything further, Dog took off in response to unexpected echoing yells and raced to a large drain culvert and jumped inside, paying no attention to Daryl’s shouts.

“Fuck!” Daryl growled, peering inside. His flashlight hardly seemed to penetrate the gloom. He shot an anxious look back at you and then closed his eyes for a long moment when you only nodded stoically. When he opened them again, he climbed in and you slipped inside after him.

The dark was disorienting and the tunnel walls seemed to shrink in around you as you crawled and hunched your way through. The growls and moaning of walkers echoed in the network of metal and stone, bouncing off walls and ricocheting in ways that made it impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. Your knees were scraped and aching from the cobbled stone and metal. Your hands were cold from the moisture pooling in the low, stagnant spots. You could only imagine what the two of you would look like when you emerged at the other end… if you emerged.

Right when you thought you were almost out, there was a sudden growl from an offshoot of the culvert beside you. You looked back just in time to see a gnarled hand shoot out and grip your boot. Some noise of surprise must have escaped you because Daryl was yelling your name. “Y/N! No!”

Your hand fumbled with your sheath and landed on the handle of your knife. You struggled to maneuver in the tight space but after what seemed both entirely too long and lightning speed, you freed yourself from the walker’s grip and lunged with your blade, finding your mark in the skull.

“Are you okay?” Daryl asked desperately, laying on his back, half sitting to look at you. You nodded, gasping in hurried breaths.

There was no time to recover as heavy iron behind him clanged where the exit had just been. More walkers had bumped into the grate, slamming it closed, and they now reached their bony arms through, grappling at the air. “Stay here!” he said gruffly.

“Daryl—!” but he had already pushed himself into the grate, hurling the walkers back as it opened and sending him tumbling down to the floor. You army crawled as fast as you could to the edge of the culvert, gripping his crossbow where he’d left it. But he quickly righted himself and put down the two dead with a few swings of his mace. He glanced up and down the tunnel he’d emerged into before rushing back to take his crossbow onto his shoulder again and to help you out onto your feet. “Are ya good?” he asked you again, studying your face. He couldn’t see any sign of injury. You were both damp from the heavy moisture in the air. Your hair was sticking to your cheeks and your neck. Your eyes were a little wide. He would have clasped your face if his hands weren’t absolutely filthy.

You nodded. “I’m good. Are you?”

“Fine,” he drawled, turning to look into the blackness ahead. Dog’s bark was echoing in the distance. “I dunno what the hell has gotten into him…”

“Let’s go find out,” you said, starting forward again. Daryl walked beside you, clearing on edge. His eyes scanned behind and in front alternately, and then he put out an arm to stop you. His eyes narrowed as he looked ahead toward a dark stain on the ground. He adjusted his grip on his crossbow and stepped protectively ahead of you, shining his light toward the pool that glistened ominously.

You followed just behind him and finally were able to see that it was fresh blood, and not blood from a walker… It was a deep, violent red. Your stomach twisted. “Daryl…”

Suddenly a figure materialized in the dark, staggering toward you. Daryl nearly let a bolt fly, but then he registered that it was Roy right as your breath left your lungs in a puff. He collapsed. The blood was his. Behind him trailed walkers, and in a flash, Dog streaked out of nowhere and took one down, fighting with it ferociously until Daryl could get a shot and it went still.

You pulled out your knife again and rushed one of the others, plunging the blade into its head. Beside you, Daryl dropped his bow and pulled his twin knives from their sheaths in a purposeful movement and he dropped the remaining walker with almost ease.

“Roy!” you said, spinning and hurrying to where he had collapsed. He was covered in blood. “Shit… Shit!” You fumbled with your pack, digging into the front pocket for the med kit. Daryl knelt down beside you and the two of you exchanged a grave look.

Roy let out a wry laugh and coughed up blood onto the concrete. “I can see from your faces that this’ll probably be the last mistake I ever make. Here,” he pulled out his gun and a hand grenade and held them out to Daryl. “Don’t waste any supplies on me. Just—tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.”

You shut your eyes and hung your head. Kids. The man had kids... he was scared and he made a mistake. “Hey. I’m not giving up on you. Come on. Let me patch you up as best I can,” you said.

“Where’s the ammo bag?” Daryl pressed Roy.

“I lost it. And I lost Gage… Please—just—make it quick.” He coughed thickly again.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Nah. Ya hang here ‘til we figure this shit out, alright? We’ll come back for ya. Just hang on.”

“We have to get back to the others,” you said, already shouldering your bag again when Daryl was back beside you, greeting Dog happily and scolding him at the same time. “Daryl, he said there are walkers everywhere. What if they’re trapped back there on the subway car still?”

“Yeah… c’mon…”

You were barely there in time. The rest of your group was trapped. On one end, a barricaded door, and on the other a herd of walkers. There were walkers ahead of you too, between you and the barricade, but less than were bearing down on your friends on the other side. You, Daryl, and Dog crept up from behind. You fingered your bowstring, itching to start, an arrow nocked. Daryl loosened his knives and then raised the pistol. You gave him a slow nod to tell him you were ready, and he aimed and pulled the trigger. An arrow whizzed past him and buried itself deeply into the head of the next walker, still covered in the spray of the one whose head had just exploded with Daryl’s bullet. You moved forward swiftly, like a force to be reckoned with, like the storm above, clearing the path to the others. When Daryl ran out of bullets, his knives sang.

He tugged the seat blocking the door out of the way and between him and Negan, they managed to force it open. Your found family poured through. As a final parting, Daryl shoved the hand grenade into the mouth of an advancing walker and kicked it back into the next car, slamming the compartment door closed again. He dove down over you where you were huddled behind a seat, shielding you with his body, as it exploded and vaporized the herd in the next car into nothing more than a sickening spray of gore.

You all slowly rose, glancing around, relieved that you’d managed the narrow escape. Maggie gave you both grateful looks and let out a long exhale. “Thank you. You make a pretty good team,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind keepin’ you two around,” Alden joked. Everyone’s hearts lifted, just a little.

Luckily, there were no more surprises during the rest of your underground trip, and you emerged from the station to find that the storm had broken and the sky was clear. An infinite number of stars shown overhead. You found yourself staring, drawing in deep lungfuls of life-giving cool, after-rain air. Daryl was watching you staring. He could see the stars reflected in your eyes—or wait—no. Maybe that was just you shining. Even covered in filth and splattered with walker blood, nothing seemed to dim you.

His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out the 100-dollar bill again, looking at the dark writing and thinking of those two smiling kids in that picture, them huddled around the radio—waiting and hoping. He wondered if they’d made it out, if they’d ever found anywhere safe again. You sank down next to him, close enough that your shoulder and leg were against his. Dog came and sat between your knees and you bent to scratch his chest and kiss the top of his head. Daryl tucked the bill inside his glove and you studied his expression. It was thoughtful and sad. You wished you were alone so you could kiss him right then… Instead, you reached over and rested your hand briefly on the bare skin of his forearm. Your pointer finger swept back and forth, and Daryl glanced over at you again and felt some flickering of warmth start between his lungs again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were nearly to the hidden supply depot to restock and rest up, when up ahead, something horrific, still encased in deep shadow, loomed. Your inhale was a sharp hiss of breath through your teeth and your hand went reflexively to the handle of your knife. “Daryl…”

A few more steps and it was clear to everyone. Corpses. Rows of corpses, strung up and hanging by their feet. There was one row on each side of the road, lining it like poplar trees on some kind of perverse boulevard. You further loosened your knife in its sheath. “It’s them,” you said. Your voice was steely but Daryl thought he could hear a slight shake in it. “This is them.”

Daryl swung his crossbow off his shoulder and readied it in his hands, squinting ahead into the dark.

Your hand landed on his arm. It felt surprisingly cold and heavy—unlike your usual touch. Or was his perception of you being tainted by the horror show he was staring at? When you spoke again, your voice was more urgent. “We need to get to—” Cover. You’d been about to say “cover.” Too late.

Chaos. Nightmarish, abrupt chaos. Roy dropped to the ground dead with an arrow in his face. Cole’s hand was sliced clean off with a sharp knife that also embedded in his leg. Your group scattered for the trees like frightened rabbits in front of a fox.

“Y/N?!” Daryl whirled, searching for you, but you seemed to have vanished. Yells punctuated the darkness. A draft of air passed his head and he ducked, aware that a knife had flown right past him. He crouched and squinted into the darkness, his heart pounding—was it pounding? Or had it stopped altogether? “Y/N!” he yelled, unable to hear his own voice over the rush of blood in his ears. And just like that—he realized he was seemingly alone, with only Dog nearby. The silence was close, pressing closer, and ominous.

“Okay… okay…” he tried to slow down his racing mind and focus. Where were you? You’d been right beside him when Roy was hit—and then—fuck! It was all too chaotic! He was disoriented in the trees, in the darkness. He felt it all over again—the way your hand and then your fingertips had slipped away… or were pulled? Were you pulled away from him? He shook his head as if that would do fuck all to clear his thinking up. “Focus. Fuckin’ focus,” he muttered to himself, rising from where he was crouching and scanning the ground nearby, hardly daring to step away from the tree he’d been sheltering behind. But he needed to find a trace of you; a track, a scuffmark, a piece of gear, even one of your arrows, or—

He felt a painful jolt rip through him as his eyes landed on a dark splotch in the dirt. He stopped cold. All warmth seemed to leave his veins. He gripped his crossbow with white knuckles. He moved closer and stared at it, bending down on one knee. There was Roy, dead on the ground. Here—he touched a scrape in the dirt—he’d been here… and you. You were just beside him, on the side where that stain glared back at him, looking almost deep purple in the dark and the dust.

As much as he wanted to, he didn’t dare call out for you again, even though every fiber of his being was revolting against his silence. You couldn’t have gone far yet. It’d been only seconds—right? It wasn’t even minutes yet… You had to be nearby still, especially if you were injured. But if he called out, gave away his position—no. He couldn’t get to you, couldn’t help you if he was dead. He stayed silent and it was killing him. It was like Atlanta all over again. You’d been together. And then you were suddenly, cruelly rended apart. He felt your touch slip from him and he willed it not to be the last time he felt your hand on his arm, your skin on his.

Maybe it wasn’t yours. Maybe it wasn’t your blood. Maybe you’d gotten one of them with your knife. He whistled for Dog and pointed to the blood spot. “C’mon. C’mon, boy. We gotta find her. Track. C’mon!”

A sudden rustling in some brush nearby and Daryl rocketed to his feet. A dark clad figure disappeared into the deeper shadow of the woods. “Dog!” He whistled again and signaled for Dog to follow, and they took off at a desperate speed. If you were nearby and injured, he wasn’t going to let this asshole be the one to find you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You pressed your back hard into the bark of the tree behind you. The bite of the ridges and edges barely distracted from the pain as you pressed the sterile gauze into the wound on your side with two fingers. You tasted blood in your mouth from biting down on your cheek in an attempt to stifle any noise that might escape you. Blinding white hot pain and then a deeper streak of ruby red exploded behind your eyes.

Daryl. Where was Daryl? You could still practically feel his arm beneath your hand. Roy had dropped, you’d scattered. He’d been right beside you… and then suddenly The Reapers were on you. You’d felt the icy cold slash of a knife in your side and then it was burning with heat. You’d thrown yourself farther into the trees, moving from the deepest shadow to the deepest shadow.

Behind you, a stick cracked in the deathly quiet and you stopped breathing. Your eyes flew wide open again. Your heart pounded. Your lungs were tight. You turned, angling your ear toward the sound. Someone was walking toward you. It sounded a little jolting, as if they were limping. You hastily pressed a gauze pad down over the packed wound in your side and tugged your shirt down again. It clung to your skin, soaked and sticky with blood. You gulped and gripped the handle of your knife tightly, holding it up near your chest, ready to use it, pressing yourself back against the tree.

The soft steps approached and then hesitated off to your left and you shut your eyes for a brief moment before deciding you’d better be the one to strike first. You gritted your teeth against the pain and leapt to your feet, throwing yourself around the tree trunk at the figure, your blade raised.

But it struck metal and ricocheted off. You nearly doubled over from the excruciating sensations rippling through you from your side. Then, you were shocked when the figure was supporting you, gripping your forearms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shit, if it weren’t for my handiness with a goddamn crowbar, you would have just skewered me,” he exclaimed, helping you straighten up.

“Negan,” you said through your gritted teeth, clutching a hand to your side again.

“Yeah, unfortunately it’s just me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes went to the dark stains down the side of your clothes. You noticed his furrowed brow.

“It’s nothing,” you said, doing your best to stand up tall and straight again.

“Yeah, well, that nothing happens to look suspiciously like a pretty fucking serious injury,” he countered. “Or you slipped and fell in somebody’s bucket o’ blood. I wouldn't put anything past these freaks...”

You glared at him. “It’s not life-threatening, is what I meant.”

“Oh, so you don’t need blood. Okay. Got it,” he said sarcastically. “That’s a new one for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut against another jolt of that white hot and violent red pain bursting behind your eyes. “I meant—look, conveniently I was shot once in almost the exact same place, okay? I’ll be fine. There are no major vessels there and no vital organs,” you snapped back.

“Interesting,” Negan nodded. “I’m sure that’s a story I want to hear but now probably isn’t the time.” He gripped your upper arm again as you wavered a little on your feet. “Also, it should be noted that I consider all my organs to be rather fucking vital. Just so we’re clear on that.” You were too distracted by another wave of pain to scoff anything back. “Come on. We’ve gotta get the fucking hell out of here before these psychos find us.”

It was then that you noticed the binding around his leg. You’d be willing to bet no one had gotten away completely unscathed… if they’d gotten away at all. “Wait. The others—did you see what happened to them?” you asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “Roy’s definitely dead. I can tell you that much. That karma sure kicks in fast, doesn’t it? Come on.”

“Wait! No—did you see—did—”

Negan suddenly sighed and his shoulders seemed to sag at the desperate look on your face. He shook his head. “I didn’t see Daryl,” he said, his tone sincere. “But if I’ve learned anything about him over the years—it’s that he, out of everyone, will be A-fuckin’ okay.”

You swallowed at a sudden constriction in your throat. “Fuck,” you muttered, pressing your hand down again over your side. “You’re right. We have to get the fuck out of here, and fast. Can you do fast?” you asked him.

He cocked his head at you. “Can you?”

“I said I’ll be fine. Now, where the fuck do we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Negan said. He started off away into the trees, a limp in his walk, and you followed after him, slightly hunched, still checking over your shoulder with a knife in one hand.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was nearly light out by the time you came on a dilapidated old house. But there was a solid door and most of the windows were boarded up and Negan didn’t like the gray tinge to your complexion or the cold sweat beading up on your face or neck. His leg also felt as if he was walking around with a giant splinter in the muscle. “I think this is as good as it gets. We better take a rest in here for a while and regroup. We’ve put a good amount of distance between us and that Halloween town.”

You shot him a look, and although you were exhausted and pale, it was still sharp. “Halloween town?” you repeated.

“Yeah, the hanging human piñatas, psychos in masks…” he said, limping up to the door and tapping on it with his crowbar. He paused listening for growls but it was silent, so he wedged the iron edge of the crowbar into the seam and pried. The wood sprung open with a crack.

“Could you not make fucking jokes? We have no idea how many of our people even made it,” you spat at him. You dragged yourself past him and into the house.

“I didn’t say it was a joke,” he countered, stepping in after you and pulling the door shut.

You sunk down against the wall, sliding down against your back, your eyes closed. “Jesus, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you muttered, your eyes closing.

Negan laughed. “No, not really.” He paused, taking in your slumped posture against the wall and the rusty staining on your hand that was pressed over your side. He turned and shut the door again and barricaded it with a heavy old oak desk. Your eyes opened again at the scraping sound and he glanced over at you once he’d finished. He twirled his crowbar in his hands and you could tell he had something on his mind.

You grabbed your pack and started digging in the main pocket again for your canteen. “What?” you prompted him.

“I didn’t really get a chance to thank you for the help in the tunnel—with that fucking behemoth of a walker. Wasn’t about to try and say thanks with the peanut gallery standing around,” he said. "SO, uhh—" he rubbed a hand over his short hair. "Thanks."

You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, don’t mention it…” You unscrewed the cap of your water and took a long drink. You nodded at him. “Your leg. How bad is it? I’ve got a few supplies if you need to patch it up.”

His hand strayed over the scrap of fabric binding the wound. “It’s okay. I mean, it hurts like hell but—how did you put it? Non-life threatening. What about you?”

You replaced your canteen and rested your head back against the wall. “I’ll have to stitch it. But it’s fine.”

“I can help you with that. I’ve done a few—”

“Hell no,” you interrupted him. “I’ll do it myself.”

He let out a dry laugh. “What, worried that Daryl will find out I’ve had my hands on you?” You scowled up at him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He flashed you a smile but your face stayed stoic. “Ah, come on. I’m kidding. That’s the farthest thing from my mind right now. …well maybe not the farthest but—”

“Negan, shut the fuck up! Jesus Christ…” You rubbed a hand over the clamminess on your forehead.

He laughed again and nodded. “Sorry. It’s a bit of a nervous habit if I’m being completely honest.” He sank down on a stiff-backed wooden chair in the corner, his leg stretched out and his hazel eyes fixed on you across the room. “I know I’m not your idea of a perfect traveling companion, but I’m on your team here. And to get ourselves out of this shitstorm we’re going to have to work together.”

You sighed again and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

He seemed satisfied with that response and stood up, crossing the space to you and bending down. “Now, about those med supplies…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

That Reaper hadn’t found you, hadn’t gotten to you. But neither had Daryl. And now Dog was in the wind. Daryl had gutted up and found Dog’s trail. His hope was that Dog would lead him to you… or at least someone. But he couldn’t stop thinking about that spot of blood back by the road. He wondered where you were hurt, how badly… What if you were—No. No, that wasn’t possible. That wasn’t going to happen now. Not like this, after fucking finding you again after all these years, after you’d relit the spark in him that had all but gone out. You were going to be fine, and he’d find you. He’d find Dog, and then he’d find you.

In the distance; Dog barking. Daryl took off toward the sound.

But Dog wasn’t alone. One of them. A Reaper.

“Let him go,” Daryl said. His voice was gruff but also soft and tired. There was still danger underneath it however. The Reaper didn’t move. Dog sat calmly beside the figure. Daryl withdrew one of his knives. “I said let him go.”

The figured raised a hand and pulled off their mask and a fabric covering beneath. Daryl felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. His racing heart sunk into the pit of his stomach and stayed there, heavy like a river rock.

Leah. The Reaper was Leah.

Next thing he knew, he was at the end of the barrel of her shotgun again. And then it wasn’t just her. He was surrounded.

A burlap bag thrown over his head. Water poured over his face. And Leah… like a shell. Seemingly unmoved. Unfeeling. Indifferent. Cold. Her words rang in his head. “These people are my family. I came home.”

He was disoriented with the racing of his mind. How could she participate in this fucked up horror show? What the fuck kind of person was she really? Maybe he'd never known her at all... Clearly he hadn't. And yet he needed to convince her he wasn’t a threat, that he didn’t know fuck all about “those people on the road.” He needed to convince her that he still cared about her the way he had. On some level, he did still care about her... maybe that was stupid. It probably was. But this? These people? Killing anyone they saw for no fucking reason? Stringing up dead people on the roadside? This was insanity. This was almost inhuman.

And all the while, you flashed in his mind's eye. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

When they dragged him to a chain link cell, more like a cage, he saw the shape of you in the sheets beside him in his mind’s eye. When they pulled him out to question him endlessly, he heard your voice saying his name, heard your laugh. As he sat alone on the cold cement floor, he could imagine the feel of you under his hands, the shape of you, the taste of your lips, the smell of your skin and scent of your hair. As the water drowned him, pressing the burlap over his nose and mouth, he saw the sun shining off your hair as you grabbed DJ into a hug. DJ. Now he saw DJ too. His son.

When Leah came and talked softly to him in his cell, he forced himself to say things he didn’t mean, a nauseous churning in his stomach. His heart felt hollow as he tried to sound convincing. When the time was right, he gave her something. That’s when it started.

The fire came next.

Pope came after.

And Daryl was embedded deep, with only you and the rest of his family on his mind, even while he tried his goddamn best to make Leah believe that she was the only thing in this world he cared about besides Dog. It felt like willingly drinking poison.

A/N: I fucking loooove writing redeemed!Negan and was so stoked to have him and Y/N team up in this fic. He's just so damn fun to write, and something about the dynamic of him taking care of Daryl's love is achingly good and delicious. Hope you enjoyed so far! Can't wait to get you all the next update!

[lewkwoodnco]

Say Don't Go - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: So I think it's kind of clear that this is going to be a fairly angsty series hhehe I've tried to lighten a little at some parts and varying the type of angst (e.g. anger vs sadness) thank you to @mischivana for giving me the idea to turn this into a series! <3 wc 3.8k

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

They never spoke of that night ever again, or even acknowledged it. She had woken up the next morning, preparing herself for a pounding headache, but it never came. She spent the rest of the day driving herself crazy, waiting for snide remarks or to see the offending picture glaring at her at the newspaper stand down the street. From the looks of it, Lockwood seemed a little thrown off too, but maybe something about the situation shook some sense into him because he seemed more formal around her, and his smile never quite reached his eyes like before. She convinced herself that his aloofness didn't bother her. Why should it?

It's towards the end of a mildly harrowing case that she sees Lockwood again for the first time in two weeks. One of her teammates had dropped a magnesium flare which had disintegrated one of the load-bearing walls of the buiilding, causing a mini avalanche of wood and plaster which blocked them from the exit. After a few minutes of locating everyone and making sure no one was severely hurt, there was a crackle on her walkie talkie from Kipps, who was sending in backup.

Soon enough, insistent fingers were scrabbling at one of the largest planks of wood wedged in the door, and with some pushing on her side it eventually came free, allowing a thin strip of light to spill into the dark. Her breath hitched when she met Lockwood's eyes, which widened ever so slightly as he took in what he could of the dusty, bruised sight of her. It must have been a long night for them too, since George didn't have enough patience to wait for Lockwood to finish gaping and shoved him to the side.

With the additional help, they managed to clear a sliver of a path, just enough for her team to extract themselves from the rubble. Once the worst of the injured had been sent to the paramedics and it had been sufficiently determined that she was still in the right state of mind, Barnes became a lot more interested in what, or who, had caused the collapse. She wanted to point out how Lockwood didn't need to be there, and that his relentless staring was starting to irk her a little, but she was too exhausted to.

"It was an honest mistake, Inspector. Any of us could - will you relax? You're giving me a headache."

He had the decency to look a little apologetic, but he's Lockwood, so it wasn't much. "Are you sure you're completely - ?"

"Lockwood, if I start foaming at the mouth, you'll be the first to know."

She ignored his sulky mutterings and turned back to Barnes. "Can I go now?"

He sighs and awkwardly clears his throat in a way that makes her stomach sink. She's so tired and this day feels like it's never ending. "There is, er, one last issue. Your apartment's been flooded by a water pipe burst. DEPRAC can put up you up for about a week but it's looking to take up to a month."

She lets out a strangled wail, the closest she's been to tears all day, too upset to be even mildly amused by the look of alarm on Barnes' face as he tries to offer some words of comfort.

"At least you had insurance?"

"Not for water damage!"

She didn't want to drift around, trying to find a solid place to say. She wanted to go home to her warm, dry, bed. She vaguely registers some muffled conversation between Lockwood and Barnes, only gaining some clarity once Lockwood shakes her a little.

"You can stay at Portland Row, it's no trouble at all. We have a spare bed in the attic and everything."

"I remember," she murmurs, and the look on his face becomes a little awkward. She resists a little, mumbling something incoherent, but his arm feels too wonderfully solid and reassuring on her back for her to put up much of a fight. In her haze of exhaustion, she found herself thinking how much she'd like to dissolve into his arms. She'd be thinking much more sensibly after a good night's sleep.

Morning came, along with the clarity of thought she had anticipated, but so did the insistent forces that were George and Lucy. At one point, Lucy threatened to set her apartment on fire, and George said that, if controlled, it might be the most effective way to dry it out, which made Lockwood choke on his tea. As he coughed with watering eyes, she narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if this had been his plan all along.

And so began her stay at Portland Row. It made for a much more vibrant life, even though she had never considered herself to be social by any means. Somehow, the press had caught wind of her new living arrangements, even though she never even dared to share a cab with them, and slowly but surely started to set up camp outside 35 Portland Row. Eventually, Lockwood had had enough and after a chat with Barnes, the street outside their front door was once again miraculously empty.

It was little gestures like these which helped chip away at the ice between them, each glance and brush of the hand a little longer and a little more meaningful than the last. But every time he started to get close enough that his warmth started to pull her back to distracting memories of tangerine light reflecting off aquamarine waters, something in him would shrink away and his eyes would glaze over with cordial apathy.

On days when she didn't have any cases, she would sit by the window, watching life stir sleepily till the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes that would be until Lockwood reached home from his solo cases, and even through the frosted glass she could feel the weariness in his blurred silhouette. He would walk in and give her a hesitant smile, and she didn't understand him any better than from the other side of the window. There was this secretive air about him, like he was playing a hand that she could never see, yet one she lost to every time. Something in him was making him hold her at arm's length, and she couldn't figure out what it was, and as much as she tried to deny it, it was beginning to wear her down.

This is the unfortunate realisation she makes as she hears Lockwood trying to get her attention on a case - a realisation part of her had guessed from the very start. They're stuck in a basement together because the door won't give, and the others are too far away to hear them, though that doesn't stop Lockwood from trying to yell through the door. The quiet gives them time to ruminate in their thoughts, of which she has no shortage of.

"Y/N? You alright?"

"Yeah. You?"

There's a hint of a smile on his face. "Scared."

She scoffs. "Like you've ever been scared a day in your life."

He clenches his jaw like she's said something unpleasant, but she doesn't care enough to backtrack. "I get scared all the time."

"Like when?"

"Like when you go on cases with incompetent amateurs who blow up the roof over your head."

It might have been more touching if he didn't sound so petulant. She laughs, and he looks only slightly miffed.

"I'm serious, Y/N. I wish you didn't have to take the brunt for your teammates shortcomings. You could have died in there." A silence falls again. "What are you afraid of?"

Looking into your eyes and not finding what I'm looking for, she wants to say. "Nothing."

She looks at him, watching her concernedly, his body pulsing with adrenaline and action the way hers should have been. It was hardly the time to mope around when the imminent threat of being ghost-touched hung in the air. There was something reminiscent of her own propensity to shoulder pain or discomfort on her own in Lockwood's pleasant yet achingly impersonal attitude. Someone had to bend before they both broke, and her melancholy had softened her rigid nature into something more pliant.

"Lockwood," she says, as if she hadn't heard a single word of their conversation. "I'm cold."

It's difficult to say, and it makes her feel weak, but Lockwood and his understanding eyes had that kind of effect on her. But when he chivalrously drapes his coat around her, a vacancy fills her where warmth should have rushed in. She closes her eyes and wonders how she'll ever look him in the eye again.

When their friends pry them out, they're unnaturally quiet, and a few shifty glances tells her that they've picked up on something being off. While the paramedics take a look at their scrapes, her unseeing gaze drifts until it lands on Lockwood, and her thoughts center on him like a compass to a magnet. She watches him talk to Barnes with his forearm bandaged up, and she lets those feelings of frustration and yearning that she had been keeping at bay wash over her.

Later in the attic, when Lucy goes down to bring some tea up for them, she weeps over the futility of it all.

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

Lockwood & Co. and her team from Fittes were in an abandoned cinema which once belonged to their client's father, which they had to clear of more than a few unsightly visitors. George gives the rundown of his research and her team disperses. George hesitates before splitting up the four of them, peering at them over the top of his glasses, uncharacteristically apprehensive. She knows they're all thinking about the fight from last night, or what was more accurately this morning, and she wished they wouldn't.

"Both of you have your emotions in check?"

She doesn't give Lockwood the chance to reply. "Yes. Can we start now?"

George doesn't look happy, but he rarely is, so he lets it slide. She starts setting up her iron chains in the theater she's been assigned to, and as she lays down the last one, she feels rather than hears him.

"Are you okay?"

"George told you to stay near the popcorn machine."

Even in the dim light, she can make out Lockwood's peeved expression. Or maybe she was just imagining it. She wasn't sure anymore. "Yeah, well, George says a lot of things. He also told you to chase me out if you saw me, and I don't see you doing that."

She stays silent. He repeats his question. She ignores him again.

"Why'd you come?"

She had just come back from a case, and it was late, but there was still light peeking through the crack under the library door. She was thinking about Kipps and his knowing smirk as she irritably rifled through the kitchen drawers. Before leaving, he had asked her if she planned on staying on with Fittes, and then was annoyingly evasive when she didn't know what he was talking about. He asked her if she had checked her mail recently, and she realised she hadn't, even though Lucy had popped down to the post office to have her mail forwarded to Portland Row. It had to be somewhere in the house. She just about gives up when her knuckles knock against the back of the last drawer, producing a dull hollow sound.

“What are these?”

Lockwood glanced at the letters she’s holding carelessly and went unnaturally still. George had a resigned look of understanding in his eyes. Lockwood closed the case file slowly, as if any sudden movements would set her off, and she had to admire him for his gallant effort to keep his tone light.

“Where did you find them?”

“In your kitchen drawer. What are letters from out-of-town agencies addressed to me doing in your kitchen drawer? How long have they been there?”

He adjusted his stronger-than-necessary grip on the case file. “A while.”

She wanted to laugh incredulously. What was he playing at, acting so unnervingly stoic? “And you didn’t think to tell me about them?”

He lets out a huff of irritation, but there's a nervous twitch to his muscles. He opens his mouth to respond but she cuts him off with her hand. She turns around slowly, trying to keep track of the faint movie she hears playing in the background and the audience's laughter, but the screen behind her is blank. She hears Lockwood draw his rapier and she realises he feels it too: the visitor.

It all happens so fast. She feels a pulse of energy that sends her skittering to the side, knocking out her electrical lantern. She bumps into Lockwood who drops his torch, which also immediately goes out. She hears him frantically slamming it against his palm, trying to get it to work again as she fumbles for salt bombs. She's worked without light before, but something about this pitch-black darkness was viscous. She swears and before she realises what's happening, she fumbles for Lockwood's wrist. It only takes him a quick, if clumsy, rifling through her belt to realise what's wrong: she'd forgotten to restock her supplies.

"Wha - you always check your belt before a case!" He's cross, but he still pulls her out of the way, lobbing a salt bomb which makes the visitor shriek and hide. She’s still twisting wildly, trying to deal with the palpable fear threatening to burst her aorta, but he somehow manages to drop his lips to her ear. His whisper consumes her in the darkness.

“Don’t worry, I’m here.”

And for a minute, she listens, and her headache dies down a little. But Lockwood flinches, and she’s on high alert again, only now it’s getting harder to distinguish the visitor from reality.

"Most of my supplies are at the popcorn machine. We need to get out of here. Find George - or Luce - anyone."

“Y/N, you’ve had a lot on your plate recently.”

She thought about the false backing of the drawer. “So when were you going to tell me about them? Were you planning on ever showing them to me? Or only when it was too late?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He was mildly frowning now. “Besides, you’re holding them right now. Tell me you’re even remotely interested in any of them.”

She wanted to. She wanted to say it firmly with her whole chest, to watch the tension in his face dissolve, to go back to the quiet evening they were all having. Instead, she clutches the letters tighter and hesitates. Lockwood’s face darkens.

“Y/N. All these agencies are outside of London.”

She stays quiet. The silence infuriates him.

“Leave London? Your home is here.”

“Is it?”

He shoves her towards the door with little grace, but with enough force to have her wobbly legs somewhat cooperate. She doesn't remember where she stumbles to, her head is too dizzy, only the image of Lucy's stunned face swimming in front of her eyes as she clutched at her forearm.

When she somewhat comes to her senses, she hears footsteps running around, pausing only with the squeak of a door hinge. She pulls herself up from the floor, standing on shaky knees, leaning against the cool stone wall. She hears a door open much closer to her now, and she opens her eyes to see Lockwood, white as a sheet. His lips tremble but words fail him, and he closes the distance between them, cradling her face with slippery fingers.

There's blood on his face, but he isn't bleeding. She doesn't get much further than that because he's leaning down and kissing her hard and she's suddenly debilitatingly aware of the impermanence of his touch, the same touch that's knitted into every crease of her face. She was on the brink of making a decision, and now his lips sealed her fate. She feels the world hold its breath. She hates him for it. First he pushes her away and then he looks at her like a man starved and it's not fair.

She thought about her flooded house, and the upstairs attic where she still felt like a guest. She thought she might never feel like she belonged in a house that wasn’t her own. She answers her own question with unfocused eyes. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” But it’s not enough for Lockwood.

“Think, Y/N. Do you honestly believe you’d survive a day without - “ he unsuccessfully grapples with his emotions. “Without us?”

A pressure builds in her ears as if all sound had been sucked into a vacuum. Lockwood was standing just a few metres in front of her, but now he felt miles away from her, as if she was screaming through water which threatened to asphyxiate her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was a hard set to his jaw that she didn’t like. “You know what it means.”

Memories ran through her mind like hot flashes. Lockwood’s careful eyes, ready smile, his gentle hands and the scarlet apple they held, tabloids spilling over the library floor, his fingers in her lap, the dizzying warmth of his coat, the relief over the salvation his kiss bestowed on her…she felt flayed in a way only the media had made her feel; grotesquely vulnerable and hopelessly defenceless. Of all the demons she took arms against, she never thought Lockwood would be one of them.

“Take it back. Take it back.”

He breaks the kiss but their foreheads rest against each other, and there's something deeply destabilising in the way's he's breathing. But even with this proximity she only feels a void where his heat should have been. He drags her eyes into his, searching for something with an urgent fever, and she feels his disappointment resonate in her bones. His fingers grip her wrists with an unfamiliar desperation she only distantly registers, somehow numb to the frantic energy that has possessed Lockwood. She hears a swish of fabric and feels a warmth settling over her shoulders, and she hears his shallow breathing slow down imperceptibly. But it is no use: she is not cold.

The rest of the case is relatively uneventful. The blood was from one of her teammates who had had a nasty fall. She sits by the side while the paramedic bandages her up, Lockwood sitting next to her. He doesn't need to be there. She still lets him hold her hand.

"Listen...Barnes still owes me a favour or two, so if you'd like me to ask him to put in a good word for you at any of those agencies..." In the eerie light of the ghost lamps, his face looks so much more smooth and uncomplicated. "Just say the word."

"It's alright. There's no need."

"Haven't decided which one yet?"

"I have."

She doesn't understand why her reply hits him like a ton of bricks when he was ready to send her on her way just a few minutes back. He was giving her whiplash.

"So...that's it? You're leaving?"

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, and for a moment she thought he might regret ripping her open by the maw, but the deadened look in his eyes told her he wasn’t going to budge.

“I won’t.”

She was gasping for air for sobs that wouldn’t come. She wanted to screech something ugly. “That’s a lie. It’s a lie and you know it. What does my life have to do with you? The world just has to revolve around Anthony fucking Lockwood -"

"That is enough - "

"You’re a selfish man and a lying traitor - "

“I only want what’s best for you!”

“And who the hell are you to decide what’s best for me?”

The ringing silence that followed made her painfully aware of his agitated breathing. If she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was panic-stricken or furious. The look on his face was wretched in a way that made her feel disfigured.

“I don’t know...I don’t know.”

Something in him had dared her to dream again, to dream of loving someone to have and to hold. And that had been fine. But then he started looking at her in ways that stole her breath and kissing her like the world was ending, and now she didn't want to have or hold anyone other than Anthony J Lockwood. The same Anthony J Lockwood who couldn't care less about her.

The dream was coming apart in her hands like snow.

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

No one is happy while she packs her things at Portland Row, and they all have their different ways of showing it. Lucy's too quiet and sits blankly at her vanity, not helping, and she broods enough to make her feel bad for leaving, but not bad enough to stay. George is making sniping remarks towards Lockwood who only manages terse, bad-tempered replies that only further aggravate an irate George.

Lucy gives her a fleeting hug once she's done, and walks with her down to the kitchen where George is having a cup of tea. She feels a twinge of regret when she sees how exhausted he looks, but maybe it's that same exhaustion that makes him pull her into a hug, though significantly less sentimental than Lucy's. She hears the two of them begin to murmur as soon as she steps out of the kitchen.

She sees him sitting in the living room in her peripheral vision. She thinks about his whisper in the dark, a dark not much unlike what she was stepping out into. It was all such a sham. Her hand is on the doorknob of the front door when a ragged part of her aches. She wasn't going to give up on him, not like this. She marches back to the kitchen and throws her bag down.

"Tell me to stay, Lockwood. Go on. Say the word," her voice takes on a strain, "and I'll stay. We don't have to talk about - about whatever this is. Just tell me to stay...and I will."

He stares at the case report in his lap, his eyes fixed at the top of the page, not even pretending to read it.

"I love you."

He looks up, and she sees his cruelly impassive expression. The silence stretches painfully in front of them. She feels like a child, begging for his affections when he won't even give her the time of day.

"Why won't you SAY anything?"

The scream barely makes him flinch. Lucy and George fall quiet. She waits, and waits, and waits, and waits. She wonders why she ever expected anything from him.

She walks to the front door again, and this time there's no stuttering lapse of cynicism to stop her. But once she's outside, she's momentarily paralysed and oh so alone. She hears George's muffled voice, and a resounding thud that makes the rapier stand fall over, followed by George's scolding voice.

With a heavy heart, she walks away from the only home she'd ever known.

[callmelittlebuttercup]

Peace Offerings Pt. 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Series Summary: Joel makes a bad impression on the reader when he cuts in front of her at the radio station in the QZ. Abe, a father figure to her and an informant of Joel’s, informs her that the two have something in common: A brother in Wyoming. Joel reluctantly follows Abe’s wishes when he asks him to take the reader along to help find her brother too. As the journey goes on, she finds that despite his best efforts to make her think so, Joel isn’t a complete asshole, and maybe even a little… attractive?

Series Warnings: Slow burn, 18+ Minors DNI, Sexual Themes, Violence, Injuries (depictions of blood, bruising, broken bones), Grumpy!Joel, Minimal depictions of reader's appearance (hair color/length.)

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Part Two:

 I decided not to go to sleep because of my impromptu nap earlier. I couldn’t risk Joel leaving without me. I stayed up going over the route on the map and preparing myself for a journey with a man who I didn’t get a great first impression from. Though I did realize, after learning that his name was Joel, that I’d heard about him before. He was a talented smuggler, had a lot of connections but not many friends, and had no problem killing at the first twitch of trouble. This information made me even less excited to be on the road alone with him. At least I knew he could fight. 

          The time was getting close to an hour before sunrise, and I was beginning to get nervous that Joel had left without me. I re-checked my bag to make sure I had everything, and then sat on the couch, tapping my fingers on my knee. I began to zone out, but was quickly snapped back to reality at a knock at my door. I stood up, hoisted my heavy backpack onto my shoulder, and took one last look at my apartment. The tattered couch, the chipped table and chairs in the kitchen, and the broken tv in the corner by the window. Wasn’t much, but it was mine. I walked to the door and opened it. Joel was standing there with a backpack hanging off of his shoulder. He greeted me with a “Let’s go.” I nodded and closed the door behind me before following him down the dark hallway.

           We stayed silent as we hurried through the deserted streets of the QZ. No noise could be heard except the sound of our light steps on the pavement. We reached the fence. Joel opened up a hole that had been cut in the chain link, and gestured for me to go first. I hurried through, being careful not to get caught on the sharp edges. He climbed through after me and returned to his place in front of me. We scrambled over bricks and ruins of old buildings that had been knocked down.  I almost fell when I stepped on a loose rock but I caught myself, and received a disapproving look from Joel. I rolled my eyes as I continued to follow his lead through the rubble. 

            I froze when I heard a voice call out, “Hey!” My head whirled to see a QZ guard hiding behind a wall and pointing a gun at us. Joel spotted him too and approached slowly. “Turn around and I’ll let you go alive.” The guard said. “Just let us through. We don’t want any trouble.” Joel said calmly. He must’ve known him, because if he hadn’t we would have been shot. Joel leaned in to whisper something to the guard, and pressed a small plastic bag into the palm of his hand. Pills. I watched the exchange, not moving from my place. Joel suddenly seemed angry. His eyes became dark and his eyebrows furrowed. I saw his hand ball into a fist before he slammed the guard into the wall.  The guard tried to fight back, but Joel was too strong. He threw him to the ground and began throwing punch after punch, obliterating the guard’s face. He stopped, panting and grunting heavily. My jaw had fallen open and my eyes were glued to him. I was both terrified and intrigued. He stood up off of the ground and began walking ahead of me again as if nothing had happened.“What was that about?” I asked. He kept his head forward and answered, “Nothin’ you need to worry about.” I looked back at the unmoving guard one last time before jogging to catch up with Joel. 

            I kept my questions to a minimum, seeing as they clearly agitated him. I distracted myself from the tugging thoughts by focusing on the scenery. I hadn’t been outside of the QZ since I was 14, and things had changed drastically. The highways were lined with abandoned and picked over cars, buildings were crumbling, vines covering everything they could. I was pulled from my own little world when I slammed into the back of Joel. “Dammit! Watch where you’re goin’.” He grumbled. “Sorry.” I said as I caught my footing. 

           I, too, was not making a good impression on Joel. I already seemed clumsy and unfocused. My cheeks burned from embarrassment as I shook out my arms, hoping it would get rid of the funk I was in. I needed to focus, to let him know I could keep up with him on this journey. 

          I was assuming Joel wanted to get as far away from the QZ as possible before we found a place to rest for the night. So, I kept on despite my back aching from the heavy pack I was wearing and the blisters already forming on my feet. 

          When we came upon a large building with an abandoned truck outside, Joel paused before pressing against the truck to hide. Once we were sure the coast was clear, we neared the door. “What is this place?” I asked quietly, unable to contain my curiosity. “Museum. Couple guys left a package for me here for the journey.” He muttered back before eyeing the door that had been splattered with fungus spores and vines. My skin crawled, able to guess what was inside. “I’m not going in there.” I blurted. Joel’s eyes snapped to me, “You will if you want to eat or drink for the next few months. Get your gun out.” He demanded before placing his hand on the door and pushing. It made a loud and echoey creaking sound as it slowly opened, revealing a grand lobby that had been retaken by dust, vines, and fungus, just like everything else. There were paintings on the walls and statues that had probably been priceless in the past. 

           Joel stepped inside and I followed behind him, gun raised in the same position. We swept the large area and found it empty. We continued down a corridor, actively avoiding vines and globs of fungus sprawled before our feet. We came across a number of tables scattered in another large room. They were littered with boxes and cartons. “Firefly campsite.” I said after observing a symbol painted on a canister of oil. Joel nodded. He opened an oil canister and slammed the lid back down. “Dammit.” He cursed loudly. My eyes shot to him. “Fuckin’ package is gone.” I stood, not knowing what to do or how to help.

         The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I heard a faint, but familiar sound. My eyes locked onto Joel’s and he whispered, “Shit. Stay behind me.” I obeyed and tiptoed behind him as we neared a stairwell. We cautiously neared the top of the stairs. Joel pressed his back against a glass display case, and I did the same. My eyes were trained on him, waiting for my next command. His chest was heaving and his eyes were shut tight, focusing on the nearing sound of the creature. Soon the clicking noise began to echo itself. There were two. I let out an anxious breath before looking over my shoulder. I jumped when I saw the head which had been torn apart by fungus erupting through. I stumbled backwards into Joel’s chest. I felt his arm wrap around my shoulders as he swung me behind him. My arms connected with the glass case as Joel struggled with the monster. I turned and watched him stab the creature in the head. Breathing heavily, I pushed myself off of the case and lifted my gun back up in front of me. 

The noise had brought more clickers our way. As soon as I caught sight of another one, I unloaded a bullet into its head, causing it to fall backwards onto the other clicker following it. I shot that one too, and looked back to Joel who was pinned against a case across the room, fighting another one. He looked as if he had that one under control, so I decided to clear the other room. As I rounded the doorway, I was ambushed by a woman who’s eyes were replaced with the foamy looking fungus. Panic gripped my chest as she threw me to the ground with a shriek. I aimed my gun at her and pulled the trigger. Click. I pulled again, thinking the chamber was jammed. Click. “Shit!” I screamed as she threw her body onto mine. Her fingers dug into my shoulders and her mouth chomped at my face. The spindrils of cordiceps inches from my skin. I pushed as hard as I could, adrenaline in full control of my body. I thought I was done for, but suddenly the woman was ripped off of me and thrown to the side. Joel’s boot landed hard on her head, and the chilling shrieks turned to silence. He turned to me and watched as I rolled to the side and spewed vomit onto the floor. 

         Once my coughing and heaving stopped, I rolled over and let my head fall backwards. Joel came and crouched next to me, his hand held out to help me sit up. “Thank you,” I breathed as I used him for leverage, “sorry.” I breathed, swallowing my bile. He shook his head, “Don’t be.You’re not bit right?” he asked, a bit of concern peaking through. “Don’t think so.” I answered, still trying to regain my composure. His eyes scanned my body to be sure. When he saw no sign of injury, he grabbed me by the armpit and grunted, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He hoisted me off the ground and hurried down the steps and back out of the door we came in. 

After we got far enough away from the building, Joel told me to sit down and have some water. I tried to argue but he, of course, said that it wasn’t up for debate. “Not carryin’ you if you pass out.” He grumbled as he sat down on a wide rock next to a stream. I sat on another rock across from him and took small sips from my canteen, sighing in relief as the water washed away the taste of vomit. “I don’t usually have such a weak stomach, I swear.” I said as I closed the bottle and shoved it back in my pack. Joel swallowed a sip of his own water, then spoke, “You never get used to those things. Even after 20 years…” I nodded, keeping my eyes on the running water of the stream. I wanted to strip my clothes and just walk in. I could imagine how good the cool water would feel on my grimy skin. But Joel’s impatience kept me planted on the rock. “You good?” He asked. I nodded. “M’kay, let’s move.”

         When the sun was almost disappearing behind the tree line, Joel suddenly veered off of the path and into the thick woods. I followed him, choosing not to question his decisions so early in the trip. We walked further and further into the woods until we’d come to a small clearing. Joel dropped his pack on the ground and began to pull things out of it. A sleeping bag, tinfoil of jerky, his canteen. My stomach dropped. I left my fucking sleeping bag in my apartment. 

         I huffed as I sat down. “Better eat. Was a long day on your feet.” Joel said before shoving a piece of jerky into his mouth. I nodded and opened my backpack. Searching for something to use as a pillow or blanket. Anything. I pulled out my brother’s sweatshirt, and folded it up before setting it beside me. Then I took out a ration of Jerky and started eating. “Harvard?” He asked, eyeing the sweatshirt while still chewing his food. “Not me. My brother.” I said quietly. He nodded and focused back on methodically pulling the strips of jerky apart. 

          Joel lit the small lantern he had in his pack and began to unroll his sleeping bag. I sat there awkwardly fiddling with the strings of the sweatshirt I’d planned on using as a pillow. “Where’s yours?” He asked with a grunt as he sat down on top of the nylon fabric. I pressed my lips together, “Never got one.” I lied. He sighed and laid down. I was glad at the fact that he didn't seem to care. I placed the sweatshirt on the ground behind me, fluffing it up as best I could, and laid my head back. I frowned at the hardness of both the ground and the sweatshirt, but knew I had to face the consequences of my own forgetfulness. 

           Sleep didn’t come as easily as I needed it to. I laid awake, staring at the stars and trying to convince myself that this trip was worth it. Traveling with a stranger, a frankly terrifying stranger, on foot for thousands of miles just to see if my brother who, get this, left me alone in the QZ to go with the fireflies, was alive. I became angry at myself for making such a rash decision. Part of me was so angry at Matt for leaving me alone in the QZ to fend for myself, but the other, more rational part knew that he wanted me to go with him and I refused. I told him to go without me, but he still left, knowing that his younger sister would have to do whatever she could to survive in that cold, unforgiving city. And here I was, walking thousands of miles, risking my life to find him. I considered packing up and turning back, but life in the QZ wasn’t anything worth turning back for. Maybe, just maybe, I’d find my place somewhere else. If there was somewhere else. 

            I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. I’d obviously woken up Joel because he groaned and unzipped his sleeping bag. I laid still, not wanting to disturb him any further. I jumped when I saw his body looming over mine, his sleeping bag in his hand. He dropped it on the ground next to me and turned and went to sit on a log not far away. “Uh- Joel.. I.” I stuttered, shocked by his quiet kindness. “Just take it. Don’t argue.” I heard him say sternly. I cautiously straightened out the sleeping bag and slid inside. It was still warm from his body heat. I shuddered at the feeling of comfort washing over me. I felt bad that he’d given me his sleeping bag. He shouldn’t have had to. I was the one who forgot mine. I then realized, he didn’t have to. Maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all. 

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Author's note:

Hi! This is my first fanfic I've ever posted on here so be nice pls :') I just write for fun but any constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks for reading!! <3

Next Part | Masterlist

[running-with-the-feels]

spare headcannons about the Lin kuei quartet (bi-han, kuai liang, tomas, cyrax) please?

Cyrax is the only one of them to have joined as an adult and not been abducted as a child, which incidentally makes him the only semi-normal one out of the bunch

Tomáš viewed the Lin Kuei as his saviors for a long time as they pulled him from the rubble of a destroyed building and brought him back to temple, treating his wounds and making him one of them. It wasn't until the cyber initiative that he really started to realize that something was wrong

Bi-Han's sole, driving motivation in the Lin Kuei was to protect Kuai Liang, literally nothing else mattered to him. Bi-Han trained harder and longer than anyone else and also acted out more to keep the Grandmaster's attention on him, giving Kuai Liang some freedom from the scrutiny.

Kuai Liang once put a venomous snake down the back of Sektor's shirt in retaliation for Sektor's bullying. After that, people started giving him a wide berth

Bi-Han isn't actually a very powerful cryomancer in terms of raw ability, but he does have a truly impressive amount of control, able to use his powers in incredibly complex ways with little to no effort, though he still prefers to fight without it

The reason Bi-Han doesn't like using his cryomancy to fight is bc they both learned the basics of it from their father who was a pacifist and he's trying to honor Jiahao's memory as best as he can

Kuai Liang, on the other hand, is incredibly, dangerously powerful, and has to put a great amount of effort towards holding back. Bi-Han was the one who pushed him to hide how strong his powers were bc if anybody ever knew, the Lin Kuei would send Kuai Liang on worse and worse missions

Tomáš has nightmares that he can't remember almost every night, and will often sneak into Kuai Liang and Bi-Han's room for comfort afterwards.

Cyrax will cover for the other three every time he gets the chance, helping them get out of punishments and trouble bc he doesn't agree with a lot of the rules the Lin Kuei has and wants to try and change that from the inside

Cyrax also sneaks treats from the outside into the temple after his missions, sharing them with the other three to give them some semblance of a normal life.

Everyone assumes that Bi-Han is the next grandmaster given how much the current Grandmaster, Oniro, favors him. This pisses Sektor off and causes him to sabotage the brothers every chanc he gets, but the status of assumed heir gets Bi-Han a lot of leniency that he uses to protect Kuai Liang, Tomáš, and Cyrax whenever possible

There was a fifth member of their group, Hydro, who had been part of the Lin Kuei since he was a baby and helped Kuai Liang, Bi-Han, and Tomáš adjust to their new life when they arrived. He was their big brother figure and tried his best to protect them

Hydro died a few days before the tournament, which is part of why Bi-Han was so pissed off during the whole thing.

On the wiki it says that Cyrax was from Botswana, and I hc that he would make the food he'd grown up with for the others whenever he could get away with it. To this day, Seswaa is one of Kuai Liang's comfort foods.

Cyrax also once managed to sneak in some Khadi (a liquor made of sugar and mushrooms) and that became the only alcohol Bi-Han liked.

Cyrax was a chemistry prodigy, and made a series of different "bombs" with different effects, one even able to imitate cryomancy by creating a bunch of ice around the area of detonation. He was really excited to experiment with Outworld ingredients when making his bombs after joining the Lin Kuei

Cyrax is the mantle he chose after joining the Lin Kuei, for reasons he has never explained, but his real name is Kagiso, meaning peace, which he always found somewhat ironic given his line of work. Kuai Liang is the only person who knows that.

Tomáš will sometimes just turn into smoke to relax, he finds the lack of a physical form soothing in a way he can't fully describe

lemme know if y'all want more!

[dnvrsmedia]

Petrichor

Ellie Williams x reader 

A rainy day in with Ellie 

slight Farmer!reader 

warnings: none! pure fluff 

AN: this is my first Ellie ficlit! I haven’t written in forever so im starting small. Farmer!reader x Ellie may turn into a mini series though so look for that :) Hope you enjoy!! Requests are open 

——————————

Petrichor.

(n). The pleasant smell that often accompanies rain after falling on dry soil. 

The delicate tapping upon the roof and distant sounds of the people of Jackson slowly come into the foreground of your mind. As you begin to awaken, the smell of fresh rain puts a smile on your face. The first rain of spring has arrived. Comfortable in your little cocoon, your mind wanders to the many exciting crops you hope to plant this season. 

Other than in your lover's arms, you find that your favorite place to be is with the earth. Hands digging into the soil, giving birth to an array of fruits, vegetables, and wheat. While staring off into space, you feel the spot beside you begin to rustle. The auburn haired girl with a face dusted with tiny constellations laid ever so peacefully next to you. A brighter smile adorned your face as Ellie opened her eyes with a deep groan. Today was her day off patrol in a very long time. You had to beg her to take a step back and have been doing so for months. Tackling the nagging voice in the back of her head that tells her that she needs to prove herself to someone has been no easy task. Although she will never admit it, you can read her like an open book. Ellie has never needed to say what was troubling her with you, she never had to explain herself to you, and that is what scared her the most. 

Your hand caresses her face in the ever so loving pattern your sweet girl has gotten used to. Ellie allows herself to soak up all the comfort you are giving her by leaning into your touch. Her heart warms as she stares back into your eyes. She looks for any sign of deceit or lies and yet she cannot find any. You look at her with the purest form of love she has ever been given in her nineteen years of living here on this terrible earth. When she looks into your eyes she remembers what Joel told her. She has found something worth fighting for. 

The overwhelming sense of love and warmth swarms her body. Now, Ellie has never been one to have her way with words. She has only been able to write them down in that ratty journal she protects with her life. She has always been one who shows instead of tells, and showing you is exactly what she does. A surprised yelp leaves your slightly chapped-from-sleep mouth as Ellie leaps to press her lips into yours. The kiss starts off slow, yet quickly heats up to something very passionate. Ellie throws her leg around your hips so that she is straddling your lap as the pace quickens. Her skilled mouth sucking and biting your swollen lips as her dominant hand massages your head. She lets your lips go with a ‘pop’. She can’t help but chuckle at your spaced out face from the very heated kiss you two have just shared. 

“Well, good morning to me.” You giggle. Ellie laughs back once again; a symphony of laughter you could never get tired of. Ellie pinches your hip and pecks your lips once more. 

“You know I love you, right?” She frowns. Her brows turn down as she nervously bites her lip in waiting for your response. You know she must have had a rough night coming back from a tough patrol. You caress one of her boxer clad legs as the other hand turns her chin to look into your eyes. 

“With your whole soul, Ellie Williams. I love you too.” You respond in the same serious tone. The flicker of doubt flashes in Ellie’s eye before she leans down to hold you in her arms. You know she has had a terrible time with trusting, especially with her heart. The stubborn girl tries so hard to keep these walls built up and yet, here you are before her, turning these walls to rubble within a blink of an eye. You will always be grateful for having a love as beautiful as yours. 

“You won't lose me, pretty girl. I'm yours forever ‘ya know?” you reassure the girl in your arms once more. That seems to make the girl squished onto your front happy as she plants kisses to your neck. The pair of you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, enjoying the time you have with each other. You appreciate the slow moments that seem to come by rarer than a blue moon. 

The tip tapping of the rain comes to a lull just in time for the loud rumbling of your girlfriend's stomach to erupt. Ellie’s head shoots up from being tucked in your neck, her face as red as the cherry tomatoes you plan on harvesting. A huge bout of laughter escapes your mouth after a beat of silence. Ellie groans and (non committedly) smacks you on your bicep. 

“You’re an ass, you know that? A real dickhead!” She smiles knowing she means absolutely nothing of what she says. You move she so that you can rise from your bed with a dramatic roll of your eyes. 

“Would a dickhead be getting up to make the love of their life breakfast while they go get a shower?” You raise an eyebrow. Ellie smiles wide, she loves your cooking. 

“Yes, but you’re my dickhead, babe.” She stands off the bed, giving a polite smack to your behind. You let out a loud laugh with a shake of your head. 

“You are so lucky I love you. Now go shower, I want to stop by the farm before we meet up with Dina and Jesse.” You plant a kiss to her forehead and move to grab the ingredients for her favorite breakfast. You set your favorite record on the record player Tommy had found and gifted to you for your birthday and got started. 

A half an hour later, Ellie arises from the bathroom with sweats on and  her damp hair in a bun. You roll your eyes at the fact that she still doesn’t listen when you tell her not to go out with wet hair. She must sense that you are about to grill her for not allowing her hair to dry when she snakes her hands along your waist for a hug. 

“I don’t deserve you my beautiful girl, it smells amazing, thank you.” She kisses your neck and moves to sit at the small dining table in your apartment. You blush at the nickname and shake your head. You bring the food out for the two of you and take a seat in front of her. 

“Anything for you, babe.” 

[sweetnsour1]

11:37

Fluff, Bakugou x female reader

Part of the Cute as hell Collection

A pop sounds beneath his fingertips, but it’s not the usual series of crackling that you’re used to. Another. You hear him tsk somewhere above you, annoyed. He had to be. He had specifically asked you to take it easy. He had told you to be careful. He had spoken softly to you, keeping the plea from reaching the ears of the others, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

You had been annoyed. It was impossible not to be. He would never take it easy. He was two breaths away from reckless when he had to be. He had asked you for something that he hadn’t asked from any other hero there. You had turned away from him, not wanting to be tempted into a promise you wouldn’t keep.

You had been angry. It cost you reaction time. You had to compensate for it by breaking every stipulation of the promise you had rejected. At least you weren’t a liar. He hadn’t laughed when you told him that. Apparently, the rubble where he found you fatigued and passed out wasn’t the proper stage for your comedy. The ambulance wasn’t either. None of your jokes landed during the mandatory physical at the hospital. You were fine, but he wasn’t. He was angry.

Another pop and tsk sound above you. It’s hard to not smile at the way his annoyance ends somewhere between his mouth and his fingers. All ten of his digits have forgiven you. They continue to knead the knots and tension along your spine. They’re gentle. The way they traced what felt like gridlines onto your bare skin was light, concerned as they charted out the territory of your back for hidden bruises. Then they had gained confidence as they discovered the knots of muscle worked through your body.

Two pops and another tsk sound above you. He still hasn’t said anything since he started…not a word since he told you, “Lay the fuck down, so I can fix it.” His hands leave your skin and the sound of crackling is quiet, but familiar. When he’s on you again, you can feel the shift. His palms have forgiven you. They’re warm and press into you in smooth and steady circles. You breathe out slowly, holding in the moan that’d only let him know how much pain he was actually relieving.

A tsk, a pop, and another tsk this time…you smile at the sound sandwich he’s made, but keep the joke to yourself. He’s moved higher up your back. He’s leaned forward. His forearms have forgiven you. One presses along the length of your spine, releasing a series of pops that sound painfully close to his quirk. He growls this time, a tsk no longer enough to voice his frustration. He moves closer, angling so he can repeat the movement on the other side. The results only make him growl again.

A chill runs across your bare back when he pulls away. The absence of his warmth as obvious to you as the absence of his voice. Before you can even consider moving to look up at him, there’s crackling and his fingers are on you again. They’re working your shoulders and neck.

“I had to, Katsuki.”

The fingers stop. The palms stop. The forearms stop. It’s as if they’re waiting for his reply, curious if the rest of Dynamight is ready to bend. His lips forgive you. They kiss the back of your neck, your shoulder blades, your spine, and your hips. Then they make their journey a round trip, ending just below your ear.

“I know, beautiful.”

“Am I allowed to roll over yet?” He laughs, the sound soothing you as much as his massage.

“No, you’re in trouble.” He doesn’t have to see your pout to know it’s there. He laughs again as his fingers start to work along your sides. “Ten more minutes.”

Inspiration for this was sent in by the lovely @flying-lamb

Masterlist

[nitromians]

a fanart last year…… #Nitrome by beeeeesive

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 6

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: none for this chapter

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena

Masterlist

Day 76

It was a particularly hot summer day, even for Iraq. Ben made sure to remind everyone to drink water every hour while the platoon traveled back towards base. They had left early morning while the temperature was still tolerable but, with the midday sun, it had quickly reached triple digits.

Leah was grateful to be on the turret just to have the added relief of the wind on her sweat slicked face. They had one more stop before returning to Warhorse and Leah would finally be able to change out of her drenched clothes. The guys kept complaining about their sweaty balls but boob sweat was no picnic either.

The four vehicles moved quickly down the dirt road, heading for an abandoned hamlet. They were going in as a reconnaissance team to ensure there were no hostiles hiding after an airstrike damaged most of the infrastructure. The survivors—what little there were—had already fled, leaving it open to anyone wanting to use it as a temporary base of operations while they regrouped. The proximity to Warhorse and to the main road made it particularly worrisome.

Leah kept her eyes peeled and her head on a swivel as Rohan maneuvered through what was left of the hamlet. After their initial sweep came up clean, they exited the humvees and split up to clear the few buildings still partially standing.

Gun drawn and moving on the balls of her feet, Leah followed Benjie with Ethan on her six. After clearing the northern side, Rohan radioed the other teams over the comms and received matching reports.

“I say we dig into our MREs before driving back,” Jeremiah declared as they walked back to their humvee.

“Do you ever think about anything other than food?” Leah turned to face Jeremiah, walking backwards.

“Sure, sometimes I think about my baby back home. The love of my life, that one.”

“I’d find that cute,” she said, turning forward again, “except I know your ‘baby’ is a car.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” he replied, putting his hand over his heart and shaking his head solemnly.

They had almost made it back to the convoy when a single gunshot was fired, the distinctive bang sending them all rushing for cover.

“This is Valkyrie One-Three, interrogative: who the fuck is shooting at us? Over.”

Benjie was crouched behind a pile of rubble, peeking over in hopes of determining the status of the situation.

“That was friendly,” Leah asserted, taking aim in the direction of the sound. “Get Cap on the comms, that was his sector.”

Before they had time to ask more questions, BJ’s voice interrupted their panic. “Hold your fire, Newbie panicked when a stray pup barked at him. Over.”

“Ooh, someone’s about to be in trouble,” Ethan sing-songed, getting back to his feet.

“One bullet won’t win us a war, I highly doubt Cap will make a fuss over it.”

The ‘Newbie’ in question, Carlos Vega, had taken Leah’s place as the base rookie. The poor guy was still young and his inexperience was already showing. With Nielsen and his men on a short leash, he hadn’t had that hard of a time yet but his frequent fuck ups were getting on some of the guys’ nerves.

“Oh, Sy won’t be pissed because of the wasted bullet, he’ll be pissed about aiming at the dog. The only thing that has ever put a smile on his grumpy mug was a dog.”

Surely, that couldn’t be true. Sy had the reputation of being a surly hardass but that wasn’t Leah’s experience with him. Then again, maybe he wasn’t as hard on her as he was with the men in the unit.

When they finally made it back to the humvee, most of the others had settled on the ground, chatting happily as they ate their MRE. The new private who’d apparently incurred Sy’s wrath, however, was sitting alone in the back of his humvee. He looked like he was struggling to unpack and heat his own meal. Hopefully they’d spent more time in training teaching him how to stay alive than they had on heating an MRE.

“Where’s Cap?” Benjie asked, dropping down next to Pat and immediately reaching over to snatch a discarded milkshake packet. Benjie was friendly with just about everyone on base, something that gave him special privilege when it came to trading snacks.

“‘Bout two-hundred feet that way, fixing to lose a hand,” BJ answered. A few of the men snorted or shook their heads in amusement but Leah only frowned, looking off where BJ had tipped his chin.

She pulled her water and meal from the vehicle before making her way towards Sy but when she reached the area BJ had indicated, he was nowhere to be found.

At first she thought he must have gone off in a different direction but the sound of his voice drew her attention to a small metal structure that looked to be some sort of shed. “Come on, it’s peanut butter. Don’t dogs love this shit?” There was nothing but a growl in response followed by a panicked curse.

“Come on, it’s like a hundred and thirty degrees in this box, just have a bit of water,” he pleaded. This time, his words earned a loud bark and a vicious snarl which sent Sy stumbling backwards out of the shed.

“Hey, Cap.”

Sy startled, his head shooting up and his eyes landing on Leah.

“What are ya doin’ here, Coleman? You should be with your unit.”

“I figured I’d save you from doing something foolish like say… trying to hand feed a rabid dog?”

The Captain’s defenses fell and he sighed, hanging his head in defeat.

“He’s just a pup, can’t be more than a few months old…” Sy’s gaze went back to the inside of the shed. From where she stood, Leah couldn’t see the interior but she knew he must have locked eyes with the poor dog.

“What was your plan? Even if you feed it, it likely won’t survive out here.”

There was nothing for miles around the hamlet. Any source of food or water that had been around before was now nothing but ash.

Sy swallowed, tossing the packet of peanut butter back in his MRE bag.

“You’re right. Let’s go. They’ll probably be done eatin’ by now.”

He waited for Leah to turn back so he could follow her but the expression on Sy’s face kept her locked in place. He appeared gutted at the idea of leaving the starving canine behind to die.

“Let me try something,” Leah eventually said, kneeling to rip open her MRE. She searched their surroundings, finding a warped piece of scrap metal. Being mindful of the sharp edges, she picked it up before moving toward the door.

When she stepped inside, Leah sat right by the door with her back to the wall then lifted a finger to her lips and tipped her head, motioning for Sy to mirror her position on the opposite side of the frame.

Leah placed the metal piece on the dirt in front of her and poured some of her water in the makeshift bowl. She put the cap back on the bottle and dug into her bag to find the beef stew packet, adding a few chunks of meat to the water. Finally, she looked at Sy and held out her hand expectantly.

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a small smile as he fished the peanut butter packet back out of his MRE pack. Once the platter was fully loaded with all the peanut butter squeezed onto the edge, she pushed it as far forward as she could reach.

Without another glance towards the filthy pup hiding under a set of fallen shelves in the far corner of the room, they began to eat the remaining food. By the time they both finished, the dog hadn’t moved but it had stopped growling at them.

As quietly and slowly as they could, they cleared their trash and returned to the convoy. Leah expected some sort of teasing upon their return—maybe a ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ joke or something along those lines—but nothing came. Apparently the men were well and truly on their way to accepting her presence on base. Or more likely, they didn’t have the balls to say anything in front of the Captain. Either way, she took her position at the turret and the platoon moved out without a word.

“Mail call!”

The mess hall went from moderately noisy to a cacophony in seconds. There hadn’t been a mail call in over a month. Someone started calling names and letters were passed down the room.

“Holy shit, my kid is walking!”

“My girl is dumping me for some fuckboy called Kyle.”

“My mom sent me a picture of the ducks in her backyard.”

“What? Why?”

“Man, I have no clue.”

Leah ignored the excited chatter, keeping her head down as she moved the food around on her plate. She was still hung up on that dog they’d left at the village. Sy sat a little ways down on the opposite side of the table and from the looks of him, he was thinking the exact same thing. It was strange seeing the big scary captain turned upside down by a small pup but she could completely understand why.

An elbow to the ribs, forced Leah’s face up from her powdered potatoes.

“They called your name like four times, didn’t you hear?” True to his word, Benjie placed a small box on the table next to Leah’s tray.

“I never get mail,” she argued, too stunned to say anything else. Her grip tightened on her fork as she stared at the brown package as if waiting for something to pop out and scare her.

“All I got was a Christmas card,” Ethan said, turning the picture towards them. “I’m not sure ‘better late than never’ includes family portraits with matching ugly sweaters. Look at this, even the pug has one.”

“What are you waiting for?” Rohan asked, bumping his shoulder into hers. 

She was waiting to figure out what could possibly be inside the box. She had no idea what to expect. She didn’t even know for sure who had sent it since she didn’t recognize the return address.

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to see what’s inside?” Jeremiah goaded when Leah didn’t answer, pushing the box closer to her.

Curious was not the right word. Worried or apprehensive, sure. Curious, no. Since enlisting, Leah had not received a single piece of mail and she had never expected any either.

“If you’re so hyped, why don’t you open it?”

Jeremiah didn’t need more encouragement, ripping into the box with his knife, but his face dropped when he saw what was inside. His reaction did nothing to quell her worries.

“I see now why you didn’t care.” He pulled an item out of the box, frowning as he studied it. “Whatever happened to the classics like snacks or baby wipes?”

Leah looked up, a fond smile spreading over her face as she extended her hand to take the box of brand name permanent markers from Jeremiah. It had been decorated with a red bow and a post-it note stuck on the front read: “A promise is a promise <3”

It was the stupidest thing but the note made tears threaten to pour from her eyes.

“Leah, I’m not taking your half! I’ll get student loans. It’ll be fine, it’s what everyone does.”

“What the fuck am I gonna do with it? Do you know of a good ATM in the middle of the Iraqi desert?”

“You could buy a house of your own or take a trip or use it for your wedding one day.”

“I’m enlisting, Caleb, if I bought a house it would just sit here and be empty and there’s no way I would ever burn that much money on a wedding. Please, just use it for school.”

They’d been having the same fight for the past week. Neither of them had seemed to be willing to give even an inch. Until then.

“Fine,” Caleb finally said with a sigh, pulling Leah into a tight hug. “But I’m only doing this because I don’t want to spend the rest of your time at home fighting about money.”

Leah closed her eyes, sinking into the familiar comfort of her big brother’s embrace. In a few days, she was going off to basic training. After that there was no telling where she would end up and she knew it had Caleb worried.

“What can I do instead?” he asked when they finally pulled apart. “What do you want?”

Leah shoved a few more items into her bag and looked around her room. It was plastered with her artwork and various posters.

The money they were fighting about had always been earmarked for school. For the most part, they had lived a very minimalistic life and Leah had rarely spent more than the bare minimum on anything that wasn’t essential.

“Buy me a set of markers that aren’t from the dollar store and we’ll call it even.”

“There’s two envelopes in here too,” Benjie pointed out, bridging Leah back to the present moment. “One of them seems to have pictures in it.”

“How much are we betting someone sent Leah a polaroid of his dick?” Jeremiah smirked, pointing around the table at each of the guys who simply shook their heads in exasperation.

Leah clutched the box of markers to her chest, making no move to open either envelope so Jeremiah took the packet of pictures while Benjie opened the other. Ethan leaned over the sergeant’s shoulder, reading the revealed letter aloud.

“‘You can expect two grand in your bank account every month going forward. It’s not an error and I’m not taking no for an answer this time.’ Holy shit, Coleman’s got a Sugar Daddy!”

Multiple heads turned around the room but Leah was so focused on the words of the note that she didn’t notice Sy’s envious scowl at the wild declaration.

Dammit. Leah was willing to bet that two thousand dollars a month was a typical student loan payment for medical residents. It seemed Caleb was going to force her to take her half one way or another.

“Wow, Coleman, full homo your man is hot. And he’s a doctor? How much dick do I have to suck to get in on that deal? My girl needs new rims.”

From a few seats away, Sy pretended not to be eavesdropping on the conversation but he couldn’t help sneaking a look at the picture the boys had passed down the table at BJ’s request. 

BJ released a low whistle, studying the picture. “Nicely done, Coleman. Why are we just now hearing about this guy? And what the fuck are you doing out here with us if this guy is dropping some serious cash on you every month?”

“That’s Caleb.” She retrieved the various pictures, looking through them for the first time. “He’s my brother,” she clarified, quickly glancing at Sy who’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Interesting. “When I enlisted I made him take my half of the college fund. Apparently he wants to pay me back.”

Amongst the pictures, Caleb had sent a shot of the two of them. She clung to his back like a koala and they were both laughing hysterically. It had been taken the day she deployed.

There was also a series of goofy selfies, illustrating how Caleb had spent the last few years since they’d been apart. One was of a midnight coffee break, undoubtedly taken while he was cramming for exams. A few others showed him in scrubs with CPR and medical practice dummies.

The last one was taken at the lake where she and Caleb had spent much of their childhood. It was most likely the one the guys had been joking about, showing Caleb passed out on a lounge chair in his bathing suit with a book held loosely on his lap. Yeah, that was typical Caleb, she thought. He had always preferred a good book to a hunting or fishing trip but he worked out regularly to keep sane—his words not hers—and it showed.

“Now that you mention it, I see the family resemblance,” Rohan said, looking at the pictures again.

“Yeah, the drop dead good looks,” Ethan pitched in with a flirty wink that made Leah roll her eyes.

Sy stood from the table, clearing his tray then heading out in the direction of his office. Leah gathered her gifts, mumbling a quick excuse about having forgotten to hand in some paperwork, and ran out after Sy.

“Cap!”

Sy stopped in his tracks, turning to face Leah who stood just a foot away from him. Leah checked over her shoulder to make sure the hallway was empty then looked up at the Captain.

“Can I use the sat phone?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I know everyone misses home when the mail comes in but you know I can’t do that. We have a usage schedule for a reason.” It was a shitty, robotic response but it was what he had to say as her officer.

“I haven’t used it once since I got here. I just…” Leah rubbed the back of her hand over her nose as it started to prickle. She was trying really hard not to cry in front of Sy because then he would think she was just trying to manipulate him and he would never give in to her request. “Caleb promised he’d buy me these once he started his residency. The fact that he sent them means he graduated medical school and I just want to tell him that I’m proud of him.”

Sy had four siblings of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time one of them had said they loved him in more than a perfunctory manner, much less that they were genuinely proud of him. Truth be told, he’d never been very open with them either so maybe he was partly at fault for the strained relationship. Leah’s brother was lucky that she cared that much for him.

“You get ten minutes.”

“That’s all I need,” she promised.

Day 78

Leah and the guys were sent out on a quick prisoner transport mission. It was over and done without a hitch and Rohan now steered the humvee onto the road leading back to base. From her position at the turret, Leah spotted the destroyed hamlet far up the road.

On an impulse, she reached down, patting Ethan on the shoulder. “Get Rohan to radio One-One and request to pull into the hamlet for lunch!” she shouted over the noise of the motor.

“We don’t know if any rebels have moved in there since we cleared it and we’re almost back at Warhorse!”

Leah cursed internally and gave Jeremiah a small shove with her foot.

“Come on… I know you’re hungry!”

“I could eat,” he agreed before leaning forward and saying something to Benjie who then radioed who she assumed was BJ in Victor One.

Leah didn’t know exactly what was said during the exchange but as they came up to the narrow dirt path, the convoy slowed then turned into the hamlet. After performing a quick sweep, they parked the humvees out of sight of the main road.

Jumping off the roof of the humvee, Leah beelined for the ruin of the metal shed.

“Where are you going, Princess?”

After hearing the little nickname so much around base, it sometimes slipped out when the boys were in a teasing mood. Though they weren’t thrilled with the way she got it, they couldn’t deny it was pretty funny. Rohan especially found it hilarious.

“Just taking a piss Han Solo!”

“Then why are you taking your MRE with you?” Benjie called back with a knowing smirk.

“I don’t want Chewie over there to eat it before I get back!”

She didn’t turn around but she heard Jeremiah’s offended squawk from fifty feet away. Oh yeah, if the boys wanted to play, who was she to deny them?

Chapter 7

[ask-team-misfit]

(blueespeon) Teiji @ Pikavee

Pikavee, if I may ask, how exactly did you end up meeting your human? Perhaps this may be a bit too personal for you, but would you mind telling?

I understand if you want to get back to him, considering I myself have a human as well, but I am curious about how you met your trainer.

[ @blueespeon ]

Pikavee: “You want to know how I met my human? I don’t mind telling you about it. We met in the woods.”

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Pikavee, a hybrid of Espeon and Umbreon, with a mono-color background. She is shown from the neck up, with her face slightly angled away from the viewer towards the left. Her expression is rather casual. A meek, shy smile is present on her face. Her ears are upright. End ID ]

Pikavee: “M-my memory’s fuzzy about why I was there, but that’s where he was the night he found me.”

Lief said nothing to all of this, again crossing his arms where he stood. But despite his usual disinterest in humans, he found himself glancing over to listen in anyways.

Perhaps the premise by itself of where Pikavee came from before happening upon humans was intriguing enough.

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Pikavee similar to the previous image, but with a different expression. She has a light smile. Her eyes are closed, with a subtle blush present on her cheeks, shown in color. Her ears are upright. End ID ]

Pikavee: “It’s really nothing bad. I look back on it fondly. B-but if anything sounds confusing, or weird at all…”

She trailed off as she heard it again–the earlier noise that was too faint to identify. It sounded a little louder, or at least, she thought it did. But she still wasn’t entirely sure what she was hearing.

She focused on Teiji again, and ultimately decided against finishing her previous statement. Her smile turned apologetic as she tried not to dwell on it too much.

Pikavee: “First, he threw something at me, and…”

That night, a little over a year ago…

Before the Twileon realized it, her entire being was sucked inside that pokeball. The capture device dropped to the ground soon after.

The human who had spotted her, and had only then attempted to catch her, slowly came out in the open with a look of bewilderment still on his face.

He’d been nearby investigating something else entirely; a terrible incident that occurred at his old place of work. What he didn’t expect was to become sidetracked with what he found and follow the trail here, towards a hybrid Eeveelution gigantic in size.

Now that same Pokemon was within his pokeball.

Before he could get much closer, he winced and shielded his face as the pokeball burst. The wilderness was briefly awash in crimson light as the giantess reappeared.

He paused, and looked up to meet her in the eye. He tried not to make sudden movements.

She was shaking in terror, her eyes locked onto him. The rubble and debris that was previously stuck in her fur now lie scattered on the ground.

He noticed how many cuts and bruises the debris had covered up. The most troubling detail to him were the splotches on the lower part of her body that looked like blood.

The pokeball was in pieces. Crackling around the shards like static electricity were a series of red sparks.

Pikavee: “I do remember being scared of him. I just froze when I saw him there, looking at me.”

Very slowly, he moved again. He took one step forward.

The Twileon winced in response and shut her eyes, which made him pause his approach.

Pikavee: “I was scared of hurting him, I think… I’m not sure why else I would freeze like that. He didn’t even try to hurt me. Instead, he offered me food.”

She opened her eyes again only as she began to smell something sweet. Where the human once stood was a bundle of enlarged pokebeans in its place.

He was now further back, a reassuring smile on his face.

??: “That’s the biggest we’ve got, I’m afraid… but you’re hungry, right? Go on, have some.”

Nervously and hesitantly, the Twileon sniffed the beans. She licked them up to eat, trying to ignore that he was watching.

Pikavee: “Th-they were really tasty… and he kept giving me more of them. He led me to his home, and–”

Lief: “Seriously? You fell for that?”

Pikavee looked at Lief with surprise. She didn’t expect him to really listen, let alone become invested.

But Lief was staring back at her like he really was dealing with a sheltered, naive person of questionable maturity.

Lief: “You let the guy woo you into following him because he had food? Not even I’m that desperate. That’s aside the gajillion questions I have about this story.”

He paused only to stuff his face with another berry he was eating.

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Lief, a hybrid of Sylveon and Ribombee, shown from the neck up, oriented similarly to the previous image. He appears annoyed. Both eyes are narrowed. His mouth is open, as if in the midst of a tangent. End ID ]

Lief: “If you ask me? Should’ve stayed wild, missy. Would’ve saved both of us some heartache.”

He grumbled the last part with a huff.

Pikavee sighed, averting her eyes from him. She tried to pay little mind to what he just said, particularly that last bit.

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Pikavee shown from the neck up, oriented similarly to the previous image. She appears somewhat concerned or timid. Her eyes are downcast, with her mouth in a shaky frown. Her ears are drooped down. End ID ]

Pikavee: “A-anyway. He um… he led me to his home, and introduced himself.”

??: “You can call me Lynx. Technically it’s Dr. Lynx, but these days I don’t feel very much like a doctor… heh.”

The human currently stood before the giantess. The giantess listened to his every word, lying flat on her belly and watching his face.

Curiosity plain in his face and voice, he continued speaking to her.

Dr. Lynx: “But you. Where did you come from? Surely not from that lab that was destroyed…”

The mention of the incident brought forth a powerful fear in her, enough to make her sit up abruptly.

Having initially flinched away with shock, he watched as her wide eyes began to brim with tears.

Her breathing turned sharp and rapid. The fur on her tail stood on end. 

Soon it was as if she wasn’t looking at him anymore.

Dr. Lynx: “H-hey, hey. Can you hear me–?”

Pikavee: “Um. This part is also kind of fuzzy… I remember him asking me something. According to him, I fainted all of a sudden.”

Pikavee: “I-I just, sort of… w-woke up to him looking at me with worry.”

Back in the present, Pikavee was looking down at her paws. Though she had willingly recounted what she could remember to Teiji, her worry about how this turn of events may have come across to the Espeon, Lief and gods forbid anyone else that overheard, was plain as her large size.

That is, before she tried to end it off on a lighter note.

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Pikavee similar to the previous image, but with a different expression. She has a nervous smile of sorts. Her eyes are closed, with a couple sweat drops present on her face. Her ears are drooped down. End ID ]

Pikavee: “B-but, we lived together ever since. I’m glad to have met him…”

pknerd-chimera asked: (@pokege-ne-project ; Neo-Ka) Overhearing this was interesting, but... "Hold on, ya said that human's s'posed to be one of those labcoats, right?" The second to last word held some venom in the Eevee's voice. "Ya sure t'human wasn't hidin' anything from ya? How t'hell do ya manage t'avoid fights, otherwise?" When labcoats did something weird like that, there's always a reason. At least, Neo-Ka was convinced of the trainer's bad intentions, despite contrary evidence.

[ @pokege-ne-project ]

The spite in Neo-Ka’s voice shook what little confidence Pikavee had on the matter. She couldn’t look the Eevee in the eyes.

In fact, she couldn’t look anyone in the eyes anymore. Her tails curled close to her body as she flattened herself further against the ground in a useless attempt to appear small.

Pikavee: “I-I’m sure… um, I think I’m sure…”

Lief: “You think?”

Lief, who has previously just been watching her, now spoke up with a similarly suspicious tone.

Pikavee: “H-he doesn’t say much about his old job. Not to me…”

This, however, was a half-truth.

Dr. Lynx: “S-so that’s what happened…?”

She wasn’t directly told. But she didn’t need to be–she overheard.

Dr. Lynx: “Entro Tech… what have you done? It’s little wonder this Pokemon is so terrified of people.”

Even though she slept outside and could only hear so much of what went on indoors, she figured out the man had a disdain for something called “Entro Tech”.

It stuck out in her mind ever since she heard it.

It made her think of the dreams she would have at night. Of the assortment of questions she always had deep down about herself, and how badly she wanted the answer to those questions.

But these thoughts were ones that brought on a lot of pain…

Lief: “Are you sure he doesn’t, missy?”

Pikavee murmured low after a long pause. She hid her face in her paws.

[ ID: A grayscale drawing of Pikavee similar to the previous image, but with a different expression. She's grimacing deeply. Her eyes are shut tight and she's sweating, with small tears at the corners of her eyes. Her ears are drooped down. End ID ]

Pikavee: “Y-you’ll just think it's weird…”

[twistedtummies2]

Year of the Bat - Number 21

Welcome to Year of the Bat! In honor of Kevin Conroy, Arleen Sorkin, and Richard Moll, I’m counting down my Top 31 Favorite Episodes of “Batman: The Animated Series” throughout this January. TODAY’S EPISODE QUOTE: “I’m a civic-minded citizen, with a lot of time on his hands!” Number 21 is…The Clock King.

Some of the best supervillains in “Batman: The Animated Series” weren’t necessarily characters who appeared time and time again. Sometimes they only showed up a couple of times, and that was honestly enough. The Clock King, titular antagonist of this episode, is a great example. The character was actually invented as part of another superhero’s Rogues Gallery – namely Green Arrow – but ever since the version played by Walter Slezak in the 60s series, at least, he’s often been confused for a Batman rogue, as well. This episode updated the character in a way that many agree is superior to the original found in the comics, and has been influential in later portrayals to this date. The story begins with a man named Temple Fugate, a businessman whose company is under serious trouble with a multi-million dollar lawsuit against him. If he loses the court hearing, it will mean his financial ruin. Hamilton Hill, an acquaintance on Fugate’s regular railway commute, suggests that Fugate should relax before the hearing, and recommends taking his usual coffee break at a different time. Fugate decides to take the advice…and a domino effect of accidents leads to not only the destruction of his company, but the end of any shred of sanity the man has left in his head. Years later, in present day Gotham, Hill is now the Mayor of the City, and is running for a re-election. Fugate appears as the self-proclaimed “Clock King,” a villain hell-bent on humiliating and then destroying the Mayor, whom he blames for all his woes. Batman must find a way to stop Fugate, as the Clock King’s crimes grow increasingly more brazen and dangerous. What I love about the Clock King is the way the motif of time is used in the story. The original villain in earlier interpretations was a very gimmicky character; I’ve always enjoyed the character, but I think it was primarily due to this version and the one in the 60s series that I really fell in love with the concept. Clock King, in this series, isn’t so much a guy who uses clocks as a gimmick, but is instead a living clock himself. He’s the world’s most nightmarish case of OCD, who has to make sure everything is neat, tidy, punctual, and efficient at all times. Why is this a threat? Because he knows when a train will be passing by X spot at Y time, and knows how to get down off a building and onto it without breaking a sweat. Because he knows the exact spot to stand, and when to stand there, in order to avoid being crushed by falling rubble. Because he knows exactly when to dodge a punch, when to retaliate with an attack of his own; his mind is a computer that can calculate every single action and motion down to a fraction of a second. As the series so often did, in other words, it took a character who had before seemed like something of a joke, and made him into a compelling and dangerous opponent. Alan Rachins, the voice actor for the Clock King, is also a big part of the character’s staying power. He’s just so wonderfully snide, for lack of a better way of putting it; while you do feel a bit sorry for Fugate due to his opening origins, he’s also just a wonderfully smug and smarmy sort of character. You kind of want to punch him in the face, but in the best possible way, and it never takes away from his menace as a character. The design is also really great; very simple, but very striking, with the watch-face glasses and the cane that resembles a minute hand. It’s easy to see why this version of the character caught on, both in and out of comics: sometimes just knowing the right time for everything can almost be a superpower in and of itself.

Tomorrow we move into the Top 20 of the countdown! Hint: “Why couldn’t you just let me make-believe?!”

[cevansbrat0007]

Bathroom Busybodies

Summary: When you show up at your boyfriend's office for the first time, the only thing you're anticipating is a lunch date with your man. You didn't bank on having to deal with gossipy coworkers. 

Warnings: Fluff, Cursing, Implied Smut, Andrew Barber, Bitchy Coworkers, Confident Reader, Ignorance, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt courtesy of @christhickevans. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. I look forward to everyone's feedback if you feel like giving it. All mistakes my own.

___

After pulling into the parking lot and turning off your car, you take a moment to triple check your make-up. For today's lunch date with Andy, you'd chosen a pale pink, tie waist blouse that you then paired with a pair of cropped white capri pants and blush colored wedge sandals.

You'd finished off the look with a pair of pearl earrings and a light dusting of makeup.

It might just be your own opinion, but you looked pretty damned good.

Even though he was expecting you, you still fire off a quick text letting him know that you had arrived. Grabbing your bag, you exit your vehicle and make your way into the County Prosecutor's Office Building.

You were so excited to see where your man worked. And, of course, for your date.

When you enter the building, you state your business and the person you're here to meet. They wand you down, have you walk through a metal detector, and then they allow you to sign in.

"Is Mr. Barber aware that you're here?" Asks the woman at reception.

"Uh, he should be. He's expecting me. Plus I sent him a message when I arrived so..."

"Okay, well, we do have you on our approved list of visitors so we'll get someone to take you back there in just a moment. Just let me find - ahh Henry! Can please escort this lovely lady to Andrew Barber's office? He's expecting her."

The older black security guard gives you a onceover before motioning for you to follow him down the hall. He doesn't speak until you're both far away enough from everyone else.

"You in some kinda trouble, Miss?" He grunts.

Your eyes go wide. "Huh? What? No!" You sputter.

"Didn't mean nothin' by it. I was hopin' you weren't. You just remind me of my own little girl, is all. Well, that and not too many folks visit the District Attorney's office to, well, visit." He shrugs.

"No, no. It's okay. I, um, Andrew Barber is my...well, we're dating."

"Oh." Is all he says.

Oh?

"Well, this is your stop Miss."

"Um, well. Thank you." You mumble.

"Not a problem. But just, uh, word to the wise. No matter how nice they seem, these attorney types are all slick devils. Have yet to meet one that isn't. Watch yourself kiddo." He gives your arm a fatherly squeeze.

And with that he's on his way, just in time for Andy to swing open the door and nearly careen headlong into you with his big body.

"Oh shit!" Your man jumps backwards. "Hi, Y/N." He breathes, running a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting."

He drags you into his arms. "God, how do you manage to get more beautiful every time I see you?" Andy rasps as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, making you giggle. "Fuck, I've missed that laugh. It kinda makes you sound like Betty Rubble."

It had only been two days...

You step back so that you can reach up and cup his bearded face, your thumbs gently massaging the apples of his cheeks. "So I see you've got jokes, huh, Mr. Barber?"

"What? No jokes." He presses a brief kiss to the inside of your wrist. "I think it's cute."

You smile up at him, and then you take a moment to appreciate how good he looks. "I like this tie, Big Man. You're looking awfully sexy right now. I might, uh, have to jump your bones in your office before we go." You purr, lust coursing through you.

"Is that an offer? Because if so, I graciously accept." He responds with a sinful grin. God, this man had the word "sin" written all over him. It was practically etched into his skin.

You throw him a saucy wink before looking around. Convinced that you're both alone, you allow one hand to trail its way down his body so that you can cup him through his pants. You give him a light, but meaningful squeeze, before gripping his belt to pull him flush against you.

"Feed me first, and I'll blow you later." You murmur.

"You are incorrigible." He growls softly.

"Only because the man I'm dating is hellbent on corrupting me." You whisper back. "He's supposed to be a force for good when, in reality, all he does is make me wanna be bad." You bite your lip.

"Fuck!'" Andy hisses as he reaches down to adjust himself. "Come on, you little minx. I've gotta grab a couple of things from my office and then we'll go. Seafood or sushi?"

"Ooh, tough call, baby. Do you have a prefence?" You ask your boyfriend as he grabs your hand and leads you inside.

"If I did would I have asked you?" You can't see the smirk, but you knew it was there. "I would've just told you where we were going. And you would've been fine with it."

"So cocky..."

"I prefer the term confident. And it comes with the territory, baby." He looks over his shoulder to shoot you a wink of his own. "Mmm! Got a couple of folks I wanted to introduce you to as well...let's see." You can feel yourself starting to sweat.

Had you applied enough deodorant this morning? Was Secret Deodorant's Lilac & Lavendar Garden Fresh scent truly strong enough to keep all of your secrets?

"Oh, now you remember Max. You met him -"

"At that gala last month!" You finish for him. "Nice to see you again." You say to the kind, slighly balding man."

"Likewise, Y/N. Glad to see you're still around keeping this guy here in line. Lord knows he needs it!" He lets out a hearty chuckle. "You two enjoy your lunch."

"And this here is Cynthia." He gestures to a lovely brunette sitting a desk away from Max. "She's only been with us for a few months, but she's proven herself to be a great addition to the team. Cindy, this is my girlfriend, Y/N."

"Hi." You offer her a smile and a wave, which she returns. But you can't help but notice that the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. Oh well.

"And this is Lucas and Alanna..."

On and on it went. Introduction after introduction. Some with folks you'd met before, while some were brand new faces. Most everyone was friendly. But there had been a couple people that you'd gotten an "off" vibe from. All women. Not many, but still.

"I just gotta grab my wallet, sweet girl, and then you and I can be on our way. Did you decide yet?"

"Hmm...still thinking. Can I use the bathroom before we go?"

"Sure thing, baby. Here, give me your bag. I'll put it in my office while we're out."

"But what if I need -" You start to protest.

"You won't be needing shit." You open your mouth again. "Don't you start with me, sweetheart. We both know how this works." He pulls you against him to whisper in your ear. "You know better than to even think about reaching into your little wallet while you're out with me. Now go to the bathroom. It's down the hall on your right."

Stepping back, your hands go to smooth down your blouse. "One of these days, you are going to let me pay." You sniff before turning and heading towards the bathroom.

"Yeah, right." You hear him scoff.

I am right damn it!

Once inside, you check your makeup. Still good.

Overall appearance? Still good.

Alright with apparently dating an overbearing ogre? Yep, still good.

With a sigh, you head into a stall to do your business. You were anxious to be alone with your man.

You're just finishing up when you hear several women enter the facilities. No one goes into a stall or anything, so you assume they're either checking their own makeup or it's time for girl talk.

Shit. It wasn't like you could throw stones. You were guilty of doing both.

The corporate female bathroom was a safe space. Usually.

"Oh my god. Did you see her, Janice? I mean, it just blows my mind."

"I know." The other woman, whom you assume must be Janice, fires back. "Look, I'd heard the rumors. But there was no way I actually believed he had moved on. I mean, Laurie was my friend. And two years after she dies he waltzes in here with...with this bitch?"

"Calm down you two." A third voice chimes in. "We all know he's just with her for the optics. It's a good look. Our department gets flack all of the time for trying and convicting a disproportionate amount of African American offenders over virtually every other population."

"You make a good point, Cindy."

Why, hello, Cynthia. You snaggle-toothed bitch.

"Exactly. It's all about how it makes us look. Andrew Barber is smart like that. How could they possibly continue to accuse our department of racial prejudice when the goddamned District Attorney is "supposedly" dating some random black bitch?"

Black bitch, huh? Oh, I got your bitch right here. You go to flush the toilet to make them aware of your presence, but before you can...

You hear what sounds like a sniffle, which makes you frown.

"Oh Alanna, sweetheart. Oh sweetie, don't cry."

"I'm sorry, Janice. I am. I know Laurie was your friend, but I had been hoping that maybe...just maybe...he'd look at me. I mean, I've been here for years. I thought that maybe we were building towards something."

"You know what, Lana? I'd be okay if it was you. I would. You're not just some tramp he dragged in off the street. You're not just some money hungry whore looking for a Sugar Daddy. You've worked hard for everything you have." Janice reassures poor, heartbroken Allison or whatever the hell her name was.

Oh, and I haven't you basic ass bitches?

"You know what? Even if this is all for optics and whatnot, I met the woman for two minutes and I can already tell you that I don't like her. I bet she's all fake, just like her ass. I swear, I'd put my money on injections." Janice spits. Or was it Janet? Jaqulyn maybe? Whatever.

The feeling is mutual cupcake. Ain't a bit of love lost over here either.

"And you know what? I'll even take it a step farther. I cannot wait until he dumps her. I give this whole thing a month."

Alright, that's it. You've heard all you can take at this point. Vicious little vultures.

You choose that moment to flush the toilet and exit the stall. You smile as they all three shrink back in shock.

"Hello, ladies." You do your best to keep your tone conversational. "You three discussing anyone I know?"

Silence.

"Because if you were, then I could tell you that this girl doesn't really care for any of you either. I just happen to possess a bit more tact than you do. And Amanda, wipe the tears, honey. Even if he wasn't dating me, he doesn't want you. Woman up and move on already. Woman to woman, you're coming off as kind of pathetic."

"It's Alanna." She whispers.

"You're not important enough for me to care." You whisper back as you wash your hands.

"Now, Julia -"

"It's Janice." She hisses.

"Ain't that what I said?" You ask with a quirked brow. "I get his ex-wife was your friend and all, but get over it. I'm not after Andrew Barber's money. Also, I've worked hard for everything I have. Just in case you were curious. And, by the way, this luscious ass is all real. Just because you're rocking a pancake booty doesn't mean you have to be jealous. Come on. It's beneath you. At least it should be. Be proud of your flat ass, sugar." You wink at her.

You go to dry your hands.

"And hello, Sydney. Sydney was it?"

"It's Cindy. But you may call me Cynthia." She tells you, her tone haughty.

"Yeah, hi Sydney. You're right about the fact that Andrew is a very smart man. After all, he clearly recognizes greatness when he sees it." You shamelessly point at yourself. "But he's not with me for the optics. If I even thought that was the case. Even for a moment, he'd spend the rest of his life walking with a limp."

You toss your paper towel into the trash.

"Now, I've got a feeling that I'm gonna be around for a good long while. So you all had better shut up and get used to it. Let me catch you talking shit about me again and this black bitch won't be so nice next time. We clear?"

All three women nod.

"Good. So glad we made time for this conversation. It's been great getting to know the real you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for my date."

With that, you flounce out of the bathroom and grab your boyfriend's hand.

"Y/N. Is everything okay? What took you so long? I was starting to get worried." You watch as the other women slowly come trotting out of the bathroom. Of course they immediately take note of your joined hands.

"Sorry, Andy Bear. I just getting to know some of your team a little bit better. Did you know that they're super concerned about the department optics?" You make sure your voice carries, enjoying the fact that they all look sick. "I can't wait to fill you in over lunch. I choose seafood by the way, darling. Let's go."

"As you wish, sweetheart."

END