#the angled thing on the fence

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[little--ghost]

Though you may fall, your will shall carry you forward. A dream is endless, but a Kingdom is not.

[daily-terus]

[snekdood]

😬

the "leader" is more like "leaders". normally one might think of stalin or something, but hes just a blueprint, the actual leaders are the ones at the top of the social pyramid within these spaces, such as popular tankie blogs

this ones obvious. i dont feel like i need to say anything. we've all seen how ppl act on here when you question any of their beliefs or the effectiveness of them, etc. and if you challenge them at all or say you dont agree, suddenly you're a horrible person or even a bigot of some form

i underlined "denunciation sessions" bc theres a big emphasis on here to denounce the old "unwoke" parts of your life. not so that ppl should change for the better, but because there's a pressure to change immediately and throw all your old beliefs out the window without even really unpacking them. its their way or the highway and you have to choose right now and its not a multiple choice test. i also underlined "debilitating work" bc theres an emphasis on reblogging things to "spread awareness" or whatever as soon as it pops up on your dash, and if you dont, you're a horrible person, etc.

while i dont really think many of the options given necessarily apply, they sort of do. you dont need "permission" to date, but you'll be berated for dating the "wrong type of person". you'll be told to change or quit jobs if the job does something tumblr communities dont agree with, even if you need the job, and usually they'll call it "boycotting" to make it seem more legit. they'll discourage you from moving to any state or country that they deem isnt progressive enough.

this one goes without saying. instead of it being some random air of superiority, it's "we're the most moral, correct and progressive people" superiority

this one also goes w/o saying, people on here think incredibly black and white all the time, its definitely encouraged.

this one ALSO goes without saying

this one is obvious as evidenced the past two months. everyone saying "believe victims" and that "rape is always bad" in the past but then coming in to defend hamas' actions at every turn and deny the rape or even say that "if it did happen it was justified". which is a fucking wild way to think about the world and you should be locked up.

also obvious. tankies love to guilt trip. nevermind if it backfires on them and makes ppl resent them and move to the right after. i mean, after all, all they cared about was the power they had in telling ppl what to do, not actually giving a fuck about anything or having any convictions.

yes bc if you interact with anyone ppl on tumblr generally dont like, you'll also be shunned. if you have family members who aren't "progressive" enough and you still accept them into your life and hang out with them, even if you dont necessarily want to or dont necessarily like them fully, the fact you still interact with them at all is bad, apparently.

obviously, bc who would want to stick around a place like this once they realize whats really going on. its why they demonize ppl like me or anyone who questions them too much and pushes us to side, to use us as examples for the new, younger people coming in that they get to manipulate and tell them to avoid you and avoid being like you, since you ever dared to question them. they'll call you whatever they need to, make bullshit up about you, JUST to lure ppl in and tell them how much better they are than you, or that if you listen to them they can avoid being like you.

i mean. yeah? maybe it doesnt seem that way but. ppl asking for money all the time through paypal or whatever? or the overall goal of "taking the billionaires wealth and redistributing it", while its a statement i generally agree with, i dont trust that the people saying it will be that responsible, and would probably just hoard money for themselves, and deprive it from people they "dont like" on purpose, almost as revenge for a real or perceived slight, or just bc they dont like someones "bad vibes".

yeah you're apparently supposed to take having tumblr mutuals very seriously, treat them like best buds even though you've probably never messaged eachother or messaged eachother twice about inane things you saw on tumblr. its not a total stranger bc its someone on tumblr so its fine actually! see, they say they're queer and a leftist in their bio, totally safe! thats all it takes! also activism is reblogging or something ig

if you go to other sites, you're looked down upon. if you make friends outside of tumblr communities, you're looked down upon.

people feel like w/o the communities they've built on tumblr, they have no safety net elsewhere, probably bc they've cut contact with WAY too many people, probably plenty of people who didnt even deserve to be, and probably bc they disagreed on like 1 or 2 things. regardless, they cling to the tumblr "safety" net for dear life. "if no one else got me, i know tumblr got me, heres my paypal" essentially. you cant trust the world outside of tumblr to take care of you never of course, its all bad and horrible and can never be fixed or useful in any capacity, etc. burn it all down and start it again with tumblr users in charge and then it'll be perfect, or so they think.

[ivysangel]

just had this idea. jason teaching you billiards. in the way where he leans over you to angle it just right in the dark lighting and the you both have a few drinks in your system and you’re in some sort of skimpy clothing. anyways y’all go home and he puts you in that same position.

~🥀

you're a little tipsy but still aware enough to play to your strengths and get what you want. bending over in a tiny skirt, letting it ride up so he has to stand behind you and make sure no one sees.

he's a little possessive like that, wants to let you play your games and rile him up, but is always on the fence for the sole reason that he hates that he has to share the sight with other people in the vicinity.

he's got a glass of dark liquor in his hand before setting it down and pressing right up behind you and following the curvature of your body. his mouth is next to your ear, hand arms draped over yours, and he whispers, "like this." before launching the cue ball right into a striped one.

there are a few onlookers. guys trying to get a peek at your boobs as they teeter right at the edge of spilling out, and girls trying to assess whether or not they have a chance of going home with jason tonight. the answer's no. it's always no.

he's half-hard by the time you get back to the car and he has to resist the urge to have you right there in the backseat. he didn’t act on his urges though, he couldn’t. the things he wanted to do to you, the ways he wanted to bend you; they required more room and more time than you would have before someone came knocking on your car window.

he thinks about how badly he wants you on the drive home when he contemplates pulling over so you can at least give him head, on the walk up to your apartment, when he ponders just fucking you in the stairwell, and when he's pulling your skirt off of you, the sound of threads ripping as it's tossed the floor.

before you can make it to the bedroom, he's bending you over the couch and draping his body over yours as he's back in your ear whispering, "like this?" just like in the bar. only this time, your fingers are digging into couch cushions as you feel him pushing inside of you, head nodding furiously as you confirm that you do indeed like that.

[ashherahh]

how you shine

Note: Please take it if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. Meditate before making your decision. It's completely okay if you don't resonate with this reading. The collective is huge and I'm sure you'll receive the messages you need in due time.

pile 1

Cards: The Moon Rx, Page of Wands Rx. BOD: Two of Swords

Gifts: Observation, grounded, wisdom, the ability to study and understand. Rationality.

You're very down to earth. You don't allow your pride or passions to control you, but rather you contemplate before taking action. To others it might seem that you are slow to move or that you are on the fence about everything. But intuitively you just know that the best course of action for yourself is to take a step back and reflect.

To others, situations might seem like you either know or you don't know, but you don't think in black and white. Your greatest gift is you're able to see all angles before taking action.

Do you feel good about yourself going at your own pace? It's as though everyone is in always such a hurry to decide but no one wants to understand and learn first. No one seems to want to reflect these days, everyone is always rushing onto the next best thing. Not you though, you like to savour life, to savour experiences. You like to explore your options and gather a deeper understanding.

To the outside world, you are withdrawn but you have a rich inner world. You have deep perspectives and knowledge. You're not quick to reveal yourself because you know the wisdom in observation.

pile 2

Cards: Death Rx, Nine of Pentacles Rx. BOD: Nine of Cups

Gifts: Teacher, regeneration, rising out of circumstances, overcoming. Guide. Providing sound advice.

It seems as though your generosity is infinite. You are able to pour into the cups of others. When you come into someone's life, it's as though their mindset shifts. They are able to embrace new beginnings when you're in their life.

I see you as someone who has dealt with much loss in their life, in various aspects. At times, the loss came from an inability to act and so you have worked through that and are able to teach and guide others who are in a similar situation.

You've worked through so much because you were dealt the short end of the stick, but through adversity, you prospered. You flourished.

You are able to guide others through extreme changes. A lot of people are comforted by your presence. The guidance you offer, you acquired through hardship so people respect you because of this.

pile 3

Cards: The Chariot, Knight of Swords. BOD: Nine of Pentacles Rx

Gifts: Bold, courageous, leadership. Trendsetter. Decisive. Diplomatic.

You're usually the first to do something, and even if you're not, you're the one people end up following. Your energy is bold, and making decisions comes easy to you. You might find yourself in situations where you're being followed or you find yourself leading others.

You're a very likeable individual and people are drawn to you. You're kind of fearless and you're not afraid to make the first move.

People think you're superficial at times and rash, but it works for you. Taking action is in your nature and it gets you the results you need. Some people are just naturally more driven than others, and that's nothing to feel bad about. But you already know that. When something is an integral part of your nature, it works for you.

Your drive doesn't stem from greed, neither does your ambitions. That's just how you are. It's a blessing, truly. Take comfort in the your innate abilities and cultivate it. You might have people jealous of you but don't pay them any mind.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: I am queuing this so who knows if Im still suffering.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The morning is going splendid. You spilled your coffee and the tea you packed in a thermos, you left on your counter. The realisation doesn’t hit you until you pull up to the site. You huff and hang your head, gripping the steering wheel as you brace yourself for your caffeine withdrawal. 

At least it’s dry. Mostly. As Thor forecast, the rain didn’t come until the night. The steady patter kept you awake, along with that lingering displacement that never quite leaves you. Fatigue is another constant. Your new normal; sleepless nights and sleepy days. 

You get out and set to work. It’s all you can do. It’s all you’ve been doing. Just keep going. It doesn’t matter how, just get it done, get through the day. 

You yawn at your task, brushing digging, oh so gently wiggling the little form. It’s almost out. Almost free. In your eagerness for some progress, you get careless. Your hand slips and the spearhead grazes our palm. Is isn’t until the stinging splits your skin that you realise it’s a slash. 

Damn it, you didn’t put your damned gloves on. 

Great, with the luck you’re having, you’ve just contracted some ancient virus. You hiss and grip your wrist. Your adrenaline triggers your heart. You take a few breaths to stay calm as you watch the blood bead to the surface. 

You curse and stagger to your feet. You grab the rag from your back pocket and clutch it in your injured hand. You grip it tight as you cross the site, careful not to tread to heavily, and you angle the fencing to sidle between two panels.  

You clumsily pull open the car door and reach under the seat. You always keep an emergency with you. It’s a rule of thumb for your sort of work. You never know what might happen. Bug spray, sunscreen, bandages, swabs, a hole trove of supplies. 

You shake as the pain intensifies, thrumming through your palm. You come out and rest the plastic tote on the hood and sift through with your single hand. This is going to be awkward as hell. While you enjoy your solitary, it can sometimes be unsettling. What if something worse happened? 

“Ruff, ruff, rrrrruffffff,” the growlish yet high-pitched barking comes from up the mountain road. 

You pause as he peek under the rag and peer up as gravel mulches. Another visit? Your work is so boring, you wouldn’t expect him again. Thor appears as Thunder hops before him, spastic as she sniffs the ground in circles. He smiles and waves but you can only manage a grimace before you look back to your wound. 

“Morning,” he booms as he scoops up the small dog and nears the other side of the car, “it’ll be a sunny one.” 

“You sure?” You look up at the greyish blue skies, than at him. Hm, the hue of above is rather similar to his eyes.  

“I know so,” he assures you and tilts his head curiously, “why are you so grim?” 

You show him your hand as you lift the cloth from it. He lets out a sympathetic hum and sets Thunder on the ground. She runs over to inspect the fence as he rounds the hood towards you. As he gets closer, his size is even more obvious. He’s well-built, you can see it even at a distance, but up close and personal, he’s almost inhuman in stature. 

“Yikes,” he offers his hand, “may I?” 

“Really, it’s not—I can handle it.” 

“I’m certain you can. Only the bravest woman would come to these grey lands and sit alone in the dirt,” he jokes. “Please, it’ll be easier with two hands.” 

You relent, a tinge of embarrassment hot in your cheeks, and peel the rag away. You hold your hand out to him and he brings one of his large ones to cradle it. Wow. He’s massive. The difference in your hands is startling. 

“Nasty cut,” he muses as he reaches over for the swabs you’ve piled out on the metal, “but it shouldn’t need more than a snug wrap.” 

“Thanks,” you look away, eyeing the dirt as his proximity makes you squirm.  

You can’t remember the last time a man touched you, especially a handsome one. Well, aside from Sam and Bucky but those were just hugs and usually ended in them arguing anyway. You’ve never been the most popular girl in the world and those men you managed to reel in didn’t stay on the hook very long. You never really tried to keep them. You were always too distracted. 

You wince as he wipes the cut with the alcoholic cloth. He softens his touch but holds your hand firm from beneath. He offers a rumbling apology as he focuses on tending to you. His intent is new to you. The way he looks at your palm holds more than any look you’ve ever gotten from a man. Or anyone. 

He crumples up the used wipe and takes another. He’s thorough. You feel a shiver roll through you despite the warmth in the air. He trades the wipe for the roll of gauze and wraps the strip around your hand, hooking over your thumb and looping your wrist. He uses the little metal clip to pin it then turns your hand over, brushing his own over it as he grins. 

“Good as new,” he announces, “though I recommend you not use it too much. And perhaps a pair of gloves.” 

“Yeah, I forgot. Long day.” 

“It’s nine in the morning?” He chuckles. 

“Yep,” you agree dryly. 

“Hopefully it gets better,” he says. 

“Yeah, maybe,” you agree dully and toss the things back in the tote.  

He picks it up before you can and keeps it from your reach, “like I said, you should take it easy.” 

“Well, there’s work to be done,” you say as he moves to the open door and slides the tote inside. “What are you doing back here?” 

“Ah, I let the queen lead the way,” he stands straight and closes the car door. He looks past you and your head perks up. Thunder is very quiet. “As ever, she does not tread with caution.” 

You turn to find the chihuahua inside the fence. You jump in place and sprint over, clattering between the panels as you call after her. “No, no, sweetie, be careful!” 

You chase her around where you were digging as you sense Thor watching from without. Great! You hope she didn’t pee anywhere. 

A sharp whistle pierces the air and Thunder stops. She sits in place, still wiggling, but doesn’t move. You peek back at Thor and he nods. You near her and pick her up. 

“Sorry about her, she is a free spirit,” he tuts as you cross back to him. “I will be certain she does not stray again. My apologies.” 

You’re taken aback by his sincerity. You try to remember the last time someone apologised to you and sounded like they meant it. Hell, when’s the last time you even got an apology. You dip out between the grating and hold out the dog. 

“I would hate to get in your way any more than we already have,” he hugs her with one arm and spreads his other hand over his chest, “we will be on our way. I do hope the sunshine brings some brightness to your day.” 

“Um, thanks,” you shift on your feet and hide your twiddling fingers. “You too.” 

“I’ve already found my sunlight,” he grins even wider and blinks, “now, Thunder, let’s go make a storm somewhere else.” He twists on his heel and lumbers off, “perhaps mother might put up with you for a time.” 

You stand just outside the fence and watch him go. A lock of his golden hair hangs loosely form his bun, dangling down his back, wagging almost like the dog’s little tail. He bounds over the lumpy ground and disappears behind the rock face. You look down and smile. 

Not everything is so bad and you can see the amber ribbon limning the clouds. The sun will be there soon. Just like he promised. 

💟

Thor comes back again. 

It’s a week since you cut your hand. Like before, you can’t predict him. You don’t hear him approach as he’s alone. You only notice him as he clangs something on the fence and lets out an ‘oops’. You pop your head up and look over at him through squinting eyes. Your forehead hurts from the expression. 

You smooth out your face and stand, facing him. He wiggles a metal canister in his hand. The wind sweeps the strands around his square jaw as the sky pulses in shades of gray behind him. 

“Thought you might like some hot tea,” he holds up the thermos. 

“Oh, uh... you didn’t have to...” you look at the sky and its quivering blanket. You’ve been pondering packing up for the last hour. “Thanks.” 

“Not to worry, I was restless.” 

“And you always go walking through the mountains when you’re bored?” You wonder as you step around the markers in the dirt. 

“I live here, there isn’t very much else to do and it isn’t a good day for swimming.” 

“Swimming?” You nod and click your tongue. “Sounds like the life to me.” 

“Mm, it can be rather languid when there isn’t work to do,” he turns the thermos in his hands as he talks, “Have you tried cloudberry?” 

“Cloudberry? Never heard of it.” 

He pokes the thermos between the panels and you take it. He pushes the barrier back into place between you, hooking his fingers into the links. You feel the warmth through the copper-coloured metal. 

“You didn’t have to come all this way for tea,” you laugh. 

“I wanted to ask after your hand. See how it’s healing,” he says. 

“Oh, uh,” you open and close your gloved hand, “just a scab now. I’m all good.” 

He smiles and keeps himself from leaning to heavily as the fence dips towards you. He coughs and realigns his feet, brushing back the looses strands around his face with a flick. He pushes his shoulders back and drops his hand. 

“So uh, you should try the tea. I put together the herbs myself, steeped it...” he bounces on his heels, “I suppose it’s not that impressive but it is good. Antioxidants, anti-inflammatory.” 

“Wow, sounds like one of those superfoods,” you scoffs as you pull of your glove and tuck it into your work belt. You untwist the cap and steam wisps out. You smell the tea and blow over it. You look up and find him watching you. “You’re starting to make me nervous, what’s in it?” 

“Just tea,” he assures. “I can’t lie to you, though. It wasn’t my idea. My mother suggested it. She’s very interested to see what you’re digging up but I’m afraid she can’t do much at the moment.” 

“Oh, your mother? Is she sick?” 

“She is in perfect health aside from her dislocated knee. She went rock climbing and well, accidents happen, eh?” 

“Yeah, sure do,” you show him your cut. “But they get better.” 

A lull rises as you take a dainty sip. The tartness tweaks your cheeks and you scrunch up your nose. 

“You don’t like it?” 

“It’s... different but not bad,” you say. “So, your parents live up here too?” 

“Mm, yes. I’m afraid I’m occupying their attic at the moment. I sold my home in Oslo, it was much too... cold.” 

You can’t help but snort, “it’s Norway.” 

“Ah, so it is. I should be used to it,” he agrees. “And how are you faring here? Have you adjusted to these dour lands?” 

“Eh, I’m trying,” you put the lid back on and turn it until tight. “Thanks for the tea.” 

“My pleasure,” he assures you. “Seems lonely work.” 

“I don’t mind it,” you shrug and cross your arms, tucking the thermos beneath one arm. 

“Interesting though. Have you found very much?” 

“Ugh, a spearhead and some pieces of the shaft. A vase, cracked though. Some beads.” 

“Beads,” he echoes thoughtfully, “is this all confidential?” 

“Not really, you wanna see?” 

“Very much so,” he says. 

“Right, uh, let me just...” 

You go back to where you were sat and plant the thermos in the dirt. You scurry around, overly aware of his observation, and go to the pin of your catalogued items. You find the bone beads and brings the little dish of them over to the fence. You hold them up as he peers between the links. 

“They have runes,” he intones. 

“Yeah, I’ve got the meaning of all of them except, er...” you pull out the single bead made of jade, “this one.” 

He hums and considers it closely, leaning in. 

“Not a rune. That’s a family symbol.” 

“Oh?” 

“My family’s.” 

“Wow, uh,” you lower your chin, “that’s... I... kinda feel like a thief.” 

“Can’t have cared very much about it if it’s down there,” he remarks, “you know, my father has mapped out much of our genealogy. As much as he can. He might be able to assist with your research, if he can find the time. Bit of a hermit these days.” 

“Oh, uh maybe, I’d hate to bother,” you smile sheepishly, “erm...” you look around, “where’s Thunder? Awful quiet without her.” 

“She’s keeping mother company. I’ve told her not to be too much of an imp, can’t have her making it worse,” he shakes his head. “The two of them are both stubborn as the other.” 

You can’t help the twitch in your eye. All this talk of your family has you suddenly homesick. You fight not to crack and swallow tightly. 

“Anyway, thanks again for the tea.” 

“Your parents must miss you,” he says abruptly. 

“Erm, yeah, my mom calls now and then but she’s better as an empty nester. Dad’s got his head under a hood most days so...” 

“Friends? Boyfriend?” He wonders. 

You arch a brow. He’s not very subtle and yet his inquiry can’t be anything but innocent, right? You’re still strangers. He can’t be into you. Not someone who looks like him. How long did you pray for Steve to even see you like that? This man is definitely not going to. 

“Friends. Sam likes to pester me when I should be sleeping and Bucky... they’re funny.” You sniff and gaze past him. You won’t mention that giant elephant in your head. The one you think about at night. 

“Lots to miss back home, it sounds like,” he breaks the silence before it can settle. 

“Yeah, but not every day you get to travel.” 

“And to a beautiful land,” Thor declares, “I hope one day you’ll come out of the dirt and see more of it. You’ll be surprised what lays further up the mountain.” 

You smile and look down, “yeah, maybe one day.” 

“Until then,” he backs up on his heel, “I won’t distract you any further. Enjoy your tea.” He turns and strides away, pausing halfway as you linger by the fence, “the rain will be here around five so I would leave early, otherwise you’ll be driving through it.” 

“Right,” your chest deflates just a little. You don’t know what you wanted him to say but you’re disappointed, “thanks.” 

[dreamerwitches]

Full wnk trailer analysis lets go (p1)

Homura with wavy hair fronts. Matches the one from the poster

I dunno about you, but her face looks kinda younger from the side? Cuter? I dont think we've seen anyone else from the side so maybe its just the artstyle and im being silly

The background is pretty hard to decipher

She has a ring but no visible stone or fingernail marking. It doesnt seem like the end of her main hair is wavy. It looks like she's missing the buttons on her front but this may be an animation error or the angle is hiding them

This bit makes me think she's falling down a spiral staircase? Though it doesnt resemble the one later. The gold bits look like banisters. The background gives me a stained glass window church feel

Madoka's home maybe? This is still wavy hair homura

Madoka has no ring

Not much to say. Text in the bottom right says mramasa but the rest is japanese and some numbers. Looks like maybe the power of the fan?

Ibari, number one. Yes its her, the lighting is just pink/red, you can tell cause her blue skin is more purple. To me, it looks like someone is holding her. The light peach parts on the bottom left and right look like the regular animation style. The flowers on the magnifying glass look a little like mami's

Dumb venus maybe? That compact wouldnt close if it had that pearl sticking out XD

I believe this is a homura we havent seen before. The ribbon doesnt match the poster homu from the right. Its brown, her uniform has a white under shirt. Ive seen people theorise this is Manuke, stupidity. The brown ribbon would match her hair colour. Her eyes are more purple than the pink of the previous homura. The colour also matches phone homu from the first trailer.

Ive seen people mention the fencing vaguely looks like oktavia's scales. I think the multiple parts remind me more of her tail. The windows at the very edges kinda remind me of the first scene.

I didnt realise at first but this is homura's wing being broken

Devil outfit has changed. She has a red streak in her hair. Her feathers look fluffier but it might just be the art style. Another red addition to her leg. Her right shoe looks like madoka's. Actually her gloves kinda look like madoka's too

With the city(?) below and the unmoving effects, is this happening during a time stop? Im getting the feeling this trailer (or movie?) has a brown/orange-ish glow to it so maybe they artistically changed the colour of time stop?

With the bright bg and chair colour, i think madoka is with mami (seen later) in this scene. Also i think thats her left hand, no fingernail marking

Rebellion cafe real, it even has the steps leading up to it (though its not 100% perfect... but eh, artistic licence...)

Also, the girl's teacup is cracked. I cant remember the name but it looks like that japanese art of repairing something broken but making the repairs beautiful (repaired witch???).

A stretch, but the napkin underneath reminds me of homu's handkerchief

I thought the lack of soul gem in the ring was an animation mistake but maybe not??? And a dark (could just be obscured by the cup) fingernail marking. It looks like the london underground symbol ToT

Ah the walls dont really match with the rebellion cafe... maybe this is just what cafes look like in madoka XD the single table is still a mirror to it though. I think the lotus flowers are telling.

I wonder if the girl's golden eyes (like godoka's) mean something because magical girls colours usually match dont they? But maybe they've stopped doing that, eh. I like how her glasses are the opposite to homura's, rim on the top.

I didnt realise the thing next to her is a purse, its huge ToT it has flowers on it. I saw someone call them roses to try and say this is gertrud... um no XD have you ever seen a rose???

A stretch but the crockery reminds me of Candeloro's

Its the same three colours

Nagisa has brown scrunchies and her hair is in two low bunches with dark red beads. It looks like her dress is different too

She has the mitakihara uniform and a yellow cardigan. You can see her soul gem ring. The yellow of the cardi and the brown hairbands make me hope it is bear girl......

Girl full of slinkies!!!! The dots around the place remind me of homura's corruption from rebellion (ala on the bus). This is bandaged sayaka

These make me think of candeloro's kiss. I think i can see flowers on the spine too

But the hands together on the middle of the spine is from madoka's rebellion transformation

Walpurgis?

Yes im sure this is the same cafe as madoka was in now. Very pretty

Mami has her hair clip from her magical girl form on the top left of her head. Also could be animation error but maybe her ring is missing the gem

ALSO ARE YOU JUST EATING A SUGAR CUBE MAMI????

Is this the same place from the dancing scene? Doesnt one of the nightmares have an attack like this? So is homura doing it because she controlled the nightmares.

Also they explode with white feathers hmmmmmm. I have the horrible feeling homura would do it to scare madoka

Clearly not the previous kyoko. Outfit is different and more like her original one i'd say. The cake looks like its from the cafe

Also hnnngghhh concept movie?????

Damn ive hit image limit... well part 2 incoming

[tenderleavesbob]

Wild's era was great and vast, filled with things which loved to ruin Warriors's day. It certainly wasn't Warriors's favorite era.

Sometimes, though, it wasn't bad. Warriors grinned when Wind yelped and tightened his arms around him. "Different from a boat, huh?" Warriors called.

"You're all crazy!" Wind snapped. Wild and Twilight rode alongside them, both grinning at the boy. The stallion under them tossed his hair, as if hearing Wind's insult.

Wild's era was vast, with open fields which were great for riding. Time led the way on a giant horse Wild called "Bob." Sky rode a gentle mare, having insisted that he could ride by himself. It wasn't too different from a loftwing, he said. Warriors thought he seemed to be enjoying himself, at least. Four rode with Time, Legend with Wild, and Hyrule with Twilight. Warriors was shocked that so few of them had riding experience. He was even more shocked when their veteran admitted to preferring traveling by foot and avoiding horses when offered.

"We could have walked!" Legend shouted now.

Warriors laughed. If looks could kill, Warriors, his horse, Wind, and everyone at the stable where they obtained the horses would all have fallen then.

"Kakariko is too far by foot," Wild retorted. "We would never get there!"

"I've walked farther!"

"It would take days."

"I still prefer my boat," Wind grumbled against Warriors's back.

Warriors couldn't stop grinning. "But this is fun, right?"

"You don't -- We be losin' Sky."

Warriors looked up and started calling out, but Wild was already veering his horse to where Sky was turning southward. There was a small grove of apple trees not far away, and Warriors bet Sky's mare had seen them. "On it!"

Time slowed his horse in front of them. With all of the extra weight, Warriors knew they would need to take a break soon, anyway. Four sat in front of Time, and to Warriors's amusement, he looked fast asleep. He guessed horseback riding didn't bother him too much. "Everyone all right?"

"Help!" Sky called.

"Let's go that way!" Hyrule cheered. "I want to see what's over there."

"We're fine," Warriors replied drolly.

"Mostly," Twilight added.

Time sighed and looked over the small group. Wild urged his stallion to run fast to catch up to Sky, and Warriors could hear Legend yelling insults.

From this angle, Warriors could also see his smile.

"We should --" Time started.

"Go a little further and then take a break," Warriors interrupted. His cheeks were beginning to hurt as he smiled at Time. He knew Legend would enjoy himself if given the opportunity. "It'll be lunchtime soon, right?"

"Don't you dare jump that fence, Wild! Don't!"

Time rolled his eye, but Warriors saw him smile a little. "Right. Let's give them a chance to catch up and then we'll keep going."

"It looks like they need help, Twilight!" Hyrule said. His eyes were sparkling. From his angle, Twilight couldn't see it, but no one could mistake the glee in Hyrule's voice.

"Lots of help!" Wind chirped. "C'mon, Captain!"

Warriors winked at Time and steered his stallion southward. "I suppose you're right, Sailor."

"Make sure to go that way," Hyrule added, pointing at the fence Wild had just jumped. "It looks the quickest!"

"The quickest," Twilight echoed. He met Warriors's eyes, and the pair grinned at each other. With a sharp shout and a nudge of their heels, their horses sprinted toward their lost team members.

It turned out jumping over the fence was the quickest way to get back to where Time waited, too.

[mossyivy]

Imagine pregnancy cares with Leon…🥹🥹

You’re hungry? He’s running to the store at 3:00 AM to make you some spicy noodles with a side of pickles. Your feet are swollen? Put your legs up on his lap and let him massage those feet! The baby won’t stop kicking your ribs? Well they’ll get a stern talking to! >:(

I feel like Leon would definitely not let you do one single thing around this house, hell, you couldn’t even get up to grab a glass of water anymore. He’d carry you around the house like a little princess, setting you down in bed and tucking you in, kissing you goodnight like you were a little kid. Talking to your belly in the middle of the night, telling it random and silly stories, acting like your baby knew what the hell he was talking about.

Don’t even get me started on your bump, he’d looooovvvveeeee that big ol’ belly of yours. When you wore those pretty flowy sundresses because you refused to wear pants during the last month or so of your pregnancy, how those dresses would show your bump (and your melons, wink wink👀) off were definitely the best parts. You were the prettiest thing in the world to him, even more now that you were carrying his child.

If only I could give him that cute domestic life he deserves…

- Anon! 🎀

Oh my God, I love domestic Leon so much... He deserves that typical white picket fence life.

So there's conflicting resources online so I'm just gonna make an assumption here. July-December is when most babies are born. So far the same of a time line we'll say you're due in September.

So it's like the dead ass middle of July. Hot as balls and it's 3am. You want spicy noodles and pickles. (You're usually craving) But when you go to the kitchen they're both gone. You just grab an otter pop from the freezer, and head back to bed. The bed dips under your weight as you sit, adjusting your pillows before you lay back. The window AC is at that perfect angle where it's hitting you enough to make you chilly as you curl up with your snack and blanket.

Leon rolls over in his sleep, putting his arm around you and pulls himself closer to you with a groan. Lifting his head without opening his eyes, you know what he wants. Leaning down you give him a kiss. He sinks back into his pillow, tongue jutting out to wet his lips.

"Why... Do I taste cherry?" He opens his eyes, looking up to see you already drinking the juice from the clear package.

"No noodles? No pickles?" He questions, turning on his back as he takes in a sharp yawn. Rubbing away the sleepy gunk from his eyes.

"We're out." He turns his head, watching you look at the empty wrapper in disappointment. He sits up without a second thought, still groggy as he grabs his wallet off the nightstand giving you another kiss before he stands up. Slinking out the door in his pajamas.

30 minutes he comes back with fresh made spicy beef noodles from your favorite late night Korean dinner and a jar of pickles the size of a baby. An you bet you scarf those things down while he watches you like your his whole world. This goofy smile on his face while you slurp up glass noodles and glance at him.

"Wuh?" You say through chews. He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Nothing babe, just eat your noodles." He moves in getting comfortable. Rubbing your lower back and belly at the same time while talking to the baby until he eventually falls back asleep with his head on your thigh.

SUN DRESSES WITH A BABY BUMP WOULD MAKE THIS MAN GO FERAL! There's this thing about pregnant women that men find attractive because their instinct is to detect fertility and protect. Which is insane as is...

But when it's your own partner? Oh boy.

He thought you were beautiful in sundresses before but now it's just heightened!

It's getting harder to bend and pull things up with an entire human being inside of you so you resort to the old reliable method. Dresses. Everyday.

You wobble out of the bedroom with your flip flops. Dropping them on the floor you slide them on. Ready for a day at the beach together before the baby comes. The dress is a shade of blue, slightly low cut but really showing off the girls with how much you've blown up during pregnancy.

Leon's outside fighting with the chairs trying to get them in the back of the car and fit the cooler at the same time. Already breaking a sweat and they haven't even left the driveway yet. You walk out, watching him fight for his life against these chairs and finally he gets the trunk to shut and he sees you. The first thought that crosses his mind was:

oh shit... She looks that good? Do we have to leave the house?

Followed by: That's mine, she's mine. Carrying my baby inside her... And looks that sexy doing it. Maybe we should have another kid right away after the first one...

His brains going in overdrive before you tell him you're getting in the car. He quickly comes around, helping you buckle yourself in and shuts your door for you.

The entire day it's hard for him to not be constantly touching you. He usually just guides you by a hand on your back but he's got you pulled close, a hand on your thigh, giving you kisses more frequently. Even going for an ass grab or two without caring if anyone is looking.

And you bet your ass the second you two get home you're getting a shower together. Just to make sure you get all the sand off of course (👀)

[jarofstyles]

Illicit- 4

Heyyyy my loves! Here is part 4 of Illicit and a better look into Harry's behavior without Y/N... not a nice man but he's OUR man <3

Check out our Patreon where we have exclusive writings and early access to the next 2/3 parts of Illicit!

Series Masterlist

Wc- 3.3k

warnings- asshole h, infidelity, slight violence, paparazzi

---------

Harry was reaching a boiling point. 

Katherine had stolen him away from Y/N for the night, under the guise her father set as a business dinner. Said he had something to discuss with him at a new, up and coming restaurant that it was imperative that he came tonight. He had to peel himself away from Y/N who was curled on his couch with her laptop in her lap, doing a bit of clothing shopping while he leaned against her to help veto and approve on things she was on the fence about. He had been having a very good time being domestic this afternoon to be forced away was already pissing him the fuck off. 

So to find a table clear of said man and just see his daughter there with a scheming beam on her face? It was the worst possible option. Of course, she assured him that her ‘daddy’ would be coming shortly, but by the time their entrees arrived, Harry was fairly certain of what was happening. 

H: I need wine when I get home. 

Y/N: Yeah.. someone sent me an article. 

Harry’s stomach dropped when she sent the link, an article that must have only been published just a few moments ago. A photo of a preening Katherine across from him had been snuck. Thankfully his face was blank, ever so practiced. She was leaning across the table with a preen all over her face, the angle taken so you couldn’t see the third drink set out for her father who was mysteriously not there. 

This had to be a set up. He wasn’t giving the image of the doting, in love boyfriend that Katherine wanted and she was obviously a bit more cunning than he had originally anticipated. He was beginning to piece things together again, and he was getting more furious by the minute. 

The real anger stemmed from being taken away from one of the rarer nights he didn’t have work to check up on periodically, and he’d cleared it just for her. It was like she somehow knew how to piss him off out of some fucked up intuition. While Y/N had the owner's manual on how to make him happy, Katherine knew how to make him irrationally angry. Despite his asshole behavior he was still nice compared to the whole plethora of things he wanted to tell her.

He had no qualms about embarrassing her publicly. It’s where she had weakness. Her reputation. 

H: I’m leaving in a moment. I have a theory about this. Brant Jr never showed up. 

Y/N: Seriously????

H: Yes. What ice cream do you want me to pick up on my way home, my love?

Y/N: ……

Y/N: You’re good, H. Mint Choc pls <3

H: Anything for you. I’ll be home soon. Go get changed into something more comfortable. 

Harry tucked his phone back in his pocket, turning to Katherine who had been watching him curiously. “So when are you going to admit you stole your father’s work phone and tricked me here?” He had waited until the waitress was in earshot. This was a story he wished would actually show up on TMZ. “Because I was having a very important evening and was torn away from people I had meticulously scheduled to come here and discuss ‘emergency business’ changes. I didn’t ask you to dinner because I didn’t have time for these silly things, and because I didn’t want to.” Harry tugged his wallet out. “You are childish. I knew that. But messing with important business shit because you’re trying to trick me into a dinner and planting one of your friends at another table to get some clicks for your weird fangirls living vicariously and extra money?” He pointed directly where he had found one of her friends, the redhead’s eyes widening as Harry caught her phone up and gave his stone cold glare. “My business isn’t a fucking game, Katherine. Wasting my time when I’m doing things because you’re throwing a childish tantrum because I can’t shower you in affection every hour of the day? What did we discuss last time?”

“Harry, darling, you’re being a bit loud-” Katherine chuckled nervously, eyes wide as she had been figured out. The waitress and tables close could clearly hear him. She hated negative attention and had been working at trying to market them as some sort of ‘it couple’, which wasn’t going to work for him anymore.  He was growing tired of this scheme and really needed her to just end it so the contract could be over, null and void. 

“I can be louder, if you want.” He said ruthlessly. “I can let all of your little friends know the image of our relationship you paint is a sham, that you try to make me out as someone who I never had been, and never will be for you. I am not in love with you, Katherine. I told you, if you wanted to date me that it would be on my terms. If that makes me an ‘asshole’” He sneered, “So be it. I’ve never lied about my stance in dating you. I let you prance around and use my name to get into clubs that your own last name is too irrelevant to get you into, I allow you to pose photographs of me though you know I despise it when you do, I allow you to use my yacht and I let you use my home in Los Angeles before I sold it to have one of those stupid influencer parties you love to post about although, I know you hate half of those girls.” He knew his voice was carrying, but he didn’t care.  “You are the one hurting yourself by making this relationship out to be anything but it is. A means to an end.” For both of them, but she would know now just how onto her he’s been. 

“I’ve let it go for a while. I’ve allowed you to do what made you feel better because if it kept you off of my back while I handled things on my own, I was fine.You even harassed my friends for the lake house keypad number, which is fucking pathetic.” it really was and Harry had been mad since then, but this was growing past a disrespect he was willing to accept. “ But you’re fucking with business now. I will not ever stand for it. If I say no, it means no. If I say not tonight, it means not tonight. If I say to stop calling, stop fucking calling me.” He let his voice seethe while his face remained mostly it’s usual cold sneer, throwing a few bills on the table. “Continue fucking with my business and see how that ends up. Your father could build up a company, and I can take it down just as fast.”

He stood up, righting his jacket as he watched her pale face, knowing he had just scared her. He didn’t care. Maybe there was something wrong with him, but he truly, to the bottom of his heart, didn’t care about her feelings. The one girl he cared about was waiting for her mint chocolate chip ice cream. 

“Are- Are you threatening me?” She shriekd quietly, making Harry pause, calling their waitress all the way over.

“It’s not a threat, but a promise.” There was no questioning that he meant it. Looking towards the waitress, he handed her a generous tip and nodded, leaving the restaurant to find flashing cameras. One particular flash pissed him off, and catching Harry in a bad mood was not a good thing to do. 

His hand shot out, grabbing the surely expensive to the man’s camera, and threw it forcefully onto the pavement. It shattered into little pieces, the lens crackling on the sidewalk and the plastic of the body falling into shards, his blank stare going from the broken beyond repair camera to the sputtering camera man. His face was tomato red while Harry’s jaw remained sharp and clenched, raising a brow in challenge. 

“What the fuck! My fucking camera!” He bellowed. “I’m gonna sue the fuck out of you!” 

Harry grabbed his business card out from his pocket, handing it to the man. “Reach out. It will be a pleasure to beat you in court.” 

His car was in the lot, which he quickly got to and peeled out of the parking lot. He wasn’t even inside of the shop yet when he got a call from Y/N. Her contact photo brought a smile to his face, answering it as he briskly walked inside the automatic doors and grabbed a little basket. 

“Hi, my love.” He murmured, making his way towards the back, knowing the exact brand she wanted from the freezer. 

“Did you really break a camera?” Y/N squeaked into the phone. It made him laugh, not pausing in his expedition. She was still relatively new to his life and didn’t seem to google him like everyone else who met him. Even if it felt like she was meant to be with him forever, that their souls had always been familiar, she hadn’t seen much of that side of him yet. 

“Yes.” He hummed. “Shoved it in my face, blinded me for a moment. I was already angry. The photographers know it's a risk when I’m involved, darling.” It was sort of his thing. If people got too close, hit him with it, intruded on his personal space, he was quick to rid himself of the problem. They were lucky he chose the camera and not the person behind it. Harry really didn’t care, and he knew some would label him as toxic or maybe even crazy, but it wasn’t something he cared about. His temper was notorious. 

“Christ! H!” Y/N laughed in disbelief. “Hannah sent me an article. There’s a video circling social media. I haven’t watched it yet.” 

“Good. Don’t, it’s a waste of time yeah? Told you I’m an open book for you, sweetheart. Can ask me any questions you’d like when I get back to you.” He tucked the phone between his shoulder and cheek, opening up the freezer door to grab their designated flavors. “Stay comfortable for me, I’m just about to check out and get home t’you. I’ll talk to you in a bit.” It was something Harry wished he could have happen every day. Going home to her. She was the centerpiece of his home now and her absence was palpable when he got home and she was at her own place or out and about. 

They said their goodbyes and Harry found himself lost in his head as he used the self check out to pay for their sweets. He avoided most social interaction when he could because everyone always had a favor to ask him, a question, a dig. It was nice to be able to pay and avoid the pointless small talk with a cashier who usually didn’t give an actual shit, or someone who obviously gave far too much of one. His lone wolf lifestyle suited him just fine- but now Y/N fit into it. She wasn’t just anyone, her voice didn’t grate on his nerves, and he was in love with her. He figured adding another lone wolf to his life wouldn’t hurt- not when it was her.

—-

“Harry…” Y/N laughed, licking her spoon clean. “While I am most definitely proud of you for how quickly you can come up with comebacks and witty words, I’d prefer they not be needed at all.” Her smile faded, leaning further into him. The man had stripped himself of his suit and found his clothes after a quick shower, trying to rid himself of the disaster and waste of a night. Now he was going to be with the woman he had been looking forward to spending time with for the rest of the night. 

“Unfortunately, s’part of the job.” His thumb rubbed over her shoulder as she leaned into the man, his neediness even more apparent when he’d plucked her up from her spot and sat down to settle her in his lap. “Paparazzi are, for some reason, something that still is a thing and they make a pretty penny on photos of me because I like to dodge them.” Harry was not the stereotype of a nepotism child. He did work for what was given to him but he was under no false pretenses. He knew that he was born into an almost impossible wealth, one that some of his peers had deluded themselves into thinking they could be anything. The so-called ‘self made’ millionaires as if they didn’t have billions to cushion their blow if they were to be shot down. He liked to hide away from the attention part of it the best he could, but sometimes appearing at things was a necessary evil. 

“I know.” The angel in his lap grumbled. “I know it is but it still makes me irritated that you have to worry about it. That they’ve gotten so far in your face that you were even able to do that. It’s just rude and invading your privacy.” Her little pout did something to his formerly black, charred heart. 

Y/N was his opposite in a good way. She was love and warmth and light and morals. Harry was cold, cruel, darkness. Iron compared to gold. If it were anyone else, he thinks he may be slightly annoyed by their cheerfulness, their optimism. Harry had seen a lot of the world and a lot of the bad sides of people, skeletons hidden in closets and the life of the elite. It was hard to be optimistic at times when he’d seen such hopelessness, but she managed to peel back some of the grimy layers in his dim outlook in life, his cynical snarks and soften the jagged edges just a bit. He wasn’t a changed man- no. He didn’t have rainbows out his ass, he wasn’t a warm being, but he held the new wick that was lit up in a dim glow when it came to her. He could be good to her. Thankfully Y/N wasn’t looking for more. She didn't want to change him. 

“Oh, my love.” He sighed, his hand chilled from the ice cream coming up to her chin. “It’s alright. They’ll learn at some point. Besides… It isn’t a normal occurrence when I just go out, not normally. Katherine called them, I’m positive.” The mirth in his eyes returned at the reminder of the woman. “I’m going to call Brant tomorrow and let him know of the antics, but I’m going to threaten again. I don’t want to be under this contract anymore.” His voice quieted, looking at Y/N who dropped her eyes from his. His stomach twisted, knowing where her head went. “Hey, sweetness. Look at me.” He urged, trying to catch her eyes again. “You know that I’m looking for every way out, yeah? If I can’t use that, m’gonna move on to the next idea. It’s hard when I’m contract bound, but I’m going to make her break up with me.” 

Honestly,  he was surprised she hadn’t just from tonight. It had him suspicious of her. There was no way that her ego wasn’t bruised from his spiked tongue tonight. He’d made sure other people heard the verbal hits, made sure some of it would be sold to the same publication she was trying to make a few bucks off by planting her friends to take photos. There was a prayer in his mind that maybe that would move it on, make her give him up. Surely, she was someone’s dream trophy wife. Sure as fuck not his, but maybe someone else. 

“I know. I just hate….” Y/N paused, giving her eyes back to him. “I hate that she makes you so miserable, but I’m glad that you hate her. I feel like an awful human being, but I just hate so much about her and It makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me.” 

This was news to Harry, surprisingly enough to actually show on his face. She’d mentioned disliking Katherine before but to see her struggling with her hatred towards the woman who was trying to claim her boyfriend as hers in the public eye, it made him feel even more guilty. He didn’t want this for her, he didn’t want her upset- but he knew that it was his own fault. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/N.” He said seriously. “I know that hatred isn’t something that your pretty heart feels a lot so m’sure it does feel a bit off but I promise you, it’s worth hating.” There was a pause, thumb squeezing her jaw slightly and watching as it popped open from the little trick. “If I had to see you out with someone else… I’d be murderous. If another man said you were his, I’d enjoy knocking every tooth from his skull.” His jaw tightened. There was no way. Every time he thought about it it made him ache, so he knew that it must be similar to her. Though he couldn’t imagine Y/N’s gentle soul to be murderous, she at the very least must be angry. 

“Cool it, cowboy.” Y/N crooned, watching as his brain was visibly showing his thoughts on his face. “No one is coming to get me. I’m all yours.” It was like she was soothing a dragon. To be fair, Harry was pretty sure that if it could, smoke would be coming from his ears or his nose. Y/N could read him very well but to be honest, he did little to hide his emotions from her anymore. His girl was just good at knowing him, and he appreciated every moment of it. He couldnt lie and say that her insistence of being his didn’t please him- it absolutely did. 

Harry had quite a few morally gray qualities and one was his possessiveness. Words like that, telling him that she was all his, it made him hard. Settled him in a primal, animalistic way and he wasn’t going to stop it. Y/N had been clued into it, knowing the exact right thing to sway his mood a different way. Knowing that the woman curled up to him thought of herself as his, that she was fully belonging to him and would be proud to be his as soon as they could be in the limelight. Harry would be equally as happy with people knowing he belonged to her, and he had no shame in labeling himself as so- but Y/N was playing into his weaknesses. 

“You are, aren’t you? And I’m yours.” His voice dropped an octave, moving his hand down a little bit to cup the side of her neck. “No matter what she tries to play to the public, no matter the image shes trying to sell, I belong to you, sweetheart. Heart and soul. It’s all yours.” No truer words had been spoken. Harry was an honest man, most of the time, but this wasn’t something he would lie about. He wouldn’t declare his heart as hers if it wasn’t. “My messy little girl.” He swiped away a bit of ice cream from the corner of her lip with his free hand, bringing it to his mouth to suck it away, keeping her eyes on his. Her ice cream was melting in the tub in her hand, and Harry had a better idea on what too with it now. 

“Let’s not talk about her anymore, my angel.” He suggested, gently moving her closer to him. “Why don’t you let me have my sweets now, yeah? Taste them off of you?”

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

had an experience tonight that has just confirmed I would 100% very easily be stolen by the fae

it was almost 10pm and I was walking from my parents place to a bus stop, so through a neighbourhood I grew up in and am very familiar with

I was going to drop into a store like 10min before they close to grab a choccy milk (I am very thirsty) and I turned down a back street

down this back street is a bridge over a creek, and behind it is a hill that goes up to a playground that sits in front of some trees, I normally can't see the playground itself from this distance and angle, but I can usually see the trees

I turn down this street and in the spot that should be darkness and trees, I see bright lights and what looks like could be a whole ass building but it's too far away to make out the details

all I know is that it's very weird, very unusual, and very bright

I could ignore the lights, turn up a side street and go into the store and get my choccy milk, the night is warmer than anticipated and I am still parched, OR I could detour further down the back street and get a better look at this mystery building

I did the one I would usually be yelling at the screen for the main character of a horror movie to not do

by the time I got decently close to the bridge I could tell that yes it was a building, yes it was definitely where the playground should be, and it was still very very bright

I thought maybe they were doing construction work and had put up some fencing, or it was one of those work trailers they set up on sites

but no, it still looked like a building, a whole ass flat roofed white building, covered in several orange doors?? (I think I counted five or six), each with a long strip of light above them

I cannot overestimate how bright these lights are, look at this fuckin' thing

I couldn't go any further because I was out of time and had to double back to catch my bus, but if it weren't for that I'd have gone all the way over to investigate

so yeah all those folk stories about people being foolishly lured in by strange lights even in woods they know and they're inevitably taken by fae?

I get it now

[eowynstwin]

gravity

previous - neighbors - next

John takes you out to dinner. cw: alcohol, somewhat heavy drinking

It’s a cold and windy morning that, as you hover just a little closer to his warmth, you ask him about decent places to eat nearby.

“Fancy pub food?” he asks in response, and it takes you a moment to process what he’s said. Today he’s in a thick, soft-looking knit sweater, which makes it infinitely difficult not to imagine huddling up against him.

You think he’d let you. You’re not sure how you know this. Maybe it’s the way he positions himself next to you, standing at an angle toward you just slight enough to be casual, but open enough to be purposeful. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to warm you up with his eyes alone—he asked you once why you always bundled up to be outside, and you told him you were just sensitive to the cold.

Since then, you’ve often caught him checking on you, surreptitiously. Simple once-overs that you think are searching for evidence of discomfort.

What would he do, you wonder, if he found any? Would he send you inside, as he had the first morning?

Part of you thinks that would be better. It would give you an out, open up a path diverting away from whatever this thing is that hangs in the air between you and John Price, this thing that you pass back and forth between the pages of borrowed books.

It’s a thing that breathes with the both of you into the early morning, and you don’t know how to look at it. You don’t understand its shape. It’s a thing you wish you wanted to walk away from.

“Who doesn’t?” you reply, sipping at the cold dregs in your cup.

“How ‘bout tonight, then?” John says, and you swallow a little too quickly.

“W-what about tonight?”

He smiles at you, as if he’s thrown you off on purpose. “Dinner, on me.”

You blink several times. “You—I—I mean—really?”

He shrugs, easy and casual as you wish you could be. “Could show you what’s best on the menu. And I wouldn’t mind having dinner with someone besides m’self.”

You hesitate, because your gut reaction is to say yes, John, I’d like nothing more, and that is not a reaction you want to satisfy. These past several mornings have been nice—nicer than you could have expected. You’ve stopped interrogating yourself as to why you keep bothering, because each time his smile greets you as you step outside is answer enough. The routine has been easy to settle into, even comforting.

You need to protect that comfort, you know, even from the allure of something more.

John does not press for an answer, seeming content to savor the last few inhales of his cigar. You wonder if he’s guessed at your inner conflict, wonder if the quiet he’s giving you is an intentional moment to sort yourself out.

He never presses for anything, ever.

“I suppose I could meet you after work,” you finally say.

The smile that breaks across his face nearly knocks you off your feet. You’re relieved when he says, “Sounds good to me,” because if he’d said it’s a date you think you might have dissolved on the spot.

John texts you the pub’s address, and it’s close enough to walk to. You arrive that evening, in your usual two coats plus a knitted hat, to find that the place exceeds a set of expectations you didn’t know you had. The patio seating is closed in with a white picket fence and hung with strings of fairy lights, and it flanks a red brick building with a large, friendly lantern hanging over the door.

You might have expected something a little grubbier, if you’d given the place any more thought beyond this is John’s pub and he’s having me for dinner here.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, and your gaze is drawn as if by a magnet to a table further in—John has already seen you, and beckons you over with a wave.

He’s still in the knit sweater, and his fleece jacket is hanging on the back of the seat across from him. He stands as you approach, rounds the table, and pulls that chair out for you when you join him.

You don’t know why the chivalry makes you falter, makes you want to turn and sprint all the way back home. All you know, as you sit down, is that you can practically feel the aura of his presence behind you as he helps push your chair in, can feel it move as he leaves your side to return to his seat. You feel yourself gravitate into it, leaning a little over the table as if trying to keep it close.

“This place is tidy,” you say earnestly, trying for that morning normalcy, as you begin to shuck your layers.

“It’s alright,” he agrees. He’s smiling gently, the cool blue of his eyes vivid in the contrast of warm lamplight.

“Do you—” and then you can’t help but giggle, because it’s such a cliche question “—do you come here often?”

He grins, huffs that little laugh. “Too often,” he says as he sits back in his chair, putting a hand on his stomach. “It’ll start showing soon, probably.”

You look at the flat of his stomach, the broad paw of his hand. Remember the trim waist of that very first morning. “You know, somehow I doubt that.”

He meets you eyes, laughs again, and it warms you to the bone.

Seeing him like this, at night, is an unknown quantity. The John you know how to interact with exists on his front doorstep, painted in the cool palette of sunrise, cold air, cigar smoke. This tableau, composed upon the table between you, might as well turn him into another man entirely. Who is this John, awash in warm light, nearly twelve hours older than the man you spoke to this morning? Who are you, now, seeing him after work and before the end of the night?

You feel a little untethered. Your feet still itch for the door, for the measured, predictable floorboards of your own home.

Maybe John notices, because he takes a menu from the stack of two at the end of the table and offers it to you with a reassuring lift of his brows. “Hungry?”

That question, at least, has an easy answer. You smile a little. “Starving.”

His advice turns out to be necessary—everything looks good, and you both end up ordering too much food. Over a spread of fresh, hot chips, halloumi kebabs, and katsu chicken served liberally with curry sauce, John also has a bottle of scotch brought to the table.

“No, that’s too much!” you protest as the waitress sets the decanter down with two clean glasses. “John, really.”

He sets to pouring, his expression pleased, though you’re not sure what about. “Humor me, love. I don’t get to share very often.”

He hands you a glass, and lifts his own above the food. You acquiesce, and clink the rims.

“Do I take a shot or a sip?” you ask, bringing the glass up to your mouth.

“A sip,” says John, and his expression is genuinely distressed. “Please, don’t ever suggest shooting scotch again. That hurt to hear.”

You smirk, and take a slow drink. It hits your tongue with the prologue to a burn, rolling across your taste buds as the twinge fades and you close your eyes. The flavor opens like smoke exhaled into still air; you purse your lips a little and swirl it in your mouth; nutmeg, vanilla, and even a little apple expand across your palate. When it hits the back of your tongue, a short floral burst surprises you, and you swallow it down eagerly.

You find John watching you when you open your eyes.

“Where did you learn to drink like that?” he asks, and there is a new tone in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

It’s low. Resonant. Almost—purring. The look in his eyes, too, is different, the pale blue sharper somehow. Focused keenly, and with some unknown, honed intent, on you.

It pins you where you sit. John is looking at you. John is seeing you.

“Doesn’t everyone learn to drink at uni?” you reply, trying for airy and light. It doesn’t work. Your voice trembles, just a bit.

He’s still watching you, and you think he sees that. Recognizes, perhaps, a change in your expression, some telltale sign that he has shaken you. He looks away from you, takes a drink of his own scotch, and when his gaze returns the keen edge of it has softened. You breathe, and realize you hadn’t been.

You seek something comfortable, something you can measure and control. “How is Actium treating you, then?”

He smiles, and it’s a little rueful. “Octavian’s being a cunt.”

As talk of the most recent book he’s borrowed carries you into more comfortable territory, the two of you make your way through dinner, which is every bit as delicious as John had promised. The food is hearty, greasy in a way that isn’t too heavy, and pairs perfectly with John’s scotch, which you indulge in liberally.

When the alcohol has outpaced the food that is meant to offset it, you think back to what he’d said earlier, about not often getting to share.

“So am I the first person you’ve brought here?” you ask. “Or do you take every neighbor out to dinner?”

John lifts one dark brow, leans in with a tilt of his head. “Only the pretty ones.”

You give an unladylike snort and swirl a cut of chicken around in curry sauce. “You’re incorrigible, John, really.”

The smile he gives crinkles the laugh lines around his eyes, and you feel yourself want to melt at the sight. It is unfair how handsome he is, in that warm sweater, in that golden light, haloed softly in the haze of your verging intoxication.

“When will you believe me when I compliment you, hmm?” he asks, low and resonant in the depths of his chest.

You shoot the rest of your scotch in answer, stuff the chicken into your mouth, and proffer the empty glass.

John squints at your heresy, but obediently pours.

“I suppose your line of work isn’t really great for your social life, then,” you comment. “Always coming and going.”

“My calendar’s certainly empty,” John agrees. “Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve sat down with someone like this. I suppose I’m out of practice.”

“You’re eating with a fork and knife and not your hands.” You grin. “I’d say that’s pretty good already.”

He smiles back. “Would that chase you off?”

You sip your scotch. “Not if you keep pouring.”

“And she complained when the bottle came out. What about you, then?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“How many blokes have you been to dinner with, lately?”

You scoff at that and wash your food down with a sip. “None. As if they’re throwin’ ‘emselves at me.”

John’s expression changes, and it’s slow grin that spreads across his face, a smile you have never seen on him before. It isn’t the sad smile he’s given you at times, melancholy and resigned; nor is it the one he gives when he sees you in the morning, warm and soft and friendly.

No, this one is—energized. Invigorated. As if someone has given him good news he hadn’t been expecting.

“They’ve got to be,” he says, and his tone is humorous. “You must have your pick of the lot. And none of them have struck your fancy?”

You press your hands to your too-warm face. “John, don’t tease me.”

“Seems I’ve got to count myself lucky tonight, then,” he continues, leaning his elbows on the table. “If you’re as choosy as all that.”

You give him a droll look, and swirl your drink around in your glass. “If you must know, I got out of a relationship not long ago.”

John’s brows lift, and you want to smack yourself for letting that little detail escape you. “Is that so?”

You drink. “That is so.”

“What kind of idiot would let you get away?”

“My head is already spinning, and you’re abusing that,” you protest.

“Sorry, love,” he says, clearly not sorry. “But now you’ve got me curious.”

You sit back in your chair, staring at your plate to avoid his gaze. “I’m afraid it’s not all that dramatic. It just…didn’t feel right. I guess he liked me more than I liked him. We would go out, and I would think, ‘I want to leave him and go home.’”

And you still felt guilty about it. You hadn’t liked him that much in the first place, when he’d asked you out—you’d just said yes, because it seemed like the right moment in your life for something like that to happen. When you’d ended it, your extended social network had scratched its collective head, because there truly hadn’t been any good reason.

You just weren’t happy.

“Suppose I didn’t give it enough of a chance,” you say, downing the last of your glass.

“Hey,” John says, soft and gentle. You look up to meet his eyes—the expression on his face is a mixture of sympathy and resolution. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure, John.”

“Love.” His brow creases, insistent. “You deserve something you want.”

You press your lips together tightly, and suddenly you’re struck again with that sensation from earlier, that feeling that John’s presence is a tangible aura, something that rolls and settles across your awareness like a physical touch. You realize you’ve been leaning into it again, drawn toward him like a comet into the snag of a planet’s gravity.

“I’m definitely drunk now,” you say, because the only other words that want to come out are an emphatic I want you.

John smiles. He doesn’t press the issue. “Will I be carrying you home, then?”

“Oh, John, really!” You give a scoff, surprised at the sudden humor. “You couldn’t carry me all that way.”

One dark brow lifts.

“No,” you say. “You’ll have to put me down. I’m not light.”

The smile remains.

You hold his gaze, suspicious, and finish the last of your glass. It does not take long to polish off the last of dinner, and when the two of you agree that the last chips have finally gotten too cold to eat, John pushes his seat back and stands.

“Done, then? I’ll settle the tab. Love, put that away.”

You sheepishly lower your half-lifted wallet back into your purse.

Accounts settled, you make it outside the pub, and then you have to lean against a wall as John watches you, amused. The world is swaying, its pendulum arcing near-horizontal at the amplitude of each swing.

“I just need a minute,” you whisper.

John does the worst thing he could possibly do—he gives you his back and kneels down, arms a little open. “Come on.”

“Come on? Come off it, John, really, you’ll drop me!” you exclaim.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “I won’t.”

You don’t know what convinces you to do it. Tomorrow, you’ll blame the many glasses of expensive scotch, but in the moment you know it’s the way the hanging lights limn his silhouette in gold. You know it’s the soft expression on his face that you are already too fond of. You know it’s the quiet confidence in his reassurance, and above all those things it’s the familiar comfort of his kind blue eyes.

“All right, John,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around his shoulders, John scoops your knees up into the bend of his arms, and you can add now the feeling of his strength to your mental registry of his body. He is broad against you, the width of him obliging your thighs to part farther than they have in a long, long time.

It brings a heat to your face that dwarfs the low simmer of your inebriation. When he lifts you, straightens up and hoists you a little on his back, like you weigh almost nothing, you are unable now to shove back and contain what he has inspired since that first morning.

“This feels nice,” you murmur, tucking your chin on his shoulder. The scotch has the reins of your tongue now. There is no stopping the words that come out. “I wondered if it would. This morning.”

John’s reply is low, humming in his throat as he begins the trek home. “This morning?”

You breathe. “You always look warm and soft. You’re so handsome every morning. Even the first. I wanted to touch you back then. I wanted you to hold me.”

He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s trying to focus on the walk back and not dropping you in the middle of it. He hoists you a little, cupping his hands beneath your knees, squeezing.

His silence prompts more of your honesty. “I don’t want to go to dinner with anyone else, John. Even if someone did ask. You’re the only one.”

“You’re drunk, love,” John says. You don’t recognize the tone of his voice, why it sounds…pleading.

Your face is very close to his, your chin pillowed in the fleece lining of his collar. You resolve fully to blame what you do next on the scotch, and touch the tips of your fingers to the coarse umber on his cheek.

His thumbs press into the divots beneath your kneecaps. John says your name, low and breathy. It must be the strain of carrying you that shows in his voice.

You lean in. You press your cheek against the bristles of his beard, inhale, take in the ever-present Maduro that saturates his skin. The friction is a million little pinpricks of sensation, and you think in that moment that if his beard doesn’t leave hot, welted scratches on your face, you might fall asleep crying.

“Oh,” you murmur, not recognizing the languorous, almost wanton sound of your own voice. “Feels good, John.”

“That’s,” he huffs, and audibly swallows. “That’s good. We’re—ah—we’re almost there.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing against him, settling fully into the expanse of his back.

You doze, unburdened now by what you’ve admitted. He does not waver once on the walk, makes no complaint of your weight as street lights pass and the night moves slowly by. He is as steady, when he makes it to your front door, as he was when he first picked you up.

“Where’s your key, love?” he asks.

“Oh,” you murmur blearily, “um. Let me down.”

Even after your feet are back on the ground, his steadying hand does not leave you, ballasting your elbow as you dig around in your purse. It seems like an embarrassingly long time before you find your keychain, and when you try to unlock your door you miss the slot twice.

John’s big hand wraps around yours then, engulfing it with long fingers and broad palm, and guides the key steadily into the lock. The slide of the deadbolt is loud in the quiet night. You have to lean against the door, suddenly devoid of the strength to turn the knob as you look up at John’s concerned face.

“Let me help you in, love,” he says, brow creased. “Please. I’m worried you’ll fall and hit your head.”

Your entire body feels like it’s sinking into a glass of champagne, his words caressing you like rising bubbles, little pearls of air tickling your face as they touch you. You openly stare at him, watch his throat work as he swallows again, rest your eyes along the broad tendon that flexes as he tilts his head.

“Sure,” you whisper, too out of breath to speak aloud. “If that’s what you want.”

So John turns the knob, loops your arm around his shoulders, and walks you inside.

It is very hard to focus now, as John sits you down on your couch. There isn’t much you can hold in your mind besides the moment his hands leave you, and you inexplicably want to cry at their loss. You don’t see where he goes, vision going dark and blurry around the edges—you think he might have left until he comes back with one of your glasses, filled with clear, cool water.

He kneels in front of you and proffers it, doesn’t let go of the glass until both your hands are wrapped around it. He watches you as you take a sip.

“Drink all of that, alright?” he says. “You had a lot.”

You hold the glass back out to him. “You did too.”

His brows lift, lips parting. Have you surprised him? He pulls the glass closer with a little tug, puts his lips to the rim and tilts it from the bottom as you hold it. His eyes do not leave yours as he drinks, as he takes only a little, and then he pulls away and gently pushes the glass back toward you. Your gaze falls from his eyes, down to the little droplets of water clinging to his mustache, down again to the steady line of his mouth.

You bring the glass back up and take a deep gulp.

“Good girl,” he says, low and rumbling, and heat floods your body.

You realize then that his other hand is on your knee, the weight of his palm heavy and broad, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into the edge of the cap. You are washed in the blend of his warm comfort and the sudden, almost violent sear of your own desire.

When the glass is empty, he eases it from your hands and sets it aside on your coffee table. When he turns back to you, your hand comes up, unbidden, to curve itself along the angle of his jaw. Umber bristles are coarse beneath the sweep of your thumb.

“Not soft, is it?” John murmurs, and there is something stormy and intense in his gaze.

You take a deep breath. “Maybe I’m okay with that.”

His hand grips your knee suddenly, vicelike, and you know this is pushing too far. He does not lean in to you, makes no move toward you, but his entire body is a bank of energy that he is holding, holding, holding back. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His eyes pin you to the couch as he works the muscles in his jaw.

“You’re drunk, love,” he says. It is not the pleading assertion he’d given earlier. It is a conclusion—fond, but resigned.

The room has begun to gently spin, with John at its axis. “I’m drunk,” you agree, whispering and fragile.

It breaks whatever has been building since you’d left the pub. John draws back. Nods. Gives you a smile—that smile. The one that had taken hold of you the first time you saw it. Trying, with every scrap of willpower it had, to be happy, to be alright with what little it had. Failing to do so.

Unable to hide how much it wanted.

“You got a spare key?” he asks. “I can lock you in.”

“Key hook,” you say.

His hand drags down from your knee to stroke along your shin, and then he’s rocking back on his heels, standing to his full height. He looks at you for a moment longer.

“Get some sleep,” he says.

When you blink, he’s gone, and the deadbolt is sliding home.

[trillscienceofficer]

from Cinefantastique Vol 28 #4/5, November 1996

TABOO BREAKER: Another Trill gender bender, “Rejoined” echoes TREK's legacy of exploring the nature of love.

By Dale Kutzera

Thirty years ago STAR TREK broke a long-standing television taboo by presenting the first interracial kiss—a fact Gene Roddenberry often boasted about. Early in DS9’s fourth season a similar taboo fell. Though not the first lesbian kiss—LA LAW and ROSEANNE have done it, as did PICKET FENCES (albeit with the lights out)—it was certainly the most passionate. For 15 incredible seconds, Jadzia Dax and the wife of a former host kissed. And not a closed-mouth kiss, turned away from the camera as between Kirk and Uhura. This was passion.

The writers did not set out to create a “gay” show with “Rejoined.” The original story involved a male lover of one of Dax’s previous hosts and how their renewed attraction broke a Trill taboo against relationships with lovers from past lives. “We had talked for a long time about doing the show about Dax and a former spouse,” said staff writer/producer Robert Hewitt Wolfe, “and we always suspected that was a Trill cultural taboo. But how do you make the audience understand that even though Dax is doing something they would find acceptable, it’s against the norms of social behavior for her society? The story came before the decision to do the same sex couple. It was always an analogy to the way homosexual relationships are treated in our society. Trills have no reason to be against same sex couples, but what a better way to show that they are a totally different, alien society than to see them reacting in self-righteous indignation just because they were lovers in a previous life? That society should dictate who you should and should not love is a sad thing and that’s what the show is about. We didn't sit down and say ‘Lets do a gay show.”

Credit Ron Moore with taking Rene Echevarria's story and re-shaping it by making the past lover a woman. “Initially it was a man, she was a woman, and here they are,” said Moore. “I remember reading the story and thinking about it. Literally, I was on my way home and started to think this would be a much stronger story—it would really be a stand-out episode of the series—If this was a woman. Play it as a woman and really go for it. I called Ira from my car and he was receptive and the next day we just dumped it on the staff. It got batted around and there were reservations here and there and then everybody signed on board.”

“Ron is the one that made it happen," said Echevarria. “People had talked about doing a so-called lesbian angle in other contexts. Ron is the one who brought it together and said this is the show. The taboo was Michael Piller’s idea and Ron merged it, saw how they tracked and said, ‘We will do the show and never even mention the fact that these are two women. This taboo tracks with our own taboos or many audience members’ taboos about homosexuality and the argument will track straight down the line and it will be great.”’

Realizing that, as in any story of rejoined lovers, it would inevitably lead to a passionate kiss, Moore wrote a memo to Ira Behr and Rick Berman justifying what could be DS9’s most controversial episode. “We knew it was going to be a controversial episode if we went for it, so we clearly had to go to Rick and the studio,” said Moore. “Rick questioned us. He wanted to make sure we knew what we were doing and why. He focused in on it and then he went to the studio and their reaction was the same: “Why? How is this going to work? How are you going to handle it? Is this going to be just salacious? Is this going to be tasteful? And how far are you going to go?’”

The studio was concerned that some viewers may infer that the two women were having sex, and worried that some affiliate stations would not air the episode. “It really boiled down to how far are you going to go and how are you going to handle it?" continued Moore. “The fact that this show was not known as NYPD BLUE and was this shocking the audience and taking them by surprise? I think we pushed it in the kiss scene. That is a powerful, amazing scene. You can’t get around that. That is the show stopper. It was not a gratuitous scene—I thought I would have done it if that character had been a man. So I didn’t think we were doing it to grab attention. It was the right thing to do in the story and it’s going to hit you in a more powerful way. One of the arguments we used was this is part of our franchise legacy. The original series prided itself on TV’s first interracial kiss. We've been priding ourselves on that for 30 years, so why not take the next step and be true to our ideals and convictions. STAR TREK has a point of view, a not completely middle-of-the-road view of the future. This is part of our view.”

Before proceeding, the general premise was run past actress Terry Farrell. “Ira called me last summer to say Michael [Dorn] was on the show and would I mind kissing a woman?" said Farrell. “At the time I said, ‘As long as she’s beautiful.’ I was just being silly. Then I thought as soon as you get the script I want to see it, because if it is anything sensationalized or a joke I don’t want to do it. [Ira said], ‘No it will be a love story with integrity.’ And I thought it was.”

With the green light given, Moore and Echevarria began work on the script. “This was a love story and the trick was to write it as a love story and forget the fact that she was a woman,” said Moore. “The backstory helped in that they were married once. They were husband and wife—write them that way. Two people who really shared something. One of them died. They never got to say good-bye and years later, in different bodies, they run into each other again and play that out. The thing with the Trill taboo was a perfect metaphor for issues of sexual tolerance and intolerance and we played that taboo without really playing our taboo."

The writers tried not to focus on the fact that both lovers were women, and simply wrote the story as a straight romance. “It’s easy to do on paper because the name Lenara is not one you really associate with women anyway,’’ Moore said. “We made it up. So on paper it’s easy to forget and just write this love story and this taboo is what we’re dealing with. It’s not until you’re sitting in the room watching casting sessions that you got two women playing these scenes and you go, ‘Wow, this is really going to hit you in a different way when you see it.’ But we tried to stay true to just telling the story and not going for the easy shots.”

“I was excited, because they were brave,” said Farrell of the writers. “If I were to change the names to Frank and Sara I totally believed that love story. It didn’t matter what the names were, these two people were in love with each other. I was so happy that I was the one who was willing to fight for the love. I knew people would relate to me. And at the end I was so sad. No matter what anybody else says, it made me really proud.”

For Farrell the episode also offered her an opportunity to express on film her off-screen respect for Avery Brooks. In a moment of critical decision, as Dax contemplates breaking the Trill taboo and throwing her future into chaos, Sisko advises her against the hasty decision, but vows to stand by her whatever her choice may be. “I didn’t even need to do homework on that scene. I just used my relationship with Avery. The first year was very difficult to adjust to the dialog. People got impatient with me, other directors and other actors. I was 28 years old. but I felt like I was 18. I lost my confidence. I must have driven them nuts, but Avery was always very supportive and strong. He really helped me build my confidence. He’s strong and silent. I don’t know anything about him personally, but he’s been incredibly giving to me emotionally. We cried a lot on that scene. A lot more than you saw. It felt weird not crying too hard, but holding back. It helped to have a director [Brooks] you trust. I needed his opinion on that.”

Director Brooks had Farrell and gueststar Susanna Thompson (who earned thepraise of everyone involved in the show) rehearse the critical scene up to the momentof the kiss. The actual description of the scene in the script was general, leaving it up to the actors and director to stage. “I said it was a kiss they have been waiting a hundred years for. It’s a powerful moment, let them do their magic on the set,” said Moore. “Avery and the two actresses staged it and pretty much it was left as Avery, Terry, and Susanna wanted it.”

“It described I was touching her face and whispered in her ear—her husband said it turned her on,” said Farrell. “We rehearsed up to the kiss then stopped. I thought it was great Avery directed it. because he was really into being honest and telling the truth, trying to pretend we’re not aliens in outer space, and being honest in the emotions. Avery talked about being passionate and sensuous. What was really hard for me was it starts out in my close-up, then a two-shot and the kiss. She said one word, then gotcha. We wouldn’t dissect this. If I were kissing a man we would say, ‘No tongues? Okay, no tongues.’ Avery didn't want them to cut it down too much. We wanted to make sure that didn't happen. You don't go through telling that kind of story and then say, ‘We can’t be very brave.’”

The writers and cast were pleased and a bit surprised that the kiss was kept almost intact through the editing process. “We saw the kiss and thought, ‘Boy how is Rick going to edit this,” said Echevarria. “We were just so gratified and thrilled to see that he did not pull back on the emotion of the moment. He allowed it to happen. It's by far the most passionate gay kiss I've ever seen on television.”

The reaction to the episode was predictably mixed. Some affiliates did not air the episode. Others excised the scene with the kiss. Mail to the writing staff was heavier than for any other episode they had been involved in, and much of it negative. "My idea that sci-fi fans are socially far-thinking, that they are in many ways liberal, leftist, humanist, whatever, was totally blown apart by some of the incredible comments we received,” said Behr. “There’s a strong conservative strain in the American soul and maybe it’s there in sci-fi, too. I don’t think we were saying anything that was that extraordinarily out of line, but maybe we were and that's pretty sad.”

Not all the mail was negative, however, as Echevarria remembered. “I would say it was ten-to-one pro—saying thank you very much and you don’t know how important this was. Letters from teachers, counselors, groups that counsel gay teens—saying how important something like this is. My mother was just scandalized. For the first time ever she culled me and said, ‘I can't believe you did that. It's so bad and so bad for the children of America.’ I couldn't have been happier.”

“It was a challenge emotionally for me to have a relationship with a woman,” said Farrell. "It wasn't anything I ever thought I’d want to do in my career. I've taken jobs to pay the rent. It was a great feeling to get to do a show that was that special as an actress. A lot of people go through their whole career and don’t get to do something that controversial or with that artistic integrity. I’m very proud of that.”

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Smutty Epilogue) #29

STOP! THIS IS SMUT. If you were here for the fluff, turn back now.

Continued from the end of Good Fences…

You didn’t spare him any mercy while he was under your body. You shifted back and forth, teasing his rigid cock, shaving even slower, taking longer than you needed to. And by the time you were done, cleaning up the stray foam, your husband was a panting, growling mess.

The last wipe of the dry cloth brought his face down to yours, his mouth only inches from your lips, and you could taste his warm breath.

You kissed him languidly, not giving him any room to be ravenous with you, and you smiled coyly,

“All done, babe. How does it feel?”

He scooped you up, leaving the chair in the kitchen, and lay you on the couch, shucking your pajama pants off of your body and spreading your legs apart with his rough hands. He chuckled,

“Why don’t you tell me?”

When his face touched the soft, sticky flesh between your legs, you felt yourself melt like butter in a hot pan. His lips explored you first, even though you expected his tongue. John kissed your pussy as if it was your mouth, pressing his freshly-shaven jaw into the sensitive warmth you had been teasing him with, giving you your pleasure right back. 

Then, and only after he had coated his face in your taste, the coarse hair of his beard combined with the smoothness of his chin was surpassed by the slippery prodding of his tongue. He suckled at your clit, using his long, pink muscle to lap up your sweetness, swallowing you down his throat, slaking his thirst. 

You didn’t even register the sounds you were making. Your body and mind were solely focused on his work. But, he seemed to be enjoying your cries. You saw his hips rutting into the couch, rushing to find some friction. Those blue eyes gleamed between your thighs. You wanted to be the thing that made him come; not your taste. You. 

You pulled him up by his scalp, gripping him at his nape, and he smiled, all fangs. 

“You want more, pretty girl?” The chuckle that left his chest was animalistic, “I’ll give you more.”

He kissed your mouth, smearing your own scent all over your skin. You could taste him and you and it drove you wild. There was something so primal about it, and as he moved his way down your neck, tearing away your clothes as well as his, you knew you were in for a hell of a ride. 

A steely tap-tap-tap of his cock hitting against your clit refocused your love-drunk attention. John gave you a cocky smile, 

“Knock, knock, love. Spread those thighs for me. Let me in.”

You did as you were told, helped by his huge hands as he pressed down on your legs and folded you open. He used his cock to paint your wetness all over himself. John made sure every inch of his shaft was covered in your fluids before he even set his head into position. He teased you mercilessly until you were begging for him.

“John!” You keened, shamelessly tilting your hips, searching for the angle that would put him inside of you, “I need you. Please, fuck! I need you so bad. Help me, please…”

“Pretty girl…” John’s voice sounded almost inhuman. He was of one mind right now, and he was drunk from your wet bliss. 

As he began to push his cockhead into your hole, your muscles clenched around him, impeding his progress. He gasped from the sensation, struggling to maintain his focus. It was your husband’s turn to beg,

“Breathe, baby. Breathe for me. Tha’s it… good. One more, love. One bloody more. Yes! Fuck! Oh, fuck. You don’t know what you do to me, pretty girl. How this tight little cunt is the only fuckin’ thing I need sometimes,” he sighed, cradling your face in his hands, bending your legs towards you with his heavy body to speak right into your face, “If I was a younger bloke, I’d have come in you right from the start. You were made for me,” his eyes rolled back into his head as he began to thrust in and out of you, “Fuckin’ hell, tha’s so good.”

John was gentle with you, at first. He filled you up to your hilt, and then slid himself back out of you, his body shivering with bliss as he did. 

His thrusts were building in intensity, and he could feel you softening inside, becoming pliant for him. Then, when he was certain of how ready you were, he changed his tempo. 

John began to plow into you hard enough to make you concerned. you weren't in pain, in fact quite the opposite, but it was as if he had pushed you right to the edge of danger. His power coursed through you, thrust after thrust, grunt after dark grunt, keeping you there, tiptoeing that line, scruffing you by your nape and dangling you over the edge, close enough to witness the abyss, but safe in his hands. 

You were coming undone. It was almost too much, and yet something deeply primal inside of you made you grab his smooth, shaven neck so you could beg for more into his ear. You sucked on his earlobe, nipping at it with your teeth, and kissed the spot on his throat just below his jaw. The moan that he rewarded you with was incredible. You wanted to record it so you could play it back, over and over.

Then, he slowed. His thrust became languid and undulating, curving himself in and out of you like the arch of a bow. It sounded like you were made of honey; your stickiness stuck to his skin as he pulled away. You watched as your husband licked his thumb like he was about to turn a page. To your utter joy, he instead placed it just to the right of your swollen clit, holding it there as he fucked his thick cock up into you. 

Your eyes went wide, and he followed them, smiling to himself. He teased you, chuckling,

“Tha’s the spot, innit? You like this… spot… right… here, don’tcha, pretty girl?”

“Yessss, yes, yes, yes, yessss…”

“Mmm. You do. When I watch you play with this little pussy of yours, that’s where those fingers go. Innit that right?”

“Mmhm…” You whined, trying to hold onto your consciousness. 

“And maybe,” he began to fuck you harder, just as he had before, “When I fuck you, you need to feel that little spot. Tha’ right, love?”

You were no longer able to make words or sounds that contained even the most basic meaning. You were crashing into your orgasm, slamming into the sparkling bliss of it, and letting it drown you. You held your breath, only letting it out when you keened. 

John grabbed your arms and gathered them up in front of your chest, holding them tightly there as if he would bundle you up. He pressed them to your chest, and he used them as leverage. He rose above you, his massive torso arching up and back, fucking you with pure instinctual abandon. 

“Are… you gonna… come… in me… John?”

A growl and a glare. Then, that perfectly-positioned thumb began to slide into a circle, bringing you back to the edge. 

“Holy fuck,” you shouted, coming again, fully unprepared for the way it swept through you, razing you like a wildfire. 

“Aye,” he agreed, dazed by your body’s reactions. 

Then, he followed you down into his own release. You felt his cock buried in you, as deep as it would go as if a hand had reached out and pulled him in. He shouted once, twice, and then gritted his teeth before the last one, releasing nothing but a soft sigh as he filled you with his come. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips and held him in you, feeling him pulse against your walls. He tried to catch his breath, kissing your neck and breasts, sucking on your lips. He removed his hands and wrapped you in a tight hug, folding his arms around you protectively. 

John tried to pull out of you, but you angled your hips and squeezed with your thighs, 

“No, please,” you whispered, “Not yet. Please, not yet.”

He whimpered, thrusting shallowly into your body, trying to remain inside of you. He was overstimulating himself, but he would do it for you. 

“Not ready to stop, pretty girl?”

You kissed his mouth greedily, 

“No, don’t leave me. Stay inside of me like this. Just like this…”

He sighed, resigning himself to the work, and he fucked you through his frothy spend,

“Mmph… ah! Oh, fuck. It’s too much, love. I can’t… arghh…”

“I’m so close. Please…” You coaxed him, petting his back in big sweeping strokes, trying to comfort him. 

Then, you felt the tingle of your orgasm ignite itself at the edge of your consciousness, and you told him,

“There! Just there. John, please. Oh, my God. Please!”

“Come for me, love. Come. Come… tha’s it.”

He writhed above you, trying his best to thrust forward, but failing to keep a rhythm. It didn’t matter though. He made you come just as he commanded you to. Your finish was loud, but he was making noises right along with you. It was as if he was feeling every bit of your aftershock, basking in your glow.  

Finally, you released him, and he fell on top of you, pinning your body to the couch. You wrapped him in a tight hug, holding him under his arms, trying to recover. 

John was whispering things to you, things you didn’t understand. You were too high from his attentions, and your body wriggled underneath his, still feeling the results of your joining. 

“You know,” he said after a short reprieve, “My beard grows back every day. I may need your help again tomorrow, missus.” 

You kissed his mouth chastely, and smiled sweetly up at him,

“Well, practice makes perfect.”

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

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Chapter 14

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; minor discussion of cold symptoms; allusions to prior CA; allusions to prior SA; sexual themes; thoughts of suicide.

When Daryl woke, his head wasn’t pulsing as it had been before he’d given in to rest he so desperately needed. The symptoms were still present but improved. If he wasn’t still so tired, he might have engaged in a bit of self-loathing. How could he let himself get so run down? He had people to protect. He had you to protect. 

Drawing in a deep breath, he managed not to cough even when he felt the tickle at the back of his throat. He groaned at the effort of opening his eyes, the pale light on the top of the walls coming from the moon. He had slept all day. Shit. Nothing could be done now, other than maybe offering to take watch from whoever was on duty. 

His tired gaze slid back down, stopping abruptly when he found your arm on the mattress, your hand resting on his. He was careful when raising his head to get a look at you. You were curled on your side, head pillowed on your other arm. Had you left him at all?  

He watched you sleep until his neck protested the awkward angle and he let his cheek rest against the pillow. Would he be able to slip his hand from underneath yours without waking you? Should he put you on the mattress before he left for the watchtower? Why was everything about his companionship with you a fucking guessing game?

Daryl laid there quite a bit longer, actually trying to go back to sleep, but several things stood in the way of that. He was on the mattress with a pillow and a blanket while you slept on top of the thin sleeping bag on the floor. He was accustomed to sleeping on hard surfaces. He grew up with punishments like being locked in the bathroom for two days, forced to sleep in the grimy tub. When he had taken to the woods at such a young age, the forest floor became his bed. 

The more he thought about that, it eventually brought him around to the place from which he had rescued you. You likely had no bed either. The sleeping bag was probably an upgrade from that situation. 

Then there was your smaller hand on his. His thoughts were taking a swan dive right into the gutter. He tried to focus on the simplicity of it. You either wanted to comfort him while he was under the weather or you needed the comfort yourself. 

Regardless of his efforts, he always ended up imagining pulling you onto the mattress and burying his face between your legs; how you would whimper and whine for more friction but he’d take his time to taste every inch of your pussy. He’d show you how intimacy was supposed to feel. Not pain or fear. He wanted to show you soft touches with heated fingers, whispered reassurances, connecting with someone on a level that would leave you feeling safe and wanted. 

He wished like hell he could show you all of that because it was what he needed too. 

Your fingers carding through his hair while he slowly rolled his hips into you. Your soft lips on his collarbone, painting a wet, burning trail down to his cock. Your nails gliding up and down his spine while you held him against you afterwards. Your touches would be without judgment when you’d feel the ridges of a scar. You’d kiss each one of them and he’d let you. 

When he felt his eyes sting, he turned his face into the pillow. He had to get away from you. He was too deep into the habit of running from feelings triggered by things he could never have. He’d been doing it for as long as he could remember. It kept him safe, kept whatever shriveled mess of a heart he had protected from further damage. 

He’d been keeping his distance when he wasn’t training you. He’d wander the fences or skulk out into the woods. And when the desire for you became too strong, he would go into the showers and allow himself to have you in his mind before taking each scene he played out and locking it up tight. 

It was when he’d realized that he wanted more from you than your body that he became really ill at ease. He wanted you, as a whole. He wanted to be the one to give back what those cowards had stolen from you. He wanted to see you smile and laugh while knowing he helped bring you there. As much as he wanted it, he was a coward in a different sense. He had nothing to offer you. He was broken beyond repair, too afraid he’d use your fragmented pieces to only patch himself up while leaving you shattered. You deserved so much more than what he could ever hope to give you. 

Your fingers twitched against his hand, forcing his self-deprecating thoughts onto the back burner. He rubbed his face against the pillow, afraid of any tears that might have managed to escape. That’d be all you needed. He finally faced you to find you peeking over the edge of the mattress. You were silently blinking at him until you knew he was awake, then you sat up with a smile. 

God, he wanted to hear you talk again. 

“Hey.” Daryl whispered, voice still rough from the cold he’d brought on himself. You tilted your head and gave him a small wave that took your hand away from him. He found it alarming how much he missed it so quickly. 

When you touched him again, it was your palm to his forehead. He knew he was still slightly feverish, could feel it in the slight ache in his joints and the lingering fatigue. The way your mouth turned down just confirmed what he already knew. 

“S’jus’ a cold. M’fine.” He waited until you lowered your hand to sit up. He really was okay, aside from feeling like shit. He’d definitely felt worse before and wouldn’t be made an invalid by a silly head cold. “M’ gon’ see if I can help on watch.” Daryl began to slide down the mattress to grab his boots, brought to a stop by your hand on his bicep. You were already shaking your head before he even looked at you. “Told ya m’fine.” His body chose then to betray him with a barking cough. Your frown deepened. 

You were a persistent little thing, weren’t you? He watched with something akin to amusement, unable to find a single trace of annoyance, while you crawled onto the mattress and sat back on your knees. You brought your other hand to join the first, tugging lightly but incessantly. 

The way you looked at him, big doe eyes shining in the pale light, actually kindled a feeling of guilt at wanting to leave. You shook your head again, appearing frustrated with yourself. It must have felt horrible to be unable to speak. With the way you mouthed the words, it was obvious you were trying. Daryl wished again that he had reached you sooner, that he could have stopped those bastards from touching you. He just couldn’t understand how all of this wasn’t his fault. 

You shuffled on your knees to sit next to him, pressing your palm to his forehead, then his chest, and shaking your head. He didn’t need to hear the next word you mouthed to know what it was. 

“Please.”

If you wanted him to stay that badly— to rest, he supposed —then he couldn’t deny you. He owed you that much. 

“Alrigh’, m’a stay.” You beamed at him, resulting in a fluttering feeling in his stomach that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant. When he realized he was staring, he quickly looked away, somewhere over your shoulder. 

You bounced on your knees for a moment and then crawled back toward the edge of the mattress, both actions nearly making the archer groan. He bit the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood coated the side of his tongue. He felt like some horny teenager. 

Luckily for him, you spared him from yet another self bashing by flopping onto the sleeping bag. You appeared settled and content but Daryl still wasn’t having it. 

“Nuh-uh. If m’gonna stay, ya gotta take the bed.” You sat up, brow drawing inward into what he assumed was your attempt at intimidation. If he wasn't serious about getting you to take the mattress, he might have chuckled. “No arguin’, woman. Take the damn bed.” 

You shook your head and crossed your arms for added effect, only making you that much more adorable. A slender finger pointed at him sharply before you made a fist and coughed into it. 

“I’ll live. Don’ need no mother hen.” He grumbled. He was two seconds away from scooping you up and depositing you on the mattress himself. Your easily triggered fear was the only thing giving him pause. When you still refused to budge, he made to get up. “Fine. Goin’ ta take watch.”

This time, when you caught his wrist, your bottom lip was out and there was no resisting the half smile that ticked onto his face, albeit briefly. You scowled at him then, sitting back on your heels and tapping your chin. Your finger stilled as your eyes narrowed, staring pointedly at the pillow. Your expression was troubled. 

Daryl’s amusement faded. “Hey, wha’s wrong?” He asked quietly. Showing so much concern for someone outside of walker attacks and crazy men with undead battle royales was so new to him. He had never been a comforter. A protector in recent months, sure, but never a comforter. He just didn’t have that quality about him. Yet you continued to pull at threads he didn’t even know were sewn into him. 

You shook your head slowly, remaining still for another moment, but then you were moving. Your face was set in a determination Daryl had yet to see from you, leaving him curious. You slid the pillow over and then the blanket before grabbing the edge of the sleeping bag and dragging it up onto the— Shit.

By the time his brain caught up, you were already pointing at him then to the pillow then yourself and to the sleeping bag. 

“Ya wan’ us both ta sleep on the bed?”

You nodded, still looking more determined than made sense. 

“Nah. No.” There was absolutely no way. He and Carol had shared sleeping areas before but that was Carol, his best friend. He had never used thoughts of her to pleasure himself. Until you, it was an automatic thing. Stress relief, chasing the high, before and the two times after the turn. He didn’t need to imagine anyone. Now, it was always you. “Not a good idea.”

You tilted your head, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You wanted to say something, it was obvious. He could take a stab in the dark as to what it was. 

“I know that yer offerin’ somethin’ tha’s hard fer ya n’ I ‘preciate it. Ain’t a good idea.” He hadn’t realized he was rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip until he bit down on the skin. “Think I should jus’ go n’ take watch.” His voice strained on the last word and he coughed. Still, he tried again to get up, only this time, your arms wrapped around him from behind with your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. 

Ah, fuck. 

You were trembling. He thought, at first, that it was because you were getting more and more upset. That was probably at least part of it. But then, the most surprising thing. 

“Please…stay.” 

Daryl inhaled sharply. Your voice was so rough from disuse, the energy it took for you to force out the words must have been draining. You slumped against his back but your grip on the front of his vest held true. You’d finally spoken. And it was for him. Rough or not, it was like a soothing balm straight to his soul.

He loosened your fingers with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed and twisted to get a look at you. Your eyes held a tired resignation. This was your final attempt before you’d give up and he didn’t have the heart to deny you. 

“Okay.”

You didn’t smile this time, only giving the smallest dip of your chin in a nod. The archer’s insides were twisting and flipping with emotions he didn’t know how to handle, but he crawled past you pushed the pillow over to the sleeping bag. You didn’t argue. Then he gripped the blanket and moved it further, nearly to the very edge of the small mattress. You’d both have to lie on your sides to fit and it would be much closer than he was comfortable with, but he continued regardless, his mind moving too fast to be able to focus on the anxiety. 

You had already laid down before he finally took his spot, thankful that it was close to the wall and he could press himself back a little further. Why he laid down to face you was anyone’s guess. He made a valiant attempt to avoid your gaze until your palm pressed against his forehead again. Why didn’t he flinch away from you? He despised being touched. Nothing made sense. His eyes met yours despite his reluctance, and he could see the relief pooling there. You had been so worried over a cold. 

Maybe it was because he’d taken care of you while you recovered. Maybe it was because you wanted to show kindness to prove it hadn’t been taken from you with everything else. Maybe it was because—

He shut the thoughts down, sealed them up tight. Your fingers brushed across his forehead and swept back the fringe that always fell over his face. Maybe he should cut his hair so you wouldn’t feel the need to do that. You drew back your hand and pressed it against your chest, your eyes trying hard to close when you were obviously fighting against it. He turned over, away from you. It felt like his only option, both to ensure you’d sleep and to keep himself in check. 

He must have exerted more energy than he’d realized because it was mere moments later when the thoughts ceased and he knew nothing more. 

You watched silently as his breaths deepened and evened out. The congestion from the cold gave each breath a wet, smothered sound but he was okay. Truthfully, he wasn’t even very warm. A low grade fever at best but he needed to stay in bed to get over the mild illness. If he pushed himself, you knew it would last longer, maybe even worsen. You couldn’t help but be reminded of being so sick because you were forced to work when you hadn’t felt well. Then you were tossed inside your cage with a pack of several cough suppressants. You had been so close to taking them all and hoping it did you in. Now, you were glad you didn’t. 

You would have never met Daryl. 

That alone, his friendship, almost made all you’d been through worth all the ugliness. He was enough to encourage you to pull your voice from the confines of your mind and force it over your tongue. It had been both a physical and mental battle and a tremendous effort.

You didn’t remember much before your time under Big Jazz. It was like everything human had been beaten out of you, taken away and placed under lock and key, the latter held by each man that put their hands on you for their own pleasure. Little by little, you were reclaiming those pieces of yourself. You could remember men from before, the ones that broke your heart in a much more humane but still painful way. Normal relationships. 

Not one of them looked at you like Daryl did. 

The archer hid behind a mask of indifference, but you could see past that, having been the victim of men who were truly complacent to the hurt they caused. Daryl was different. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. There was always a hint of remorse if he raised his voice. Now, he even made the effort to walk away and gather himself before coming back to make it right. He only sometimes apologized verbally, that just wasn’t his nature. But he didn’t need to. His eyes gave him away. 

Regardless of the hesitance you still felt toward everyone, it was improving. Even with that gnawing anxiety, you felt drawn to the archer. And when he was close enough, there was a stillness in your soul that you could get lost in. You found you wanted to and that was daunting. 

Now that the two of you were settled, you no longer felt tired. You wanted to watch over him, make sure he rested adequately. You wondered if you should go get him some soup and tea like you had planned. 

“Daryl?” Carol’s voice carried up the stairs. There was a moment of silence and then the sound of boots on metal. You sat up, your eyes on Daryl, who had yet to stir. He must feel awful if he wasn’t responding to outside stimuli. Once you saw the silver hair, you put your finger to your lips. Carol stopped just shy of the top step when she saw you, her gaze sliding over to the archer and then back to you. A cheeky grin lit up her face. 

You pursed your lips in distaste. “No.” You whispered, finding the word harder to say in Carol’s presence. “Sick.” You took a deep breath, calming your suddenly frazzled nerves. The situation between you and Carol was still tense, but you could feel the slight shift, something just naturally healing itself. Maybe it was because you subconsciously knew what happened to you was out of her control. 

“Sick? What do you mean sick?” Carol took another step, looking panicked. You held up a hand, absently placing the other on Daryl’s back as if the gesture would coax him into staying asleep. He did. The other woman froze, staring wide-eyed at your hand and a knowing smile replaced the previous grin. 

Your hand swiftly retracted. “Cold.” You coughed, verbally communicating felt like it was literally dusting off your vocal cords. “Broth? Tea?” 

“I’ll bring you both some. It sounds like you could use it.” She turned and took a step but stopped to look over her shoulder. “It’s nice to hear you talking.” There was a slight jerk as if she started to move and forced herself to wait. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. For what happened to you. I know I… I let you down and—”

“Okay.” You whispered, smiling gently. It was still difficult to believe her words. After all, you clung to them when you first arrived and they shattered in your hands. You tried for a reassuring smile, apparently coming close enough that she returned one and called ‘be right back’ from her descent.  

Daryl coughed beside you but didn’t wake. It seemed a shame to wake him for food but he didn’t eat at all the day before. You didn’t know much about caring for a sick person but it was a given that the body needed energy and energy came from nutrition. Maybe it would take Carol a while to find some and the archer could sleep a little longer. He’d slept so much but he must have needed it to not wake as easily as he usually did. 

You ended up lying back down beside him and watching him sleep. Watching over him like he had watched over you. 

Carol didn’t take long to return. She had found a can of chicken noodle soup, and it wasn’t even expired! She thought anyway. Who knew what the date was anymore? The tea was actually an easier find. Apparently everyone wanted coffee but tea was in abundance. Peppermint tea with as much sugar as could be spared. Bowls and mugs were steaming when she arrived with them. They needed to cool a bit and that gave you time to rouse Daryl slowly. 

Or so you thought. 

When you shook his shoulder, he bolted up and pressed himself against the wall, grasping for his knife on his thigh, appearing even more feral when he realized it wasn’t there. 

“Daryl.” You whispered, both to calm him and because your throat ached. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, not quite awake. You reached for him, palm up, but didn’t touch him. “Safe.”

The shift from panic to confusion to realization was gradual but you waited him out. You knew what nightmares could do, how they could leave you feeling lost from reality in those first few moments if you wake suddenly. You hadn’t realized he’d been dreaming at all, he was so still. 

He finally eased down onto his knees, chest still heaving. To your surprise, he hesitantly placed his palm on top of yours for only a second before pulling it back and falling over onto his ass, his back against the wall. 

“M’sorry.” He rasped, wiping at his face tiredly. The rough breaths turned into a cough and then a sniff. He didn’t appear to be crying so that one could be chalked up to a runny nose. 

“Tea.” You carefully lifted one of the cups and offered it. He accepted with little reluctance, staring into it blankly. 

“Yer still takin’.” He croaked, wincing before taking a sip. You hoped it had cooled enough. You received your answer when he hummed appreciatively. 

“Yeah.” You took a sip of your own, sighing in relief at the gentle, soothing burn. 

“Thought I dreamt it.” He was watching you over the rim of the mug as he tilted it to his lips. 

“Dream of me?” You teased, feeling bad when he sputtered and spit back into the cup. Still, you chuckled. “Sorry.”

“S’fine.” 

You couldn’t help but notice he didn’t answer. Your stomach fluttered pleasantly, a feeling you remembered from the before. It was both terrifying and relieving. You sat your tea back on the tray and held your hand out for his. The archer took one last sip and relinquished the mug. You traded it for a bowl, giggling when he tried to sniff it but his nose was too stuffy, making him scowl. 

“Eat.” You urged, lifting the spoon to your lips. Studying your soup, you could remember your mother making it for you when you were young. Mixing it with water and cooking it until it was all you could smell. You weren’t a fan of the obviously processed meat but the broth was always just what you needed if you were feeling poorly. 

You lifted the spoon to your mouth, distracted by a slurping across from you. Your eyes lifted to gaze from beneath your lashes. Daryl had placed the spoon on his lap and was simply drinking the soup from the edge of the bowl. The childlike mannerism had you giggling all over again. You couldn’t remember the last time you had smiled so often. It made your cheeks hurt. 

Daryl went still. He lowered the bowl, his face red, his eyes lowered. Had you embarrassed him? It wasn’t something that bothered you. You found it endearing. Yet, you didn’t know how to voice that without shaming him further. So, you did the next most logical thing. 

Blue eyes flitted up when you tapped the spoon against the edge of the bowl and then placed the utensil on your lap. Reaching for his bowl, you rested your palm below his hand and pushed for him to lift it. He obliged with a confused frown but then you were taking back your hand and lifting your own bowl, drinking the broth from the edge. You made no noise, where he slurped at his own loudly.  The red hue of his cheeks was fading but he wouldn’t look at you. 

That was okay because, that way, he didn’t see you smiling from behind your bowl. 

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