#which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence but despite the abundance of it

[fear-ne]

no no no you don’t understand. there is just something about ashton “i punch things for money” greymoore (who has been reduced by circumstance into being a tool for brutality, who has LITERAL stone hands and a glass hammer and a hardened heart, who is the product of years of cycles of violence) taking a look at other people and being ineffably gentle with them

[ba9go]

i don't care if you're contagious

bakugou katsuki x gn!reader (zombie apocalypse au)

in which katsuki promises to never leave your side.

katsuki trudged through the wreckage strewn about the street, the chaos of the apocalypse swirling around him. he had seen countless horrors, but none compared to this.

he sees a young boy sprinting away from a twisted, zombified woman. his mother. the child is sobbing, and katsuki's first instinct is to rush in and protect, but one of the other pro-heroes beat him to it.

'fuckin' hell,' katsuki thinks as he continues down the ruined street, steps heavy with disgust and frustration. his stomach twists and katsuki feels sickened at the cruelty of it all.

his eyes darted from one horror to another — crumbling buildings, abandoned cars, the unsettling sight of undead creatures stumbling, crawling, lying amongst the wreckage.

after days of this god-damned apocalypse, katsuki's gotten somewhat used to it. the stench of decay. the incessant groaning ringing in his ears. it was sickening.

and worst of all? you were missing.

it's been roughly 72 hours since katsuki's seen you (yes, he's keeping track), and katsuki's frantic.

katsuki knows you're strong, knows how capable you are. but even so, the situation has only gone from bad to worse, and anything could happen.

katsuki doesn't know what he'd do if he lost you.

katsuki knows he can't afford to dwell on things like that. each time he feels himself worrying about you, he shoves it all aside, because he knows — if he lets himself think about it, his mind would simply spiral, until it drove him completely crazy and to the brink of breaking down.

and only god knows how bad katsuki wanted to break down every passing moment without you, without knowing that you were okay.

katsuki doesn't think too much about what could happen. the thought of you lost in this madness, possibly hurt (or worse), was simply too unbearable.

instead, katsuki thinks about your sweet voice, telling him to stay strong, reassuring him that things will all be okay.

sometimes, in the quiet moments between the chaos, katsuki would close his eyes and let his mind drift back to the last time he saw you.

"katsuki," you murmured, reaching up to hold his face. your touch is always so gentle, and yet katsuki swears that it's the only thing keeping him grounded in this fucked-up situation.

"y/n'," katsuki exhales with a shaky breath. he leans down and presses his forehead against yours. his hands tighten their grip on your waist as he pulls you in as close as he can get. "i don't know if i have it in me to let you go, darlin'."

"i know, katsuki," you sighed, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, and katsuki's chest tightens as your eyes start to water. "i'll be back later, alright?"

"i'll be waiting," katsuki thinks you already know this, but he tells you anyway. "i swear to god, i ain't lettin' go of ya when ya come back to me."

"sure took your sweet time comin' back to me, didn't ya?" katsuki chuckles as he approaches the familiar figure staggering through the debris.

it was you.

the infection had twisted you into one of them, with deathly pale skin and jerky, unnatural movements. yet even in your zombified state, katsuki knew it was you.

slowly, you turned around to look at katsuki impassively. katsuki's heart clenches at your empty stare, but he can't bring himself to walk away from you.

"been lookin' for ya, ya know?" katsuki laughs, even though it's strained. "had me lookin' like the clingy one, sweets."

you stumble towards him with outstretched hands, and all katsuki can think is that you're reaching out to him, and he's rushing to you in an instant.

before he reaches you, you sway on your feet and fall to the ground on your knees. katsuki curses under his breath and he kneels in front of you, holding you by your shoulders to steady you.

"are you okay?" is what katsuki wants to ask, but he realises with a shudder that it would be futile. instead, he closes the distance, his hand gently cupping your face.

"damn it, y/n," katsuki voice breaks. "i've been looking for you. i looked everywhere." katsuki searches desperately in your eyes for any trace of emotion, of recognition.

you let out a weak, garbled noise, but you don't lean into his touch, and katsuki thinks for the first time since this shitty apocalypse that his world might finally be crashing down around him.

'no,' katsuki thinks. he finally found you. this was no time for him to break down. he had to be strong, for you.

"i'm sorry i took so long," katsuki forces a small smile. "m'here now, yeah?"

katsuki wraps his arms around you and pulls you in towards him like he's done countless times in the past.

katsuki closed the gap between them, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss.

katsuki doesn't pull away until your hands are on his shoulders, pushing him away as if in protest. it was so like you, and katsuki couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him.

"i told ya i wouldn't let go of ya, didn't i?" katsuki smiles, even as he feels himself growing faint. "a promise's a promise, darlin'."

bbbbrrrrrraaaaiiiinnnnnnsssssssssss...

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss @crimsonrubie @babylambdietcoke @suki0

[preseriesdean]

Which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. —Richard Siken

#deanwinchesterweek | favorite personality trait

[ceranovis]

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken

My @qsmp-secretvalentine gift for @weatheredwaxwings who asked for Pac/Cellbit! Happy valentines day!

[joelalorian]

a hero's blessing

marcus moreno x f!reader | wc: 4474 | 18+ mdni | masterlist

Thank you to the marvelous @perotovar for hosting such a fun and interesting challenge with the Offering of Frith event and for providing this beautiful moodboard! I had such fun learning about Norse mythology and the goddess Frith. This is also my first foray into writing my lovely husband Marcus Moreno. If you have not done so already, please check out all of the other amazing contributions to this challenge here!

Summary: The Norse goddess Frigg weaves the fabric of destiny for every living being. A Norwegian gift of a thousand thanks unlocks a destiny which Marcus did not see coming.

Warnings: Not much, really. Some cursing. A touch of angsty thoughts turns to fluff. Some adult themes and implied sex. My blog as a whole is 18+ mdni. A little bit of info dump. No use of y/n, ever. Two idiots with crushes stumbling through life until fate intervenes. Dividers courtesy of @saradika-graphics.

The people of Norway cheered when the Heroics delivered the final blow to the blight that menaced the women of their country for weeks. The skies cleared and birdsong once again echoed through the air as if the Norse Gods themselves expressed their heartfelt thanks.

Marcus Moreno looked up from a knelt position, still catching his breath after the hard-fought battle, to see a weathered old man standing before him with a toothless grin.

“Tusen takk,” the old man said in a raspy voice roughened by age. Placing one wrinkled hand on Marcus’ shoulder, the old man reached out with the other and it took Marcus a moment to realize the old man held something in his hand, extending it in offer.

Instinctively, Marcus stumbled to his feet, a gloved hand stretching out to meet the old man’s. He stared in wonder as the old man gently placed a metal pendant emblazoned with an intricate Norse knot into his hand. Like the old man himself, the emblem had been weathered by the passage of time, yet remaining ever sturdy, the black leather rope attached to it brand new and tied in a neat knot.

Marcus stared at it in wonder, wide brown eyes tracing the never-ending pattern of knotwork as the metal gently vibrated through his glove. His gaze dragged upwards from his hand to meet the milky eyes of the old man; eyebrows raised in question.

“A symbol of our gratitude, a thousand thanks, if you will,” the old man said in English. Arthritic fingers grasped the thin strip of knotted leather and reached upwards to place it over Marcus’ head. “Said to be blessed by the Norse goddess Frigg, wife of Odin. May it bring you love and harmony in this life and beyond.”

Too stunned to form words, Marcus nodded with a warm and grateful smile as the gift buzzed against his chest, calling to his heart.

A hundred pages deep into a thick text on Norse mythology, Marcus didn’t hear the first few gentle knocks on his office door. You waited a solid minute, unsure what to do knowing he was in there and finally pounding on the door, snapping his attention away from the book.

“Come in!” Marcus called, marking his page before he closed the book and leant back in his chair. His face split into a soft smile as you entered the room, a stack of files in hand.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Moreno,” you offered, placing the files down on his desk, the top one open to a form needing his signature. “This needs to be signed right away. As do these few.”

“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Marcus?” He reached forward pen in hand and signed the forms you laid before him. “Mr. Moreno sounds too…”

“Formal?” you supplied helpfully. “Would you really prefer I call you Marcus?”

His breath caught in his chest hearing his name coming from your lips. He longed for you to say his name every damn day.

“Yes,” Marcus replied with a nod.

The token of appreciation given to him after completing the mission in Norway sat heavy against his chest, hidden beneath his dress shirt. Marcus felt incapable of removing it once donned in the presence of the old Norwegian man, and now, for the first time since the day the old man slipped it over his head, it buzzed against his skin suddenly.

It was also the first time he spoke to you since he returned.

Coincidence?

Or could there be something more to it?

“Well, if you insist, Marcus.” You smiled sweetly at him as you scooped up the necessary forms. With a cheeky wink, you offered one last parting shot. “You are the boss, after all.”

His eyes tracked your departing form with a crooked grin and furrowed brow, one hand rubbing at the warmth in his chest.

It took Marcus a week to determine that the pendant only buzzed with electricity when in your presence. It didn’t happen with anyone else. Not Missy, or his mom, or the pretty barista at the coffee bar down the block from Heroics HQ, or any of the moms who routinely tried to flirt with him when he picked Missy up from school. It certainly didn’t happen with any of the other men he interacted with daily.

After one too many experiments, Marcus also concluded it appeared to be unrelated to his powers. He apologized profusely to Sharon in Purchasing when he fried the new coffee machine after testing that theory while waiting for a fresh cup of coffee.

What was it about you, he wondered. The mystery irked him.

As any man would, or so Marcus thought, he blithely ignored the fact that he harbored an innocent workplace crush on you since the day you started at HQ, wide eyes twinkling in the fluorescent light as you eagerly trotted behind his mother when she gave you the penny tour. One glance at your ethereal beauty and Marcus knew he liked you in a way entirely inappropriate for the workplace.

Some might have called it love at first sight, but not pragmatic ol’ Marcus Moreno.

No, for the sake of his own sanity (and his heart), Marcus buried that crush deep, deep down beneath layers of grief for his wife’s passing and any number of other suppressed emotions, never to see the light of day again. Until now, apparently.

Marcus wished he thought to ask the weathered old man in Norway some questions about the nature of the pendant before just putting it on without thought. For all he knew, it could have been cursed to turn him into a salamander.

That would have totally sucked.

Marcus spent days with his nose buried in research trying to figure out the meaning behind the gift. He even went as far as calling the nearest museum to speak to a historian. In all, it took him three weeks and a coffee meeting with the historian to finally get some answers that, well, almost made sense.

The spitting image of Sean Connery in his portrayal of Dr. Henry Jones Sr. in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade – honestly, they could be brothers! – the historian introduced himself as Franklin Rockel, an expert in ancient European history. “So, how can I be of help to the leader of the Heroics?”

Marcus thanked Franklin for meeting with him and dove into a long-winded explanation of the Norwegian mission and the subsequent token of appreciation gifted to him. Pulling the pendant from beneath his shirt, he showed it to the man without once removing it from his around his neck. The tips of ears turned pink as he explained to the older man how it buzzed against his chest every time you were near.

Visibly fascinated with the tale, Franklin stared down at the knotwork in the metal with a broadening smile. “What do you know of the Norse gods?” Franklin spoke with a calming lilt to his voice.

“Just what I’ve been able to read up on in the past few weeks. Lots of lore, just like with Greek gods. I didn’t find much on Frigg – that’s who the old Norwegian man told me blessed this piece. Just a bit about her being Odin’s wife and the goddess of destiny, love, marriage, and the skies. A few other things, but that’s what stood out to me.”

Pulling out a small notepad, Marcus sat straight-backed, ready to absorb every word Franklin shared.

“That’s a good start. Frigg is said to have weaved the very clouds, though that could just be a metaphor for her abilities with shaping destiny. She knows the fates of every living thing and holds that information dear, not allowing herself or others to interfere with divine destiny, no matter the eventual outcome.”

Franklin pulled a battered yet clearly beloved tome from his satchel, opening it to a depiction of Frigg in all her majestic maternal glory, her gold dress enhancing the youthful glow of her skin.

He eyed Marcus as the younger man gazed at the illustration, soaking in each detail in true wonder.

“It is not immaterial that you are a widower, Marcus.” Franklin said, voice measured as Marcus’ eyes shot to the historian’s in surprise before remembering it was common knowledge that the leader of the Heroics lost his wife some time ago. “Frigg is the guardian of familial and marital bliss and harmony, seeking to comfort and guide those dealing with the complexities of these bonds. She knew of your eventual loss long before it happened and now, she offers a beacon of hope, a sign that a new love exists for you.”

Flipping through the fragile pages, Franklin pointed out a particular passage that reiterated much of what he just described. He allowed Marcus several minutes to absorb that and more about Frigg, watching as the younger man jotted down a few notes while reading. When Marcus sat upright once again, a little bewildered, Franklin smiled.

“Frigg must feel a connection to you. You share several qualities – wisdom, a strong understanding of diplomacy and strategy, a protective nature with children.” Pointing to the metal dangling from Marcus’ neck, Franklin continued, “There is no doubt in my mind this was meant for you. The fact that it buzzes when only a certain person is near – that alone convinces me, as it should you, that you are destined to be with this woman.”

Franklin packed away the tome, finishing the last sips of his Earl Grey tea while Marcus tried to make sense of all that he just learned. Tapping gently on the table as he stood, Franklin offered one last pearl of wisdom.

“What you do with all that I told you is up to you, but Frigg’s intentions are clear.”

Marcus didn’t know what to think but nodded and thanked the man all the same.

In the week following his meeting with the renowned historian, Marcus ran into you everywhere. At HQ it was entirely expected and normal (and brightened his day every single time, whether he’d admit it or not), but then he started seeing you at places he never had before. Did he just never notice you there before or was Frigg’s influence pulling you together more and more?

He ran into you at the grocery store where he did his weekly shopping on Friday evenings, catching sight of you frowning at the selection of fresh seafood. At the mall when he took Missy clothes shopping – his baby girl was growing up so fast! – and you stopped them to say hi, smiling brightly at his little girl. And even at his favorite pizza place blocks from his house, where he popped in to pick up the best pie in the area two nights a week like clockwork. He saw you every-damn-where. And maybe he just never noticed before or fate really was drawing you both closer, making you circle each other until your orbits finally collided.

Marcus would have thought you a stalker if not for the raw look of bewildered surprise each time before your expression split into a delighted grin. It was clear you were equally, and pleasantly, confused by the sudden coincidences. A few times you hung about, chatting with him and Missy before carrying on your way, not wanting to disturb the Moreno’s precious downtime too much. He secretly treasured those moments.

Still, Marcus took no action, too busy overthinking everything, as he was wont to do. Was he even ready for romantic entanglements? He hadn’t so much as gone a date or kissed someone since his wife’s passing, too concerned with taking care of Missy and too consumed with their mutual grief for so long. By conventional standards, it was more than time he moved on, but… He still wore his wedding ring, for fuck’s sake. Despite whatever destiny and fate might say, was he really ready for taking another chance on love? Would he ever be?

He didn’t know.

“Hey Marcus,” your sweet voice snapped him from the paralysis his overthinking led him to. “I stopped at the coffee bar on the way in and got you this. Thought you might need it after that last case.”

Placing a large to-go cup on his desk when Marcus didn’t reach out to accept the offering, you stared at him as your smile fell bit by bit. He just stared at you, but you could practically see his brain working behind those too intense, dark eyes.

“Ar-Are you okay?” you questioned uncertainly.

Did you overstep somehow? He insisted that you call him Marcus instead of Mr. Moreno or Boss, so it couldn’t be the informal greeting. Was bringing him a coffee too much? You’d never done that for him before, but you often brought one back for Shelley in Accounting just like she did for you. It wasn’t that unusual, was it? It seemed like you two were growing closer each day, but did you read it entirely wrong?

Falling deeper into the pit of self-doubt, you fidgeted waiting for Marcus to do or say something, anything, before you melted into a puddle of mortification. When he merely continued staring at you wordlessly, face like a mask of the man you knew for a solid minute, you spun on your heels and fled before the sudden onslaught of embarrassed tears hit.

You barely heard the sudden, frantic call of your name from his lips as he finally snapped out of whatever daze he was in, but it was too late. Your already fragile self-esteem and overwhelming feelings for the leader of the Heroics could not handle whatever the hell just happened. Nor did you understand quite why it bothered you so much, why a piece of your being felt like it had been cut by a sharp knife, and you needed to get as far away from Marcus Moreno as you could for a hot minute.

Scratch that. You needed to be anywhere but Heroics HQ for the rest of the day. Dropping an email to your boss, feigning food poisoning, once you returned to your office, you shut down your computer and skulked home.

Marcus snapped from his self-inflicted panic moments too late, shouting your name but failing to get up and follow you.

Shit! What the hell was wrong with him?

Marcus didn’t have an answer for that. The vibrations from the pendant against his chest became overwhelming when you stood before him, strumming against his skin harder than it ever had before, and he froze. His brain must have short circuited or something. There was no other explanation.

Marcus flung himself back in his chair with a weighty sigh, one large coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. He caught the shattered look on your face even through the haze and it pierced his heart. It wasn’t intentional, him being a dick. He had to make sure you knew that. But how?

Hemming and hawing for a solid half hour, he was no closer to coming up with a worthy apology. He hated hurting your feelings or making you question yourself, no matter how unintentional. You deserved so much better than that. You probably deserved better than him. No, you definitely did.

This goddess Frigg and her blessing were really messing with his head, throwing his ability to think and act out of whack. How could he possibly know what he felt when it seemed like the universe decided for him without ever asking if he was ready?

Swiping his hands down his face, scrubbing roughly at the neatly trimmed scruff on his face, Marcus heaved a sigh, feeling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Whatever it is can’t be that bad, mijo.” His mother stood in the doorway, one hand on her cane and the other resting against the doorframe.

Her knowing smile worried him but he didn’t have the energy to trade barbs and hidden meanings with the inimitable wits of Anita Moreno right now. Not when he long suspected that she had the power of omniscience.

“Not now, mom,” Marcus groaned, fingers massaging his temples as his eyelids shuttered closed.

“Yes now, mijo,” Anita replied, stepping into his office and easing herself down into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I just watched one of the administrators I hired for you rush out of the building nearly in tears. What did you do to that sweet girl?”

His eyes snapped open with another groan. As if he didn’t feel awful enough, now his mother wanted to give him shit over you, too. Leveling tired eyes at the woman who told him many times that she brought him into the world, and she could surely bring him out of it if he didn’t behave when he was younger, he sat back in his seat.

“You already know, I’m sure. Why don’t you just let me have it so I can get back to work.”

“Why would I let you have it? Are you admitting that you acted poorly?”

This back and forth was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

“Must we do this? I’m exhausted and confused, and I know I messed up, but I don’t know if what I feel is my feelings or fate telling me what to feel, and I hate that.” That summed it up pretty well, actually, and now that he admitted it out loud, Marcus hoped his mom would have some helpful insight.

“Well, tell me this. Did you have feelings for her before you were given that trinket you’re wearing?” Anita watched him consider the question, a smirk stretching her lips when realization hit him.

“Point taken,” Marcus sighed.

“Good. Now get off your ass and go apologize. That girl is head over heels for you as much as you are for her,” she replied. Watching her son’s eyebrows shoot upwards, she waved him off. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You both think you hid it well. Pathetic effort, really. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain that you both had crushes on each other. Fate is finally telling you that this is meant to be, that it’s okay to move on and be happy again, mijo. Don’t spit in the universe’s face thinking you know better than it does.”

Marcus hugged his mom, finally allowing himself to accept that destiny might be on to something. “I gotta go. Can you pick Missy up from school? I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

Shooing him out of the office, Anita assured him she’d look after Missy. “If you apologize right, I imagine we won’t see you until tomorrow.”

Marcus weaved his hybrid sedan through the afternoon traffic, impatient to get to your house, to make things right. It was well past time to be honest with you, to share his feelings. He only hoped his mother was right, that you liked him as much as he liked you. Even if you didn’t, he still owed you an apology for earlier.

Pulling up to the curb out front of your quaint home, your sensible car parked in the driveway, he realized that you lived only blocks from him. How he never saw you out and about in the neighborhood until recently was beyond him. Maybe the timing was always off until now.

Taking a moment to steel his nerves, Marcus shut the car off and climbed out of the driver's seat. He swiped sweaty palms down the legs of his pants as he walked up the small front porch and knocked on your door.

God, he hoped you’d hear him out, that you wouldn’t just slam the door in his face.

A hopeful smile spread across his face when he heard the lock click and you opened the door, looking beautiful in loungewear instead of your typical business casual outfits you wore to work. The material looked soft, and Marcus felt the sudden urge to nuzzle his face into the fabric and beg your forgiveness for being an idiot hit him.

Your pouty frown, scrunching your little nose, almost to adorable to handle, Marcus blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” The words left his mouth in a rush of breath before his brain could think better of it and the tips of his ears flushed as you gaped at him. “I, uh… shit, sorry! Getting a little ahead of myself. May I come in? I owe you an apology and an explanation.”

Hesitating, your eyes scanned Marcus’ handsome face, and upon seeing the sincerity in those eyes so brown they reminded you of melted chocolate, you stepped aside to invite him inside your modest home. “Forgive the mess,” you mumbled as you led him to the living room and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch.

Glancing around while you hovered nervously, Marcus soaked in the details of your living space and wondered what mess you referred to. Everything had a place, just like your office at work. From the pale blue walls to the light gray couch with the fluffiest cushions to the black and white portraits on the mantle above the fireplace, he could see bits of you everywhere. It fascinated him, this peek at your life outside of Heroics HQ.

Heart pounding in his chest, Marcus motioned for you to join him on the couch. “Sit with me, please. I need to say a few things, starting with I’m sorry for behaving so oddly earlier. There is much to share with you that will hopefully help you understand why I froze.”

You nodded and sat next to him, still a bit confused on whatever the hell was going on. Marcus launched into an explanation of the gift given to him in Norway, the meaning behind it, his conversations with the historian as well as his mother. You sat there staring at him in wonder, mouth dropping further open as the pieces of the puzzle began to come together.

When his voice tapered off, dark eyes beseeching you to not reject him, you reached out to him, a soft expression in your own eyes. “May I – uh, may I see the pendant?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. But first, I want you to feel something.” Marcus grasped your hand in his and pressed it against his chest, right over where the pendant hummed against his skin beneath his shirt. “Do you feel that?”

Eyes widening, your gaze flashed back and forth between his chest and his eyes a few times before gasping out a quiet “Yeah.”

“That’s what it does whenever I’m near you. The closer you are, the stronger the vibrations,” Marcus explained. “When you brought me that coffee, it was so thoughtful and unexpected, and it caught me completely off guard. And for some reason, the pendant buzzed abnormally hard against my chest in that moment, and it all became overwhelming.”

Your fingers traced around the feel of the vibrating metal as Marcus spoke, and you knew at once how distracting it all must be for him.

“So, we’re like soul mates, then?” you questioned, bolding tugging on the leather rope to pull the pendant out from beneath his clothes.

“Of a sort. We were destined to be together according to the goddess Frigg.” Marcus gulped, watching intently as your fingertip delicately traced the knotwork pattern on the metal. “How do you, uh, feel about that?”

Your eyes, glossy and full of wonder, met his and you flashed him a sweet smile. “Well, I’ve had a debilitating crush on you since we first met, so I can’t say I’m against the idea.” Your laughter tinkled in the air and his heart soared.

“You have? I never knew,” Marcus replied in wonder, his own face split by a jaw-breaking grin. “I had one on you, too.”

Quirking an eyebrow at him, eyes twinkling in the dim lighting of the room, you said, “Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? I was trying to be professional, and I never thought you would feel the same, so I buried that crush deep in the depths of my soul.”

Stunned, Marcus spluttered before finding his words. “How could I not feel the same way? You are amazing and beautiful and smart…”

Lunging forward, you kissed him, cutting off the rest of his response. The kiss started off as hesitant exploration of lips and quickly morphed into an unleashing of pent-up desire. Teeth clashed and tongues tangled as the kisses deepened and control weakened. With swift movements, Marcus shifted until you were sprawled across his lap, hands wandering until layers of clothing were tossed aside in your combined need to feel more, more, more.

When Marcus flipped you onto your back against the plush cushions of the couch, the pendant dangled between your naked bodies as he hovered over you. It vibrated with such intensity that it visibly swayed with its own energy. You pulled him down on top of you, feeling that intense yet pleasant buzz and heavy weight from the pendant pressed against your skin as the two of you came together as one.

Afterwards, when you both lay together sated and sweaty, chests still heaving as you recovered, you ran your fingers through his thick locks. “We really owe Frigg for bringing us together.”

Marcus hummed, pressing a series of kisses along your collar bone and up the side of your neck until he reached your face. “We sure do. I’m not sure this ever would have happened without her influence. I don’t know that I ever would have found the courage to admit my feelings otherwise.”

You both gazed at each other with love in your eyes, feeling grateful for that old Norwegian man, his surprising gift, and the wonderful blessing from the goddess Frigg. You laid there for hours, talking and laughing and just genuinely enjoying each other’s company. The future before you looked much brighter and Marcus excitedly invited you over for dinner with him and Missy the following evening, hoping that you would never leave once you arrived at his house.

Later that night, while in cuddled together in your bed, Marcus confessed that he loved you. The crush he harbored in silence for so long turned to love at some point without his knowledge and now his heart practically overflowed with it. He asked if it was too soon to say something like that and you shook your head.

“Not when we were destined to be together. I love you, too, Marcus Moreno.”

The pendant buzzed heartily once more before going still as if Frigg herself was saying “Finally.”

thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated but never demanded.

[edwardian-masquerade]

"We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it."

-Richard Siken, Crush

[rocks-in-space]

THE WILD ONE, PROTECTOR AND GUARDIAN

1. The Four Generations of Chang E, Zen Cho // 2. “Ursa Major,” Lisa Bohnwagner // 3. "Run Boy Run," Woodkid // 4. The Blinding Star, Blanca Varela. // 5. The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One, episode 24, Lou Wilson // 6. "Sword Illustrations," Ma-Ko. // 7. Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? Jeanette Winterson // 8. The Green Knight, David Lowery //9. "Crush," Richard Siken // 10. "The Problem With Other People," Savannah Brown // 11. The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One, episode 13, Lou Wilson // 12. "Artichokes," Bianca Stone

The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One web weaves:

Eursulon Suvi Ame True Friends

[Image IDs:

Image 1: Text reading, "Past a certain point, you stop being able to go home. At this point, when you have got this far from where you were, the thread snaps. The narrative breaks. And you are forced, pastless, to invent yourself anew."

Image 2: A painting of a night sky showing the constellation Ursa Major with an image of a polar bear behind it.

Image 3: Text reading, "Run, boy, run! This world is not made for you / Run, boy, run! They're trying to catch you."

Image 4: Text reading, "Because you are no longer an angel but a person all alone on two tired feet upon this earth that turns, that wakes terribly young every morning."

Image 5: Text reading, "[Chuckle] Well, I'm maybe not a knight yet, but on my way."

Image 6: A drawing all in shades of green of a sword planted in the ground illuminated by a thin beam of light. The sword is in front of the ruins of a stone building overgrown with plants.

Image 7: Text reading, “I've always tried to make a home for myself, but I have not felt at home in myself. I've worked hard at being the hero of my own life. But every time I checked the register of displaced persons, I was still on it. I didn't know how to belong. Longing? Yes. Belonging? No.”

Image 8: Text reading, "Are you a knight yet?" "Not yet." "Better hurry up." "I've got time... I'm not ready yet... I'm not ready."

Image 9: Text reading, "which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it."

Image 10: Text reading, "The problem with other people/ is that one must leave before the other/ + one always gets there first.”

Image 11: Text reading, "Feeling the sword, really feeling the sword, feeling that it is not of THIS world, but of HIS world, where HE comes from. That is the energy, that is of him, that is coursing through him, that HE wields, up the arms, into the shoulders, filling his chest with the warmth, the feelings of play, the feelings of community and family, that were shared amongst his brothers and sisters, and the Great Bear, the feeling of his home, where he is from."

Image 12: Text reading, "I bet I will live again./ I bet I will appear in full gear, the armor / of ugly indefinite livability, the real body, / alive or in decay — I'll appear / like a thundering, I'll save / myself. And you. And you."

end ID.]

[zmediaoutlet]

Sam could put the car in park but he doesn't think it's going to take that long. Purling fog over the sidewalk and the tapedeck's got Sabbath on low, Paranoid, the engine rumbling through the steering wheel where he's got two fingers curled, idling on the brake while he watches in the wing mirror. A kiss. Like a movie, especially with them still in costume. Dean holds the low sweep of her back in that goofy princess dress and Jamie grips his white romance-hero sleeves and it's good, clearly, from how she curves into the shape of his body, how she looks up at him with her teeth in her lip. Sam can't see Dean's face from this angle but he can imagine it. When it's that good and they want him that bad, and they're imagining how it could be. His thumb riding low along the gentle curve of her cheek. Best they've ever had, bar none.

The passenger door opens, and closes. Dean follows his eyes to the wing mirror where the front door to Jamie's house is illuminated in porchlight, where she's locked her door against the night. "Perv," Dean says. Not sounding surprised or like he minds that much. While they watch the light goes out. Damsel off to bed. Dean rubs his fingers over his mouth, sighs. Says, "Are we going, or am I gonna regret letting you drive for the thousandth time?"

"I don't think you've let me drive a thousand times," Sam says, but he puts the car in gear. Ignores the four months in the rearview that he's trying to pack away tight and gone and enjoys Dean's mild bitching instead, about Sam's use of blinker signals and how fast he brakes and that he goes six over the speed limit instead of nine, all the way back across town to their motel.

Rare non-Oktoberfest theme, dark green bedspreads and gold-glow lamps that bring all the color back from the cold night outside. Dean looks even dumber struggling to unbuckle his suspenders. "Dude, why couldn't the fake vampire have gotten snap-on lederhosen," he mumbles. Sam snorts, dumps the keys on the table. Knocks Dean's hands away and gets one of the buckles undone in about three seconds, for which he gets a look. "I loosened it for you."

"Sure you did," Sam says. Gets the other and pushes the straps off Dean's shoulders so they swing around his hips. He flicks a button. "Is this the worst shirt in the world?"

"Ranked," Dean says, but he catches Sam's wrist. Stands there with his cheek sucked in on one side, looking at Sam's throat and then up to meet his eyes. "You know, I totally had an in, back there."

"Yeah, I know you did," Sam says. He lets Dean keep holding his wrist but starts unbuttoning the stupid shirt, anyway.

Flick of tongue to Dean's lower lip. "Dehymenation on lock. Big hero gets the damsel, the whole deal."

"I think she was technically the hero, since she shot the monster," Sam says. Dean's very pale under the shirt. His chest moving as he takes a deep breath. "Which makes you…"

"Don't say it," Dean says, and when Sam smiles he gets a backhanded smack to the shoulder. Sam pulls the shirt out of the tuck into the weird shorts and Dean grabs both his wrists then, tongue at the corner of his mouth. He takes a breath but doesn't say anything with it, and so Sam hooks the first two fingers of both hands into the waistband, hitches Dean those few inches closer. Touches his lips to Dean's temple and feels the next breath Dean takes with his whole body, seems like.

"Oh, Mister Harker," Sam says, quiet. Makes Dean puff out half-a-laugh, his head tipping back. Sam takes him in, like this. Safe and smiling, in a motel with a locked door, no particular horror about to batter the walls down. This day or two the easiest he's been in—since he's come back. Easier than he was the whole year before that, and maybe the year before that, and maybe for a long time that Sam didn't see him. He breaks Dean's grip on his right hand and cups Dean's cheek in his hand and Dean's eyes go to this other darker color, his lips parting.

A kiss—easy, brief. No romance soundtrack and nothing crazy other than how crazy it always is. Dean's mouth and the way he tips into it soft and willing and the brief taste of beer and then the salt-spit tang that's meant Sam's brother just about as long as anything's meant anything. Their noses brush warmly and Dean smiles, for what reason Sam doesn't know. When he lifts up an inch or two there's no answer. He drags his thumb along the curve of Dean's jaw and Dean opens his eyes, pleased. So good Sam could take him literally any way. Even in the awful knee-high socks. Although—

"If we're dehymenating you, can we lose the costume?" Sam says, and Dean grips his hair and says, "If you never mention the costume again, I'll do that thing you pretend you don't like," and Sam says, flushing warm, "Deal." He doesn't have to imagine because he knows. Best he's ever had, or will.

[cowgurrrl]

Love Charlie girl so much! Could you please do a fluff piece of them taking Charlie and Ellie to the lake? Maybe it’s summer and Charlie is like 2 years old and it’s just a lovely family swim day 🤍

Never Going Back Again

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: “We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.” — Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken aka this ask [1.4k]

Warnings: just fluff 🥸

You're barely settled on the shore when Ellie puts her hands up in defense and raises her eyebrows at Joel. "Don't you even think about it, old man." She says, and Joel scoffs. You don't look up at him, not wanting to give him any ideas and focus on lathering Charlie in sunscreen. You're a little overprotective when bringing her to the lake, but luckily, your family are the last people in the world who would judge you for it. Charlie has little pink inflatable armbands that match her strawberry swimsuit and lake shoes. Her hair is pulled away from her face, but you know it'll be down and absurdly curly by the time you take her home. Ellie, meanwhile, is wearing a black sports bra and a pair of one of Tommy's old swim trunks. 

She's a blur of blue as Joel tackles her, throws her over his shoulder, and starts walking to the water. Ellie punches at Joel's back, but there's no way she's getting out from his big bicep and grip on her legs. He tosses her in the water with a little effort, considering he's sixty now, and you laugh when she comes up for air. "Joel, you asshole!" She yells from the water. Joel chuckles and tugs his shirt over his head, more than ready to get in the water. 

"Miller!" You call before he can get too close to the water. He turns around with a sassy look, annoyed you wouldn't let him get in like a toddler, and you hold up the bottle of sunscreen you just finished using on Charlie. "You'd look real stupid to let melanoma get you after everything, but what do I know?" 

"You hear the way she talks to your daddy, Charlotte Elaine?" He asks as he walks over, and you roll your eyes, making her giggle. You squirt some sunscreen in your hands before running it over his broad shoulders. Joel Miller might not be running around fighting anything and everything that moves anymore. Still, the mornings spent carrying his heavy shotgun on patrol or bouncing a crying baby around the house have only maintained his physique. It'd be annoying if you didn't love the sight of his strong arms and slightly plush tummy. How dare he look that good after four kids and twenty years of the apocalypse? 

Charlie waits patiently beside you, kicking rocks as Ellie wades near the shoreline. When you're done making sure Joel won't get burnt, he returns the favor with a quick kiss to the back of your neck once you pull your cover-up off. Joel wolf-whistles at the sight of the black bikini you found in a mall about twenty miles outside of Jackson, and you reach behind you to smack his side. "I think we gotta come to the lake more often." He says as he rubs sunscreen down your arms. 

"You just like getting to show me off." 

"Is that a crime?" He asks, and you laugh. Before you can come up with a rebuttal, Ellie groans about you three taking too long, and you can hear the Miller eye roll before you see it. When he's done with the sunscreen, he playfully squeezes your ass, scoops Charlie up and runs toward the water. She squeals in excitement the whole way in, clinging to Joel like he's the last lifeboat in a storm, and looks at him with wide eyes when they're chest-deep in the water. 

"'S that cold?" Joel asks as you follow him in. Ellie splashes you once you're close enough, and you splash her back, diving under the water to avoid the wrath of Ellie Williams. When you breach the surface of the cool water, Joel and Charlie haven't moved, and he's looking at her very seriously. "I ain't gonna let you go, alright? I'll be right here with you."

"Promise?" Charlie asks, holding up her tiny pinky. Joel melts a little before wrapping his pinky around hers and kissing his thumb, Charlie following suit without hesitation. Joel counts down from three, giving Charlie the chance to plug her nose before plunging underwater. She laughs when he pops them back up with identical wet curls, kicking her legs as she adjusts to the cold. "Again! Again!"

You spend much of the day bouncing between the clear water and the cool shore, nibbling on snacks, and reapplying sunscreen every few hours. Ellie forces you and Joel into a game of chicken between her and Charlie, in which Charlie, in a shocking show of intelligence, tickles you until you fall off of Joel's shoulders. He and Ellie race from one part of the lake to the next so Ellie can work on her confidence with swimming without the anxiety of anything happening to her. Joel would never let her drown if he was close enough. Ellie even takes a turn showing Charlie how to kick her legs and float on her back so they can watch the birds and clouds go by. 

You and Joel stay nearby, but let your daughters have their sister moment together. While they're distracted, Joel comes up behind you and wraps an arm around your waist. "She's really good with Charlie," he mumbles against your temple, kissing your skin to punctuate his sentence. "Makes me wonder what they'll be like when they're older." He says, and you nod as you wrap a hand around his forearm.

"If it's anything like this, I think they'll be just fine." You say. Charlie giggles and flounders a little on her back float, but Ellie catches her and stabilizes her before she can freak out. You're just close enough to hear Ellie's gentle encouragement to Charlie. "You're doing great, baby girl. Just keep your head back, okay? There you go." 

"Yeah," Joel hums. "I think so, too." 

"Daddy!" Charlie's voice cuts through the peaceful moment, and you turn to see her swimming toward you and Joel. "Can you throw me like you throwed Bellie?"

"You want me to throw you in the water?" He asks, and Charlie nods. "You sure?"

"Well, yeah." She sasses in that sweet two-year-old voice, and you laugh. 

"Alright, alright. Whatever the princess wants, the princess gets." He says. He kisses your cheek before letting you go and grabbing Charlie. He counts down from three again, bouncing a little at each number, and throws her a few feet away when he gets to one. At first, Charlie's unsure what she thinks about getting tossed but quickly decides she likes it and swims back to Joel. He takes turns hurling the girls into the water, throwing each of them remarkably far before they swim back. You can't imagine how Joel's back must've been feeling, but the smile on his face when he hears Ellie and Charlie laughing is worth it. 

About twenty heart-stopping launches in, Charlie sits in Joel's arm, practically vibrating with joy as she waits for him to throw her. As he says each number, she cackles maniacally and loudly. Listening to her full, crazy belly laughs is enough to make you, Ellie, and Joel laugh, too. "What are you even laughin' at?" Joel asks, but Charlie just keeps giggling. 

"I dunno." She gets out between breaths, making herself laugh harder. Joel waits for her to calm down enough to get a full breath in and throws her again. 

By the time the sun starts setting, you, Joel, and the girls are cuddled up on the shore with Charlie's head tucked under your chin as she sleeps. Her hat has been long forgotten in your backpack, and her curls are drying under your warm hands, your fingers diligently trying to work out knots before they can get too bad. Ellie is snuggled between you and Joel with a hand on Charlie's back as she bounces in and out of sleep, the lake water lapping on the shore, lulling her to one of the most peaceful sleeps she's had in a while. And Joel, being Joel, is cushioning your head with one arm and draping the other across all his girls. You meet his eyes over Ellie's head and smile at the soft look in his eyes. If you had a camera, you'd take a picture of it, but instead, you commit the gentle brown irises to memory. The same way you commit Charlie's belly laughs and Ellie's smile to memory. Or the way the sun bounced off the water and cast everything in a dreamy glow. 

Camera or not, it'll be a long time before any of the Millers forget their day at the lake as the last drudges of summer slip away.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @moonandseatgr-yngf @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @korynnekorynne @anavatazes

[purgaytorysupremacy]

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

- Richard Siken, "Snow and Dirty Rain", Crush

Dean's version

[kiastirling-fanfic]

happy friday uwu maybe june and solas with the angsty poem prompt of "which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and a gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it." <3

Thank you! Here's a quiet drabble set on the Exalted Plains.

Rating: T Wordcount: 100 Content Warnings: none

@dadrunkwriting

“Do you know what makes a hero?” Solas asked gently.

June glanced at him from where they sat on the Ramparts they’d so recently rested from the dead, but she didn’t answer the question, seeming to judge it rhetorical. She wasn’t incorrect to do so. Her face was still covered in soot, and streaked with tears.

“It is not only valor that makes a hero,” Solas continued. “Nor is it prowess in battle.” That at least earned a snort, though it couldn’t hide the hiccup of her quaking breath. “Compassion is at least as valuable.”

“I know. But thank you.”

[demonbarberofbeepbeep]

"we have not touched the stars not are we forgiven which us brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of slicerating a bunch of people with his razors, but despite the abundance of it."

-richard siken. and beep beep.

[inevergrewupwithyou]

We have not touched the stars,

nor are we forgiven, which brings us back

to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes,

not from the absence of violence, but despite

the abundance of it.

— Richard Siken

[patronsaintofelsewhere]

'snow & dirty rain' by richard siken is so aziracrow-coded (the good omens brain-rot is so strong and so crippling)

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending to sleep, while I'm in the other room. Imagine my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots in the slatted light. I'm thinking My plant, his chair, the ashtray that we bought together. I'm thinking This is where we live. When we were little we made houses out of cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It's not because our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring your friends. It's a potluck, I'm making pork chops, I'm making those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold. 

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire, the gold light falling backward through the glass of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger. Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We've read the back of the book, we know what's going to happen. The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left broken in the brown dirt. And then it's gone.

Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all in Heaven. But there's a litany of dreams that happens somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands and record stores. Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one. We have been very brave, we have wanted to know the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes. This dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstretched arms. Our father who art in Heaven. Our father who art buried in the yard. Someone is digging your grave right now. Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said, so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It's a fairy tale, the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished halls, lightning here and gone. We make these ridiculous idols so we can pray to what's behind them, but what happens after we get up the ladder? Do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it?

Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are the monsters we put in the box to test our strength against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's the desire to put it inside us, and then the question behind every question: What happens next? The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I'm alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they're only a few steps behind you, finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren't stitched up quite right, the place they could almost slip right through if the skin wasn't trying to keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side of the theater where the curtain keeps rising. I crawled out the window and ran into the woods. I had to make up all the words myself. The way they taste, the way they sound in the air.

I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is. So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields? Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets? I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter's heart, the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees and the space between the trees, swimming in gold. The words frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere. I was away, I don't know where, lying on the floor, pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have swallowed him up, they said. It's beautiful. It really is. I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want. You said Tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube... 

We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

[chaos-bear]

My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold. 

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

from Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken

[heartbellamy]

-ˏˋ bellamy blake appreciation week ˊˎ- day one (favourite quotes) — supportive!bellamy 🥰

we have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.