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familyvideostevie · 4 months

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it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked.

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed.

You’ve only been open for two hours.

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns.

Your coffee shop.

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it.

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works.

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure.

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand.

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him.

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired.

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter.

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember.

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint.

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks.

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on.

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize.

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question.

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders.

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot.

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee.

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron.

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning. When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped.

“I’m honored,” he says.

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window.

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash.

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask.

He smirks. “Miss me?”

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy.

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy.

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise.

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one.

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw.

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear.

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him.

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone.

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place.

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day.

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is.

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles.

They both wave at you as they drive away.

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted.

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb.

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing.

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work.

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one.

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus.

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked.

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering.

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you.

And you still barely know him. But you want to.

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime?

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back.

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back.

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.”

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says.

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won��t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually.

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.”

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting.

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says.

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables.

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate.

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel.

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light.

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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zepskies · 11 months

Text

Break Me Down - Part 16

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: *Deep inhale, deeper exhale* Okay. You ready?

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Blood and peril, violence, angst, and yet another cliffhanger. (Last one, I promise!)

Part 16: Soldier Boy

You fled with Jon, Frank, and Loco to escape the bowels of Vought Tower.

You all were lucky that the Security & Surveillance room hadn’t been caught in the blast, but on the monitors you had seen it carve through the center of the building like a beam of light.

You could freak out about that later though. Now you were in flight mode, just trying to survive and evade falling debris and unsteady ground.

Frank kicked through a locked door on the way to the nearest stairwell. You and Jon made it through, but a huge chunk of debris fell, cutting Loco off from the rest of you.

You gasped and went to the doorway, trying to see if you could help push it out of the way. But more of the ceiling was still falling and threatened to crush you. Frank pulled you back, even though you knew he was worried too.

“Just go!” Loco said. “I’ll find another way out.”

“Head east,” Jon said. “There’s another stairwell by Human Resources.”

“Vought HR. What a fucking joke,” you couldn’t help but quip. But after Loco took off, you grabbed Frank’s arm and headed down the hall. You could see the “EXIT” sign up ahead. It led to a gray door, where several people were fleeing down the stairs.

Including Dr. Tonya Baker and three of her guards.

You and Frank stopped her before the door with your guns raised. Frank killed each guard with precision, while you kept your gun aimed on the good doctor. She raised her hand in wide-eyed surrender, but her other hand held a briefcase. You gestured to it with your gun.

“What’s that? Open it up,” you said. When the doctor hesitated, you pointed the gun back in her face. “Now.”

Gritting her teeth, she obliged you by entering the code that would unlock the briefcase. Jon took it from her and showed you its contents.

There were several files and blue vials of what you assumed were Compound V. However, you noticed three small white containers that weren’t like the rest. They were labeled: Soldier Boy.

“What are these?” you asked. Dr. Baker was tight-lipped, until you pressed the gun between her eyes.

“DNA samples,” she answered reluctantly. Your face fell, then hardened into a glare.

“Well, fuck that,” you said.

With your gun trained on the doctor, you grabbed a glass container and smashed it to the ground, making her flinch. Stale-smelling yellow liquid splattered on the floor, and you realized then what kind of “sample” it must’ve been. Jon grimaced; some of it had splashed onto his shoes.

“Thank you,” he groused.

“Oh, I’m not done,” you said. And you did the same to the last two containers. You took the briefcase from your father and gave it to Frank. “Take this and Madam Fritz here to the S.A.”

“What are you about to do?” Frank asked, though he took the briefcase from you (and laid a firm hand on Dr. Baker’s shoulder). “I don’t like that damn look in your eye.”

You turned to the scientist. “Did you see anyone else still in the building?”

“A few,” she admitted. “Mostly in the lower floors. Admin, Customer Service, R&D.”

Your eyes flew wide in alarm. Yvette, your friend who worked in Customer Service. She could be trapped down there…

Jon turned to you with a frown. “The only way they’re getting out is when the Fire Department comes to collect the bodies.”

You glared back and raised your gun at him next.

“Guess who’s going to help me get them out?” You glanced at Frank, who didn’t look pleased. “Don’t make that face. I’ll be fine.”

“The tower’s literally falling apart as we speak!” Jon exclaimed. He tried to push your gun away from his face, but you held it aloft.

“Move your ass or catch a bullet,” you snapped. “We’re going to Customer Service first.”

Ben continued to fight Black Noir.

He still wanted to cave in Stan Edgar’s skull, and it had the added benefit of giving Butcher and his team the cover they needed to try and escape the tower. That wasn’t in his mind though. He was focused on his two targets.

He’d grabbed a discarded gun from the floor when he’d gotten back up to his feet. He now used it to shoot Stan in the leg, to stop him from fleeing. The man cried out and went down hard on the newly installed tile.

Ben raised the gun again to shoot him between the eyes, but Noir stopped him. He grabbed Ben’s arm and hurled him over his shoulder. He landed in the broken shambles of Stan’s desk, and the impact further destabilized the top floor of the building.

Parts of the ceiling had already begun to break off, and Stan noticed. He tried to drag himself towards the door while Soldier Boy was distracted. Blood trailed after his bleeding leg, but he was determined, fighting for his life.

In fact, he almost made it.

But just when he was a mere three feet from the door, a massive panel of the ceiling (along with a silver light fixture), crashed down over him. If the concrete hadn’t crushed his bones, the ceiling light would’ve impaled him—right through his chest.

Ben watched the scene from where he half-lay on the ground in the rubble. His eyes marginally widened, but then his mouth quirked in satisfaction. One down…

His hand closed over a metal rod, yanking it from a piece of rock and wood, and he got to his feet. When Noir flew at him again, Ben lodged the metal rod deep into his exposed ear. If it had worked for Maeve on Homelander, he’d figured it could work on Noir.

And it did. The supe remained mute, expressionless, but the projectile lodged into his ear canal still made him wince. He clawed at it with shaking hands, trying to get it out. Ben didn’t give him a chance—he drop-kicked the other supe into the large glass window.

They’d given this clone Homelander’s strength, but forgot to give him flight, it seemed. Because the supe fell and kept falling off the side of the tower.

Ben stood there in the center of the destroyed room.

He panted for breath, only then did he notice his own fatigue. His limbs felt heavy, and it nearly buckled his knees. He forced himself to stay upright. Ben would never admit it, but whatever that gun had blasted him with, it did a number on him.

Ignoring how his hand shook, he raised it to his ear.

“Stan Edgar’s dead,” he said. “So is Noir, probably. I’m headed down.”

Hughie helped Butcher to the van in the garage, but he stopped short. An ex-military-looking guy was walking toward him with a briefcase in hand, and leading a doctor in a lab coat with the other.

“It’s you!” M.M. recognized him with a sharpening gaze. “From the airport. You’re one of Soldier Boy’s men.”

Frank gave the doctor over to M.M., informing them that you had asked him to put Dr. Baker into custody. At the mention of your name, Annie’s eyes widened.

“Oh my God, she’s still in there!” she said. She turned on her comm and called your name. “Where the hell are you?”

“Uh…little busy at the moment,” you replied.

Predictably, Soldier Boy got on the line next.

“What? Where the fuck are you?”

Annie grimaced at the man’s tone. But she marveled, because she could hear the depths of his worry for you.

“Still in the tower. Some people are trapped on the second floor,” you replied. Soldier Boy’s growl of frustration came through.

“Where are you exactly?” he demanded.

“Admin department, second floor,” you told Ben. You were prying open the door to the former when the ground beneath your feet trembled. “Oh shit!”

You needed both hands to stabilize yourself against the wall, but it was Jon who helped you stay upright. And he finished what you started, wrenching open the door and letting out a crowd of desperate people clamoring to get out.

Once most of them passed, you and Jon slipped inside the large Administration office. Inside were various cubicles, conference rooms, and internal offices, one of which was Customer Service. That was your goal as you jogged through the halls. Jon fell into step with you.

“Look,” Jon began. “Everything I did—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said sharply. “I don’t have time for a meaningless heart-to-heart with you.”

You called out for Yvette, or anyone still trapped inside one of the offices. You heard a distant voice respond, and you followed it. You were led all the way to the end of the hall, where a chunk of debris had fallen outside of a glass office door. Inside was a group of about ten people.

“Okay, hold on!” you told them. “Stand back from the door.”

You and your father worked to clear the debris. But he looked up at you with something you’d never seen before in his eyes, though you refused to acknowledge it now.

“When I came back from Vietnam, I saw what this country had become. How these asshole supes had taken over the goddamn world,” Jon said, though it was labored between bouts of lifting.

He briefly grasped at his chest in pain. And you remembered then that Ben had broken at least his arm and collarbone. He even wore a cast on his forearm, which you finally noticed beneath his jacket sleeve.

“You were different from your sister. Even at a young age, I saw that spark of fire in you. Hardheaded, even at the best of times,” he said, with a flicker of a smile. “I just wanted to make sure you were strong enough to handle this snake pit of a fucking world.”

He paused to look up at you. “But you were strong in spite of me.”

You had to stop and catch your breath. As his words registered, tears began to burn in your eyes. But you refused to let them fall. Nor did you respond.

Once the doorway was clear, you were able to open the door and let the people out. The last of them was Yvette, and her son Devon.

“Oh my God,” she gasped when she saw you. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes as she pulled you into a hug, and you returned it.

“Are you okay?” you asked in relief. She tried and failed at a smile. Still weeping, she took her eight-year-old son’s hand and guided him out along with her.

“Well, now we are. What are you doing here?”

“I’ll explain later. Come on,” you said. You flashed Devon a smile and reached out your hand. “Hey, Devon. Let’s go, buddy.”

He was crying, but he nodded and grabbed your hand too.

“He had a stomachache,” Yvette whispered to you. “I pulled him out of school early. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay, we’re getting out,” you told her. Jon brought up the rear to make sure you all made it out of the office unit safely.

You made it down to the gift shop on the first floor, but a small crowd had formed at the back exit to the garage—which by now, was the only safe route out of the tower. The lobby was completely destroyed.

The problem was, the garage exit was now blocked by debris as well.

“All right,” Jon sighed. “There’s another way, through the custodian entrance—”

Three shots rang out. You ducked and took Yvette with you, but you choked on a gasp when you looked back…

Jon had a gloved fist punched through his chest cavity.

You watched with wide eyes as Black Noir revoked his arm from your father’s body with a wet, horrific sound. You gasped when Jon fell to his knees.

But to your shock, the supe glanced right past you, Yvette, and Devon. His pale gray eyes focused on only the men in the room. He then strode forward and began picking them off one by one.

You shakily pointed out a large aisle of A-Train merchandise for your friend to hide behind. Yvette pulled her son in that direction, while you went to your father where he laid on the ground.

With difficulty, you rolled him onto his back. You then laid a hand on his shoulder, while the other hovered over his chest. Blood pooled through the gaping chasm in his Vought-issued black jacket.

Your lower lip trembled, and you realized then that you were crying as he struggled for breath. Even after everything he’d done to you—to your family—it still hurt you to see him like this…to know that he was dying.

And there was no time. Not to save him, or for resolution…

“Dad,” you tried, but he stopped you. His brows were furrowed with pain, but he gripped your wrist tight.

“Run,” he said. He held on for a moment or two longer, but when the light faded from his eyes, you closed yours.

You struggled against a sob. His grip eased from your wrist, and you laid his hand to rest on the ground.

Protect yourself, your sister’s voice reminded you. You couldn’t stay out in the open like this. Black Noir had finished with the men, and now was starting in on the rest of the survivors. It seemed that without a handler, the clone had no orders to fulfill except his own.

With a ragged breath, you retrieved the gun from your belt and had to leave your father behind.

You joined Yvette and Devon behind the A-Train aisle and warned them with a finger over your lips to stay quiet. You pressed a shaking finger to the comm in your ear.

“Ben, where are you?” you asked. Maybe he heard the tremor in your voice, because you certainly read the concern in his.

“You’re not on the second floor. Where are you?”

You closed your eyes for a beat. “On the first floor. The garage is blocked and Noir has us bottlenecked.”

“I’m almost there. Just stay put,” Ben said. His tone was firm, and it reassured you. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, not going anywhere in a hurry,” you whispered.

You could hear the agonized screams of people dying in the room, but you knew you couldn’t do anything about it. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you looked back at your father’s body on the cold ground. But with a determined breath, you looked at Yvette and Devon, who were clearly terrified.

You cocked your gun and nodded at them to move forward down the aisle, but to stay low to the ground. The custodian entrance was on the first floor, but it was in the east wing of the tower. You were in the west wing. The only feasible way out was through the blocked garage exit, just up ahead.

But so was Black Noir. The only thing you could do was stay alive long enough for Ben to find you. Because there was no way you could exit the room the way you came without Noir spotting you.

Fuck. This wasn’t going to be easy. And all the while, the tower could come crashing down at any moment. The tremors in the walls and in the ground were increasing with every minute as pieces of the floor above continued to fall.

A nightmare, for which you’d surely need copious amounts of therapy, if you survived this.

No sooner had that thought filtered through your mind, when a katana flashed above your head, decapitating a cardboard cutout of The Deep. Yvette and Devon yelped in fright, but you grabbed them and shoved them forward into a sprint down the aisle with your head bowed.

Bullets ripped after you, into the ground and the rows of merch. You turned a corner and stopped behind a large metal shelf lined with Queen Maeve plushies.

But the three of you screamed when the katana ripped through the shelf, and one of the unfortunate plushies.

You all stumbled into the open, where Noir soon found you. He raised his katana level with your face, and your eyes grew wide. But before the blade could slice into you, Noir was yanked back and thrown across the room, into the far wall with a heavy impact. He recovered, of course, but he paused.

Because Soldier Boy now stood between him and his targets.

You looked up at Ben with relieved tears in your eyes—both for him saving your life, and just at the sight of him. He mostly looked all right, if a bit worse for wear. You knew you were much the same, dusty, bruised, and tearful.

He flashed you a quirk of a smile.

“Go, get out of here,” he said.

“We can’t,” you started to say, but an explosion behind you made you flinch. You turned to see that the debris covering the garage exit had been cleared. It its place was M.M., Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie, the latter waving a spare stick of dynamite. You smirked, even though your eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“Okay, let’s go!” You reached for Devon and helped Yvette pick him up.

However, the dynamite blast had ruined what small semblance of stability was left in the ground floor. The ceiling began to fall—first near the exit, then right behind you, cutting you off from Ben. You gasped, but you didn’t have time to call out to him.

And you heard M.M. and Annie calling out to you. All you could do was push Yvette forward, then drag her back when a massive chunk of concrete nearly fell on her and her son.

But that’s when you lost your footing, and your balance, tipping backwards with a halting shriek.

You were trapped. Ben knew it the moment the wall of debris cut you off from him. He heard your voice, your scream, but he knew he couldn’t help you until he finished off Noir, for the last time.

“All right, Earving. Let’s make this quick,” Ben said. “I don’t know if there’s any part of you left in there, but this would be a good fucking time to come out with some last words.”

The gray-eyed supe just stared back at him. His katana was drawn, and he slowly slid back into a crouched stance. Ben’s body tensed as well. The effects of Noir’s gun were still making his hands shake, but Ben clenched them into fists. He couldn’t afford weakness right now.

So when Noir ran forward, Ben waited for the supe to come to him. He dodged the swipe of the blade, and threw out smart punches and combinations that started to push Noir back.

The blade came down again, but Ben blocked it with his shield. It cut through the top of it. But Ben used the momentary pause to kick Noir straight in the chest. He tore the blade from his shield and threw it away. Then he tossed his shield like a fatal frisbee.

The supe narrowly dodged it, but he couldn’t escape Ben grappling him to the ground. He put all his energy into lighting the nuclear fuse in his chest.

It was hard to keep it steady after the destabilizing gun, but no matter how Noir thrashed, Ben squeezed around his neck with all his might to keep him pinned. With a ragged yell, a flash of power escaped him. It fried through Noir’s suit, though it only lightly burned his skin.

When the power ran its course, Noir lost his strength. The clone was now powerless.

Ben grabbed a knife from the other supe’s belt, and he was able to break skin, stabbing into the center of the man’s chest. He didn’t let go until the clone’s gray eyes were truly lifeless.

Ben drew in ragged breaths. Gathering his strength, he pushed off of Noir and managed, with difficulty, back onto his feet. He felt satisfied, but maybe there was a bitter tinge to it. This thing had been created with Homelander’s DNA, and ultimately, Homelander had been a product of Soldier Boy.

Of Ben himself.

He knew it wasn’t his fault. That lay dead with Stan. But Ben knew that he’d wasted a lot of time. For all his bravado, he had let himself be manipulated and controlled. For fame and money and women, and everything else that came with that.

“Soldier Boy! Are you there?” he heard your friend call out. It broke him out of the haze of his exhaustion. He shook his head sharply to focus.

He called back for you, nearing the wall of debris, but you didn’t answer. He was able to break some of it away, enough that he was finally able to see Yvette’s worried face.

“Where is she?” he asked. A coil of dread stirred in the pit of his stomach.

“She’s hurt,” said Yvette.

The coil tightened, as did Ben’s jaw.

“All right, stand back,” he ordered. He grabbed his discarded shield and held it aloft.

“Okay, go ahead!” she said.

He used his shield like a battering ram to get through the pile of wood and concrete. It loosened even more of the trembling ceiling and plunged the entire clearing with dust. Ben waved a hand through it, coughing as he stepped inside. He found Yvette and her son, but his eyes were drawn to you.

You’d fallen on your back, and a slab of concrete was pinning your leg. He moved it with a grunt, and it fell to the ground with a heavy impact. He examined your leg next; he was no doctor, but he could assume it was probably broken under the weight of concrete.

Okay. Doctors could fix a fucking leg, he reasoned. He was more concerned about your head. Had you hit it on the way down, or had you smacked it on the hard tile when you landed?

Your hair was loose, and he slid careful fingers through it. He felt a small knot forming behind your head. He touched your pale cheek…

And then he saw it.

You weren’t lying entirely on the ground. You’d fallen on a small pile of rubble, and sticking out an inch below your shoulder was a thick piece of rebar.

Fuck, he thought. Your pulse at your neck was still beating under the pads of his fingers.

But then, he paused. He was starting to hear something, a deeper tremor than the occasional rubble falling from the ceiling.

“Are you guys okay?” M.M. called. With all the debris, he couldn’t quite get to you all. But maybe he could find a hole underneath the rubble to squeeze you out of.

“The tower’s coming down!” Ben barked.

“Yeah, that’s why we need to get the fuck out of here,” M.M. replied.

“No, the whole fucking thing. It’s coming down now!” Ben said. Yvette grabbed her son and huddled closer to you and Ben. He quickly stood and surveyed his surroundings in search of a larger shield.

The only thing in reach was a large metal shelf. It would have to do.

He grabbed it and ran back to you, just in time for the world to start falling.

Ben blinked dust and plaster out of his eyes and coughed it out of his mouth. He was holding God knew how much of the tower on his back. The metal groves of the shelf were digging into his spine and between his shoulder blades.

When his vision cleared, he saw that Yvette was knocked out, bleeding from a cut on her temple. Maybe a stray rock had hit her.

Her son seemed all right though, if covered in dust.

“You okay, kid?” Ben asked. He nodded shakily, his eyes wide like he couldn’t believe he was still alive. Ben could understand that.

However, you were the one he was worried about. He called your name, but you didn’t respond. Ben looked up at the kid.

“Shake her a little, would ya? Not hard.”

The kid nodded, biting his lip. He gently shook your arm, calling your name. Eventually you coughed and opened your eyes on a moan of pain. Ben let out a short, relieved breath.

“Hey…how you doin’?”

“Hurts to breathe,” you admitted, coughing up more dust. But you cried out when trying to get up disturbed your shoulder. “What…?”

“Don’t move,” he warned you. “You’re uh…you’re pinned down.”

With trembling lips, you turned your head and saw what held you—the rebar protruding just beneath your shoulder. You let out a ragged breath.

An inch lower and it would’ve been your heart.

The problem was, you were sure you would bleed out anyway the moment you were freed from the rebar.

“Don’t look at it,” Ben said firmly. “Look at me.”

You blinked up at him with watery eyes. You finally realized that he was kneeling, holding up a massive shelf to cover all four of you.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?” you asked. A tear streamed down the side of your face.

Ben nodded. Really, it was taking all the strength he had left to hold up this piece of shit, but he wasn’t about to let you know that.

“I can do this all fucking day,” he said with a smirk. “But maybe check in with your friends so we can get the hell out of here.”

Letting out another shaky breath, you raised the hand opposite to your pinned shoulder and pressed a finger to the comm in your ear.

“Are you guys still there? Did anyone make it out?” you asked.

For a moment, it was silent. You looked over at Devon, who was quietly crying. You reached out your free hand to him, even if it made more blood weep from your shoulder. He grabbed your hand, and you gave his a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay, Dev. We’re getting out soon,” you tried to sooth him. Devon nodded and squeezed your hand back.

Ben watched the exchange with interest. You seemed to have a good way with kids…

“Hello?” you repeated into the comm. Your voice was weak and raspy, even to your own ears. You released your shaking hand back to the ground. “No one’s answering…where’s Yvette?”

“Knocked out for a bit, but she looks fine,” said Ben, nodding to where your friend was lying on the ground.

Though he realized he was starting to lose you when your eyes closed.

“Hey,” he barked. “Stay with me.”

The near shout forced you to open your eyes, but they were already starting to droop. Ben finally noticed the blood slipping away from you, starting to pool beneath your arm.

“I’m awake, just resting my eyes,” you said. Not very convincing.

Ben experimentally lowered an arm from supporting the shelf. He moved slow, and he heard shifting rubble above him, but he managed to balance the shelf on just his back. He grit his teeth at the strain.

Even for him, the weight was immense. He didn’t know how long they could wait for someone to get to them. But he could see the kid was frozen with fear.

“You’re gonna be fine, all right?” Ben said.

The kid was tearful, but he nodded.

“What’s your name?” Ben asked.

“Devon.”

“All right, Devon. You know who I am?”

“…Soldier Boy,” the kid replied in a small voice. His large brown eyes were filled with tears as he sniffed. His short hair and dark tan skin were covered with dust, so Ben could see the path of his tears down his cheeks and neck. He gave Devon an attempt at a smile and nodded.

“That’s right.”

Finally, some of the debris near Yvette cleared a small hole above the ground, revealing Kimiko. Her eyes widened with excitement, her mouth falling open in a quiet gasp. She smiled and ducked her head back out. Ben frowned in confusion as he heard the French guy and some of the others babbling.

“Hello?” he snapped. “The fuck is going on out there?”

M.M. peered in next and took in the four of you with relief. He met Ben’s gaze.

“They’ll need a stretcher,” Ben said, gesturing at you and Yvette. “And a medic.”

“Okay, we’re gonna see if we can open this hole a bit wider,” M.M. said. He frowned at the narrow space inside. “It’s gonna be hard to get a stretcher in here.”

“Just get it done,” Ben said, beginning to lose his patience. He was carrying the tower on his back, and you were fading before his eyes.

M.M. nodded and was gone. But he returned soon after with Kimiko, and both worked together to open the hold wider without dislodging more debris. Once they had a big enough hole, M.M. peered in.

“Okay, who’s first?”

“She is,” Ben said, nodding down at you. “Bring the stretcher.”

Once again, M.M. disappeared.

Ben looked over at Devon.

“She’s hurt bad. We’re going to get her out first,” Ben said, gesturing at you. “I’m going to need you to hold her down, by her shoulders. After I take out the rebar, you’re going to put pressure on the wound. Got it?”

Devon looked unsure.

“Got it?” Ben repeated. More tears slid down the boy’s cheeks as he shook his head.

“Listen, you little sh—” Ben started to snap in irritation.

But at the last moment, he stopped himself. He remembered how you were with the kid earlier, tried to think of what you might say right about now.

“Uh, you can do this,” he said, gruff and a bit awkward.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Devon said in a small voice.

At that, annoyance slowly drained out of Ben. He reached out and grasped the kid’s shoulder, firm, but gentle.

“You won’t. You’re going to help her,” he said. “Just hold her down, and I’ll do the rest. All right?”

He hesitated, but Devon nodded and wiped his face dry.

“Good man,” Ben nodded. “Now come on, over here.”

Devon moved so that he was behind you, holding your shoulders down.

You grimaced and made a sound of pain. But Ben was quick; he braced your shoulder with one hand and slid the rebar out with the other. He forced himself to remain stoic at your resulting screech of agony.

But Devon couldn’t. His tears came down anew, and he immediately released your shoulders. Ben moved you more fully onto the ground and instructed Devon to put pressure on the wound, leaning his body weight into it.

“Stay awake,” Ben warned you. He knew you were having a hard time, and tears streamed from the corners of your eyes, onto the ground below. You forced your eyes to open, so you could look up at him.

“Ben,” you tried, but if this was going to be an if I die speech, then he didn’t want to fucking hear it.

“Don’t talk,” he said sternly. “Just keep breathing.”

“Listen,” you insisted. With difficulty, you grabbed onto the metal embellishments on his suit, finding purchase on his chest.

“You are strong. You can do anything you want, you know,” you said, smiling wryly. “Including, being a better man.”

Ben looked down at you with knitted brows. Sweat slipped down his forehead, but he didn’t know what to say to you.

Until you let go of his suit, and your eyes started to close.

“Fuck. Stay awake, damn it!” he snapped. It was an effort, but you opened your eyes.

Then Yvette started to rouse, raising a hand to her aching head.

“Oh, thanks for joining us,” Ben remarked, unable to disguise most of his snark. Devon helped her sit properly.

When she saw you, paler than ever, she gasped and took over putting pressure on your wound.

M.M. then finally returned with the stretcher. He beckoned Devon out first.

“Come on, little man.”

Ben opened his mouth to snap a protest, but M.M. shook his head.

“It’s too narrow. They need to come out first to make room.”

Devon eyed the jagged concrete around the hole they’d created. He seemed scared to attempt taking M.M.’s hand to leave.

He looked back at Yvette, who encouraged him forward. But he also looked over at Ben.

He was frankly surprised the kid was looking to him for reassurance. Again, he thought of what you’d said to Devon earlier.

“It’s okay,” Ben said. “You’re going home today. Trust me, son.”

Devon stared at his face for a moment, and nodded tearfully.

When M.M. was eventually able to take the boy’s hand, he met Ben’s gaze, which was mostly covered by stoicism.

Devon made it out of the cave, followed by Yvette. While she climbed out, Ben took over putting pressure on your wound, even though it made the shelf creak. He grunted against the pressure on his back.

Then M.M. finally slipped in the stretcher. Ben roused you by tapping on your cheek. He accidentally left a smudge of your own blood there.

“Come on, baby doll. Work with me here,” he muttered. You whimpered in response.

You were so pale, but you were fighting to keep your eyes open. You’re a fighter, Ben reminded himself, as he helped M.M. maneuver you onto the stretcher.

“See you later, sweetheart,” he said.

“Wait,” you croaked. “Wait…how’re you getting out?”

Ben quirked a smile.

“I’m right behind you.” But he then glared up at M.M. “Hurry the fuck up. She’s still bleeding out.”

M.M. shot him a dark look, but he ignored Ben in order to help you. After you were taken out on the stretcher, Annie called out to him.

“The fire department’s about to come in with pressure bags, so you can drop the shelf,” she said.

True to her word, Ben started to hear a sharp whirring—the sound of something inflating.

But as soon as they started, the ground shook.

And the walls once again began to collapse around him.

AN: *cowers in the corner* Please don't hate me! I promise, you're going to like the ultimate outcome of the next chapter (despite the teaser lol).

But I would still love to hear your thoughts on this one! What did you think of Jon's ultimate fate? How did you like Ben literally holding up the Tower?

(And did you catch the small Captain America reference? 😏)

**Side note: I hope you all enjoyed "Love Actually"! It's a far cry from where we are right now in BMD world lol...

Next Time:

Part of him refused to believe it had gotten to this.

And the reality, that this was his fault. He’d caused the blast that destroyed the tower. His fault he hadn’t gotten to you sooner.

“You are the reason I needed saving,” you’d told him once.

You were right then, and it still held up now.

So, no…he wouldn’t go in there, into your room. The truth was, he couldn’t.

Keep Reading: PART 17

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

#Soldier Boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 16 #zepskies writes

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wolfstarr-the-sequel · 3 days

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Yo what are your guy's headcanons for the TF2 characters FULL names? Like first and last. I'll share some of mine

Scout - his first name is Jeremy so I'mma take a wild guess and say his last name is Jones (his mother's last name) . Its a common last name and let's be honest he probably convinced himself that he's related to Tom Jones in some way.

Soldier - Jane Doe (canon)

F.Pauling - Francine. I just like the name. Out of all the girl name that start with F, Francine is my favorite. Probably goes by Frannie or Franny or Fran for short maybe.

Pyro - TFC Pyro's name is Beatrice so maybe something that starts with the same letter such as Benny. I'd say that's a pretty genders neuteral name. And for the sake of alliteration let's say their last name is Baker or something because ya know, heat.

Demoman - Tavish Finnegan DeGroot (canon)

Heavy - Mikhail is a very common name so let's give him a common last name like Mikhailov. Sure it's almost the same as his first name but it rolls off the tongue.

Engineer - Dell Conagher (canon). I like to think his middle name is Radigan, after his grandfather

Medic - Mr (not doctor) Ludwig. Fritz Ludwig. Blame Emisis Blue

Sniper - Mick Mundy. I think his middle name is Eustace or something. Y'know like courage the cowardly dog.

Spy - I've seen many people headcanon his name to be Jacques and honestly I'm vibing with it. For last name perhaps Laurent. Flows nicely.

#tf2 headcanons #tf2 #wolf writes #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 miss pauling #headcanons

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filmaticbby · 1 year

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Aries: Tarantino, F. F. Coppola, Andrea Arnold, Eric Rohmer, Edgar Wright, Ruben Östlund, Josh Safdie, David Lean, Andrei Tarkovsky, Michael Haneke, Martin McDonagh

Taurus: Wes Anderson, Orson Welles, Sofia Coppola, Lars von Trier, Terry Zwigoff, George Lucas, Robert Zemeckis, John Waters, Frank Capra

Gemini: Fassbinder, Hideaki Anno, Makhmalbaf, Agnès Varda, Alex Garland, Clint Eastwood, Yorgos Lanthimos, Aaron Sorkin, Ken Loach, Alexander Sokurov, Giuseppe Tornatore

Cancer: Abbas Kiarostami, Wong Kar-wai, P. T. Anderson, Mike White, Ari Aster, Ingmar Bergman, Krzysztof Kieślowski, Paul Verhoeven, Robert Eggers, Béla Tarr, Mel Brooks, Ken Russell, Sidney Lumet, Kinji Fukasaku

Leo: Alfred Hitchcock, Greta Gerwig, Alain Robbe-grillet, Kubrick, Wes Craven, Taika Waititi, Luca Guadagnino, Christopher Nolan, Polanski, Sam Mendes, Richard Linklater, Nicolas Roeg, James Cameron, Pablo Larraín, M. Night Shyamalan, Iñárritu, Gus Van Sant, Peter Weir, Wim Wenders, Maurice Pialat

Virgo: Tom Ford, Joe Wright, Paul Feig, Dario Argento, David Fincher, Brian De Palma, Baz Luhrmann, Tim Burton, Friedkin, Takashe Miike, Noah Baumbach, Werner Herzog, Elia Kazan, E. Coen

Libra: Julie Dash, Almodóvar, Jacques Tati, Ang Lee, Michelangelo Antonioni, Ti West, Walerian Borowczyk, Nicolas Winding Refn, Satoshi Kon, Kenneth Lonergan, Michael Powell, Jacques Tati, Steve McQueen, Denis Villeneuve

Scorpio: Mike Nichols, Barry Jenkins, Charlie Kaufman, Céline Sciamma, Tsai Ming-liang, Jean Rollin, Scorsese, Louis Malle, Luchino Visconti, François Ozon, Julia Ducournau

Sagittarius: Sion Sono, Cassavetes, Raj Kapoor, Steven Spielberg, Eliza Hittman, Terrence Malick, Ozu, Alfonso Cuarón, Gregg Araki, Larry Charles, Judd Apatow, Kathryn Bigelow, Lenny Abrahamson, J. Coen, Jean Luc Godard, Diane Kurys, Ridley Scott, Lynne Ramsay, Woody Allen, Fritz Lang

Capricorn: Larry Clark, David Lynch, Harmony Korine, Damien Chazelle, David Lowery, Mary Harron, Sergio Leone, Todd Haynes, Pedro Costa, Gaspar, Noe, Fellini, Joseph Losey, Miyazaki, John Carpenter, Steven Soderbergh, Michael Curtiz, John Singleton, Vertov

Aquarius: Jim Jarmusch, John Hughes, Darren Aronofsky, Jodorowski, Michael Mann, Derek Cianfrance, Alex Payne, Truffau, Eisenstein, Tone Hooper

Pisces: Pasolini, Sean Baker, Paul Schrader, Bernardo Bertolucci, Benny Safdie, Jacques Rivette, Bunuel, Luc Besson, David Cronenberg, Spike Lee, Rob Reiner, Mike Mills, Sebastián Lelio, Jordan Peele, Ron Howard, Robert Altman

#THIS IS MY LIST U CAN MAKE UR OWN #😭

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i-tothe-d-tothe-k · 4 months

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okay okay, but like WHAT IFFFFFFF in a fnaf Missing Children!survive they all meet up like in IT??? Like they’re all older (18 to 24 years old) so like what if I spent like my whole weekend writing it??? What if I spend my whole week writing it??? Tell me if a should - but I probably will anyways - SO ANYWAYS under this there will be some of my missing children!survive headcannons also how old I think the missing children are (this includes Andrew and Evan/Chris/Cc/Idk but not Elizabeth or Charlie bc I don’t feel like they would go- also idk how to include ‘em)

| V

Cassidy for sure becomes a CIA/FBI agent or detective -

Susie ofc becomes a baker

Jeremy becomes a teacher(math or English)

Andrew would also become a cop or detective - maybe even a doctor though I’m not abt that-

Evan would still be getting his bachelor degree

Fritz would become a sailor OR a writer

Gabriel would become a teacher for sure

they all have a bunch of scars- like a BUNCH

fritz is missing an eye

cassidy and fritz both feel like the other betrayed them (I’ll explain more in the fanfic if I write it)

Andrew is the oldest

cassidy is STILL hella angry

susie has a prosthetic arm

Evan sometimes has horrible HORRIBLE headaches

Gabriel has a prosthetic leg

Jeremy sometimes has extreme trouble breathing/talking(and has a scar on his neck, leg, foot, and arm)

Andrew has a scar through his face and is partly blind in one eye

Susie and Jeremy still kept in touch even after they all stopped being friends/talking to eachother

OKAY! NOW AGE HEADCANNONS YOUNGEST TO OLDEST

Evan - past: 6 - during fanfic: 18

Susie - past: 10 - during fanfic: 22

Jeremy - same as above

Fritz - past: 11 - during fanfic: 23

Gabriel - past: 12 - during fanfic: 24

Cassidy - same as above

Andrew- same as above

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nightmaretherabbitsideblog1 · 7 months

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The Missing Children in their FNAF movie outfits

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levmada · 2 years

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What are the Levi x Reader fics Recommendations you have? (Characters close to how they are in canon). Mature fics are okay.

i dont read nearly enough but here are my recs that i can think of!!!

Silver Soul (and anything... Afterglow... In the Land of Gods and Monsters) by @bibblelevi . all of sar's content is MUAH gold.

Levi and his Second learn to live in a world without a war as they pine for each other in silence and manage his tea shop.

And So It Begins (canonverse; soft Levi) and Between the Pages (canonverse; slightly domestic; fluffy) by @jayteacups and a TON of their other blurbs/drabbles/oneshots. Such a vivid, poetic style. And that first fic made me cry no cap.

On the field, you are a force to be reckoned with. Off the field, it is almost the exact opposite. Either way, you catch your Captain’s eye, and so it begins.

The Carnivore by Captain Degenerate on ao3 (Levi enters the modern universe; slow-burn). my comfort fic. not totally in character imo, but the plot makes up for it.

Trying to survive the meaningless void that is existing in the modern world, your peaceful days are left behind when you find an unconscious man on the street.

Dressed unconventionally and clueless about the world you live in, you mistake him for a refugee and decide to take him in for the night.

Cue the rest of your life.

Ackerbond by @levi-my-beloved (canonverse; amazing out of this world thorough take on my headcanons)

After a night spent on paperwork and tea, something in Levi shifts drastically, something he can’t exactly pinpoint. All he knows, is that he has to keep you safe. No matter what.

this fic by @poisonpeche (dadvi; modern au). im such a sucker for dadvi and their style of writing is so intense it just GRIPS you. alla is also fairly new to tumblr, so go support!

Leather and Scales by @happybird16 (hot as hell. i died. bondage with mer!levi)

Levi had been surprised at first, when you’d asked to fuck him. He doesn’t think he’s ever been upside down before, much less seen so much leather prior to today.

Give and Take by @1252291 (pwp; riding Levi's face) and all of their aot works.

Kinktober Day 12 by @anlian-aishang (dadvi; lactation kink) because it is one of the hottest things i've ever read goodbye

With the Musicbox in the Candlelight by @wall-maria-fritz (canonverse; canon-divergence; gripping as hell). UGH just. i have a soft spot for Levi being vulnerable and his rage mode. UGHHHH i cant explain it i just love this fic to pieces.

Kenny the Ripper has discovered the ultimate carrot to his stick– Levi’s fiancée. Levi races to rescue her; out for blood and on a rampage. Nothing but a humble baker, and none the wiser for all the horrors that Levi’s job entails, Reader witnesses the darkest, most monstrous sides of her betrothed that she was unprepared to see.

extra:

‼️The Two of Them‼️ by fuchsiaring on ao3

It roils in his chest: desperate, aching, empty. It sears his throat, stings his eyes. He’s dizzy with it, how it hurts, how he needs it. It burns like a wound, sweet like the summer breeze, and Levi relishes, lets it swell, lets it overtake him. --OR-- 5 times Levi cries during sex + 1 time he doesn’t

THIS ONE THIS ONE!!!!! This is't LevixReader but it's my fav eruri fic of all time and will never stop screaming about it when it comes up. I can't put into words how fucking amazing, gut-wrenching, hot, and heart warming it is. the best ever.

possibly my fav fic of all time???

#kane has mail #hhh i dont read nearly enough fanfic i now realize #but do support these wonderful creators

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byneddiedingo · 11 months

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Marilyn Monroe in Niagara (Henry Hathaway, 1953)

Cast: Marilyn Monroe, Joseph Cotten, Jean Peters, Max Showalter, Denis O'Dea, Richard Allan, Don Wilson, Lurene Tuttle, Russell Collins, Will Wright. Screenplay: Charles Brackett, Walter Reisch, Richard L. Breen. Cinematography: Joseph MacDonald. Art direction: Maurice Ransford, Lyle R. Wheeler. Film editing: Barbara McLean. Music: Sol Kaplan.

Niagara was one of three movies starring Marilyn Monroe that were released in 1953. The other two, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Howard Hawks) and How to Marry a Millionaire (Jean Negulesco), were hits, confirming that Monroe was a peerless comic actress. But Niagara wanted her to be a film noir siren. She had done earlier turns in legitimate film noir, a small role in The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston, 1950), larger ones in Clash by Night (Fritz Lang, 1952) and Don't Bother to Knock (Roy Ward Baker, 1952), so this time 20th Century-Fox decided to go all out in exploiting her as a femme fatale. There are many things wrong with Niagara, one thing being that it can't quite decide whether it's a noir thriller or a Technicolor travelogue about the eponymous falls and their various tourist attractions. But what's most wrong about it is its misuse of Monroe, who is not even the real lead character in the film: Her role is decidedly secondary to that of Jean Peters. And she is grotesquely exploited in her part as Rose Loomis, unhappily married to a mentally unstable man (Joseph Cotten) and plotting to have her lover (Richard Allan) bump him off. The studio can't resist dressing her in skin-tight clothes, with high heels that make it impossible for her to walk without bumps and grinds, and flaming red lipstick that's obviously freshly put on even when she's supposed to be waking up in the morning. A producer less under the control of the studio than Charles Brackett (who also wrote the clunky screenplay with Walter Reisch and Richard L. Breen) might have made Rose into a credible character, but here she's only an adolescent boy's fantasy. Still, even a misused Marilyn is better than no Marilyn at all, as we find out two-thirds of the way through the movie when the focus shifts to the character played by Peters and her grinning ass of a husband (Max Showalter), and we have nothing to marvel at but the Falls. In the hands of a Hitchcock, Niagara might have been a success, but Henry Hathaway directs as if he's bored by the whole thing.

#Niagara #Henry Hathaway #Marilyn Monroe

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melishade · 10 months

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I'm not a viewer of AoT, but is there any way that Helos might meet Optimus again? Like, say he was visiting the village for some expedition, the same day the family went to visit the herbalist (and the baker), and they bumped into each other by mistake. What would he do in that situation? I mean, he'd probably recognize Optimus' voice.

Previous Episode of the Peaceful Timeline

I've thought about that actually, and it would happen about a decade later. A little longer than that...let's say 15 years.

So Helos is praised as a hero for his works in ending the conflict between Marley and Eldia, specifically his role in killing King Fritz personally. He's given honors, showered with respect, all that stuff. But he made sure to keep his promise to the gods and keep the peace between Marley and Eldia. The remainder of his military career is diplomatic missions between the two nations while also aiding in providing relief for the people affected by the Empire. Especially those that were forced to become slaves. He couldn't give them the ability to speak, but he did recommend programs that would provide some assistance in rebuilding their lives.

However, where Optimus and Ymir have gone, is a secret between him and his second in command. They haven't told anyone where they might have gone, despite his second's initial protest. Helos still hoped that one day he would be able to thank Optimus for his works.

But now, Helos is no longer fit for active duty. He's older now and has contributed what he could to his home. So he decides to take a horse and supplies, appoints his second to general, and he rides off to explore. He'll try his best to refrain from using his name to get special treatment, but sometimes he gets recognized by some of the people he might have helped. He doesn't want to cheat them and use his name to get what he wants. But besides that, he's enjoying a life of peace.

One day, he does come across the town that Oshern used to work at and gets his supplies from. He's surprised to see it so bustling with life. It wasn't even near the capital. He wants to get something to eat, goes to the bread shop...and spots her.

She's older. Definitely older than before. The miserable face that he once saw on her was now full of life and joy. She had come into town with three other people. A red-haired man, A teenage girl who looked exactly like the woman, and a man...dressed in the red and blue pattern of the Savior from beyond the stars. That...that wasn't possible.

Helos immediately runs to them as their unloading and getting some supplies. Without thinking, he grabs Ymir by her arm and tells her to wait. Which causes a negative reaction out of Ymir. She looks behind her to see Helos, and her confusion is immediately replaced with dread. Oshern quickly notices and forces Helos' hand off of her, demanding what the hell he's doing while also blocking his view of Ymir. Helos tries to explain himself, completely overwhelmed, but Optimus and a 14-year-old Maria come up to ask what's going on. And Helos recognizes Optimus' voice, and he just breaks down crying before bowing down before all of them, confusing all of them. Optimus the one to act first, kneeling down and asking what is wrong, and Helos ends up repeating the words 'thank you' to Optimus, calling him the Savior of Heaven.

Optimus gets concerned when people start staring at them and asks Helos if they could talk somewhere private. Oshern then has to talk to his former boss to ask if them could borrow one of the rooms. They all go there, and Maria has to beg to come in wanting to know what was happening. They all sit down at a table as Helos wipes his tears. He explains that he's the former general of Marley, which takes Oshern by surprise. Because that meant that he was the one who had slain Fritz and brought an end to the Eldian Empires tyranny over 15 years ago, which is taking Ymir by surprise. Helos explains that the night before that battle, he had prayed to the gods for an answer against the Empire and all of its wrong doings. If he was granted that, then he would let go of the vengeance in his heart. Helos turns his attention to Optimus and directly tells him that prayer came in the form of him. He remembers how he came down from the sky, practically riding on the wind. And how he had saved him from death directly. But he was stunned at the fact that he defeated Ymir not through violence, but through mercy. He had asked to save Ymir and showed her mercy, when no one else would.

Maria and Oshern are just watching this, taken aback by all this new information from an outsider's perspective. This man thought of Optimus as a god. But there is a certain weight shared by Optimus, Ymir, and Helos. All three of them were sharing a burden from that day. Helos explains that he did see Optimus fleeing with Ymir that day, but never told anyone because he wanted to keep the peace and did not want to defy the will of the gods. He kept that secret for years, and he fully intends on taking it with him to the grave. Optimus does want to know why he confronted them at all, and Helos simply replies that he wanted to offer his thanks to the deity that made this peace possible.

However, Ymir is not convinced. She had personally slaughtered his men. He must feel some resentment towards her. Ymir writes something down and shows it to him, demanding why he hasn't tried to kill her or hurt her. She had killed his comrades directly. She almost killed him! Helos explains that any remaining hatred of the Empire died with Fritz. He remembered the way she was treated by him, and how Optimus was the one that showed her mercy. She was a victim in this. He knew that. And even if he wanted to do it, he doubt that he'd get very far. He wasn't going to kill someone that was under the Savior's protection. Optimus kind of hates the way that Helos is elevating him like this. It's been years since he's been placed on a pedestal.

Ymir still has one more question that she speaks aloud: "Is he really dead?" There's a pregnant pause in the room. Even Optimus wants to know the answer to that question. Helos tells her 'yes'. He had personally killed Fritz with his own spear after the two of them had fled. He died the minute they left. And Ymir feels this huge weight lifted from her shoulders. She's trying not to cry, but she can't help it. To actually know that he was dead and had been dead for so long brought her immeasurable relief. Oshern goes to hug and comfort Ymir, while Optimus offers his hand to Helos. Helos takes it and they shake. Optimus tells him thank you for everything that he has done in order to keep them safe. There's so much more he wanted to ask, but he had already made himself feel unwelcome as it was.

Helos does offer to help them with loading their supplies as another form of repayment, and Oshern decides to accept the help while Optimus comforts Ymir. Once Helos is finished, he bows before them and thanks them for everything and wishes them all a peaceful life before leaving. Helos feels this itch in the back of his head finally scratched. He finally got the chance to say 'thank you' to the Savior from Heaven. It was uplifting, and such an honor.

However for Maria, there is a new weight that has fallen on her shoulders, and this dreadful feeling in her gut.

(Meanwhile, Megatron is babysitting an approximately 4 to 5 year old Rose and the two of them are learning how to play and ancient version of 'checkers' together.)

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princesssarisa · 7 months

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Fancasts for "An Eternal Crown: The Opera"

I'm being silly now and imagining what it would be like if my gender-bent Magic Flute retelling, An Eternal Crown, were adapted as an opera itself. It could be a "jukebox opera," consisting partly of music from The Magic Flute transposed, and partly of other music – for example, some of Handel's florid bass arias to take the place of the Queen of the Night's arias for King Vorteyo.

Sarisa and Zeran's voices I imagine as essentially Pamina's and Tamino's, since they are those two in reverse: a lyric soprano and a light lyric tenor. Lorikeet I can't help but imagine as a lyric coloratura. Vorteyo would be a bass, Alesta and Imara both motherly mezzos, Kimzi one of those roles like Zerlina that can be sung either by a soprano or a light mezzo, and Robin a lyric baritone. The Three Warriors I picture as a "heroic" Italian-style spinto tenor, and a baritone and bass in more of a Mozartean vein.

These are some of the singers I think might have been good in the roles in different eras:

An Eternal Crown: The Opera, circa 1960-1965

Sarisa: Irmgard Seefried or Gundula Janowitz

Zeran: Fritz Wunderlich or Nicolai Gedda

Lorikeet: Lucia Popp

King Vorteyo: Cesare Siepi

Alesta: Maureen Forrester

Kimzi: Teresa Berganza or Graziella Sciutti

Robin: Hermann Prey or Theodor Uppman

Imara: Marga Höffgen

Three Warriors: Giuseppe di Stefano, Eberhard Wächter, Fernando Corena

An Eternal Crown: The Opera, circa 1980-1985

Sarisa: Ileana Cotrubas

Zeran: Francisco Araiza or Peter Schreier

Lorikeet: Kathleen Battle

King Vorteyo: James Morris

Alesta: Marilyn Horne

Kimzi: Teresa Stratas

Robin: Håkan Hagegård, or a young Alessandro Corbelli

Imara: Janet Baker

Three Warriors: José Carreras, Thomas Allen, Samuel Ramey

An Eternal Crown: The Opera, circa 2000-2005

Sarisa: Ana María Martínez or Dorothea Röschmann

Zeran: Charles Castronovo

Lorikeet: Diana Damrau

King Vorteyo: Samuel Ramey

Alesta: Denyce Graves

Kimzi: Cecilia Bartoli

Robin: Rolando Villazón (it could have been an early light baritone foray for him)

Imara: Stephanie Blythe

Three Warriors: José Cura, Simon Keenlyside, Ildebrando d’Arcangelo

I'll think of more in the future.

#my writing #an eternal crown #opera #fancast #opera singers #fantasizing

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as8bakwthesage · 8 months

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Bring Me Home At Last (Emesis Blue - Medic/Witch)

Fritz remembered the first time he met her. He was young, still in primary school, when she entered his classroom. He remembered how her wild curls cascading around her like waves greeting the shore. How her brilliant golden brown eyes searched the classroom before settling on him. He remembered how he surely must have blushed because he instantly looked away. He could almost hear her smile. He remembered how he approached her after class and asked her to be his studying partner. He remembered the soft smile she gave him, her eyes sparkled as she agreed.

The next few years flew by and every day was a new one. He remembered how they’d get up to all kinds of mischief. She’d drag him off into the forest to climb a tree and show him the bugs and animals and plants – she was always incredibly gentle with animals. He’d take her to the library and the two would be pouring over the books, staying in well after closing hours. He’d always watch her eyes light up and how she’d smile. Everytime he could feel his heart skip a beat and his stomach tied itself into knots.

He remembered how all the adults would watch the two of them in their inseparability, and how one day, the baker’s husband asked when they’d be married. The thought had never popped into his head and he knew he had been blushing up a storm. But when they left the bakery, she held his hand. He held hers back.

When he went off to university, both of them were heartbroken. He promised her he’d come back to her. She told him she’d wait for him. They’d write to each other, and even though they were apart, they missed each other dearly. He remembered how she wrote to him, telling him she was asked out by a man. Despite his jealousy, he suggested she go for it, not wanting to hold her back in any way. Her next letter was a surprise and a shock to him as she explained how she had fallen for someone else and could not betray her feelings. He did not dare to ask who, fearing what he’d do. They continued writing to each other. While he studied to be a doctor, she had begun an apprenticeship under the librarian.

The years went on, and he had not seen her in so long—too long for his liking. He graduated with honours and took the first train home. He was happy that he finished his education, yes, but he was more happy to see her again. His last letter to her was how he was coming home.

She waited for him at the train station. He felt his heart pounding when he saw her again. She had grown and was absolutely stunning. No wonder some poor fool tried to ask her out. Neither of them hesitated as they bolted for each other, embracing after 4 long years of being apart. She felt amazing and not even all the riches in the world would convince him otherwise. They pulled away slightly to gaze into each other's eyes.

He doesn’t remember who instigated it, but when their lips locked, it felt like everything would be all right. He pulled her into his chest and he kissed her like she was oxygen itself and he was a dying man. They spent the next few weeks together, constantly at each other's side. She helped him get settled back into his mother’s home, which was now his. He started his own practice in the town and she started to take over the library.

He remembered how they were reading together one evening at his house, snuggled up on the couch after having eaten dinner together. He remembered how she looked so beautiful and elegant in her dress, and how her shoulders were exposed. Her skin was soft and her body felt so warm against him. He had dreamed about this so many times before, and there she had been, sensual and perfect. She could feel his dark gaze on her and met his eyes, with equal desire in them as his own.

“When I told you I had fallen for someone in that letter, I was too afraid to tell you it was you.”

He kissed her. It was a pointless confession in the end because at that point, they both knew that the other was theirs. She had his heart and she’d have him by the end of the night. She was beautiful in body, mind, and soul. And he wanted nothing else.

The next morning, he woke up to the sight of her still nude body pressed against his.

“Do you remember when we were children and Mr. Astenberg asked us when we’d be married?”

“Yes, of course I do. I held your hand afterwards…”

“Why..?”

“Because I wanted it to be true someday. I still do.”

“Will you marry me?”

She was always beautiful, but seeing her in her white dress was an image he would never get out of his mind. She became his wife and he her husband on one warm day in Spring. They moved in together that same day. He remembered how happy they both were.

But as a new regime started to establish itself, and more and more anti-Jewish beliefs and ideas were being tossed about, they both knew it was becoming unsafe for the both of them to continue living in Germany. So under the cover of night, they took what meagre belongings they could take with them, and fled. Those years were difficult—even as they settled in France, neither felt truly safe. And when the war broke out and France was invaded, they once again were forced to flee.

When they arrived in America, they finally started to feel like they could breathe again. And a few years later and the war was over, the world celebrated. At that point, he had gone back to school to earn his medical licence in the States and she had started a job working for a library that they both felt comfortable enough to stay. Tensions were still high in Europe after all and they wanted to be safe rather than sorry.

He remembered when he came home one night after a stressful day at work, only to be greeted by his lovely partner in crime, who was excited to tell him something. He nearly started crying when she told him she was pregnant. The next few months were joyful as they prepared for the arrival of their child.

She woke up bleeding one morning. No matter what, they couldn’t save the baby.

Despite their sorrow and anguish, the couple continued living on. They tried to adopt, but they were rejected every time. So they focused on what they could have—each other. They were happy, as long as they were together. And over time, they healed together.

The years went by, and their individual careers prospered and thrived. He was becoming more and more recognised for his achievements and she was making their local library into a thriving place to learn. Both were ambitious and excited. He eventually got a job working for a company called Builders League United, where he was hired to help construct something secret. It was so secret, he couldn’t even tell her what it was. They had to move to Teufort, a town in New Mexico, as a result.

But this was not an ordinary company that wanted to advance the field of medicine. And Fritz was slowly starting to realise that. The Respawn Machine he helped to construct was not a force for good. He died over and over again, coming home to her more and more broken than before. He knew she must have realised it as she continued to beg him to leave. But he was in too deep now. He couldn’t go back.

And she stayed. No matter what happened, she stayed. Even when his mind snapped and twisted and broke, she stayed. And when he started taking Valium, it seemed like everything was starting to get better. He was healing. He was okay.

But he kept dying and coming back. And she had no idea.

In 1966, a neighbour found Celia Ludwig’s body sprawled out on the floor, missing her left eye and with her lower jaw almost sawed off. An investigation found no suspects or leads and the case was eventually dropped.

Fritz Ludwig never could accept her death. He blamed himself. He should have been able to save her. And with the constant respawning and with how his mind was coming more and more undone, he probably never would. It had gotten so bad that one night, when asked by Jeremy if he had visited Celia's grave recently, Fritz’s response was troubling.

“Who?”

Bits and pieces of their life together would come to him. In his dreams, in his memories. In the place between life and death. But everytime he would remember she died, he would shut that out. She wasn’t dead… right?

Everyone on his team told him she was. Even when he forgot that she was even dead, even when he forgot her. His teammates probably thought they were helping—keeping her memory alive and well, even if Fritz could not. Almost everyone pitied him, and after a while, they learned to drop the subject. Celia Ludwig was dead, and Fritz would learn that too someday.

But if that was the case, then who was in the corner of his office staring at him? One eye hidden behind wild curls that cascaded around her like waves greeting the shore?

#emesis blue #tf2 #team fortress 2 #medic #fritz ludwig #tf2 medic #celia adalias #tf2 witch #witch #emesis blue medic #emesis blue witch #medic x witch #medic x oc #my stories #one shot

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