#ashely’s one shot

[itsbuckytm]

Yooooo!!! That Snow fic you recently released involving the reader and Treech being in love? Absolute masterpiece! So hear me out: what if you wrote about their connection and how it progressed? Like, before Coryo got his clutches on the reader. There was a moment you described where Treech and the reader snuck out, I’m pretty sure. I’d love to see a story on that. Maybe end it with those dying words you mentioned? Just utter fluff with that heartbreak of an ending.

Capitol's love birds. / Treech

summary : being Snow's twin meant being exactly like him, even though your appearances were slightly different. As a mentor yourself, you were assigned to District 7's male tribute, Treech. it was only in the wagon on its way to the Capitol that the chemistry first sparked, ultimately solidifying your status as the Capitol's favorite lovebirds.

ps ; english is not my native language, and I appreciate seeing your requests for ideas that I may not have thought of. Hopefully, you find the suggestions helpful. please refrain from plagiarizing my work without my permission or proper credit, as doing so may result in being flagged or banned. thank you.

Mentoring proved to be a challenging responsibility, but the greatest struggle arose when love entered the picture. However, this was no ordinary affection; it was a type of love that some might view as disgraceful, while others perceived it as a form of admiration amid the Games. Although Treech wasn't particularly interested in getting to know his mentor, let alone encountering them in another restricted enclosure, it was within those confines that the two of you crossed paths. Despite being Snow's twin traditionally constantly at his side, it was unquestionable that you, too, were destined to trail behind him to discover who your tribute was. 

While taking pride in mentoring someone from a district not situated at the lowest rungs of Panem's hierarchy, you were fortunate enough to maintain a semblance of dignity, given the reputation of the district you represented for its familiarity with victory. However, Lucy Gray Baird's captivating performance, the talk of the town since the reaping, cast shadows of doubt over your confidence. All of this, while your brother engaged with fellow tributes, attempting his best to establish his temptation not to gith back. 

You couldn't help but notice the stark class distinctions. Dust still clung to their attire, indicating a lack of access to basic amenities like showers before arriving. A twinge of sympathy crept in. "What's a pretty face doing here?" Reaper Ash remarked, catching you off guard. Initially assuming the comment was directed at Coriolanus, you soon realized it was aimed squarely at you. The revelation that you, too, were to become a mentor became apparent. And that the unspoken pressure to make a positive first impression on the fortunate second tribute who had the early opportunity to meet you loomed large. But Ash simply laughed at your brother’s reaction by ordering you stay behind him. Although poorly as his arm performed itself as a fence initiating to any tributes not to go further. "Relax, pretty boy. I won't touch her. Just asking for a friend, that's all." 

That friend happened to be Treech, whose imposing silhouette positioned itself in front of you a little closer this time. His gaze had been fixed on you from the moment he laid eyes on you. While you initially attributed it to natural human interaction, the persistent feeling of being scrutinized lingered throughout. It seemed as if Treech was almost surprised or even deceived to have you as his mentor, likely influenced by how your brother had fared so far. "Looking for District 7." You mentioned exchanging quick glances with the tributes to assess who would be best with an axe.

 As expected, your eyes landed on the red-headed girl who endeavored to present herself as the ideal candidate for you. "A boy." Your brother corrected, noticing as Lamina stood up, but Treech, adopting a protective stance, advised her to remain behind, much like your twin had done. After all it was a one-on-one game for the time being. "That must be my lucky one." Treech expressed sarcastically, stating it as a matter of fact, causing a subtle pink shade to color your cheeks – a reaction you tried hard to control. After all, it was your very first time you had seen someone outside the District ever. "You get to have the other pretty one." Ash teased playfully, suggesting that, despite Treech's charming demeanor, he was seemingly destined for a grim fate in the arena upon arrival. “I’m a little jealous.” Ash generously said.

Upon reaching the Capitol, you and your brother were taken aback as you discovered an unforeseen aspect of the tributes' journey. The initial understanding was that Flickerman, the Capitol's esteemed journalist, would be present to introduce each tribute upon their arrival. However, what they were unaware of was the presence of two mentors among the tributes, perhaps trespassing without official permission. This, however, was a matter for another time. Despite the somewhat unconventional transportation, Treech remained fixated on you throughout the journey to the Capitol. He seemed entranced by the striking resemblance between you and your brother, sparking a sense of compassion. Observing your interactions and the way you closely accompanied your brother, it was rumored that you were akin to his pet, only permitted to speak when approved by Coriolanus. Despite his disdain for the District, your brother demonstrated a surprising degree of protectiveness towards you, although in the midst of the situation, allowed  some space during the encounter with your tribute in an unexpected location. 

Fortunately, your keen observation allowed you to realize that you were reaching your destination, a detail that eluded many, including Coryo himself. Swiftly grasping your twin’s arm, a gesture he had ensured, the sudden tilt of the wagon hinted at the possibility of your feet slipping and sliding. Treech's eyes widened at your momentary clumsiness, seizing the opportunity to support you. As your back met the uncomfortable mud of the Zoo, he was determined not to lose his mentee on the spot. 

Cameras focused intently on both you and your brother, eliciting a crowd reaction filled with exclamations such as, "It's Snow's boy!" Swiftly, the onlookers noticed your presence next to your brother, who rose and asserted himself. There you stood, a captivating spectacle, with Treech's arm securing your waist and his unwavering gaze fixed on yours. A sly smirk played on his lips as the rest of the crowd declared your presence as well. "And look! The other Snow!" The citizens of the Capitol, already entranced by the presence of the twin siblings on their tributes' first day, began expressing confidence in your victory. This added an additional layer of challenge for the other mentors who were absent from this captivating spectacle. "It's your cue, princess." 

"Princess" was the first word he used to address you. Ironically, it took you a moment to realize that all the cameras were focused on you. Your brother had already made his mark, keeping a careful eye to ensure your tribute didn't make any missteps, especially when it came to touching you. However, you were completely under Treech's influence. With a confident smile, he waved at the cameras, making it a bit easier for you to face the potential embarrassment later at home. "She's alright!" He assured, shifting his gaze quickly to your relieved brother. He could have sworn he saw a few Capitol ladies, with similar makeup to yours, watching in awe at how Treech gallantly assisted you. As he watched the scene unfold with Lucy and Snow not far away, he too decided to play the role of the Capitol's love bird. 

As preparations for the 10th Hunger Games were underway, Flickerman's team mandated interviews with every tribute each year. From the very beginning, you managed to establish trust with Treech, a bond that proved beneficial. Not only did you ensure he was well-fed, but you also took the initiative to fetch Lamina additional food, given her mentor's apparent neglect. Treech appreciated the maternal role you assumed for Lamina. On one occasion, he confessed that he would go to great lengths for her, even if it meant risking his own life to secure her victory as the final tribute. It was all in the pursuit of making District 7 proud once again, for a Lumberjack always harbors a wealth of secrets up their sleeves. 

During his time at the Zoo, Treech found increased joy in your company, particularly when you accompanied him for a quick visit to the arena. Following suit with other tributes, he decided to take the initiative in making the first move. It happened on that initial day when he casually attempted to hold your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You discreetly glanced at him, careful not to make it too obvious given the presence of the assigned tributes and their mentors. With Coriolanus behind you taking notice. Yet, observing Treech's attempts to connect with you, he sensed a deeper connection between the two of you. Realizing this, your elder sibling understood the need to strengthen his bond with Lucy. To Treech's delight, he could only imagine your brother envying a love that he would never receive in return. 

With insider knowledge of the arena and sneaky routes into the Academy, Treech and you managed to slip away after the arena visit. Observing his interaction back with District 4's tribute and noticing his vigilance, a few teases were all it took to provoke Treech into throwing a punch, especially when faced with comments like. "Your girlfriend wouldn't mind if I speak with you?" While it was clear that others were aware of your connection, Treech dismissed it as a mere game, refusing to believe that it held any deeper significance. However, his sentiments towards you had sparked an unexpected depth of emotion within him. "Just a reminder." He sternly directed at the other tribute, his gaze darkening with offense. Spotting you behind him with Lamina by your side, Treech asserted. "You don't speak such filth about Y/N." The onlookers chuckled at his protectiveness and the evident depth of his emotions. "Or else?" They added, challenging anyone who dared to disrespect you. 

"Or else, I won't hesitate to cut your head off with my axe. Watch yourself, because I can do it in the blink of an eye." With those words, Treech revealed what you truly meant to him. He could vividly recall Snow's concerned gaze as he tried to pull you away from the escalating situation. However, you had refused that day, meeting Treech's eyes the entire time after discussing the tributes he would be teamed with. "For Lamina's sake," You had pleaded, urging him to be cautious. "Those individuals only seek your vulnerability. They may be from District 4, but they don't understand the power of an axe." Was what Treech said reassuring you with a smile. A smile you’ll never forget. 

In that very moment, you decided to take Treech with you for a clandestine escape from the arena. It was a day when even the tributes were granted the freedom to either stay at the arena for practice or wander under the watchful eyes of the Peacekeepers. However, Treech and you had a different agenda. You used the excuse of wanting to make his training more convenient as a cover. For some inexplicable reason, you had the approval of Dr. Gaul, who only instructed that Treech needed to return to the Zoo before midnight. It seemed that being Snow's twin had its perks after all. 

Upon your arrival at the Academy's Greenhouse, both of you maintained a quiet atmosphere. This place held a special significance for you, offering tranquility during moments of anxiety or family pressure. Though it was suspected that you were in charge of the Greenhouse, under your grandmother's watchful eye and constant reminders to enjoy tending to flowers like she did, you chose to share this haven with Treech. It was the same place where you had once spoken briefly to him, and he was thrilled not only to spend time alone with you but also to witness the real person behind the facade of prestige and elegance showcased in public. Trying to ease the slight tension, Treech remarked. "You know, I'd be damned to see your brother's face if he were here." It was a fact that you were gradually opening up to someone who was once a stranger but had become someone you deeply loved. "Brother could care less; he has Lucy wrapped around his finger right now.” You added, acknowledging the complexities of your relationships within the family. 

A smirk played across Treech's face, revealing his amusement at the thought of your brother feeling jealous. Although they were in similar positions, this time the connection between you and Treech was authentic, not just for show. Playful teasing began to permeate every event at the Academy, serving as a tactic to expose vulnerabilities in both of you. However, with Treech's mentor skills and the insights gained from your brother's tips, he honed his skills and strength, making it increasingly difficult for others to exploit weaknesses or gain his trust. "And would it be fair to say that I, too, have my little finger entirely wrapped around you, Princess?" He added, playfully reciprocating the banter. 

His words caused a warm blush to spread across your cheeks, especially when he directed his attention toward you during wound care in practice. The worry in your eyes whenever he made a slight mistake was met with a reassuring thumbs-up and the smile you cherished. There were moments when it became challenging for him to stay focused, particularly when he saw you engaged in conversations with your other classmates. Despite the casual nature of those interactions, he couldn't resist the urge to draw your attention back to him. In response, you chuckled softly, suggesting a meeting on the rooftop of the Greenhouse to admire the stars. "Anything that involves being with you, I'll gladly say yes." He replied with a smile. “You know, I love when you blush more. Especially for me.” 

Without uttering a word, you playfully dismissed his comment, rolling your eyes in a teasing manner. You extended your hand, a gesture he effortlessly accepted. "Show me the way, Princess." He said, and together, you ascended the stairs. Luck was on your side as you reached the rooftop just as the sun of the Capitol dipped below the horizon, signaling the arrival of dawn. The sky was clear, and the stars of Panem glittered above, creating a breathtaking scene just for the two of you. "Looks like I'm the lucky one." He marveled at the view. "Having a beautiful face to look at and a beautiful scenery to enjoy all to myself. I'd be damned not to win these Games and return home to a beautiful angel." He confessed, and this time, he genuinely meant every word. 

On the other hand, you remained completely silent. Initially, you wanted to express your gratitude, but as the Games drew nearer, uncertainty crept in, even with Treech's skills. The looming uncertainty, especially regarding Lucy's well-being and Snow's single-minded pursuit of victory, left you unsure. Despite your love for your brother, his focus was solely on winning, regardless of the familial bond. Treech noticed the tension as the two of you sat next to the bench, and he tried to bring you closer. In an unexpected reaction, you flinched—a rare occurrence. "Hey—" Treech began, but he immediately noticed your slightly swollen face and your eyes fighting back tears. The man you loved had become, overnight, a complete stranger at best. "Look at me, Y/N." He pleaded, adopting a worried tone as you broke down in front of him. The situation must have been incredibly embarrassing for you. 

"What's wrong?" His voice softened as he looked at you, tender care evident in his gaze. He took immense pride in having you as his partner during the Games and falling in love with the most exceptional mentors he could have ever asked for. He harbored concerns about the possibility of you crying over his lifeless body, should the worst come to pass. The thought of hearing you scream his name filled him with worry, although he made a concerted effort not to show it. His overarching plan was to make you proud and, above all, to be loved by you until his very last breath. 

"Have you ever genuinely fallen in love?" Your question resonated with Treech. Of course, he loved you. You were an unexpected and, ironically, his first love. And so for you. The circumstances of your meeting might not have been ideal, but as long as he was with you, that's all that mattered. And if things worked in his favor, it was not just for him but for Lamina as well, given that she often regarded you as someone she could trust. "Like genuinely." You added, trying your best not to burst into laughter. Your tears didn't make it any easier, giving you a slightly maniacal tone. 

“Of course, and that person is sitting right in front of me.” His eyes not taking his gaze from you. How he watched you loosing yourself entirely in the moment of a mere seconds. Your old habits resurging as you would try to numb the pain of your fingers by scratching the very last skin until it bled. To which Treech could not help to notice the moment he had met you. He grabbed your fingers, making you to stop it quickly as he began to peck every single fingers. “And I have made a promise to myself, that if I’d ever win. That we will be reunited together. Build a family, run away together. Be the lovebirds the Capitol wants us to be.” 

A mixture of remorse and relief surged through you as you heard every word from Treech, assuring you that he would stay alive and well. If only you could muster the same confidence he exuded. Despite your attempts, he gently wiped away your tears, his fingers delicately holding your chin to meet his gaze. "You know, even if it's not the conventional way to confess one's love to another, I might be able to let myself do it." He said, leaning in to press his lips against yours. They were soft, just as you expected, carrying the comforting scent of wood he had kept upon his arrival—a reminder of home, a home with both you and Treech. 

"I love you to the bottom of my heart. I know our first meetings weren't the best, but the way you cared for Lamina, and even showed care to me, proved something deeper. If we can continue doing that every night until the Games, I'll make sure you genuinely know that I love you." He confessed once the kiss broke. His words carried a weight that nearly brought tears to your eyes, holding you in place. The both of you chuckled at the irony of the situation, yet a newfound sense of confidence enveloped you—something you had never experienced before, especially as someone from a District. 

"Man, I wish we could continue this, but I don't want you to get punished for bringing me here—" This time, you swiftly cut him off, recognizing that it wasn't the right time for such activities, especially just a few days before the Games. Instead, you proposed a deal—a deal he seemed to enjoy a little too much. Every time you had the chance to train with him, just before returning him to the Zoo, you would indulge in cuddling and sometimes reminisce about home. Occasionally, these encounters escalated into intense make-out sessions, leaving him with a desire to mark you visibly. The marks led to teasing from some classmates, making you blush, and occasional interventions from your brother. Despite casual warnings, Treech took pleasure in denying everything with a smirk that your brother despised. To add to his delight, that same night, Treech deepened the marks, leaving a lasting impression. Just to see Snow’s furious face once again. 

Although this little pleasure was only going to last very soon, when the Games were officially commencing and you knew that. With you being at least able to say your final goodbyes to Treech, he could to feel your worrying about his situation. Cupping your face so delicately as a mention that everything was going to be alright. It was the last time that you also felt his lips brushing against yours. A kiss you would not forget so easily. 

During the Games, you and the remaining mentors, alongside your brother, watched with stress and concern for the well-being of your tributes. While your eyes remained fixed on Treech, you also tried your best to ensure Lamina's safety. However, the situation took a dire turn when the poison finally affected Treech. Feeling helpless, you did everything in your power to find a remedy, attempting to prevent the symptoms from worsening and to make them last until only one tribute remained. "The poison!" You angrily tried to draw attention, tears welling up as you called out to your brother, who paid no heed. Seeing you suffer for the one you loved was what he had envisioned from the start. His pleasure lay in witnessing Treech's suffering on screen. "Please! Give him the medication!" You appealed to your District 7's female mentor, but it was too late. Treech's coughing worsened, and your eyes remained fixed on the screen. "Treech..." was all you could say. 

Treech sensed that you were watching him, but whether it was with shame or grief, he couldn't discern. What he was certain of was seeing the expression on your face—a face that conveyed concern and a desperate desire to help. He knew that if the poison were to affect him, you would swiftly send the medication. However, it didn't happen, and he realized it was too late. Lucy had managed to escape, unlike him, who became the prisoner of an inevitable and senseless death. As he noticed the cameras focused on him, he understood that by now, you would be looking at him. "Y/N..." he began to cough in the middle of his sentence, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, including your brother. "I loved you since we met. Please, once I am gone, I want you to know that I genuinely loved and will always love you." 

"No!!" Your voice wavered between tears, desperately trying to advocate for the medication option repeatedly. Cursing under your breath, you fought against Pliny Harrington, who did his best to restrain you. "Y/N..." he tried to console you, sensing the profound grief from everyone's tributes, including yours. What he failed to comprehend was the deep connection between you and Treech, destined to become the Capitol's favorite lovebirds. "It's too late..." His voice turned into a plea for you to stop. It was at that moment that your entire body went numb. In Pliny’s arms, you managed to sit down, and as Snow's victory loomed over you, you realized that your confidence was about to be completely overshadowed once again. You would become Snow's source of pride and victory.

A man you had once loved would forever reside in your heart. In the heart of District 7, you were revered for your role as a caretaker for both its female and male tribute. What you were not aware of was that, unlike Snow, you became the face of purity and trust—a bond between the District and the people of the Capitol. It was a paid respect for the Capitol's most famous lovebirds.

#tboas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #treech #treech tbosas #treech x reader #angst #one shot #fluff #treech imagines #treech x you #reaper ash #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus imagines #treech fanfiction #hunger games x reader #hunger games x you #request open #imagine request

[unforth]

We are one Iowa caucus into the absolute shitshow that is going to be the US 2024 elections, and I'm already sick of seeing takes downplaying the risk that Trump and his fascist followers represent.

Look. Around 1900, my mother's grandparents immigrated to the Lower East Side of New York City. They brought with them children born in Europe (Poland? Ukraine? which country they were in depends on what year we're talking about) - we're not 100% sure they were THEIR children, even, but there were three, and they were young, and they came. But my great-grandparents had siblings, parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, huge families. And while my understanding is that an attempt was made to convince those folks to move to the US, none of them ultimately opted to.

They all kept in touch as they were able, exchanging letters and pictures, but through World War 1, through the 20s, through the Great Depression, through the worsening situation in Europe in the 1930s, my entire extended family who chose not to immigrate...continued to stay.

I think we all know how this story ends.

I have an entire family photo album of people whose names I will never know, because after every single one of them died in the Holocaust, my great-grandparents and grandparents couldn't bear to even label them. And they were PEOPLE, poor, vibrant, eager to maintain connections with their loved ones abroad. One was a Klezmer musician, and we have photos of him with all the different instruments he played. They're so real on the page, and they all ended in ashes.

And you know how that started? Fascism started with every inch allowed, with every well-intentioned moderate who tried to maintain a middle position even as the whole ground shifted right beneath their feet and even "middle" became extreme, every "no that change isn't coming fast enough, I want instant full improvement NOW" liberal who felt that doing nothing was better than accepting a slower improvement in the (truly awful!) post-World War 1 living situation in Germany.

Most of the members of my extended family also downplayed the risks. They never imagined that the worst could happen to them. They never fathomed how bad things could become.

And now I have their example always before me to know and to scream:

I KNOW HOW BAD THINGS CAN BECOME. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FAMILY THEN.

I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO MY FAMILY NOW.

People look at me like I'm crazy when I say I've got our passports ready (and have had since before the 2020 election).

Look. I don't know what will happen if Trump is elected, but there's a very real possibility he will, and he's been extremely clear about saying what he'll do. He did a lot of the things he said he'd do last time. I expect he'll continue to do the things he says he'll do. And the things he say he'll do will lead to the deaths of more people than we can imagine - in the US, in Palestine, throughout the world.

Don't tell me there's a middle ground here. Don't tell me I'm over-reacting. Don't tell me the worst won't happen. Don't tell me the risk is mild. Don't tell me we're safe.

We. Are. Not. Safe.

The lives of dozens, hundreds, of members of family were lost in the 1940s amid the horrifying statistic "6,000,000 dead Jews."

I will not let my life (as a Jew), my wife's life (as a disabled woman), my son's life (as a biracial boy), my daughter's life (as a biracial trans girl), be part of the statistics that come from our a second Trump presidency.

If you won't vote like YOUR life depends on it, vote like someone ELSE'S life depends on it, because IT DOES.

And if you can't even do that much, at least shut the fuck up and stop spreading your poison around. You're wrong. The danger is real. Downplaying it now won't make your conscience feel any clearer when it actually happens, and comforting everyone else downplaying it will just make you that much more complicit.

#unforth rambles #politics #us politics #genocide #genocide tw #i don't know how to tag this #i wish the album was here instead of at my mom's #i want every one of you who think this doesn't matter #to stare at the smiling faces of my long-dead relatives #and see these people who were shot and stabbed and burned and raped and destroyed #who died in rebellion or despair in hopelessness or desperation #no matter how much or how little they fought #they're all ashes now and nothing will bring them back #i have no family in europe #not a single person survived #i won't let my family be the ones who stay too long because we don't take it seriously #and neither should you

[joelsgreys]

pains l a safe haven drabble

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: When Ellie has awful menstrual cramps, you come to the rescue.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. talk of menstrual cycles, cramps, our lil baby Ellie is in pain, Joel is kinda useless but we still love him, little fluffy moments here and there. domestic fluff.

word count: 2k

a/n: so this is just a little thing based on this request right here. i love the idea of writing little extra blurbs and drabbles for this universe now that i am further into the series. i hope you like this anon, and thank you for being patient with my slow snail ass! *this takes place somewhere between the events of chapters five and chapter six

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—fucking motherfucker!”

Ellie loudly gasps out the string of profanities, clutching at her stomach as she doubles over in what you can only imagine has to be a world of pain. She steadies herself by planting one of her tiny hands firmly on Stella’s rotund side, her facial features twisted in complete and utter agony. She sucks in a sharp deep breath, her eyes squeezing tightly shut as she leaned up against the pregnant mare for support.

Letting out a small sigh, you set your clipboard down and walk around Stella and over to Ellie’s side. “Alright, that’s it,” you say, placing a gentle hand on her lower back. “You’re going home right now, missy. Do you understand me?”

“I’m fucking fine,” the teenager insists through her gritted teeth. “They’re just fucking cramps. It’s not a big deal.”

“Ellie, look at you. You can hardly even stand up straight,” you tell her, the slightest hint of amusement lacing your tone. You give her back a soft, soothing rub, prompting her to exhale the breath she’d been holding. “I’m sorry, but I just can't let you work like this today. They’re clearly hurting you very badly.”

“I’ve never had cramps like this before,” Ellie admits to you. She feels the sensations in her pelvis subside and draws herself back up to her full height. Her gaze finds yours and she worriedly asks, “Do you think something’s wrong with me?”

You hum. “No, not necessarily. Symptoms of your cycle can differ from month to month. I wouldn’t be too alarmed, not unless you get awful cramps like these each time you get your cycle.” You peer at her in concern. You’d much rather step on a rusty nail barefoot than have to take Ellie to see Luke at the clinic, but if there was something going on, you would have no choice but to take her. “Be honest. Do they hurt you this bad every month?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Sometimes I don’t even get them at all.”

You let out a small sigh of relief. “Then I think you’re just having a little bad luck this month,” you state, patting her shoulder. “The best thing for you to do is go home, get off your feet and get some rest until they go away.”

Ellie frowns. “How can I even rest when it feels like someone’s fucking twisting my insides in their hands like they’re wringing out a wet mop?”

You can’t help but to chuckle a bit at her oddly specific, yet incredibly accurate analogy. As a woman, you understand just how bad the pain could be and you empathize with her. At least when you’d been her age, you had been in the QZ where you could use your ration cards for a pack of expired Midol. “Listen, I’ll tell you what—I have a few remedies up my sleeve that might help. Go on home and I’ll swing by in an hour once I get everything that I need. Do we have a deal?”

Ellie opens her mouth to protest, but another wave of pain causes her to yelp and double over again. “Alright, alright,” she chokes out. “We’ve got a deal. Just please fucking do something to help make this shit go away!”

Just like you had promised, an hour later, you find yourself knocking on Ellie and Joel’s front door. You’d made a couple of pit stops along the way, gathering the supplies that you needed into an old, floral printed canvas bag. 

“Peach?” Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in complete surprise when he opens the door and sees you standing there on his front porch in broad daylight. He takes a quick look around and lowers his voice when he speaks again. “Uh, not that I ain’t happy to see you darlin’, but what are you doin’ here?” The corners of his mouth pull down into a frown and a worried look flashes in his eyes as he looks over you, making sure you’re okay. “Somethin’ happen? Is everythin’ alright?”

You smile up at him softly.

By now, you’d just about gotten used to him and his overprotective nature. “I’m fine, Joel,” you assure him. “I’m actually here to see Ellie.”

He grimaces. “She ain’t feelin’ too good—”

“I know.” You hold up the tote bag in your hand. “That’s exactly why I’m here to see her.”

Joel seems to be a bit puzzled, but he steps aside and allows you into the house. As soon as he shuts the door behind you, he catches your wrist and gently pulls you towards him, swiftly stealing a quick little kiss from you. “Hi baby,” he greets in a quiet murmur against your lips. “S’kinda nice gettin’ a little sugar from you durin’ the daytime,” he jokes lightly before he steals another.

You giggle and playfully swat at his chest. “Cut it out, Joel. I’m here because I’m on a very important mission,” you inform him, taking a step backwards. “I sent Ellie home from the stables a little while ago and I told her I’d come by with a couple of things that might help make her feel better. Where is she?”

“She’s in here. Follow me,” Joel beckons to you with his hand as he leads you down the long hallway and into the living room. He gestured with a jut of chin to Ellie, who is sprawled out on the couch on her stomach, her small face buried into one of the cushions. “I took the afternoon off from patrol today. Didn’t want her to be home alone while she’s in so much pain but I’m useless. I don’t know what to do or what I can give her to make it stop hurtin’.”

“You’re not useless Joel—”

“No, he’s right. He’s pretty fucking useless,” Ellie mumbles miserably, her voice muffled by the couch cushion. 

You glance at Joel who tosses her an offended glare. “She doesn’t mean that, you know. She’s just in a lot of pain right now.” You touch his arm and offer him a small, sympathetic smile. “Do you mind if I borrow your kitchen for a few minutes to prepare what I brought?”

“‘Course not. C’mon, the kitchen's right across the way.” Taking advantage of the fact that Ellie’s face is still smushed into the couch, Joel takes your hand in his and starts leading you across the hallway into his kitchen. “What do you need, darlin’?”

“Do you have a tea kettle I can use?”

He shakes his head and drops your hand. “No, I don’t think we have one of those.”

“A normal pot will do, then,” you state, setting your bag down on the counter.

Joel nods and walks up beside you, opening one of the cabinets underneath the kitchen sink. He pulls out a dark blue pot and hands it to you. He watches as you fill it up with tap water from the kitchen faucet before carrying it over to the gas powered stove. After switching the stove on and getting a flame going, you set the pot down on top of it so the water could begin to warm up. You then reach into your bag and pull out a small plastic ziploc bag filled with loose tea leaves, dumping a few of them into the water before sealing the bag back up and setting it off to the side.

“What’s that?” he questions, curiously. 

“Raspberry leaf tea. It’s good for a lot of things, but it does wonders for menstrual cramps,” you explain briefly. You dig into your bag once more and pull out the handmade heating pad that you’d sewn together yourself a while back. Noticing that Joel’s standing right next to the old microwave on the opposite end of the counter, you toss it over in his direction, quickly warning him, “Joel, think fast.” 

He swiftly catches it in one of his hands. “The hell is this fuckin’ thing?”

You toss him a playful eye roll. “That’s a heating pad.”

Joel squeezes it between his fingers, making a face. “What’s in it?”

“Rice, flaxseed, and some lavender as well. It’ll help soothe her. Pop it into the microwave for a couple of minutes.”

He nods, doing as you’d instructed. “If you say so, peach.”

While the heating pad is warming up, you notice the water beginning to boil in the pot and start looking through his cabinets until you find a mug. You set it down and switch off the stove, asking him, “Do you have a hand strainer by any chance?”

“Yeah, think there’s one in that drawer right beside you.”

As you go about finishing preparing the tea, you feel Joel’s dark brown eyes glued to your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you meet his curious gaze and raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’,” he replies, innocently. “Just can’t believe you’re doin’ all this for her.”

You laugh a little. “Of course—why wouldn’t I do this for Ellie?”

Joel says nothing. He can only smile at you.

“Okay,” you say as you finish pouring the tea through the strainer. You set the pot side and pick up the ceramic mug. “Grab the heating pad. Let’s go make little miss grumpy pants feel better.”

He chuckles and does as he is told, grabbing the heating pad out of the microwave before following you out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

“Okay, Ellie. I need you to sit up,” you announced, walking over to the couch. 

She groans dramatically, but obeys. “I swear, if you making this fucking stop, I will never in my life complain about mucking out stalls ever again.”

“Here.” You hold out the mug to her. “You’re going to drink this.”

Ellie makes a disgusted face. “Ugh. I fucking hate tea.”

You pin her with a stern look. “What do you hate more—tea or pain?”

“Fine. Give it here,” she grumbles, carefully taking the tea in her hands. She blows on it for a minute to cool it down, then takes a couple of reluctant sips. She lets out a little disgusted noise, but says nothing about it.

As she leans back against the couch, you take the heating pad from Joel’s hands and place it over her pelvis. 

Ellie groans out in relief. “Fuck, that feels incredible.”

You glance over at Joel, raising an eyebrow. “Eh? What did I tell you?”

“You’re amazin’,” he grins. 

“You’re amazing,” Ellie mimics, teasing him with a smirk.

Joel’s smile fades. “Well, that tells me she’s feelin’ better already,” he grumbles, shaking his head. 

You watch as she forces herself to drink the rest of her tea. Once she’s finished, you take the empty mug from her in one of your hands.

“Oh. I have one more thing that might help.” You reach into the breast pocket of your white blouse and produce a tiny, square shaped object wrapped in foil. “I know it always makes Dina feel better when she’s having a rough time with her monthly bill.”

Ellie unwraps it, her eyes going wide. “No way! Is this chocolate?” She eagerly bites into the corner of the piece, moaning. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

You pat her thigh. “Lay down and keep that heating pad on you. You’ll start to feel better in no time.”

“I already do,” she says, shooting you a grateful look. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, kid.” You smile and stand up, walking into the kitchen with the empty mug in hand.

Joel follows suit.

Setting the dish down into the sink, you gasp when you feel his arms wrap around you from behind. “Joel, Ellie is—”

“She ain’t gonna see,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your neck. 

You turn around in his arms.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, his eyes meeting yours. “For takin’ such good care of her. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Grinning, you tilt your head up for a kiss. 

You don’t know what you’d do without them either. 

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller series #joel miller story #pedro pascal characters #joel miller drabble #joel miller one shot #joel miller blurb #fic: ash #fic: a safe haven

[edains]

Ashley Williams Armory

Ashley Williams's Armory

Ashley Consistency Project

#mass effect #mass effect mods #masseffectedit #ashley williams #half of these are from the same mission LMAO #also could not avoid going to mars for a shot #holy fuck do i hate the eden prime shuttle lighting with a passion #the spectre (top right) and reckoner knight ones are my faves #next time i do a dedicated cyrus run i might port ash's rk to le1 for his run #its taken me so long to do this but i felt motivated #edain's edits

[cantbe-thecaptain]

Hear me out on this: Lovejoy on Celebrity Family Feud

#lovejoy #ash just has a lil whiteboard #Wilbur is genuinely playing the game the way it’s supposed to be played #Joe is like 50/50 with sensible answers and out of pocket nonsense #mark is just happy to be here #they totally lose btw not even a close game #every time ash is even in the shot he’s either showing off a little drawing or has written ‘help’ #I just really find this concept funny please tell me I’m not the only one #Will gold #mark boardman #ash kabosu #Joe goldsmith #wilbur soot

[mackjlee9]

This was requested two years ago, i'm such a bad writer i'm sorry :')

Ash Lynx x Male!Reader x Okumura Eiji [Angst&Fluff]

Warning; mentions of blood, stab wound, bullet wound, death, surgery and maybe needles (it's implied)

Masterlist.

Banana Fish

Requested on Wattpad.

(M/n) was calmly walking, taking a few sips of his still hot coffee and looking around the busy city. He was approaching the library Ash told him to meet up, he was just a block away and even though he knew he was early, Ash was probably already waiting for him.

He smiled at the thought of his best friend, the memory of Shorter flashing in his mind but he didn't let it ruin his calm state of mind, and continued walking, emptying his cup and throwing it away on the nearest trash can he saw.

With the library doors in his field of view, he crossed the street with quick steps, glancing side to side as he did so. He released a breath and walked toward the library's double doors, but before he could even reach his hand out to open it, a flash of blond hair rushed past him.

"Ash?!" He called for him, but Ash completely ignored the calls of his name. (M/n) didn't think twice before following after him, he has been following Ash everywhere since they met, and he wasn't gonna let the blond run off on his own, especially not when he knew how reckless he could be, "Ash!"

He kept trying to call him, but nothing, the blond wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings, running into bystanders that cursed at him for not even apologizing, and right behind him was (M/n), yelling 'sorry ma'am' and 'excuse me sir' as he ran past them as well. He tried to understand why Ash would run out like that, and he noticed the paper he was holding in his hand.

Must be Eiji's letter... (M/n) would've stopped running and let Ash go to Eiji, but something was off.

His eyes caught sight of a male leaning against the wall, his hood up and covering most of his face, but when he turned to look at Ash as he got closer, (M/n) recognized him. It was Lao.

Without realizing it, (M/n) sped up and reached his arms out to push Ash just out of the way of the knife coming at him.

Ash grunted as he fell to the ground after stumbling over his own two feet. He turned around to curse at who pushed him and keep running on his way to find Eiji, but he was left speechless when he saw (M/n) standing where he was just a second ago.

(M/n) had his clenched due to the pain that was slowly numbing, feeling his warm blood drip down and stain his clothes. He was in shock, his brain not fully processing what had happened.

The moment Lao realized he had just stabbed (M/n) instead of Ash, he backed away, pulling the knife with him. His furious eyes looked at Ash who was still on the ground, but he reacted quicker than Lao could.

With the loud booming sound of his revolver echoing in the now empty street, the sounds of people mumbling and whispering with each other changed to gasps and shrieks at the sound of a bullet being shot. Some good woman decided to call an ambulance while someone else called the police.

(M/n) rested on the wall next to him, where Lao had been standing waiting for his ambush, and now he was laying on the ground, bleeding but already dead. He took deep breaths while he pressed his hand on his gushing wound, his body trembling as his vision kept fading in and out.

Ash stood up, almost tripping again as he rushed toward (M/n), applying pressure on his wound over (M/n)'s hand, and he debated what to do now. If the police came, he could be arrested, and so could (M/n), but walking to the hospital would result in the same outcome, but at least, he could hide for a bit while the police investigated.

"Ash..." His thoughts were interrupted by (M/n)'s quiet voice, "We can't stay here, Ash..." The blond nodded and took a deep breath, his heart beating loudly in his ears at the thought of losing another close friend.

"I know, can... can you walk?" He asked, holding (M/n) against his side. The male only grunted and nodded, and like that, Ash took (M/n) to the nearest hospital, avoiding the cops like the plague as they made their way there.

//////

(M/n) had to be taken to surgery and Ash was sitting outside keeping his head down, thinking about what could happen, hoping that (M/n) would be okay, even after the doctors told him how unlikely it was for the male to live after all the blood he lost.

He took a shaky breath and reached for his phone, calling Eiji. He didn't want the Japanese male to hear any bad news once he arrived in his home country, so Ash decided to give him a quick call, just in case the worst-case scenario occurred.

Eiji was next in line to board the plane when he felt his phone vibrate in his hand, Ash was calling him. With a bright smile, he picked up the call, only for his smile to be wiped from his face, replaced by glossy eyes and frowned brows.

"Eiji-kun?" Ibe calls him, but Eiji's ears are ringing, and he felt his body move before his mind could process the information he just received, "Eiji!"

Eiji runs out of the airport, and calls a taxi, mumbling the name of the hospital while whispering to Ash that he's on his way. The whole ride there feels agonizingly slow for Eiji, it felt like hours when it was barely ten minutes, and he rushes out of the car, the driver yelling and complaining, only to receive a wad of cash from Ash, telling him to stop complaining and leave.

"Ash!" Eiji runs toward the blond and hugs him tight, that's when Ash finally lets the tears fall down his face. He feels safe with Eiji, and he can't help but lower his guard around the Japanese male, "How is he...?" His voice trembles as he asks, partially unsure if he wants to know the answer to his question.

"I- I don't know, I'm... I'm scared to ask, Eiji," he let his voice break, the knot in his throat making it hard for him to breathe properly, "What if he- if he doesn't make it? (M/n)- he's all I have, Eiji..." His hold tightened around Eiji, who now feels the need to reassure Ash.

He lifts his hand to his blond hair, and gently plays with it, shooting the pain in his chest for a little while, holding him in a safe hold, which manages to calm Ash down as he hides his tear-stained face in Eiji's neck.

"He's gonna be okay, (M/n) is strong, we know that... He's lived through worse, come on, let's go inside, it's cold out here, Ash." Nodding in silence, Ash held Eiji's hand as the Japanese male guided him inside the hospital, and they sat down on one of the empty chairs in the hallway, waiting for anyone who would tell them how (M/n) was and if he was gonna make it.

During their long wait, Ash fell asleep on Eiji's shoulder, marks of dry tears on his cheeks and Eiji leaned his cheek on Ash's blond hair, his phone vibrated and he looked at the ID. Ibe was calling him.

Well, I can't ignore him forever, he must be worried.

Eiji picked up the call and explained to Ibe where he was and why he was there. Apparently, Ibe had to pick up their luggage and found a hotel to stay in and just now he was able to contact him. Even if they had a place to stay the night, they were probably gonna stay in the hospital until they have any news about (M/n)'s state.

After receiving a warning from Ibe to be careful on their own, he hung up. Eiji put his phone in his pocket and looked down at Ash, who was moving around and a frown on his face.

"Ash?" He gently touched his face, and the blond woke up, frantically looking around before feeling Eiji still holding his hand. And he remembered where they were and what had happened.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed.

"It's been three hours, Eiji... I don't think he'll make it," Ash bit his bottom lip hard to prevent himself from whimpering and starting crying again, but right at that moment, the same doctor that took (M/n) to surgery stepped into the hallway, her eyes meeting Ash's who recognized her immediately, "How is he?"

Before she could say a word, Ash stood up from the chair, but couldn't get too close due to Eiji still holding his hand.

"He's stable, he should wake up in at least 15 minutes," she smiled at them, and Ash let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "He's a tough guy, Ash," both of them frowned when she said the blond's name, but she walked past them, "He's in the second door to the right."

Eiji muttered a thank you and dragged Ash down the hall, turning right and stopping by the door for a few seconds, before slowly opening it.

They were greeted by an awake yet drowsy (M/n) who was playing with the IV on his arm, looking at it as if he was amazed. He lifted his gaze when he heard the door open followed by a gasp, and there he saw the two most important guys in his life. The only family he had.

"Hey, guys~," he lifted his hand as a greeting and he was instantly crushed by two pairs of arms, "Ow, guys, that hurts..." Removing the pressure on his torso, Eiji and Ash held (M/n)'s face gently and pressed a long kiss on his cheeks, making the male giggle and his face heat up at the sudden affection.

"You're not going out unless you're covered in bubble wrap, you hear me?" Ash had tears in his eyes, his jade-colored irises shining like gems, and Eiji's laugh sounding like angels in his ears. Damn, (M/n) was so in love with them, he could barely handle it.

"Alright, alright~, now calm down, I'm okay, you can rest." Eiji grabbed a chair and placed it next to his bed while Ash just made himself comfortable on (M/n)'s bed, nuzzling his neck and closing his eyes with a relieved sigh, "Shouldn't you be on a plane?"

Eiji hummed and shook his head, "I can stay in New York for a while longer, someone has to watch over you and Ash, y'know."

(M/n) laughed but soon groaned at the pain in his abdomen, "You're always right, Eiji."

++++

| Buy me a Ko-fi~? |

#banana fish #ash lynx #okumura eiji #one shot #anime #ash lynx x reader #okumura eiji x reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #banana fish x reader #fluff #angst #.mackjlee9 writes

[disturbedbeautywrites]

Second Time is Not the Charm - Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

"I think we should see other people." You could still perfectly remember the night that Bradley said those words to you, your heart absolutely shattering. You were too stunned to speak, not knowing where the last perfect year had gone.

You were almost sure the two of you would get married and have kids one day. Both of you were in the Navy and were stationed at the same naval base; which had to count for something, right? Or so you thought. But, as you stood in front of Bradley in his living room, you realized that didn't mean anything at all.

You felt your heart completely shatter and hit the floor as you prayed and prayed he would take it back. But, he kept his composure and just shot a look of pity at you. How could he be so okay with all of this? How could he not be hurting at all?

After standing there for what felt like an eternity, silence engulfing the two of you, you decided to leave his apartment. You picked up your broken heart and left, walking out to your car. The ride back to where you lived was dead silent as you let your thoughts fill the space the lack of music left. How could he do this?

The next few months were absolutely hell. Having to work with your ex boyfriend was definitely not something you would recommend to anyone, especially if you were still in love with them. Each and every day you got to see his stupid head in front of you and you got to hear his stupid comments to things that Hangman said. It was torture. It was absolutely torture.

"Come on, you just gotta get out there again." You sat next to Phoenix at the hard deck, two shots of tequila lined up in front of you as you quickly downed them. You heard her words and just shook your head, laying your forehead in your hands. "He was it, Phe. I saw my entire future with him down to the dog that we would own. Now I'll never get to meet Apache." Your voice was a small whimper as she put a hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly.

She looked at you for a second before she reached down and took your phone, downloading tinder and setting your profile up. She was playing on your phone for a few minutes before she handed it back to you. "There, now you're back out in the dating pool."

You had vowed to kill Phoenix then and there, and now as you sat on a date, the urge was even bigger. You were a navy pilot and you were used to action and adrenaline, so when you were listening to a guy talk about the excitement of accounting, you almost wanted to fake food poisoning to get out of it. Or, maybe you could convince Phoenix to pretend to have a family emergency to get you away.

But, as you typed SOS messages to several people in your phone, not a single person answered. You let out a frustrated sigh before finally having enough. "I'm sorry, I really am. But, this isn't going well." You laid down money for your part of the bill before you excused yourself outside, a small sigh leaving your lips. You felt awful, but you could not put up with that anymore.

As you sat on the sidewalk, you realized you had no way home. You had sent out text messages wanting someone to call and had recieved no answer from your usual friends; which left one person, Bradley. Your thumb hovered over his name as you swallowed thickly, your head hitting the brick wall behind you. This could not be happening. You pressed the dial button before you could change your mind, the tone playing as it went through.

"Hello?" You heard Bradley's gruff voice come through your phone, sleep lacing his words as you heard him shuffling around in bed. You squeaked out a greeting as you played with the strings on your dress, wishing you could disappear in this moment. "I need to ask a major favor." Your voice felt small and mouselike as you felt the anxiety building and building in your stomach.

You heard him hum and then there was silence on the other end of the line, his way of urging you to continue. It had been months since you had talked to him for this long, your conversations were few and far between. You tried to only talk to him if it was completely necessary when you were in the air. Otherwise, it was radio silence between the two of you. “I know we’re not together anymore but I’m on a date that went really wrong. Can you come get me?” Your words were rushed and shaky as you finally got them out, a shiver running up your spine.

You heard him take in a sharp breath before he finally agreed to come get you, the two of you hanging up. You sank down against the wall and pulled your knees up under you to keep you warm, your hands rubbing up and down your shins. You stayed in that position until the bronco pulled up, a very disheveled Bradley sitting in the front seat. You got inside, closing the door behind you as you buckled yourself in.

The two of you drove in silence before Bradley spoke up, his voice deep and curious as his brown eyes landed on you. "So, you're dating again?" You groaned at his question, leaning your head against the window. "Can we please skip this awkward bs? We both know you don't care." Your words came out more as a snap then you intended, your eyes narrowing at him as he held his hands up in surrender before he put them back on the wheel. "Just trying to make conversation, sorry."

He turned the radio on for a few brief seconds before he turned it off again, his gaze falling on you once more. "I actually miss you, you know." His words caused your mouth to go dry as you looked back at him, wanting to see if he actually meant it. He didn't show any sign of not meaning it as you searched his face desperately. "I miss you too, roo." Your voice was soft as you watched your house come into view, deciding to throw one last hail mary out into the universe to see if he regretted what he said.

"If you want us to try again, I need to hear you say it." You looked at Bradley, his eyes clearly showing the gears turning in his head. He thought about speaking up, but ultimately he kept silent. Regret was evident in his features and you couldn't help the silent laugh that left your lips. He was absolutely unbelievable. You just nodded your head at him once, getting out of the bronco. "Guess not. See you around, Bradley." With that you walked back into your apartment, making a mental note to talk to cyclone about a relocation.



#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun maverick one shot #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #;ashs 800 follower celebration #bradley rooster bradshaw imagines #bradley rooster bradshaw blurbs

[kaleldobrev]

Unexpected Love

Pairing: Ash x Sister!Winchester!Reader

Summary: Ash is your mullet knight in flannel armor

Original Prompt: Requested by anonymous | Hiii, I saw you write for spn and I throught about making a request. Idk if you even remember Ash, he's seen in season 2 but for like, just 5 minutes in total so I'm not gonna be mad if you don't remember him, but I throught about asking you if you could write something for him with Reader that's Dean and Sam's little sister? You can write what you want, even something bite sized, I just feel like he's not appreciated enough 🥺 It's ok if you don't want to write it, and take your time if you do. Have a good day 💕

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Fluff, Sam & Dean just being protective/supportive older brothers

Authors Note: Of course I remember Ash my anon friend! How could I not remember Doctor Badass? | Since you told me to write whatever I wanted, I decided to do a cute little romance between him and reader cause hey, he needs some love too! | He’s honestly one of my favs | I hope you liked how this came out! I never wrote Ash before, so I hope I was able to do his character justice! | Takes place in Season 2 obviously | Flashbacks are in italics | If you want to request something, just send me a message! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Dating was something that was always particularly hard for you as you’ve been consistently on the road with your father and brothers since you were six months old. The four of you never staying in the same place long enough for you to ever form any kind of connection with anyone. In a way, you thought that it was a good thing considering this line of work, but at the same time, human connection was something that you craved, yearned for. Yes, you had a strong bond with your brothers (Sam more than Dean – twin power you know?), and kind of had a strong bond with your father, but the bonds that you had with the three of them weren’t particularly fulfilling for you. You always felt like there was something missing.

At one point when you were seven or eight, long before you had learned of the supernatural, you had asked your father once when the four of you were in the car if you could stay at Uncle Bobby’s for a while.

“I’m tired of moving around so much daddy. Can I stay at Uncle Bobby’s for a while?” You had told him, asked him; silence filled the impala, despite the music being so loud.

Sam turned to face you before turning to look at your father – you knew that Sam had felt the same way. Dean turned to look at you, craning his neck as he was in the front seat along with your father who was currently driving to the next motel. It would have been the third motel in less than two weeks. Your father looked into the rearview mirror, looking at you as you started playing with your thumbs. “I’m sorry…” You whispered.

When the four of you had gotten to the motel, Dean had practically pulled you to the side while your father and Sam had started bringing things into the motel room. “Why do you want to get away from dad so bad?” He asked, almost as if he was offended.

“I want to stay in one place longer than two days.” You said. “Motels smell funny.”

Dean scoffed. “So does Uncle Bobby’s house.”

That was the last time you had ever asked.

Even if you had found yourself lucky to pull a date, something or someone would always get in the way. Either a hunt would take precedence, or one of your brothers (usually Dean) would “accidentally” interrupt the date. With either scenario, the guy you had landed the date with would either never call you make again – despite your efforts of trying to make something work or, they would outright tell you to never call them again.

As the years went by, you had simply come to the conclusion that you were destined to never find love, destined to spend the life on the road with your brothers as hunters.

“Come with me.” Sam said to you, a few weeks before he had told you, Dean, and your father that he was going to be leaving to go to Stanford.

“I can’t Sammy. I don’t have a full ride like you do.” You said. “Besides, he’d be too fucking worried if I went.”

“But we’d be together Y/N. It’s not like we’d be by ourselves.” He said. He wanted you to come with him, despite not really interested in the whole college thing; but he knew hunting was something that you had never wanted to do. You wanted that white picket fence life like he wanted.

“I can’t…leave Dean with dad.” You told him. As much as you had wanted to go with him, you couldn’t leave Dean and dad alone, as you were usually the buffer between them. Yes, they rarely got into fights but when they did…it got bad.

You were fully prepared to do the whole one night stand thing for the rest of your life. At least you would have some kind of human connection, even if it was just for a little while. Hell, it’s been working out just fine for Dean, why wouldn’t it work for you? But that was until you met Ash.

Ash was an interesting person; someone that you thought you wouldn’t have ended up with. Despite knowing him less than a year, he was someone that you could actually imagine spending your life with (no matter how long that life span may be). You had first met him about a few months after the death of your father when your brother Sam was listening to your father’s voicemails.

“He’s always been so secretive.” You told them, upon hearing the sound of a woman’s voice in one of the voicemails – a woman that called herself Ellen.

“Think dad ever had a thing with her and it ended badly? Maybe that’s why he never told us about her.” Sam theorized.

His theory caused your other brother to give a disgusted look. “Gross, now I’m thinking of dad having sex.” Dean said, his voice sounding just as disgusted.

“You are far too pretty to be with these two.” Was one of the first sentences that Ash had ever uttered to you. A sentence that had made you laugh, but a sentence that offended your eldest brother Dean the most.

The relationship between you and Ash was something that you honestly didn’t expect to happen. Not because he wasn’t your type, but because you had thought that there would be no possible way to maintain a relationship given the fact that you were always on the road.

“You know this isn’t going to work out right?” You had told Ash, the day you and your brothers had gotten back to the Roadhouse after completing the Rakshasa case.

Ash looked at you, trying his best to play it cool as your brothers were only standing within earshot. “That’s the beauty of technology. You’d only be a phone call away.” He said. Him saying this was something that you had never really thought about previously; but it was something that had made perfect sense to you.

“If someone wants to be with you kid, they’ll make the effort.” Bobby told you numerous times growing up. For years, it was a line you thought that he just said in order to make you feel better. But for the first time in your life, you realized that Ash was the only guy in your life (besides your brothers and your father) that had actually wanted to make the effort.

“You and Ash still going strong uh?” Dean asked, leaning up against Baby.

“Uh, yeah.” You replied. “Still trying to get used to the whole long distance thing.”

“That’s fair.” He said. “At least you guys text and call right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Do you not want to talk about this? Thought this would be something you’d be all over.”

“Dean, you and Sammy have never been people I’ve spoken to about guys before. Nor have either of you really asked. Why the sudden interest in Ash and me?” Whenever you had crushes on people in the past, you had never once found yourself gunning to tell one of your brothers or your dad. You knew that it would only end badly; especially if you told your father or Dean.

He shrugged. “Can’t your brother just be interested in your relationship for once?”

“Not without ulterior motives he can’t.” You gave him a look, your brother automatically looking offended.

“Me? Have an ulterior motive? Honestly sis, I’m offended.” He scoffed.

“It’s kind of your MO brother.” You said. Dean opened up his mouth as if to say something; to try and get himself out of whatever hole he had dug himself into. But there was nothing that he could possibly say to get out of it. He instead just closed his mouth.

“Look, I’m just happy for you. Truly I am.” He actually sounded sincere. “You know me and Sammy just worry.”

“And you know just as well as I do that I can kick either of your asses.” You said. “I can take care of myself just fine. And Ash…neither of you have anything to worry about honestly.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking Ash.” You said, sitting on the trunk of Baby while your brothers were inside of the motel room. Being outside was the only source of privacy that you could possibly have when being on the phone.

“What’s up Missus Badass?” He asked, hearing the smile in his voice.

“I was thinking, after we finally kill Yellow Eyes…I’m going to quit hunting.” You said. “How would Ellen and Jo feel about me working at the Roadhouse?” Your tone half joking and half serious. Ash was silent for a moment, more quiet than he normally was whenever he was on the phone. “Ash? I didn’t lose you did I?”

“No…No…” He began. “They’d love to have you.”

“Yeah?” You asked. “You know, I am very familiar with the workings of a bar.”

“If I didn’t know you so well, I would be concerned by that statement. But, since you are a Winchester, I ain’t the least bit surprised.” He said.

“Yeah. I’ve been hustling pool, and playing poker before I reached puberty.” You laughed a little. “As Sammy would say, the way we were raised was jacked.” You paused. “But hey, at least I met you.”

“Your mullet knight in flannel armor.” He said serious.

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” You smiled. The motel door opened, your brothers coming out. “I gotta go but…I love you.” You whispered the I love you. Hoping that it was just loud enough for Ash to hear, but low enough for your brothers not to.

Your I love you had caught him slightly off guard, but it was something that he enjoyed hearing you say. “I love you too.” He responded back. You were happy that he said it back, afraid that you might of said it too soon. For the first time in a long time, you had felt like you might actually get that happy ending you have always wanted: a life away from hunting.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

#ash x reader #ash x you #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #reader insert #female reader #little sister winchester

[ashyronfire]

pride

Title: pride Rating: T Characters: The Knight, Hornet, Grimm, Grimmchild Warnings: Injury, Recovery, Fluff(?), Humor (?), Second Person POV

Author's Notes: For @aewrie <3 This was meant to be something...else. But the Knight's POV always ends up being "why are you so inadvertently hilarious" and I can't stop them anymore lmao

pride on AO3.

“Where was she?” the specter asks, tone gentle, and you do not answer, because you cannot—and he knows that.

Grimm is regarding the disheveled, unconscious form of the spider – your sister, you remind yourself, though it feels more like an afterthought than familial affection.

You found her, collapsed and covered in her own sticky hemolymph, outside of a cave-in in the Crystal Peaks. You don’t know why she was there, and the fact that you happened upon her at all was nothing short of miraculous. You do not venture into that region often; there is little reason to that you have found so far, despite your fondness for exploration.

But you heard the collapse all the way from the Temple of the Black Egg.

You heard it when the infection ripped up the cavern, spreading like blood in water, tinging stone in molten gold. You heard it when the thick vines, like arteries, coursed along the stone walls and gave it a pulse. And you heard it when the stones dislodged themselves and shattered, breaking on the ground.

The child helped you bring her back here, to Dirtmouth, where you went to the only person that you thought might be able to help.

In retrospect, perhaps Iselda would have been a more appropriate option. You are fairly certain that Hornet would have preferred that. By nature, the spider is fiercely independent, and the idea of anyone seeing her in a weakened state will grate her nerves. That the person seeing her this way is someone who could potentially outlive her, who will never forget, is not lost on you. She will find that infuriating, but—

But you trust him. You trust him and you want her to be okay, even if that means earning her ire at a later date.

(You suspect it will be aimed more at him than you, though. How much the spider views you as capable of processing emotion and thought varies on a daily basis.

Nevertheless, you are left with the distinct impression that she would have much preferred for you to leave her to die beneath the rubble, rather than wound her pride by asking another to aid her. That you know this and make this choice despite that fact is, perhaps, telling.

Pride comes before a fall—and it is not you who is injured, so what care have you?)  

The god-in-mortal-flesh tilts his head down and shifts Hornet’s mask from side-to-side. “She does not appear to have been fully crushed but she has definitely suffered contusions, with potential internal injuries,” he observes. He glances at you, then paces across the room to a large cabinet. When he opens it, you catch sight of folded blankets and pillows, which surprise you: he does not sleep on those things, favoring hanging, so what purpose do they serve?

Comfort, perhaps.

Other bugs like that sort of thing. You must constantly remind yourself that you are an exception who has little interest in things that are without proper function.

“Do me a kindness, would you? The table—can you move it?”

You nod. The nymph on your shoulder glides over to the table, as though to indicate what its father is referring to, and together, the pair of you push the old wooden thing to the side. It smells of varnish and the intricate carving work tells you that it was probably expensive—or custom. Much of the Troupe Master’s belongings are like that: old, heavy, seemingly valuable, or custom tailored to his rather eclectic tastes.

(He has a lot of things. No sensible person needs that many things.)

You do not need help. Though your frame is small, the void within you is a veritable tempest; there is no little that can withstand your might when you choose to call it to you, and that includes furniture. Your friend is eager to be of assistance, though, and you find the earnest effort endearing; you pretend that you are struggling more than you are to make it seem like the child is doing more than simply headbutting one of the legs. The dark cherrywood gives a little creak as the base of the legs drags across the ground, and it almost drowns out the sound of rustling fabric. Almost.

When you turn around again, Grimm is behind you unfurling a mountain of fabrics and blankets. They are threadbare and a jumbled mix of fabrics haphazardly stitched together, with little regard for presentation, and yet… you find it charming.

He lays a pillow down, then turns to you. “Thank you. Let us move her here and see how extensive the damage to her carapace is.”

‘Us’ here means him. You barely managed to drag Hornet to Dirtmouth on your own. It involved void tendrils that you were cautious not to touch her shell with, and frequent breaks, with Grimmchild chattering the entire time as an anxious bundle of nerves.

(The spider may not appreciate the child, but the feeling does not seem to be mutual. The nymph seems to greatly enjoy using her as target practice, in part, you think, because she dodges so deftly.

You should likely discourage this behavior. You do not.

You somewhat hope it manages to set her on fire. You may be family, but you are not entirely friends.

You also would find this very funny. Your sense of humor is not the kindest thing ever.)

Grimm carefully gathers Hornet’s unconscious form and moves her to the pile of blankets. He is delicate in each movement, mindful of her wounds, and he uses the pillow to keep her head elevated. You do not miss that he also kicks her needle very far out of reach, so that should she wake, she cannot immediately eviscerate him. This is a good decision because you suspect that she will wake up violent. You cannot pass judgment. If you woke up injured, in a strange place, you would also feel an inclination to start swinging your nail.

You perch at the end of her feet and Grimm unfastens the brooch on her cloak, carefully settling it around her. There is a very vivid split in her shell, black breaking to ooze with transparent fluid.

“This is the source of the stains on her cloak,” he tells you without looking up. Grimmchild alights next to part of the discarded fabric and gathers it into its maw. Grimm looks up at the larva and thumbs with one finger toward the door. “Take that to Brumm, would you, please? He will be able to clean it for her.”

The child nyehs affirmatively and then bundles the fabric in its vestigial wings. You are not entirely sure how it manages it, but it does carry the cloak out of the room. Grimm watches it go with an affection that would make you uncomfortable, were it anyone else. As it is, you find the unusual relationship between father-and-child to be fascinating. They are the same soul, split into two, and there is an undeniable connection shared between them. They are individuals, too, though. Where the father is macabre at times, easily amused, and of a black sense of humor, the child is excitable, enthusiastic, and genuine. You enjoy both.

(You are very close to the child, though, and of the two of them, it is your favorite. It is one of your favorite people altogether.)

To you, Grimm instructs, “There are numerous jars in the cabinet at the back. We will clean these injuries and glue them shut—and she will likely molt them out once they are closed. Go. Open the cabinet and I will tell you which ones we need.”

You nod, while Grimm shifts slightly to rest Hornet’s horns in his lap. This allows him to curl over her, drawing attention to how malleable his shell seems to be; he bends and twists in ways no natural bug ought to be able to. You cross the room to the cabinet and then pull a small box over to use as a stepping stool, so that you can reach the handles.

When you open the cabinet, you are presented with a myriad of colorful glass containers, each sealed with glass and labeled immaculately, strings tied around the top and dates marking each one. You look over the different names, but they are in a language that you do not speak.

“The amber one,” Grimm says from behind you. “And… there is—do you see the square jar with the white powder? Those two. And then the fabric roll, if you would be so kind.”

You nod. The amber jar is very large. Its weight is less of a problem than the shape, which you struggle to hold onto. You are slow as you step off the box and bring it over to Grimm’s side. When you set it down, the fluid within sloshes, and you catch brief sight of his reflection in it—

(Doesn’t match. Pink and red instead of black and red. Too bright eyes. Too much fire. Obscure lines, blurred shape. Not really of this world. Reflections of the truth. This is an illusion. The Nightmare’s Heart in mortal flesh.)

—before you turn to grab the square container.

“This is antiseptic. And that is corn starch.”

Corn starch?

You angle your head to the side in silent question as you carry that particular case back to the Troupe Master. He sets it aside while unfastening the lid on the antiseptic and, in answer to your unvoiced inquiry, he explains, “It is to be our glue. We will clean the open splits carefully in order to avoid… infection.” The word is not lost on him, and you catch a brief smile that registers as amused. “Then I will have you hold her plates together while I mix the cornstarch with water and then use it as a seal on the wound. That will stop her bleeding—this is not enough for a half-wyrm to bleed out, but she is not going to feel very good when she wakes up.”

“I already do not feel very good,” Hornet answers, voice croaking, and Grimm jerks above her. She angles her head toward him. “You.”

“Hello.”

“Of course it is you,” she groans, attempting to sit up, and he puts one hand on her shoulder to force her back down. “Don’t touch me.”

“Too late,” Grimm murmurs.

You go back to the cabinet to retrieve the rolls of fabric. You hear shuffling behind you and when you turn back around, two more legs have come out from underneath Grimm’s cape, to hold Hornet’s arms down. “Do not make this harder than it must be, Princess-Protector; it is not my aim to cause you further injury.”

“I do not need your help. I would rather have been crushed than rely on you.”

Grimm scoffs. “Then perhaps you should have been several steps further back, my dear.”

He releases his hold on her, Hornet stilling enough to make it justified, and then he returns to assessing the damage.

Corn starch. You tune out the pair of them bickering, laying the bandages down at Grimm’s side, to open the container of powder and swipe one hand through it. Corn starch. You would never have guessed that to be used for first aid, but it does make sense.

You put one paw underneath your mask, void shifting and twisting into a mouth to ‘taste’ it off of your fingertips.

You have no idea whether or not you consider it to taste good. You do not think it is meant to be consumed this way.

Grimm and Hornet ignore you.

Hornet stills, though the look she levels on Grimm is one of positively murderous intent. As you expected, it is he that she holds completely responsible, and you would argue that this is your fault, if not for the fact that you are incapable of proper communication. It does not seem to bother Grimm at all, though; if anything, he seems to be fueled by her reactions, his head inclined to the side in obvious amusement.

“You mustn’t struggle so. Your wounds remain open. You were near crushed. You should be thanking the vessel for its kindness in rescuing you.” He takes one of the strips of fabric and then dips it into the antiseptic. Rather than touch her with it, he holds it out for the spider to scent. “Antiseptic. It is a combination of witch hazel and grape seed extract. It will clean the wounds.”

Hornet bristles. She takes a long, slow sniff of the fluid, as though to verify that she is not being lied to, and then exhales.

“Very well.”

It is obvious from the rigidity of her posture that she does not trust Grimm, but you do. You do not believe that he would harm her. Not like this, anyway. That would be rude.

(And not nearly theatrical enough. Grimm likes his showmanship.)

As he goes to clean the large crack with the rag, you decide that you do not like the taste of the corn starch and proceed to excise it from your body—still in powder form—all over the floor of the tent. You can feel Grimm and Hornet both staring at you, but you do not look their way. You look at the flap separating the chambers instead, because you can hear the beating of wings, and sure enough, Grimmchild returns a heartbeat later.

With a metal bucket carried in its maw, the fluid within sloshing to-and-forth.

Good child. You dart to its side to take the bucket and it flops between your horns, panting. You would pet its back to reassure it, but it takes both of your hands around the handle to lug the bucket over to where Grimm and Hornet are sitting. She is sprawled against his chest, her own head tilted down, and it would be an incredibly familiar position if she did not look like she was about to spring off the ground at any moment.

You set the bucket before them and incline your head to the side in silent interest. Your gaze follows the way that Grimm cleans the gouge in her chest, mindful not to pull the broken shell too hard.

“You will molt this off, yes?” he verifies.

“When next I molt, yes,” she agrees. Her gaze slants toward you. “… You went to great lengths to retrieve me from the collapse. Know that I will return the favor, should the opportunity arise.”

Grimm bursts out in a harsh laugh. “That is as close to a thank you as you are going to get, my friend.”

If looks could kill, he would be lying flat. As it is, Grimm does not so much as acknowledge the spider’s discomfort. He finishes dabbing the witch hazel onto her chest and tosses the rag aside, then uses a fresh one to clean around the wounds.

“You will want to visit a hot spring to accelerate the process of healing,” he murmurs. “I assume that you possess your sire’s ability to channel Soul to some degree?”

“Not at the level that it does,” Hornet answers, glancing at you. You bob your head to the other side pleasantly, as if to say, ‘That I do!’ and she ignores it, explaining, “But it will do more good than harm. How long was I unconscious?”

Grimm looks at you and you hold up your hands, counting out on your fingers idly, before settling on just three of them up. That’s a good enough estimate. Three or so—

“Days?” your half-sister asks, appalled.

“I expect that it means hours, Princess; do calm yourself.”

She snatches the wet cloth out of Grimm’s hands, and he holds both of them up as if in surrender. “I am plenty calm,” she insists, though her tone is anything but, and you want to point out to her that she sounds wound tighter than a drum. You can tell from the way that Grimm’s fingers twitch, animated, that it takes every bit of willpower he has to also withhold such an observation. “I can do the rest myself. Stop touching me.”

She really should accept the help, you think. She is badly wounded. Not mortally so, no—she will not die from these wounds—but they cannot be comfortable, and their position means that she won’t be able to accurately see what she is doing. She also should not be walking around, but you know the futility of trying to inform her of that. Grimm clearly does, too, for he untangles himself from around her, his second set of arms going back beneath his cape. He shuffles past you, easy on his feet, unbothered by the spider’s agitation, and you watch her as she never takes her eyes off of him. It is the look of a wounded predator expecting to be put down. It is unmerited. You remain convinced that if Grimm wanted to harm her, he would be far more flamboyant in the attempt. There would be fire, there would be spectacle, there would be a show.

(Grimmchild, on the other hand, might bite her shell off for the doing.)

“Forgive an old bug his whims,” Grimm hums without turning back. “It is good that you are spirited.”

Grimmchild mewls on your head and then, as if in defiance of its father’s words, spits a fireball right at Hornet. She narrowly manages to wiggle her way away from it.

Master of mixed messages, that.

A sharp clink snares your attention, and you look away from Hornet, who is moving to mix the water from the bucket that Grimmchild brought into some of the corn starch. She clearly has experience with doing so, and you suspect that this is not the first time that she’s glued part of her shell back together. You are sure that stitches are her favored method of treatment, though you do not ask whether one is more efficient than the other. That is not your problem.

Grimm is making tea. You recognize the pot.

“I am not at all fooled by your disguise, Nightmare King,” Hornet hisses.

You draw away from her. She is in no danger of sudden collapse; she will not die today, and despite her agitation, you know that she is in good hands with Grimm.

“I know very well that though you say one thing, your actions say another—”

“You would blame me for my child’s actions?” Grimm quips back.

“Your child is you—”

You leave the pair of them to bicker, the last of Hornet’s statement being lost to you as you start back through the tent. The musician at the front offers you a polite nod, continuing to play his accordion, while Grimmchild hangs onto your horns, draped over your mask like a doll. It makes a low noise in its throat as the pair of you depart.

You have places to be. Your task remains unfinished.

Your sister will be just fine.

#ashe writes #hollow knight #hk fanfic #hollow knight fanfic #hk ghost #hk grimm #hk hornet #hk grimmchild #one shots

[amyriadfthings]

So, this post happened, and then this, so then I thought okay why not, then I went out to vote, and then this little thing happened @brindlelogs

The candle on his desk went out unceremoniously after rousing him with its violent flickering.

Alfred Hillinghead adjusted his glasses and got up to stretch his aching joints and find another stump in Charlotte´s dwindling supply in the kitchen. He groaned from limbs that had gone stiff and realization that age was happening to him whether he agreed to it or not.

It´s not that he had dozed off exactly; his eyes had just gone unfocused after staring at latin terms and intricate illustrations for too long, and the flame not only jolted him back to reality, but also returned with it a helpful, neverending loop of „H e n r y“ riding a merry-go-round in his head.

Whenever he stopped to think at any point in the last 48 hours they were the only letters his brain seemed to want to string together, so he did what he could to populate it instead with any information he could find on South American butterflies exhibited in private or public collections in London over the last six years.

Back by his chair, he lit the new candle and shuffled the leaflets of various entomological associations that were strewn across his desk. He hoped one of them would hold a clue that could save his partner before he could get himself into a situation he could not get out of (because Alfred wasn´t there with him, and Henry was always so damn reckless).

He never knew London had so many passionate butterfly collectors.

But then again, teaming up with Henry was inevitably going to deliver surprises and revelations of all kinds. It´s what made him feel alive more than anything these days. That and Henry´s hands on his skin. (No, he chided himself. He must not think of that now. Nor his hands on Henry´s strong body willingly, eagerly arching up to him, fond eyes never leaving him, soft lips inviting him in, always ready to receive him… no.)

Alfred jumped up again this time, so vivid was the image in his mind. So warm Henry´s skin in his memory as if it were life and not mere thoughts he was conjuring up. He was suddenly enveloped by a need so mighty that it took his breath away and made him clutch at his waistcoat. His whole body seemed to miss Henry, after only two days. And no contact for another one at least.

Another issue was the steady stream of Henry´s voice that was gone from his ear, but not his mind.

He could hear Henry tease him, how unable to keep his focus Mr. Detective Inspector appeared to be. He´d probably even ruffle his hair, Alfred thought, which would earn him his best glare (his own hand going up to the side of his head without thinking, to imitate Henry´s touch), but that would only widen Henry´s grin and he might ask what could possibly be distracting him from his oh-so important work. He might even sit on Alfred´s armrest or...

Alfred´s cheeks began to burn when he looked down at his desk and thought back to how they had said a last urgent goodbye right on this very surface two and a half days ago, even though they had already done that and more extensively the night before.

A knock on the front door rushed him back to the present. It sounded hurried, but before Alfred could even leave the study, or wonder why the mysterious caller did not use the door bell, he heard the door open and close hastily, key turning, locking them in. The only one with a key besides Charlotte and Polly would be…

„Henry! What in the-,“ Alfred took two fast strides forward as a sodden Henry Ashe (his Henry) stumbled into the room (when had it started raining?), a cut along one eyebrow bleeding profusely down his face and staining his shirt (how long has he been bleeding??)

„Change of plans,“ Henry announced with a weak, self-deprecating smile, and winced as Alfred´s worried hands fluttered over him.

Finally, Alfred held Henry in place in front of him and closed his eyes for a second. „Alright. Sit down. Tell me everything. I´ll get the bandages.“

#bodies #bodies netflix #alfred hillinghead #henry ashe #someone just has to say please write something and then this happens <3 so thank you for that #i´m just gonna hit post bc otherwise i´ll keep rewriting stuff and this is just a quick one shot anyway #bodies fanfic #*mien #never made a fic tag did i

[pretty-little-whorror]

Hi! Not sure if you’re really active on here but have would you ever write little blurbs or tiny pieces?? If so would you do one with post AoD/pre AvED Ash hooking up with the reader in the bathroom or in his car after meeting in a bar or something? If not you can just ignore this lol 😅

-🪽anon

Omg yeah my ass is on here my posting is just as consistent as gas prices. But I needed a flame under my ass to get me writing lmfao.

And of course a very happy Ash Wednesday for my girlies who celebrate

“Ah, shit” You cursed as your head knocked against the hard metal of the backside door. Ash chuckled above you as he helped you get situated in the backseat of his Delta.

“Oh c’mon baby, leave the cussin’ for the main event, huh?” He positioned himself over you, with one knee between your legs and his arms caging you on either side. You smiled back at him, shimmying down to prevent yourself from hitting your head again.

You ran your hands over the waffled texture of his Henley, your fingers playing with the undone buttons that previewed his sculpted chest. When he had been chatting you up in the bar, you hadn’t pinned him for a gym rat, but by no means were you complaining. He brought his lips down to yours and you felt the warmth of his left hand creep up your shirt; a stark contrast to the metallic cold of his right as he bunched your skirt above your hips to your waist. You gasped as you felt him cup your pussy over your panties, the thin fabric doing nothing to aide you from the sudden cool.

He leaned back to take a better look at what was hidden under your skirt, he smirked as he moved his dominant hand to play with the lace trim of your underwear. “A skirt that tiny and panties like this. Your lucky you found me so you could get the fucking you were looking for tonight baby.” His fingers slipped underneath the skimpy fabric, dancing over your clit before circling your doused entrance.

“Mhm,” He mused, running his fingers in feather-light movements over your core. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy you got, sugar.”

“Fuck….” You sighed, being more careful as to not hit your head again. Ash’s lips traveled from your neck, to you chest down her stomach until he landed above your cunt

With a satisfied smile, he pressed his tongue against your clit, flicking it gently before circling around it with increasing precision. His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer to his eager mouth.

He dove his tongue deeper, exploring every fold, crease and detail of your sex. He relished in the your taste and his movements became more determined.

As his tongue continued to lap at your pussy, his fingers moved back down to your entrance, sliding inside you and curling against just the right spot. The dual stimulation sent warm waves of pleasure throughout your increasingly needy body. You let out a needy whine as your hips involuntarily bucked up towards his face.

Ash groaned, relishing in your mewling and desperate movements; a sign he was doing everything right, not that he ever had any doubt he was doing anything wrong.

He increased the pressure of his tongue against your clit and changed the rhythm of his fingers to match, pushing deeper into you.

Your grip in his hair tightened as a welcome and familiar coil wound up in your core.

“Fucking hell, Ash”

You felt his mouth curl into a smile against your wet cunt in reaction to your whining. He gave one last kiss against your swollen clit before he made his way back up. Your mouth quickly found his again as you kissed him sloppily and desperately; your arms snaking around his neck and your nails gently digging into his back.

#okay all done i’m tired now #sorry but not really #ash williams #evil dead #bruce campbell #horror #ash vs evil dead #army of darkness #80s horror #ashy slashy #evil dead 2 #the evil dead #smut #drabble #imagine #one shot

[yawnzzznnn]

♡︎breakup prank w/Ash Island, Changmo, Bloo♡︎

♡︎Ash Island♡︎

♡︎Changmo♡︎

♡︎Bloo♡︎

Bloo translation

I love you too much

Your my one and only

I love you to fucking much

Baby can you come pick me up?

Love you

#x reader #khh #khhrappers #khh scenarios #khh boys #khh texts #fake texts #ash island reactions #ash island imagines #ash island drabbles #ash island scenarios #ash island #changmo one shots #changmo imagines #changmo x reader #changmo #bloo imagines #bloo one shots #bloo drabbles #bloo x reader #bloo #khh one shots #khh imagines #khiphop #khh x reader

[grollow]

watch you lose

Title: watch you lose Rating: M Characters: The Hollow Knight, The Radiance Warnings: Disturbing Content, Trauma Bonding, First Person POV, Prequel (sort of) Author's Notes: This is canon to White and Gray, technically, and was written as a gift for @astorichan for Elegies of Hallownest's Secret Santa. Happy holidays, my friend! <3

watch you lose on AO3. “At the rate that we are going, we will die here together like this, you and I,” she says.

I ignore her, drifting in a state somewhere between waking and the anguish of sleep. In this state, she cannot reach or touch me, but her words are an insidious whisper that brushes under my skin like the diminutive scales that so resemble fur. She would have the world think that she is soft, but I know better. She is the edges of claws that scrape and scratch, and she leaves everything bleeding underneath them.

I prefer this state. I can see the world around me, a witness through the windows to history unfolding, but never a participant. This has always been my role. Never a participant, always a spectator. I have watched Hallownest crumble around me, bits and pieces rotting away as proof of my flaws. I have watched my king’s palace vanish under the weight of his own failure, disappearing like a mirage; sometimes, I can even glimpse it in the distance, and she says that is because it is here, because he has joined us in this eternal prison.

Like us, he is a spectator.

Like us, he is dead without truly dying.

We are corpses that have forgotten what it means to be dead. We are animated not by the essence that inhabits our body but by the spite that drives us: emotions like blood strangling out whatever light might have remained in the two of them.

I have always been a dark thing. I suppose that is to my benefit.

“You could end the pain we are both enduring,” she tells me.

My reflection is a passive thing, void obscuring it on the shell that makes up the floor. The chains that bind us in the air have long lost their shine. Like my armour.

(Like me.)

She deludes herself, as I often do, that we might some day see freedom outside of these halls. Were I to be set free of my binds, I doubt my body would animate properly. There are great crevices in my carapace where infection has boiled over, eating away at tempered void. The most egregious of these is a great hulking furrow that jots along my shoulder where my missing arm should be. It drives down deep and is, at times, painful. I can see the illumination of pustules growing in place of where the void has been burned away. They unsettle me, raising bile in a stomach that I did not know that I possessed.

(I have a mouth. I have always had a mouth. Mouths are conducive to stomachs; they are used to consume food, though I have never needed any—

Hunger notwithstanding.

I have ever been starving.

The void within me longs to devour all that it sees. I hold it in check, as I always have.

Would it be void that came up, if I succumbed to the writhing in my guts, like invisible claws twisting them to-and-fro, tying what insides my third parent did not destroy into tense, tight little knots?)

I cannot feel my legs. I have not been able to in a very long time.

“Let me set us both free, my shadow,” she pleads, drawing me back. I can feel her wings like the soft of feathers wrapping around me. “It needn’t be one or the other. I would miss you—”

I do not answer her in words, but in a feeling: a hot rush of stubborn refusal that manifests like ice through me. I drown her light in my shadows, and she recoils, hissing shrilly. 

“I will miss you,” she finishes.

There is nothing to miss, I say without words, pulling my void like a noose tighter around her throat. She struggles, fighting back, and the course of sunlight through me makes us both scream in mutual agony—her from my freezing darkness and me from the searing that rips through me, settling in welts that fill with fluid within my eye sockets.

It is a scream that reverberates through the void. All creatures of my kind can hear it, but none can answer. I am alone.

(I made that choice when I left them behind. I am selfish. I was willing to climb out of the Abyss over the corpses of my siblings, no matter the cost. And I was willing to sacrifice it all—

Hallownest. Myself. The lives of thousands of bugs.

I wanted his acknowledgment. I wanted to be seen.

I wanted to succeed—)

“You never could have. The fact that you wanted to is proof of that. But fine, fine. When death takes you, I will be free. I can be very patient when I need to be.”

The light of my eyes pulses in time with her heartbeat. The arteries that sprawl across the cavern ceiling are perfectly in sync with them.

She has never been patient in her life.

-

From the moment of my conception, I have been wed to her. The ties that bind us are far stronger than that of matrimony and impossible to break. I was molded to be her creature. Try as she might, she can never escape a shadow that bears her shape—and that is all that I will ever amount to.

Still, it is entertaining to listen to her wish that it be otherwise.

She would no more choose this than I, she claims. But she forgets.

I did make this choice. I told myself it was for him. I told myself it was for the Pale Gift that I left behind. I told myself that I had enough strength within to succeed.

We are both fools and liars. I am, at least, aware of my failings.

They are all that make up what remains of me.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

NO.

-

There is another like me.

There is another and it has come for me; it has answered a scream from the two of us to set us free and I recognise it, I know those horns, I know, and I do not deserve, I do not want, I do not want to be saved—

There is another there is another there is another

Kill the empty one.

There is another like me there is another like me there is another

Kill the empty one.

It is her voice, I tell myself. It is her command issued to force her slaves, mindless as they are, animated by her power, to attack.

I would never.

(I want to. I want to rip it apart.

She is mine, she is mine, she is mine. This is my task, this is my burden, these are my shackles to bear, and I would not have her be taken from me, not like everything else, I have never had anything that is mine, I have never had anything, she is all that I have—

Go. Go. Go.

It should have died.

Like the rest of them.)

The frenzied feeling inside of me is a swelling thing. It shivers in my guts. It settles in as numbness at the tips of my fingers. He has cursed me. He has left me to watch the world, watch it die around me, watch my failure unfold on the stage, the curtain raised in a final act, Hallownest’s requiem in harmony with my screams. I cannot look away. I cannot stop myself from watching my sibling’s journey; I cannot tear my focus to something else, anything to ease the terror that surges through limbs that have long stopped aching because I no longer feel anything physically to begin with.

Run, I want to scream.

Leave, I want to beg.

(Save—

Save who? Me?

I don’t deserve it.

If it comes here, I will fail—

If it comes here, it will take my place and I do not want to—)

I cannot see her. I can feel her writhing within me, though. I can no longer tell where I end and she begins and that is for the better.

I think, perhaps, that I love her. She shaped me into something else; she moulded me into her creature, and she has always seen me. Where others bore witness to a monster in the shell of the king’s misbegotten offspring, she saw the writhing shadows and knew the potential that lay within. She sees me.

I think, perhaps, that I hate her for all of that, too. For how dare she look into my eyes and know my secrets—how dare she rummage through my mind to find where my scars are—how dare she reach out with tenderness.

“I know what it feels like to be abandoned by family,” she’d whispered one day, when we were newly acquainted, as if she could understand my pain.

She knew nothing about me.

She knows everything about me now.

She knows that I will bite every hand outstretched in kindness. She knows that mine are words edged in nails, that my heart is wrapped in razor wire and that to love me is to drown. She is caught in my maelstrom, as I am in hers. She burns everything that she touches. She convinces herself that she has been abandoned, but I know—for I know her secrets, surely as she knows mine.

One who burns down their house cannot complain about a lack of home.

But she loves me, she thinks, in the only way that she has ever known how to. She would break me into pieces to fit her shape and she would see nothing wrong with that. That tendency is why she is alone, I know.

But void is without form, and I can bend, I can twist, I can adapt.

I will never break.

This is the kind of love that I deserve.

For being a failure. For being selfish. For choosing to believe in a lie, to perpetuate it, to walk knowingly into a task I could never succeed at. My false faith has cost Hallownest everything. Who would dare love someone so wretched? Someone equally so.

We orbit one another. We will both kill the other given a chance. And then we will mourn the other’s absence horribly. We cannot exist without one another.

I would die with her. I want to die with her.

(I want to die. But not alone. No, never alone. Come with me. This is our tomb—together.)

-

Kind, gentle Isma falls first, of the Great Knights, and that is both heart wrenching and unsurprising. Ever has her nature been one of kindness, of compassion, of consideration; ever has she been the warmth that seeps through the Palace when none else could reach. As Hallownest withers beneath a rot so deep as to infect the very soil, its blossom turns her blooms to the ground, and she is consumed by the very vines that she once commanded.

I mourn her.

It is noble Hegemol who falls second, in the service of our king. The infection lays claim to him, ravaging his shell. He is buried in his armour high above the kingdom, to watch over from above; his is a sacrifice mourned by all.

I mourn him.

She tells me that she loves me as we watch my home fall apart. She tells me that this is not my fault; she reassures me that I am not to blame for failing, for no living thing could ever do what was commanded of me, and I do not respond. Her wings hold me tight, embrace warm, and the shadow within me surges, aching to devour.

Dreams are life essence, and the void will always long to smother out life, until nothing but itself remains.

Until it is whole again.

It can never be. Too many fragments have been broken away, stolen, thieved in the night—

I am one of those pieces.

I want to rend her with my maw. I want to bury my face in her feathers and sob.

The whole world knows that I have failed now. The whole world knows that I am flawed. Only death comes for them now.

-

She hates me, she tells me, whenever I refuse her. She reminds me of my failures, of the things that I have wrought upon Hallownest. “Your fault,” she reminds me. “You chose this. You could have done something different.” Never the same argument but it is the same thought in essence, and it needn’t really be voiced. She is right. I chose this. I caused this.

Failure. Failure. Failure. Failure.

I do not long for freedom. My sibling comes. My sibling means to set me free, regardless of what I feel—or it means to join me in endless torment, a storm of shadow to drown out the world.

What would I do if it succeeded? What will I do, when inevitably it breaks through the seals?

(Teacher, I have failed. All of your studies on void with the king have amounted to nothing. I am a craven thing, desperate. All the knowledge in the world cannot save you from that which you wilfully ignore.)

…kill it.

(Watcher, forgive me; you will never be given the chance to reunite with your Knight and it will be for naught—for I chose my own whims over your sacrifice; I chose to let you die for nothing. Noble Hegemol, forgive me; I have taken the person most dear to you from you, and for what?)

I would kill it.

(Beast. Oh, Beast. We have both left the Gendered Child behind in our ruins, to mourn us, and when we both are dead, she will be alone.

For I have failed. I have failed. All of this has availed us nothing.)

I tremble.

(Leave, sibling, I beg.

Leave, because you cannot withstand this. I see in you something alive. I see in you something with potential to survive.

Leave, because if you come here, I will kill you—and it will not be her command that makes me do it.

I have never been a good loser.)

-

Dryya falls third, far later than her other two companions.

Some of the honourable Mantis Tribe willingly take in the infection—their strength of will is too great to be consumed on their own, but their pride is their downfall, and they would do anything for strength. They do not understand that in bargaining with her, they seal their own fate. They do not understand that in choosing this path, they are condemning themselves to torment.

The fiercest of the knights falls to their blades in service of her queen, but she does not go alone. Her grave is composed of the bodies of the infected, her armour stained in orange. She goes down fighting, claws, and blades.

I do not think the White Lady is even aware of the moment that she dies.

Perhaps that is for the better. This torment should not be anyone’s to bear but my own. It is my fault, after all.

My captive no longer attempts to convince me otherwise. She is not cruel to me, but she need not be; I am vicious enough for us both. We are a shattered, tangled thing, and she regrets nothing of her choices.

Will they all die? I ask her, voice strangled from the pain that paralyses me, like the chains that hold us fast in the air, higher still.

This is an ascent with a great fall at the end.

Our shared body will break before we hit the ground.

“Yes,” she answers. “They all deserve to die.”

I do not agree, but my ability to stop her is hindered by the fatality of my flaw.

I do not want them all to die, but I do not care if they live, either.

Who among them mourned for me?

-

Leave, I command. It both is, and is not, my voice. Hers lays over it, a second skin, resonant and clear. My own is a rattling thing, hoarse to my ears, for so little do I bother to make words. I sound like a thing dead. I am a thing dead. The command holds force, though it goes ignored by the smaller figure circling me, its nail raised to shatter the old, rotting chains. Metal shouldn’t decay, but the passage of time is a brutal thing, and void corrodes what it encounters. This place is thick with it.

It jumps over the cracked, charcoal gray shell that was once my arm. The black stain around the discarded limb is a pool, rendering it unrecognizable. I can identify spots of mottled brown where infection has dripped from my rotting carcass. I am a sick thing. Perhaps it means to grant me a merciful death, but—

I am also a possessive thing. I have ever-been. I do not share well. So few things have ever truly been mine. But she is.

Leave, I reiterate. This time it is my voice, hers having faded back. I can feel her contemplating in the back of our shared mind, analyzing the threat it poses. She thinks in its small form, she might yet find salvation; perhaps it will set me free, and she can use me, macabre puppet that my wretched body has become, to enact her own terrible fury.

She is hope. She has yet to give it up.

I will never her go. This is my burden to bear, and she is mine. She is only mine.

Leave.

Its nail clashes into one of the blades. Metal screams in agony as it is shattered—or maybe that is the sound of the voice that I am not meant to have.

It circles. It means to release me from my bindings.

(It means to set me free. It means to shoulder my task on its own.)

My binds shatter one-by-one. The void within it purrs, melodious, through my own. I can feel it like blood beneath the shell, testing the waters, touching me, verifying that I am still here—that I am still alive.

I do not answer. I am not alive.

My chains fall away and I collapse to the ground, a pathetic caricature of the noble grace that I once possessed, and the infernal light of my eyes reflects back at me.

It probes again, gentle and reassuring, as though to remind me that it will stop at nothing to see me set free. It knows not that there is nothing left within me to save.

Very well. It will learn through pain, if it must.

Kill the empty one.

(We will.)

#ashe writes #one shots #hollow knight #hk fanfic #hk thk #hk hollow #the hollow knight #w&g #posting this on main and then reblogging to my writing blog dw about it

[joelsgreys]

jealousy l a safe haven drabble

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: When Esther invites Joel to her place for dinner, he reassures you that you have nothing to be worried about.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. jealous reader, soft Joel, infidelity, at this point these two are having a full on affair, fluff.

word count: 3k

“Helloooo? Yoohoo, is anybody home in there?”

“Ouch,” you gasp out as a foot connects with your shin underneath the table. You look up and shoot an annoyed glare at the curly haired woman sitting across from you at one of the smaller tables in the commune’s mess hall. You reach down, your hand rubbing over the spot where she’d kicked you with the hard toe of her boot. “What the hell was that for, Martha?”

Martha giggles. “Oh, hi. So glad you could join us again.”

Glancing from her to Maria, you frown. “What are you talking about?”

Maria playfully scoffs into her glass of lemonade. “Oh wow, she was so zoned out that she didn’t even realize she was zoned out.”

“I was not zoned out,” you counter, shaking your head.

“Okay, if you weren’t zoned out then tell me, what were we talking about right now?” Martha challenges, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. It widens when she sees the uncertainty in your gaze. “Just now, what were we saying? Hm?”

Shit.

“You said that—um,” you rack your brain, desperately trying to remember what the two women had been chatting about. “Something about—it was something about the market, right?”

“Aha! I knew it,” Martha laughs again, pointing an accusing finger at you. “That proves it. You weren’t listening.”

“Alright, alright. You caught me, Sherlock. I wasn’t listening,” you admit, sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just that my mind’s been a little preoccupied.”

“Yeah, we can tell,” Maria teases, shaking her head. “And judging by that big ol’ smile you’ve had plastered onto your face all afternoon, I’m guess that whatever’s on your mind is a good thing and not a bad one.”

You glance down at the plate of fresh garden salad on your lunch tray, avoiding your friend’s curious gaze.

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’d started meeting with Joel. Early on, you both decided it was safest to meet after midnight and spent a couple of hours together, going your separate ways in the earlier hours of the morning just before sunrise to avoid being seen by anyone who woke at dawn for first shift work duties. Once you were certain that Luke was fast asleep, you’d carefully climb out of bed and silently slip out of the house, then walk over to Joel’s where he would already be waiting for you on his front porch. You would sit together on his porch swing—you wrapped up in the warm embrace of his strong arms, your head on his chest as you talked, stole kisses, and held each other for as long as possible until it was time to return to reality.

The reality where you’re not his and he’s not yours.

You’d tell him stories about where you grew up, described to him the foothills of your town and talked about your family’s ranch with fondness, with such passion that at one point, Joel had started to feel like he’d been there before. You told him about your family, your childhood, the dreams you had before the outbreak had pulled the rug from beneath your feet—and he listened earnestly, wanting to know everything there was to know about you. In exchange, Joel would tell you about his own life before the world ended. He’d talk about his life growing up with Tommy in Texas, how the two of them became contractors and started their own business together. He wasn’t quite as open as you had been, and oftentimes, you could sense Joel wasn’t ready to fully open up to you about his past—not only his past before the outbreak, but everything in between then and when he’d arrived in Jackson with Ellie. He wasn’t ready to talk about any of it, and you didn’t mind it.

Just like with Ellie, you’re willing to be as patient with Joel as you need to be.

Maria’s voice breaks into your train of thought. “What’s got you grinning from ear to ear, anyhow? Is there something we should know about?” She pauses, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth before asking, “Is there some kind of special news that you maybe want to share?” Placing a hand over her small, but now prominent baby bump, she gives you a hint as to what she’s insinuating.

She’d never lost faith that, one day, it’s going to happen for you and Luke. But little does she know that your desire to carry your husband’s child died a long, long time ago.

“I’m not pregnant,” you tell her, causing her to frown in disappointment. You finally look up at her and shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. To add another casual touch, you reach for your glass of iced tea and take a sip before saying calmly, “I’ve just been in a good mood lately, that’s all. I don’t think that’s anything too out of the ordinary, is it?”

Before either of them can chime in and say another word, a familiar voice rings over the loud, lively chatter in the mess hall. “Ladies!” Esther hurries over to your table and drops down into the vacant chair beside yours. “I’m so glad you’re all here!”

“Where the hell else would we be?” Martha remarks with a snort. “It’s lunchtime, Estie.”

“Where’s your lunch tray?” Maria questions her. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

Esther waves her hand dismissively. “You will never guess what I just did,” she says, excitedly, looking around the table. She waits and when nobody responds, she rolls her eyes and urges, “Come on, take a guess!”

“We’re not teenagers,” Martha chuckles, tossing her an eye roll right back. “Just fucking spit it out. What did you do?”

“I asked Joel to come over for dinner tonight!”

As you’re about to take a bite of your lunch, you drop your fork and it clinks loudly against your plate. All three women glance at you.

“Sorry,” you mutter quickly, your cheeks burning. “Clumsy me.”

Martha turns her attention back to Esther. She shoots her a skeptical look. “You asked Joel Miller over for dinner—and the man said yes? Are you serious?”

Beaming, Esther nods. “Yes! He’s coming over to my place. Tonight.”

Your stomach gives a violent, nauseating churn and for a split second, you’re afraid you’ll be sick all over the table.

“Wow,” Maria says, incredulously. “I can hardly even believe it. My brother in law likes to keep to himself most of the time. I can’t picture him agreeing to a dinner date.”

Esther doesn’t seem offended—in fact, there’s a glimmer of pride in her eyes. “Well, you had best believe it,” she says with a smug smile. “Because tonight, I do in fact have a dinner date with Joel Miller.”

You still haven’t said a word. 

You can’t speak.

You feel like you can’t even breathe. 

All you want to do is get up and leave the table before you can hear another word come out of Esther’s mouth, but you know you can’t do that without raising suspicion—or making your jealousy painfully obvious.

Esther turns to you and waits expectantly for your reaction. “Well?”

“That’s great,” you manage to reply, giving her the best supportive smile you can muster under the circumstances. “I’m really happy for you, Esther.”

“Wait, so if you’re going to cook the man dinner, then does that mean you’re going to be his dessert?” Maria jokes, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Of course,” Esther smirks. “Oh, with the things I plan on doing to him tonight, I’ll have to go down to the church house tomorrow morning and confess all my sins.”

The women burst into a fit of schoolgirl giggles. 

Suddenly, you feel even sicker than you did a minute ago, but you have no choice but to force yourself to laugh along with them.

“Alright, come on, my love. Let’s pick up the pace. That’s a good girl,” you murmur softly in encouragement to Luna. You’re outside in the paddock hand walking the mare and observing her legs, searching for abnormalities in her trot. Ellie had mentioned she thought she’d seen the horse in some discomfort while she’d been out on an afternoon ride. Wanting to see it for yourself, you decided to take Luna on a stroll out in the paddock while Ellie and Dina are inside the stables taking care of the grooming. “Come on, pretty girl. Little bit faster now—”

The sound of Joel’s deep voice saying your name causes you to stop in your tracks. Stiffening, you glance over your shoulder.

He approaches the paddock, his rifle hanging over his shoulder by a worn, black leather strap—you immediately know he’s just gotten in from afternoon patrol. He’d mentioned to you that he had been taking on extra shifts, even working doubles after there had been sightings of potential raiders fifteen miles south of the gates. Afraid they’d draw closer to the commune, Tommy decided to heighten security, placing more men and women on the wall as well as on every patrol route.

“Hi,” you greet him. There’s a cool edge to your tone as you turn back towards Luna. You don’t even realize how hard you’re gripping the lead rope in your hand until you look down and notice how tightly your skin is stretched over your knuckles. “Ellie’s in Shimmer’s stall brushing her.”

Joel chuckles. “S’good to know, but I came to see you, darlin’,” he states, lowering his voice. There’s no one else out in the paddock, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. Being seen together can easily be played off by the fact that his kid’s working in the stables—but being overheard would be detrimental to yours and his blooming relationship. “Listen, I had an idea I wanted to run by you. Was thinkin’ we could meet out behind the barn tonight. Might be a bit safer than hangin’ out on my front porch—no risk of the neighbors seein’ us. What do you think?”

You don’t reply. 

“We’re still on for tonight, ain’t we?” he asks, his hopefulness subtle, but present. “S’the first time all goddamn week I ain’t gotta work a double or do overnight patrol.”

You lift your unoccupied hand, resting it on Luna’s neck, focusing your eyes on her. “I don’t know, Joel. You tell me—are we still on for tonight?”

Frowning, Joel reaches out and places his hand on your arm—you immediately jump away, as if he’d burned you. “Hey, hey.” Though he’s confused, he remains composed. “What’s the matter?”

You try to meet his gaze, but you can’t even look at him. “Nothing, Joel.”

Stepping forward, he hooks a finger underneath your chin, lifting it as his eyes try finding yours. “Baby, look at me—”

“Joel, stop,” you hiss, swatting his hand away, your head furiously whipping around. “Don’t do that! Someone could see us.”

“Relax, darlin’. No one’s around. What the hell’s got you so worked up?” Perplexed by your strange behavior, Joel’s eyebrows pinch together. “There somethin’ I should know ‘bout? Did somethin’ happen with Luke?”

Your jaw clenches.

Either he’s a gifted actor or he’s genuinely clueless. 

But Esther is your friend.

Surely Joel knows you would find out about their dinner date.

“Talk to me,” he encourages softly. 

You release a small, but heavy sigh.

“I was having lunch in the mess hall with Martha and Maria today. Esther joined us and she told us all about how she invited you over to her place for dinner tonight.” You cringe at the way your own voice trembles. “She said you accepted.”

“Jesus, I knew that woman had a big fuckin’ mouth,” Joel mutters, irritably. He shakes his head. “Yeah, s’true. I accepted the invitation,” Noticing the disappointment—the hurt—that flashes in your eyes, he holds up his hands in defense as he begins to explain himself. “Look, it just happened. Me and Tommy were walkin’ to the mess hall after mornin’ patrol to grab a quick bite to eat before headin’ back out for afternoon watch when she came up to us and said hello. She asked me right then and there if I wanted to come over to her place for dinner—right in front of Tommy. She put me on the spot and I blurted out a yes ‘cause I knew Tommy would give me shit if I said no to her. Trust me baby, I wanted to tell her no. Almost did, but Tommy’s been insistent on help’ me meet someone. Figured acceptin’ one dinner would get his ass off my back.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, your eyes flit down and you stare at your boots in silence.

“Wait just a minute.” There’s a hint of amusement on Joel’s tone. “You ain’t jealous, are you darlin’?”

“I’m so glad you think this is funny,” you mumble, your face growing warm under his curious stare. You finally bring yourself to lift your gaze and it meets his. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s being honest, but that does nothing to make you feel any better—or any less envious. Foolishly, you add, “She’s planning to seduce you, Joel. She said something about being your dessert.”

He smirks. “She really said that?”

You glare at him. “Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?”

Joel laughs. “Oh, c’mon now, peach. Y’know I’m just messin’ with you. Esther could serve me dinner naked and I still wouldn’t be tempted,” he reassures you, confidently. “Look, I’m just goin’ over to her place to have dinner with her. That’s all. After that, I’m gonna head back home and wait ‘til it’s time to see you. Alright?”

Anxiously, you nibble the inside of your cheek. 

You believe him. Of course you believe him. But there’s another part of you, the jealous part of you, that isn’t thinking rationally. Esther’s one of the most beautiful women in the entire fucking town—maybe he feels certain he’s not interested now, but all it could take is one look into her crystal skies to make him realize he could find happiness with someone he doesn’t have to sneak around with.

“I’ll meet you tonight,” he promises. “I will.”

“Joel, what if something happens and you decide not to show?”

“M’gonna show, peach.”

“But Joel—”

You stop abruptly as Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and begins to walk away from you. 

“Midnight,” he says over his shoulder. “Behind the barn.”

Squinting, you hold your watch up to the moonlight to check the time.

It’s five minutes after twelve and Joel’s nowhere in sight. 

He’s coming, you silently offer yourself the reassurance as the panic begins to settle in. Relax. He’s coming. He said he would be here, so he’ll be here. 

…but what if he isn’t?

For all you know, Joel and Esther could be in her bed right now, tangled up in each other’s arms as they—

A pair of large, rough hands grab at your sides, startling you out of your thoughts.

Squealing in fear, you whirl around.

Joel doubles over slightly, muffling a laugh in the palm of his hand. 

“Joel,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes at him. Slowly, your heartbeat slows, returning to its normal rhythm. “That wasn’t funny! You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“Y’must have your head up in the clouds if you didn’t hear me comin’, darlin’.” Grinning, he reaches out and pulls you into his arms. He goes in for a kiss and chuckles again when you turn your face, his mouth meeting your temple instead of your lips. He gives your body a gentle squeeze. “C’mon, sweet girl. Don’t I get a kiss hello tonight?”

You lightly push him away. “That depends,” you state, taking a step backwards. “On whether or not you got a kiss from a certain blonde earlier this evening.”

Joel’s eyes twinkle. “Wow. You really are jealous, huh?”

You say nothing as you wait expectantly for his answer.

His smile fades slightly as he admits, “She, uh—she did try to kiss me tonight.”

Crestfallen, your heart sinks deeply.

“I dodged it,” he adds, quickly. “Look, Esther’s a nice woman and she’s real pretty—”

“Keep talking, Joel,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re doing great.”

Joel exhales something caught between a scoff and a laugh. His fingers curl around your wrists as he tugs you forward into his chest once more. “But she ain’t you, peach.”

Surprised, you glance up at him, your lips parting slightly.

“Y’know what I was thinkin’ ‘bout the whole time I was with her?”

“What?”

“How fuckin’ bad I couldn’t wait for it to be over,” he tells you. “All I was doin’ was countin’ down the minutes ‘til I could go back home—and when I did go home, I started countin’ down the minutes ‘til it was time to come see you.”

The tense, taut muscles in your body finally relax.

“Really?”

“Swear it on my life,” Joel murmurs. “I’m hooked on you, baby. Been hooked since the first time you ever smiled at me. You remember that mornin’?”

“Of course I do. During winter, in the stables. You were in Buck’s stall, saddling him up when I walked by and saw you.” You laugh softly as you recall, “You didn’t smile back at me.”

Exhaling an amused huff through his nose, Joel presses his lips to your forehead. “Yeah, I know I didn’t,” he acknowledges quietly against your skin, his guilt evident. “But I couldn’t forget it. Even after all that time passed when I wasn’t here, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget it and I didn’t know why. And then when I came back, I saw you again and you gave me that same goddamn smile. You even know what it did to me, peach? Hell, do you even know what you do to me, baby?”

You lean forward, resting your head on his chest. Closing your eyes, you relish in the feeling of his heartbeat thumping softly against your cheekbone.

Joel nuzzles his face into your hair. “Don’t want anyone else but you,” he declares. “Swear it. You’ve got me, sweetheart. Alright?”

Eyes still closed, you make him the same promise. “And you’ve got me.”

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller series #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller one shot #joel x reader #joel x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #fic: a safe haven #fic: ash

[varenykmeson]

Average Bunji experience.

#gungrave #gungrave gore #bunji kugashira #ok but bunji in gore is a whole new level of unkillable #bastard was shown literally hanging of who-knows-who when grave and zell shot him to pieces and then the whole scumland was reduced to ashe #not to mention before that he got shown into a laser/whatever that was and then who-knows-who throttled him #yet here he is smoking a cigarette he technically speaking shouldn't even be in possesion of #because his allegedly last one was ruined by who-knows-who few minutes ago

[blueish-bird]

every time I rewatch Pacific Rim’s scene of the bigass robot wielding an oil tanker like a baseball bat to hit the alien monster it’s a healing experience

#‘and here comes Danger with the metal chair!’ #it’s not perfect and more than a little cheesy but. man I love that movie. #cheesy is good. heartfelt and concerned more with a fun time than being 100% logically sound #I’m overcome by childlike wonder. and love of fights/explosions/kickass monster designs #younger me was out for imaginary blood #love me some good fight choreography and creative methods of destruction #the kaiju designs are So Good I’m gnawing on them #honestly? still looks pretty fuckin cool if I say so myself #arguably some shots/designs for the pilot suits held up worse than the CGI #idk man it just. Looks Good. solid work from the CGI artists holy shit #meposting #pacific rim #it’s about love and family and vulnerability and community and living with consequences #and monsters. and bigass robots. #and ron perlman #rewatched in part to work more on my CSM Pacific Rim au hehe #one of the parts of the soundtrack reminded me of Promare’s song ASHES and now I want to rewatch Promare #my pacific rim thoughts