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thisisourlovestory · 5 months

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Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.1k

Please bear in mind that this is my first fanfic. It will be multiple chapters but release dates are uncertain as I am fairly busy and also procrastination is my best friend. I am open to constructive criticism if you have any. Thanks and enjoy!

Prologue:

The moment President Snow said those words I froze. I couldn’t breathe. Because I could be going back in. Back into the arena. My breath came in short gasps and I leaned against the wall. When I finally gathered the courage to go out the others were already there, Annie, Finnick and Mags. Huddled together in the centre of victor's village, Annie’s face red with tears, Mags opening and closing her mouth in what could only be anger. And Finnick holding himself together, just barely but managing it, holding Annie tightly in his arms as if she was the only thing stopping him from breaking.

I stood on the porch, leaning against the wooden frame of my house, arms crossing my body. None of them noticed me, I was invisible to them. I was the victor they didn't need, I was just a pretty thing for the capitol to put on display every night. Most of the time I stayed away from victor's village and none of them ever made any attempt to get to know me, I guess I just faded into the background for them. It's not really their fault, they didn't expect me to survive my games, no one did, I was just another tiny thirteen year old in the 68th Hunger Games, no allies, no weapons, no food and no hope. Just a pair of worn ballet shoes and a small bag I had nicked to keep them in. I would have died in the bloodbath had a tribute from 10 not stepped in front of an axe meant for me. I remember the blood splattering across my face as he fell onto me, I had pushed him off, grabbed his bag and ran into the forest.

I barely managed to survive, the frozen wasteland was unforgiving, animals were scarce but there had at least been enough water. At the end of the first day there had been eight cannons, the second three, the third five, the fourth two, the fifth another two. There were four of us left, the others all career tributes who had plentiful supplies and an alliance. I was able to hide from them for five more days before they had found me. Their leader, Arion from district 2, had shot me in the arm as I tried to get away, I fell and my blood painted the crystal white snow red. They weren't smart now that I think about it, they wanted to play with me; that was their mistake. I killed the girl first, hit her over the head with my ballet shoes, the hard box disorienting her long enough for me to slit her throat with her own knife, the cannon sounded and I killed her district partner as well, piercing his heart with the same knife. That had only left Arion.

I avoided him for a few days but he found me again, probably following the trail of blood I left behind. Except this time I was ready for him. I struck first, flinging my shoes through the air, hitting him on the temple, a trickle of blood falling from the cut formed. He reacted quicker than I expected, swinging his sword wildly, but I was small and fast- like a little bird my mother always said- I threw the knife in a practised motion, letting go of the handle, spinning it slightly, my hand following the line as it hit him dead centre in the chest. He had stared at me. In shock and disbelief that I'd been able to best him. The final cannon went off and I had won. I was the victor of the 68th annual Hunger Games.

For a while it was okay, chauffeured around, fussed over and doted on by my stylists, I was living the dream of every child. But it got old, I became used to people cooing over me, patting my hair, asking me questions. And then I discovered that even if you get out of the arena, you never truly win, you always have to give back something of yourself, a repayment of sorts. You get to live and we get you was how it sounded when President Snow made me the offer. Except it wasn't an offer, it was an order; that's how I found myself as a Capitol slave at the age of fourteen, performing night and day for the rich, barely getting a second's rest. Dancing until my toes bled through my shoes, smearing red across the delicate satin. Singing until my throat was raw and I coughed up the same red my shoes now were.

The only person who ever offered me some comfort was Finnick. About a month after my games had ended I started having nightmares, I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night and he would hear me and come over to make sure I was okay. We formed a kind of friendship, me thirteen and traumatised, him seventeen and still carrying on. He would fall asleep watching over me, reassuring me that I was okay, I got out. We fell into a routine and by the time I was fifteen the nightmares were a rare occurrence. Then Annie won and it all changed. She became the priority for him, the priority for everyone, she had been broken in the arena and her mind never seemed to fully return to her. I thought he would come back to me, but as I woke up screaming one night and there was nobody there to hold me while I cried, as another scream pierced the air; a door slammed open and I saw Finnick running across to Annie's house, I knew I had lost him. I had lost the one person who I had loved and who truly seemed to care about me.

I watched them grow closer to each other. He built her up again brick by brick, unknowingly tearing me apart again piece by piece until I was nothing but an empty shell. He stopped her nightmares, whispering soothing words to her as I tossed and turned, eventually I would wake up, sweating and screaming, eyes wide and frantic as I clutched the knife I kept by my bedside. But no one ever came. I couldn’t blame Annie, she was the kindest person I knew and it wasn't her fault Finnick loved her, it wasn't her fault he didn't love me.

So I dealt with it. I swallowed the pain that welled up in me and buried every thought I had ever had about him deep in my memory, never to see the light of day again. And it worked, I got on with life, going about my daily routine, dancing, singing, eating, sleeping, then doing it all again. I attended parties in the Capitol, laughing and smiling at people, agreeing with their every word. I wasn't happy, but I didn't need to be, I just needed to be alive.

So that was how I found myself after the announcement of the Quarter Quell, watching Mags, Annie and Finnick from the sidelines. My face blank as they comforted each other, not sparing me a second glance. They had all but forgotten I existed. I waited for them to go inside before I ran out of the large gates separating us from the rest of District 4. I ran along the cliffs, wind whipping my hair into a tangled mess. I reached the edge and stood still, staring out at the roiling ocean, grey waves crashing against the shoreline, foam spraying the cliff face. My heart was pounding in my ears, drowning out the sound of the sea. The air grew cold around me as my chest constricted and I gasped for breath. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.

Tears poured down my face as I sank to my knees and cried. Guttural sobs tearing from my throat, my chest heaving with each one as I clutched the grass beneath me. Fingers digging into the wet soil, clenching and unclenching in time with the beating of my heart as I tried to ground myself. Gradually, my heart slowed and I pulled my hands out of the ground. I breathed shakily, dirt trapped under my nails as I scratched at the skin on my wrist. I lifted it up so I could see the mark laying there. Stark black against pale skin. Forever inked on my body. A trident and a flower, interwoven with each other.

It was a soulmark. It appeared when I turned 17, as they did for every other person. The person with the same mark is my soulmate, they could be anyone. But I already know who it is even if he doesn't. I saw it one night and then when I got mine I knew immediately but by that point it was already too late. He was already in love with Annie. I stared at it, it wasn't very noticeable, easy to hide from people; pretty as well I suppose, then again they say it's the most beautiful things that are the most dangerous. And this mark, this tiny little mark held the power to destroy me if the wrong person so much as caught a glance of it. I let out a soft laugh, how pointless it all seemed now that everything I had could be taken from me again. I had worked so hard to build up this facade, pretending everything was fine and with a few words it had all come crashing down.

I shook my head and stood up, giving a last look to the sea as I turned and walked back the way I had come. People talking about the announcement anywhere I pass, I paid them no mind, holding my head high as my feet hit the cobblestones with sharp thwacks.

“Who do you think will be reaped?”

“It's such a shame really.”

“We only have three victors anyway.”

I ignored them all, they pretended I didn't exist and I'd do the same for them, it's not as if they cared. I finally reached the small gathering of houses the victors lived in and stood outside the gate. The metal tarnished from years of standing in the elements, wooden stakes seeming to wilt under my heavy gaze. I reached out a shaky hand and pushed the metal forwards, opening it only slightly so I could slip in without making the usual clanging sound. I slowly walked towards the fountain in the centre of the square and sat down on the edge, trailing my fingers in the water as my gaze focused on the centrepiece. A mermaid, carved from marble, her hair flowing in the current, tail curving up to the sky, each scale distinguishable. A steely expression was painted on her face, that of a commander, a leader. An odd message from the Capitol, to show the mermaid as being powerful, to show us as powerful, and yet hidden in the water below the statue, in the basin of the fountain, laid a golden net. A message that we had won, but we would always be theirs and we could never escape.

My hand ran through my hair as I hummed quietly to myself, my other hand drifting along the water as I sat cross legged on the edge of the fountain. My eyes wandered across to Mags’ house where they had all decided to go. They were talking amongst themselves, Mags placing a reassuring hand on Finnick's shoulder and him muttering calming words to Annie. I felt sick, all the feelings I had locked away bubbled back to the surface because why could it not be me? Why was it her? What had I done wrong? My eyes watered slightly as I tried to hold back tears at the sight of them being so sickeningly perfect for one another. Not that it should've been me in his arms but it would be nice to know someone cared enough to check up on me, help me through the hard moments in life. Once upon a time I had thought he was that person and look where that got me, in deeper pain than I had been before.

I sighed deeply, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, and started up the steps to my house, the front porch, a few small plants in ornate pots, wisteria growing up the trellis, light purple blooms adding a little something to the otherwise grey picture. I took a last look at them across the square, smiles on their faces as if they had forgotten the news we received earlier. I guess that's what happens when you have people you can talk to, who understand and try to help. I twisted the doorknob, stepping inside, closing the door behind me, leaning against it for support. I didn't notice the eyes that watched me. Or maybe I just didn't want to.

#finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick odair x reader #angst #the hunger games #catching fire #fanfic #finnick odair x you #thg x reader #thg series #implied Finnick x Annie

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oonajaeadira · 9 months

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Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 3: Autumn

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Angst. Canon-typical tragedy (not main characters). Childbirth. A few names that may twist a knife.

Summary: You give Joel a lot to think about.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

It takes a lot to gain Joel's trust, and even longer to tame him. Thanks for sticking it out this long. We're finally shifting into acceptance mode.

“No, they do not make you look old. They make you look like Joel Miller in glasses. Just like the last five pairs. These are distinguished.”

“Looks like something my old man would have worn.”

“Your dad must have been a stunner. Assume the position. Bottom line.”

Turning him by his shoulders, you square Joel up to the line on the floor across from the eye chart at the back of the Jackson commissary.

“P…E Z O L C…F…T D.”

You pass him a handwritten note. “Good. Now use the bottom half of the lenses to read this one. Do it without squinting.”

Taking the paper, he squints. You pull on his arm to distance it correctly and he stops. He stares at the paper for a while. You might be concerned at the pause if he wasn’t taking a comically elongated time, breathing out hard through his nose, his jaw ticking left to right, feigning decisions, trying not to laugh. “Gimme a pencil.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach over to the counter and snag a pencil out of a cup and hand it to him, watch his eyebrows lift, his head shake, and give another dramatic sigh as he marks the paper before handing both the note and the pencil back over to you.

Joel Miller, will you go to the harvest dance with me? [x] yes or [ ] no.

“I don’t think these are gonna work,” he points to the black frames on his face. “Can’t read a damn thing. Not one damn word–” He can’t even make it through the sentence without cracking a smile, and only fully laughs when you playfully punch him in the arm.

“I’ll have you know this is a binding contract whether you can see it or not,” you join him in the tease, fanning the note in his face. “Just how blind are you???”

“Well, maybe I was working up to asking you the same question so…I guess not as blind as you seem to think.”

This slowly melts your laughter down to a smile. “Working up to it? What’s there to work up to? You mean… Did you…not want to?”

When his own smile fades, you realize too late that maybe he didn’t.

While you and Joel have fallen into a close friendship over the past few months, sometimes that’s all it really seems to be. There are moments that come close to something more–an arm draped over the back of your chair–or perhaps across your shoulders–as you stand in the back yard watching the fireflies, always a ready hand to help you up from a chair or the ground. If the two of you are ever in the same room, he’s always near, keeping you on his left where he can hear you. It took a while, but both Joel and Ellie have just stopped knocking when they come by, treating your house as they do Maria and Tommy’s–like family.

There are times he smiles in that way where his eyes shimmer and you think he’s coming around to falling for you. But he never pushes for more and you are beginning to wonder if he even wants that. After all, you’d learned from Tommy what life in a QZ can do to a person….and that’s on top of all the years the brothers spent surviving in some of the most violent and criminal ways possible.

Sometimes when you all sit out on Maria’s porch after dinner and watch the sunset together, he might take your hand in one of his–big, warm, roughened but gentle. And it’s at those times you almost forget about how he’d used it in the past. Almost.

With his bare hands, Tommy had said. Just come up behind ‘em and squeeze.

It takes time to become someone else. You always knew you’d need patience.

You just never braced yourself for something….a little less than affection.

“Listen, Songbird,” he sighs, his jaw shifting hard to one side. “I don’t want you to think–”

“Oh yeah, lookin’ goooooood,” Ellie’s opinion precedes your notice of her entrance. “Hey there, professor. I was looking for a book on relativity. Any suggestions?”

Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, he ignores her sass and turns instead to the commissary register to mark down the inventory he’s taking. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Maria?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, picking up an earthenware mug from a shelf and admiring the owl painted on it. “Her water broke. Baby’s coming. Can I claim this mug?”

“What??” Your body jerks, ready to run, but just barely holding back, shifting all the dismay you were just collecting and using it to power a new anxiety.

Joel’s head whips around, the glasses staying mercifully in place. “What are you doin’ looking for us? Go get Dr. Johnson!”

“Unclench yourself, my good sir. I already did. Went to her–” she says to him and then winks to you,”-- and Willa, thank you very much. You two didn’t tell me where you were going, you think I’m dumb enough to spend time hunting you down first? I’d be looking up and down Main forever. Have been. Almost went out back to see if you were eating spaghetti in the alley with one long noodle between you. Baby’s probably already here by now, jeez.” She spins on her heel, tapping the mug with a finger. “I’m taking this, thanks.”

Joel exchanges a look with you, the former conversation shoved roughly aside for a new concern. “I’ll register it and grab a few other necessaries. You go.”

This is no time to pick up the dropped dialogue but… maybe…should you stay and help? Oh. It takes a second to click that you can leave it to him. You don’t have to tell the man what’s needed for a new baby…after all, he knows more than you. Even if it was a whole other life or two ago.

And with a nod, you shelve your feelings for one more day and jog out the door to catch up with Ellie.

_____

Willa’s just walking out the door by the time you get to Maria and Tommy’s.

“You’re going?”

“For now,” she nods, working her shoes back onto her feet. “She’s got a while to go. It looks like it will be a pretty straightforward labor.”

“Did Dr. Johnson have anything to say?”

Her exhale tests high for irritation. “She’s upstairs. Why not go ask her yourself.”

“Wait. Willa. Did she send you away? I didn’t want to call her, but Joel thought–”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to go take a nap so I can get through the night. But she’s using up all the air in the room and what Maria needs is to rest as much as she can and let it come. A good midwife would know that. Too bad the medical authority in this town is a gastroenterologist and not an obstetrician. It’s a baby and she’s treating it like an obstructed bowel.” Muttering something further about obstructions and matters of the bowel in regards to Dr. Johnson, Willa pats you on the shoulder before making her exit. “Maria can have water for a couple more hours, then sips only. Make sure she eats something.”

Upstairs you find your old friend in full concentration mode–laying on her bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead smooth but glistening–as she awaits the next contraction. Tommy’s curled up next to her, holding one of her hands, his forehead to her temple, matching her breath for breath.

Her other hand is being held aloft as the good Doctor checks her pulse. “Family only,” she condescends as you enter the room.

“Good idea,” you say, plonking down at the end of the bed with enough of a bounce that Maria opens her eyes and glares from behind her belly. When you point to her swollen feet and let your eyebrows request consent, she nods, shuts her eyes, and focuses back on the process as you take a foot onto your lap and start to massage.

Maria groans in contentment and Dr. Johnson takes it for discomfort. Turning to you, her silvery hair pulled back into a tight braid, her frown causes her jowls to deepen. “I really must insist that you clear the room. The fewer distractions she has, the better things are going to go for her.”

You pull your stockinged feet up onto the bed. “Is that how it was when you had kids?”

“I never had children,” the doctor snaps.

“I see. Well, Maria said she was gonna freak out if I wasn’t here, so it seems now we’ve got ourselves a conundrum between what the doctor says and the patient wants. But, seeing as how this is her second child and she is very much my family, I think I’m going with her wishes on this. I never got to meet the first one; I’m sure as hell not gonna miss a minute of my new godchild.”

“Who said you were going to be the godmother?” Maria grumbles.

“I did. It’s your own fault. You left the position open and nature abhors a vacuum, so I’m gonna plug my old ass into that hole.”

“You are mixing so many metaphors there. Where’s–nnnnn,” her face becomes a wall of teeth as the contraction hits, her body a live wire as you and Tommy move to soothe. It takes a good minute for her breathing to slow enough to ask, “Where’s…Willa?”

“She says she’ll check back in tonight. You’ll probably be at this awhile.”

“Well, then, if you’ve got your magic healing woman then I’m not really needed here,” Dr. Johnson’s smile only travels halfway up her face. “Blood pressure’s doing well, no signs of abnormality. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you need me, you know where to find me. Just send the foul-mouthed girl again. Certainly with a set of lungs like that, she can easily wake me up in a matter of minutes.”

Nobody stops the good doctor on her way out and the train of her passive-aggressive, attention-seeking attitude trails behind her.

“She means well,” Tommy answers your scathing look.

“Your wife didn’t ask for her.”

“My wife’s never been through labor without drugs before. And she’s older now. I just…” his eyes soften on her with concern as he leans in and presses a kiss to Maria’s forehead, “I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s Maria. Of course she will be.”

The subject groans with a minor cramp. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here and go make me a taco. I’m starving.”

She’s less than thrilled with the berries you bring instead– “water and fiber now, carbs later” –but is placated with you reading her to sleep from one of her favorite Amy Tan novels. Every now and then she wakes up with a contraction, but a little soothe in your voice and she’s out again.

After a few hours, Tommy goes to nap in a spare room and Willa returns with a bag full of clean linens, ready to take over, sending you out to get your own nap in.

It’s quiet downstairs, the setting sun throwing long shadows through the western windows, mixing with a few faint rainbows still filtering through the leaded stained glass over the door.

Maria’s not far from you in age. If there were still doctors in hospitals, they’d call her pregnancy not just geriatric, but advanced geriatric. Even with all the medicine that used to be available, she and the baby would still be under the care of several wary eyes. If they both make it, they’ll have beaten the odds. If they don’t–

Slumping down on the couch and pouring yourself over it–just to put your feet up and your head down for a second…just a second–you push worry out of your orbit. This isn’t a world to worry in anymore. What comes comes. All you can do is what you can do. Maria is strong. Tommy loves her. Willa’s capable. The baby’s on time. Everything’s going to be fine.

It has to be.

It hurts too much to consider an alternative.

_____

When your eyes open again, the house is dark and quiet, the sun long since set.

Although, not so quiet when your stomach growls. Nor so dark either, as you notice a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

A simple investigation leads you to a tea candle burning in a jar on the countertop, next to a scrap of paper with your name scrawled on it and a plate covered in a linen dishcloth, under which you discover a flatbread sandwich.

One look at the handwriting and you can imagine Joel coming by to check up on things only to find you asleep on the couch. There was no gentle-but-possibly-disruptive blanket-covering, no “thought you could use something to eat” beside your name on the note. Nothing but reverent candlelight and one word to let anyone who found the plate know for whom it was intended, no requests or commands, just a quiet devotion, a simple offering to a sleeping idol to be taken or left as you chose.

If he doesn’t want you to fall any harder for him, he’s doing a terrible job.

_____

The final labor comes the following morning, Tommy holding one of Maria’s hands and you the other–both of you gritting your teeth as her grip leaves bruises–and Willa holding the soles of Maria’s feet, giving her something to push against.

Joel’s been tasked with guarding the door to the house since Maria’s taken to screaming with each push–not in pain, but in ferocity–and the neighbors have been coming around in concern. He’s quick to turn them around and send them on their way and you’ve gathered from Ellie’s reports that they seemed offended until she started volunteering the information that Willa is upstairs helping out. Then everyone readily accepts that all is well and being taken care of.

But Maria, she’s the real star of the show here. Yes, she’s in pain, and yes, she’s tired and weeping–no tears, dehydrated–but she’s nothing if not a fighter. She wouldn’t be in Jackson without that being true. And, frankly, Jackson wouldn’t be Jackson if it weren’t true either.

When it’s all done and the delivery miraculously comes off without a hitch, when Willa checks the baby boy over and finds him responsive and healthy, ties him off and hands him over to Tommy, taking her leave to go wash up and rest, the room is eerily quiet.

“Hello, little man. I’m your dad,” Tommy whispers, on the edge of tears but too tired to cry as he sits next to Maria and shares the bundle with her, the two of them staring down in awe at the tiny new human. “I’m your dad, and this is your beautiful, strong, fantastic mamma. And your auntie’s here too and we’re all damn happy to meet you. Welcome home.”

Maria smiles wide, the pain already fading to memory, an unnecessary detail she’s gonna leave behind her in exchange for exponentially better days ahead.

“Good job, you three.” Adding to the kiss count on Maria’s head, you start to pick up some discarded towels and sheets, preparing to leave the new family to rest. “Did you finally agree on a name?”

“Oh, I think I settled early on,” Maria sighs, completely in love. “Riley.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Nice. Where’d that one come from?”

“Ellie suggested it and it just hit me right. It’s a good name for a boy or girl, but mostly I liked it because it’s a fighting name. All riled up and ready to go.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Maria snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. After all, he is a Miller.”

“Damn right,” Tommy whispers, bestowing his legacy.

It’s an easy decision to make, your vow of silence. You’ll never let them know you feared losing her. Not when there’s more now to protect, more to love.

There's been enough fear. It isn't worth your time.

_____

Over the next week and change, a routine easily emerges. You make yourself available during the day for any needs–help with cooking, diaper washing, or just rocking Riley while Maria has a bath or Tommy needs a nap. After school, Ellie comes by and adds two more hands, truly turning childrearing into a village affair. Joel’s the last to add to the party after the sun starts getting low and construction on the new district slows down for the day, earlier if it’s his day for patrol. Every night is family dinner night now and sometimes Riley’s actually awake enough to join them.

Ellie can’t get enough of her new little friend. If she’s got empty hands she willingly fills them with baby, either rocking him or laying him on a cushion to watch him watching her. She’s not had a lot of experience with babies or newborns other than the lambs, but she’s a quick learner. It’s just one more thing that this harder world has deprived her of. Babies were few and far between in the QZ and Ellie seems bound and determined to make up for lost time, not wanting to miss an instant of growth or change.

Joel, on the other hand, is more stoic. If he was hard of hearing before, it almost completely disappears when Riley’s in the crook of his arm. He can’t help but be captivated by his new nephew and you catch a fond smile creeping along his cheek now and then, but there’s always something a little sad behind it, and when the light catches a glimmer off the face of his broken wristwatch, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking.

It’s during one of these moments when Maria’s napping and Ellie and Tommy are out in the yard, that you finish up the dishes and plop yourself down on the couch next to Joel.

“Your arm tired? Want me to take him?”

“No. I’m fine,” he says quietly, trying not to wake the boy. But the silence is more for himself than the baby–Riley sleeps hard. For now.

You simply draw a knee up onto the couch and lean your elbow against the back cushion, watching them, chin in hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” he finally asks.

“Enough leaves are down. Tommy’s out back showing her how to make a leaf pile. And what to do with it.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly what’s proper and good to do with leaf piles. “We used to have a big maple out back when we were kids. Dad spent hours raking and nothing he could say or do could keep us from demolishing his work. Whip our hides and we'd be back out there the next day making a mess.”

“Well, at least lawn maintenance isn’t such a priority anymore, right? Just think of all the leaf piles this one’s gonna get. Let the destruction commence.”

“Yeah.” It’s slow and subtle, but the light slowly leaks from him, a twilight descending over his brow. “I guess there’s still a few pleasures to be had for kids in this world.”

This is why he’s always so contemplative with Riley. Worrying. Taking everything he’s seen and experienced and piling them onto one little baby, doing the parent thing, hoping that they’ll have a better life…but doubting that it could ever happen.

“There’s always going to be something, Joel. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, there’d still be car accidents and kidnappers and war in some far off country and the capitalist job market. A kid has every chance to have a good life in this time as in any other. And even if it isn’t in the world we remember, this one has you and me and all of us in it to look after one little boy who gets to live a life. Isn’t that what’s great?”

“Is it?” He finally turns to you. “You think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into this disaster?”

His eyes lay bare the puncture you’ve made in him, his sorrow and apprehension starting to vent, and it seems he hopes you can patch the hole because god knows his hands are full and not steady enough to handle the delicate procedure.

“Hey. Kids are going to happen, Joel. People are still going to find each other and fall in love and I hate to break it to you, but babies are sometimes a consequence of that. Biology’s a hell of a thing. But just because it’s not the world we knew as kids doesn’t mean it’s not worth living in. In fact, Ellie and Riley are going to do better than us, because they were born into it. They’ll have all of this kind of living in their bones from birth and don’t have to take twenty years to relearn it all. Or use up twenty years living life with regret.”

You expect him not to take that well, but he surprises you, softens, and turns back to the baby, his eyes skipping to his watch.

Maria told you once that sometimes she’s glad that Kevin died. He was still young–only 3 and a half–but he would have remembered. He would have held trauma. Back then, a lot of the little ones were lost, either to hunger or to attack…they didn’t know enough to be quiet.

Sarah on the other hand…. Joel didn’t know it, but Tommy had said once that Sarah would have never made it in this world. Too good. Trusting. Gentle. She would have been taken advantage of or become severely damaged by the shift coming in her formative years. Children are resilient, but a teenager’s psyche could be a difficult thing.

“Still not a good idea,” he mumbles. “But he’s here now.”

“Thank god. Maria needed another man in her life to boss around.”

He’s not budged by your joke. Instead, he side-eyes you, hits you with a cynical question, trying to knock you off your rosy pedestal. “If you’re so happy about kids, why don’t you have any of your own?”

You shrug. “Got sheep. What. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Not every woman wants kids, Mr. Man. Even if they like them a whole lot.”

“Biology’s a hell of a thing.”

Catching his not-so-clever info gathering, you smirk. “I had other things to concentrate on. And in the meantime, the factory had blessedly closed down.”

He can’t help the instinct that makes him truly assess you now. “You’re not old enough for that.”

You chuckle. “I’m starting to think what you don’t know about women could fill a few books, Joel Miller. You let me know when you’re ready to brush up.”

It’s at this point that Ellie calls in from the porch, telling Joel to “get your flat ass out here! Tommy says you’re a champion leaf-piler!”

“Goddammit,” he hisses as Riley starts to stir.

“Go on,” you smile, holding your arms out for the baby. “I’ve got him. We’ll need to wake his mamma up so he can eat soon anyway. Go on outside and play with the other kids. Be home before dark.”

_____

A few nights later, you’re making assessment in a full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door in a room in your house you very barely use. When was the last time you really had a look at yourself? And when was the last time you wore a dress?

Sure, it’s a fall dress, fine-knit by Addie as a gift for bringing her on as a Roostling so many years ago. You keep it for special occasions, which means you get to wear it maybe once a year. The wool is undyed, so the natural oat goes well with your brown leather work boots. Unfortunately, shoes are at a premium, so having a second pair just for fancy isn’t really a thing anymore. Doesn’t matter. The weather’s been a bit wet and the streets a bit muddy. Boots’ll do you just fine.

But you haven’t worn your hair like this in ages. Freshly washed and let to dry rather than set back or under a bandanna for utilitarian purposes, you almost forgot what it looked like natural like this.

You almost forgot that you could actually clean up quite pretty. Huh. Imagine forgetting a thing like that.

The knock at the front door’s expected. Even though Ellie and Joel come and go as they please, tonight you knew he’d do the polite thing and knock. The comfortable part of you wants to call down and tell him to just come in. But the hopeful part of you knows that this is his way of making an effort. Of taking a step your way.

“You sure?” you’d asked Maria earlier in the afternoon. “You’re gonna be okay for the night?”

“It’s a dance, not a trip to the moon. And Ellie’s here. We’ll have fun.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about diaper changing duty, but smiling through it. “Please. Go. Get him out of the house. The later he comes home the better. Bonus points if he’s not back until morning.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

Maria only smirked in full agreement.

He’s waiting on your porch when you open the door, one thumb tucked into his belt, the other holding onto a porch pillar as he examines the sole of one boot.

“You step in something?”

“Shit, I hope not. I just cleaned these. I thought–” but of course he stops when he looks up and sees you. Joel himself doesn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and is dressed in a clean dark flannel and jeans, nothing you haven’t seen before–although tucked in this time–his hair is still wet and slicked back, exposing more of the gray.

Your getup, however, is a new sight for him, and he’s struck enough to let it show on his face. So you give him a twirl, let the dress swing a bit. “Get your fill, I only bring this out like once a year. You’ve earned it this time.”

The smile is subtle, but it’s there, along with the tiniest of nods.

It’s not a long walk to the mess hall, but on your way you both determine that Joel’s definitely stepped in something, and yes, it’s still worth holding his hand. Horses are gonna horse and stepping in crap is an everyday occurrence when you live around animals at the end of the world. He seems grateful and maybe a bit chagrined, but neither does he seem ready to let you go.

The mess hall’s brightly lit; several jack-o-lanterns carved by the town’s kids adorn the long tables which spill out into the street to make room for the buffet and the dancefloor inside. A good portion of the town is out tonight and mingling under the canopy of string lights.

Addie and Goldie are the first to find you and greet you, the former admiring her own handiwork on your dress–even if she’s much improved over the years–and the latter pushing mugs of warm cider at you and Joel. Willa, it seems, took to the Roost short after Riley’s birth, always opting to take solitary watch during big gatherings and celebrations. But she did help with the decorations and is responsible for a good portion of the cornbread on the banquet table. When they start asking questions about the baby, Joel politely excuses himself, muttering something about getting you a plate.

“And how’re you doing?” Goldie asks, nodding after Joel. “I didn’t think that grump would warm up to anyone, but I suppose you’re tenacious enough when you want someone. I don’t blame you. Grey Fox indeed. If I was twenty years older, we’d have to share.”

“Yeah, he’s coming around.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever take up with anyone again. I heard Ellie had a run-in with the lye.”

A sudden lump rises, nothing you can’t swallow down. “She’s fine. And so am I. Maybe I'm a little lonely is all. Maybe I got a type. Here’s to hoping I’m wrong where it counts!” You smile wide, clinking your mug with Goldie’s and drink deep, chasing away whatever guilt rudely decided to come calling.

Tonight’s supposed to be happy. Tonight’s your night with Joel. Just you and him. No family, no interruptions. The past is the past. And this night is easily the first of many.

Soon enough you catch him waving you down at one of the tables and join him for dinner.

“Figured you weren’t picky, so I got you some of everything.”

“Hells bells, Foxy. Were you planning on dancing with me at all tonight? Because I won’t be able to move if I eat all of this.”

At least he swallows what he’s chewing so he can answer you between forkfuls. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat what you don’t.”

“Then how are you gonna dance?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan on gettin’ rowdy. Not with these knees.”

“Oh my god, you old man. Did you really come here with me just to sit and eat? There’s a band playing. And they’re good. You’re not gonna dance with me?”

“To be honest,” he says, straining above the chatter spilling out of the hall and taking another bite of chicken, getting it mostly down before continuing with a pained squint, “I was never good at it. One of those ‘stand around with a beer and watch the band play’ kinda guys. But a pretty girl wanted me to slow dance, I could do that. More swaying than anything.”

“Well I guess that’s something to look forward to then.”

“Good thing you’re easy to please.”

It’s another hour sitting at the communal table, the night settling in and the fiddle and guitar music rolling out from inside the hall. A few friends come by to visit, Missy Tippett makes her way to Joel’s right side to flirt and he pretends to hear her, answering all questions with a “yep” even if they aren’t yes or no queries and you do your best not to laugh. True to his word, Joel takes on the leavings of your meal–nearly half the plate–while you chat with folks, and he rises beautifully to the challenge. Without having to scrape and scramble in the QZ or starving out in the wilds, he’s put on weight since the spring, just enough to fill out his hollowed cheeks and pleasantly soften down his belly. He keeps active with the construction enough that he’s putting away more fuel than storage, but it’s good to see him enjoying the harvest.

You’re mid-conversation with one of Willa’s brothers when Joel taps a knuckle on your elbow. Turning to find him with his chin in his hand, he points inside of the mess hall where a slow song just started, an old Buddy Holly tune, True Love Waits. The time has come then. Like the worn shoe that he is, he gets up and re-tucks his shirt as you excuse yourself and then let him lead you inside to the dance floor.

He’s an old-schooler, guiding you close around your waist and taking your hand in one of his.

In all the time Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson what you’ve felt toward him was a strong pull, a crush, an attraction. It’s been years since you felt drawn to someone like this. But it isn’t until this moment that you actually register the ramp up and learn that your species of butterflies don’t really seem to reside in your belly, but behind your sternum. The tip of your nose and chin tingle with the proximity to his, his breath warm and apple-scented, his flannel smelling of soap and being dried in the sun. His hand fits perfectly at your lower back and your arm was made to curve up and around his sturdy, ample shoulder.

It’s that feeling where you can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a fraction of a second for fear of losing control, and so you focus on his chin instead, yearning to land your lips there.

It takes most of the song to realize he’s doing the same with the top of your head.

You should say something; it feels odd not to be poking fun somehow. But then, you can’t think of a damn thing to say now that you’re exactly where you’ve been wanting to be all these many months. Well, nothing witty anyway.

“It’s been forever since I slow danced with anyone.”

“Out of choice, I assume,” he answers after a while. “Seems odd you being here so long and not spoken for.”

“Not everyone has to be paired up for life to be worth living.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like you want to and I’m not sure how anyone says no to you if you set your sights. You’re damn persistent.”

The song ends and you break to applaud, ready to quip back. But there’s a look on his face, and expression that you’re not able to categorize in the context of this moment, only that it looks like he might want to leave or be alone.

“Joel, I’m sorry if I pushed you. I know you’re still settling in. I didn’t mean to–”

But the next song starts up, sweet and slow–You Belong To Me–and he doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He just pulls you in close, tucking your head against his shoulder under his jaw, taking your hand again and holding it against himself.

“I’m settled,” is all he says as you sway.

Determination. That’s the expression. A commitment laced with lingering sadness or fear.

And that’s okay, you think. After everything he’s been through, that’s okay. As long as he wants to be here with me, everything’s going to be okay.

At the end of the song he peels away, and while the expression has softened, it still remains.

You reach for his hand. “You wanna walk?”

He nods. You let him lead.

Outside in the crisp autumn night air, he doesn’t take the direct path to your house, instead, he ambles slowly down another road, toward Maria and Tommy’s place.

Joel’s a thinker. He’s got things to say but needs to put them in order in his head first. So you let him organize while you walk slowly beside him, the light and the pretty violin ballad fading behind you. It takes a little longer than you expect and you’re almost to the house when he finally speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

“You say that like there’s one right way. Like I’m expecting something out of you.”

It’s obviously not what he expected you to say. “But you are.”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m also willing to meet you where you are.”

“No, that’s not what…” he breathes out hard, frustrated that his thoughts are getting out of order, but you wait. “You should be…expecting…something. You should want me to…reciprocate.”

“I do want that, but I can’t force you and I know it.” You amble on, watch his jaw tick. “Joel, I’m crazy about you and I’d love nothing more than for you to feel the same way about me. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about someone. But I know it’s different for you. I know you were more recently attached, and for a long time–”

“It wasn’t like that. Well…wasn't like this, anyway.”

You follow him silently past Maria and Tommy’s place–dark, everyone asleep–and take a turn that will eventually lead you to your own house. A block goes by before he finds his next words.

“Tess and I…our lives…we were…rough with each other. Cared for each other, but we were hard. We had to keep on our toes, couldn’t let feelings get in the way or make mistakes. But all that…stuff… We had each other physically but we kept a lot at arm’s length. Like a survival mode. Conserving our energy for things that kept us alive. Safe.”

“I think I understand. Tommy said–”

“Tommy didn’t understand shit. He thought I was using Tess. But he was wrong.” Even if he’s keeping his voice even, his eyes cold, you can see his fist clenching and unclenching out of the corner of your eye. “I…I needed her and didn’t know it. She was right there and I should have… told her so. That’s what I think I’m saying. I don’t have any practice in anything that isn’t just surviving. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Are you pulling a ‘you deserve better’ on me?”

Another look of surprise. Again, you’ve thrown him for a loop.

“Because I do deserve better. You’re right. I do deserve to be loved and to be adored and to be happy. But so do you. Most of us do. Doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna get it. Sounds like you spent the last decade and change denying it for yourself and to someone else. But at least you had someone. At least you knew where you stood. Me, on the other hand…I spent the last decade remembering something like that and wishing it would come back, knowing it wouldn’t, and beating off any chance of having it again like a damn fool. Maria ever tell you about Troy?”

His headshake is subtle, but his look of concern not so much. You decide to let it roll off you just as you had with everyone else in the past ten years.

“Figures. Tommy’s got a big mouth but Maria’s always kept her trap shut when it’s not her story to tell.

“Troy was my...husband. We were married for three really good years. He was a refugee, like you. Came through from Seattle QZ with his sister. Ash was a wild one, loved the sheep. She was the last trainee we had before Ellie came out. She had a habit of wandering though, hopping the barrier for berries and honey and just to run free in the woods without a care in the world. Almost cut her off from going out to the Meadow, but Troy spoiled her, took her side in most things. His only weakness. Damn, I loved that stupid man so much.”

Coming up to your house, you take a seat on the steps, not ready to go inside yet. As you continue, Joel follows your lead and ends up beside you.

“You ever wonder why Maria and I don’t live on top of one another? Troy and I lived in the house next door. Once he died, I couldn’t bear to live there anymore.”

The breeze picks up and you give it a minute to die down. Joel’s voice pushes through your silence just above a whisper. “What happened?”

“Troy and Ash were out at the meadow and they weren’t answering the check-ins. So Willa and I went out there with the patrol. Right away we see almost the whole herd gathered in one lay. Not like them unless they’re protecting a sick or injured one. And that’s what they were doing, all huddled around the hole.

“Can’t say for certain how it went down, but from the looks of things, Ash got herself bit, nearly took off her forearm. Back then the area wasn’t so cleared out and Ash liked to play her chances outside the barriers as I’ve said. Must have scrambled back in and come looking for Troy or he brought her back thinking he could fix it and found out he was wrong. He blew her face clean off. He must have dug the hole and put her in it. Covered it with lye. Got in there with her. Shot himself.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Bodies were in pretty rough shape when we found ‘em.” The stars are bright tonight as you blink back tears in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let her go out there. I thought he would get her to take it seriously. I should have pushed. But. They were so close and I also know that I couldn’t ask him to choose my wants over hers. And in the end it looks like he wouldn’t have picked mine anyway.”

The power from the dam is being conserved for the harvest dance tonight, so the streetlamps are dark on your row. But the moon’s bright enough to catch Joel watching you, reassessing you.

“I’m very, very capable of deserving love, Joel. And I’m capable of giving it with my whole, stupid heart. I remember what the world used to be, and how it turned on a dime and how we all lost everything we were and had. And when I met Troy I thought that love could fix it. Nope. It doesn’t fix it. The past doesn’t go away. But it’s nice to have someone to walk through the better days with. To choose to live in the present and make it brighter.”

As if the world is an underscore to your story, one last, lonely cricket interrupts the silence, a holdout for the season, waiting a little too late to find itself a mate and a home.

“I’m a murderer, Songbird.”

It’s a simple statement.

“I know you are.”

“Just so you know. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”

Now it’s your turn to gather your thoughts. “We’re all a pile of our many selves. Who we were, who we choose to be going forward, how we see ourselves, how others see us. It’s all there, always will be. All of us a little broken. Fractured. But it doesn’t have to be just one thing forever. There’s no mark of Cain here. Just making choices every day to be the person you want to be. You find your people and you take care of them as best you can, and they do the same for you. You slip up, you start over tomorrow.”

And now it’s his turn to blink up at the night sky.

“You did what you had to do, Joel, we all did. We all had to revise the moral manual for a minute. Nice thing about Jackson these days is that there’s nothing you have to do. You can just do what you want, what makes you feel whole and alive. And if that’s something different every day, then that’s your choice. You say you’re not good at this, but you are. You danced with me. Walked with me. Listened. You’re just as good as you have to be and if you want to be better at it then you just...try again. You get unlimited tries.”

His expression is muddled in shadow, his face turned out of the light and focused on you.

Suddenly tired, you stand up and walk up the stairs to the door. “I had a nice time tonight, Foxy. The best. Even if it ended on a downer.”

“That’s my fault.”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just what life is now sometimes. Will I see you tomorrow?”

He’s slow about it, but he climbs the last few steps to the porch. You were wrong about the solitary cricket; there’s still a few still pushing the limits, challenging the first frost, singing to the moonlight.

Reaching out, letting his fingertips trail your arm all the way down, he captures your hand to keep you still and moves in, slow and quiet.

When he finally kisses you, it’s a tentative declaration, a promise of what he can give right here, right now; his kiss lingers in apology, showing you in every way that he has trouble letting go, unpracticed in being tender, but he’s willing to try.

Finally.

Every second lingered is worth the wait, only because you can feel that it won’t be the last.

“Guess I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can start on today then,” he says when he steps back.

“That's a real good start.”

There’s not much more to say as he makes his way down the steps off into the night and toward his own house. No need. No expectations. There’s always tomorrow.

And since Joel’s come to town, it seems like every tomorrow’s usually been better than the yesterday before.

_____

You’ve been sitting on Maria’s couch knitting a sweater in the chilly morning sun for at least a good hour when Ellie comes down from upstairs.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” she says, throwing herself down on the floor by your feet and beginning to paw through your basket.

“I am. Didn’t have any plans today, thought I’d come and be on hand. How’s Riley?”

“Down for one of many naps. He’s growing so fast already.” Finding a full spindle in your stash, she begins unwinding it and forming it into a neat ball with practiced hands.

“That’s what babies do. He’ll be walking and talking before you know it.”

“We should bring him out to see the sheep when he’s walking.”

“We’ve got a corral of milkers in town he can visit. Probably not a great idea taking kids out of town. You’ll see when he’s up and about. Little kids like get away from you and hear themselves scream. Hard to keep safe if you’re dumb and loud.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s silent a while, slowly building her yarn ball.

“Something you wanna ask me? It’s not like you to volunteer to help with this part.”

There’s a certain way Ellie chews her lip and scrunches it at the same time. “I was thinking of asking you…if I could stay behind next time you go out to the Roost.”

That makes you chuckle. “Riley’s a little more fascinating than the sheep right now, huh. What. You thought I’d be mad?”

“No, just…I do like being out there. But I also feel like I can help here. For now. And I know you’re skipping your weeks to be here and I thought if I stayed you could go and then there’s still enough of us around….”

“The sheep are in good hands, they can wait. I’m in no hurry and I don’t mind being here. But I appreciate it.”

The yarn’s coming to an end, the ball in her hands reaching a pleasing softball size. “Can I ask you a favor then?”

“Of course.”

“Tommy went out to the reconstruction site and left his lunch and Maria asked me to bring it to him so he doesn’t come home for it and wake her or the baby.”

“But you wanna stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good timing.” Smiling and finishing up your row, you tuck the needles and sweater into the basket. “It’s a nice, dry day for a walk and I’ve been meaning to go see that sector. Tell you what. Eye for an eye. I go out there, you ball up all those spindles while I’m gone. Don't undo my knitting."

What the autumn sun is lacking in warmth, Ellie makes up for it with that spark of unbridled joy. “Fuck yeah, deal!”

_____

Swinging a bundle bag full of Tommy’s lunch and other sundries, you walk out to the old north edge of town. The wall’s come down here, another one erected a handful of blocks beyond, re-civilization slowly sweeping and expanding out as the need arises. The houses are in varying stages of disrepair, repair, and some have come down to use for scrap. Your elementary teacher’s house is still here, getting a spiff-up treatment and you’re remembering Mrs. Erstine and her roses fondly when there’s a sharp whistle and call of your name.

Joel’s walking down the block toward you with an easy smile and you return it as he nears. It’s been a couple of weeks since the harvest dance and you haven’t seen each other much outside of family dinners and scattered evenings at Maria and Tommy’s’. Between the rush to get some of these homes fit for winter and you helping out with all the canning and preserving down at the mess hall, a twilight trio on the porch with Ellie here and there has been your scant means of together time.

“What’s brought you up this way? Everything okay?” He’s good enough to bend his neck a little so you can meet his patchy cheek in a kiss.

“Tommy forgot his lunch and Maria wants to spare him a trip.” You hold up the bag. “And I brought treats for you too.”

His finger hooks the bag, trying to peek in. “Really.”

“Nah ah, not until you take me to your leader.”

“My leader,” he scoffs, turning and leading you up the street. “Ain’t nothin’ he can do I don’t have to come up after him and fix.”

“Speaking of fixing, we could use new shingles at the Roost. It’s been wet and I’ve heard there’s a leak.”

“Yeah? When you going out next? I’ll go out with you.”

Turning onto a more wooded road, you both follow the sound of hammers. “Well, Goldie’s up there now and I usually take after her. I suppose I could go next week before the rains really start up.”

“Next week then.”

As you approach a beautiful A-frame home, Tommy’s over to one side at a couple of sawhorses, measuring out a beam. Joel calls out to his brother with the same whistle he gave you.

“It’ll be just you and me,” you say. “Ellie wants to stay home with Riley.”

Joel’s head whips around. “What?”

“Hey there, ma’am-o-jam, what brings you up here? Everything alright?” Just like his brother.

“Yeah, all’s well. You forgot your lunch and my legs needed a stretch.”

“Oh shit,” he grins. “I was just starting to get hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You gesture to the house. “This is really beautiful. It’s like a bigger version of the Roost.”

“It’s nothin’ like the Roost. It’s on the ground.” Tommy smiles as you swat at him. “We’ve started with all the houses that need the least amount of help, tearing down the ones that need the most to fix ‘em up. This one had a lot of protection from the elements–the sun and the snow–from all these pines around it. All the windows still in place. Mostly just had to clear out a couple of overgrowths in the basement–probably the previous owners gone to seed. But it’s all good treated hardwood. Good bones. It’ll stand another century or two.”

A small, involuntary shiver passes through you at the casual mention of dead infected. “Did you burn them? The previous owners.”

Your reaction doesn't escape Joel’s notice. “Did it myself. There were a few in this section. It’s okay. They were long gone. Dry as a bone. It’s safe here.”

He’s earned a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “That’s good. They must have loved this house, to want to stay here, even when they didn’t know any better. Can’t blame ‘em. Anyway,” you go through your bag, lifting out a small parcel and handing the rest to Tommy, “here you go. But this is yours,” offering the parcel to Joel but then snatching it away as he reaches for it, “only if you promise to be honest and tell me if you like it or not.”

Joel’s eyes light up when he opens the package. “Holy shit; is that…pecan pie?”

And Tommy winks as he takes his lunch and walks back toward the house.

“Heard it was your favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at his big dumb grin. “Don’t be too excited! I obviously had to make every substitution. Walnuts for pecans, honey for sugar; it’s not exact, but it should be close enough. Been working on my bakes.”

Taking a bite, he shakes his head in what at first seems like pain but soon reveals itself to be the opposite. “Damn woman. And you only bring me one piece?”

“You’re a carpenter. That’s a triangle obviously cut out of a full circle. You know there’s more where that came from.” It’s a pleasure to watch him lose a battle against another big bite. “I take it you’re happy.”

His mouth full of sticky sweetness but the crow’s feet setting in, all he can do is chew and cock his head, looking you over as if to say, damn right I am.

_____

Joel’s quiet the whole ride to the Roost. It’s easy to guess what’s troubling him. A whole week alone should be exciting, but he’s worrying about expectations again and there hasn’t been much time to talk about it…or he just didn’t want to.

“Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

“Present.”

“Bringing a Grey Fox in at the north gate.”

“Noted. You brought your own sheets I hope.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joel’s frown and straightened shoulders as he suddenly loses the sympathetic gait with his horse. “Yup. Both sets. For two beds. Man’s here to work on that roof and I’m only payin’ him in food.”

“Ooof. Poor Joel. He deserves better.”

“Yeah, well I’m working on it. Boiled water last night and I didn’t even burn it.”

The banter seems to have relaxed him back into the saddle sag for the time being, and you keep it up until Goldie has you in her sights.

“I know you like sleeping under the stars, Foxy, but it’s been cold and wet. Bed’s yours. I’ll take the top bunk.”

“Fine,” he grunts.

“And you’re not allowed to go up on the roof unless I’m around to spot you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but my nerves can’t. And this is my domain. I’m the boss out here.”

This gets you one half serving of smile with a side of eyeroll. “Yes ma’am.”

Once you’re settled in, Joel descends the ladder and starts going through the woodpile, looking for adequate repair material, taking up the axe to split some logs for shingles while you go take a cursory round through the meadows.

The sheep are mostly on the near side by the copse of trees housing the Roost, keeping a tight flock, settled down and facing into the wind. A few bleat as you arrive but none of them skitter, allowing you to pat a couple as they chew cud and to check any for painted marks in case Goldie found one of them sick or lame. Other than one small ram that wants to playfully butt you in the thigh, all seems well. The rest of the flock is mostly down by the river and you take a little time to make some noise and shoo them toward the others before circling back to the Roost….

…which is where you find Joel Miller up on the ladder prying at rotted shingles.

“What the hell did I say, Cinnamon Roll?”

“Hold your britches,” he calls down. “I’m just assessing.”

“How am I supposed to get up there and you got the ladder?”

“Oh now we have a quandary,” he jokes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t let you up?”

“You think I haven’t slept out with the sheep before? I’d have no issue with it but that it’s gonna rain, so maybe you should let me up so I can help and make that repair go faster.”

Coming down and moving the ladder to the balcony drop, he scans the sky with doubts. “What makes you think it’s gonna rain?”

“Because I read sheep.”

“You read sheep.”

“Yeah. They spell it out like a marching band. RAIN. Big letters. Cursive. Could you just–”

The ladder comes sliding down with a thunk and you climb, taking his helping hand as you reach the top.

He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

All you can do is shake your head and hide your grin. “Don’t you dare. I’m gonna get my gloves.”

As he starts to heft the ladder back up, you go inside and quickly grab a wool hat and a pair of deerhide gloves from your pack. Turning to go back out though, a glint catches your eye near the door.

There’s a new nail in the wall.

With a broken watch hanging from it.

Huh.

This must be the place where he feels like he can be free of it and of the past you gather it represents for him. A special spot for it by the door where he won’t forget it when he leaves, somewhere he can see it if he needs it, but not carry it so much.

It’s a nice piece but for the hole. Well cared for. 2:40. You realize with a little regret that you missed the anniversary, that Outbreak Day no longer registers. Which means you also didn’t–

He doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday, Tommy once said.

It had come and gone without much fuss. But also without any noticeable misery. Railroaded by a new nephew and hard work.

That’s good. He’s not forgetting, just letting it rest. Someday it will be a good day again.

“You gonna get out here and hold this thing or what? You’re the one said rain is coming.”

“Not me. It was the sheep. Hold your britches or get a better belt. I’m coming.”

_____

A gentle roll of thunder wakes you in the night and the Roost is dark as you listen for a moment to the rain pattering against the roof slanting up and over you, inches away. Tuning in, you train your ear for a hard patter, a splotch, any indication that the roof patch didn’t hold, but of course it has. It was mended by Joel Miller himself.

Well, at least it’s dry, but damn, it’s chilly. A glance toward the little iron stove shows you nothing but darkness, which means the fire’s out. As much as it hurts to leave the little nest of warmth you do have, it’s probably better to relight it and warm the place by morning, so down the bunk ladder you go, being as quiet as possible.

Somehow, it's always comforting waking up at night at the Roost. Your house in town is too quiet at night, too full of the possibility of unfamiliar ghosts--of those that lived there, of the society it held, of your own loneliness. At least out here you feel held by the trees and needed by the sheep. There are ghosts buried out there in the meadow, but they're long gone now, part of the land itself, land that was always wild and free and full of the kind of life that wasn't destroyed all at once in one day. Night at the Roost is a quiet comfort, a place of purpose and sisterhood and family. It's full of wooden and woolen things made by hands you know and is welcoming to everyone, including the moonlight and the stars.

It takes a little doing with the wind up and you have to manipulate the flue a bit, but after a few minutes there’s a lovely crackling and smell of pine. Padding over to the chair by the window to snatch the wool blanket there, you stop for a minute to look out at the storm, trying to catch a glimpse of the sheep in a flash of lightning, but there’s not much of that to be had, so you wrap the blanket around yourself and make your way back to the bunk ladder.

“Sheep okay out there?” Joel mumbles in the dimness from his bed, somewhere near your knee.

“They’re fine. Did I wake you up?”

“No. Been listening to the rain a while. You cold?”

“Yeah. Fire went out. You?”

His answer comes in the form of something like a sail in the darkness and it takes a second to realize that he’s holding his blankets open in an invitation. “Come on. You’re gonna let the heat out.”

Sliding into Joel’s warmth is an easy decision to make. And it’s not just the warmth of his sheets, but that he brings the covers around you, pulling you all the way into his chest against his soft old undershirt, tucking you in under his chin, wrapping you up in his whole, woodsmoke-scented self.

Every tension in you simply melts into bliss.

Resting his lips against your forehead, his breath fans gently at your hair. “I could get used to this.”

A long hum rides out on your exhale. “I think I already am.”

“You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“Spoken like a true Texan.”

A long kiss presses into your forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m gonna do my best to be good again, Songbird. Hope I can be what you want.”

“That’s easier than you imagine. You’ve been what I want since you showed up around here, so I’m already quite pleased. Hope I can be what you want.”

A new warmth takes you over as he starts to spread his hand along your back, simply running over your contours, testing out what it’s like to hold someone this way, slowly caressing, lightly squeezing, tucking you in tighter. “You seem to know what I want before I even do. I look forward to finding out what I want next.”

“Well, I have to admit. Your brother tipped me off about the pecan pie.”

He laughs a little as he tips your chin up to meet you in a kiss in the dark. It’s hesitant but hungry; a long time needed and a long time savored.

“Did your sheep say it was supposed to rain all day?”

His hair and beard ruffle softly under your fingertips. “I didn’t ask, but I think it probably will. Sure hope that new roof holds.”

“We could always just stay right here and keep an eye on it.”

“See? You know exactly what you want. We can do that. I’d say that’s a good day’s work.”

His hand splays big and warm on your back, pinning you close for another kiss. “I tend to agree.”

_____

PREVIOUS: SUMMER

NEXT: WINTER (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

#leave off your wandering #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x meadowlark #joel miller x mature reader

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captain-lessship · 1 year

Text

Random Haikyuu x Reader Head Cannons

Kuroo:

He actually doesn’t cuddle you in your sleep. Controversial, I know but given his sleeping position, he just can’t.

To every rule there is an exception: He will cuddle you til you fall asleep. After you’re asleep, he removes his arms from you.

You stay pressed to his side and he enjoys you being there

You almost always fall asleep before you. But you always wake up before him.

You peer your eye over the edge of the blanket, smile hidden as you admire his squished face he has in between pillows

Bokuto:

Surprisingly a good dancer. True he gets a little excited and spins you a little too much but he has great rhythm and timing

Loves dancing with you. Anywhere. Anytime.

Dances in public. There is so many videos of him and you that were trending do to his volleyball fame

Dances in the kitchen, til you complain that the food might burn.

He loves dipping and spinning you.

The giggles you let out are the reason he loves it.

Kenma:

no matter you cook for this man, he sees it a a five Michelin star meal

If he thinks really hard, he can almost taste the very first meal you cooked him.

You bring him hearty snacks when he’s gaming.

Has asked you to feed it to him so he can continue gaming. (you said no)

He jokes you’re a healer with your food. Stamina +10, Sadness -25

You sneak vegetables into every dish

On the *extremely* rare occasion he offers to help, you and him are quite the cooking duo

A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach

Sugawara:

Married old couple energy

You have matching chairs, they are also right next to each other

He loves to watch you do your hobbies even if he isn’t interested in them. He’s more focused on the joy that they bring you

You didn’t even confess. It was more of you spent everyday with each other and asked “Are we dating?” And he replied with “Yeah?”

Soulmates. Period.

All of your friends say your relationship goals even you just think you both are mature enough to be with each other

Even when problems do arise, it never lead to a screaming match. Instead you talk through the issue with terms like “I know you did this because of *blank*, but I did not like that/understand why because *blank*”. If you two can’t come to an agreement and are getting agitated: you both will go into separate rooms to calm down.

Healthy relationship baddies

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nevernonline · 7 months

Text

✧.* seventeen masterlist ✧.*

one shots;

remind me; wen junhui x reader.

remember when you spent the night with your best friend? or do you need a reminder of what it was like all these years later

sweet disposition; hong jisoo x reader.

the innocence of youth, isn't it blissful? your youth was your childhood crush, joshua. a pretty boy from your hometown who became your best friend.

change my mind; kim mingyu x reader.

you were an enigma. mingyu knew you to be not afraid of anything, except for falling in love.

just for one night; yoon jeonghan x reader.

for jeonghan's birthday he teased the gift he wanted wrapped in a pretty bow this time was you. little did he know that his joke would turn into his favorite present.

crash into me; lee seokmin x reader.

Lee Dokyeom was your closest friend. After a friendly dinner you head back to his apartment, to play a game little did you know it would crash the friendship barrier between you two.

written series;

means something; choi seungcheol x reader.

Choi Seungcheol used to be the bane of your existence, but through a year of seasonal rotations, something felt different. It has to be overwhelming realizing you could fall for the person you always thought you hated.

ninety minute movies; svt one shot series.

smau series;

grow as we go; svt x reader.

synopsis: over the past ten years you've fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it's clear things would ever be the same again.

pancakes for dinner?; seungcheol x reader.

✧.* synopsis: y/n while in her third year at greenwood international university finally gets an opportunity to move off campus into a new complex, the only problem is having her childhood crush as a new next door neighbor.

head cannons;

seventeen as songs from 1989 (taylors version.)

seventeen as thirteen reasons why.

seventeen vocal unit as the five love languages.

seventeen hip hop unit as the four seasons.

svt ask recommendations;

svt tags;

seventeen

seungcheol

jeonghan

joshua

junhui

hoshi

wonwoo

jihoon

seokmin

mingyu

minghao

seungkwan

vernon

chan

#pls ignore just updating my blog lmao #svt masterlist

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cupidssweetheart0103 · 1 year

Note

sapnap nsfw and sfw head cannons?😣 istg that man is so hot I need him so bad

I have really long nails usually and I just cut em all off and now typing is really hard cause I’m not used to it so sorry in advance for any messed up weird typos and shit<3

WARNINGS: chubby chaser mention, face sitting mention, hair pulling, cum eating, praise, overstimulation, vibrators, buttplugs

SFW

Sap absolutely is the type of guy to lay on your chest when you cuddle, even though he puts on a tough-guy act

Which is why he loves cuddling on the couch the most, that way he can lay on your chest and watch a movie with you at the same time

Before you guys got together, he was very inconsistent about doing his laundry, putting it off till the last minute

But once he saw you wear one of his shirts, you bet your ass he was doing laundry every other day, making sure he always had a fresh one for you to put on when he saw you

Because there was no way he was letting you wear one that he hadn’t washed in two days

However, when you wore something of his he avoided washing it because he could still smell you on it

He’s horrible at cooking, but half of his love language is acts of service, so he always tries to make easy stuff look hard

Like making really elaborate sandwiches, that take zero skill but look like it took 4hrs

Or making you waffles or pancakes and pretends they weren’t made with the mix from a box by covering em in fruit and stuff to make me look pretty

Speaking of love languages, i imagine he’s pretty big on acts of service

Which is why I can’t imagine him ever letting you open your own drinks, like if you get a drink that’s got a tab or a cap he always opens it for you

And he has such a good memory for the minor things, but a garbage one for the major things

Like he’ll notice when you stop to look at certain types of flowers more than others

But if you tell him what your favorite color is he will have no fucking clue if you asked him five minutes later

But when he notices you always pick the same color character in a game, he’ll know it’s your favorite color

NSFW

Now listen as much as people wanna talk about Sapnap being a thigh lover and a chubby-chaser and a lover of having his face sat on, can we take a step back from that for a minute???

This guy would be the sweetest fuckin thing sometimes omg

And like don’t get me wrong i don’t doubt he loves having you on his mouth 24/7 and having his hands just full of your thighs

But I cannot imagine this guy being comfortable being rough with you until you guys have a sit down and talk about it

Cause I can totally see him having you sat on his lap, just sweet soft kisses while his hands are under the edge of your shirt, just brushing across your ribs

And he’d nip at your neck softly and just be absolutely addicted to the little noises you make

And I’m sure when you get down to it he won’t be all slow and gentle

But i can’t imagine him using your hair as leverage when he fucks you from behind until you’ve sat down and talked about it

And boy oh boy once you do, you’re done for

He’d have you bent over half the surfaces in the house, making you lick your own cum off the table when he’s done with you

He totally can be sweet at the same time tho, holding you close to him and holding your face in his neck as he praises you, telling you how good your doing when he has you pushing your fourth orgasm of the night

And his aftercare would be elite, not letting you get up for anything, and carrying you when you did

As much as I think he’s an ass and thighs guy, I think he has plenty of appreciation for tits too

Like he loves sucking on them, holding them when he has the chance

Which is why he likes cuddling with his head on your chest instead of vise versa, when he’s bored he’d just push your shirt up and lick your tits

And btw Sapnap would not be afraid of a little assistance

He’d probably be the one to recommend a vibrator, putting it on your clit when he’d eat you out, nearly moaning a little too loud when it bumps the tip of his dick when he lines up to fuck you

And butt plugs?

I think he’d love making you wear one even throughout the day, knowing you feel it every time you move, knowing you feel like a slut, would get him off

#mcyt smut #sapnap smut #sapnap x reader smut

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julietwiskey1 · 3 months

Note

can we get some more of those ursa and azula head cannons that you have no proof for. i liked them they seem fun (especially the one about the sweet tooth they have)

Sure! (Just a little late I guess)

Azula and Ursa both have a beautiful singing voice. When Azula was little she awed her vocal teachers but when Ursa left she stopped taking lessons. And she was actually pretty happy about it. She enjoyed other subjects more. They also made her sad even though she couldn’t figure out why. When Ursa came back and would quietly hum to herself it made Azula realize why. When they work on bonding together they tried singing classes together and had a few beautiful mother daughter duets.

Ursa has a very powerful “not angry, just disappointed” face. It cuts Zuko and Azula to the bone. While Ursa used it a lot on Azula Zuko was not home free. While he gets in trouble with her less Azula just so happens to share the same face. So growing up he got it from the both of them, even more often post war. When Azula was five Iroh was visiting and she gave him the face. He laughed very hard never having seen such an expression on a small child.

How about something sad? In Ursa’s last few years she started to go senile. Often forgetting when it is or how her relationships have grown. The worst of it is when she forgets that she and Azula reconciled or that she was still living away from her children. She would cry at the thought of not having Azula in her life. And it could take awhile for them to assure Ursa that Azula is still with her and that she is home with her children and grandchildren.

To continue spy Ursa from last time, after Ursa left Azula would write letters to her. Often times they were in the form of a report. Little things that Azula would notice. Like the type of people her father was seeing, the conversations she eavesdropped on, but also things like the changing of seasons, or Ursa specific decorations being removed.

Some more happy thoughts to end out. In Ursa’s youth she loved to play the volleyball type game Azula liked. And she was competitive. Post war people can’t decide if it is better to have them together on the same team and have them crush others, or be forced to play game after game as they try to beat each other. One year Zuko just burned the net because he got fed up with them. He regretted it when he got both of them doing the “not angry just disappointed” face at him.

Thank you for the ask.

#Wiskey answers #anon #Azula and Ursa #Azula #Ursa #Ursa atla #headcanon #atla

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milflewis · 26 days

Note

ok but mob au

“You really didn’t know who I work for?”

When Yuki found out that Pierre’s boss is the Sebastian Vettel, the Lion of Singapore, and the unofficial heir to Schumacher & Co., he had only raised his eyebrows. Pierre took that to mean he had already figured it out.

Yuki blinks at him. “No.”

“But.” Pierre frowns. “Why did you — I always have so many knives on me! Is this not weird to you?” He gestures at his jacket which hangs open, showing four different perfectly sharpened blades tucked into the lining.

Yuki shrugs. “You are French, yes? You like to cut things. Like cheese.”

Pierre mouths wordlessly. Cheese.

“Anyway,” Yuki adds. “You are weird, so. This would not be weird.”

The first time Sebastian meets Lewis, his runners are wet with Michael’s blood and Lewis’s hands are pressing his head into the glass door. His face aches, nose throbbing.

“Can I help you?” he says, or tries to say. It comes out vaguely smushed.

He pushes back a little just to see. Lewis lets him move half an inch before shoving him back.

“Jesus, Hamilton,” Sebastian hears Michael say. His voice cracks roughly. Sebastian nearly cried when the doctor told him Michael survived the surgery, that they got all the bullets out and he was in recovery. He swallows thickly, as the relief makes him all dizzy even now. “I know you got out today but c’mon, let him go. This is Sebastian — I talked about him.”

The hands on Sebastian’s neck disappear and he’s rubbing at his jaw when he turns around. “Ow,” Seabastian tells Michael. His cheeks are pale and his chest is wrapped in white bandages but his eyes are alert and he is grinning.

“Sebastian, this is Lewis Hamilton. Lewis, Sebastian Vettel. Mika says we are all friends here.”

He pats Mika’s ankle that is propped up on the bed beside his hip. Mika’s eyes stay closed, arms folded in his chair, chin on his chest. There are dark bruises under his eyes under now.

“Right. If Mika says so.”

Lewis steps back towards Michael’s bed, grabbing the duffle bag from where it was leaning against the wall. Sebastian looks at his bare arms, the tattoos that go all the way down to his fingers, the rings there. His jeans sit low on his hips. He needs a shave. Sebastian recognises him from his mugshot, even of his hair is longer now and his face is more lined.

They hadn’t had the time to arrange for Michael to share a cell with someone affiliated with them, and when they had got in contact with him, a week later, he had settled in well enough with his cell mate. By Michael standards at least.

Does not talk much, Michael had told Sebastian over the phone. Likes his fucking singing though. Stares at the picture of his dog. Do you think he is lonely?

When Sebastian had brought it up with Mika, the best person for this kind of thing when Corinna is away, Mika had only shrugged, and told him that he doesn’t think it is just Hamilton that is lonely, and that of fucking course anyone who could survive nine weeks in solitary with just Fernando Alonso as company in the next cell over is someone that Michael would find interesting.

Sebastian looks away from the breadth of Lewis’s shoulders in his white tank and pulls a face at Michael’s waggling eyebrows.

“How old do you think I am?” Jenson asks, as Alex adjusts his long-rifle until it sits comfortably against his shoulder, supported by the flat roof they are lying on.

Alex doesn’t answer, because he knows exactly how old Jenson is, and the fact that people continue to tell Jenson to his face that he looks ten years older than his actual age will never stop being funny.

“Ollie, how old do you think I am?” Jenson calls.

“Jen, leave the kid alone,” Alex says. “You could dye your hair.”

“Do I look like a man who would dye his hair solely to stave off questions about his age?”

“Yes,” Alex sweeps the street below them, marking the buildings bracketing the shop they are surveilling. “Ollie, how are you doing over there?”

He can hear him scramble around for a second before a burst of static. “Radio ready for orders, sir.”

Alex grimaces, still not used to that, as Jenson only laughs beside him.

“Michael? We got him.” Eddie leans back against the closed door.

Michael hums, closing his leather notebook. He leaves his fountain pen tucked into the middle so he remembers what month of intakes he was going over.

“Send him in.”

The kid’s hair is long and dirty, falling into his eyes and around his ears. His knees are all busted up under his baggy shorts. His face is drawn and thin, and he is glaring at Michael, jaw clenched.

He goes all pale when he sees who sits in front of him. Seems like he didn’t know whose car it was.

“Jesus,” Michael says. “You’re tiny, how did you reach the pedals?”

This morning, the kid — Sebastian Vettel, Michael had asked around — had hot wired Michael’s car in under two minutes and driven away. Michael had watched from the restaurant’s window, amused and impressed.

Mika had been decidedly less so when Michael told him, ten minutes later, that they were going to have to order a cab.

“I’m not that short!” The glare intensifies. His eyes are kind of freaky, Michael thinks. Very big and bright.

Michael holds out a hand, level with his chest, and squints. He lowers it considerably. Sebastian looks like he wants to bite it.

“Of course not,” Michael tells him soothingly. Eddie gives him a reproachful look. Michael holds back his eyeroll but takes his hand out of reach of Sebastian’s mouth.

“I have a job for you,” Michael says, watching Sebastian’s eyes sharpen. He smiles thinly. “If you’re up for it.”

“A job. For me? What kind of job?” Sebastian tilts his head to the side, making his eyes wide. His curls tumble across his forehead. The whole effect is rather sweet, Michael considers, delighted. This will be interesting.

Mika has been nagging at Michael to stop picking up strays but he thinks he will agree with Michael on this one.

Michael stretches out his back, legs interlocked at the ankles, until something clicks along his spine. He exhales slowly, sinking back into the shitty mattress.

They called for lights out fifteen minutes ago. Lewis is still in the bunk above him. Michael looks at the scratches across the metal rods. He had a good workout today, no interruptions, and his arms are nicely sore.

Seventeen minutes.

Lewis moves in his bed, rolling over to the right and for a moment, Michael thinks he will roll right off the edge, but then he is swinging down, silent. Michael holds himself very still.

"I am not interested in fucking."

"Yeah," Lewis says. "I heard."

Michael swallows. The sharpened edge of Lewis's plastic spoon presses into his throat. Lewis is dense and solidly heavy, knees on either side of his hips, one foot digging into his knee.

Michael has seen him fight. In an enclosed space like this, and unarmed, he isn't sure who would come out the better. His fingers itch with excitement.

"I found the picture you left," Lewis says quietly. The spoon doesn't move an inch. His eyes gleam in the dark like an animal.

"Okay," Michael says, not bothering to pretend not to know what he is talking about.

Lewis was fine this morning. He hummed to himself the entire way to breakfast, and he spotted Michael in the gym without even being asked. It wasn't until after dinner that he went all weird and still in himself.

Lewis presses down, just a little. Michael raises an eyebrow.

"Is he alive?" Lewis asks like he doesn't want to show his hand but is doing so anyway. His mouth trembles at the corners. Michael frowns at him. He has seen Lewis hustle in the yard at card games enough times to know that his poker face is better than this.

"Is he."

Oh. Jesus.

Michael laughs. It is too loud of a sound for where they are. He laughs anyway.

"You have issues," he tells Lewis, who only sends him a cutting look.

"That was supposed to make you feel better! Stop crying and all. You miss him, yes? Thought I could help."

Lewis stares at him. Blinks those animal eyes.

Michael makes a frustrated sound in the back of his mouth. He misses Mika. He never has to talk when Mika is around.

"He is being taken care of in that shelter you put him in. I had my people check. I was being nice! Friendly too!"

"We're friends," Lewis says slowly as if he expects Michael to say no.

"Obviously. You are being ridiculous," Michael says. "You think I would kill a dog? No!" He is a little hurt.

"You are the chief suspect in fifteen open murders," Lewis says, flat.

"Not of dogs!"

Lewis looks at him for a long moment before rolling his eyes. "How are you still alive, man? For real? I thought it was a threat."

He pushes off Michael and pulls himself up onto the top bunk, as silent as he climbed down at the start.

"No one else would see this as a bad thing."

He can hear Lewis roll his eyes.

"Literally every other person here would think you were sending a message. And not a good one."

"I was being nice!"

There is a clang of metal against metal, and their cell bars rattle. "Oi! You two! Shut the fuck up. Save the fighting or fucking for the morning."

"Gross, man," Lewis says, and Michael kicks at the underside of his bunk. "You are gross."

Maybe Mika was right when he said that Lewis might not take his generosity in the way he wanted it, Michael considers. He decides not to tell him. He would be too smug if he did.

He palms the sharpened spoon that Lewis had held to his neck and left on his pillow, beside his cheek. It is small and narrow. Michael presses his thumb against the slice, feeling it. He smiles, and tucks it under his sheet. He had needed a new one.

+1.

Sebastian had been small when Michael met him. All eyes and bony knees and dirty hair.

Then he opened up his mouth and his personality crawled out.

Michael has never looked back.

#listen. i entertain myself #sewis #yukierre #makkinen #five head cannon ask game #kyle tag #niamh.asks #little fics

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chaosjedimasterk · 1 year

Text

Bad Batch with ill Reader Head-cannon

I finally caught a cold this season so since I’m laying around just trying to kick it I have some head cannons about how the bad batch would treat you while you were sick

No warnings just fluff. Only gross thing is a human just having a cold.

Gender neutral reader

Hunter:

~ he would know you’re getting sick before you do because he just pays close attention to you. You’ve been sneezing more and are looking a tad more tired than usual

~ you’d refuse to admit you’re sick and try to keep helping around the Maurader and he would have NO TIME for that

~ he would march you straight to his bunk, tuck you in with every possible blanket he could find and make sure you had water, medicine, and tissues and anything else you needed

~ he’d make everyone get off the ship so you could sleep in peace and quiet

~ as a bonus I really feel like Hunter would be the only one of the bad batch who would learn how to cook and would make a mean soup that he claims could cure any illness

“Here drink this - it’s a recipe I came up with - careful it’s extra spicy it helps clear your sinuses right up!”

Wrecker:

~ He would be trying to goof around with you like normal and you’re trying to play back but you’re too tired and too achy he immediately picks you up, tossed you over his shoulder and brings you to bed

~ he wouldn’t be worried about getting sick and would lend you one of the few civvie shirts he has laying around so you could be extra comfy and he would snuggle in bed with you

~ I feel like he would switch into super tender mode and he would run hot like a furnace and keep you toasty warm

~ if you couldn’t sleep he’d find really easy games for you two to play together on Tech’s data pad he secretly stole

“Don’t worry sweetheart I ain’t goin nowhere you just rest okay?”

Tech:

~ would be similar to hunter in that he also notices you starting to get sick well before you would admit it- mainly because he has your patterns and routines memorized and you slept in 30 minutes too long past your normal sleeping in time

~ you would try to help him with repairs or mods on the ship and he would simply tisk at you and turn you right back around and watch to make sure you actually got into bed

~ would immediately start looking up your symptoms on the holonet to see if he could find the best remedies even after you protest that it just needs to run its course

~ so worried that he tries ever old wives tale remedy on you even after you tell him your own tricks

“My dear you simply cannot work in this state. Back to bed it is for you, you will not be able to recover properly without adequate rest and fluids!”

Echo:

~ he remembers Kix’s tricks from when the 501st had a bad cold rip through the unit. It 100% looks like a mystery drink and the look you give him when he hands it to you is one of absolute suspicion

~ Echo is the mom of the group but knows that you probably know your body best and asks you how you like to recover - he would immediately get anything and everything you asked for

~ would also shoo the rest of the batch off the ship so he could take over your duties and chores and make sure you could have some peace and quiet

~ he’d go all princess bride on you and tell you as many stories as he could from his time with Rex and the batch before you’re arrival until you fell asleep

“Look I know it looks weird but Kix created this and we were all feeling great in 1 day flat. Yes, it looks awful but let me tell you about the time Fives wandered into a Gundark cave….”

Crosshair:

~ he would notice when he went out to practice with his rifle that you kept sniffling and sneezing and almost ALMOST made him miss a shot

~ you tried to brush it off and say it was allergies but he saw straight through you , you thought he was annoyed but he used some of his personal stash of credits to find you two a hotel for the night with a big bath tub

~ while you napped he found some soup and bath supplies for you and when you woke up he already had the bathroom as steamy as it could get and a full bubble bath waiting, he would gently wash your hair and body for you

~ and when you were ready he would silently curl up with you in the big bed and turn on your favorite holoflick

“Sweetheart you’re not feelin’ well don’t try to hide it. Let’s go I can practice another day”

Bonus: ✨

Omega absolutely draws you little cards and pictures while you’re sick or sends you funny videos she saw of tooka cats

Omega absolutely draws you a get well card and makes up her own stories for you

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb headcanons #tbb fanfiction #hunter x reader #wrecker x reader #echo x reader #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #no warnings #fluff #I feel like garbage and just want someone to take care of me

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fan-goddess · 8 months

Text

Daring Youth

Pairing: Ettore x reader

Chapter Summary: Ettore suddenly gets hit with the realisation of what It exactly is that he wants. You.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, p in v sex, praise kink, f oral, dacryphilia, exhibition, breeding kink, teasing, fingering, choking, breath play, kinda ooc Ettore. If I missed any let me know!

Other Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five,

Taglist: @chainsawsangel, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @bel-bottoms, @omgbrcat, @targaryenrealnessdarling, @humanpurposes, @mushu-09, @toodlesxcuddles, @pendragora, @sylasthegrim

Authors Note: thank you all for joining on this fucked up Ettore story journey. This’ll be the final canon part of this universe before I announce the one shot non-cannon areas of this universe where you can ask whatever you want about this universe. Hope you enjoy reading this, even though I’m for some reason not a hundred percent satisfied with how it’s written 😅😊

Even as he’s waking up, the tastes of your cunt and your skin won’t leave him. The feel of his skin on yours leaves him constantly hard in his underwear. His cock, now unsatisfied with the usually pleasurable enough human warmth of his hand, practically jerks alive at the mere memory of you last night.

That morning, he couldn’t help but find himself staring at you. Admiring you even. The slightest sight of his mark that he left on you was visible from your shirt and it brought a satisfying feeling to bloom in his chest.

Yet when you lock eyes with him, it’s like there’s nothing there. It was like you just didn’t even see him, and it makes him very annoyed. It makes him really fucking pissed off actually. Where was the person he visited last night? The person who desperately clung to him while he willingly allowed himself to shove his seed in you? The you in front of him, is not the you last night. It’s like your this, fake imposter.

Even as you go past him to deposit your rubbish, you still don’t spare him another glance. He’s forced to watch as you walk away from him, his eyes seething deep into your skin. The thoughts of a punishment that come to mind leaves him smirking in his cups as he innocently sips on some unknown drink given to him.

The thoughts though definitely darken in variety as he looks for you. That small festering thing inside of his head whispering all sorts of ways to make you pay and to make you loyal to him when he can’t find you. His cock straining the more deeper his mind thinks into these fantasies.

When he does find you, purely by accident, his cocks seems to somehow stirs even more at the sight of your oblivious state. Your back turned to him while he quietly enters the small room and shuts the door behind him. Now, you’re locked in here with him.

You say something to him, but he doesn’t listen. Instead, he murmurs illegible things to himself as he gets on his knees and tastes you. The feeling of your juices coating his tongue, and the feeling of your hands gripping his hair so hard it teeters on painful, nearly makes him lose it all there and then.

His hand joins though in the need to truly drink from you, and when he finally feels the wave of your pleasure flood his mouth as you cum, he honestly feels like he could drink straight from your cunt everyday if you let him. It was like the taste of you was akin to some type of addictive alcoholic drink that he honestly could never get enough of.

It’s so addictive. So addictive in game that Ettore can’t help but make sure to clean the rest of your cum from his face and his fingers so that he can truly savour the taste of you. Plus, when he pulls the minimal clothing he wears down to reveal himself to you, his ego swells at the sight of your hooded eyes looking at him all wanting and wanton. Like some common breeding bitch ready for the taking.

When he finally pushes himself inside of you though, he can feel his face scrunching up at the feeling of you sucking him in. It leaves him with that feeling of pure liquid heat running down the length of his spine. Scratch what he said earlier. It seems your entire body is addictive as hell, not just the taste of your cunt.

He practically has to try and muffle the sounds he so desperately wants to cry out as he fucks you harder and harder on the machine. Though soon, he finds his thrusts becoming sluggish and uncoordinated as he chases that feeling of his orgasm that creeps up on him.

As he looks down, it’s the sight of your arousal forming a creamy ring aroung his cock while he fucks you welcomes him, and Ettore has to admit that he has never seen a more arousing sight in his life. It practically begs for him to commit it to memory.

“I’m close” he hears you whine. He only looks up for a moment to admire you, your eyes almost looking as if they’re about to cry from the pleasure whilst your mouth opens in a silent moan.

Yet the sight in front of him is not enough. It’s not more ethereal than the sight of him impaling you over and over again and truly marking you his.

It’s a fleeing though that makes him sober for a minute. A thought that makes him realise he doesn’t want these moments to end. But he pushes them away quickly by laying a hand to the base of your throat and squeezing slightly in an admittedly possessive manner, and another trails to your arousal flooded cunt to draw lazy shapes on your swollen clit.

He wants to last. He wants to savour this feeling of you consuming his entire being whole. But once again he’s distracted from these deep longings. Only this time not by his own choice. This time he’s brought back to life by the feeling of you yanking his head up to your level and sinking your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. At the sudden extreme combination of pain and pleasure, that is what leaves Ettore moaning out loud at the sensation whilst his cum all of a sudden begins to flood and paint the your warm cunt.

It’s silent those moments after, the mixed breathes of him and you being the only things he can hear, and strangely he strongly hates it. The sensations of everything get to him. The sound of the lightbulb that leaves the whole room in a dim light, the feeling of the supposedly high-tech washing machine that makes him feel like his body is shaking. All of it feels like it’s getting louder and louder in this confined room. But then, Ettore finds himself wrapping his arms around you slightly, and as the warmth of your body consumes him it all seems to go away.

All Ettore can find himself able to focuse on, is the oddly satisfying softness of your skin, and the strangely satisfying feeling of your breath tickling his neck. It mixes with that slight stinging sensation from where you bit him, and it honestly near makes him laugh from fondness. Maybe he’s not the only possessive one in whatever the hell the two of you doing is…

That’s the moment when the softness of it all hits him. Him, of all people, is having his hair played with by a woman he’s just had some fucking amazing consensual sex with. He doesn’t fucking deserve it, he realises, nor do you deserve him…

It’s why he needs to leave you right now.

The realisation making his head feel like it’s going a million miles an hour while he dresses himself quickly and pretty much runs from the room, back to his room where he stays till morning the next day.

It felt strange to try and ignore you like you didn’t exist. During breakfast, he could feel your glares on him like a iron poker, and it’s a sick thrill as he welcomes the attention that you were willing to give him with practically open arms.

He could see the other girls on the ship talking to you, and with your attention taken away he couldn’t help but feel disgustingly wistful as he stared.

Though as you moved to dispose of your tray, his eyes roam greedily at your body your shirt rides up to display some your skin to him. Yet as hes staring he all of a sudden sees the medium sized bruising flesh of your middle body.

What the fuck was that?

He saw it only a few seconds before your arm went back down, and the shirt lifted down like a curtain in the middle of a show. Even still though, Ettore could already feel his blood boiling all over.

The bruise from what he had seen had already darkened to a colour similar to the darkness that loomed outside of the ships windows, and much to his relief, the bruise had no distinguishable shape.

As far as he could tell, it held no resemblance to a hand. Though that fact somehow managed to relieve him and anger him in one turn. Cause Ettore knows he didn’t grip your hips whilst he fucked you. The feeling of your thighs in his hands was imprinted in his memory so well he could replay the moment with his eyes closed, and yet the morning after there’s a substantial bruise there for him to see.

You couldn’t have fucked another guy after he left, could you? He fucking hopes you didn’t. He shares a quarters with two other men that he couldn’t be bothered to know the name of. The other man though, the one that Ettore knows is named Monte. Apparently he has his own private quarters for some fucking reason.

Though as he thinks about it, Ettore doesn’t know where Monte had been that night. Monte had the opportunity to touch you, and it really fucking annoys him. So much that he’s at the point where he’s debating on chasing you down to find out how the bruise happened.

He’d originally planned on leaving it till later. He wanted to calm down before he ruined everything, but then he saw the fleeting look you gave him. As you left, you looked behind and locked eyes with him, before rubbing the bruise and leaving. That… that is what set him off entirely.

It’s what made him leave his half eaten food at the table before storming after you. Whilst his eyes were dead set on your retreating figure, he could see the eyes of the women looking at him while they whispered.

Let them talk… he thought. Let them know it is you who belongs to only him and no one else. It’s a one off thought, but he hopes Monte sees him going after you too. Maybe he’ll get it in his thick head to not be such an interfering cockblock…

You turn around and look at him when you pause at the end of some corridor, probably heard his thundering footsteps. Your eyes turn hard with what Ettore thinks is hatred, and yet when they see his own eyes fuelled by hatred and anger, something else bubbles within them. Lust.

“Who the fuck left you that mark?” He snarls as he gets close enough to you. His fingers curl against the shirt to reveal your bruise, and he holds the offending fabric in his hand as if he wanted to tear it straight from your body.

“What are you talking about Ettore? Nobody gave me-“

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” The anger and rage that Ettore feels blinds him for a mere moment, and yet that is enough time for him to grab you by the waist and slam you against the wall behind you, no doubt disorienting you for a few seconds. Though if he felt any kind of regret from what he just did, then it must have been smothered by his rage.

His hand winds itself in your hair, and he makes sure to grip it so you can’t get away. The need to know overpowering any sense of his current humanity, if he ever had any in the first place.

Though when he locks eyes with yours, and he sees the tears that have begun to form from the sudden pain, he can’t help but feel his heart clenching at the sight. Though the thought is quickly pushed from his mind as he distracts himself from it by smashing his lips onto yours for the first time ever.

It’s rough and if he’s honest to himself it’s also down right feral. The way his teeth carelessly knock into your own, and how they sink into his lips, causing a deep groan echo through the empty halls.

Each of the two of yours hands are greedy on each other’s bodies, with no flesh being left untouched.

When Ettore detaches himself from your lips though to sink his teeth into the unclaimed side of your neck, whilst he simultaneously pushing deep into the bruise on your hip you so dutifully denied, the sound of your pain practically makes him shiver in delight all through his spine.

He can’t deny that he gets the urge to claim you in this very hallway. To make your moans and sounds of pleasure echo so loud that people like the woman who tried to help you, or even fucking Monte of all people, knows that you belong to him, and will always belong to him. But when he looks into your tear soaked eyes, his heart and his cock seem to ache in sync, which knocks all sense of coherence out the ships doors practically immediately.

His hand grasp around your wrists as he leads you to his room. The two men he shares with are always complaining about how long and hard their chores given to them are, but it’s practically near the start of the day.

Everyone will be too busy with their assignments to walk down the hall to hear the two of you…

As soon as they pass the door frame, Ettore can’t resist himself any more from claiming your lips again. And whilst the taste of your mouth currently drives him insane, there’s another taste he wishes to have smeared across his tongue aswell that’ll no doubt make him fucking feral.

His hands move to rip and tear at your clothing, so fast that practically no time has passed before he’s got you laid bare for him on his bed. Your legs already widening themselves to reveal your already dripping cunt to him.

“Desperate slut…” He murmurs with a smirk as his fingers trace over your inner thigh and ghosts over where you obviously desire him most.

He wants you to beg for him though. Some dark thing thats has taken root inside of him wants you to beg for him to touch you. To know that you want him to defile your body just as much as he wants to.

So after he’s teased your entrance with the ghost of his breath and the pad of his thumb a couple times, he’s very glad to hear the stumblings of pathetic sounding begs practically pouring from your swollen lips like a singing canary.

“Good girl.” He mutters, before quickly moving close to your cunt and sucking on your clit whilst he shoves his fingers as deep as he can inside of you to find the spot that makes women see stars. When his fingers do catch on that tough patch inside of you, judging by your sudden reactions he knows he’s found it.

The grip you had on his hair tightens as you keep him practically immobile between your thighs, and the moans and whines that sound from you seem to almost go up a pitch.

The time he spends between your though feels shorter than he’d like. As the next thing he knows he’s feeling as though he’s practically suffocating in your warmth as your cum dribbles into his open and willing mouth.

Ettore almost wishes he could spend more time licking the remnants of your juices that have leaked from your body. But the ache in his shorts reminds him of what he wants to do. No. What he needs to do.

So he does it.

Ettore pushes down his black shorts to reveal his aching cock, and lines himself up with your dripping entrance. It’s a glorious sight alright, but it’ll get a whole lot better once he’s stuffing his cock in you.

“Please…” He hears you murmur. “Please Ettore… Please fuck me…” and who is he to deny you? With a satisfied smirk, Ettore pushes his cock as deep as he can with a light groan, and relishes in the light pain the length of your nails gives him as you grip him.

Ettore has never had a woman whose been willing to fuck him before. Yet the feeling of your clenching cunt and the sounds of your willing body submitting to him is easily better than anything he’s ever felt in his whole life.

When he looks down to admire you, he can see you biting on your swollen red lips, and can’t resist himself from practically caging you with his body to kiss you again.

The sounds of your muffled moans echoes enough so if anyone was walking down the corridor, they would most definitely hear you. When he releases you and pulls away to look at you, a sick thrill runs down the length of his spine when he sees a small trail of saliva connecting his mouth to yours.

“Move…” You whimper. The dewy eyes that stare at him make him want to practically tear you apart from the inside out.

“What’s the magic word now brat?”

“Please…”

“Good girl” It was all he needed to hear before he began thrusting inside your wet heat like a mad man. Iron hot pleasure running down the length of his spine driving him insane with want and desire. The want to claim you. The desire to give you a much more permanent version of a claiming. A child who has your same dewey eyes.

Mindless moans release from both parties as the desire for release is chased. Ettore though finds himself chasing the feeling of your nails digging into the skin of his back as he thrusts into you harshly and without mercy. It felt as though he wanted to merge with you and become one.

A hand of Ettores finds itself wrapped around the length of your neck, and the feeling of satisfaction is immense as your nails dig into his skin deeper. If Ettore focused on what you were doing, he’d no doubt practically feel the scars of raised red skin already forming.

Another hand trails to your clit where he begins to repeat harsh circles. And when Ettore looks down to admire the sight, he has to refrain himself from cumming there and then when he sees the light white ring of your fluids on his cock as he thrusts deeper and deeper.

“You want to be my good slut huh? Then cum on my fucking cock and maybe I’ll give you my own cum to fill you until your fucking dripping of me…”

Your hips buck up to meet his thrusts as you seem moan in excitement, and your eyes almost seem to have glazed over in some kind of pleasure induced haze. In Ettores eyes, it was all he needed to hear and see before he ruined you for good.

His movements got rougher as his hips smacked into your own. The grip Ettore has on your neck tightens only by a little to make you almost breathless for him. When he looks up for a split second at the doorway, a fleeting thought hits where he almost wishes to meet the eyes of someone watching him defile you. The feeling of his cock aching at the thought drawing him back to the truly gorgeous sight in front of him.

“Fuck Ettore s-so good…” You moan. It’s practically said with a slur on your lips and he can’t help but love it. His little cock slut all cock drunk on his dick. How it’s meant to be.

Though whilst he’s admiring the sight, you seem to have tightened up on him too. Your grip leaves no doubt bloodied indents on his back that were sure to leave questions for the other passengers that for your sake only will remain unanswered.

Your eyes are screwed shut so tightly that small lines of tears trail down your cheeks, and the only way he knows that is due to the fact they seem to shine under the harsh light. Your legs aswell feel as though they’re practically vibrating against his skin, possibly due to all the sensational that he’s giving you all at once.

It’s not surprising for either of them that after all that, Ettore finds himself moaning out loud at the feeling of your walls clenching and pulling him in as you cum, effectively pushing him over the edge aswell with a deep groan.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck oh shiiiiit” You whine. It’s so loud he almost wants to shove a pillow over your head to get you to shut the fuck up. But then it’d ruin the whole thing and he can’t have that at all.

When you’ve recovered though from your high, you almost seem to curl up on him. He’s still inside you, even though he’s softened down by now, yet even so he’s happy about it as now his cum won’t be able to effectively leak out of you.

It’s a strange feeling when his arms move to keep you close. Like an overprotective hug. Yet it’s so awkward Ettore doesn’t know what to do and let’s you take the lead. You push him so he’s laying on his back, an act he feels he should punish later on, and move your head to rest between his neck and his chest.

Ettore hates to admit it, but it’s very strangely comforting to have you so close so willingly.

His hand rests on the top of your head, and a single thumb brushed the loose hair away from your face. It’s oddly domestic, and yet he can’t help but find himself unable to hate himself for it right now.

The two of you continue to lay there. Your breaths evening out as you seem drift off, and they leave goosebumps on his skin in their wake.

Ettore however, stays wide awake. The erratic heartbeats that radiate through his whole body make it impossibly to sweetly savour the moment in peace.

Only a single stray thought managed to remain inside him that kept him from pushing you off and running to who knows where.

I think I may somehow be in love with you…

#Ettore #Ettore x reader #high life #high life fanfiction #high life fanfic #ettore smut #ettore fan fiction #ettore fanfic #ewan mitchell character #ewan mitchell fanfiction #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell #my works #ten things i hate about you #ten things i hate about you!au #ttihay

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ailendolin · 1 year

Note

Cannon diversion 🔀

What if Mike was able to see the ghosts instead of Alison (I love Mike a lot and think him seeing ghosts would be really cool)

Oh this was fun to think about! Thank you!

Headcanon ask game can be found here.

🔀- Canon Divergence/Slight AU

The weirdest thing, Mike reflects once he's accepted the fact that ghosts are real and he's not actually going crazy, is not the caveman who likes to make the lights flicker to startle Alison, the Georgian lady who desperately wants to be his sister or even the headless Tudor man everyone always seems to forget about - no, it's the fact that at least four of the ghosts have a crush on him (possibly five - he's not quite sure about Julian's constant innuendos yet).

It's flattering, really. After all, who doesn't like to be desired? But if he has to listen to even one more terrible, lovelorn poem composed by Thomas or watch the Captain blush and stammer when he only so much as glances at him - or, Mike thinks with a shudder, catches Lady Button ogling him as he changes into a new shirt or, god forbid, finds Mary sneaking into the bathroom while he's on the loo again, he swears he's going to fling himself off the roof.

Alison, of course, finds it all hilarious. And, traitor that she is, she eventually joins in on the fun. Mike has no idea how she even learned about Mike Club but when he finds her in the common room with his four admirers (plus Julian by the laptop) talking excitedly to what to her is only empty air about the merits of being married to him, he huffs and loudly declares, "That's it. I'm getting a divorce."

Alison laughs out loud but Thomas's eyes widen with sudden hope. Before Mike can so much as think, Oh no, he says, "Yes! Divorce her, kill yourself, marry me!"

Mike groans and hides his face in his hands. A moment later, Alison snorts and Mike just knows Julian has relayed Thomas's words to her via the laptop. He shakes his head in despair. Why is his life like this?

Then again, he thinks later that night when they're all sitting together watching Friends: he wouldn't really have it any other way.

#bbc ghosts #mike cooper #thomas thorne #alison cooper #the captain #julian fawcett #fanny button #mary #headcanon ask game

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typingatlightspeed · 7 days

Note

if you're still taking not-smut requests, may i please request some dullahan!solly hanging out with djinni!pyro?

TF2 Fanfic - Accelerant

While some of the team plays ball, Pyro watches and has a think. Soldier joins him, and they talk about Engie's body modifications, Pyro's evolving feelings on them, and the nature of their extreme age gap and lifespan difference. Then they build a potato cannon. They talk a little about Soldier's relationship with Scout, but mostly a bit of mayhem ensues.

Part of Monstrous Intent! Ao3 Link! Rating: Teen (there's like one sex joke lol)

I hope you enjoy, anon! This one stymied me for a bit up to the point where Soldier suggested the potato gun, then the final gag with Soldier's head popped into my brain on the drive home from work, and I was like, "THAT'S IT THAT'S THE GAG" and the rest came naturally. :D

---------

"Yo! Come on, Snipes, I'm open!"

"Bombs away!" Sniper lined up his shot and fired off the football in his hand, launching it for Scout with surprising force moments before Demoman collided with him, tackling him to the dirt.

"Dammit!" Engineer cursed, chasing the pass, knowing there was no way he'd get there in time to intercept, but hoping he could at least bring Scout down before he made any forward progress.

Scout caught the ball easily, eyeing up his options for approach, and took off for the area that had been marked as Engineer and Demoman's goal by setting up a cooler and a particularly large rock and drawing a line in the gravel between with a shovel. He bounded across the desert floor, grinning as Engineer charged for him, intent on bringing him to the ground. With a grunt, he kicked off the ground, vaulting Engineer in one leap, his hoof tapping the shorter man's hard hat and launching him into a second-stage jump, carrying him well past any hope of being caught. He sped into the end zone and spiked the ball, prancing in a circle and pumping his fists to the sky. "Woo! Now that's how it's done! Eat my dust, Hardhat!"

"Damn double-jumpin' jackrabbit," Engineer cursed with a pout. He shot a glare at Demoman, who was now quite busy pinning Sniper to the ground and tickling his neck with his muttonchops. "Dammit, Demo, we're tryin' to play a ballgame, here!"

"Yeah, play games with Snipes' balls off 'a the field, you mook," Scout teased, snatching the ball back up and trotting over.

"D'ye want Scout, then?" Demoman offered to Engineer, sitting up on his knees and letting Sniper wheeze in a breath between diminishing laughs.

"'Least he's tryin' to play the damn game," Engineer reasoned, tossing Scout a look and shaking his head.

"How 'bout we take five, get some water, an' let these two get the giggles out?" Scout asked, jerking his thumb at Demoman and Sniper. "I'll go grab my basketball. Football ain't shit with only four players."

"Yeah, that's fair."

"Sure you'll be good for basketball, Truckie?" Sniper asked, sitting up and shoving Demoman off of himself.

Engineer glared at Sniper, knowing exactly the dig he was about to make. "Stretch, dunks ain't the entire game. Ain't gotta be a giant to sink three-pointers."

"Dibs on Engie," Scout announced immediately. "Robot hand's gotta be an unfair advantage!"

High above, Pyro sat on one of the catwalks above the base, watching his teammates mill around and grab bottles of water from the cooler. He hoped that this wasn't the end of their game. It had been entertaining to watch Scout, Sniper, and Engineer actually trying while Demoman was intent on turning it into a game of grab-ass rather than actual sport. All the same he giggled watching the bomber pull his lover into a kiss before being swatted with his hat playfully and having water dumped on his head. As Scout trotted inside, Engineer unclipped his overalls to remove his work shirt, fanning himself. He cracked open his water and poured a little on himself before taking a swig, looking up in surprise upon hearing Pyro whistle from above. He grinned upon seeing him wave from the catwalk, and waved back.

The distant burst and whoosh of an explosion caught Pyro's attention from behind, and he turned to see Soldier sailing up into the air, fresh off a rocket jump. He nearly overshot the catwalk, landing at first on the railing before turning on his toe and hopping down far more nimbly than expected of a man his size.

Pyro half-turned, waving to him. "Hey Soldier!"

"Hello Pyro!" Soldier greeted brightly. He set his launcher down against the railing and ambled over to sit down beside Pyro, letting his legs dangle off the catwalk and kicking his feet idly. "What are you up to?"

"Hanging out. Thinking, mostly."

"What about?"

Pyro looked down at Engineer, who had clipped his overalls back into place and was currently holding the basketball as Scout stripped his shirt off, the two of them clearly taking team Skins for their little two on two game. They headed over to where their makeshift hoop of a bottomless milk crate nailed to a board had been hung on the edge of the porch overlooking a concrete paddock and set up to play. "Engie, mostly," he replied, a sigh in his voice.

"He is pretty dreamy. You should ask him out," Soldier teased.

Pyro snorted a laugh at that. "I dunno, I think he might be out of my league. You know the guy's got eleven PhDs?"

Soldier frowned. "Sounds fake." Another snorting laugh rewarded him, making his grin return immediately. "So what's Engie got you thinking about?" he asked, turning his gaze down to the game below.

"Ah, he's working on a new 'upgrade' to his body. A new spine. First stage of a full endoskeletal conversion project, so he says."

Soldier looked to Pyro and stared blankly.

"He's gonna replace all of his bones with metal ones eventually," Pyro explained.

"That botherin' you still?" "A little," Pyro admitted. "A lot less than before, though. I understand a lot more about his prosthetics, how they work, why I don't see the glamour in them like I do other things he builds. They're really clever, actually! In addition to making it so they obey his commands by a mix of reading muscle impulses and magical will-working, they're powered basically by pulling ambient magic out of the air, which is a completely sustainable fuel source. The Conaghers have been doing magic artifice for generations without even realizing it, because they've been accidentally blending magic into their technology. It's why nobody's been able to replicate their designs. The Australium is the key resource that makes it all come together, with its arcanoconductivity."

Soldier picked at his ear with his pinky finger, about half of what Pyro was saying flying directly over his head to go crash and burn somewhere in the desert. "So what's the problem?"

"I dunno, I guess I still have a lot of trouble getting past the fact that he's removing perfectly good flesh and bone for this, taking himself apart, you know?"

"Doc adds and removes stuff from us all the time," Soldier pointed out, lifting a finger into the air in an imitation of the doctor's mannerisms.

"Yeah, but at least it's usually internal so I don't notice."

"So are a spine and bones."

"But his entire legs and hand weren't. And once he finishes with bones, you can guarantee he's gonna work outward from there."

"Fair." Soldier let out a long breath through his nose, his brain churning. "Hadn't Engie been complaining about his back for as long as we've known him?"

"He does do a lot of lifting."

"Worn out, busted."

"Doesn't sleep great some nights."

"Can't sit too long."

"Practically eats aspirin."

"Ice packs."

"Heat packs."

"The way he smells like tiger balm after a real long match."

"He's strong as an ox, but he's in his mid-forties," Pyro sighed.

"It's not really perfectly good flesh and bone then, huh?"

"Guess you're right." Pyro leaned his forehead against the railing, flames creeping around the metal bar a bit. "He's in a lot of pain a lot of the time. This'd actually fix a problem rather than just do it for the sake of doing it, huh?"

"What's more practical than replacing the busted part?"

"You sound like Engie," Pyro chuckled.

"All I'm saying is that from what I've been told by people I've outlived is that the average red-blooded American man expects to just barely get past seventy years if he doesn't give his life in glorious battle first. Engie's more than halfway through that. He's probably trying to make himself last as long as he can. After all, he doesn't have the luxury of already being dead, like me!" Soldier jerked a thumb at himself with a grin.

Pyro chuckled and shook his head. Soldier was too good at making a solid point when he wanted to be. All the same, he didn't like being reminded about how short the rest of Engineer's life would be. "I'm ageless, eternal," he sighed, his eyes following Engineer's movements as he juked Demoman right off of his feet and sunk a two-pointer with ease. "I'm gonna outlive him. Just like I outlive everyone."

"How many human partners have you buried?"

"Too many. I don't know if I can do it again. But I know I'll have to."

Soldier hated to see his friend wilt like this, pain written clearly across his flaming face. "Maybe that's something Engie can prevent? He's smart enough."

"Short of becoming something supernatural, no human has, Soldier."

"You said it yourself that his cyber-stuff is basically magic, right? Maybe he'll build himself a new body that'll never grow old or break down so long as he keeps fixing it up! With the strength of five gorillas, and an ass that physically cannot quit!"

Pyro barked a laugh at that, his giggles fading into a soft hum. "Maybe so. Guess it's time we have that conversation, huh?"

"You haven't talked about all that?" "Not so much, no. It's not exactly fun to think about it."

"Got me there."

The sounds of Scout shit-talking Sniper's terrible free throw filled the silence.

Soldier looked back to Pyro again. "You wanna make a potato cannon?"

Pyro looked at him with all of the severity of a man about to realize his life's calling. "Hell yeah I do."

The bay door to Engineer's workshop rolled up, the sunlight momentarily blinding for Pyro and Soldier as they stepped out of the base. Soldier held a large plastic tube in his arms. It was long, and about an inch and a half diameter until it reached a connector after about two feet, and attached to a piece that was about three inches in diameter for its final foot.

"I'm surprised we didn't need to steal more from Engie."

"PVC pipe, connector, PVC cement to glue it all together, pipe cap, and a quick visit to the drill press, no problem," Pyro chuckled, shaking up a can of hair spray, a sack of potatoes firmly grasped in his other hand.

"Why did you have hairspray in your quarters, anyway?"

Pyro stared blankly at him like he'd asked the stupidest question in the world. He held out one finger, a soft glow heralding a small mote of flame springing to life at its tip. Without interrupting eye contact for even a moment, he held it up to the spray can and pressed down, the spray making the little fire into a gout of flame.

Soldier grinned. "Let's see if we can hit the Sword Van from here with it."

They set up on the edge of the paddock that led to the bay door, kneeling down and setting out their meager supplies. Pyro handed Soldier a potato, which he stuffed partway into the narrow barrel of the gun and tamped it onto the concrete to mash it in, the pipe shaving off any of the spud that didn't fit inside.

"Hey Soldier," Pyro began, popping the cap off of the hairspray can. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Okay."

"Where did you go that one furlough when we had that party at Engie's place?"

Soldier frowned, laying the potato cannon over his shoulder like a rocket launcher.

"If you don't want to—"

"I went to go see Ta—," he cleared his throat, "The RED Demoman."

Pyro pulled the cap off of the back end of the wide combustion chamber of the cannon. "I thought things were over between you two."

"It is. It was. Maybe. I dunno. We screwed. Almost felt like old times. But... he figured me out."

"What do you mean?"

"He guessed I wasn't human."

"Oh."

"I'd been afraid of that since day one. He didn't try to kill me on the spot, so it went better than expected, but not by much."

"I'm sorry, Sol."

"Don't be. Made me do some thinking for once. Realize what's important to me, and what I had right in front of me this whole time."

"Scout?"

Soldier smiled softly. "Yeah." He steadied his grip. "Light 'er up!"

With a nod, Pyro sprayed the hairspray into the combustion chamber and plugged it, then snapped his fingers to summon a spark inside, lighting the aerosol. With a soft kick and a THOOMP, the potato rocketed out of the pipe and streaked across the yard and parking lot, slamming into the side of the team's getaway van, bouncing off with a satisfying PWANG. Soldier and Pyro both whooped a laugh and high-fived.

"Reloading!" Soldier called, grabbing another potato and stuffing it into the pipe. He shouldered the cannon once again for Pyro to prep.

"You and Scout doing good, then?"

"Yes! He is not afraid of or disgusted by the fact that I am dead and can remove my head. Now that I have this collar," he flicked the metal ring that hung from the front of his Cephalophore's Collar, "he likes it even more. Mostly because I can screw him and blow him at the same time."

"Priorities," Pyro chuckled, uncapping the cannon.

"He's fun, and sweet, and gets that a fist fight can be a way to say I love you if you're both laughing when you do it. He makes me feel light inside. He makes me feel important. And wanted. And I don't have to hide anything."

"You don't realize how important that last part really is until you finally have it," Pyro mused. "I get it." He shook up the hairspray and sprayed it into the chamber.

"Yeah."

Pyro plugged the chamber. "Fire in the hole!" With a snap, a spark lit and with another THOOMP the potato was sent screaming across the lot to graze a different spot on the van with a WHUNG. "Haha, nice!"

"We should shoot something else."

"Sure, but what?"

Soldier rooted around in the bag for another potato and withdrew a wrinkled, soft one that was weeping liquid that smelled utterly vile. He recoiled for a moment before a wicked grin crossed his teeth. "I have an idea."

"I'm open! I'm open!" Scout hollered, waving his arms in the air.

Engineer craned around Sniper, who was doing his best to stay in his way and block the pass. He cast a look around, noticed one of the support beams of the porch, and grinned. "Port side, son!" He ducked under Sniper's armpit and shot the ball at the beam, bouncing it off and right into Scout's waiting hands. He drove for the hoop, leaping out of Demoman's grasp with ease for the dunk...

And was shot out of the air when a rotten potato slammed into his solar plexus.

Scout folded in on himself as he hurtled to the ground, landing in a heap, the ball forgotten. The stench of rotten potato filled his nose, and he had to fight the urge to gag as he gasped and tried to regain his breath, a sharp throb of pain sparking through his chest and belly. He wheezed, clawing at the ground, the noisome smell filling his senses and making his bile threaten to rise as he writhed.

Sniper's head whipped in the direction from whence it came, and he squinted, making out the shapes of Pyro and Soldier in the parking lot, rolling on the ground laughing. "Oi, you cunts! What's the big idea?!"

Pyro climbed to his knees and cupped his hands around his mouth to holler. "He okay?!"

"He smells bloody awful!" Demoman called back, trotting over to help the fallen faun to his hooves, dodging chunks of potato as he ripped his shirt off.

"Oh, I'm okay alright," Scout growled, then spit on the ground. When he saw Soldier he grinned. "They ain't, though!"

"Hey, Sol?" Pyro said, shaking Soldier, who was still laying on the pavement, shaking off giggles. "Sol. Sol, he's coming."

"Who's coming?"

"Scout's coming and he does not look like it's in peace."

Soldier rolled up into grinned broadly, throwing his arms wide. "How you like that mashed potato, Private?!"

"Ohhhh brother you're in for it now," Scout growled, diving at Soldier and sending the two of them tumbling out of the lot and into the dirt, fists flying, legs kicking, throwing up a cloud of dust as they brawled like it was an old cartoon.

Pyro set the hairspray down and quickly sidled out of sight and back into the base.

It was a few minutes before Sniper spotted Scout returning, shirtless, with a bloody nose and a cut above his eyebrow, something clutched in his arms. "What in the hell is he carryin'?"

Scout saw them watching him and tucked the object under one arm, lowering himself and charging back onto their makeshift court with speed. "Yo Snipes, alley-oop!" he yelled, double-jumping over the assassin and finally making that dunk, hanging from the milk crate basket for a moment before dropping to his hooves victoriously.

Everyone looked at what he'd dunked. Soldier's detached head, with a black eye and a fat lip, grinned up at them. "Hello! I am a basketball!"

Demoman threw an arm around Sniper and gently slugged him in the side. "See? Told ye we're nae the weirdest couple on base by a longshot."

#Lightspeed Replies #Anonymous #team fortress 2 #tf2 fanfiction #Monstrous Intent #TF2 Texas Toast #TF2 Batting Helmets #TF2 Sword Van #TF2 Pyro #TF2 Soldier #TF2 Engineer #TF2 Scout #TF2 Demoman #TF2 Sniper

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