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jiminrings · 2 months

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fail-safe; intermission.

wordcount: 2k

glimpse: you’re left behind, as always.

alternatively, yoongi can’t give you the closure that you need.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :) | series masterlist

Yoongi has to watch you for the night.

He has to “strictly” watch you for the night or whatever Namjoon had instructed him in verbatim, even if this wasn’t the first time that you’ve been left alone. You get that every once in a while, your mom still has to meet her wretched in-laws in the city for whatever reason they could call, and with Namjoon being the eldest child, he volunteers himself for moral support.

He’s always been the stronger, more driven child between the two of you. He knows where he’s heading and he knows how to get there; slowly but surely, Namjoon’s becoming the football player he’s always dreamed of. Not only did he inadvertently become the man of the house, he also became the familial figure that doted over you the most.

You don’t blame your mom for being busy trying to hold her jobs down just to keep everything in place. You don’t blame your brother for his increasing busyness in juggling college, football, and being a fixed figure in your life all at once.

You don’t blame either of them for pushing you to grow up faster than you’d like.

You love their company but you don’t mind being left alone either. You know how to double-lock the doors and secure the barrel in the front gate so tight, you’d have to break out the oil just to loosen it up to let them enter. You have a system for keeping track of turning off the gas and even putting out fires should there be one.

You don’t mind being alone, and although it’s not your favorite thing in the world, you know how to be.

You’ve been through this dozens of times before, so seeing Yoongi look after you despite what happened is an unwelcome sight. Having him watch you like you’re a child puts a bitter taste in your tongue, his presence being an eyesore altogether that you haven’t moved out from the living room once. You can’t stay cooped up in your room either, because you’ll only be reminded that Yoongi had been there as much as Hyewon was the last time.

You’re studying for your exams when Yoongi makes his presence known, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He had been scowling at you for the better part of the whole day, although you wouldn’t really know because you barely spared him a glance the whole time.

Yoongi, surprisingly, was waiting for you to bother him. He was waiting for you to make conversation somehow, whether it was over an obscure topic only you would know so much about or over a shared interest that he knew you only cared about because it mattered to him. A whole week already passed since the incident yet the both of you barely ever spoke, the longest being from awhile ago when he asked how you wanted your rice cooked. (He knows you like it moist and fluffy instead of dry and separate, but he still asked a stupid question just to get you to talk.)

There’s something about the sight of you looking calm to the point of unperturbed that annoys him all the way to the end of his spine. You look studious and composed and not at all displaced that the both of you haven’t been interacting at all.

Yoongi jumped at the opportunity when Namjoon asked him for a favor of watching after you, but seeing to it that you don’t care at all to try and make up for lost time — all his thoughts fly out of his head as he confronts you.

“Don’t do something stupid like that again.”

You raise your head up from your book in confusion, mouth slightly parted at the sudden intrusion. You know exactly what Yoongi’s pertaining to — it just happens that you’re speechless.

He huffs at your indifference, tightening his fists. “Don’t run off recklessly just because you’re upset. What would’ve happened if we didn’t find you, hm? Namjoon was worried sick,” he enunciates, pursing his lips at you in disappointment. You’re no stranger to his glare because you’ve already received many whenever he critiques your intellect and your passion or whatnot, yet in this context, you can’t believe him at all. “I was worried sick.”

You’re silent as you just take it, even throwing him a pitiful nod as soon as you’ve digested his words. You don’t even want to talk to him because you’ll break if you do; you’re going to become more of the weak, good-for-nothing Y/N that you already are to him.

Yoongi only weaponizes your silence, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears when you can’t even look at him. “Also, stop hanging around friends who aren’t good for you. You can’t have all the fun you want. Sooner or later, you’re gonna get hurt, Y/N. We can’t always be there for you.”

You nod again, and that’s when he breaks.

“Is this a joke to you?” Yoongi snaps before walking over to you and putting your textbook down, the grip he has on it leaving an indent.

“What?” you clarify, still calm with the practice that after everything, Yoongi can’t possibly hurt you more than he already did.

“I’m asking you — is our concern a joke to you?”

You only raise your brow, anger barely brewing. “It’s not.”

Yoongi awes mockingly, his temper rubbing off on you. “Then how come I haven’t heard a single apology from you? Why are you acting as if that day never really happened when in reality, Namjoon’s so scared that you’ll do it again and put me in charge?”

“You could’ve said no.”

“Well, genius, I couldn’t say no either because I feel the same! If I wasn’t worried shitless, do you think I’ll be spending my weekend babysitting you?”

“I’m not a kid. I don’t you need to babysit me,” you grit, the repeated insinuation that you’re nothing but an inconvenience to him making you tip over. “If you hate it so much, then just go.”

“Because that’s your go-to solution lately, right?” Yoongi scoffs, his chuckles patronizing you. “Why can’t you just grow up and own up to all of your mistakes? Why can’t you just say sorry-…”

“I’ve already apologized!” you burst, the calm you think you’ve mastered around him already being broken. You settle, even for the misplaced anger Yoongi has on you because you don’t want to make a bigger deal, but what you won’t settle for is having your character misjudged — especially if it involves your family. “I already apologized to Namjoon for causing him so much panic, and I can’t apologize to my mom because she doesn’t know about it. Maybe he hasn’t forgiven me yet because he sent you to look out for me when I don’t need you to, but I apologize to him whenever I can! I screw up but I own up to it, Yoongi.”

He’s silent at that, your outburst shutting him up contrary to what you expected. You thought you would set him off completely, and just when you think your fight’s already over and you could go to your room, you’re struck with reality.

It’s not about Namjoon. It’s not about apologizing to your brother at all.

“You want me to apologize to you?” you whisper, your disbelief growing into exasperation. “I’m sorry, Yoongi, for reacting the way I did,” you spit. “I’m sorry for being upset because I saw you fucking your girlfriend in my bed.”

Yoongi’s ears prick at that, your bluntness ironically catching him by surprise. “You’re so upset about it that you leave your home? You’re so upset about me being with my girlfriend that you think you’re entitled to just driving your loved ones into a heart attack?”

“Why are you so hung up about me leaving? Why can’t you be the one to apologize to me?”

“Because I’m not the one who’s beyond irresponsible and hopped up to whatever roadtrip my friends planned on the spot!”

“Maybe you should go on one just to get that stick out of your ass,” you scoff, running a hand through your hair. The bile’s rising in your throat again and you desperately want to find an outlet for it; anything that would remind you that even now, you pray, nothing Yoongi could say would hurt you more than he already had. “And for a change, before you leave for it, I’ll make sure to fuck someone on your bed, in your room, and get angry when you’re upset at me for it.”

“Why are you upset?” he raises his brows at you.

“Why are you angry?” you return the question, tucking your bottom lip to keep the tremble away from your voice.

Yoongi smiles tightly at you, far from pleased. “I’m angry because you’re upset that I’m fucking my girlfriend, when at the end of the day, it just happened to be in your room. Are you upset at me too for being with her outside of your room? Will knowing that make you run away again?” he laughs breathlessly, the recollection of the anxiety he felt when Namjoon called him making him shudder. “I’m angry because you think that me being with Hyewon is the end of the world. Y/N, do you know how much danger you could’ve been in? Could you even use your brain for one second and realize that you could’ve been hurt and everyone else would be devastated to know that?”

It’s that same tone again — that same, extremely familiar tone whenever Yoongi looked down on you.

“Do you know how your family would go insane? Do you know how devastated I would be if the worst happened to you?” he licks his lips, voice cracking near the end. “I’m angry because you keep wanting me. You keep being upset at me and I can’t do anything about that unless you let go of the idea that we’re going to be more than this.”

He looks down on you for many things; your intellect, your passion, and most recently — your love for him.

“Why can’t it be me?” you whisper, eyes downcast because in case Yoongi gives you the truth, you don’t want his gaze to be embedded in your brain forever.

“You’re Namjoon’s-…” he sighs, interrupted instantly when you stumble over your words in desperation.

“No, Yoongi. Without mentioning that I’m your best friend’s sister — why can’t it be me?”

Yoongi sighs heavily in the same way he looks down on you, calculated and exhausted.

“It’s late,” he lulls as if he’s talking to a kid, the warm inviting smile nowhere to be found on his face. “Go to sleep.”

#yoongi imagine #yoongi series #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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silvershiningtarot · 6 months

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PAC 🙃: Random Facts about your future spouse.

Disclaimer: 18+ mature. This is about random things about your husband. and what crazy stuff about them? Remember, this is a general reading. I got these pictures from Pinterest. These Are All Eight Piles about Your FS

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Pile1:

• They are an emotional guy/girl and you two have a telepathy connection. They are looking for a life partner for life. They want to spend the rest of their life with their life partner. Your Spouse is a bit bitter, Resentment, and angry. He gives people’s second chances. They are easily forgiven. They are opening up their eyes and seeing a new perspective in their life. Clear head space. 💋. They're the type to come clean (confession). They repeated cycles in their life.Your Spouse is a big tall guy. Either 6’5 or 6’3. They love love ❤️, hopeless romantic kind of guy/girl. They were in a terrible relationship they got out of. With someone who didn't treat them right. Your Spouse is a Dominant Daddy.Your Husband is The Type To Keep You Safe and Protected they are. Your Husband Is Processing Taking Steps toward their life partner. Your Husband Might Come Into Your Life Next Year. Your Husband Are A CHAIN BREAKER Your Husband Loves Music, and is old-school. Your husband is a religious man. They're traditional and it is hard for them to change Their mind. They're either a Cancer ♋, or they are born around Cancer season. Random things about your husband are that they let their friends help them on the dates. They are the type to pull people aside and talk to them. Including you. When you two meet they'll be the ones who’ll pull you over and talk to you privately. So private husband you got ladies/gentlemen. They are stepping into their new beginnings. Your husband doesn't like to stay stuck. Some of your husbands might be Aries, or Born around Aries Season. Or maybe, that's their favorite season. Remember, what I said earlier they are not in a relationship. They are doing some healing process right now. So aren't looking for a romantic relationship. If you had to meet your husband right now. You two would just be friends. But they like to keep their friends in a friend zone. They won't want to cross that limit. They like going to the hospital to volunteer to help people with medical. Your husband goes to the park to think or just to walk around. Just to be in nature. They spend time with their friends or by themselves at the nightclub. Having a good time.

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Pile 2

•Your Husband has a hard time opening up their hearts. They date around. They love spending time alone by themselves. They're the type to anyone they love they'll handle your family members or friends, or anyone they'll expose who they are. Very protective. Your husband is the type to bring a girl/guy/they/them flowers. They are gentlemen. They'll give someone all their attention. I mean all of it. They are a passionate lover including the bedroom🤤🤤. Their friends are very possessive of them. I heard ��unhealthy.” these friends might be unhealthy for your husband. Yikes😮. They still clinging to the past. They still have past people around them. Your husband is a player, immature, and closed off. They think they are not worthy of love. Your husband is Easy to impress. They are the type to run away from conflict. They'll ignore the situation the next day. Change a whole different topic. Your husband is a Celebrity but they are famous in a different way. Your husband got money. I heard “wealthy.” So they're Rich. They love going to the shopping Mall. They are always shopping. They go to the gym to work out their bodies. I heard “meeting people”. They go to the gym just to socialize. Your husband goes to the forest cabin just to clear their mind and get away from the world for a little while. Maybe, they have a favorite gas ⛽ they like to go to. Like a convenience 🏪.

♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏♏

Pile 3

•Your husband likes to keep their loved ones safe. If he had to meet you they'll keep you safe. Cuz they love your energy. They are honest. Very straightforward kind of person. They don't like lies or deal with liars. Your husband going through some kind of family drama and they are feeling drained right now. Oh, sorry 💔 to them. They dreamt about you or someone like you. They have a hard time remembering. Your husband goes to their heartbreak place. To grieve and just cry out their tears. I believe because they are going through some drama with their families. 😭. So they drown themselves in their workplace. So their favorite place is work. Like to be in their zone. Your husband likes to be in the kitchen, and train 🚂, and they like to stare out the window too. Maybe, they have a plant by their window. I heard “love being kitchen.” So they like to be in the kitchen 😂. Your husband is a sports player. They love playing sports. I heard “As a Hobby.” so even as a hobby they love playing sports. They love to read too. They probably have a library in their House. Your husband is dreaming about you or your energy they are dreaming about. They seem impatient. Your husband is a momma’s boy and they love their mother. They can play piano, guitar, and other instruments. They are a musician, either a rapper, singer, etc. They want to do other dreams. But I feel they are unsatisfied with the job they got. Your husband might have to choose as to which girl/guy they want. I don't know how that came to be but yeah. Haha 😂 your husband is talking sarcastically. For example, if they like you and you are going on a date with someone they'll be like “Yeah, I don't think he's good-looking for you. Or there is someone else better for you.” Haha 😂. They'll meet you when they are going through a big transformation. Just divine timing.

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Pile 4

•Your husband is a hippie kind of guy/girl. They believe in freedom, peace, and tranquility. They might be a gambler and they go to the casino 🎰 to hit the jackpot. 😂. But they are good businessmen. Your husband loves sex. They have some dark kinks they want to share and try with someone. I heard “made fun of.” With these kinks, Your husband gets made fun of. They are a workaholic. They’ll burn themselves out to make sure that their whole family is taken care of. They are the type that will curse your ass out whenever you get out of line. They'll apologize at the end but they'll get their point across. Your husband is around bad energy right now. A lot is going on with your husband. They are a player and they are closed off. Your husband likes to go to the park. I think that they like to be around nature. That's where they go to retreat. They travel a lot. Your husband goes to the airport a lot. I heard “business meeting.” so they go on business meets. I’d think that this business trip by far. Your husband is a gambler so they go to the casino 🎰 a lot. Your husband might be a boxer or they love to box. So they'll knock someone the fuck out if they have to. I heard “hard knuckles.” so they might have some hard knuckles. Your Spouse still clinging to the past people. I think they still have them in their life. Your Spouse is a pushover. People always playing with your husband’s heart. They don't know that they are getting hurt. Oh yikes. So basically, your husband is a sweetheart. They are known but not famously known. Your spouse is a celebrity but know what you think a celebrity is.

☀️🔆☀️🔆☀️🔆☀️🔆☀️🔆☀️🔆☀️🔆☀️🔆☀️🔆

Pile 5

•Your Spouse is going through some family drama 🎭 right now. This is a bit similar to a Pile 3 or 4. They are feeling drained right now. Your husband is a lover. They love love. They are searching for it in everyone else. But they get heartbroken. Aww, sorry 💔 to them. I heard “bird watching or hiking.” I think your husband loves to birdwatch. I think they have binoculars. Your spouse might be an engineer. They work on cars, or they might just work there. Your Husband loves going to the beach. That's where their favorite place to go since they were a child. Any beach ☀️ they love to go to because I heard “that's their sanctuary” I believe that their safe place to go is the beach. Or they might have a beach house. Your Spouse is a geek, they read comic books and I feel that they like going to art conventions. Check out some art paintings. I had a vision just now. They were wearing black suits and just staring at the painting. I can see them right now. Wow, definitely, a handsome man/woman/they/them. They're the type to bring a girl/guy or they/them flowers. Even if you didn't ask for it or didn't slip your mind they'll buy them for you because they thought of you. Everybody loves your husband’s attention. Everyone! Woo 😯 that man/girl/ they/them are fine as hell. 😂💋. Your spouse is the type to handle what needs to be handled. They'll expose your family if they have to. Your husband is a happy guy/girl, They/them. They don't like to be in a low vibrational sense. They truly don't. You know they've been through some hard times in their life. So Your Spouse always smiling. Some of Y’all husbands have an aggressive tone of voice. It does intimidate other people. I feel that a lot of people are scared to approach your husband.

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Pile 6

•Your Spouse is a boxer. They like to fight to get their frustration out. I do see them having a bad temper. So your husband has a bad temper. Not physically tempered I don't feel that way. But they have a lot of anger issues. I don't want to assume but that's what I'm getting. So they get easily mad. They are quick to defensive. Your husband has a big ego. It will trigger the fuck out of you. But they have a huge ego issue. They think that they are better than people. Your husband is the type to curse your ass whenever you get out of line. But they will apologize to you at the end. I heard “straightforward.” Your Spouse is an honest man/girl. They have a lot of bad energy around them. So much bad energy around them. Yikes, they don't know how to handle conflict. So they remove themselves from drama✌️. Your husband is a pushover. A lot of people are playing with him. I heard “manipulated.” so they are kind-hearted they are sweethearts. Your spouse is a big guy/girl or they/them are tall. They got out of bad situations. They'll help you get through some hardships in your life. Your Spouse has plenty of planotic soulmates and I think some of you, this is your planotic soulmate. They'll be a part of your life. Your husband is a divine masculine and they are looking for their divine feminine. They'll meet you at a workplace and I believe that your friends will hook up with them. Spouse is a player and they are closed off with their heart. They act all immature.

🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍🙌🏽💍

Pile 7

•Spouse is a happy guy/girl or them/they. They've been through a lot. They’ll be the type to handle your family if you have some messed up family members. They'll expose them. Your spouse is looking for their Divine Feminine because they are Divine Masculine. They like to wear matching outfits and it does take them a minute to get dressed. Their true love is a celebrity or your spouse is your true love. They are a celebrity but in a different way. Most of your spouses could be veterans. They love taking care of animals 😻. I feel that their higher self is watching you. They are process of moving forward with their life. Your husband could be an engineer. Your husband is a big guy/girl. They love love.

❤️🍀❤️🍀❤️🍀❤️🍀❤️🍀❤️

Pile 8

•7 of wands, your husband might be defensive and keep their cards close to their chest. They are guarded. They feel that everyone is after them. I heard “tempered.” they are paranoid. Random things about your husband are that they are fucking guarded as hell. They don't know how to let their guard down. The Hermit, your spouse keeps to themselves and they like to stand alone by themselves. I heard “work by themselves.” so they probably do a lot of shadow work. They can be mercury-dominant or just very dominant. 7 Of Pentacles, they are patient. They keep to themselves. They know how to just flow. 4 Of Wands, your spouse knows how to celebrate their wins. Whatever opportunity they have they'll celebrate. But I keep looking at the seven of Pentacles. Makes me think that your husband is the type to be patient and flow. Whatever the universe got for them💋. They know that they have earned it. I feel that your husband does magic too. I don't know why but that's what came to my head. So they are strong manifestors.

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Reblog, and like this post. These are random facts about your Spouse. Enjoy! All 8 Piles!! Comment and reblog!

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hwan-g · 11 months

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I WAS ALL OVER HER. (bang chan)

pair. ex soldier! chris x fem! reader | genre. attraction at first sight, bartender mc, angst, smut | warnings. smoking, profanity, mentions of trauma, mental struggle, flawed characters, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, sexual thoughts, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cunnilingus | word count. 5.7k

synopsis. you get off exactly at two o’clock every night. chris is patient—he drinks, and watches. you don’t look very happy where you are. he wants to change that, wants to know why. he’s not happy, either. but he could be, maybe. with you. for you.

Every man in there has been flirting with you.

You appear oblivious to it, and maybe that’s exactly it—a pretense, a hoax, because this is how you pay the bills and keep your job, and now Chris sees you under a different light, no more the deer in the headlights, but rather the car heading straight for the poor animal, foot on the gas, unyielding.

Not quite so innocent, and nothing about this place is. Lee Minho’s own bar, his pride and joy, bleeding reds and yellows, a jukebox from the late eighties bought at an auction placed aesthetically by the window wall with the neon sign and the street lamps outside. It’s all very purposeful, very strategic. A house of cards, if you ask the man sitting at the bar, sporting a whiskey-on-the-rocks in his strong hand, but what isn’t? Everything collapsing, all at once, constantly—he’s seen that, too, a thousand times.

His rib cage feels restricting, his breath hitches. You’re bending over the ice cooler, and he can clearly see the trace of your underwear underneath the black linen skirt. Your ass curves deliciously, and his palms are suddenly itchy. No, Chris is no different than the men polluting this establishment, nor has he ever claimed to be. He’ll show you a good time if you’re up for it, but he won’t beg, won’t even pick up the courage to flirt his way into that sinful fucking skirt. Black suits you.

He doesn’t stand a chance. And he’s not a creep, not for the most part, at least.

He’s been a regular, though. You know his name and he knows yours. He heard about your grandma passing and that one time your car broke down in the middle of nowhere and you had no one to call except for your boss. He almost volunteered that night; almost opened his stupid mouth, muttered something he would never be able to take back—you can call me, I’ll always come—but he didn’t, because there had also been a boyfriend for a while back then, too. Tall and lanky, covered in tattoos and bad decisions. Chris knows all about those, but what he didn’t know—

What you saw in that guy. How he took you home once and then kept taking you, in multiple ways he supposed, burying between your legs, kissing your lips and laying a claim on you everytime he got the goddamn chance—he’s glad the fucker’s gone, but not glad for the broken heart and the tears. Oh, and the shots. You’d been too drunk to stand, could barely talk. Still, Chris wasn’t the one to take care of you then, either, though he’d jumped out of his chair the moment he saw you swaying. Hands as fists, teeth clenched, he saw Minho carry you to the back, then called for Jisung to come and close the bar for the night.

He’d been an observer his whole life. And when he wasn’t—when he showed up, took initiative, buzzed his hair and made a choice—it all went to shit. Two years of goddamn sand, sunburns, bullets scratching past his thick fucking head, innocent civilians dying before his eyes, his own arms raising a rifle, pointing, threatening. Killing. Lots of that, mostly that, and orders. So many fucking orders he could recite them in his sleep, if he had any of that. Insomnia was a hell of a bitch, as it turns out, and she’ll see you know that. She’ll make sure of it.

Sergeant, take your comrade and go back! This is an order from your captain. Do you fucking hear me? It was a suicide mission, for fuck’s sake—

But enough of that. He does a lot of remembering on his own. He’s there to forget about it all for a while. He’s there to look at you, to observe your hands fixing other men drinks, to fantasize having those same hands wrapped around his cock, to feel how they would work him over the edge, how much or how little you’d squeeze, if you’d take him in your mouth, how your lips would pucker to suck him in, his head falling back, breathing rugged, his entire body in full attention, very similar to his training days, mud up to his knees—

It’s only been six months. You’ll go back to normal in no time, they’d said. If you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to give us a call on our office number. He had a lot of those. Concerns. Mostly about the dead people behind closed eyelids, how they moved and moaned his name even though he never told them, or just the simple fucking question of his mind—it’s all jumbled now, it replays memories like a broken record, and cannot seem to shut the fuck up, not even for a single moment. Chris feels like he’s drowning, most of his days. Neck deep in water, surrounded by bulletproof glass, no way in, no way out. What to do about that?

Leave a message after the beep, apparently. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.

He’d like to flirt with you. He’d like to say one thing and then keep pouring out, keep saying, keep talking, if only to have your eyes on him, to keep your gaze trained on him, to have your undivided attention. But to hear your voice reply back, to invest in him, to listen and have words for him. He craves your words, the way your mouth would curve around the syllables, how your lipstick will coat your sentences, so that when they travel they reach their destination sweeter than ever.

Chris is starved. Of many things, yes, but of what you have to offer him. Of what he wants to ask of you. It’s a specific hunger, wanting you, one that’s hard to shake. So, he doesn’t. He couldn’t possibly.

The men continue ogling. He considers it a mercy to let them—to his friend, but to you, also. ‘Heaven knows I’m miserable now’ starts playing on the old piece of junk in the corner, the guy responsible for the choice of song going back to his booth, cherry cigarette glinting amongst a rain of color. Chris tries not to smoke in front of you, you’ve probably inhaled enough of it to last you a lifetime, but it’s times like these, times he can’t seem to stand himself—

“Really, Al?” You ask the record player, and the man shrugs, lifts his glass your way.

“It’s one of those days, doll.”

It is, indeed.

“And you?”

It takes Chris a full five seconds to realize you’re addressing him. Why? Which God should he thank? And how to form coherent sentences when your eyes are piercing through him like a million knives? He wraps his hand tighter around his drink, hoping you don’t notice how undone, how completely in your web he is now—a caving man, ready to fall on his knees for you. You could do anything you want, you could spit at him for all he cared, kick his sorry ass out, as long as you didn’t take your eyes away.

His voice comes out raspy, distorted. Alien. A false sense of confidence.

“What about me, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks are flushed, your eyebrows knit together as if you don’t quite understand what he’s asking. His eyes travel to where your shirt has ridden up to reveal the soft skin of your waist, though he doesn’t let himself indulge too long. Chris would love to have you under him, to guide your hands over his bullet wounds and his own down the hills and mountains of you. But how to get you away from here, how to take a girl like you from this impenetrable tower he’s locked you in. He laid down the bricks, he cemented you in place to keep you out of his life, when all he’s ever wanted to do was let you take over everything, let you annihilate, destroy, build anew.

He really can’t fucking stand himself.

“You look sad, Chris.”

I’m sorry. His fingers search for the pack in his jacket, slipping a stick between his teeth, bringing the flame close, and inhaling. You blink and busy yourself with wiping down the counter, but he can tell you don’t like it when he smokes, him in particular, a question mark he’s burning to know the answer to. Do you care? Do you care like I do?

How simple it’d be, to be sad. A state that will pass, chemistry of the brain that can easily be overturned, switched with a quick fix of serotonin. It almost makes him laugh. No, what he is—wretched, forlorn. A rotting corpse somewhere in the Middle East. If he were to guess, he came back, some fucking semblance of him, only for you. And he’s fucking it up, he’s letting you slip right through his very hands. You’re single now, but for how long? How fucking long will it take for him to grow the balls and tell you straight up?

Tear me apart and put me back together. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. I’m all fucking wrong now, but you can fix me. God, I’ll let you. Say the word and I’ll let you.

His lips quirk, a bitterness enveloping him. “Yeah? Is that what I am?”

You turn your back to leave a beer to the man on the other side of the bar, and he misses you already. Chris obliges you when you look ready to make small talk with him. He’s even cracked a joke or two on occasion, just to feel that constricting feeling in his chest again, the one that warms his bones and makes his ears ring. The sound of your laughter is intoxicating, unlike anything he’s ever heard, but much like a bomb. Devastating. Impossible to ignore. Today’s not one of those days.

The clock on the wall reads one-fifteen. He’s faintly aware of the sputtering on the window, the rain that’s coming or is already here. He’ll have to go home soon. He wonders if you’ll come. He wonders if he’ll ask you to.

When you turn around, he thinks the rainbow’s already out. The worst has passed.

And then you lean in. Towards him. The cigarette in his mouth stills, his heart stops. He can smell you, the sweetness of you, the warmth of your hair, and he’s surely dreaming. You’ve never done that before. He’s never let you. But you’re here now, so close he could exhale in your mouth, so close there’d be a misunderstanding, could be considered an invitation—

“I’m here if you need to talk, you know?” Your eyes are real empathetic. They make him sick to his stomach.

Deflect, deflect, deflect. Brick after brick.

“There’s nothing to say, baby girl.” Tell me what shampoo you use. Do you have trouble sleeping at night? What are you doing in this bar?

Let me take you away. Come with me.

You don’t believe him. “Promise?”

The side of his mouth curves again. He muses at the cherry between his thumb and index. “Scout’s honor.”

You walk away from him, time and time again. Angel hair framing, devil’s body swaying, those fucking lips taunting.

“If you say so, Christopher Bang.”

What do I know, sweetheart. What do I fucking know.

He waits. He’s real good at waiting, too.

Chris thinks about your proximity earlier and can’t seem to let it fucking go. In that same sense, he could do anything, and he ponders over that leaning against the exit, knowing you’re in the background of him, sweeping, putting chairs up, washing the glass his lips have touched, and isn’t that a closeness as well, a different one, one that matters more than anything else or ever?

He feels like he’s on the verge of something tonight, and for once he’d like to know what it is. He wants to screw concepts like control and restrain and just grab you—hold you—press his nose against your cheek. You’re such a vague emotion for him, he doesn’t know what to do with you, how to start, he just wants, he just craves, and that same hunger stirs again, the one that never goes away, the one that started the first night he ever set foot in this place, the soft opening, and he saw you, and you looked at him, and he was gone.

Have you ever felt that way? Do you want to? Is it even a sane feeling to have? It never ends for him, never stops. Not the war, not you, not the orders, and maybe control isn’t so overrated, maybe he still has time to pull it all together enough to walk to his car and go sleep it off on his empty bed with the colorless sheets and the humidity that clings on and to and from everything.

His waiting had a purpose, though. He has to go through with it.

Hyunjin, your little helper on Saturday’s, comes out the door with a backpack strap on one shoulder, cig drooping between full lips, brown hair falling out of a loose bun. Chris barely glances at him, before tapping his boot on the cobblestone underneath him, and focusing his gaze back towards the light coming from the street lamp on the other side of the street. It’s drizzling now, but he wishes to see that magnificent lightning crack once more, to feel thunder under his skin, the water pouring down on him like karma from times passed.

Some sort of punishment, surely, he deserves. He fought for a country that won’t even acknowledge him, lost friends he’s known since he was four years old learning how to ride a bicycle, and his mind is somewhere left behind trying to dig itself out of the thick of it, and for that—surely, surely for that—redemption will not come, but cruelness? Cruelness must. It has to.

“She’s been sleeping with Minho, you know,” the pretty boy says exhaling clouds of smoke. Chris watches them morph then dissolve into nothing.

He knew that. It was bound to happen at some point.

“You come so often and yet never say anything at all, man. What do you think she’s gonna do? Wait?”

There’s humor in that, he supposes. Wait, yes, one option. He has, he thinks, for so long. It’s never crossed his mind to stop, to look elsewhere, to find someone else. It’s who he is, it’s how it works with him. But were you anything else besides a princess locked in a tower with a dragon, a tower he’d build you, and it keeps coming up because it’s true, it won’t seize just because it doesn’t fit the narrative in his stupid head. He has no right to feel anger, no reason why he should feel wronged. Minho is your boss, you’ve worked for him for a good while, you’re pretty, beautiful, fuck, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon, and Minho’s cunning. Handsome. Successful.

Why the hell not? No, he doesn’t fault you. He can’t.

It doesn’t sting less coming from someone else.

Chris asks what is obvious. “How’d you know? About me?”

Hyunjin lifts his hands in front of him. “Tunnel vision. It’s like you see no one else,” he pauses to take another drag of what looks like a Camel. “Kinda obsessive, don’t you think?”

Yes. If I knew better I’d walk away right now. But he won’t. Because he doesn’t care that someone else has you, has had you, will eventually have you. It’s you he wants, not the pretty packaging, no matter the fantasies and hard ons. You, he wants to talk to you, bring you in his car and dissect you, learn about you, hear you speak, let you address him how you do—Christopher—his full name taking shape, blooming, transforming into something else just because it came out of your mouth.

He’s never let himself think about kissing you, not really. But, God, would that feel a resurrection.

The door opens again.

“Hyun, what—oh.”

The boy smiles, dips his head at Chris and walks away, two fingers up and swiftly moving as goodbye. Your phone is pressed on your ear, and you look tired. He was wrong to sit there and demand. He was wrong to expect, to assume. Embarrassment creeps, and the back of his neck feels hot. He bites on his tongue and tastes metal.

“I’ll call you back,” you say to the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, no, maybe not tonight. Okay,” your eyes on him. “Okay, bye.”

He can’t help himself. “You had plans.”

Your lips curve, and your skirt is so fucking short. He could bend you over right then and there. He could have his way with you, and walk away forever. Get you out of his system, strip you from him. How easy it all sounds.

“I have new ones now,” you simply say, and take a step towards him. “Why are you still here, Chris?”

You’re begging him for the truth. This time he thinks he can give it to you. “Because you’re here.”

You blink and shift on your legs. Your boots are black, leather. Tall. Still not taller than him. You look into him like you know him and it pisses him off. He wants you so badly his insides twist and turn against him. He could die with this want, he almost has. Move closer. Reach out. Keep your eyes on mine.

I could fuck you so good. Almost as good as you fuck me.

“And that means?”

He swallows. He doesn’t think. “Whatever you allow it to mean.”

Your huff is bitter, your gaze manic. You’ve had a few drinks, laughed with a couple customers, let them slip you tips and led them on until you couldn’t, and he watched it all. He won’t say it out loud, but you’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you. If so, why don’t you give out? Why must you starve him like this?

He lights another cigarette just to see you care again.

You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth, and glare at him. He grins. You shake your head, and cross your arms, fake mad. Look how good you’re playing this game. What if you played forever? What if you played it in his bed or his car?

“I’ve fucked your friends,” you admit, but he thinks it’s supposed to hurt, because there’s an edge to your voice. “Jisung still has my clothes. Minho thought we were gonna fuck in the back after work yesterday. I almost let him. His fingers were inside my cunt for the longest.”

I could kill them. I could wear the arms that aren’t mine and pick up a gun again. But you want this reaction.

“Is that so, sweetheart,” he says carefully, concealing any sign of acid jealousy running rampant inside of him.

“You didn’t come yesterday.”

You do care. I can’t believe it took me this long to see it.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“You are a blind man, Christopher,” you scorn him, eyes turning vile.

He’s losing you before he’s even had you. You told him loud and clear, and he still won’t dare lift his hands from his ears. This needs to be something more. He needs to make it so, build on it. The smoke burns his eyes, burns you. Let it burn me alive. He had you, somehow. He walked the line, treaded carefully, and found you in the middle, like a mirage. Where you weren’t before, you appeared suddenly. It had been like that for a while, and he’d never dared lift his head up, in fear you disappeared, in fear of missing you.

“Show me, then,” he rasped. He watched your hands as you locked the entrance, as you hesitated to turn back. “Come with me.”

You were hurt. “And let you become one of them? You’re not one of them, Chris.”

You’re right. They’ll never want you like I do. But to go from one point to the next—something needed to give.

“I won’t touch you,” he licked his lips, stepping back, stepping down. “I swear it.”

Something he didn’t expect you to do—snatch the Marlboro right out of his mouth, stick it in yours. Your saliva mixing, the tobacco running down your throats, blackening your lungs. He was staring. You looked back just as defiantly. The rain was nowhere to be seen.

She’s testing me. Measuring up.

“Fucking liar,” you accuse. “Say that again and look at me straight.”

Chris started walking, instead. You exclaimed and laughed triumphantly. But if you followed, he didn’t check. He almost didn’t want you to, couldn’t trust himself with the promise he made, and isn’t that how he mostly gets himself in trouble—words that can’t seem to match his actions. He’s fucked himself over too many times like this. Surely there’s some sort of award for that.

“You have been nothing but a coward and that’s why you’re running away, even now, even knowing what you know.”

The need to make you shut up was raw and primal. It made his teeth grit, his fists clench. It also made him stop dead in his tracks.

“What do you know about running away, baby girl?” He spat, turning his head half way. “You think it’s easy?”

He heard them, then. Your footsteps.

He almost smiled, the crazy bastard.

“Yes, I do,” you retorted stubbornly. “My ride is gone and I stayed. What do you think that means?”

Don’t love me. Don’t get in the same pit, six feet under.

“You’re playing with me.”

“No more than you are with me.”

It took exactly three strides to reach you, to bury his fist in your hair and bring your face flush against his. Your breath hitched, your eyes grew wide, wild—he’d caught you off guard, he was rough, angry, furious. If he passed his forearm under your ass you’d shoot your legs up and around his waist in surprise, perhaps desire even, that was simple to calculate, but—what then?

Chris would fuck you tonight. He knew fuck all about anything else that had to do with you, but your very scent spoke to him. You were turned on, you were fucking wet. For him. Your knees squeezed together, he felt it against his pants. He bets you can feel him, as well. He wanted you to.

“Dangerous path you’re treading there,” he mumbles against your mouth. His fingers dig deeper in your scalp, he wants to feel your heartbeat over his, he wants it to accelerate, to make you dizzy, to surrender, to give in, finally, for fuck’s sake. “We’re not very good at bluffing with each other, are we, baby girl?”

You did something, then, something he hadn’t counted on—you leaned in, you let go. Chris almost flinched away, almost locked you back in that room, in that tower, away away away.

“You should kiss me,” barely a whisper, barely a command. “I want you to kiss me.”

There was no logic behind that, if that were to happen he’d— “I’m not gonna stop,” he warns, pleads. “I have—I have been starving for you…for so long, (Y/N). If you know what you’re doing, know I’m not gonna stop.”

You blinked, and then you smiled. “No one’s stopping you.”

He continued, entranced, drunk, insane, “I’m not going to fucking be one of them. You’re gonna stay with me. We’re gonna give this a try.”

“You’re delusional.”

You kiss him first. You end it first.

His car is right there, so close, so far, but he’s clutching your shirt, your hair, your face, your hip, and it’s so fucking hot, no, you are, you’re the hottest thing he’s ever touched, he could burst into ashes and smoke right there if it were possible, perhaps he wants to, perhaps making the first move was never an option for him—

Your teeth click against his and it hurts but it feels good, like violence, like the battlefield, and he wants to show you—what the bullet feels like piercing the skin, what hands as guns are capable of, how truly terrifying it is to not be in control of your own life, of your own destiny; Chris is sure you’re holding that red string for the both of you. You could snap it, twist it, break it. Maybe you should. Maybe there’s still time to put a full stop to this, the what if’s are too many, his head is spinning, his cock is fully erect, he’s—

Fuck him, he’s really holding you right now, isn’t he? He’s backtracking you to privacy, he’s looking for the keys in his back pocket, and you’re going along with it like you would’ve all along. It pisses him off. He wants to tear you apart, limb from limb, not quite aware of how dark that sounds, only the insistent pulse of hunger present.

“Don’t hold back,” you breathe into him. He staggers, scared of your thought-reading abilities. “Not for my sake.”

There’s one bone chilling moment where he pulls back and stares at you. In the feverish dream, he could pretend this was all make believe, that he had most likely passed out on the bar stool waiting for you to close, or even further, that he was still choking down sand next to dead bodies and machine guns—to actually—actually think you craved something like this?

After all the pushing and pulling? After Jisung’s embarrassed unanswered calls, Minho’s obnoxious smirk, Hyunjin’s shame inducing comments?

“You want this,” he tests, stricken. Confused.

You dare roll your eyes at him, closing the door after you. You’re properly straddling him now, your core pressing where he needs you most, and his hips buck, instinctively, his arms steadying you unconsciously. He wants to do it again, goes for it, but you meet him halfway, and it’s as good an answer as any. What comes out of your mouth, not quite a moan or a quiver—heaven, it must be, the gates opening, welcoming.

“I’m here, Christopher,” you say, and—

Say it again. Say it again and again and again. Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.

“Isn’t that enough? Get it through your head or I’m leaving.”

He does. He tries. He undresses you slowly, whatever he can reach, whatever’s accessible, and you let him, you stroke his shoulders, relax them, tense them to the point of fucking stiffness, but he can’t tell you that, he’s got one chance, he’s fucking taking it, he won’t miss, he won’t back down.

When he goes in to kiss you again, you press your naked chest over his thin tank top, and even then, he feels it—your pointing nipples, how hard they are, asking for attention. His hand comes out to reach for your neck, creating space by pushing you back, his tongue quickly wrapping around one bud, nibbling, sucking, teasing. You shudder, and his dick twitches. Holding you like this, applying just enough pressure to induce pain but making it manageable, he learned it for other purposes, it was never supposed to be for this, never for this—

He thinks he can begin using it for pleasure now. For something softer, more innocent. For you. On you.

You slip his thumb past your lips, licking over it, and he looks up through dark eyelashes, watches you do it, fantasizes about that mouth and how it would feel in other places, but he doesn’t want that from you now. He’d rather bury himself between your legs. He’d like to think you’ll have more time for everything else, more miracle chances.

Chris can smell your arousement. You’re practically soaking his pants with how you’re dry humping his thigh. He loves watching you losing yourself, he’d just love it even more if you were doing it with his cock inside you. His nails dig into your waist, his wanting unbearable, uncontrollable.

He’s shaking with the sheer force of it, though he would never truly admit it to himself.

You release his finger, and he brings you back, hand getting lost at your nape, holding you there, boring his eyes into yours, searching, asking, verifying. You’re so warm, his girl. The girl he’s wanted for so long, he’s dreamed of, has fought for in a silent war—before he even knows what he’s doing, he pulls you in for a hug, forgetting his own flesh, his desire.

You’re warm. Are you always this warm? Will you let me have this? I’ve been cold for so long, so fucking long…

“We’ve waited too long, don’t you think?” You mumble in his ear. You fall into him, relax your weight. Crush me. Let me feel you. “Do it, Chris. Please.”

Yes. Yes, you’re right. “I want you to know,” he starts, voice cracking, full of emotion. “I’ve lived through Hell wasting all that time. I’ve thought about death and addiction, and about how none of that could ever fucking compare to having you, like this, one day. You’ve kept me straight, sweetheart. Sane.”

It takes only a second for the words to register, before you’re unbuckling his belt, unzipping, hand getting lost, and he holds his breath through all of it, holds you even tighter, and when you finally, finally, have him in your hand, he pulls your panties to the side and guides you over, slams you down, on him. You bite his lip to keep from screaming out and he only digs deeper in your cunt.

“Take them off,” you cry out, trying to move by your own volition. He won’t let you. “Take them off now.”

He reaches behind your back and rips the thin fabric off you, throwing it on the driver's seat. Then he’s fucking into you full force, pistoling his hips up into your warmth, feeling you squeeze around him, your mouth sucking on his neck, the car heavy with your breathing, windows smudged. When he’s not guiding your hips, he’s gripping your ass, he’s abusing your waist by smacking you down on his length, hard, forcefully, painfully by the scrunch of your brows, but the way you take it all—the way you’re blossoming over him, hungrier than he is, a slut dripping for him, for his cock, for the way it fills you up, the way he fills you up—

Chris is convinced your pussy was made for him, he fits so perfectly inside it. Your rhythm is manic, chasing, brutal, but you’re so wet, so fucking wet, it feels so good, he needs you to know, he needs you to hear it, something else other than his cock burying, fuck, fuck, baby girl, your cunt, your sweet fucking cunt, I wanna be inside it forever, I’m gonna fill you up so good, look at you, look how you’re moving on me, let me see you, sweetheart, let me taste it, I bet you taste incredible; God I could fuck you all night, I could ruin you, I want to, you’re gonna fucking kill me.

“I’m going to cum,” you rasp, breathless, turned on beyond belief. “Chris, I’m going to fucking cum, fuck, just like that, please, don’t stop, faster, please, please…”

He drills into you one last time, two, three, before his arms fully wrap around you and envelop you, bodies shaking, releasing. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, and you’ve made a mess of his car seat. He could give less of a fuck about the stain, it’s the smell that’s driving him crazy, his musk mixed with yours, the desire stirring in the pit of his stomach, the way he wants to throw you in the backseat and to take you from behind as well.

His cock empties itself inside you in aftershocks, and your rocking hips against him are not helping. He wants to pin you down but can’t bring himself to do it. It feels overwhelming, good as fuck, to know you want him this much, even if just like this, it’s a start, it’s something he can work with.

“Never fucked in a car before,” you admit, dazed, giggling.

The sound tickles him.

“Took your first time, then, didn’t I?” He retorts, aware of how ridiculous it sounds.

But then you lean back, your gaze grows serious, you stop squirming. He listens, he tunes in.

“Wish you had,” you say. “My first time was in a back alley of a club. I was drunk and left to find my own way back afterwards… Not quite a decision I’m proud of.”

Chris’ heart dropped. “Consensual?”

You nodded. “Not to worry.” But the smile you threw at him didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I wonder how it would’ve been, though, if it was you from the start. You joined the army so quickly, I wasn’t sure what to do.”

His worst mistake. Something he’ll regret for the rest of his life. Chris gently lifts you from his lap and lays your upper half body on the seat next to him, quickly propping one knee where he was sitting, grabbing your hips and passing your legs over his shoulders. You squeal, hands clutching at your chest, as you watch him.

He boyishly grins your way before digging in your pussy, slurping away, cleaning you dry. The sound that came out of your mouth upon contact, fucking hell, he’ll never forget it. His cock rose in full attention again, his heart melted right off his goddamn chest. And you kept making it, kept giving it to him, sending him straight to his grave, moaning his name like that, his full name, as his tongue lapped, his nose nudging your clit.

Fuck no, you weren’t cumming. He wouldn’t let you. Not yet.

He withdrew his mouth, lowering you gently but still having a forearm under and across your waist. You kept your eyes closed, your chest rising and falling in quick motions.

“Now I can take you home.”

Your hand in his, he brought you back to his lap, held you until you calmed down. He kissed your lips and let you taste yourself. He looked at you and looked at you and looked at you.

You weren’t going anywhere.

“This could be something,” you muse quietly, face nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

Chris bit down a chuckle, nodded softly in agreement.

“Let it,” he responded. “Let it be.”

You didn’t move an inch. A minute or a year passed, it was hard to tell. Then, ever so agonizingly slow, you tilted your head.

You smiled.

Fuck me.

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @streetlight-s, @amnmich, @imtoooyoungforthisshit.

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girlactionfigure · 4 months

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THURSDAY HERO: Benjamin Levin

Killing Nazis at age 14

Benjamin Levin was a young resistance fighter who, as one of the notorious “Avengers,” spent World War II hiding in a Lithuanian forest, emerging only to kill Nazis or bomb their supply chains.

Benjamin was born in Vilna in 1927. His father Chaim was a successful businessman and the family lived a comfortable life. In 1941, however, Chaim was tipped off that Nazi Germany was about to invade Lithuania. As Jews, that meant the Levins’ days were numbered. Chaim quickly sold his business at a loss, used the proceeds to buy weapons, and went into hiding with his family.

At the time, Benjamin was a 14 year old juvenile delinquent who’d started smoking at age 8 and was member of a street gang. After the German invasion, he chose not to stay with his parents in their hiding place, instead joining the fierce resistance group known as the “Avengers” led by Abba Kovner. Benjamin was an immediate asset to the group due to his unique combination of exceptional bravery and diminutive size. His baby face and unassuming appearance enabled him to avoid attracting attention, even in enemy territory.

Hidden in a Lithuanian forest, the teenager and his fellow Avengers killed Nazis, bombed their transportation lines, and smuggled life-saving food and medicine into the Jewish ghettoes. It was later estimated that the brave band of guerrilla fighters had killed 212 Nazis. Their policy was “take no prisoners.” In 1944, the Jewish fighters helped the Russian army liberate Vilna, after which they marched through town looking for Nazi collaborators to execute.

Benjamin’s parents survived the war in hiding, but when they returned to Vilna to reclaim their home, their former neighbors murdered them on the spot. With nothing to keep them in Europe, Benjamin and his sister moved to pre-state Israel, where he joined the Jewish militant group Irgun, fighting the British occupation of Palestine. Benjamin was in charge of helping Jewish survivors in Europe relocate to Israel. Benjamin’s street smarts and people skills served him well as he traveled through Turkey and Syria with European Holocaust survivors.

The Soviet army did not appreciate Benjamin’s work rescuing Jews from behind the Iron Curtain, and in 1947 he was arrested and sent to a Siberian gulag. After a year, Benjamin was released from the gulag and hitchhiked his way to Southern Europe, where he reconnected with the Irgun in Italy. The organization arranged for him to enroll in college and earn a degree in mechanical engineering. He was assigned to the engine room of a ship that sailed around the world, collecting money, weapons and volunteers to fight for the Jewish state.

The ship was called Altalena, and headed to Israel with hundreds of Holocaust survivors on board, as well as Jewish volunteers from around the world, and a cache of heavy ammunition secretly donated by France. When the Altalena reached Tel Aviv and tried to dock, the ship came under fire by the Haganah, a rival military group. Under machine-gun fire, young Benjamin leapt off the ship and swam to shore, then snuck into the country unnoticed. He had been through so much in the previous several years, had lived so many lives and assumed so many identities, that he actually forgot his own birthday. Later, he decided to make Passover – the festival of freedom – his official birthday.

Benjamin met his wife Sara, a Hungarian immigrant, in Israel, and ironically she was serving with the Haganah when they fired on the Altalena. Together they had two children, and moved to New York in 1967, where Benjamin worked as a mechanic and owned a gas station. In the 1990’s, Benjamin was interviewed extensively by Steven Spielberg as part of the Shoah Foundation oral history project.

For decades, Benjamin was an in-demand public speaker at New York high schools, where he spoke about the Holocaust and his remarkable life. Toward the end of his life, Benjamin was unable to speak, but he insisted on continuing his school appearances, with his son Chaim – named for Benjamin’s father – doing the speaking for him. Chaim remembered how much Benjamin loved interacting with students, and described his father as having “an enormous amount of energy and joy and love.”

Benjamin Levin died on April 13, 2020 at age 93. The last survivor of the Avengers, Benjamin died during Passover – his adopted birthday.

For heroically fighting Nazis and saving European Jews, and for educating generations of New York schoolchildren about the Holocaust, we honor Benjamin Levin as this week’s Thursday Hero.

#Thursday Hero

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lovelytsunoda · 7 months

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this call is coming from inside the house // zhou guanyu

summary: y/n shows zhou one of her favourite small town fall traditions. it’s a shame that they can’t find their way out.

pairing: zhou guanyu x female! reader

warnings: getting lost in a corn maze, reader tells a story about how she failed her driving test the first time (but she passed the second time! that is what matters), brief talk about past regrets

i once fell in love, and it was gas…soon found out I had a heart of glass

she hummed along to the blondie song playing in the radio, pandora charms clinking into each other as she tapped on the steering wheel, her lovers hand resting gently on her thigh as they drove down the old country laneway.

“and there’s where I failed my driving test the first time. i still can’t park for shit.”

zhou laughed, gently rubbing his thumb in circles on her thigh. “babe, i hate to break this to you, but you still can’t park.”

“oh, fuck you.” she feigned offence, turning down a side street. “i have a backup camera now, my reverse parking has gotten so much better.”

she never thought she’d be here; showing the love of her life around the town where she grew up, introducing him to her parents. she’d come a long way from the shy, timid seventeen year old she was, grown into an outgoing, lively twenty-two year old.

and zhou was everything she could have ever asked for. he treated her like a queen every minute of every day, made her feel like she was alive, truly alive. he was her safe haven.

all it had taken for the two to meet was a chance trip to miami. y/n and her friends couldn’t get tickets to the gp, so they’d impulsively signed up to volunteer on race day. zhou had been in her car for the drivers parade, and he asked her out after the race that night. they had never looked back.

she pulled off the street and into the parking lot, indicator ticking in the background as she circled the parking lot, looking for somewhere to park the car.

“love, you might need to parallel park here.” zhou frowned, looking around for spaces. “the lot is packed.”

y/n cursed, lining up her car to parallel park into the only opening in the gravel lot. “god, please don’t watch this shitshow.”

with a laugh, her boyfriend covered his eyes, allowing his girlfriend to painstakingly put the car in reverse and back into a spot, eyes roving between the backup camera and the blind spot mirrors. her shitty parallel parking had been one of the reasons she’d failed her test in the first place.

finally parked, the couple stepped out of the red jetta, holding hands as they walked towards the farm entrance. they passed under a large orange sign proclaiming the farms official name, groups of excited children running back and forth over the grass, paper cups of apple cider in their hands.

she had worked there for three summers, and two falls, setting up the u-pick orchards and picking berries for the farmers market. and in the fall, she had the best task of all: helping plot the course for the corn maze.

the maze's path had barely changed in all the time that y/n had lived there, and there was something so quintessentially small town about it that reminded her just how different her upbringing was from zhou's

"babe, you've gotta be five pumpkins tall to go in the maze without an adult." zhou joked, pointing at the handpainted height sign: five cartoon pumpkins stacked on top of each other.

"you're lucky i love you." she laughs, putting her arms around her lower back and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"i love you, too." he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and venturing into the maze.

there was something magical about corn mazes, almost as if they existed in liminal space. the soft fall breeze carried with it the smell of grass, the odors from the petting zoo nearby and the apple cider stand by the entrance. her heart swelled with love as zhou took her hand in his, softly guiding her through the first corner of the maze.

"it's usually a left here." she hummed, pointing a black fingernail towards a bend in the path. "many things about this maze have changed over the years, but never this corner."

"it's no fun if you already know the way." he laughed, following y/n down the bend. "where's the guess work?"

"um, i'd rather leave the maze in one piece."

zhou squeezed her hand reassuringly as they turned left, boots crunching over the leaves underfoot as they walked, jacket sleeves pulled over their hands. "walk on the wild side with me, babe. i'm not going to let you die in a corn maze."

"fine." she sighed, slowing her walk as they approached another fork in the path. "three paths, i'll let you choose."

she knew that this portion used to go straight through the middle, but that it had been changed to the right hand pathway. and of course, her lovely boyfriend had picked the left hand path, and she had to bite her lip to stop the protest bubbling in her throat.

she was supposed to be having fun, not worrying about dying in the maze with no food or water. there was cell signal, so she could always call her brother if worst came to worst.

the passage was narrow, only wide enough for one person to walk comfortably, so she drifted behind zhou, still holding his hand. the wind ruffled his dark hair, and he looked back at her with a fond smile. she blew him a kiss, gripping his hand and wrist as they exited the passageway.

when there was enough space for them to stand side by side again, she moved to stand next to him, placing one hand on his smooth, soft skin and angling his head towards hers before she leaned in to kiss him softly.

"thank you for sharing this with me. i know coming back here wasn't easy for you." zhou said softly, wrapping his arms around her.

"it's not that it wasn't easy, i do love it here, with my parents, and with my brother . . . but i don't really have much left here, all of my good friends are out in the city, and i met them in college. it brings back some memories that i'm not so proud of."

zhou rubbed his thumbs along her sides, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "i know, sweetheart. i know."

she kissed him again, sighing into his kiss. "i love you."

"love you more."

there was a rustle behind them, followed by voices as another group of tourists pushed through the maze. zhou tugged on her arm, pulling her around another, more secluded corner. it was a dead end, but that didn't matter when zhou pulled her in for another kiss.

"what'd you do that for?" she chuckled, looping her arms around his neck.

"wanted to kiss you some more."

public displays of affection had never been zhou's thing. he was so calm and reserved and shy, and the idea of being so vulnerable where other people could see it made his skin itch. things like hand holding, and an arm around the shoulders, a gentle kiss on the forehead were normal, but he was very shy about kissing in public.

she kissed him back, lips curving up into a smile. his lips were soft and warm against her cold skin, his hands cradling her body.

he made her feel so goddamn loved.

"zhou, sweetie?" she hummed, giggling as he kissed her hairline. "i think you got us lost."

"no i didn't. i know exactly how we ended up here." zhou frowned, looking around the dead end space. "it was just through here." he dropped her hand, walking back the way they came. "but i'm not sure where to go from here."

"is that not what i just said?' y/n laughed, coming up beside him and looping her arm around his. "you should have listened to me."

"we should have dropped breadcrumbs."

"come on, i think i know how to get us out of here." she giggled, grabbing his hand. "maybe it's time you let me take the lead."

zhou followed her, a lovestruck look on his face as he watched y/n pick her way back the way that they came, and then down the cetner path.

when that path eventually got them turned around as well, all zhou could do was laugh.

"you were saying?"

"shut up. do you remember how we got here?"

it was a sheer miracle that they found their way out before sundown, but they managed, the sun low in the sky as they emerged triumphantly from the mouth of the maze, y/n's arms pumping up and down in triumph. zhou reached for her hand, pulling her in for a quick kiss when he was certain that nobody could see them.

"you're a genuis, babe." he gushed, draping his jacket over her shoulders. "now, do you want the petting zoo or the apple cider?"

"why not both? we have all night before the maze changes over to the haunted house experience."

"you mean we have to go through that thing again? but this time with animatronics and men in costumes?"

"um, of course! but we know the way through this time!"

he laughed as he squeezed her shoulder.

"you're lucky i love you."

BONUS

yourusername I would follow you into the dark (as long as you could get us out of it)

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @lorarri @cartierre @oconso @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @clemswrld @httpiastri @love4lando

#zhou guanyu #zhou guanyu x reader #the cozy collection 2023 #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #zhou guanyu x y/n #Spotify

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thesmokingguns · 2 months

Text

25 Hours a Day w/ Izzy Stradlin

Minors DNI 18+

“Want to go somewhere quieter?” His eyes were dark in the dim lighting of the bar. All onyx gleam against mine as he waited for my reply.

The world got quiet for a second as heat flooded my cheeks as I nodded your head, watching him stare for a second too long before closing out the tab, slipping his hand on my lower back as you stood up ready to go.

Izzy smelled like the woods after the rain, the wet pine and forgotten secrets mixed with the harder edge of city life, whiskey and tobacco, making him so distinct. You were wrapped in the scent of him as he guided you through the crowd towards where he had parked the 60’s Chevelle in a glossy black that must have cost a fortune.

Not that izzy seemed to bat an eye about money, it was just another thing he had.

A chill racked your spine, his thumb pressing into the bones, running it up and down as he opened the passenger door for you, leaning in as you bent to get in.

“Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up soon.”

He was shutting the door for you, moving to the drivers side before you could gasp or call him out for what he had just said to you. His words leaving you with your mouth gasping like a fish out of water.

This was only my first date with him, despite this strange feeling that I knew him from somewhere. A memory just scratching at the surface but I hadn’t been able to bring it to the top yet.

I was aware he was driving me to his place, unsure if I should say something to him about it but feeling the nervous energy pulsing through your body, tingling you between your legs as my clit swelled with need and the damp desire flooded the silk panties I had slid on earlier today.

That same sense of will he see them now making my heartbeat wildly?

Izzy reached over, his veiny hand laying on my knee, a collection of cool silver rings chilling my skin as he turned his palm, walking his fingers up the flesh of my thigh as a shattered gasp of shocked want filled the air. A terror filled me as I realized that pant of want had escaped my lips. It was my needy sounds in the car.

“It’s okay, violet.” My eyes went from where he was resting his hand high on your thighs. HIs fingers lazily stroking with a surety that you weren’t sure existed in a bone of your body.

Violet? That wasn’t my name.

“On your lower back you have a birthmark, all violet in color and looking as soft as the petals of a flower.” He explained the nickname when he saw your confusion, my blush rising as I wondered how he knew about the spot that would only be clear in your swimsuits.

Sure I had spent time at the pool but that had been during the summer, weeks ago now that autumn had fully settled its dry bones over Indiana. Plus Izzy had been in LA, only visiting home recently to visit his family.

How could he have seen it?

But that information he didn’t volunteer to me with words. Instead he looked at me at the redlight, unafraid to make me wiggle uncomfortable in his gaze. He knew his effect on people and still didn’t care. He watched me in a way that was familiar, like his eyes had been on me for months and now you just realized all those times your hair had stood on end, looking around to see who caused me the feeling, was in front of me.

He smirked as he watched me swallow, his left hand moving to cup my jaw, thumb pressing where I had swallowed and trailing it down.

“Do you know how gorgeous you are?” The whisper was raspy with need and your eyes widened at the way he was affected by you.

As quick as he was on me he was off, pressing the gas as he squeezed my thigh, roaring down the street and getting closer to his house.

Everyone in our hometown knew where Izzy Stradlin lived. It was an old colonial style with so much land that you couldn’t even see it from the road. The wrought iron gates had been snuck over by local kids trying to get a glimpse of their celebrity. It had gotten to a point that Izzy hired a guard, who was currently opening the gates for the two of you to drive in.

Izzy nodded at the man as he drove down the drive, turning around the circular drive as he parked the car in front of the house, giving my thigh one more squeeze before jumping out and striding confidently to my side and pulling open the door for me.

“Before you come in, little violet, I’m going to give you a chance to back out of this.” I looked at him, shivering as leaves made sounds of bones tumbling in the wind. Autumn was craving to be winter. “I’ll drive you back to your house. Or you can come in and spend the night with me. I’m warning you. Think about this because I’m not sure I’m going to be able to let you go after one night. You might have found yourself well and truly fucked, little violet.”

Blinking I felt my heart speed up. Izzy was 29, eight years older than me. We hadn’t known each other in school and didn’t have mutual friends. Us meeting had been strange. He had walked into my job at the law firm, where I did clerical work with some guy my mom had dated at one point, and asked if I would have dinner with him. When I had blinked, confused he had gone on giving me a time and asking me my address, which I gave to him without thinking.

Sure enough at 6:55 my mother was yelling at me that he was here, her energy as excited as mine. My mother had me when she was 16 which made us close in a way that all our friends had always been jealous of.

When I walked down the stairs, wearing the slinky back top that tied in the back and tiny little denim skirt with strappy heels I had stolen from her closet she had told me to call her if I wasn’t coming home, making me burn like the sun as I threw open the door as Izzy walked up to meet me.

His eyes had widened as he stole a final drag of his cigarette, the cherry at the end burning as bright as his eyes as he looked at me as if I was the first girl he had ever seen. But he recovered quickly, holding out his hand as he helped me into his car and whisking me off to dinner and drinks.

And now I was in front of his house having to make a choice if I wanted to sleep with him tonight; I knew that was what was going to happen if I went inside with him.

“Can I use your phone?” he blinked, confused before smirking, recovering as he nodded his head, helping me inside his house.

I slid off the wool jacket I was wearing, letting Izzy take it as he motioned to where the phone was in the hall and mentioning he was going to go get us drinks.

Calling home my mother reminded me to have fun, knowing that she had taught me my whole life how to be safe. It was the fun part that she thought I didn't have enough of.

Slipping from my heels I groaned a soft sense of freedom as I returned to my height. Bare feet on cool wood floors quietly moved around until I was in the soft glow of a fire, watching Izzy carefully stroke it as warmth filled the room.

As a log cracked his eyes lifted from the flames to me, pausing as if he just remembered I was there with him and he wasn’t alone. The look was enough to make me dizzy with need as I moved into the living room further as he set down the poker, stepping to meet me.

His arms fit around my body in a way that felt like we had done this a thousand times before and not just tonight.

“You’re staying?” I nodded, my tongue suddenly heavy as I watched the way his lips lifted in the barest of smirks, “I’m going to kiss you now, little violet.” His fingers pushed back my hair as he got closer, not breaking eye contact with me, “And when I kiss you, everything is going to change.”

Before I could ask when he meant he was pushing a palm into my lower back to bring us flush together, his left hand tilting my chin up and cupping my cheek as he pressed his lips against mine in a possessive dominance that made my toes curl.

My hands slid up, over the black button down he had worn to clasp behind his neck, pushing myself up as I opened my lips, deepening the kiss that we were sharing. Heart thundering as Izzy’s tongue dragged along mine, our tastes becoming something new. Something that was distinctively ours.

It was delicious.

All at once it wasn’t enough, I needed more of him.

“We have a lifetime, little violet.” he warned as I pushed my hips against his , feeling the hardness he had for me.

“I want to start my lifetime now.” Izzy’s eyes flashed in desire before he was swooping me up, letting me wrap my arms around his waist as he spun us towards the couch in front of the fire, laying me down on the leather.

His body over me as he pushed against me, making me groan in need as I pushed up against him as he kissed me, claiming me and needing me. Our hips grinding against each other. Just his pants and my panties as a barrier.

But Izzy made quick work of all that, leaving us breathless and naked between kisses as his cock jutted, hard and leaking dots of precum that had me hungry for his cock. I wanted to taste him instead of letting it go to waste.

“I don’t want a barrier between us.” I should have told him that he needed to wear a condom but I didn’t want a barrier either. I wanted all of him. I wanted to see the way my body coated him with my wetness, to see how he looked covered in me.

“I’m on the pill.” He nodded, pushing the head into me as I felt the way my lips parted, hands searching for something to gasp as I looked down.

Both of us were staring, watching the place between my legs where our two bodies were joining together. Inch by inch he claimed me, pulling out to watch the way I made his cock glisten with my cum before burying himself back inside of me. Both of us are entranced by the beauty of our two bodies together.

“Fuck.” Hearing him moan for me made me look up from where our desire was fueled and to his face. The way he watched my body, how he looked like I was his euphoria. It made my stomach knot with need.

Reaching out, I stroked his cheek, his eyes flashing up as he looked at me, Izzy was lost in me. His eyes not holding that calm collectiveness that he had displayed. He was losing himself and it was because of me.

Tugging his hair I pulled his lips to mine, sitting up as I slid him deeper inside of me,rolling his hips so that he could get deeper inside of me. Filling me in a way that had me so full I wasn’t sure I would be able to walk after this.

He wasn’t even going that fast or hard, taking it easy as if each second he was inside of me was a time that needed to be savored and appreciated. He was engrossed with me, so wrapped up as we panted, letting out sounds that I hadn’t know were possible against each others lips as we moved together to music that our bodies were performing.

“You’re perfect, little violet.” His thumb stroked the birthmark I had always been embarrassed about, turning my feelings into something beautiful. Making something I hadn’t been happy about into something beautiful for me.

I was so close, Izzy seemed to sense my buildup. He pulled from our kiss, eyes on my face like he didn’t want to miss a moment of pleasure between us.

“Let go for me. Let me see the way you look when you come on my cock for me. Let me see you, little violet.” His words rattled me as I wanted to do it, wanted to have him watch me as I shattered apart for him.

My orgasm burst between us, his eyes widening in primal need as his hands gripped my hips, thrusting deeper, harder as he fucked me through my orgasm, letting me collapse against his couch as he covered me, chasing his own moment

“Izzy, fuck!” I cried out for him as my toes curled, a second orgasm shattering me and blinding my vision with tears.

“Yes, say my name again.”

“IZZY!” I cried out for him as I felt him, the warm thick feeling of being filled with ropes of cum as his cock rutted it deep inside of me, filling me with him before he laid against me, supporting most of his weight on his forearms as he tried to remember how to breathe.

The world was quiet chaos of crackling logs and breaths that shook our chests.

“I’ve been waiting months for you.” his lips kissed my collarbone as I tried to make sense of what he was saying to me, “Months of watching you just trying to be ready for you. I knew you were a hurricane. I just had to get ready for the storm.” His lips slid down as he kissed my stomach, my head heavy as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. “Lets get you showered. I need to take you again, little violet. I want to make love to you twenty five hours a day.” My heart finally threw its opinion out there. Taking over for my brain who wanted to live and my vagina who wanted him.

My heart knew we were well and truly fucked.

#izzy stradlin guns n roses #izzy stradlin gnr #izzy stradlin #izzy stradlin fan fiction #izzy stradlin fanfic #izzy hands #izzy stradlin fan fic #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses fanfic #Guns N roses #gnr fanfic #izzy stradlin imagine #Izzy Stradlin Guns N roses

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sapphire-weapon · 4 months

Note

I don't know if this is just my perception, but I've noticed that Krauser uses Ashley several times as a way to provoke Leon (especially during their final fight).

In their first encounter, immediately after Leon realizes it was Krauser who kidnapped Ashley, the camera focuses on his angry face and then on his hand about to grab his gun. As if the knowledge that it was Krauser who was to blame for Ashley's kidnapping was Leon's motivation to start fighting back.

Then there's that cinematic where Leon arrives just in time to see Krauser take Ashley away with nothing he can do to stop him. Krauser even walks slower and without bothering to turn to look at Leon, not even when he shouts Ashley's name. In Separate Ways, we see Krauser start running with Ashley in tow as soon as Leon can no longer see them.

After killing Salazar and using the elevator, if we use the rifle to get a closer look at the speedboat, Krauser turns to look at Leon, while Ashley is unconscious in the back seat, almost as if he is challenging him.

During their final fight, Krauser mocks Leon's concern for Ashley, and then tells him that he won't be able to save her, and that's when Leon explodes again.

Krauser taunts again when he tells Leon to hurry up or who knows what could happen to Ashley.

And near the end of the fight, Krauser tells Leon that if he needs motivation, he should think about Ashley.

I think Capcom's intention was to show how deeply Leon cares about Ashley through Krauser. That's why I can't take seriously people who say Leon only cares about Ashley because 'it's his job', it just doesn't fucking make sense, it's like they haven't played the damn game, or just decided to ignore all that.

there's a lot going on here, actually, and it goes deeper than just Ashley herself. Krauser absolutely dangles Ashley over Leon's head, don't get me wrong, because he knows that it's a source of angst and insecurity for him -- but it goes far deeper than just this one woman.

Krauser says at one point that he knows Leon's potential better than anyone -- he knows Leon better than anyone. and he may just be right.

in OG, Krauser asks Leon: "what is it that you fight for, comrade?" to which Leon responds: "my past, I suppose."

now, take that little snippet of a conversation and stretch it out over the course of four years of military training. it's likely that Krauser had to dig deep into Leon's psyche in order to motivate him to perform at his absolute best -- and what's at the center of everything for Leon is what happened in Raccoon City. Krauser likely knows every detail of what happened that night.

and what happened that night was that Leon failed to save the life of a single person.

so, since LeonA is canon in the Remake-verse, let's take a look at the list of people Leon failed to save in Raccoon City:

the cop in the gas station

Officer Elliott

Marvin Branaugh

Ben Bertolucci

Annette Birkin

Ada Wong

I don't know if you're keeping score, but that's... just about every person that Leon meets. the only exceptions to this are Kendo and his daughter (who Leon never attempted to save), Claire (who never needed saving), and...

Sherry, whom Leon then gets kidnapped and held hostage almost as soon as he volunteers to take sole custody of her.

so, when Krauser says to him: "you can't save anyone" he means anyone. the US government sent a man who's never been able to save anyone but himself on a mission alone to rescue the president's daughter. if anyone knew his history and his track record, he likely wouldn't have been the agent assigned to do this.

but the only person who knew it was Krauser, because Krauser's the only one who ever got close enough for Leon to tell. and since Krauser's now a traitor and a terrorist, he uses that knowledge as a cudgel to beat Leon with.

so -- yes, Krauser is purposefully using Ashley as a knife to twist in Leon's heart, and yes, saving her is more than "just doing my job" for him. it's extremely personal for him for many reasons. and as he starts to feel more and more affection for her, this need to save her becomes more and more intense, and it becomes easier and easier for Krauser to weaponize that against him.

and this is just storytelling 101. as the story goes on, the stakes have to rise higher and higher until they reach an absolute crescendo at the climax. and since Leon is so physically capable and very little in RE4make comes off as an actual threat to him, his stakes are mental and emotional in nature. as his feelings for Ashley intensify, so too does his anxiety about being able to save her.

the climax of RE4make's story is the walk to Luis's lab, and by then, Leon's feelings for Ashley have gotten so strong, and his need to save her has become so intense, that he sees her life alone as comparable to all of the people who died in front of him in Raccoon City.

if he can just save her, that would absolve him of his other failures.

that's why the script was written so that Ashley says the actual words to him in the ending.

this is the culmination of Leon's several character arcs in the series so far; it's the payoff for his character development; it's the catharsis for the angst he brings into RE4make with him.

Leon was a man who couldn't save anyone, but he ends RE4make as a hero.

his 21-year-old self would be so proud.

#resident evil 4 #resident evil 2 #leon kennedy #ashley graham #jack krauser #meta analysis

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 9 months

Text

close to home | chapter thirty two

plot: the reader falls apart after days of walking with no hope, and Daryl tries to comfort her

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,618 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!! ya'll are gonna like this chapter 😏

The following day, you arrived at Noah’s home. Rick played it safe, taking a few group members to scope the community. Carl, Gabriel, Judith, and Tora joined you in the Acadia.

You didn’t volunteer to go with Rick and the rest of them; he didn’t ask you to. You were sure Daryl must’ve told him what happened, and you would thank Rick one day for this. Daryl decided not to go, and stayed next to you in the back of the car.

Light conversation drifted throughout the early afternoon, and you slept on and off while waiting for word from Rick. Eventually, it came, and Rick told Carol the community was gone. She told the others in the van, and you felt your stomach drop.

“Five hundred and thirty miles,” You mumbled under your breath.

With the news, you and Daryl decided to join Carol and everyone in the van and figure out a plan. You all decided to set up camp for the night. After moving the cars, you all tracked half a mile into the woods and got to work. Carol told Rick where we were.

The early afternoon turned into evening as you waited for them to return. You weren’t sure what was taking so long. You ended up sticking with Carol, walking the camp perimeter while everyone sat around and waited. Daryl went off to do some hunting. You didn’t nag him about it. You knew he needed to clear his mind.

The walkie went static for a second before Rick’s voice sounded. “Carol. Tyreese was bit. We’re at the car. We need to cauterize the wound and wrap it. Get Sasha and Carl away. They don’t need to see this. Tell (Y/N) to be ready.”

You stared at Carol with your mouth open.

“Okay, we’ll be ready,” Carol said into the walkie.

***

You were ready. You had med supplies laid out and were waiting with Carol by the road. But when you saw the car driving slowly, your heart sank, and you knew. Tyreese was dead.

Sasha was heartbroken, and it only brought you back to when Beth died. And now Tyreese was added to that list, and you felt like the world was falling apart.

Tyreese was buried before the sunset, and you went off by yourself after the funeral. You couldn’t stop thinking of Beth or being on the road with Tyreese. How he had saved your life, and now he was dead. You questioned your decision today. If you were there, would things have been different? Could you have saved him?

You cried and cried and cried. Your body shook with sobs, and your head spun from it all.

When someone approached you, you saw your cousin standing there. Her eyes were red, and she moved to sit next to you. The two of you latched on to one another and cried and mourned for everything.

***

The next morning Rick talked to the group about heading toward D.C. No one questioned anything. You were certain that it was because the group was already starting to give up.

It only worsened when the Acadia ran out of gas, so you all piled into the van. Then Rick’s car ran out of gas, and the van got even more packed.

And then, finally, the van ran out of gas.

***

“Nothing,” You said as you dropped to the road and leaned against the van. Rick sat beside you with a gruff.

Your body was covered in sweat and dirt. You’d spent the last hour combing the woods with Michonne and Rick to try and find water, but it was useless.

You’d been on the road walking for what felt like weeks. You still had sixty miles to go, and you felt like you would be dead before you got there. You ran out of food two days ago and were on rations that were basically pointless. And Tora was starving too. She’d lost weight, and you worried she would take off to fend for herself.

Maggie was crying intermittently, and as much as you tried to help her, you couldn’t. Not even Glenn could. Sasha was spirling, and you understood too well.

You pulled back and tucked yourself away in your mind. You rarely spoke to anyone if it wasn’t needed, and you slept on the outskirts of the group at night. If you could.

“There’s gotta be something,” Michonne said breathlessly.

You were too tired to respond.

When Daryl, Maggie, and Sasha returned, you knew they didn’t find anything either. There was hardly any water left. You were already seeing the signs of dehydration in the group. If you didn’t find water in the next day or so, people would start to drop.

You thought Rick would usher the group to move when the last three members caught up, but he didn’t. Everyone needed more time.

You stood shakily, telling everyone you’d return in a few minutes. You got a few warnings from Rick and Michonne not to go too far, and you waved them off.

One would think that under the trees was cooler but it was just as hot. You walked for a few minutes before finding an old pine tree and sitting beside it. You lifted your knees and wrapped your arms around them as you sobbed. You could feel your hip bones against your thighs, which were too thin to begin with. But it wasn’t something new. Everyone was showing signs of starvation too. And you’d lost a significant amount of weight in the past month. Since the prison fell.

A twig snapped, and you grabbed your gun, but it was only Daryl. You looked up at him through teary eyes and choked back your cries.

“What?” He asked you quietly, and you knew that was his way of asking what was wrong, of trying to be there for you.

“I’m so hungry, and thirsty, and tired…” You cried.

He came over and sat beside you, handing you his water bottle. There was only a little bit left. You laughed through your tears and shook your head. “I’m not going to take your water.”

“Take it, (Y/N).” He said. “I ain’ askin’,”

You wiped your tears away and took the bottle, taking a small sip before giving it back to him. “I can’t take all of it.”

Daryl nodded and said nothing.

You wiped more tears away and moved closer to him. “I know you don’t like being touched, but I really need a hug,” You told him.

“Don’ gotta ask,” Daryl gruffed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and bringing you into his chest. “Not you."

You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his middle. You could tell he’s lost weight, and that thought made you cry harder. You curled yourself up against him as you cried and you felt his hand on the back of your head, rubbing it gently.

“I just wanna go back,” You cried, “I don’t wanna live in this world anymore. It’s too hard… everyone dies. I can’t take it anymore. My parents, my sisters. Liam. Uncle Hershel, Mika, Beth, Tyreese. I can’t do it anymore; I can’t lose anyone else.” You sobbed against his chest.

Daryl held you tighter, and he looked down at the top of your head with teary eyes. “I know.”

“It’s not fair,” You cried, sitting back and looking at him. “Why is this happening?”

“I don’ know,” His voice was so quiet.

You blinked through thick tears and met his eyes. He was looking at you empathetically, and you could see how upset he was. “Daryl…” You mumbled. “I don’t wanna lose anyone else. I can’t. I can’t do it. What if something happens to you?”

He seemed surprised at your words. “Nothin’ gonna happen’ to me,” He whispered.

You shook your head, “You don’t know that! I can’t lose you. You’re my, you’re my best friend.” You cried. You moved your hands from his waist to his cheeks. You wiped away a stray tear and moved closer to him. You ignored every thought in your head as you leaned into him and pressed your lips against his.

He was in shock, and you could feel it. But his lips were soft, and you so desperately needed to feel connected to him at that moment. You were about to pull away when his hands grabbed your waist, and he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the salt from your tears, or maybe they were his. You couldn’t tell. His hold on you was so tight, like he couldn’t pull you any closer.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might explode. And when you felt him squeeze your waist it was like you were brought back into your body, and you realized you were kissing him. And it felt so good, so right, that you felt like crying all over again.

You pulled away just as another sob hit and you started shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t… I didn’t mean to…” You cried.

“I didn’ mean to either,” Daryl said after a few silent seconds, letting go of your waist. “You’ starvin’ and dehydrated. Don’ worry about nothin’,”

“No, that’s not what I…” You tried to say, but another wave of tears hit you. “Can you just hold me, please, Daryl?”

He nodded and pulled you against his chest, and you continued to cry.

#daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd #daryl twd #daryl x you

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er1chartmann · 4 months

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Adolf Hitler's time-line

This is Adolf Hitler, The Fuhrer, timeline:

1889: He was born in Vienna.

1892: the family moved to Passau, Germany, where the future dictator acquired his Low-Bavarian accent that would accompany him in the orations of his future political life.

1894: the family returned to Austria, moving to Leonding

1895: His father moved to Hafeld, near Lambach, where he was active in beekeeping. The move to Hafeld coincided with the beginning of intense father-son conflicts

1896 ( i don't know the exact year, sorry): Once he reached school age, Hitler instead began to attend the Volksschule, in nearby Fischlham

1897: the family moved to Lambach

1898: the family returned permanently to Leonding

1900: his younger brother Edmund died of measles

1900: ignoring his son's desire to attend a classical high school and become an artist, Alois forced Hitler to enroll at the Realschule in Linz

1903: Alois died of a pulmonary hemorrhage.

1908: His mother, Klara, dies.

1908: Hitler left his home for Vienna, where he had vague hopes of becoming an artist

1910: He lost his orphan's pension.

1912: he moved to Liverpool, where his half-brother Alois had in the meantime achieved a considerable fortune thanks to the opening of two restaurants in the English city

1913: He returned to Vienna. It was in Vienna that Hitler began to approach anti-Semitism.

1913: Hitler moved to Munich to avoid military service in the Austro-Hungarian army.

1914: Hitler enlisted as a volunteer at the age of 25 in Kaiser Wilhelm II's Bavarian army, being assigned to the 1st Company of the 16th "List" Infantry Regiment, belonging to the 6th Reserve Division. His future Reichsleiter Rudolf Hess also served in that same regiment

1916: He was wounded in the left thigh by a grenade splinter during the Battle of the Somme and was hospitalized for two months in the military hospital in Beelitz, 50 kilometers south of Berlin.

1916: He was decorated with the Iron Cross second class

1917: Five months later, he returned to the battlefield and fought all the bloodiest battles on the Flanders front, including the Battle of Arras and the Battle of Passchendaele.

1917: He was wounded by shrapnel in a trench in the village of Marcoing during the Battle of Cambrai-San Quentin in France

1918: He was later temporarily poisoned by a mustard gas attack, which left him blind for three days. He was immediately admitted to Pasewalk Military Hospital where, according to some sources, he learned the news of the German defeat on November 9th.

1919: He returned to Munich

1919: Fascinated by his speech, Anton Drexler, the founder and secretary of the party, enrolled him, without even consulting him, in the party as member number 555.

1919: He met Dietrich Eckart for the first time

1919: Hitler's first known anti-Semitic work, known as the Gemlich letter, was written.

1920: He was discharged from the army

1921: He was sentenced to three months in prison (of which only one was served) for having personally led an SA attack on a rally, which culminated in the attack of the speaker, a Bavarian federalist named Ballerstedt.

1923: Hitler and other extremists attempted the failed Munich Putsch.

1924: He was sentenced to five years in prison in Landsberg am Lech prison and here he wrote Mein Kampt (my battle)

1924: He was released after just nine months in prison.

1925: The first part of Mein Kampf was published

1925: Hitler established the SS

1928: The Nazi Party failed miserably in the 1928 elections

1930: Hitler assumed the position of Oberste SA (supreme leader), entrusting the position of military commander (Stabschef) of the SA to Ernst Röhm

1930: the Nazi Party suddenly rose from obscurity and gained over 18% of the vote and 107 seats in the Reichstag, making it the second largest political force in Germany

1931: His niece Geli (they were supposedly having an affair) commits suicide.

1932: the Nazis achieved their best result, winning 230 seats and becoming the party with a relative majority; Thanks to this victory, Hitler also managed to finally obtain German citizenship.

1933: He was appointed Chancellor of Germany

1933: Using the pretext of the Reichstag fire, Hitler issued the "Reichstag fire decree" on 28 February 1933, less than a month after taking office. The decree suppressed most of the civil rights guaranteed by the 1919 constitution of the Weimar Republic in the name of national security.

1933: Dachau concentration camp opens its doors

1934: After Hindernburg's death, Hitler, who was the Chancellor, could not also become President of the Reich (head of State), created a new position for himself, that of Führer, which in practice allowed him to combine the two roles. He was Führer und Reichskanzler (Reich leader and chancellor). From 1934 until his death there was no Reich President in Germany.

1935: The Nuremberg Laws were proclaimed

1935: he had to have a polyp removed from his throat, which led to relapses later

1935: Hitler repudiated the Treaty of Versailles, reintroducing conscription in Germany.

1936: Hitler violated the treaty of Versailles again by occupying the Rhineland demilitarized zone.

1936: when the Spanish civil war broke out, Hitler sent troops to help Francisco Franco's rebels

1936: On Goebbels' idea, Hitler hosted the 11th Olympiad in Berlin

1936: There was the signing of a friendship treaty between the Kingdom of Italy and Germany in Berlin

1937: Hitler held a secret meeting in the Reich Chancellery, in which he declared his plans for the acquisition of "living space" for the German people.

1938: With a plebiscite Austria joined Germany (the so-called Anschluss) and Hitler, who thus laid the foundations of Greater Germany, made a triumphal entry into Vienna

1938: This led to the Munich Agreement of September 1938 in which the United Kingdom and France, with the mediation of Mussolini, weakly gave in to his demands to avoid war, thus "sacrificing" Czechoslovakia, which was occupied.

1939: The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact is signed.

1939: The Germans enter Prague, occupying Czechoslovakia.

1939: The military alliance with Fascist Italy known as the Pact of Steel takes shape.

1939: The Second World War begins with the Invasion of Poland

1940: Germany invaded Denmark and Norway

1940: The Battle of Britain, the only Nazi failure of that period, ends.

1940: In May, a flash offensive began that quickly swept through the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg and France.

1940: The Auschwitz concentration camp opens its doors.

1941: Yugoslavia and Greece are invaded.

1941: Martin Bormann gives him Blondi.

1941: Operation Barbarossa began.

1941: The Nazi state declares war on the USA

1942: The Wannsee Conference was held by Reinhard Heydrich.

1943: The Battle of Stalingrad, considered by many historians as a turning point in ww2, ends.

1944: The allies land in Normandy

1944: Claus Von Stauffenberg planted a bomb with the intent to kill Hitler in Operation Valkyrie. The operation failed.

1945: He married Eva Braun.

1945: He killed himself.

Sources:

Wikipedia: Adolf Hitler

Military Wiki: Adolf Hitler

Hitler and his loyalists by Paul Roland

I DON'T SUPPORT NAZISM,FASCISM OR ZIONISM IN ANY WAY, THIS IS JUST AN EDUCATIONAL POST

#reichblr #heinrich himmler #joseph goebbels #austrian painter #ww2 germany #ww2 history #1940s

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ereardon · 10 months

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Bob Floyd masterlist

*All of my fics are 18+. Please do not repost my work without consent or steal my work. Reblogs and comments give me life so please do interact if you'd like!

✤: Fluff

❂: Angst

❀: Smut

Series

❀❂✤ Friends Don't — Bob x OC [Reid Coleman] – Complete

Bob has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly volunteered to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

❀❂✤ Golden Hour — Bob x Bradley x OC [Dr. Olive James]

Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

❀❂✤ The Back Seater and the Baker — Bob x OC [Haley Nichols]

Bob hasn't seen Haley Nichols since he was fifteen. But when Haley shows up out of the blue with one sentence that throws Bob for a loop – "I'm turning thirty in two weeks, are we still on?" – all of the feelings from their childhood return. Bob never thought that Haley would remember the marriage pact the two made when they were just kids, even if he never forgot. So what happens when Bob falls all over again for his childhood crush? And what will Bob do when he discovers the real reason she came back to capitalize on the pact is to secure her inheritance and save her bakery from bankruptcy? Will he believe Haley when she confesses that she loves him, too?

One shots

✤ One Night — Bob x Reader – Complete

You have your eyes on Bob at the Hard Deck, but have to shoot down Jake Seresin first.

✤ Gas Station Tears — Bob x Reader – Complete

After your boyfriend dumps you, your car stalls out in a gas station parking lot. Luckily, Bob Floyd happens to be there to fix your car. Can he fix your heart, too?

❂✤ It Was Never Him — Bob x Reader – Complete

You catch your boyfriend Rooster making out with a girl at the Hard Deck and only one person can comfort you in the aftermath: Bob Floyd.

❂ What Are You Thinking? — Bob x Reader – Complete

Bob Floyd is a quiet man. Sometimes you have to ask him what he’s thinking just to know what wheels are turning inside of his head. He always gives you a response, until one day, years into your marriage, he turns the question on you.

❀ When I'm Done With You — Bob x Reader – Complete

At a fraternity mixer, you lose your (admittedly shitty) boyfriend in the crowd. That’s when Bob Floyd, president of Alpha Tau and your boyfriend’s personal nemesis, finds you and decides to make you his.

❀ She Calls Him Daddy – Bob x Reader – Complete

Coming home from college for winter break, the last thing you expected was to run into your best friend’s father while out shopping for new lingerie to surprise your fuck buddy with. You had always tried to hide your attraction for Mr. Floyd because he was Anna’s father. But all rules are thrown out when Bob invites you over on Christmas Eve while Anna is at her mother’s house. You’ll never be able to look at your friend’s dad the same way ever again.

✤ More Than Enough — Bob x Reader – Complete

The first two times Bob Floyd ends up in your emergency room he’s a mess. You never expected him to return a third time. But when he does, it changes everything.

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob+floyd+x+reader #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd au #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x y/n

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chesterles · 5 months

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When the First World War broke out in 1914, Adolf H"tler enthusiastically volunteered to join the German army.

He was assigned to the ground troops on the Western Front. As a messenger, he delivered messages from the army command to the front.

In December 1914, he is awarded the Iron Cross II Class for his bravery. In a letter to his former landlord, he writes: "It was the happiest day of my life."

Among other things, the he was considered an "eccentric", whose only friend was his dog, a white terrier with a black left ear. He came to him in mid-March 1915, probably from a British trench. He christened him "Foxl" and looked after him for two years.

According to the impression of a fellow soldier, he was more interested in animals than the men in his small group of messengers. He also received no letters from home.

Another picture with Foxl was taken at the beginning of July 1917, but three weeks later the animal suddenly disappeared. The animal may have been stolen by an employee of the railroad. In any case, this was a great personal loss for him.

The question of what reputation he enjoyed in the army is answered differently in research. He is described as an antisocial eccentric - but also as an impeccable comrade. It is documented that some called him the “spinnerten Österreicher” ("crazy Austrian"). He was opinionated and argumentative, as his temporary superior Wilhelm Dieß later recounted. He was a law professor and one of the most important Bavarian storytellers of the 20th century.

When Germany lost the war in November 1918, he was in a military hospital. He was temporarily blinded by a poison gas attack. The news of Germany's surrender plunged him into a deep crisis. His war experiences had a great influence on his life and thinking. Under the impression of the lost war, he becomes radicalized and politically active.

[Movie: The Rise of Evil (2003)]

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weretheones · 1 year

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All You Got | Part 9

Part 9: Bite My Tongue

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. A/N: im done exams! (and I aced them all, yay!) but then I got sick lol. anyway-- I missed you guys. finally finished this. enjoy<3

“We’re gonna win.”

Brian was confident of that. He spoke with an authority bigger than Pete or Martinez ever had, and it spread through the camp like wildfire. After that quick speech, it didn’t take the others any longer than a half hour to get their gear packed. Knives, guns, more bullets than you’d ever seen before. Mitch even started up his tank, taking the last few drops of gas from the reserve.

If this didn’t work out, if the prison wasn’t the place Brian promised it would be, you weren’t sure if there would be anything to come back to. The camp had been uprooted in those short thirty minutes, a sudden shift into hostility. And it left the small clearing, once untouched by the brutality of the dead, stripped bare. The soft grass trampled as the cars rolled through and the fire pits nothing but ash. You had a feeling that this would be the last time you saw this place; not quite dread, but not the hope and determination that the others seemed to carry, either.

You watched as they all loaded their guns, brows furrowed and posture firm. A group of survivors, brought together by happenstance, now soldiers. At least, they pretended to be.

Across the clearing, a pile of ammo boxes sat on a flimsy fold-out table. Emily packed them one by one into a bag, dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a rifle slung across her back. A small smirk snuck across her face as Mitch quipped something for only her to hear. His eyes flickered from his favourite gun to you, and he didn’t dare flinch when he realized you were already staring their way. Emily’s eyes followed not long after, but that cocky—and threatening— expression she faced you with finally made you look away.

You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the way your skin itched under their devoted attention. That blue tent you were packing wasn't quite distracting enough, so your eyes kept wandering. It didn't take long for you to find the curious Tara sitting on the bench near you. She’d been packing a bag of her own. It was mostly clothes and food. Provisions. The prison was meant to be your new home, after all.

Tara glanced between them and you, throwing back a mean glare of her own. Their uncomfortable stares slipped away after that, so you gave her a small but grateful smile. She was new— came with Brian’s crew— but a kind face amongst a group that otherwise felt like strangers. People mostly kept to themselves. Prepping for this fight was the highest camaraderie they’d had. Tara wasn’t exactly immune to it— she had been one of the first to volunteer, after all— but, there still seemed to be a hint of hesitation in her eyes.

While loading her gun, it seemed to hit her the hardest. She sighed, “We do this, maybe we don’t need to fight anymore.”

You paused from packing up the last of your tent. Maybe she meant the others, maybe she meant the dead. You weren't sure, and you weren't convinced either.

“Do you really think that?”

Her brown eyes widened.

“You don’t?”

Whatever small bit of defiance you had slipped away then. You practically crawled back into your shell and tucked your tail.

“I dunno,” you mumbled with a weak shrug.

“Brian said they were bad people. They don’t even deserve that place,” she said with a waver in her voice.

“I heard what he said.” You continued packing. “I just…” you trailed off when you noticed Lee walking toward the bench— toward you. Behind his figure, Brian had joined Emily and Mitch, barking some instructions that they happily followed. You met Tara’s unconvinced look again, unable to speak toward her subconscious plea; you couldn’t convince her to retreat. This thing was too far gone.

Lee had a stern look when he finally made it. He stood firm, a rifle of his own in one hand and one for Tara in the other. He dropped it on the table, then looked you up and down.

“Where’s your gun?”

“I, uh—”

He sighed, and you lost your voice again. The raised tensions had shrunk you; that fear meant to mould you into an obedient soldier only made you feel smaller.

“No more dancing around this shit. If we don’t fight, we die.”

Lee held out a pistol.

“So fight.”

—

The last few weeks had been filled with a sinking urge to go back and scream that little doubt to the world. Sleepless nights of wishing you’d just said something. Wondering what the hell made you so meek and afraid that you couldn't even question it— him. Not even to a person as reasonable as Tara seemed.

When the time came, you bit your tongue and complied. Nothing would change that. Nothing could.

And now there were no words left. Just a stinging silence of guilt and hurt burning up the air between you and Daryl, until there was almost nothing left.

After the bus, he kept driving. You had no clue where. Didn’t have the breath to ask, anyway.

Every inch of you was heavy, discomfort settling in tense muscles. You held your hands in your lap, controlled the rise and fall of your chest to a slow rhythm, and watched the everlasting stretch of road ahead. It all felt forced. Loud. The seconds between blinks, the slow exhales, and your eyes watching anything but him.

You weren’t sure how to just be next to the man of stone beside you.

That stiff tension hadn’t let go of him since it first clouded, and that bottle he was stuffing every bit of grief into hadn’t exploded— yet. You could sense it coming. Could feel the cracks splitter as anger festered inside that heavy chest of his, beating like a drum against his ribs, his lungs, his shut mouth. Begging to get out.

God forbid he let that stubborn, stoic facade fall.

There hadn’t been a single word since. Only a silent agreement to pile back in the car and then… whatever this was. The bridge of trust between you, padded with fresh bandages and unwavering loyalty, was catching flame. And you could feel Daryl slipping. Feel his grip around your hand loosen as he inched closer to that edge.

Maybe you weren’t strong enough to hold him, after all.

The sun dipped behind the horizon. Those last golden rays reminded you how sweet the day had started. A brief escape. Dusk stole that kindness and the casual cruelty of this new world weaved its way back in. By the time Daryl finally pressed on the break, the sky had tinted a dark blue. But it wasn't dark enough to stop yet.

You glanced up, eyes still foggy, and tried to settle your vision on the issue ahead. It was like breaking out of a daze— an uncomfortable, suffocating daze that dragged on with every beat of silence. But you couldn’t come up for air just yet. There was another problem to solve first, like always.

This time it wasn’t a bus, but a large branch blocking your way. The bark was rotted and smaller sticks scattered around. The leaves were dead and dry as bone, and the bigger tree to the left had a stark revelation of lighter wood. The branch must’ve snapped off when the weight got too heavy to carry, some time ago.

Pulled from that daze, you finally had the strength to look at Daryl and with that single glance, you could feel how close he was to snapping, too. White knuckle grip around the steering wheel, lips sewn shut, and narrowed eyes surrounded by tired rings of purple. He looked like a different version of himself. Like Daryl, but muted. Without that slight smile to match it, the curious look in his eye felt cold.

And you swore there was a hint of animosity, too.

He quickly got out of the car and approached the blockage without a word, his crossbow, or you. Only the knife on his hip.

Not everything had changed; you slowly followed, like usual, and Daryl didn’t waste time. He stomped down on a thicker branch, throwing the broken debris toward the tree line. Again and again. You helped move a couple, but there was a fierce force, built of fury and sorrow, in his work that you simply couldn’t keep up with. He was much faster— angrier— and he’d already moved on to the heavier branches.

Too heavy. And for the first time since the bus, he let a hint of emotion show: pain. Physical, you’d bet, from the wince that slipped past his tight jaw. His shoulder was still tender, and moving the bodies earlier had already made it swell.

“Hold up.”

He ignored those small first words. Ignored the care that rooted them, too.

Halfway between the rest of the blockage and the forest, you dropped the branch you were moving when he picked up another heavy one. Daryl was plenty stubborn as it was, but the heartbreak from the bus’ loss made him reckless, too.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” you insisted.

“‘M fine.”

Ironically, his grip slipped from the branch then. The wood dropped, thumping against the cracking concrete below. That short moment of relief invited your hand to softly land on his good shoulder, a gentle reassurance that you were there to help.

You barely got out his name before he yanked back.

“Get your hands off’a me.”

His rough bark forced you a step back, eyes blown wide with shock and glued on that angry blue in his. Maybe you seemed composed, with that firm stance and even breaths, but it felt like your blood had gone cold in an instant. You had no choice but to stand there and wait for the dust of his outburst to settle. All while your heart was slamming against your ribcage so hard you wondered if it could bruise.

And Daryl seemed to notice it; in that split second, he let his eyes flicker from your shocked and hurt expression to your fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking. After that, he wouldn’t meet your stare.

You watched those angel wings, frayed at the seams, as he picked up the log again.

There could be virtue in silence. You knew that— but the last few weeks had instilled an urgency in you. A type of anxiety you’d never felt before, second-guessing every moment you let pass. And against perhaps better judgment, you whispered.

“Please. Don’t do this.”

Daryl knew you didn’t mean the branch anymore.

He stilled. Shoulders stiff and rigid. At first, you weren’t sure if that meant it had been the right thing or not, but then he dropped the log and turned around, and you certainly knew.

That look was back again. Mean and abrasive. Only that time, you swore you could see through it— see the pain that manifested into anger just beyond those narrow blue eyes.

“You don’t ever let up, do ya?” He stepped closer, face reddening and tone cutting. “Told ya ‘m fine.”

“You don’t seem it.”

“The hell you know ‘bout it?” he snapped.

You swallowed. A painful burn caught in your chest, right where that soothing trust and care had made its home.

“Rick and that woman,” you practically pleaded, “I told you I saw them, they could’ve—”

“Right,” he scoffed.

Whatever anger was stoking that fire inside of him seemed to double at your words. Maybe you didn’t know Daryl as well as you thought because you certainly weren’t saying or doing the right things.

“And how the hell we gonna find ‘em?”

“I— I don’t know but there has to be something left—”

“They’re dead,” he sneered.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know your people were huntin’ ‘em down.”

Your face fell.

“Finishin’ what y’all started, huh?”

Maybe you didn’t know his anger. You’d never been good with that, anyway. People seemed to be set off by you; Mitch, Emily. But Daryl knew you. He proved it, right then, as the aftermath of his words burned worse than any cut could.

He always saw you right down to the damn bone. Could pick you apart with his bare hands if he wanted. Even if you had tried to hide the anguish of the knife he stuck in your gut— “your people”— he would’ve seen through it. So you let the confusion, the shock, and the regret, all surface.

Of course, he saw it. Your reaction— your pain. The way you didn’t even try to mask it. Silence stretched, only Daryl’s heavy breaths and a soft breeze of the wind. And as the seconds passed, without a retort to fill the tense air between you, the intensity of that mean stare flickered out like the candles you once warmed the cabin with. But that hint of regret was nothing more than a bandaid over a stab wound; it didn’t soothe the gut-wrenching ache that was reaching up around your throat or prickling your eyes with tears.

Screw saying the right thing.

“We have no idea if they ever even came across one of your friends.” You stepped forward, but you couldn’t stop the shake in your voice or hands. “And they are not my people. I killed them, or did you forget?”

Fire was still burning the tip of his tongue, cruel words threatening to rip free, and if it’d been a year ago, they would’ve. But now, glaring at your thin expression and the glimmer of pain in your eye, he hesitated.

You took that time to make another point, even firmer than the last.

“You’re wrong.”

He didn't curse you out, but his exhausted scoffed was almost as insulting.

“You just saw your people dead, Daryl. You’re scared and—“

“I ain't scared’a nothin’,” he growled.

You bit your lip. God, he was stubborn.

Stubborn, fiery, and hurt.

You peeled back, drowning out the throbbing pain of that wound in your own chest with a heavy dose of empathy, and reiterated slowly, “You’re wrong.”

Another breeze of wind rushed past the two of you, drifting through that shrinking space between his heaving chest and your assertive stare.

It carried a rustle in the trees too, one that localized on a spot of shifting branches and fluttering leaves to your left.

Daryl looked first.

The break of his glare welcomed a slight ease to that thick air. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself as a walker broke through the woods. Its yellow eyes were already targeted at the fleshy, warm body of the man who’d lead it there, with those lively lungs and sharp tongue.

He approached the walker with that same heaviness about him. Perhaps it was the weight of your lingering stare across his back. His arm raised with the knife, then stabbed. Just as the body did, his shoulders slumped. Head bowed as he stared at the crumpled corpse a second too long.

In that same second, your throat tightened, and the tears threatened to spill again. A devastating ache formed in your chest because you could practically see Daryl's resolve crumble. From the bus’ discovery to the roadblock to this— losing every last bit of hope, slowly but surely, until even that trust and care, built over nights by candlelight and soft promises to fix your wrongdoings, to fix his shoulder, to fix him, felt dull.

You thought of the forgiveness he’d once spared, only to be pulled right back down into that festering pit of ugly guilt and regret.

Blame.

Daryl took his time to clean the blade of dark blood before sheathing it. And as the moment stretched, staring at the broad shoulders you’d patched up over and over, your thoughts began to pick up speed. Worries drumming your heart against your ribs, again.

You swallowed, shook your head as if it might clear, and climbed into the driver’s seat. But the unease followed— it always did.

What if this was it?

In the rearview mirror, you caught sight of the dead walker lying on the road. Daryl’s hunched figure missing. And the race of your heart came to a lurching stop, then.

Would he really—?

The passenger door opened. Without a word, he sat, and your heart started again.

No.

He wouldn't.

You steered through the new opening, tires crunching the remnants of branches, and continued down the clear road ahead.

It was quiet again. This time, though, you weren't fidgeting in your seat or dying to get a glance at the man beside you. No. You just drove until the stars came out.

The side of the road was as good a spot as any, you thought. Daryl didn’t seem to have an objection, either; his mouth was still in that same pensive line when you finally turned toward him. His elbow rested on the edge of the window as he chewed on his thumb, heavy eyes fallen. There was no doubt he could feel your stare burn into his side, that he heard you turn, or could feel the tension heighten as you waited for him to meet your look. But he wouldn’t, for whatever reason.

Would your tired expression, dwindled from weeks of guilt, trauma, and physical exhaustion, set him off again? Or would it break him down, deeper?

With nothing more than a heavy sigh, you fell against the headrest. You stared into the dark world ahead, only visible by the short reach of the car’s interior light. It burned your eyes, shining down at the nasty, ugly tension that had settled between you and the man you trusted so fiercely.

You turned off the light.

“It's my turn for first watch.”

Even in the dark, you could see his hand finally drop from his chin. His arm stretched, resting across the window ridge.

“Ain’t tired.”

He finally spoke. Two little words that made you tighten your grip around the steering wheel in a split second of frustration. You finally had the voice to speak, after years of biting your tongue, and yet… you had no idea what you needed to say.

Want was another story. Because even after everything, good and bad, there was no reason you deserved that jab about the gas station. Not when it’d been you that pulled him, bloody and half dead, from that mess. That nursed him back to health and never said a word about his loose lips, spilling regrets about his own (failed) search for the Governor. Never asked him that dreaded thought that’d been lingering in the back of your head— if he’d only forgiven you for the prison because he was too busy blaming himself.

You wanted a lot. Wanted to go back and change the way things played out. To save more people, to find Daryl and the prison before it fell, to—

But you were tired. Too tired for wants, tonight.

“Fine,” you sighed. “Wake me up when you are.”

-> part 10

A/N: so uh. this part was oddly hard to finish, even if I knew exactly what I wanted to happen. but its done! and I hope y'all liked it. its def sad to see them fighting again, after everything :'(

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

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aquared46 · 10 months

Text

Left Unsaid

Note: AO3 is down, life is pain. My fics are normally locked to registered users, but in these trying times, I wanted to share some here (godspeed to the volunteers from AO3; you are fandom's lifeblood.

TW: blood, needles

Summary: Neil begins to practice with knives again and all does not go as planned.

The pull of thread through his skin was what finally calmed Neil’s racing heart. His hands steadied, the burn of alcohol in his stomach a strange comfort. A bottle of vodka pilfered from Kevin’s stash sat beside Neil on the sink, which was littered with bloody gauze that he used to stanch the bleeding and painkillers that wouldn’t kick in well or fast enough. The alcohol wouldn’t dull the pain – not unless he drank enough – but then he wouldn’t be able to take care of the wound anyway. Still, there was something to be said for the placebo effect, even if he knew that’s all it was.

He tied off another stitch, took another gulp of the alcohol, then continued. Neil and his mother were only able to stop and bandage their wounds like this unless they were safe – safe enough, that is. He could almost feel her beside him again, hands clinical and as she tended to him.

“Stupid,” he whispered to himself – but the inflection, the tone, all belonged to her.

The injury would put him out of practice for at least two weeks. Even he wasn’t foolish enough to think he could hide the gash spanning halfway across his palm. He wouldn’t last half-an-hour on the court without tearing it open in his gloves, and someone was sure to notice the pain while he was playing, even if no one noticed the bandages before that. The last time Neil hid an injury, Wymack threatened to take him off the court for twice as long as it took him to heal, and Neil was sure he’d follow through on the threat if he did it again. Especially so early in the season.

The familiar motions of fixing himself up calmed him better than counting ever could. This was something Neil was good at. Something that he hated, but something that gave him focus. Clean up meant that the worst of it was over – for now. A brief reprieve.

Neil used to wish he could stop time. That he could stay frozen in those brief moments with his mother – in crappy motels or dingy gas station bathrooms – where he could breathe, feel the comfort of her running a hand through his hair and pushing his aching body toward a bed or a car for much needed rest. Because soon enough, they’d be tracked down again.

That was how Neil felt now. Hunted. He knew when he chose to stay at Palmetto he’d deal with more threats to his life. The FBI continued their investigation, hurtling towards trials against his father’s associates in which Neil would testify.

Neil was used to his life being at stake. Except now he couldn’t bear to lose everything for a second time. So, when the FBI called to inform him that they were taking additional security measures due to substantiated threats, Neil decided to take his safety into his own hands as well.

And that’d gone even worse than he thought it could.

Now Neil had to clean the blood off one of Andrew’s knives as well as the carpet, and explain to Wymack that he wasn’t able to play because he’d been practicing with knives for the first time in years.

Neil heard the front door to their dorm close. He finished bandaging the wound, then heaved himself off the toilet. The room spun momentarily. He hadn’t lost nearly enough blood to be so affected, but the earlier panic mixed the alcohol wasn’t doing him any favours. He tossed the bloodied gauze in the trash and wiped down the counter until it was pristine again. Then he cleaned the knife carefully, knowing how much Andrew cared for them.

There was pounding on the door before he finished.

“I need the bathroom,” Kevin demanded.

“And I need another minute,” Neil said. He wrapped the blade in a towel, considering the fact that Kevin wouldn’t like the image of Neil bloody and holding a knife anymore than he did.

There was a grumble and footsteps as Kevin backed off. There was a pause, then he raised his voice from further away. “Why is there blood?”

“I’m fine,” Neil said. Except there was blood staining the front of his orange shirt where he held his hand against it to initially stop the bleeding. It stuck to his skin. Neil wanted to hop in the shower and wash the feeling and the scent away, but he didn’t have the forethought to bring a spare pair of clothes in with him.

Neil checked to make sure the bathroom was tidy one more time. He tucked the remainder of the vodka under his arm, stepped out, and met Kevin’s appraising gaze.

“You’re fine,” Kevin said. He ignored the bundle Neil was carrying in his good hand and instead focused on the bandage wrapped around his injured one. “Can you play?”

“No,” he spat, hating the answer more than Kevin ever could. Neil pushed past him. He placed the bundled knife on his bed.

“How long?” Kevin asked. “How bad?”

Neil shoved the vodka bottle back at Kevin, making him almost drop it. “Not long. Not bad.”

Kevin at least relaxed a little at that. “What’s not bad? What were you doing? You know if this happened when we had any games what this could mean for you? For the team? For –”

“I know,” Neil said. He pushed past Kevin to his dresser, where he pulled out a change of clothes.

Kevin followed after him. “Then why –”

Neil retreated back into the bathroom and slammed the door in his face. It took Kevin a few seconds to knock again, no more politely than the first time.

“I still need the bathroom!”

“Find another one.”

~ ~ ~

Kevin hadn’t returned by the time Neil got out of the shower. But Andrew had. Neil hadn’t heard him come back. But he was sitting on Neil’s bed, examining his knife with a bland expression.

Glancing at the clock, Neil could see they still had a couple hours before they were supposed to be in practice, but that also meant that Andrew was supposed to be in class. Instead, he was here, looking like he couldn’t care less that Neil was standing next to the drying bloodstain he left on the carpet.

Kevin must’ve messaged him.

Neil tossed his dirty clothes into a bag so they wouldn’t bleed on the rest of his laundry and decided to deal with them later. He pulled on a pair of running shoes, feeling Andrew’s eyes on him.

“Staring,” he said.

Andrew stood, stepping into Neil’s space. “Where are you running off to?”

“Store,” Neil said. He nodded towards the stain. “Need supplies.” It’d been so long since he had to clean up his own blood, he wondered if he set a record for himself.

Andrew backed away, put on his shoes, slid the knife into his armband, and grabbed a box of cigarettes.

“You coming?” Neil asked.

Andrew didn’t answer. He headed out, leaving Neil to catch up after locking their door. He lit up just before they left the dorm, exhaling a puff of smoke as the door swung shut behind them. Neil snagged the cigarette and Andrew let it go without comment, simply shaking another one from his pack.

The smell helped chase away the anxiety that was creeping back up on him. Neil and Andrew spent almost every night up on the roof smoking since Neil received the call from the FBI. The circles under Andrew’s eyes were almost as bad a Neil’s, but he had yet to complain. He’d watched Neil closely this past week, like he was waiting for him to finally give into his urge to run.

Neil chose to stay months ago, and he wasn’t going back on that decision now.

The on-campus store didn’t have everything Neil wanted, but he would make do. He doubted he’d be the first or the last fox to leave a bloodstained floor behind. If it didn’t come out, they could throw a rug over it.

Andrew grabbed himself a couple pints of ice cream, as well as some candy bars to add to his stash. They left with their respective bags, Neil’s filled with cleaning supplies and a bag of mixed nuts Andrew dropped into his basket without comment. He ate them on the way back to the dorm, feeling significantly better once he had something in his stomach.

Back at the dorm, Andrew settled on Neil’s bottom bunk with crossed legs, spoon already digging into the first pint of ice cream – double chocolate fudge. He watched Neil as he pulled out the cleaning supplies and set to work.

After a few minutes, the stain looked significantly better, but Neil would be lucky if he managed to get it out of the carpet. It was fine. When Neil was on the run, they just had to clean up enough that questions wouldn’t be asked until they were long-gone. Not that anyone in those cheap hotels would stick their nose into anything they didn’t have to. It wasn’t like they had a professional-grade carpet cleaner, not like when they lived with Neil’s father – where everything would be wiped away and made pristine in case of unwanted guests.

Neil jolted as something ice-cold pressed against the back of his neck. He spun to see Andrew, spoon stuck in his mouth as he held his pint out. Now that he had Neil’s attention, he settled back on the bed and dug in for another bite.

Neil finished the job and gathered all the trash, including his bloodied gauze from earlier. After some deliberation, he added his ruined shirt. The pants were dark-coloured and salvageable, but the same couldn’t be said for the vibrant orange Palmetto shirt, as much as Neil liked it. Andrew passed him the empty pint of ice cream to add to the bag, then grabbed the next one.

“Try not to get lost on your way back,” Andrew said. In other words, he’d be waiting for Neil.

He made the trip quickly, not even pausing when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Andrew wouldn’t be the one messaging him, and he didn’t feel like talking to anyone else, especially if it was Kevin ordering him to do things he already knew he had to do. Like see Abby.

He managed not to get lost in his own head and made the short trip to the dumpster and back without being assassinated, otherwise harmed, or running into another one of the Foxes. Small victories. By the time he collapsed onto his bed beside Andrew, he felt wrung out.

He pillowed his head with his good hand and watched Andrew methodically pick his way through his second pint of ice cream. Once finished, Andrew set it down where it’d be in Kevin’s line of sight, which would no doubt spark another rant about healthy sugar intake and professional athlete’s diets.

Andrew reached for Neil’s hand, fingers chilled from holding the pints. Neil didn’t resist as Andrew unwrapped his bandage, viewing the damage Neil did to himself.

“I’d have thought you’d know better than to play with knives,” he said.

“I know what I’m doing,” Neil said.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“It’s been years since I’ve handled them.” He hated practicing when he was a child, always knowing he wouldn’t perform well enough and be punished for it. When he and his mother ran, he stopped training. As she said, the only thing he needed to know about knives was where to stick one to do the most damage. Other than that, the most important weapon in their arsenal was the single gun they had between the two of them. His mother usually carried it, but she still taught Neil how to aim and shoot in case he ever needed to.

Andrew wrapped Neil’s hand back up, returning it to him. “More fox than rabbit now? Finally showing your teeth?”

“Something like that.” Neil cradled his hand to his chest. “I’d rather not.”

“Then why?”

Neil shrugged. “I don’t have much of a choice.”

That finally got a frown. “Explain.”

When Neil didn’t respond, Andrew huffed and laid down next to him, scant inches between the two of them. Andrew kept his gaze on Neil, letting him look his fill without complaint. Andrew wouldn’t repeat himself, instead waiting for Neil to either answer or deflect.

“I want to be ready if they come for me again,” Neil said. “I refuse to run. But I can’t do nothing either.”

“You chose to fight.”

Neil nodded.

“Idiot. You do realize you don’t have to fight alone?” Andrew reached out slow enough that Neil could pull away if he wanted to. Andrew cool fingers brushed a line against Neil’s throat. “Have someone with you.”

They both knew Andrew was the only one Neil would trust to see him like that.

Neil couldn’t help but smile. “You just want to steal my knife skills.”

“What knife skills? I see no skill here.”

Neil sat up and held out his hand. After a moment, Andrew withdrew a knife and passed it to him. Neil let himself focus on how the knife felt in his hand, warmed from being close to Andrew’s skin. It belonged to Andrew, not Neil’s father. He refused to continue allowing his dead father to hold this over his head – especially when this was something that could save the life Neil put so much blood and sweat into creating.

His movements were still awkward, but the remembrance of the skill he used to carry was still there. After a few moments, Neil found the balance of the blade and threw it at dartboard he was practicing on earlier. It sunk far enough off-centre that some old part of Neil curled up, awaiting pain.

He shoved that down and turned to face Andrew. “Work in progress,” Neil said.

Andrew hummed without inflection. He eyed the knife in the dartboard for a moment more, then closed a hand around Neil’s wrist and pulled him back down onto the bed. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Neil pressed his hands into the bed as Andrew leaned over him. He arched into the kiss – all-devouring, a mixture of tongue and teeth that left Neil’s legs feeling weak.

Andrew steadied himself with an elbow beside Neil’s head, their chests almost touching. Andrew’s other hand cupped Neil’s cheek, thumb swiping over the burns on Neil’s face gently. Then he pushed Neil’s face to the side for access to his neck.

“Oh,” Neil breathed as Andrew’s lips pressed against his throat. “You liked that.”

“Shut up,” Andrew said, nipping hard enough to leave a mark.

Neil wouldn’t have listened, but Andrew’s mouth met his again, and then he couldn’t think of anything instead of returning the kiss. His palm ached from when he was gripping the sheets, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when he could feel the warmth of Andrew’s body all around him.

“Shoulders and up,” Andrew said against Neil’s lips. He relaxed down far enough that their chests were moving together as they breathed in tandem, but not enough to truly put his weight on Neil.

Neil threaded his fingers through Andrew’s hair, then dropped one hand to brace against his shoulder. Neil lost himself in the kiss, his world narrowing down to the way Andrew felt against him, the faint taste of chocolate on his tongue, the spicy scent of Andrew’s deodorant, the sound of their combined breathing and Neil’s cut-off moans, and the starbursts behind his closed eyelids as Andrew took him apart.

Once Andrew pulled away, Neil cracked his eyes open and stared at the bars of the top bunk. He licked his kiss-swollen lips, feeling loose-limbed and floaty. He turned back towards Andrew, noting the flush on his cheeks and the mess Neil made of his hair. He grinned.

Andrew didn’t even open his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not,” Neil lied.

Neil wouldn’t let what they had slip through his fingers. He said he would stay, and he’d do everything he could to do to keep that promise. He’d fight in every way he was capable of.

A word sat heavy on his tongue – on his mind – coaxing and deceptively alluring despite the weight it would carry for both of them. Neil didn’t utter the words. He cut them off before they could fully articulate into thoughts. There were certain things he wasn’t ready for – didn’t know he’d ever be ready for.

To feel was one thing. To put into words was another.

But maybe that word was just another thing he was running from. He’d fought the memory of his father to reclaim the knives he wielded, and maybe that word was something he’d need to fight to reclaim from his mother.

#andreil #all for the game #aftg #aftg fic

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