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nexility-sims · 17 days

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𝐍𝐎. 𝟑 ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜ | NAKAWE, 2023

❧ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 / 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ Karolina Teague was hardly famous. Her name carried a certain heft among culture critics whose heyday had passed, but she liked the anonymity that came with being washed up. All of her favorite people were has-beens, after all, and she wasn’t ashamed to spend her time reminiscing about days past with them or anyone else who would listen. Today, she welcomed a whole crew of listeners into her Nakawe home—a film crew to be exact, led by a director-producer duo who had known her name well before a previous interviewee mentioned it to them. She wouldn’t be the star of their documentary, but they believed from its inception that the story wouldn’t be complete without her thoughts.

❧ honestly very proud of the scrapbooking !!!! this is basically just shameless exposition, but i am convinced i picked a creative vehicle for it :^) i watched that 90s docuseries on hulu a year ago and this specific story post was born fjdhjf anyway, canonically, no one would be writing or printing in script like that but i am simply NOT that committed to my worldbuilding sdkjfsf consider this whole thing an english language reimagining (^:

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Karolina took them on a tour of her colorful seaside house, one concluding in a room already set up for their perusal. It was the archive, she explained. This was what they came for; her recollections were valuable, but she had so much more than her own memories. Photographs waited on the tables, and an old television screen teased some scene from exclusive VHS tapes. Karolina plopped down onto a sofa and gestured widely, saying, “Have a look. I’m ready when you are.”

The director, a woman named Ildaria, picked up a photograph.

“Can you tell us about her?”

Karolina beckoned for the photo, and Ildaria walked over to hand it to her. For a moment, she peered at it, keeping everyone in suspense. Finally, she replied, “Sure. What’s she going to do, sue me?”

“Maybe,” a cameraman elsewhere in the room snorted.

“I’ll take the risk,” Karolina laughed. “Look, I don’t know Princess Leonor, but I met her plenty of times. She was at The Den at least half the nights in 1991, for sure. Probably into 1992, but I didn’t really keep track of her comings and goings. Definitely not after 1993.”

The producer, Eilo, held up another photograph. “What’s the story here?” he asked.

Karolina reached for it. Unlike the other photo, this one was a proper candid. There were several people in the frame, but Leonor was at the center, kneeling by a table with her hand draped across Renzo’s thigh as he held her head in his palm and said something beyond the capture of still photography.

“It wasn’t anything formal,” Karolina explained. “Renzo didn’t date anyone in those days, and I don’t think she did either. They liked each other. It was mutual fascination with zero understanding, is how I saw it. They hung out—liked each other’s company. Hot and fast, burned out quick, that’s what it looked like.” She shrugged. “That was Renzo.”

“And Leonor?” Ildaria asked, having sat down nearby.

“Like I said,” Karolina began. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “I didn't know her. Seemed like a cool girl. I’m older, mind you. I think she wanted to get a little wild and try new things—this is off the record—and The Den was for her what it was for everyone. You could kick your shoes off. Scream along to your buddy’s new song, have a movie star tell you his woes while he pours your drink, get high in the dressing room and probably be fine—”

“Did she do that?” Ildaria’s eyes were wide.

Karolina cleared her throat. “No, of course not. Not everyone did! Enough, sure. We all know the quote-unquote horror stories.”

The crew listened, rapt, having stopped flipping through albums and poking around the bookcases, eager to hear something explosive. They had set out to make a documentary about a particular time and place. The Den at the turn of the century was their subject. That glorious decade solidified its place in celebrity culture, to say nothing of its place in music history. The princess was just a footnote in that story. Nonetheless, it was a tantalizing footnote. Most people below a certain age were shocked to hear that she hadn’t been a humorless, buttoned-up bureaucrat her entire life. The idea that someone whose day job involved keeping the country afloat may have once been young and reckless intrigued. That she was adjacent to the salacious stories of sex, drugs, and rock and roll they knew better nearly crossed the line into unbelievable. Yet, people in Uspana also knew their royals had been wrapped up in the glamor of celebrity for decades. Even now, they continued to rub elbows with rock stars, including the one elder princess who was herself a music star.

“She’s a different person now, clearly,” Karolina continued. She spoke tentatively still but nonetheless addressed what everyone wanted to know. “But, for a time, she was at The Den with everyone else, drinking too much and carrying around a pharmacy in whatever cute purse you had that night. You may remember there was a big Reyes death around then. It’s like—when my mother died in 2009, I lost my shit, too.”

Karolina shrugged again. “She was having fun. I was doing worse, alright, so I only feel judgmental about it insofar as she’d probably be embarrassed if you asked her about any of it today. Royals are supposed to do their sniffing in private, right, not in a bathroom Renzo forgot to hire someone to clean. She was snobby, but my sense was that she liked pretending she wasn’t—roleplay, you know, transgressing or whatever.”

Someone coughed. The rifling through materials resumed. Ildaria and Eilo shared a look.

“You haven’t talked to her since ‘92?” Ildaria asked. Eilo, meanwhile, had pulled out his cell phone and was typing with fast fingers.

Karolina shook her head. “So, she knew I’d asked Renzo to let me collect photos and bring along my Zenith. I got a weird email in 2000 inquiring about them from someone who worked for her.” She grinned, then added as an aside, “Only one recording, by the way. The Den had a strict no video policy.”

“We’d like to see them sometime,” Ildaria responded.

Karolina nodded, then shook her head and clarified, “Which—my tapes or the email?”

Eilo answered without looking up, “Both.”

He finished what he was doing after a moment of quiet, then held his phone up for Ildaria and Karolina to see. “Seems like she’s still in touch with people,” he said.

They leaned forward to view the screen while he swiped at it, then Karolina laughed. “Okay, maybe she just didn’t like me!”

While they watched, Eilo moved through a hastily thrown together slideshow of the princess with various people Karolina knew well. Some looked like event photos. Others were captured with long lenses—paparazzi shots that made money but didn’t always generate enough interest if the other person was a comparative nobody. Not everyone had evolved in the last thirty years. Plenty of people who visited the bar during the decade of Renzo’s ownership continued to have flourishing careers. They were, at the time, young and beautiful and painfully unprepared for the lifetime of celebrity ahead of them. That’s what they brought to this place more than anything: their pain, which, being creative types, they eagerly spun into something beautiful and private.

That’s what The Den gave them. These impossibly talented, dedicated stars created fleeting things for each other and no one else. Bands and dance troupes formed. An endless stream of songs and poetry and performance art kept the bar’s little stage occupied nightly for years. Offstage, people with no reason to meet in the real world bonded in this space of both contrived and undeniable intimacy. For some, the reprieve helped them endure the difficulty of becoming that invariably attended a rise in fame. It was detrimental to others. These were the ones who didn’t evolve—people who gave up their relevance to live forever in this meaningless, generative privacy or people who couldn’t make the choice and lost everything in the process.

Karolina hadn’t evolved, but she hadn’t died or wanted to die either. From her perspective, what people like the princess and even Renzo himself had done wasn’t evolution. It was more like a revelation. People don’t change, she would tell Eilo and Ildaria later, over dinner, when the conversation had moved far away from the royal footnote. She believed people just uncover deeper truths about themselves, knowingly or unknowingly, and those became harder to conceal once they were exposed.

Have you felt that way before? she asked them. Exposed, like when you break your leg so hard the bone snaps right through your skin? They had. The conversation detoured to childhood misadventures, but Karolina had a point to make. She pulled them back. Some people get comfortable with that feeling and learn how to live in it. Other people, you know, they deny and lie and call it growth. That’s my opinion. I’ve seen it—artists are the worst for it, I swear. Artists who don’t want to be artists anymore? Worse than that.

Can I say you sound bitter? Ildaria laughed.

Now, Karolina threw her hands up. She exclaimed, joyful, That’s my truth, baby! I took too many bites of the world, and I’ve been disgusted by it ever since. Some people come out of their mamas malcontent.

Later that night, Eilo was exhausted, but Ildaria’s hand hovered over the light switch with uncertainty. She heaved a big, put-upon sigh, then asked, “Is it bad that I want to give Mencia Cipac a call?”

“Give her a call?” Eilo snorted. “Sure, Mencia Cipac, whose number you totally have, definitely won’t ignore your calls because she, for sure, knows who you are and has endless free time to spare.” He sat up straighter, then added, “No more overloading on projects. You promised. Besides, you don’t wanna poke that bear.”

“Not a bear,” Ildaria retorted. “A jaguar. Roar!”

TRANSCRIPT:

KAROLINA | Have a look. I'm ready when you are.

RENZO (O.S.) | Get that thing out of here, Karolina!

ILDARIA | Can you tell us about her?

KAROLINA | Sure. What's she going to do, sue me? CAMERAMAN | Maybe.

KAROLINA | I'll take the risk.

KAROLINA | Look, I don’t know Princess Leonor, but I met her plenty of times. She was at The Den at least half the nights in 1991, for sure. Probably into 1992, but I didn’t really keep track of her comings and goings. Definitely not after 1993

EILO | What's the story here?

KAROLINA | It wasn't anything formal.

KAROLINA | Renzo didn’t date anyone in those days, and I don’t think she did either. They liked each other. It was mutual fascination with zero understanding, is how I saw it. They hung out—liked each other’s company. Hot and fast, burned out quick, that’s what it looked like. That was Renzo.

ILDARIA | And Leonor?

KAROLINA | Like I said, I didn't know her. Seemed like a cool girl. I’m older, mind you. I think she wanted to get a little wild and try new things—this is off the record—and The Den was for her what it was for everyone. You could kick your shoes off. Scream along to your buddy’s new song, have a movie star tell you his woes while he pours your drink, get high in the dressing room and probably be fine—

ILDARIA | Did she do that?

KAROLINA | No, of course not. Not everyone did! Enough, sure. We all know the quote-unquote horror stories.

KAROLINA | She's a different person now, clearly. But, for a time, she was at The Den with everyone else, drinking too much and carrying around a pharmacy in whatever cute purse you had that night. You may remember there was a big Reyes death around then. It’s like—when my mother died in 2009, I lost my shit, too.

KAROLINA | She was having fun. I was doing worse, alright, so I only feel judgmental about it insofar as she’d probably be embarrassed if you asked her about any of it today. Royals are supposed to do their sniffing in private, right, not in a bathroom Renzo forgot to hire someone to clean. She was always a snob, but I my sense was that she liked pretending she wasn’t—roleplay, you know, transgressing or whatever.

ILDARIA | You haven't talked to her since '92?

KAROLINA | So, she knew I’d asked Renzo to let me collect photos and bring along my Zenith. I got a weird email in 2000 inquiring about them from someone who worked for her. Only one recording, by the way. The Den had a strict no video policy.

ILDARIA | We'd like to see them sometime.

KAROLINA | Which—my tapes or the email?

EILO | Both.

EILO | Seems like she's still in touch with people. KAROLINA | Okay, maybe she just didn’t like me!

ILDARIA | Is it bad that I want to give Mencia Cipac a call?

EILO | Give her a call?

EILO | Sure, Mencia Cipac, whose number you totally have, definitely won’t ignore your calls because she, for sure, knows who you are and has endless free time to spare.

EILO | No more overloading on projects. You promised. Besides, you don’t wanna poke that bear.

ILDARIA | Not a bear. A jaguar. Roar!

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e04

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andrea-lyn · 1 year

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atla rec post the third! this round basically all zukka recs!

atla recs - part 3

noble blood by lupus (khaleeseas)

The Southern Water Tribe was no place for a firebender...or even a Fire Prince for that matter. And yet here Zuko was, not only in the South Pole’s capital itself but in the Royal Palace, protecting the tribe’s Chief after a failed assassination attempt. Chief Sokka, his old friend and a man who was intelligent and witty, yet kind of a dumbass. A man who was brave and strong and kind. A man who Zuko was utterly failing not to develop...personal feelings for. __

aka: a kind of roleswap AU with Southern Water Tribe Chief Sokka and bodyguard/mercenary Zuko.

it's more about the things that you take with by winterfire22

it’s been a few years since zuko took the throne, and he's doing his best. but there are some things missing.

enter his new ambassador program, and an opportunity to reconnect with an old friend.

before we jump ship, let me teach you how to stay afloat by eurydicees

He doesn't remember when his feelings changed, just that, somewhere between the fires of his homeland and the ocean of Sokka's pirate ship, he fell in love.

In which Zuko learns to swim, Sokka falls in love, and the sun and ocean remain as steady as ever.

in silence; ripen, fall and cease by aiyah

Zuko reaches out with trembling hands and tucks it behind Sokka’s ear.

“A pretty flower for a pretty boy,” he whispers.

- - -

[or: this is the story of an ikebana artist and the man who visits him.]

zing by meteor-sword (vaenire)

“I’ll just put away the rest of the treats for them. Toph, hold this will you?” He hefts Zuko’s bag over to her before Toph can protest, and she has a mind to drop the bag at her feet before she feels something interesting inside the bag. As her seismic sense ran passively through the bag, she sensed something small; it was heavier than the parchment but lighter than the bag of coins-- giving a feedback of vibration somewhere between glass and limestone.

Like usual, Toph sees this coming when no one else does.

gold in the air of summer by leopardfringe

Sometimes, Toph likes to ask about colors. Not often—people generally aren't great at explaining them to her, but her newfound metalbending abilities have left her curious.

(This, of course, has nothing at all to do with how she doesn’t even need her feet to know who's crushing on who in this group. Nope, this is just purely for research, and definitely not because she's sick of them dragging their feet.)

the stars go waltzing out in blue and red by tristanyvaine

Zuko falls in love with Sokka in the Southern Water Tribe. Sokka falls in love with Zuko in the Fire Nation. It spirals from there.

or: (Zuko thinks a lot about blue, words, love, and Sokka // Sokka thinks a lot about red, touch, love, and Zuko)

To Be Named, To Be Known (To Be Loved) by Erisenyo

Zuko needs tomorrow to be perfect, but when one person is so many things to so many people--My Lord, Fire Lord, Nephew, Zuzu, Sifu Hotman--how is he going to find the time to make sure everything goes exactly right?

Or,

Five titles Zuko has earned himself + One more to add to the list. If he can just get through this Very Important International Celebration first...

this ultraviolet morning light by GallifreyanFairytale

“Sokka?” Zuko’s voice is quiet and raspy as he shifts just enough that Sokka lifts his head up from Zuko’s shoulder. The confession Sokka had ready to go dies on his lips at Zuko’s expression - at the red he can just barely make out in Zuko’s eyes. “Sokka, I… need to tell you something.”

Sokka swallows and nods silently, not trusting his own admission to not slip out if he dares to open his mouth. Zuko must be confessing the same thing Sokka wants to. Which, admittedly, Sokka hadn’t actually planned for, but it’s fine. He can adapt to this. He just needs to shift a few words around in his brain, and--

“You’re my best friend, you know that right?”

And why does Zuko’s tone make this sound like a break up?

sokka and zuko break up, make up, go undercover, thwart a rebellion, watch the sunrise, and change the course of fire nation history. not necessarily in that order.

the stars sighed in unison by spellboundrose

For some reason, Zuko can't stop looking at Sokka out of the corner of his eye. It must be something about the way the moonlight reflects off his skin—or maybe how his eyes, such a vibrant shade of blue, glimmer like the stars above them—

Oh.

Oh, no.

(Or, five moments under the night sky and one beneath the sun.)

everything and nothing at once by tristanyvaine

See, everything would be fine if Sokka was here, because if Sokka was here then Zuko wouldn't be thinking about him over and over and over again while he misses him from the stupid ponytail to his weird Water Tribe shoes.

signs of light by beachytablecloth

And now, out of breath from running, Sokka can feel the anxiety beginning to overwhelm him, stitching his sides and pounding in his ears.

“It’s Zuko,” he finally gets out, panting. “He’s missing.”

or,

Zuko gets kidnapped; Sokka falls apart.

A Predictable Story by mindbending

"On this night, you shall share a kiss with a great love of your life!”

That lying, scummy Aunt Wu predicts a grand romance for Sokka. To disprove her "fortunetelling" once and for all, Sokka decides to spend the night with least romantic person he knows.

Zuko.

Boomerangs and Rainbows by mindbending

At Sokka’s behest, the Gaang skips rescuing Zuko during the Siege at the North Pole. Instead they leave him, unconscious, buried in the snow.

In completely unrelated news, Sokka’s haunted by a ghost now.

little taste of heaven by loserlesbian

"His mom had given him a diary.

No, not a diary–– a journal, she had specified. He knows it’s a diary. Zuko thinks she only called it a journal because she thought that Zuko wouldn’t use it if she said otherwise. A diary is for feelings and angst, but a journal was for working through your problems without all that mushy, gushy stuff. It was for writing out simply what was in your head, nothing more, nothing less."

or, zuko through the years, struggling with himself and his sexuality.

#atla recs #zukka recs #avatar the last airbender #fic recs #zukka fic recs #sokka/zuko

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 7 months

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Derek [Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader]

Fandom: Call of Duty (I haven't been into COD since I was 14 but we're back thanks to COD cosplayers on tiktok...) Collection/Series: N/A Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @little-autumn-serenade Rating: G Warnings: This is kinda silly and not my best work but the idea has been hanging around in my head so... Summary: A surprise finds you at work while Simon is away on deployment. Notes: Inspired by my dad, a veteran, who did something very similar for my mum. We still have Derek like 30 years later although he's in the loft being eaten alive by moths probably.

You're at work when you're called down to the front office, a confusing event in and of itself seeing as you weren't expecting anyone or anything to interrupt your working day. You're very rarely called away from your work in general. Your family and friends would never interrupt your working day, being too busy themselves and the only other person would be Simon, but he's away on deployment and isn't one for surprises. You liked the predictability of him and the fact he didn't scare you by randomly turning up places without a warning. You liked a lot about your boyfriend even if he couldn't always understand it. You missed him. A lot. He'd been gone for two months already and you'd only had three or four phone calls in that time, due to schedules not lining up.

Janice, the nice older receptionist, is waiting for you when you finally have five minutes to step away from your desk. She looks over the top of glasses at you from where they're perched on the tip of her nose.

"Did you order something, Lovely?"

"No, I...I never order anything to work, why?"

"You've got a parcel, a rather large parcel." She stands with a groan and a hand to the small of her back as she ushers you into the office and to follow her further back into the office.

You feel bad for her when you see the gigantic cardboard box that she clearly had dragged into the office. It's at least half-your height, reaching about your waist and as wide as you. You run a hand over the top, reading the various labels that suggest it has had quite a journey across the globe and the only thing you can think is that someone ordered some stationary or furniture for work and put it in your name on the requisition form by accident.

"What on earth?" You reach for a pair of scissors, cutting the packaging tape and opening the flaps.

You're greeted by a lot of packing peanuts and the mystery has you almost ferally tearing through the box the moment you have a bin to start dumping packing materials into. The one bin proves not to be enough to hold all of the packing peanuts and you end up having to reach for a second one.

It's not long before you see the top of a fuzzy brown head and struggle to heft the rather heavy stuffed toy out of the box. Poor Janice has to grab the box to slide it off at the other end until the thing is sat in front of you.

It's a...a gorilla. A giant, stuffed gorilla toy with a scrappy bit of lined paper torn out of a notebook pinned to its chest. He's wearing a tactical helmet that's a little too small for the giant thing's head. He's clearly been swashed into it, and his face looks a little off as a result, the sides crushed inwards.

"I take it you didn't order a gorilla, sweetie?"

"I definitely did not order a gorilla..." You're baffled, so utterly baffled that you're almost scared to take the note unless it turns out you've got a stalker or something equally as terrifyingly absurd. Simon's many warnings about strange packages and parcels ringing in your ears in that familiar gruff and protective tone of his.

Still you take the piece of paper and unfold it. The note is short, brief and when you read the sign off you understand why. Because this bizarre package, this ridiculous gift, is from Simon. Simon, the gruff, intimidating, scary dog privileges Lieutenant who could probably kill someone in 100 different ways. That Simon had sent you a gigantic, stuffed gorilla in a tac helmet. Simon Riley. Simon Riley had sent you a stuffed gorilla toy of all things.

Hey, Love.

Meet Derek, found him in Barcelona when we had some free time. Figured he could keep you company since i'm going to be gone for a bit longer than expected.

Looks a bit like Soap to me, so sorry if he gives you nightmares.

Simon

The end of the note has a silly drawing in black biro; Johnny, Simon and Derek at the beach. Simon's drawn himself in full uniform, mask included and Derek has a umbrella cocktail in hand. John looks decidedly annoyed giving the gorilla side eye that is meme worthy.

You kind of hate it. The gorilla. that is...it's stitching is bulging at the seams and it's eyes are looking in two different directions and it really does have something about it that screams John Mactavish, might be the slight mohawk at the top of it's head...but you also love it. You love that Simon of all people, hater of surprises, the most unspontaneous and rigid person you know, decided to surprise you with it. That he took the time to package it and probably spent more money than necessary to get the heavy thing shipped to you. You love how absurd it is and mostly, you love that it's from him because you miss him so freaking much that you're starting to pretend he's holding you at night and you're getting sadder each day because his shirts aren't smelling like him anymore.

You don't realise you're crying over it until Janice, tutts and hushes you and rushes for the tissues.

God, you miss Simon. You miss him a lot, but maybe Derek will help you feel a little bit closer to him...or Derek will give you nightmares. Either way, he's staying because Simon got him for you and no way in hell are you throwing out any gift from him even if it's a really dodgy looking gorilla.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod #cod reader insert #call of duty reader insert

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catcze · 7 months

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Okay so we all know wriothesley looks like a wolf/dog right? Therefore it's only natural that his s/o would think about maybe putting him in a collar. Just saying. (I feel like he'd be kinda into it too tho)

OOOH he would be !! Okay okay i'll keep this sfw for now, but i do think he'd be into it. I mean, a black leather collar / choker definitely matches his aesthetic, don't you think ?

So it would make perfect sense if you, while you're shopping around in the city, see a pretty leather collar in the window of an accessory shop and you think, hey, I think he might like this! so you go in, purchase it, and even pay a little extra for a red box with a black ribbon, just to give his unboxing experience a little extra oomph, you know?

When you're done and you get back to the fortress, it's a bit later in the evening, towards the end of the work day, and Wriothesley is mostly just finishing up on some things that shouldn't take too long. You stride into his office, box in one hand with a big grin on your face.

"Hey," you tell him, perching yourself on one end of his desk clear of papers. Wriothesley smiles, dropping his pen to take your hand in his.

"Hey yourself. You find anything interesting?"

"Yeah, actually." The box jingles just a little bit when you shake it, and his eyes are on it, curious and assessing what could be inside. "It's for you, truth be told." His interest piques at that, and he's quickly diving back into his work, wanting to finish up first so he can give you his full attention.

Once he's finished, he hefts some non-urgent papers into an empty drawer to deal with tomorrow, securely locking it up before turning to you with barely concealed interest. He's not unlike a big dog, curious and interested, but awaiting for your say-so before diving for his present. It kind of makes you want to laugh.

You cut his suffering short and hand it to him, watching with bated breath as he opens it and pauses upon seeing the collar.

"I saw it earlier when I was walking. I thought you'd be able to pull it off well so... I thought you'd like it."

He's still saying nothing, looking at the leather accessory as if it held the answers to Teyvat. You're just about to wonder if he hates it when he gingerly plucks it from the box, undoing the buckle in front.

"Can you put it on for me?" Wriothesley asks, startling you. He's already holding the collar out in the palm of his hand and tilting his head in a way that makes it easier for you. You acquiesce easily, gently wrapping the leather around his neck, careful when you buckle it and asking with nearly every motion if its too tight or if he can breathe. When you finish and buckle it up, you don't miss the way his breath hitches.

"All done," you tell him, stepping away for a second to get him a mirror. He looks pleased when he glances at himself in the mirror, touching the collar as he moves his head this way and that, testing out how it looks.

"Not half bad," he says, in a tone that tells you that he actually likes it quite a lot. If not for the way he says it, you can see it in the slight quirk to his mouth that he just can't tamp down. "Thanks for the gift, sweetheart."

He presses a kiss to the palm of your hand, and it has you chuckling. "I'm glad you like it," you tell him, your hand reaching down to play with the collar, running your fingers along the cool leather.

"I do. Though..." he trails off, smile turning sly. "I think I'd like it more if we could get a little tag for it with your name on it. 'Property of', you know? Something to let everyone know that I'm yours."

And when you splutter, falling backwards in surprise so fast that you nearly trip and he has to keep himself from laughing at you, he doesn't once take his words back.

#「 🐈‍⬛ 」 strawberry.cupcakes #Wriothesley x reader #Genshin Impact x reader #Cw GN reader #gonna keep this non h-word for now to be on the safe side 👀👀 but if h word content is desired hmu 👀👀👀

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c-e-d-dreamer · 2 months

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Take My Hand, We'll Be Fine (Promise I Won't Let You Down)

A/N: did you really think I could go all of @sjmromanceweek without posting some Nessian? I just think there's no better romantic gesture than telling your hot neighbor to dump her piece of shit boyfriend, ya know? 😉 Special shout-out to @dustjacketmusings for giving me this prompt!

Read on AO3

They’re fighting again.

Cassian swipes up his television remote from his coffee table, muting the game currently playing. He doesn’t even need to prick his ears or listen closely to make out the muffled voices filtering through the wall to his right. Doesn’t need to try hard to recognize the rough, clipped voice and the more feminine, cool tone that answers. He can’t quite make out the words being said, but it’s easy enough to guess. It doesn’t help that this is practically the norm for the apartment next to his.

He still remembers the first time he met his next door neighbor, Nesta Archeron, the day she moved in. Even in that moment, even with her hair messy, her cheeks pink, and a large box hefted in her arms, she had been the most beautiful woman Cassian had ever seen in his life. Her face was all sharp, beautiful lines, high cheekbones and arching eyebrows. Her eyes had been a stormy, piercing blue that had enraptured him as soon as their gazes met. Her pretty pink lips twisting into a scowl had him wanting to drop to his knees right there in the hall, fire blazing through his chest to meet that expression.

Could anyone really blame him for being a goner from that moment on?

He’d found any and every excuse to see her again, to talk to her again. Casual run-ins in the hall, in the lobby. Getting the mail at the same time. Going down to the laundry room at the same time. Anything to see her roll her eyes at him. To see her give that expression that he’s deemed her I Will Slay My Enemies look. Anything for the game of back and forth he built with her full of quips and retorts that always leave him wanting more.

Anything to see her smile. To hear that beautiful breathy melody of her laugh. To watch the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she’s passionate about. To catch that softness that takes over when she talks about her friends or her family. Every tiny piece she hands over Cassian tucks away close to his heart. And every interaction, no matter how small, no matter how much time passes in between, leaves him yearning for more.

And he’s learned a lot about Nesta through those interactions. He learned that she has two sisters, one who lives in the city and another who lives in the countryside. He learned she’s a damn good lawyer and definitely his first call if he ever needs to be bailed out of jail. He learned that she’s a terrible cook and has a serious affinity for ordering takeout most nights. He learned that she has a serious book addiction if the endless bookstore packages are any indication.

And he learned that she has the worst boyfriend Cassian has ever had the misfortune of meeting.

Cassian still isn’t sure how Tomas was able to get a woman as beautiful and as amazing as Nesta to agree to a single date with his sorry ass, let alone agree to be his girlfriend. The bastard clearly doesn’t know what he has, how lucky he is. That a woman like Nesta Archeron is incomparable. And yet, Cassian has seen the way his eyes have wandered to the blonde in 4C’s ass. Has witnessed the unimpressed, bored expression he wears when Nesta is speaking. Has heard the unnecessarily rude and sometimes cruel words he flings carelessly at Nesta.

The last one in particular always has Cassian’s blood boiling, dark tendrils constricting through his chest until he’s glaring daggers at the man in question any time he sees him in the apartment building. He wishes he and Nesta were more than just neighbors just so he could tell her what a piece of shit her boyfriend is. Wishes it wouldn’t be weird if he suggested she dump him.

He wishes he could tell her how he really feels, how he swears he’s already falling for her despite their limited interactions. How he fears that there will never be anyone else for him. Wishes he could show her what it’s like to be with a real man, one who respects her. One who genuinely cares about her and isn’t afraid to show her, to shout it from the rooftops. He’d treat her right, treat her so much better than Tomas ever could.

A door slams next door, and Cassian is on his feet in a moment. He glances around his apartment, looking for something he can quickly grab as an excuse. The last time he had heard a crash come from next door, his worry and concern had consumed him enough to send him propelling out of his own apartment and banging his fist against Nesta’s door. But things had been awkward and tense when Nesta answered the door seemingly alright, and when Tomas demanded to know what he was doing, Cassian had ended up stumbling over his words, too distracted by a pair of icy blue eyes swimming with questions. So this time, Cassian ties off his half full trash bag and hauls it up out of the bin.

“Will you hurry up?” Tomas’s voice reaches Cassian as he yanks open his front door. “You know that I don’t like to be late to Sullivan’s, or else we won’t get the best seats at the bar.”

“Maybe if we went to a proper restaurant where you can make a reservation instead of the same dive bar every week, we wouldn’t have this problem,” Nesta answers him, and even before he lays eyes on her, Cassian can perfectly picture the way she must be rolling her eyes.

“Maybe if you didn’t take so long doing your stupid fucking hair–”

Tomas’s words trail off when he notices Cassian standing in his now open doorway. Already, the man looks annoyed at his presence, jaw clenching with a restraint scowl. The sight has an easy smirk tugging up Cassian’s lips, how fast he’s able to garner such a reaction, but he only has eyes for Nesta.

She has on a short, dark blue dress, black flower lace overlaid on the silky fabric. Black heeled boots further elongate her legs and the skin on display, the tantalizing lines of her collarbones highlighted by the dress’s neckline. Her hair is styled in her preferred braided crown, but a few strands curl around her temples and frame her face, and Cassian knows he’d give anything to curl one of those strands around his finger. With the pink dusted across her cheeks and mascara heightening the icy blue of her eyes, he has to swallow hard and clear his throat before finding his voice again, struck dumb by the beauty of her in front of him.

“Nesta,” Cassian greets, finally flicking his gaze back to the other man in the hall. “Tommy.”

“It’s Tomas,” Tomas snaps back, his sneer only deepening when Cassian shrugs in response. “What are you even doing?”

Cassian’s smile is all mocking and teeth, holding up the trash back in his hands. “Just taking out the trash. Maybe Nesta should consider doing the same.”

Whether Tomas understands the double meaning or not, Cassian doesn’t get a chance to find out. Nesta steps forward, linking her arm with her boyfriend’s with a quiet, murmured reminder that they’re running late. They continue down the hall, Cassian watching them until they vanish around the corner, until he hears the quiet ding of the elevator.

He closes his front door with a soft sigh, glancing consideringly back toward his television still playing the game, but then an idea hits him. It’s a risk, most definitely stupid, but maybe he’s always been a bit reckless. Rushing back toward his living room, Cassian grabs his phone where he left it, opening up the text chain with his family.

Anyone down for drinks tonight? Found a new bar we should try

~ * * * ~

Sullivan’s isn’t much to write home about as far as bars go. Posters and photos litter almost every free inch of space on the walls, a pool table set up to the right, and round high top tables and bar stools arranged around the rest of the space. The bar juts out from the wall in the center of the room, bottles lining the shelves. It may be the nicest dive bar Cassian has ever set foot in, but it’s still a dive bar, the stench of beer and sweat heavy.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Azriel sighs from Cassian’s right.

Cassian turns toward his brother, but Azriel’s attention is elsewhere. When Cassian follows his gaze, he finds Nesta and Tomas sitting at one of the high top tables. Her back is ramrod straight, fingers curled tightly around the glass of wine sitting primly in front of her, but Tomas doesn’t seem to notice. He sips casually from a beer bottle, his attention focused more on the patrons around him.

“Isn’t that your neighbor?” Mor pipes up from Cassian’s left. “The one you’re in love with?”

“Is Nesta here?” Cassian asks innocently, refusing to meet either Azriel or Mor’s gaze. “What are the odds of that?”

“If I’m playing wingman tonight, you owe me so many drinks,” Azriel grumbles with a shake of his head.

“Drinks on Cassian?” Mor teases, looping her arm with Azriel’s and dragging him toward the bar. “I like the sound of that. Let’s order all top shelf.”

Cassian rolls his eyes good naturedly, but he follows behind his family, buying the first round of drinks after all. He lets Azriel and Mor get settled, lets them chat about their respective weeks and jobs, and all the while, he stares across the bar at Nesta and Tomas. He doesn’t understand how anyone can sit across from Nesta Archeron and ignore her. How they can want to do anything other than bask in her presence. How they could care more about a freshly out of college girl clearly working the pool table just for free drinks.

“So, I need a favor,” Cassian begins, interjecting into the conversation swirling around him.

“I’m surprised you waited this long,” Azriel remarks dryly.

“Very funny,” Cassian fires back, turning his attention to Mor and offering the blonde his best, most winning smile. “I need you to go flirt with that guy over there.”

“Seriously, Cass?” Mor huffs, her face exasperated.

“Please? I’ll buy your drinks for the rest of the night. The best wine they have. However many glasses you want. Especially if you can somehow make an accident happen that gets him away from the table.”

Mor narrows her eyes, scrutinizing him, her eyes dancing briefly toward the table across the bar. “This Nesta better be worth it.”

“Trust me,” Cassian assures her quietly, unable to stop from smiling. “She is.”

Cassian isn’t sure what Mor sees on his face, but her expression softens. She rolls her eyes fondly and swipes up her glass of wine, slipping off her bar stool. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she strides her way over to Nesta and Tomas, plastering on a wide, flirtatious smile. It’s certainly entertaining for Cassian, watching his friend work. She twirls the blonde strands of hair around her fingers, places her hand on Tomas’s arm, makes a big show of laughing loudly at whatever is said. It would almost be comical if Tomas wasn’t eating up every second.

“Come on, Mor,” Cassian mumbles under his breath. “Hurry it up, already.”

“You really need all the help you can get, don’t you?” Azriel sighs, setting his now finished drink on the bartop.

Azriel steps around Cassian and heads toward the table as well. He makes eye contact with Mor, some sort of silent agreement passing between the two, and then Azriel is walking behind her. His arm brushes along her back, Mor’s cue to fake stumbling forward a step, her half full glass of wine spilling right across Tomas’s shirt and pants.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tomas’s voice carries even to where Cassian is sitting. “Do you have any idea how expensive this shirt is?”

Tomas storms off toward the bathrooms, Mor hot on his heels and offering overly innocent apologies. She winks at Cassian as they pass, and Cassian has to stifle a laugh into his hand to keep Tomas from noticing him. One last glance to make sure Tomas is gone and the coast is clear, and Cassian wastes no time cutting his way across the bar and sliding into the now vacated seat across from Nesta.

“Some date, huh?” Cassian jokes lightly, Nesta’s attention snapping to him.

“Cassian… what are you doing here?”

Despite the question, Cassian swears he sees Nesta’s shoulders start to relax from where they’re pitched up near her ears, swears he sees what looks suspiciously like relief flood through her eyes. He lets it fuel the hope swarming and twisting in his gut, the warmth blooming between his ribs and tightening around his heart like a golden thread. He knows he could easily play the whole thing off as a coincidence, shrug the question away with mentions of his family and their drinking habits.

But he knew the gamble he was taking by crashing Nesta’s date tonight, and maybe, this is his chance. His chance to show Nesta just how much she already means to him. To prove to her that he can treat her better.

“Your boyfriend sucks,” Cassian says rather than answer her question.

Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, eyebrows pinching slightly. “What?”

“Tomas. He sucks ass, and you should absolutely dump him. I’m serious, Nes. You deserve so much better than his sorry excuse.”

“You seem quite sure of that, do you?”

“Yeah, I do. I might not have known you very long, but I know that you’re beautiful, and you’re smart, and you’re witty and passionate, and you care so much about your sisters and your friends. And you deserve someone who cherishes you. You can do so much better than that piece of shit.”

Cassian’s words hang in the space between them, the rest of the bar fading away into nothing until it’s just him and her and the sparks and electricity charging the air around them. Nesta stares at him like she’s never seen him before, like no one’s ever said things like that to her before. It sends cracks ricocheting like icy claws through his chest. Especially, when Nesta drops her gaze away from him, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.

It leaves him wanting to find whoever in her past has her unsure, wanting to go track down where Tomas has vanished to and punch him in the face for making her curl into herself. It makes his determination to show her what it could be like harden even more, makes him want to spend the rest of his life properly cherishing her if she’ll let him.

“I don’t know about all that,” Nesta offers, her voice quiet.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Cassian asks instead, reaching his hand across the table and skating his fingertips across the back of Nesta’s hand, drawing her attention fully back to him.

Nesta sighs softly. “Cassian—”

“Let me prove it to you. Prove what it could be like, should be like. Prove what a good date is. Prove that I’d treat you better.”

Nesta thinks about it for a moment, emotions flitting through those blue eyes faster than Cassian can decipher. But then Nesta is slipping out of her seat and grabbing her purse, turning away from him. Cassian’s heart sinks through his feet and the floor, and it takes all his willpower to keep his disappointment off his face as he watches her.

“One date,” Nesta tells him, looking back at him expectantly.

“One date is all I need, sweetheart,” Cassian assures her, jumping out of his own seat. “Now, let’s get out of here before Tomas realizes what’s hit him.”

Cassian grabs Nesta’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together and leading her out of the bar. Her hand feels right in his, his fingers curled around her own, their palms pressed together, and Cassian knows in that moment that he has no intention of ever letting go again. He uses his free hand to dig his phone out of his pocket, working quickly to get everything ready, to make everything perfect for this opportunity, but he’s still nervous by the time they arrive at their destination.

Nesta’s steps pause as she glances around them. “Our one date is going to be at our apartment complex?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Cassian asks, holding open the door for her.

“You sure are asking a lot for this one date.”

“And the night is still young.”

Cassian offers her a wink for extra good measure, earning a laugh from Nesta in return. The sound is light and easy, the melody wrapping around Cassian’s limbs as surely as it wraps around his heart. It might just be his favorite sound, the way her blue eyes light up along with the reaction his favorite sight, and he can’t wait to draw even more laughs out of her.

He leads the way back up to their floor, all of the paper and plastic bags he expects waiting right outside his apartment door. He sends up a silent prayer to the Mother in thanks that so far everything is going to plan.

“What’s all this?” Nesta asks, eying the bags as well.

“Well, I noticed you order a lot of takeout,” Cassian explains, gathering up the different bags and unlocking his apartment door.

Nesta scoffs even as she steps inside and into his apartment. “Are you judging me for being a terrible cook?”

“Never. I’ll have you know I actually love to cook, so we’re a good pair, but I didn’t really have time to prepare anything tonight, so I figured I’d order everything I’ve worked out to be your favorites based on what you seem to order the most,” Cassian explains, setting all the bags down on his kitchen counter and beginning to pull the different containers out. “Crab rangoon from Bar Bao. Butter chicken and basmati from Urban Tandoor. Garlic breadsticks and ravioli from Tony’s. California rolls from Black Dragon. And triple chocolate cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory.”

Nesta is silent, staring wide-eyed at all the food, at him, so Cassian turns to grab plates just to give his hands something to do. When she still hasn’t said anything, he clears his throat awkwardly, pushing a hand up and through his hair.

“So…” Cassian starts, handing a plate over to Nesta. “What do you think?”

“I think you might just get a second date after all.”

—

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part eleven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you get the short end of the stick, but it’s worth it.

a/n: okayyyyyyyyy shit’s getting heavy, folks, but things are chaaaaaaanging. hope you’re ready 😈

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, a lot of angst, a lot conversation, canon-typical violence and injuries (heavy on both), drinking, Joel has more feelings, I love Tess.

if you haven’t already, please read the announcement/follow up I posted about giving Liv a name.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters✨

Tess likes to talk. You don’t mind; it makes the walk back much faster, and the QZ is within sight much sooner with the easy conversation between you.

She talks about how she found Joel and Tommy, how they’d been stuck together ever since Kentucky. She mentions her husband, Nate, and you offer your sympathy — which she brushes off — and tell her about Dean.

“With a baseball bat?” she repeats, an almost incredulous look on her face. “That baseball bat?”

“Yep,” you laugh, hefting the thing in your hand. “Kept me alive this long. All those years of softball finally paid off.”

Tess tells you what she was starting to build in Baltimore, and you can’t help but grin. The two of you are more similar than you thought. You return her stories in kind, details of your own ventures. “There are lots of ways in and out of the Boston QZ,” you tell her, “you just have to know where to look.”

You don’t ask about her and Joel, and she doesn’t offer the information. He hangs back the entire time, a good twenty feet behind you, rifle slung over his shoulder. You chance a glance back once or twice, mostly making sure he’s still there, and his hard gaze makes you freeze every time.

This definitely isn’t the reunion you’d imagined. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what you had envisioned, but this sure as hell ain’t it. Fuck, why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?

You lead them through as quietly as possible, using a spot on the wall where the bricks have been cracked, leaving footholds behind for those who know to look for them. You send Tess up first, then Joel, and he waits at the top, grabs you by the arm and hauls you up the last foot. You open your mouth to say thank you, but he’s already released you, turned away yet again.

All right, so this is how it’s going to be.

Through the top level of the building, down the ladder into the alley. You stash your bat and your bag in the same place, tell Tess and Joel to leave their guns there, too. Joel’s reluctant, but Tess smacks his shoulder and he does as you say, that hard look on his face the entire time.

Your boots splash in the same puddle they had last night. Tess is close behind you as you head out of the alley and skirt down the next building. A few more alleyways, heads ducked, avoiding soldiers and civilians alike, and you head down another alleyway, waiting for the coast to clear before shoving a dumpster aside, revealing a hole in the bricks that leads inside the empty warehouse.

“How did you—” Joel starts to ask, but cuts himself off.

You hold your arm out, gesturing him inside. “Quickly.”

The opposite end of the warehouse faces the gate almost directly. The windows on the lower level are covered with newspaper, shattered in some places, and you peer through one of the missing panes. Beside the main gate, there’s an office, of sorts. Where they take any survivors that make it to the gate, test them, either put them in the system or put a bullet in their heads.

“Wait here.” You prop open the window, slide through the gap and pop back up the other side. No one pays you any mind as you head towards the office, leaning up on your toes to peer through the little window in the door. Nick’s standing inside, staring at one of the old computer screens, and when you tap on the glass, he nods.

You turn back, waving at Tess. “C’mon.” They’re quick about it, and you push the door open once they’re close, following them both inside. Nick stares at Joel for a moment, meets your eyes over his shoulder. You try to school your face neutral, but you can’t tell if you get away with it or not.

“In there,” Nick says, the words blunt, and points down the hallway, to one of the smaller rooms. The office used to be a doctor’s office, you think; one main lobby, a bunch of smaller exam rooms down the hall. Joel and Tess do as he says, and you start to follow behind, but feel Nick’s hand on your shoulder. It makes you pause, and you look at him, turning beneath his hand.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low. “Joel.”

You repeat yourself to him a third time. “Does it matter?”

Nick’s brow creases. “Of course it fucking matters, Liv.”

You shake your head. “Just process them, please? Then you can throw me in lockup and this’ll all be over.”

The look on his face says he doesn’t believe you, but you push his hand off your shoulder, step into the room where Tess is standing, Joel sitting in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. “This is Corporal Nick Cowan,” you introduce, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “I trust him. He’ll test you both, put you through the system, and take you back to my place.” Your eyes flick to Joel. “Tommy should still be there.” You turn to look at Nick. “On the off chance he’s not, take them to Deanna’s.”

Nick gives you a curt nod, and you can feel Joel’s stare boring holes in your skull. It’s Tess that finally breaks the silence, concern on her face. “What about you? Why aren’t you taking us?”

“Cuz I’m gonna be in lockup,” you say, and Joel jumps to his feet, but doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t do anything but stare, “for the next two days.” You swallow hard. “There’s enough food at my place for you three, water too. Tommy knows where the whiskey is.” You give a little chuckle, staring down at your boots before lifting your head. There’s something like admiration in Tess’s eyes, whereas Joel is pure fire. You chew the inside of your cheek. “It’s fine, really. All part of the deal.”

“You’ve been in FEDRA lockup before?” Tess asks, crossing her arms.

You nod. “Once or twice. I’ve been caught by a couple other soldiers, but I have dirt on most of them. Makes it easier, but this is all part of the plan.” Your eyes dart to Joel before meeting Tess’s. “It’s fine. It’s worth it.”

Nick grabs your arm then, all business, fingers biting into your elbow. “Let’s go. Now.” His voice is louder, and you lift a brow as he pulls you back through the door. “You two, don’t move, or so help me god, I will throw you both right back through that gate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Seriously?”

He stares down at you. He’s angry, you realize. “Seriously.”

Nick yanks the door shut, Joel and Tess staring at you as it closes, and he all but pushes you down the hall to the door, out onto the road, towards the building where you’ll be for the next two days. Lockup. “There were other soldiers in there,” he mutters under his breath. “I had to make it somewhat believable.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Since the world ended, Joel will admit he’s gotten quick to judge. First impressions were hell before cordyceps ravaged the planet, but now they’re even worse, if not more important. But Joel’s met one too many terrible people, and he’s learned to be quick on the draw, quicker on his judgement.

He knows almost immediately that he does not care for Corporal Nick Cowan. At all.

Mainly, he doesn’t like the way Cowan was looking at you. He saw the way he stopped you outside the door, the two of you whispering under your breath to each other, an almost defiant look on your face. Are you two…?

He doesn’t finish the thought.

Joel’s mind has been churning from the moment he saw you, standing there in the gas station parking lot, that fucking baseball bat in your hand. Something else had taken over, something like happiness, spilling into the corners of his heart the moment he had you in his arms again. Alive, breathing, whole, right in front of him. He felt whole, for the first time in a long time, holding you like that. It felt…good.

And then you opened your mouth, and it all came crashing down.

He hasn’t forgotten. He can’t forget that night. The gunshots and the blood and the way Sarah had cried. The way he’d felt her go. It haunts his every step, her voice a constant reminder in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to tell you, if he ever found you again, and in a way, he’s grateful his brother was the one to deliver the news, but the way you’d said it, the broken apology, the tears on your face, it was too much.

It is too much.

Cowan returns not ten minutes after he’d hauled you off, and Joel gets to his feet when the door opens. The soldier gives him a look, but Joel doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this shit; the FEDRA soldiers in Baltimore were the same. “You can sit,” Cowan says, but Joel doesn’t move. Tess sinks into the chair he’d been occupying. There’s a clipboard in the soldier’s hand, and he flips the page over. “Names.”

“Tess Servopoulos.”

“Joel Miller.”

“Date of birth.”

“April 9th, 1969.”

“September 26th, 1967.”

On and on it goes, until the page is full. Cowan doesn’t look at either of them once, and then takes the scanner from his belt. He’s not gentle with it, the hard press of plastic and the following tingle at Joel’s neck making him wince. The scanner turns green both times, and Cowan scoffs.

“Well, there you go.” The soldier sighs. “Boston QZ works about the same as Baltimore. You work for the community, keep it running, earn your ration cards. Liv will tell you where to find assignments, what jobs you’re allowed to take. She’s responsible for you for now, once she’s out. You stay in her place until she comes back, and we go from there.”

“We don’t get our own space?” Tess asks, and Cowan shoots her a look.

“You wait for Liv,” he says tersely, “and we go from there.”

Joel bites his tongue.

He leads them through the QZ quickly, both hands on his rifle. Joel itches for his own gun, stashed in your hideaway, but forces his hands into fists instead. Tess gives him a pointed look. Don’t fuck this up.

It irks his brain that Cowan just knows where your apartment is. Tommy opens the door after the soldier knocks, and pulls Joel into a hug, Tess afterward. “You made it.”

Tommy steps aside to let them in, and when Joel turns back to the door, the Corporal is gone.

Good fuckin’ riddance.

“Much nicer than the shit we had in Baltimore,” Tess comments, shucking her coat off, and Joel huffs a laugh.

It’s…well, nice isn’t really the word. The flower wallpaper is something else but the place looks lived in, which already makes it better than the plain walls and nondescript shit they had in the Baltimore QZ. There’s a butterfly painted on the window, a bookshelf built into one wall, another little shelf between the two windows with a radio perched on top. The flower paper doesn’t continue along all the walls, giving way to a yellow colour, the lower two feet of the wall painted blue. There’s a big window near the bed, a tall wardrobe beside it, a cracked radiator, the bathroom tucked beside the bedroom.

Tommy makes lunch, some kind of instant mac and cheese that tastes all too familiar to Joel. But washing it down with a glass of whiskey definitely helps. Tess busies herself looking through your bookshelves, combing through the titles.

“Where did she get all this stuff?” Joel asks. The shelves are filled with books, but there are other things too, little knickknacks and candles and tchotchkes. A little elephant made of jade. Joel picks it up, rubs his fingers over the carved edge.

“If you’d been listening, on the walk back,” Tess quips, an almost sing-song to her voice, “instead of being an asshole, you’d know. She’s been doing the same shit we have. Smuggling. Looting places that have been deserted. And she’s clearly better at it than we are.”

Joel says nothing, his brow lowering as he puts the elephant back on the shelf. There’s a little glass dish on one of the other shelves, filled with rings of all sizes and metals. Wedding rings, he realizes after a moment, engagement rings.

Tess hums. Joel watches as she reaches down, rubs her thumb over the silver band on her finger.

“Who is she, Joel?” Tess asks, and a zap of cold slides down his throat. “To you. Who was she? And don’t try to bullshit me and say nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, instead of nothing, and walks away from the bookshelf. There are no doors between the different rooms, the living room and kitchen and bedroom one open space with a dividing wall. He walks towards your bed, lets his hand trail over the plaid sheets and blankets and sinks onto the edge, parks himself in front of the window.

He stays there, until the sun sets.

Two days in lockup, you’d said. You wait for Liv, Cowan had instructed.

Part of him feels like he needs to apologize. He’s going about this wrong, he knows that. But the memory of what he’s lost has risen to the surface of his mind, and made him hurt. Made him all too aware of how broken he is.

With Tess, it doesn’t matter. He cares for her — of course he cares for her — but the line in the sand is clear. It’s stress-relief, comfort, a placeholder for what they’ve lost. Tess lost Nate, and Joel lost you.

And what the fuck did he do to deserve to find you again?

Tess crawls into bed, eventually. She doesn’t say a word to Joel, doesn’t invite him to lay with her. He can hear Tommy snoring on the other side of the thin wall that separates the living room and the bedroom, his brother sprawled on the couch.

He gets to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face. The wardrobe door creaks as he pulls it open. There’s not much inside, clothing meant more for warmth than anything else, an assortment of sweaters and flannels. He knows he shouldn’t, feels a prickle of guilt up his spine as he drags his hand through the fabric. His fingers catch on something softer than the others, and he pinches blue flannel, striped with white and grey.

You kept his shirt. All this time. Held it close enough to take it with you when you left.

It makes him ache.

Joel wanders into the kitchen, grabs the bottle of whiskey from where it had been left on the worn kitchen table. It’s a mess of coffee cups, pages torn from notebooks, a collage of maps spread beneath everything else. He sees paths marked in red, on the maps, places circled and x’ed out, scribbled notes and times and dates. The kitchen sink is clean, a few plates stacked beside, evidence of Tommy’s cooking still on the stove. The fridge is slightly crooked, from when Tommy had pulled out the whiskey.

He sees it, from the corner of his eye, on the top door of the fridge. Held in place by a magnet shaped like a strawberry.

July 4th 2002

The magnet falls as he pulls the polaroid off, but he catches it before it can hit the ground. The picture is torn at one corner, the edges a little warped, but otherwise intact. He can remember that night. The warm summer air, your head on his shoulder, beer and barbecue in his belly, the awe on Sarah’s face as you all watched the fireworks together. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Joel puts the magnet back on the fridge, but keeps the picture in his hand, sinks into a chair at the table, takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey.

He doesn’t hear Tess until she’s sliding into the chair across from him. He says nothing, another long sip from the bottle as she pulls the polaroid from his grip. She looks at it for a long moment, smoothing her fingers over the edges before handing it back to him.

“Tell me who she is, Joel,” she says again, more of a statement than a question. “Please.”

Joel’s throat bobs. Tess doesn’t often say please.

He blows out a shaky breath. “A ghost,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “To be honest, I’m still not totally convinced she’s really here. That we’re really here.”

Tess grips his free hand, pushes the bottle away. “We are here, Joel. Liv is here.” She squeezes his fingers. “Please, I just wanna make sense of it all.” Tess pauses, leans back a little. “Did you love her?”

Joel just nods, the movement slow as molasses, making his neck ache. “Her parents owned a hardware store, back in Austin. She moved back from Michigan after she finished school, started working in the store, and I met her there. We had one summer, and then she got a job in Boston.”

“You let her go.”

His brow crinkles, and his fingers itch to reach for the bottle, but he doesn’t. “I couldn’t let her stay in Austin just for me, couldn’t let her throw away her future.” He shoves a hand through his hair. He’s still holding the picture. “We spent the rest of the summer together, and then she left. Came back the next summer, and we had another two weeks.” He rubs his thumb over the photograph, the image of you leaned against him. “But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.”

“She broke it off?”

He lays the polaroid on the table, thumb still tracing your outline. “She met someone. Dean. The space was too much, for both of us. I understood. I let her go.”

“And then the world ended.”

Joel reaches for the bottle then, and takes a long swig before sliding it across to Tess. “And then the world ended.”

“So, she’s the reason you wanted to go to Boston.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Tess. “I called her that night, when everything happened. Told her to get out of Boston, that I’d find her. It was never about Boston, exactly, it was just about going East, praying that we might meet in the middle. I looked for her at every QZ, every shelter, every single time I saw a body in the street, I was looking for her.”

“But you found her,” Tess says, her voice low, and Joel forces his eyes to hers. “Joel, she’s alive. She’s right here. Second chances like this…” She trails off, shakes her head. “This kind of stuff doesn’t happen all the time, Miller, not anymore. This is…”

“If you call this a miracle, Tess, I swear to god.”

She scoffs a laugh. “No, not a miracle. But…something. You can’t—”

“I told you who she was,” he cuts her off, that same feeling rising in his throat again. What the fuck did he do to deserve a second chance with you? “Now drop it.”

“Joel—”

“Drop it, Tess.” He shoves his chair back, gets up, heads for the bed.

If she notices him take the polaroid with him, she doesn’t say anything.

Stairs are hell.

Every step makes your side scream in pain. The pressure you’ve been holding against your ribs has done little to ease the ache, and even breathing makes it worse. Your mouth tastes like blood, iron and tangy against your teeth, and you know you’re lucky as hell your cheek isn’t broken. Bruised to shit, yes, but not broken.

They were feeling feisty in lockup, worse than you’ve ever had it before. Nick left you with two other soldiers inside, muttering something about disturbing the peace. They processed you, put the charge on your record, and when another soldier came to get you, your stomach sank into your toes.

Angie.

The same soldier who’d been working the pharmacy when you’d gone to get inhalers for Henry. You hadn’t threatened her, not exactly, but you’d made it clear that you could do some damage if she didn’t give you what you wanted. The pharmacy is a no-violence zone; she couldn’t have hit you then even if she wanted to. It would get her in deeper shit than you.

But in lockup? A whole other fucking story.

She grabbed you roughly, all but shoving you through the doorway that led deeper into the building. You don’t think the building was originally like this, all cells and interrogation rooms; FEDRA must have built it themselves.

You were expecting to get shoved into a cell right off the bat, but instead, she lead you to one of the rooms, pushed you inside and yanked the door shut behind you.

“What are you—”

Your words cut off with the first slap, a hard backhand that made your head snap to the side. You grunted, grabbing the back of a chair inside the room. You had half a mind to grab the thing with both hands and launch it at Angie, but that would only extend your time in lockup.

All you could do was sit there and take it.

Her second backhand made your teeth rattle, pain sparking behind your eyes. You nearly ducked to dodge the next hit, out of instinct, but forced yourself still, tears springing forth as her fist connected with your cheek. Over and over again, you just let her hit you. She hit you hard enough that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and the chair behind you and hit the ground. She didn’t waste any time driving her boot into your side, and you just curled inwards, just took it.

You weren’t sure exactly when she left, all you knew was that the blows stopped landing, but the pain didn’t. Two more soldiers came in after, picked you up off the floor, and carried you out of the room. They put you in a cell next, gave you a bottle of water and a blanket. The fabric was mottled with blood when you finally opened your eyes, and your face ached something fierce.

You slept it off, the rest of your time inside. Ate the shitty bread when it was offered, used the water to clean the blood from your face. And then, your forty-eight hours were up, and they let you go.

Part of you expected Nick to be waiting for you outside, but you were happy he wasn’t. You didn’t want to feel like you owed him anything more.

It took ages to get back to your building. Every step outside made pain shoot through your side; you’re pretty convinced at least one of your ribs is broken. And now, fucking stairs.

You almost fall against the doorjamb once you reach your apartment, digging in the pocket of your coat for your keys. You’re fumbling with the lock when the door swings inward, revealing Tess, bright-eyed and wearing one of your t-shirts. “Jesus Christ.”

You actually fall forward then, and Tess catches you, sliding an arm around your waist and dragging you over the threshold.

“A little help here!”

Tommy and Joel are both sitting on your couch, and they both jump to their feet the moment they see you. Tommy moves before his brother, and is at your side in an instant, taking some of your weight from Tess. You’re grateful as hell, though the movement makes your side scream in pain. They bring you towards the couch, and from the corner of your swollen eye, you see Joel move out of the way, heading in the direction of your bedroom. You’re in too much pain for it to really sting.

You cry out as they lower you onto the couch. Tommy looks frantic, and Tess disappears for a moment, coming back with a wet cloth. She drags it over your cheek and you whimper.

“She’s messed up,” she says, you assume to Tommy. “They have a clinic here, right? Like in Baltimore.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “saw it when I first got here. I can go—”

You flail an arm out, your hand landing on Tommy’s leg. “Get Deanna.”

You think he nods — you hope he nods — and you hear the door bang shut a moment later. Tess wipes at your face more; guess you didn’t get as much blood off as you thought.

“Tess,” you call softly, and her eyes snap to yours. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up,” she tells you, her voice almost stern. You want to laugh. “Who did this to you? FEDRA? Cowan?”

“Not Cowan. Pissed off the wrong girl, I guess.” You actually scoff out a laugh, but it makes your ribs sing with pain. “Can’t fight back in lockup.”

Tess’s brow wrinkles. “Good to know it’s the same shit all over in some way, at least.”

You go quiet, for a long moment. Tess holds the cloth against your cheek, and you revel in the cool feeling, letting your eyes flutter shut. The pain throbs with every beat of your heart, every breath you take, but her hands are gentle, almost soft.

“Joel told me,” she says, breaking the silence that’s been filled only with your shaking breaths. “About the two of you, about…before.”

Tears fill behind your closed eyelids, and you feel them slip down your cheeks. “Doesn’t matter now,” you say, trying to shake your head but failing miserably. “He doesn’t…”

“Don’t worry about what he does or doesn’t. He’s a stubborn ass.”

“You two—”

She puts a finger on your lips, shushing you. “I said, don’t worry about it, Liv.” She shakes her head, brow pinched, moving the cloth to dab at the corner of your mouth. “Not right now.”

You hear the door open, and a moment later, Deanna’s face comes into view, hovering over you. “What the hell did you do, girl?”

“Made a deal,” you say, “but it was worth it.”

Through the thin wall, you think you hear Joel sigh, the noise long and deep.

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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running2reanimation · 8 months

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Scars

We all have them, it's just that not all of them are visible.

"It was very nice of them to invite me," King remarked as he rolled up a colourful towel, "Are you sure you're going to be able to carry me and our beach day things?"

"You can't be that much heavier than Green, it'll be fine," Purple reassured, popping his own towel into the bag, "Besides, it's not like there's that much in there, a couple of towels and some sandals..."

"There's an entire picnic in the other bag," King reminded Purple, hefting the aforementioned bag over his shoulder, "Oof, and it definitely has some weight to it."

"Okay, so we might walk for a little bit," Purple rubbed the back of his head, "But I should be able to handle getting us over the big lava lake and across the soul sand valley."

"If you're sure," King frowned, picking up the beach bag and hanging it off the opposite shoulder.

"I've got this," Purple reassured, and the two made their way to the basement portal.

And to Purple's credit, he did, in fact, got this. There were definitely some long stretches of walking through the Nether, which gave King an opportunity to talk with Purple.

"So... they did actually invite me right? This isn't going to be an unpleasant surprise for them and me right?"

"What? You don't trust me, Baba?" Purple put his hand to his chest in mock hurt.

"I know you well enough to know you're more of a 'it's better to ask forgiveness than permission' sort sometimes is all," King defended, putting a hand on the bag at his hip.

"I promise, Baba. They actually invited you. They don't hate you as much as you think they should. They're kind of like that. Way too forgiving. Besides, you've clearly shown them that you're not... The King anymore, y'know. Through me and stuff. And you keep feeding them, you'd be surprised how excited they are to get your baked goods," Purple reassured with a hand on King's back, "Now we've got one more section of flight to do, think you're ready?"

"...As I'll ever be."

Stepping out of the portal and onto the PC was a little jarring and King sort of just stood there taking it all in for a moment. He could hear the sounds of the beach coming from all around him...

Purple pushed past him and started climbing down, out of the window and calling out to the others, "We're here!"

He turned back to look at the awestruck King, and smacked himself in the head, "Oh yeah, this is your first time on a PC, isn't it, Baba?"

"...Yes," King answered, shifting his feet a bit, and Purple held out a hand.

"C'mon, follow me," Purple coaxed the older stick into taking his hand and they climbed down onto the main screen together, landing on the sand blocks with a crunch, "Wow guys, this looks great!"

The whole screen was done up like, well, a beach, with sand and water and few palm trees. The trees looked hand-drawn, but the rest of it looked like Minecraft assets.

"Very... tropical," King nodded, gaze drifting out of the PC, but the view was... very fuzzy. Better to admire the kids' work.

"Oh, you actually came!" Red clapped excitedly, with a parrot perched on either shoulder, "Guys, Purple and King are here!"

And it was like magic, the way the others just seemed to appear, dropping down out of other windows. Green ran and embraced Purple whose cheeks definitely turned a shade darker in response.

"Glad you could make it," Orange said, holding his hand out for King to shake. King took it politely and gave it a single shake.

"Thank you for inviting me," King smiled as Yellow approached and peeked inside the picnic bag.

"He brought food!"

"Yes!" Blue cheered from their spot on the beach.

"Just a few sandwiches, really, since I wasn't sure what any of you would like. Tuna, chicken salad, egg salad, bologna and cucumber. Two of each, so anyone who wants to try can at least have one triangle to themselves," King explained as Yellow took the bag off his shoulder and carried it to the drawn picnic table.

King followed her, setting his other bag down next to the table before making his way to the water's edge and dipping his feet and legs into the cool water.

Despite hearing the sounds of the surf, the water was actually placid. That was kind of nice, it meant he wasn't about to get soaked from head to toe by an errant wave.

No, he was going to get soaked by the gaggle of children charging past him to get in the water.

King couldn't even be upset about it; the kids were laughing and having fun. Honestly it was a bit of a relief that they didn't seem to feel tense or on edge at all. They seemed wholly unbothered by his presence.

King watched them play something akin to volleyball; he wasn't quite sure what the rules were but it was three on three, so it wasn't quite proper volleyball. And goodness were they ever competitive.

He frowned as he started to notice... all of them were covered in scars. Even Purple, who had a dark scar that spread across his whole torso like a lightning bolt... Had Purple ever been electrocuted before? That felt like something they would have told him. He'd ask Purple about it later.

He got up and headed to the picnic table to unpack the sandwiches, enjoying how the sand didn't get stuck to his feet. A few moments later and the kids had noticed his absence, and they all came charging out of the water as a unit.

The eagerly settled around him, grabbing sandwiches from the trays. It seemed they didn't have the best table manners, but honestly they still weren't the rudest people he'd ever eaten with.

King happily chatted with them, mostly with Yellow about her experiments with the command block staff but eventually King managed to get Purple's attention.

"So, where did you get that scar?" King asked, and despite his conversational tone the whole table went silent. Green and Blue bit their lips and Orange just stared at King, trying to lock eyes with the stick, but King's gaze was focused on Purple, who squirmed under it like he'd been caught in a lie.

"I... you..." Purple started, and licked his lips and started again, "...are you sure you want to know?"

King paused, aware that Purple genuinely thought there was a reason he wouldn't want to know. He looked at the scar, and he felt the staff he no longer had vibrating in his hands; he lashed out in anger then, hadn't he? "I... gave it to you, didn't I?"

He very much wanted Purple to shake his head, but the young man only hung his head and King flinched, "I'm sorry."

Purple shook his head, "You already apologized for it. And I forgave you then."

King knew what he'd wanted to say wasn't the right thing to say, so he didn't apologize again, or insist that Purple shouldn't have forgiven him. He just hung his own head and went back to his sandwich quietly.

He expected the Colour Gang - as Purple called them sometimes - to stay silent and them politely guide them out, but that's not what happened.

Instead, they took turns talking about their own scars. It turned out that King wasn't the only one who'd hurt someone he cared about. It was pretty shocking to hear about all of Green's scars and how many had actually come from the others.

It... made him feel a little bit better.

These kids were good for Purple. He'd already been pretty confident about that, but it was good to see it in action.

And if he was being honest with himself, they were good for him too.

#alan becker #ava #avm #animation vs minecraft #animator vs animation #avm purple #avm king #avm mango #avm king orange #avm mt #ava red #ava yellow #ava green #ava blue #the colour gang #king #purple

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wolfsclothing6 · 10 months

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Well well well....One lucky fellow has contacted me and said that he is currently a bearish guy that has muscle but he wants to be more. He really wants to push that bear body of his to the max and I’m all for it. So all I can say is just wit for it. The things of change are about to set in on you and a new further awaits.

So first things first. I know that you have a prized set of abs. But those don’t really say bear to me. So those have to go. I’ll give you one last night with them. But after that you’ll never have them again. I’ll make sure of that. From this day forward you’re going to struggle to keep the pounds off. You wake up in the morning and you feel your muscle aching from the workout the day before. You stumble to the bathroom only to realize that your stomach has a slight bloat to it and you hear your stomach growl. Lucky for you your kitchen has been stocked with high protein high fat foods that guaranteed to pack on the pounds. You’re going to find that your body now naturally flexes to show the muscles that is growing. You make it to the gym and find that you have nothing to wear expect your speedo but somehow that seems like normal gym wear for you now.

Hair seems to be traveling across our body now. Even after just a day you can tell your body had changed dramamtically. You start to wonder if you should have asked for your bear body to be pushed to max. You’re on you way home and your hunger intensifies to the point that you have to stop for fast food. You shove the greasey burgers in your now bearded fast but the food doesn’t seem like it can get in you fast enough. You get home after demolishing 3 burgers but that only finished you appetite a little. You get to your kitchen and make a protein shake or 4 and slam them back in one long gulp. Now that your hunger is gone you feel tired to the point that you just want to fall asleep in the kitchen. Still dripping sweat from the gym. You make it to the living room and crash on the leather sofa on now realizing how amazing the leather smells against your sweaty hairy skin. You quickly fall asleep. As you sleep your body changes more. Softening edges to you muscles. Hair thickening in all places of your body. You iq even starts to diminish. Loosing a point here and there. By the time the morning comes you’ve lost 10 points leaving you at 115 iq. You roll over on the couch forgetting your not in your bed and fall to the floor with a loud thud. You manage to sit up and looking down notice that you belly sticks out further now resting on your lap. The hair has definitely thicken and has even started sprouting over the tops of your feet which now look bigger than they did before.

Just like the day before you get the intense hunger. Making it to the kitchen you demolish it making a high protein breakfast topped with several protein shakes. You catch a huff of your body. Dropped sweat thanks to the added heft making you work harder at simple tasks. And now that you slept on the couch. Leather. Something you never though would make you horned up. But you were hard. But your growing body demanded you workout. Pleasures had to come later. You get to your car noticed only now that you had the clothes on from the night before. And no shoes. Looking down you wiggle your hairier toes and almost right before you eyes you can see more hair sprouting on them. You’re shoes definitely won’t be fitting them anymore. You look to you right and see a pair of slip on shandals. They are a tight fit. But they will work. Good thing it’s weight day. Who are you kidding. Cardio isn’t for a body like your anymore. You look in the rear view mirro to leave only joe noticing that you bald. But where that hair fell out it all seems to have landed on your back as you can see hair going over to it shoulders and poking up from behind. You make it to the gym and your already sweating again. When you’re working out you hear some of the other meat heads making comments about the hairy beef that you are now. It instantly angers you and you threaten to beat them if they don’t stop. After that run in you made quick work of the rest of workout. You make it back to the car and right when you are getting in you slip as you sandal breaks under the increased size of your foot. You leave it on the ground and speed away. You’re so hungry that you follow the same pattern you did the previous day. Only this time you get 6 burgers and cram them into for bearded face. You too if off with 3 large cokes. By the time you get home your belly is rounded than ever but your still hungry and continue to consume the protein shakes that you know will undoubtedly make you beefier than you were before. You know you wanted your bear body pushed to the max but you begin to the feel that this is too much. Your shoes don’t fit you anymore. And you haven’t stopped sweating since this started. You pull out your phone to message the person that is making all these changes happen to you but you find the phone is really hard to use for some reason. You struggle to operate the small object with your big bear hands. Hair now spreading over the backs of them. You didn’t know it but over the course of say you’re iq dininished even more. Now at 105. After finding the phone too complicated to work you try to find the number written down in the living room but you get distracted watching a body building show on tv. Now even noticing that your own muscles are swelling more as well. You fall asleep on the couch in a puddle of your own sweat.

That night you dreamt of the ansimlle life. One where thinking didn’t really need to be done and you were only good for one thing. Lifting and eating. You remember having a conversation with a man and telling him how you wanted to be HUGE. A mirror in front of you and your reflection is too big to fit in the mirror. You’re happy. Why would you want to stop the change. As you sleep you having your simple dreams your iq drops even lower. More rapid this time leaving you at 85 when the sun touches your bearded face. You slept sitting up through the night and when waking up you see nothing but hair. And big boulder gut. You hear an inhuman growl coming from it and putting your hand on you belly you can feel the growl coming from hunger. Again you destroy the kitchen. You’re almost out of protein you find as you eating more and more. Fueling your body to blimp our even more. You go to the bathroom turning sideways to get into the room and see that not only are you bigger. You seem to have aged several years over night. You had to be in you late 40s now.

By now the diminished iq is making these changes easier to accept. You love being a huge guy. That’s why you’re always inspired to eat and lift more and more. You go to the bar down the road where you there is always some bikers. You just wanted some beer to fill the tank that is your gut. He was working on his 7th beer when he realized that everyone in the bar was looking at him with lustful eyes. Then it occurred to him that he was only wearing shirts. And muscles glistening from sweat with matted hair. It didn’t help that the bar was like a sauna. He was welcomed to the bar again the following day and this time was asked to show up in proper leathers by the bears that drank there. Only problem was that there weren’t really any leathers that could fit the Massive bulk that he was. By the end of the week you have changed and aged even more. The gym being in the past but still your body maintains the incredible bulk that you had. Only now you look to be 60 and as hairy as ever. Country and leather is life for you now.

Now that your bear body has been pushed to the limits you’ll find that life is more interesting for you now. You’ll always have problems finding shoes and you’ll always be a sweaty man smelling of leather now. And I think that you give HUGE a new definition. So what do you think ?

@kinky-mans-blog

#male transformation #age progression #weight gain #hairy #belly #gay bear #bear

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san-sebastienne · 2 months

Text

I don’t care that it’s been months; I’m still thinking of how to tighten up s2 and make it have literally any narrative impact/emotional growth. So here’s my chopped and screwed s2 rewrite that nobody fucking asked for, PART ONE:

The big, overarching change is that Ned Lowe is the BBEG of s2. We’re saving Zheng and, more pertinently, Prince Ricky for s3 (that’s definitely happening in my world, shhh). This gives weightier narrative stakes to the Kraken era, since the looming problem is predicated on Ed’s actions – much like the Badmintons as BBEGs in s1 were based in Stede’s actions/past.

The season begins the same: the trauma crew are raiding every day, never making port. The Kraken is making everyone’s lives difficult. They break Ned Lowe’s record, but it doesn’t seem to matter (also Lucius is hiding in the walls of the revenge, causing even more stress and probably trying to haunt Ed. Let’s add a little levity.)

Stede and co in the ROP. Stede’s bartending at Jackie’z and hears someone talking about blackbeard… but they’re being very complimentary. Calling him “fascinating,” “a dedicated man” – not the kind of language that Stede’s gotten used to arguing about. Who’s this gent who seems to actually GET Ed? His name is Ned Lowe, and he’s looking for his old pal blackbeard.

Stede and the crew hitch a ride out of the ROP with Ned, since they all have the same goal – finding Blackbeard. Besides, Ned is genteel. He seems to have the same sort of appreciation for finer things that Stede has, and it’s nice to see after spending so much time cleaning up vomit at Jackie’z. Maybe Stede and Ned have a dinner in the captain’s cabin a la Barbarossa and Elizabeth Swann in the first PotC… everything is grand and well laid out, but something is very wrong. Stede tries to ignore this, but his “this guy is bad news” senses from being a gentleman are tingling.

Meanwhile, back on the trauma ship, Jim is trying not to mourn Oluwande. They’re very “everyone I’ve ever loved is dead; why would he be any different?” They’ve thrown themselves into pirating as a way to double down on their hardened I Am Vengeance persona, and this growing thing with Archie as a rebound.

Leg thing/Frenchie is first mate now/crazy storm thing/let’s kill Blackbeard are all the same. Except Lucius is there, probably spending a lot of time hiding with drunk/sick Izzy (there’s some hurt/comfort in both directions, as much as izzy can be lucid for it). He also shows up for that final shot of the crew looking down at Ed while Jim hefts the cannonball. Ed’s not worried about hallucinating anymore; he’s finally about to die!

It’s Ned’s ship (plus Stede et al) that comes across the storm wreck of the Revenge. Our crew still has to escape over to their old ship, not because anyone found Ed’s corpse but because Izzy, in a moment of clarity, is like oh shit, Ned Lowe is super bad news, we have to get the fuck out of here right now. This way we get the beginning of a basis of trust between Izzy and Stede, since Stede listens to the insistence of the Trauma Crew and takes Izzy’s advice on when to get out of a bad situation.

Gravy Basket happens.

Someone (Lucius?) tells Stede that Ed’s body is still onboard. MerStede happens.

Jim is extremely overwhelmed that Olu is alive. The two of them have a very sweet romantic reunion. They confess to Olu about Archie, but insist that she was just a rebound. Archie tries to laugh the whole thing off – it’s fine! This didn’t matter! Shit things are bound to happen to everyone! Jim feels mega guilty and starts to realize that maybe it wasn’t just a rebound – they might actually care for Archie.

The uicorn leg half of “fun and games” is pretty much the same, the big division between the crews being that The Trauma Crew wants to banish or straight up kill Ed, but they’re still very much being chased by Ned Lowe. Stede’s crew insists that getting distance here is more important than adjudicating that mess.

We do all still come together to give Izzy his new leg.

Ed is locked in some kind of makeshift brig, making everyone tetchy and uncomfortable. Except for Stede, of course, who sees this as his chance to explain himself to LITERALLY captive audience Ed. Stede has the “I love everything about you” scene with him there, and explicitly tells Ed that he didn’t go to the dock bc of Chauncey (holy shit, how does he never fucking bring that up in the actual s2). Ed is moved but not convinced to forgive Stede… yet. They do the hand holding thing here, but don’t have the conversation about taking it slow. Instead, offering his hand thru the bars of the brig is the only thing Ed does to show that he’s heard Stede and is considering forgiving him.

The other half of this episode is the crews re-integrating emotionally. Jim/Olu/Archie explicitly discuss their relationship structure. Jim can be with both of them. Lucius and Pete get to have a moment about how Pete thought Lu was dead; Lucius admits that he kind of thought he was too, since all he did was hide and hang out with a guy who was too delirious to even really recognize him.

Somehow we still get Ed in that catboy collar. Nonnegotiable.

Part two incoming…

#I don’t have enough mental energy for a full fic rewrite but I feel strongly about this #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #stede bonnet #edward teach #izzy hands #ofmd s2 #ofmd fanfic #fanfic meta

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moodymisty · 2 months

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play wrestling with one of the batch and it turns a bit heated? doesn't have to venture into spicy territory, but i've always liked the trope of starting of a sparing match or light-hearted play and then reader ends up a little too close and it's this "oh" moment. a certain gleam in the other's eyes, some new feeling nestles itself in the pit of their stomach. hunter or cross come to mind, but wrecker definitely is the play wrestle type so i'll leave it up to you!

Author's Note: Wrecker definitely is the type and also I like him so it's going to be Wrecker today. I hope this is acceptable, enjoy.

Relationships: Wrecker/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

There's not many places to sit in the Marauder, so often times you end up having to improvise.

Right now the highest bunk of the rack is your current seat, legs dangling off the side as you put your datapad down. You'd been fiddling with it for ages now, waiting for something interesting to happen. Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair are all out right now; The former two you don't know where, while Crosshair is in the shooting range presumably working on his rifle. Meanwhile Tech has made the cockpit his workshop once again, and Wrecker decided to stay here and keep you company.

"I'm gonna go see what Tech's up to," You say, slipping off the top bunk and grunting as your feet hit the floor. Wrecker speaks up instantly before you can even take a step.

"He said not to bother him while he was working." You roll your eyes.

"He always says that. I just want to see how long till they're back."

You decide to ignore his warning and walk the short distance towards the cockpit, adjusting your wrinkled pants on the way there. Wrecker meanwhile gets off the storage crate he was previously sitting on, and pushes past you to stand guard between the closed entry to the cockpit. He shakes his head at you when you nearly bump right into his chest.

"Nope. I was told to keep everyone out, and I'm not getting in trouble with him again for letting people by."

You look up at him and attempt to push by, but easily get blocked by his much wider body. He gives you a joking shove on the shoulder, forcing you to take a small backstep.

"Wrecker! Let me by. I just want to ask when Echo is going to be back." He shakes his head and refuses to budge still. You attempt to sneak by again, but he's able to easy bully you back; He then picks you up by the armpits, walking away from the cockpit and putting you down like a naughty tooka.

"He said no!"

This means war, now. You didn't care that much earlier, but now you want in purely to beat Wrecker at his own game just for the satisfaction of it.

Once he puts you down you run right back at him, fruitlessly trying to push past or around him. He easily holds you back the entire time, laughing as you pull at his armor to try and gain leverage. Anytime you try to sneak around he easily grabs you and pulls you back, or squeezes you into a sort of half hug before tossing you away again.

"You can want in there that bad," He laughs, holding you back with one hand. You'd even tried to go low around his legs, but he still had managed to stop you.

"Wrecker. I am serious, let me in." You stand still for only a moment, before suddenly trying to rush him.

It doesn't work of course, and only ends up with you getting grabbed again. He hefts you up in the air, and without really thinking you put your foot on his belt, and push upward.

If you can't get around, you're going to go over.

"Hey!"

He says, as your stomach digs into his shoulder. Once you reach past center mass however you begin to fall face forward, and once Wrecker realizes this, he quickly grabs your upper thighs to make sure you don't plummet right into the ground.

This of course makes you tense up given how close Wrecker's hands are to your bottom, and he also realizes the same and quickly swallows a knot in his throat. You push your palms against his back, attempting to push yourself upright again, but struggle to with how far you've fallen forward.

Moments later as well, the cockpit door finally slides open.

"What are you two doing out here?"

Tech says, looking at your face and Wrecker's back. You're forced to give Tech a very uncomfortable and bashful smile before Wrecker sits you down, and turns around with a nervous look.

"Just playin' around. She wanted to bug you and I was trying to make sure she didn't. You said to not let anyone bother you." Tech hums.

"I just needed quiet for a moment. You didn't need to throw her around like that." Wrecker looks down at you and smiles, and you look up with the same- cheeks feeling slightly hot. Judging by Wrecker's nervous expression and posture, he's in a similar boat.

Oops.

#the bad batch wrecker x reader #tbb wrecker x reader #the bad batch x reader #Wrecker/Reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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boinin · 6 months

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The dust has settled on Ubers versus Bastard Munchen. Any of us rooting for the Italian side have had to reconsider our theories for the PXG match. It's now being pitched as a battle of the NEL titans, rather than the scrappy underdog match-up some of us were hoping for.

I'm still excited for PXG v BM, as it means we'll get a definitive victor. Not just for the NEL, but for Blue Lock. It'll be either Isagi or Rin, just like in the U20 match.

But beyond that, there's a couple things I'd really like to see addressed. Namely around the master strikers... and the enigma that is Julian Loki.

Loki was introduced much earlier than his colleagues Lavinho, Chris Prince or Snuffy, preceded only by Noel Noa.

Unlike the other masters though, Loki is seventeen. Younger than many of the kids he's coaching... everyone but Rin and Nanase, so far as we know.

Given the other master coaches appear to be at minimum in their mid 20s to late 30s, Loki must have something extremely special going for him to be selected over another player... because whatever way you look at it, his age and inexperience pose a significant red flag.

You should not ask a seventeen year old to monitor a training camp for other teenagers. Come on. I bet Anri was banging her head off a desk when Ego informed her of this decision.

Anyway, building on this train of thought, Loki must have some heft both as a player and a coach to secure this gig. We know he's talented, from the World 5 game (third selection). We also know he's the "top rising star", at least in the French league. But why on earth was he chosen to be a master coach? Is it just to sell BLLK TV subscriptions?

Despite his relative inexperience, there's something about him that puts him in the same league as Noa, Snuffy, Prince and Lavinho, as both a player and a mentor. The question is, how will they establish this?

I have a vague prediction that would sell how good a coach he's been.

Each time so far, the Star Change System has been invoked by the opposing coach. Namely, Lavinho, Prince and Snuffy. Noa's never been particularly happy about it.

Imagine a scenario where PXG are destroying BM, as a result of their disjointed teamwork.

Rin has blown through their defence twice to score, and BM are visibly losing hope. Isagi's spilling puzzle pieces everywhere trying to come up with a countermeasure. But he needs time to think.

Right about then, if Noa decided to substitute on through the Star Change System... it would serve as a powerful commentary.

If resident frigid bastard Noel Noa has to row in to support his team, that says a lot about how well Loki has coached his players.

Does this overly rely on the PXG team's innate talent? Kinda. But you could say say the same for BM and Noa, who's managed to coax fantastic performances from his team in spite of his supposed hands-off approach. We only see things through Isagi's perspective. It's possible Noa's coached the others (such as Jin and Neru) off screen.

In essence: BM have raw talent, about the same as PXG. But the coaches are the ones who've polished it to a killer sharpness. You could argue Barcha were such pushovers because of Lavinho's refusal to refine their footballing early on. Manshine held up better, but like Lavinho Prince let his own narcissism get in the way against BM. Ubers were the hardest to beat, because Snuffy trained all of his players evenly.

So yeah: speculation for now, but I'm curious to see how they're going to justify Julien's placement as a Master Coach. Here's hoping we get some insight during the downtime chapters.

#blue lock #blue lock spoilers #blue lock manga spoilers #bllk speculation #bllk analysis #julien loki #noel noa #neo egoist league #bastard munchen #paris x gen #boinin talks bllk #mine #this got rambly #but a fun thing to wonder about

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adrift-in-thyme · 2 months

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Febuwhump Day 13: CPR (Twilight & Wild)

Ao3

CW for drowning, blood and injury, vomiting, and referenced animal death (temporary and non-graphic)

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Twilight surfaces with a gasp. Water droplets cascade off of him, sparkling like opals as they roll down his sea-blue armor. Any other time they would be beautiful. But not now. Definitely, not now.

He hefts Wild more firmly in his grip, kicking madly to keep the hero’s head out of the water. Blood drains down from the gash across his forehead. It pools in the crystalline liquid surrounding them, turning wispy in its unforgiving current.

Twilight sweeps it away as he begins paddling one-handedly toward the shore.

“Hold on, cub,” he rasps, water burning in his throat. “We’re almost there.”

Only the lapping of tiny waves serves as his reply. The iron ball of worry situated in Twilight’s gut solidifies further. He can hardly comprehend it past the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but it is there nonetheless. It sets his heart pounding harder, makes his breathing more erratic.

The shore is in sight, however, and he battles toward it with a strength he does not feel.

Wild’s long hair flows beside him, drifting loose and free like strands of molten gold. One of his arms breaks free from the rancher’s hold and floats crookedly. The skin of his fingers is as pale as death.

Ordona only knows how much water is currently clogging his lungs. Twilight knows better than anyone how painful a fall from the Great Bridge is. And the hit he had taken beforehand had practically sealed his doom.

More than likely, he had been unconscious long before he collided with the dark waters of Lake Hylia.

It had taken Twilight at least five minutes to find him and five more to free him from the debris that he had become tangled in. Every single second had felt like a dagger to his heart.

When the heroes had landed in his Hyrule a week earlier, he had been overjoyed. To be able to show them the land he had fought for and the home he loved was more than he could have ever asked for. Especially, where Time and Wild were concerned. So, when Wild begged to go for a ride with him across the rolling plains, how could he refuse? Why would he?

He should have, Twilight thinks bitterly, spitting a mouthful of water. Or at least, he should’ve asked another hero to come along with them. Time, perhaps.

But it had been so long since he had gotten to spend some time with his best friend. It had truly been wonderful, just the two of them, laughing as they flew across Hyrule.

Until the black-blooded monsters had attacked.

His feet connect with murky mud. Gasping, Twilight drags himself up onto the bank, releasing his hold on Wild. The hero’s body lands in the mud with a sickening squelch. He lies where he has fallen, eyes closed, lips and skin the same shade as his tunic.

“Come on, Wild.”

Twilight pulls himself up onto his knees, forcing leaden limbs into cooperation. Trembling fingers find Wild’s icy cheek, then travel down, searching his neck for a pulse point.

“Come on. I know you’re tougher than this.”

His voice cracks, desperation cleaving through all else. No steady throb responds to his touch. No breath issues from the nostrils he hovers a hand over.

(No mischievous grin quirks the champion’s lips, lighting his eyes with an infuriating energy. No teasing remark lifts Twilight’s spirits…and ignites his ire. No hand settles upon his shoulder, warm and rough, scarred and steady. Comforting.)

Inhaling a ragged, gasping attempt at a breath, Twilight places his hands over Wild’s chest and pushes down hard.

There was a kitten, when he was young, that had somehow ended up in the river. He had fished it out with careful hands. Then, as tears streamed down his cheeks, he had brought it to the one person he knew could fix anything.

And sure enough, she had. With warm hands and steady breaths, Uli had coaxed it back to life. After that, she taught him how to do the same. So that he could always try to save those dear to him, whether animal or human.

Now, as he places his mouth over Wild’s and breathes for him, he is more grateful than ever that she did so. If he didn’t have this, he doesn’t know what he would do. He doesn’t necessarily want to contemplate it.

…and if this doesn’t work…well, he can’t think about that either.

The moments begin to blend together as he continues.

Push, count, breathe. Push, count, breathe.

Twilight does it again and again, every movement fierce and desperate. His arms are shaking now from the force of it all. His muscles scream their protests. His breaths come too fast for him to garner the air he needs. Tears snake down his cheeks, fire against the frigid water that clings to him.

But he can’t stop. He won’t.

“I’m not losing you, cub,” he grits out, even as Wild remains limp. Even as he grows colder with every passing second. Every as his wounds ooze blood and his skin becomes a darker shade of blue.

The sun shines its mocking rays down upon them, turning the champion’s hair into a halo. Overhead, a bird sings a joyful song.

A sob tears its way out of Twilight’s throat.

“Damn it, Wild…breathe!”

Once more, he bends and blows breath in Wild’s still lungs. Once more, he rises and presses down on his chest. Again and again and again. An endless, relentless rhythm that tears him apart.

He’s choking on his tears now and shaking more violently than ever. His world has narrowed to just this merciless thread of moments, just the two of them, one hero trying and failing to save the other.

“I won’t…let you…leave me!”

Wild bucks beneath his hands. Sky blue eyes fly open, hazy and wild. Just as quickly they squeeze shut again as the champion pitches sideways.

Twilight holds him steady as he coughs up murky water. But it’s difficult to do so when his own body is begging to collapse. That doesn’t matter though. Not anymore.

Sweet relief covers him like a blanket.

We made it. We’re okay. Wild’s okay. My cub is alive.

Wild finishes and collapses against him, breathing hard.

Thank Ordona he’s breathing now.

Twilight wraps an arm around him, carding trembling fingers through his tangled hair. Sluggishly, those eyes search him out. A grin tugs at Wild’s lips. They’re returning to their usual pink, now, and his skin is regaining some of its color as well.

“H-hey, Twi.”

Twilight smiles. It is shaky and wet, but it’s there nonetheless, proof that this new terror hasn’t managed to break his spirit.

“Hey there cub. You alright?”

“Um-hm,” Wild hums, curling deeper into his embrace. He shivers and closes his eyes again. “I h-hate big lakes. Always t-tire me out.”

Twilight chokes out a chuckle. “Well, next time you decide to take a dip in one, clue me in first, alright? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Wild’s hand finds his and squeezes, weakly.

“Y-yeah,” he murmurs, just a touch of cheekiness in his tone, “I’ll make sure and do…do that. Now, can we…can we go home?”

Twilight blows out a sigh.

Home. Home sounds wonderful.

“Yeah, cub,” he says, already grasping a nearby blade of grass to call Epona with. “Let’s go home.”

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 13 #drowning tw #blood tw #injury tw #vomiting tw #temporary animal death #linked universe #linkeduniverse fic #whump #angst #trin writes #lu twilight #lu wild

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