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uncouth-the-fifth · 11 days

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good morning, charlie - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: domestic fluff with the tiniest dustings of background angst, married life, hugging, kissing, and snuggling. Words: 3k (yes, I'm capable of keeping something this short) Notes: read this in a WWE announcer voice: THAT'S RIGHT! UNCOUTH HAS COME CRASHING BACK INTO THE RING AFTER YET ANOTHER MONTHS-LONG HIATUS. i'm magical, truly. here is the first Leon fic I promised last month! There's so much I want to say about this little drabble, but I'll save that for my curious ppl on Ao3. this is going to be a big 180 from my spn content, and I sincerely hope that's okay with the public 😭 for my RE people: enjoy domestic Leon bullshit!

At two in the morning, Washington D.C. is pouring everything it has into crafting the coziest atmosphere of all time. A pleasant window-tapping storm had rolled in right around when you resolved to stay up working. Some late-night radio host is making soft, fizzing chatter in the next room, and coupled with a stellar view of the city from fancy floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a prime opportunity to pass the fuck out.

Unfortunately, you have made some spectacular life choices that don’t mix well with a full night’s rest. Nope, no sleep for you. Despite all of fate’s attempts to stop you from being a cop, (including throwing a city-wide outbreak at you on your first day), you are still here, gripping your job with both hands. At two in the damn morning.

Since scrubbing your eyes hadn’t woken you up the first five times you tried it, you give it another shot as you pace the length of your living room rug—from the coffee table you’ve stacked with files, then back to the whiteboard pasted top-to-bottom with pictures of missing young women. The whiteboard had been Leon’s idea. After the fourth time you’d transformed a flattened cardboard box into a morbid case-board for work, he’d cajoled you into letting him buy one for the apartment.

But I won’t be able to stab the tacks into it, you’d pouted.

Oh, the agony, your husband had drawled. He was a master of delivering a good, dry look.

You’d propped your fists on your hips and tried your best to look serious. The red yarn connecting everything isn’t just a detective-movie thing, y’know! It’s actually really useful. And I need my tacks to stick the yarn in—

Leon had cut cleanly through your building sass with another look, this time one glimmering with humor. Then I’ll get you magnetic ones, detective. Don’t you use whiteboards at the precinct anyway?

You’d grumbled. Because, yes, you did use whiteboards at the station, and they did have the little tacks with the magnets on the bottom. But you’d refused to deal with Leon being all smug (he was unbearable pretty when he was right), and had teased back instead, Whatever, nerd. Why don’t you and the other two angels go call Charlie already?

The reference had gone clean over Leon’s head. Of course, he hated being left out of a joke, so he’d roped you over by your wrist and pinched an explanation out of you until you were squealing with giggles.

Summarizing Charlie’s Angels to Leon had been a lot like offering a paper rocketship to an aerospace engineer. But, hey, picturing him running around in skimpy outfits and escaping action movie explosions on a motorcycle is a whole lot more fun than… than the real deal.

You don’t want to think about what his missions are really like. Not that you’re even allowed to know in the first place. Being Leon’s wife permits you a government-issued phone with his handler’s number, and on antsy days you can push Ingrid for details if you want. But after so long you’ve learned it only hurts both of you—for her, in the inability to answer, and for you, in the excruciating pain of being unable to know. Where is he? That’s classified.

She can’t always tell you when he’s coming home, either. So much of your life is hinged on her check-ins, and even more is forced to live off a simple, He’s okay.

For the seventh time, you scrub at your tired eyes and suck in a deep breath. You’d gotten that fabled text from Hunnigan—he’s okay—earlier today, and like always you crawled through the rest of your shift roiling with anticipation, waiting for Leon to materialize back into your life.

You force your gaze back to the whiteboard, littered with notes and pictures hung up with magnetic tacks. The faces of five missing women bore back. The ten-ton weight of your caseload slams down in full, and again, you scold yourself for floating back into comforting memories of your husband. These girls have lost all comfort in the world since they were taken. Your Captain gave you the responsibility of finding them, and after all you’ve been through, after all the other cases you’ve closed, there can’t be any room for failure. Think.

Your legs ache from being on your feet all day, chasing leads, but dropping into Leon’s armchair for even an instant will just have you nodding off again. More pacing it is, then. This is your pattern for the next half-hour: pace, re-read witness statements, turn, sip your coffee, pace, cross-reference alibis. He’s okay. Two of the girls were taken from Queen’s Chapel, two from Takoma, one from Woodridge. He’s fine. The last victim breaks the profile. What’s different about her? Why take her? Think think think— You know what Leon would do. He was the kind of person you could put in front of a problem, and no matter what he would find a way to shoulder his way through. With physical force, sure, but mental force too. He would sit and just look at the puzzle, and sheer willpower would lead him to some kind of answer. But you’d been pushing and pushing for days now, pursuing every lead, pressing every witness, yet nothing will give. The whole thing feels like a punching bag you’re beating at over and over again, knuckles raw and bloody—

Keys rattle just outside the front door.

First the big deadbolt scrapes open, unlatching with a heavy thud, and that sound alone is enough to shock you awake. More than any coffee could. Then comes the doorknob. Leon hasn’t even turned his key before you’ve twisted the lock open, yanked the door out of your way, and sent it whipping into the jamb with his keyring still swinging from its slot. You give him one full blink to register that it’s you before you’re throwing yourself on him without a single lick of shame, legs and all.

Of course, Leon bears your weight with grace. He grunts out an oof! when you come in for landing, and the living, breathing sound drains into one gruff laugh. You’re scooped up under the thighs and teddy bear squeezed against him. He reeks of cheap motel soap and something faintly coppery—then mint, a whole world of plush, wet spearmint when he nudges your face up with his nose and lays a hello kiss on you. The taste of his gum and the scratch of his stubble on your chin make your skin feel like it’s fizzing, inside-burning-out, every inch of you stood on end by his static charge. Jesus, this guy. He feels like fucking magic, and you’re confident that the laws of physics don’t quite apply around him. Everything in the room, in the too-big apartment that’s painfully empty without him in it, tilts toward Leon.

You shove your face nose-first into his neck and clutch the back of his jacket in both fists. Swallowing hard, you manage, “Hey, angel.”

“Good morning, Charlie,” Leon says.

If you had any resolve for today left in you at all, the wash of his sizzling butter voice would squash the last of it. You’d been trying to be sweet, but your husband has to be funny about fucking everything, of course. Even after weeks spent apart. You love him so fucking much.

“Don’t tell me you found time to watch that stupid movie.” Your voice is muffled by his coat, and you’re grateful for an excuse to hide.

You’re moving. Leon carries you inside, his wedding band pressing into your leg and his other big, warm hand spooned around your back. “Boring plane ride. I wanted to get your jokes.”

Your front door is toed shut, and with all the efficient maneuvering of a proper agent, Leon gets the place locked up behind you. Somewhere in all the commotion he’d dropped his go-bag by the welcome mat, and you hear the dramatic thunk, thunk, of his fancy work loafers being kicked off beside it. Only then does he slip you onto your own feet again.

Your hands slide down his arms as you make contact with the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware that he’s damp from the rain, but that fact hangs in the little alternate universe he’s made in your front hall. Standing there and being able to look at him straight-on, Leon doesn’t feel real. It’s like your constant thoughts of him have manifested a ghost in his shape, mimicking the smiley rookie you remember.

He greets you with a quiet, beaten-down smile, and you understand immediately that the world has thrown its fair share of punches at him, too. You’ve both had a shit week. The Kennedy surname just brims with good luck, huh?

Your hands work on autopilot as you take him in, slipping under the fabric of his jacket and lingering over his thudding heart. His warm blue gaze swims over your face, and you can almost hear the clicking mechanisms in his head as he forces himself out of operative mode and into home mode by looking at you.

“It’s a really bad movie,” you say, choked up.

Leon’s jacket hits the floor with his shoes. There’s a swath of ugly, purpling bruises crawling up his bare arm, old enough to be greening at the edges, and your stomach churns when you see it.

He taps your chin up, pulling you away from the damage and back on him. His voice rolls over you like bourbon in a glass. “Absolutely. So-bad-it’s-good, even. We should watch it, make fun of it together. Like, why the hell does…”

Leon flawlessly falls into an analysis of the movie’s poorly-written espionage elements. The movie you made one offhand joke about several weeks ago, mind you. He’s pulling at straws, saying whatever the hell comes to mind to make you laugh, so exhausted he’s literally swaying on his feet. You can’t believe he’s trying to distract you with something so trivial, but this is your husband. One flash of that weary closed-mouth smile, one brush of those callused hands down your wrists, and your whole world resumes its orbit around him.

You laugh at the jokes he’s obviously crafted for your benefit, a weak chuckle your heart isn’t in. With his hands looped around your wrists, he guides your arms around his neck and welcomes you back into the toasty bubble of his touch. Leon’s even warmer from being tucked underneath his coat. Pure goodness and safety glows off him like a fucking nuclear reactor, and it dawns on you that you haven’t felt safe at all since he left. Anyone can be plucked off the streets here.

One more scratchy kiss and then he’s leading you deeper into your apartment. No one on Earth would believe that he’s a chatty guy, but he talks the whole way through. Too often he’s left to sit in his own mind on missions, and you’re treated to two week’s worth of his backlog in the next ten minutes. All the little things he wanted to say to you. The streams of smart-mouth commentary he was famous for at the academy are all inner monologue now, but you’re confident the Leon radio show still runs twenty four hours a day. He chatters so much in his head that it slips out of him like water sometimes—

“…that close to an explosion would disintegrate you, but fuck physics I guess—“ Leon interrupts his own flow of thought to squint at you. “Quit looking at me like that. It’s unfair how pretty you are when you’re tired. What was I—not like the laws of physics apply to that movie anyway, but…”

—and you’re stupidly charmed by it. He talks to comfort himself, and because the two of you are one unit, one person to him, he does the same for you.

With your hand tethered in his, he clicks off the radio in the kitchen. One of Leon’s side-stories replaces the random late-night station that’d been playing, floating over the din of the rain like bass over relaxing drums. He pours out the dregs of your coffee. He closes the files full of gruesome crime scene photos on your coffee table, and you watch, barely able to keep your head up, as he flips your whiteboard over to its blank side. You’ll get his second opinion on the case tomorrow.

Leon sweeps the place with you in tow, and once the security system’s armed and you’re almost sagging against him, the lights come off. Though you’ve had plenty of time to adjust to the Leon that returned home from training, you’ll never get used to the little alien ticks it’s given him. He navigates to your bedroom in complete blackness. He avoids the creaky floorboard just outside your door without seeing, deathly silent. The broad presence of him looms in the dark.

One wall of the bedroom is nothing but paneled glass, throwing a long square of dark blue moonlight over your rumpled comforter. While the view of the Potomac and Capital Hill is stellar from up here, you’ve always felt out of place among the things Leon’s generous salary has earned the two of you: a flat with a private elevator in the nice part of town, fresh-off-the-press sports cars, a getaway cabin up north. So much of it you end up enjoying by yourself. It only ever feels worth it when he’s here, smacking his elbow into the digital wall-panel that controls your A/C.

“—s’ supposed to be a touch screen,” he sidebars himself for the tenth time. Softer, Leon adds, “Brush your teeth. I’ll be right there.”

You rope your arms around his middle and press your face into the heart of his back, careful of the bruises he’s doing his best to hide. “Wanna wait for you.”

Leon doesn’t protest. There’s more little beeps as he screws with the temperature of your mattress or something, deciding, “We live in a damn spaceship. Are we too good for plain old-fashioned buttons now?”

Apparently you are, since old man Leon fails to figure out how to crank the heat up. You let him play with it for a little while longer (it’s not his fault he’s rarely home), and then intervene with a few quick taps when things get dire. The heater hums to life under the floor a beat later, and he turns in your grip to scoff, mystified by your vast and incredible knowledge.

“My smart girl,” he hums.

Just that is enough to chip off a piece of your strength. Had he said that to you over the phone, a million miles away in god-knows-where, your knees would buckle. He is the only one who talks to you like that—with so much simple, uncomplicated love. Too tired to put your thoughts into words, you flatten a hand over his heart and kiss the sun-freckled nape of his neck.

“Clingy,” Leon mutters. You’re pretty sure it’s supposed to sound dry and funny, another one of his jokes. But then he’s smoothing both of his palms down your arms in two long handsy swaths, and the gesture tells you everything about just how clingy he’s feeling, too.

His stories make getting ready for bed an even slower affair. You couldn’t mind if you wanted to. As you help him out of his starchy dress-shirt button by button, he surprises you with a rare explanation of where he’s been for the last weeks. The UK. Truly, your husband is the special secret agent to end all special secret agents: he talks around his job as if it was a bump he’d hit on the way home, entertaining you instead with his Leon-ified vision of London. Touristy as shit. Loud as shit. Smelled like shit.

“Just like DC,” he chuckles, and then a second time when your fluffy head pops through the collar of the sleep shirt he’s dressing you in.

It’s too much rough, cinnamon spice laughter for one woman to stand. You duck away to brush your teeth and groan into your palms like a schoolgirl over him, but sure enough, Leon trails you, fingers chasing the hem of your shirt (his shirt) in a sleepy daze. He always keeps you in view. Nervous, maybe, to have you out of his sight.

This tradition continues when the two of you crawl into bed. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and so has your body, able to sense him on the stupidly expensive mattress beside you. He thinks you can’t tell, but his gaze roves over you again and again—down your back when you flop face-first into the plush bedding, over the slope of your shoulder when you wiggle under the covers. Leon draws you into the glorious halo of his body heat with a gentle hand on your belly. If you could bottle this feeling, the whole world would be sick and stupid for him in hours. Minutes even.

You feel so safe that the word doesn’t even come to mind. Just vague, peaceful shapes of things you know, home, sleep, cologne, cozy. His work-rough palm with his body-warm wedding band slips under your tee to sweep over your ribs. Then comes Leon’s face, just on the right side of stubbly as he shoves it between your shoulder blades without a single lick of shame. The breath he takes of you is so heavy that his whole frame shudders with it, top to bottom.

You remember how you’d burrowed into his jacket the second he got home and think, You are me and I am you. We’re always on the same page.

With that, the stage is set. DC’s faraway glittering cityscape lights up all the raindrops on your window, and you watch them run as the two of you melt into one another. Leon’s warm breaths slow across your neck. Time for you to deliver your line.

You wet your lips and murmur into your pillow, “Do you want to talk about your mission?”

Legally, he can’t say yes. Government secrets, bureaucracy, yadda yadda. Leon isn’t always emotionally ready to crack open a coffin he’s just finished sealing, either, but while it is his job to close your case files for the night, you’re his wife. You’re the only person who can knock on that door. With how little choice he has left in his life, you try to give him options whenever you can. Regardless, you know the man you married—strong-willed on a mythical fucking level, and just as self-sacrificing. He’ll always try to spare you.

Sure enough, Leon says, “Tomorrow. Do you want to talk about your case?”

You shake your head at him, exhausted to the point of dizziness. “Tomorrow.”

A tender kiss is pressed to the nape of your neck, and the whole world goes silent for the perfect, husky whisper you’ve ached to hear. You feel his wry smile against your skin. “We’re always on the same page, baby.”

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy/reader #resident evil #resident evil four #re4 remake #leon kennedy drabble #uncouthre

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dynsdiary · 27 days

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━━ my pov of ellie iii

warnings : use of yn, lowkey self inserted uhh, using spotify cause the blend thingy but PLEASE BOYCOTT SPOTIFY GUYS !!!

cr : @idontgetanysleep & pinterest for the pics

ellie's taglist (lmk if u wanna be add / remove) : @ellstronaut , @dinaissoprettyoml , @julienology , @euphternal , @sapphhicslut

also chat, boop me !!

part i ⟶ part ii

DAILY CLICK

DONT BUY TLOU

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

⭐️ she’s the type of person who is not into pda that much (but you guys still do pda like holding hands/hand on waist or shoulder & some kisses here n there) BUT SHE LOVE YOU LOUD & PROUDLY!! 🍮 all of her social media bios would be something like “taken by @yourtag” or “e + your initial : ♡” or “i love my wife” KNOWING DAMN WELL YALL ARE NOT MARRY (yet… 😏) 🕯️ her page would be filled with your pictures / something that has you in it. and would caption like “she saw it first” or “yn chose it for me” like okay we get it ellie 🙄✋

⭐️ GUYS HEAR ME OUT!!!! she’s the type that would wait for you to get ready and be like “oh it's okay, i can wait. just make sure to be safe & look pretty f’me” LIKE HIHIRHEUDBSOANA 🍮 would let you do her hair (tiny braids !!!) 🕯️ she so corny guys i just know it

⭐️ omg few months or maybe even weeks of you two talking she would be asking you if you have spotify (boycott spotify guys!!) and ask you if you wanna do a blend, she just wanna know you better through your music taste 🍮 WOULD TOTALLY FREAK OUT WHEN THE RESULTS ARE ABOVE 80 “she’s my soulmate, i knew it” and do hand YES! gesture thingy (pls know what im saying (◞‸◟) ) 🕯️ why, just why, her gf had to live 34764482939 away from her!! (ellie is being dramatic but so real)

⭐️ WOULD LEARN YOUR FAV SONGS TO PLAY ON HER GUITAR AND SENT YOU VIDEOS OF HER PLAYING IT AND BE LIKE “for you, baby” or post it on her story and captioned (?) “for my girl @yourtag” 🍮 i know she makes a lot of playlists for you. started when you were her crush, then you were in the talking stage with her, then the two of you dating, then songs that reminded her of you

🕯️ SHE WOULD SING TO CLAIRO's SONGS WITH YOUU AND DANCING AROUND IN THE KITCHEN OR 3 AM TO THE SMITHS OMGOMG

⭐️ her home & lock screen is your picture, it doesn’t matter if the pictures of both of you tgt or just you. 🍮 matching stuff with you LIKE HELLO YES SHE LOVE IT !!!! immediately drop everything when you ask her if she wanna matches w you, per examples :

🕯️ she just a biggest simp ever!!! ⭐️ loveee calling you especially facetime, she just adore looking at your pretty face, your sweet smile & listen to your cute laughs every time ellie cracks a joke. 🍮 would cut & peel fruits for you, and you do it to her as well 🕯️ text you in 3 in the morning for her & you scolding her for not sleeping

⭐️ blurts out i love you one time and since then she just wont stop saying how much she loves you 🍮 since you guys are in ldr :(, ellie had to give you gifts & all that by giving you a package but the good thing is that you can keep the letters she wrote for you and the drawing she gave you as well !! 🕯️ HER FRICKING JOURNAL IS FULL WITH YOU..... not kidding...and some sweet details that she had noticed about you

⭐️ always tweeting how she wished she's with you and would diff tweet something like " 'if she wanted, she would', then WHY IS SHE NOT TELEPORTING HERE, NEXT TO ME, LAYIN ON MY ARM, WHYYY" (this is so me coded lol)

🍮 omg would do streaks with you to update abt each other's day and also locket

🕯️ timezone sucks so be ready to be wake to 99+ tiktoks ellie had sent you while you were sleeping. (you did the same thing too)

⭐️ movie night every friday !!

🍮 few years of ldr and both you & ellie had decided to moved in together

🕯️ would surprise you once in awhile and vice versa

⭐️ girly would treat the teddy bear that you gifted her like its her CHILD (it is)

🍮 ellie who loves you very dearly

🕯️ ellie is your girlfriend & also now, your roommate (hehe hinted)

REMINDER !!

that neil is a zionist and therefore dont buy his games, doesnt matter remastered or not !!!

before you leave, have you DONATE TO PALESTINE today? ITS FREE TOO !!

#written by ellslvr ❦#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader

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kkkaisan · 4 months

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I finally finished the second chapter of this doodle comic!

Basically from a translation machine:

It's called notes, but it's really bullshit time:

(I didn't put any asterisks in the "text" in order to make the picture cleaner and not make this little comic seem too serious)

①WX says that their body "doesn't have any of those really advanced things" and that "the concept is just bionic", which might make you wonder how WX can agree with their own shortcomings when they are always been so confident in their own machine body. This is kind of a guess: WX's comments in the wiki about Wagstaff being "afraid of progress" and "short-sighted", combined with WX's usual machine-worshiping and violent tendencies, such as their comments about Maxwell "He has that kind of power but he doesn't go out and destroy human". So it's an offense to them, but they actually agree that even though they claim to be superior, I guess WX would like to see their bodies more advanced and even more radical.

② Yes, this WX has acceleration circuits installed.

③ Gnome get✓ Do you guys remember the line where WX checks the Gnome

④ "You're not as kind as you look", how should I put this one, because the Wilson I understand is more or less with a little bit of darkness in his mind, he's someone who is full of emotions but often restrains them with reason, he fears and hates the negative impulses and instincts within himself. And this trait I think probably comes from his good nature, his education and survival experiences and the influence of the Shadow Throne. (But honestly after suffering in CONSTANT for so long, it's normal for whoever it is to be a little psychologically unhinged, not to mention the SANITY setting.) And after WX's soulwalking, they easily have some "psychic empathy" with Wilson... ...... Well, how did that happen Wilson?

⑤ Well I know the reasoning of the empathy module episode is weird ...... In fact, it's mainly because when I drew this plot I didn't have a good understanding of the empathy module, and simply thought of it as something like "emotional deficiency", so this episode was supposed to be Wilson saying "why do I still feel emotional ups and downs blabla" and then WX explaining that it's because of "memories of emotional experiences", which would have made a lot more sense.

⑥I guess it's my own personal setting: although the game doesn't make a distinction, I don't think WX as a robot would have a "headache and blurred vision due to lack of sanity". The system will be affected, sure, but the physiology won't necessarily feel it. It's hard to go from luxury to frugality, and since there is no experience in the eternal realm in the human era, WX can't adapt to the negative impacts of sanity reduction at all.

⑦Wilson's curiosity and desire to explore and then equipped with WX's hardware strength is simply ON FIRE. and "adapting to the human body so quickly" this conclusion mainly comes from the last chapter when the two people just transformed the body, Wilson's side is very difficult, while the WX on the contrary, it seems to be very easy. Even when they suddenly possessed internal organs, blood, light weight and so on, there was no adverse reaction. Wilson, who loves to observe, has always had suspicions (sorry however I didn't draw this clue out)

⑧ on the one hand, just learned a shocking secret, excited and energetic Wilson, on the other hand is the history of the exposure, and is also experiencing unprecedented headache WX. so the two temperament is not quite the same as usual.

⑨ "Wiped of most of their human memories" from the game's credits: "Suddenly recalling the memories of his past life, WX-78 soon decides to change his fate on his own."

⑩ Those of you who have fought Shadow creatures online might know that the only way a teammate's Shadow creature will have hatred for you is if you've forcibly attacked them. What happened here is that WX forced an attack on Wilson's Shadow Creature (except that Wilson was still relying on his headache of empirical judgment and didn't realize that his SANITY was too low), and then WX's own shadow creatures that were looming all showed up as well, which is why it became so much more. I don't have a very comprehensive understanding of this mechanic online though, and it doesn't seem to be very rigorous, so that's probably what it is anyway.

I accidentally added a lot more, mainly because of the limited ability to express the drawing ... Hope you enjoy!

#don't starve #don't starve together #dst #wxson #dst wilson #wilson p. higgsbury #dst wx78 #wx78

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sweetsbfreex · 2 years

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the super seller patch!

Warning: none

Pairings: dad!mafia/gang!steve rogers x wife!reader

“Mommy’s gonna make sure you get your patch!” You tell your five-year-old daughter, Elysia, while you fix her blue, decorated vest.

You’re kneeling in front of her small form, silently swooning at how adorable she looked in her uniform. Dressed in her blue beret, matching blue skirt, a white collared shirt, her favorite sneakers, and a white, polka’d fanny pack to store the cash.

She was excited and fidgety as you explained exactly what she would do. But she smiled up at you, her front tooth gone, as she listened to you intently.

“Okay, mommy!”

You stand up after kissing her full cheeks, guiding her to Steve’s office door. She looks back at you one more time, as her tiny fist stands parallel to the door. Eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.

“Go ahead” you whisper, smiling.

She nods and smiles in return before her knuckles rasp against the wood door.

The room's attention is taken by the Jacobean stained door. Steve smirks knowing that knocking pattern anywhere. He couldn’t count on one hand how many times a day he’d hear it on his door. Followed by an “Are you almost free daddy?” while one of his favorite faces poked through the gap.

“Come in” Steve ushers in, a soft smile on his face when his little girl toddles in groaning softly at the weight of the door, but as always she steps in the room.

“Hi daddy!” She bobs on her tippy-toes, causing her pigtails to bounce as she waves her arm at her father (who sits at the head of the table.)

“Hi baby doll, how can I help you?”

“I’m— I’m trying to get my S-super seller patch.”

She tells him everything he needs to hear, smiling at how adorable she looked in her outfit.

“That’s great, baby, go ahead,” he tells her with an elbow set on the table while his bearded chin sits in his palm, watching the heir in her come out as she starts her rounds at the table.

“Hi!” She stops in front of a buff, grumpy man; his hair is pulled back in a bun and the sides shaved. “I’m Elysia, I’m selling cookies to earn my super seller patch, would you like to buy cookies?” She recites, and quickly after pops a smile so her dimples are displayed. She may only be five, but she knew exactly how to work her cuteness to her upper hand.

The man, Wong, holds up his hand and shakes his head softly, “No, thank—“

Steve clears his throat, eyes going flint-eyed towards the new recruit. He still had a lot to learn and this was one of them. Under his rule, Elysia was a princess; if she wanted a piggy back ride you’d agree, if she wanted a tea party you’d agree, and if she wanted you to buy some cookies you’d definitely agree.

“Actually,” he starts, smiling nervously at the Girl Scout and glancing at Mr. Rogers as he takes the clipboard and pen, “I’ll buy 15 trefoils.”

“Thanks!” She beams, taking the clipboard back once he’s finished and stashing the cash in her fanny pack.

She continues, no one has the guts to say no to her and she lights up inside when she’s handed big bill after big bill.

Mr. Laufeyson purchases twenty boxes of Savannah Smiles and three boxes of trefoils. This information causes the sound of snickering to flow in the room.

“What?” He snaps,when he turns his head everyone is quick to hide their smiles and laughter.

“I never would’ve pictured you as a Savannah Smiles guy,” chuckles Mr. Strange.

Mr. Kent purchases forty-five boxes of thin mints. Mr. Wade orders fifteen thin mints and fifteen do-si-dos.

She steps in front of her uncle

“Hi Uncle Sam!”

“Hi Princess, I see you’re selling cookies?”

“Yea, would y’wanna buy some?” She holds out the clipboard, a smile on her face.

“Are you kidding me, hand that over” he smiles, his gap on display. Without a second thought he writes the number 75 next to his name. It didn’t matter what he got, as long as he put a smile on his co-god daughter's face (yes, ‘co’ because Bucky and Sam wouldn’t stop arguing over who her Godfather would be, and you and Steve weren’t sure if you wanted any more kids.)

She takes the clipboard and the cash, eyes blowing wide at the double digit number, “seventy-five!! Thank you so much, Uncle Sam!” Throwing herself into his arms.

“No problem” he smiles, squeezes her, then kisses the top of her head.

She skips her way to her Uncle Bucky.

“Hi Uncle Bucky! I’m selling cookies to earn my super seller patch, would you like to buy cookies?”

“Of course, skipper, I couldn’t leave my goddaughter hanging like that could I?”

By his name he writes the number 80 and hands it and the cash to Elysia. Her eyes grow even wider at the number. There were a lot of things Elysia hadn’t learned at the ripe age of five, but one thing she did was that 80 is larger than 75.

“Eighty! Thank you so much!” She hugs her uncle tightly. Who smiles down at her and kisses her head also.

“Leysia, you mind if I see that clipboard,”

She looks up at him with concern in her eyes, before handing the clipboard over. Before she knows it, he’s handed it back to her. The number seventy-five is crossed out and its place is ninety-five. One thing each man could not stand was being upstaged by the other, especially in front of their goddaughter.

Bucky snatches the clipboard from his hands, taking a pen from the pocket in his suit jacket. Crossed off is the number eighty and its place one-hundred. Sam takes it back quickly writing another, and the cycle continues three more times before they finally call it a truce.

Elysia collects the money with pure giddy, at this rate she’d get way past the super seller patch!

Finally, she trots over to her father who lifts her onto his lap, kisses her cheek before tickling her a little bit as she squirms in her lap giggling.

“Let’s see how well you swindled these chumps,” he jokes, looking over the paper as he calculated the numbers in his head. “295 boxes! All right doll” he nudged her chin with his knuckle. “You’re well on your way past the super seller patch, you might even get the top cookie seller patch,” he grins.

“Really!”

“Really” he answers, “You head back to mom, okay, I’ll see you guys at home later.”

“Okay, see you, love you” she wraps an arm around his neck before kissing his bristly cheek.

“I love you too”

He just walked through their bedroom door right when she slipped on her navy, silk nightie.

“You” he points at her then crooks it back and forth.

She sauntered over to him with a meek smile on her face, throwing both arms around his waist.

“Yes,” she answers sweetly.

He had to keep his mind on track, but the smell of her lotion was doing things to him.

“You.” He takes her cheeks in his palms, pulling her in for one kiss, “You are diabolical, you know that?”

“Well” you hum, “You call it diabolical, I call it networking.” You shrug. “She was freaking out over the patch, how much did she end up getting.”

“Two-ninety-five” he grins.

“Awhh, was she happy?” You ask.

“She was ecstatic,” he motions with his hand.

“You’re such a good dad,” you hum, eyes going low as your finger trailed the side of his jaw then over his eyebrow.

“You’re a terrific mom” he responds, leaning so his lips locked with yours. He pulls back, “Is this night ending how I think it will”

“Maybe?” you answer, pecking his chin.

Before you know it, everything is upside down and a stinging pain on your ass.

#steve rogers #mafia steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers x fem reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans x reader #marvel fanfiction #dad steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers one shot

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antxlss · 8 months

Note

Hi! Could I have an Anakin x female!reader where they're both Jedi and a chaotic parenting team for Ahsoka?

I pictured a few scenarios like when they first meet reader defends Ahsoka because Ani calls her "youngling" and talks to her as if she was a child; or Anakin is relaxing and reader distracts him for Ahsoka to pounce on him and play fight him; or reader rescues Ahsoka because she did something reckless and life risking during a mission and she's angry at the Padawan, then before scolding her Ani tries to calm reader down and comforts her when she desperately says that she has to tell Ahsoka off because if she loses her, her world would be turned upside down, then instead of yelling at her, reader makes Ahsoka understand in a calm way that what she did was wrong and tells her how much she adores her

Sorry if it's too long and also if it's more Ahsoka x reader but I hope you get to write it ❤

ahsoka

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader platonic!ahsoka tano x reader

summary: *above*

warnings: none

words: 2.5k

a/n: this is so cutesy, i love it! and yes I know the title is sooo creative. thank you so much for the request! requests for anakin are open! as always, i hope you enjoy! much love! <3

-—————————⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆—————————-

Anakin had very recently been granted the responsibility of having his very own padawan.

She was a 14 year old Togruta, Ahsoka Tano.

Anakin was beyond thrilled to have an apprentice. You were excited to see his fill his leadership role, especially with a teenager.

As you expected, Anakin and Ahsoka got along perfectly. She reminded you a lot of him. Maybe that's why you had grown so close to her.

You were always on missions with Anakin, so in result, you were constantly around Ahsoka. You immediately formed a big-sister-type relationship with her. You guys were always together. She would often come to your quarters and you would teach and show her all the things a normal teenage girl should be able to do.

You felt bad for her. She was pushed into a setting of war fat too young, so you always tried to make her feel as normal as possible.

You were walking through the labyrinth like halls towards Anakin's quarters, with Ahsoka and your faithful droid R2-D2. Ahsoka was walking a little ahead of you, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

Suddenly, Ahsoka turned around and looked at you, with a bit of worry on her face. "Master, you can tell me if you think I'm not ready for the mission. I know it's a pretty intense one. I don't want to mess up." She said.

You smiled at her, and placed your hand on her shoulder gently.

"Ahsoka, you still have much to learn, but don't underestimate your power. Anakin and I wouldn't allow you to accompany us if we didn't think you were ready." You assured her as you finally reached Anakin's door.

Ahsoka nodded, seeming to feel a little better from your words.

"Okay. But is it alright if I ask you a question first?"

Her voice had changed to a curious tone, as she looked at you.

"Do you think Anakin really likes me?" She asked you, with her head tilted to the left, like she always did when she was curious. "Or does he only tolerate me because he has to?"

You started to speak but before you could open your mouth Anakin steps out of his quarters.

"Are we ready to head to the briefing?" Anakin asks.

You give Ahsoka a look and nod your head hoping she's picking up what you are trying to say.

You then turn to Anakin. "We've been waiting on you gramps."

Anakin rolls his eyes "See how mean she is, Snips?"

You laugh in response as you all head to the briefing.

Anakin smiled and shook his head at both you and Ahsoka. He really cared for her, and saw how the two of you interacted with each other.

He also walked with you both to the briefing room, where all of the other Jedi were waiting to receive new orders from the Jedi Council.

"I know you'll do great on this mission, Ahsoka. I have full faith in you. Be careful, okay?" Anakin said, walking ahead of you a little, so he could be alone with Ahsoka for just a moment.

You smile at their interaction. You live the side that Ashoka brings out in Anakin.

You all make your way into the room and find your seats as you wait for further details on your mission.

You all sat down, and waited as Master Windu came into the room and took his seat, in order to start discussing the mission with you all.

"The Separatists have been creating secret factories to construct weaponry that will give them a major edge in the war."

Windu looked at you all.

"Do you remember the last factory that we destroyed on Felucia?" He asked.

"We have just found out that the Separatists have just completed building a new one on the planet of Kyseli." Windu continued.

He nodded and looked at Anakin, Ahsoka, and you. A plan was about to be revealed to you all.

"The council would like you three and the 501st battalion to head down to Kyseli, and destroy this factory before it begins production."

Windu looked over at Anakin, and back at you.

"This won't be an easy mission. But, we are confident you three are able to handle it." He then turned to Ahsoka, looking her in the eyes. "You're ready for this mission, Ahsoka."

After the meeting wrapped up you exited the room. Anakin gathered you, Rex, R2, and Ahsoka to discuss how he wanted to execute this mission.

Anakin talked to you all about how he imagined the mission going.

"Okay. So, we'll start by heading over to Dreshia, the nearest planet to Kyseli. Once we make it to Dreshia, we'll split our troops into two sections. The first section will be led by me and Rex. We will distract the Separatist forces by attacking them head-on. It should give the second section a chance to enter the planet."

"Ahsoka, you will lead the second section." Anakin said.

"Wait, Master Skywalker, shouldn't Master

Y/N be leading the second section?" Ahsoka worriedly glance between you and Anakin.

"No, Snips. We need you to lead the mission this time. You'll do great, trust me." Anakin said, with a smirk on his face, hoping to reassure her.

"You're ready, believe me." He continued.

You could see the worry on Ahsoka's face, and Anakin looked like he wanted to hug her and tell her it would be okay, but he had to keep up this leader like personality for this mission.

The truth is, you and Anakin had discussed this prior to the briefing. He was insisting on Ahsoka leading the second section, but you, not so much. It's not that you don't think she's capable, because she is, it's just you can't stand the thought of her getting hurt. Or worse.

After a 30 minute screaming match between you and Anakin, it was deemed that he was the lead of this mission, and Ahsoka was his padawan. So now you would just stick with Ahsoka and try to protect her the best you can.

As Ahsoka was looking at you with a worried expression, you knew that she was thinking about how she didn't believe she could lead the second section.

You also felt worried about how Anakin would react to you going back on his decision about Ahsoka leading; it would probably cause another argument between you two, and you wanted to stay on Anakin's good side, since you were working with him for this mission.

You had no choice but to look at Ahsoka and shake your head as you said "I'll be right at your side. Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

You, Ahsoka, Anakin, Rex, and R2 were all waiting outside of their starship to get ready for the mission that the Jedi Council had sent you on. Everyone seemed slightly anxious or worried about the mission, but you could feel this overwhelming sense of determination and courage in the air as well.

You could tell that Anakin, Ahsoka, and Rex were all slightly nervous about the mission, even though they all knew what they were doing. No matter how good you were at something, you would always get these feelings of worry and anxiety whenever you headed out on a mission of this caliber.

"Once we land on Dreshia, We will immediately split into our sections and head to Kyseli. That's where Rex and I will lead our troops to distract the separatists who are likely to attack as soon as we break the atmosphere. Ahsoka that's when you will lead Y/N and the rest of the troops to the factory to destroy it. As soon as that is done, we regroup back on Dreshia." Anakin recaps.

Ahsoka nodded.

"I understand, Master." she said quietly.

Anakin smiled at her confidently, knowing that deep down, Ahsoka wasn't really believing in herself on this mission. Anakin then looked over to you.

"Alright, are you and the troops ready, Y/N?" Anakin asked, wanting to get the mission started.

"You don't need to call me 'Master' when we're out here." Anakin said, with a slight smirk on his face. "But if that's what you want, then go ahead."

Anakin then looked at everyone else.

"Alright, everyone ready? Let's go."

You all board your assigned ships and take off for Dreshia.

Once you land at the republic base, it's go time, everyone is running around finding their section, you stay close to Ahsoka.

Before you knew it you were in the air again heading for Kyseli

Just as you expected, as soon as you entered the atmosphere, we were bombarded by enemy fire. Just as planned Anakin's Section distracted them As Ahsoka led you, and the rest of section two, straight towards the factory.

Your section had successfully made it to the factory, and the Separatist forces were now turning their attention towards the other side of the planet; where Anakin and Rex's section were distracting them.

Anakin's plan was working perfectly; everything was going exactly as he expected, and Ahsoka was leading the troops inside of the factory building.

"Alright, Ahsoka. You've got this, the Separatists aren't focused on us right now." Anakin said, over the radio. "I knew this plan would work."

"Alright! Everyone place their explosives!" Ashoka ordered.

You immediately placed your explosives down and prepped them for detonation. You watched as all the other troopers did the same. Once complete we all headed out of the factory to detonate.

Ahsoka held the device that would detonate the explosives.

"On three." Ahsoka stated.

"One... Two... Three."

Nothing

"What's going on? Why isn't it exploding?" You ask with a confused look.

"I don't know. I'm going to check it out." Ahsoka started running back toward the building.

"Ahsoka stop!- "

You were cut off by the explosion. Ahsoka flew back and landed on the ground. You immediately ran up to her checking her for any serious injuries. The only thing you noticed is that she was knocked unconscious. You were internally panicking but you knew you had to keep calm because you were now in charge. You lifted Ahsoka in your arms.

"All troops to the ship! We are regrouping to Dreshia!" You yelled.

Everyone boarded the ship and you all headed for Dreshia where you would regroup with Anakin and his fleet.

You carried Ahsoka through the ship and back out onto Dreshia, where you could see Rex and Anakin waiting for you.

"What happened out there?" Anakin asked.

You could tell he was upset when he saw Ahsoka unconscious in your arms, and he was looking at you in a serious way, expecting an answer.

"She ran back towards the rigged building after a malfunction with the detonator. It exploded while she was headed towards it. I tried to stop her." You shook your head.

"She doesn't seem to have major injuries. She was just knocked unconscious from hitting the ground I suppose."

Anakin stayed quiet and nodded in understanding.

You saw he was clearly upset over the situation, and this worried you, even though you didn't want to show your emotions to Anakin.

"Let's get back to the camp on Dreshia." Anakin said in a stern voice. The three of you got in a speeder to head back towards the base, while Ahsoka stayed unconscious in your arms as the speeder drove on.

One you made it, you took Ahsoka to a medic droid that was on the site.

Ahsoka was taken to the medic droid, and Anakin and you waited in the tent for the droid to finish treating her.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only around two minutes, the medic droid emerged from the tent, carrying Ahsoka who still looked unconscious.

"She'll be fine. She'll wake up soon." The medic droid said, as Anakin and you relaxed, and waited for Ahsoka to wake up.

After about 30 minutes Ahsoka started rustling and her eyes fluttered open.

Ahsoka slowly opened her eyes, blinking for a moment as she realized her surroundings, and then she looked at you.

"Hey...what happened?" she asked, sounding a little confused.

She had a look of pain on her face, and was still slightly dizzy when she spoke to you.

"When you went to investigate why the detonator wasn't working, it decided to work." You could feel the anger creeping up on you now that you knew Ahsoka was okay.

Why would she do some so stupid and reckless? Why would she put her life in danger like that?

Anakin seemed to sense your frustration.

"Y/N, let's step out. I need to speak with you."

You followed Anakin out of the medical tent.

Once you and Anakin were outside the medical tent, on Dreshia, Anakin began to speak to you about what happened with Ahsoka.

"Listen, Y/N, I understand why you're upset about what Ahsoka did." Anakin said, "She put herself in danger, and that's something you and I disagree on. But you have to understand that Ahsoka is just young, and maybe a little inexperienced."

"I know you don't like the thought of it - neither do I. But Ahsoka will have to learn things on her own, and make her own choices." Anakin continued.

You sighed. You knew Anakin was right. Yelling at her wouldn't solve anything.

"You're right. Let's go talk to her." You gave Anakin a kiss on the cheek and headed back into the tent.

Anakin smiled, feeling happy that you heard him out instead of getting angry with him.

The duo then walked back into the medical tent, and saw that Ahsoka was now fully awake and sitting up. When Ahsoka saw you and Anakin, she smiled and got up.

Ahsoka then walked over to Anakin and hugged him. She seemed to have a lot of love for him; you didn't blame her.

"I'm alright, Master." Ahsoka said to Anakin. "I'm sorry for trying to run in there like that. It was a mistake on my part."

She went over and hugged you as well.

You giggled. "Slow down there tiger. You need to lay down."

"But you are right. It was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. You have to think before you do okay. If I were to lose you... I can't bear the thought. The truth is Snips, Anakin and I care about you so much. Do you understand?"

Ahsoka looked a little surprised at your reaction, since she thought you would be angry at her.

She then nodded to you, and it seemed like she understood why Anakin and you were so concerned about her.

"I know, I'm sorry. I-I just got so caught up in the moment, that I forgot about the mission." Ahsoka said.

"Just...please don't do anything this stupid or reckless again. Okay, Ahsoka?" Anakin said with a soft smile.

"She gets it from you Ani." You laugh.

Anakin's face turns a light pink when he heard what you said, as he looked down and away from you.

Once Anakin started speaking again, he seemed slightly embarrassed.

"I guess you're right, Y/N." He said, laughing a bit. "Come on, let's get back to the ship. Everyone's ready to head back."

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phntmeii · 8 months

Note

If you write for e42 miles could you write some hcs for him

♡ Dating Earth-42 Miles Morales Headcanons:

❝ I'm Miles Morales. But you... you can call me the Prowler. ❝

[SFW + Fem Terms Used]

A/N: That accent went crazy for the movie ngl. I’m so hyped for more of him ahhsidjs. Sorry for this one being a tad shorter just because we didn't get to see enough of this ver. of Miles </3 Also, requests are open ofc :) ty anon!!

🕸️ This version of Miles is much more serious about his work and how busy he can be. He didn’t think he had time to look for someone.

🕸️ Then, there was you. Miles couldn’t take his eyes off of you, just watching as you passed by. He’s having an internal conflict because he doesn’t want to invest himself in someone just to lose them but he can’t stop thinking about you.

🕸️ So he ends up defaulting to just watching you from afar for a while to try and learn what's special about you. And with each day, that feeling grows until he just one day does it and talks to you.

🕸️ He's confident but quiet. A lot of his sentences are short and to the point. He looks down at you as you talk, keeping his eyes on yours. He's giving his full attention to you.

🕸️ He also does the thing of having his hands in his pockets and leaning down to hear you better. He knows exactly what's he's doing.

🕸️"Shit... desculpa, ma... didn't hear you. Say it again for me?"

🕸️ I think this version of Miles would be the least obvious with his feelings at first. Half the time you can't tell if he's actually into you or not because he seems disinterested most of the time but when he's in his room, he's sat listening to love songs and picturing different scenarios with you.

🕸️ His mother taught him right so when he does ask you out, it's not a casual text of "will you be my girlfriend" or something basic like that. He's taking you out at night to somewhere with a nice view where he has your favorite flowers, then he asks.

🕸️ He isn't too big into PDA. Not because he doesn't love giving you his attention but because Miles is a very chill and settled guy in public.

🕸️ Most of his "PDA" are small things like hand holding and whispering romantic things into your ear.

🕸️ Yes, many of his pet names and flirty comments will be in Spanish just because he knows you like it. He usually defaults to "mami" or "mamas" when talking to you.

🕸️ Once he's more comfortable, he likes to be a tease because he knows it sets you off especially if you're busy. He'll just open up your window and sneak in while you're doing your work just to feel you.

🕸️ He'll have a dumb grin as you smack him away, putting his hands up in surrender. "Ay, lo siento, mami... Didn't know my girl was so focused."

🕸️ There are some times where he just sweeps you away from your work any way because he wants to spend time with you. He'll never admit to being clingy despite doing that.

🕸️ Definitely the type to do shit just to try and piss you off cause he thinks he’s funny. He’ll rest his arm on top of your head, make jokes when he sees you’re annoyed and act like he’s the one wearing the pants in the relationship to friends when in reality, he’s all too obsessed with you and treats you like royalty.

🕸️ In public, acting like the man, meanwhile in private, he’s all “yes ma’am omw o7”. LMAO

🕸️ Miles can instantly tell when you're in a bad mood. A slight change in the way you text and he's already thinking about how to fix it.

🕸️ "good morning mamas 💜" "morning" "tf is 'morning'?? nah, start over." "what?" "my girl not starting the day like this. im coming over."

🕸️ Miles' main Love Languages are: Quality Time and Words of Affirmation.

🕸️ Miles needs to be around you which is why he'll sneak off to see you. It doesn't matter if you're busy with something, he'll just watch you and keep you company as you do it. (Although, he might try and distract you.)

🕸️ He’ll let you do his skincare or do his hair (if you know how) but he’ll likely complain the whole time even if there’s no reason to.

🕸️ Like he’ll complain about not being able to touch his face when he has a face mask on or that you’re being too rough when doing his hair even though he loves when you do this for him (He’s being dramatic.)

🕸️ “Ay- Shit! You havta fuckin’ pull that hard?” “You want your braids to look good or not?” “I want to have hair by the end of this.” *proceed to smack the side of his head with a brush*

🕸️ He’s definitely a flirty guy. He’ll text you suggestive messages when he knows you’re in public or at a family event just to mess with you. He’ll also send super romantic paragraphs to you over text when he knows you’re asleep.

🕸️ There is no insecurities allowed about yourself when you’re with Miles. The moment he hears self doubt, he’s showering you with praise because his girl is perfect in his eyes. There is no one else but her.

🕸️ "baby. i feel ugly today" "ugly?? tf are u on?" "i just feel idk like gross" "mami don't start allat. u know ur too fucking gorgeous to think like that." He then sends several 1-3 min voice messages freaking out to you about how lucky he is so you know that it is impossible for you to be "ugly" in his eyes.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

#atsv miles #spiderman atsv #atsv x reader #atsv miles morales #miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales headcanons #e42 miles #e42 miles morales #e42 miles morales x reader #e42 miles morales headcanons #atsv headcanons

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avelera · 7 months

Text

Huh, just had a random thought about Stede's reactions to people asking him about Ed this season and sort of had a revelation:

Stede isn't used to people asking for his opinion.

There was this interesting observation in this post that when Izzy asks Stede to "give him his worst" after he learns of Ed's death, it's Izzy trying to deal with Stede the way he'd deal with Ed. He senses there's a blow-up coming so he prods it to make it detonate and then directs the vitriol towards himself. It's what he did on board when Ed was threatening to shoot himself during the "toxic atmosphere" confrontation. Give the captain a target for his anger so we can all move on.

But, as the post notes, Stede isn't Ed. There's a lot of delicious, wonderful character-driven reasons that Stede's reaction to Izzy goading him like that is just pained silence, a topic for another day, but suddenly I started thinking about Zheng and her whole, "Girl how are you?" moment where Stede is similarly silent.

Then it sort of hit me: unlike Ed, Stede really is at a loss when people open the floor for him to talk, when they solicit his opinion. And when you think about his background, it makes a horrible kind of sense.

Ed's the fearsome pirate captain Blackbeard, he's used to people asking about his opinion (or fearfully about his intentions).

But remember when Stede and Ed first met? Ed asks if Stede knows what it's like to be waiting to drown, Stede cautiously answers yes, and Ed just bowls right over him. But Stede doesn't seem offended. If anything, he seems wearily accustomed to giving his mumbled answer and having it ignored. When he answers his father about marrying for love, Stede is also ignored.

When Stede does offer his opinion, it's in a very sort of grand, challenging sort of way, usually to his subordinates. But there's a feeling of interruption to his declarations. He knows no one is really asking, so he makes his statements to the air. Part of his pirate captain power fantasy is to have Lucius take notes about what he's saying. But there's very little... hmm, conversation? As someone with ADHD who has to consciously remember to let other people speak, which leads to a sort of stop/start conversation style, it feels a bit familiar. Stede is either making statements about his hyperfixations and getting mocked or ignored for them, or he's silent and his mumbled answers to questions are ignored.

He doesn't really expect to be asked a question and then listened to. He's used to questions as rhetorical devices for other people to talk about their wants and opinions and ignore his. (And I'm sure there's exceptions to this, I don't have perfect memory of ever line of dialogue, but I'll wager there's a status differentiator to who he declares to vs who he shyly defers to, his crew vs. people of higher status like Ed.)

Ok so to bring this back to Zheng and Izzy, who are sincerely trying to weigh in with Stede about what's going through his head with all these revelations about Ed... he's really kind of baffled. He doesn't think Izzy is sincere or benevolent (reasonable, after the end of S1) but I'd wager Zheng isn't being obtuse there. She's set up to be hyper competent. She is asking the important questions. Stede is just so unaccustomed to anyone of status listening to him, or asking questions of him that are important, that he looks actually a bit stunned and unsure how to respond.

Anyway. To fully back this up might require a full re-watch, I'm sure it's a bit more nuanced than this. But I really am mulling this now, about how rarely Stede is listened to. How he says "Talk it through as a crew," as an aspiration, perhaps based in a life where no one ever listened to what he was really saying or what mattered to him, but even with the permission to do so, he never, ever in S1 or S2 really opens up and answers the question himself except under extreme duress. Monologuing while alone to a picture of Ed (and getting VERY flustered and offended that Ricky is eavesdropping on this baring of his heart) is about as much honesty as we ever get from Stede.

Stede really really struggles to speak or answer questions about what's really going on with him. Maybe because before, no one ever really cared.

#ofmd #ofmd meta #our flag means death #ofmd spoilers

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silverskye13 · 1 year

Text

Being the universe's smartest super computer still made for a derpy, non-functional person. It was really easy for people to get caught up in the Cool Sci-Fi Shenanigans of cyborgs and robots and forget how awesome and powerful organic, sentient life was.

For example: Xisuma has a perfect memory. If someone gave him a date and a time, he could scan back through his memory logs, replay recorded data and footage, and tell you the exact recipe he used for those vegan cookies that one time six years ago. He knows the ambient temperature of a froglight that's been submerged underwater for six hours, three minutes and twenty-nine seconds. He can rewind a recorded memory, pause the time lapse, and watch in slow motion as Grian breaks a stone block at spawn with his bare hands because he was bored during their intro-season speech.

However, recorded data takes up a massive amount of memory on a standard hard drive when you record everything you see as a passive function, and all of it has to be purged by hand, regularly, just so Xisuma can maintain the memory needed for daily functions. He's tried writing algorithms to do it for him, but even the best pattern recognition software can't account for his momentary preferences. What differentiates his favorite sunrise from any other? If he were human, he could program some kind of learning software using data from tables tied to the output of different brain chemicals and electrical pulses that most frequently line up with a formative memory -- but if he were human he wouldn't be making a program like that in the first place, now would he?

It's one of those long, long days of trawling through recorded data. It would be shorter if he would just parse through the most recent memories, but he likes keeping long-term memory storage at exactly thirty percent of his total data storage, and he's been resting at thirty-four percent for the past month. Putting off the inevitable. It's just, there's been a lot of stuff to remember the past few weeks, and it's hard to choose what to get rid of sometimes. He's started deep-diving through old data, walking down memory lane. He has to be careful, some of this data is important, tied intricately with the complex spider algorithm that forms his memory data access system.

Click! Click! Click!

"What are you thinking, X?"

The screen that makes up the lion's share of X's face organizes itself into a smile, lights flickering on in the nanoseconds it takes him to process the memory he's watching and attribute happiness to it. Yes, this is a good one.

The playback jolts as he looks down at Tango. Not pictured is a redstone project they are picking away at. Xisuma knows this because this particular memory has a transcript, full of branching tags and keywords that pull up a wealth of information alongside it.

That's another thing about memory that organic life never appreciates. Memory isn't just the memory itself. It's a web of associations built on prior, learned knowledge. A tree isn't just a tree. It's color and texture and symbol and "when was the first time I drew a tree?" and "apples" and "saplings" and a thousand other tiny associations they just arbitrarily have. Xisuma has to synthesize that web. A memory doesn't exist in a vacuum. Unlike the organic mind, however, Xisuma can pull up as much accurate information as he has the processing power for. This memory brings him two more closely associated recordings, associated memories he's kept for context, the transcripts of six more deleted memories, the definition of redstone, a playback of isolated sound he deemed important.

The playback continues.

Click! Click! Click!

"What are you thinking, X?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Tango, I didn't know you'd walked up! I was doing research."

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Oh well, you know the new update. Redstone's always a little finicky after."

"Right, yeah, totally. I've been putting mine off, honestly. I don't feel like fixing broken stuff right now -- oh but, I guess you can't wait, huh?"

Xisuma parses through the data brought up with the memory. He knows the date this was recorded, the recent change to redstone mechanics brought on by the server update. He'd had three farms break. There was a linked document to a transcript of Doc's rant on redstone as it relates to radiation. There was a script note document typed the day after this recording was created: Clicking Good. There was a preliminary version of what he'd nicknamed "The Tick Script.Exe".

"Yeah, I've got a lot of bugs to fix."

"Are you going to get rid of the clicking?"

"Clicking?"

The clicking was an ambient noise made when Xisuma's system was a bit bulkier, his algorithms and scripts that handled memory and data access crude and unperfected. It caused a disc in a driver somewhere to click when he did searches. At the time, the clicking had been the closest thing to an annoying habit Xisuma could manage.

Computers don't have habits. Habits are repetitive motions that become subliminal, that take effort to break, and are oftentimes formed subconsciously. Xisuma doesn't have a discernable difference between conscious thought and subconscious. He has background processes, he has backburnered data, and he has executive commands.

Xisuma queries the memory, pulling up related tags and searches, letting the algorithm reach. This memory had been the start of a, for lack of a better term, humanification process for him. There was his observation table on organic ticks, habits, and movements. It had taken a lot of uncomfortable staring, but back then, staring was all he'd known how to do. One of the first entries on the table was blinking. Organic things blinked, clearing away dust and debris from lenses and membranes. Xisuma didn't have eyes, didn't blink. But the screen that managed his facial expression animations could be programmed to blink.

Xisuma queries blinking. He pulls up a transcript of an interaction with Stressmonster, where she mentioned he blinked every thirty seconds. She knew this because when she first noticed him blinking, she'd noticed it's regularity. That was when Xisuma learned that, to convincingly blink, time variation was necessary.

Coding randomization into redstone circuitry had always been difficult.

Xisuma returns to the Tango memory recording, replays the question about the clicking, the unintentional habit. Xisuma still clicked when he thought. The others probably still thought it had to do with bulky drivers. In reality, it had been a test in trial and error.

How many clicks was acceptable for a thinking pattern? The three dot ellipses was common in writing, and a two dot pattern was too reminiscent of a heartbeat. When he'd temporarily switched to a four dot pattern, he'd noticed people getting impatient, or worrying if his mechanics were stalling. (Stalling and slow loading does sometimes happen, but it manifests in freezes and long pauses, not in repeating clicks). He invented a three click pattern, tested a variety of click sounds, settled on something similar to a rotary phone click when a number is dialed. It was a good sound. Heavy and sharp. It sounded like something falling into place with intention. Click! Click! Click!

Xisuma doesn't actually need a sound to think. But it's a clever replacement for harder to code things, like remembering to two a surface or fidget.

Click! Click! Click!

Shifting weight had been a harder thing to code. Standing stationary, legs an equal width apart, was the most steady way to stand. It also made him look like a statue, made his unblinking stares eerie and uncomfortable. Organic things read it as unnatural, borderline on predatory. Large predators often froze and stared right before pouncing.

Looking back through old memories, Xisuma could tell if they were from before or after his algorithmic programming because of how still they were. Made for clearer visuals, and he knows in high-stress situations that focus on accuracy, he can cycle them off, but they're comfortable for people to watch.

Xisuma rocks back on his heels away from the screen he's watching. If someone else were in the room, it would be a sign of thoughtfulness. For him, it's the execution from a random table of acceptable fidgets while standing still. He should turn it off. He's alone right now. But sometimes the movements still catch him off-guard and the longer they run, the more he gets used to them.

Xisuma queries: rocking on heals

He gets a handful of save recording bits. Doc rocks onto his back legs and stretches his forelegs. Gem rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, her arms crossed behind her back, mischievous and excited. Scar rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms, thoughtfully examining some terraforming. Xisuma isolates the last recording and mimics it, feeling how the weight of his crossed arms counterbalances the lean back.

Xisuma queries his habits table and adds the motion to the list.

He never quite figured out how to program what to do with his hands. They spent a lot of time at his sides, or in pockets. Objectively he knew that was bad. Hiding the hands was often a sign of hiding something, and he liked being transparent.

Xisuma queries: Hands

Xisuma blinks at the long list of results.

Xisuma queries: Hands behind back

He gets several animations of Gem, Grian, and Scar, all with some variation of hands behind their backs and mischievous grins. Most of them are snippets made for studying purposes. Two are attached to longer videos, catalogued memories he's kept. His query returns almost four hundred memory transcripts.

Xisuma likes making transcripts. He feels it's similar to the hazy, distant memories people have when time and distance transform them. When someone else remembers something falteringly, he remembers the way he described it to himself. The older transcripts were rougher. He's gotten better at writing them over the years. His learning and pattern recognition softwares are still pretty good, even if they aren't perfect enough to manage the full range of expression on their own.

Xisuma queries: Do my friends know how hard it is to look organic?

This returns no direct results. He receives a directory of the people he's flagged as "friends" over the years, an article on the recent organics additions to the world in the latest update, and a handful of unrelated memory documents where he'd asked this question before and similarly pulled up no response.

Xisuma queries: Do I care?

This pulls up more entries. Xisuma glances across them and clears them.

Xisuma queries: Do I care today?

This pulls up only slightly fewer entries. He smiles. Asking subjective questions to a computer never gleans intended results. Computers aren't subjective. Or, well, they're not supposed to be. Of course, if he were merely a computer, he wouldn't be doing this, would he? If he were merely a computer, he would be sitting on a shelf, or a desk, running prewritten programs and searches for someone else, letting someone else build his code, rules by the guidances and intentions of someone who ultimately viewed him as a tool, if nothing else.

Xisuma queries: Who's flying this thing, if not me?

He pulls up a list of song lyrics and chords, a clip from a movie he'd watched once, an IMDB rating off some database somewhere.

Xisuma clears the data. He pulls up the last memory he was watching, rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms thoughtfully. He presses play.

Click! Click! Click!

"Are you going to get rid of the clicking?"

"Clicking? Oh, I guess I am clicking, aren't I? It's just an inefficiency. I'll fix it at some point, I guess."

Tango smirked at him. One of his hands plucked at his sleeve. Xisuma clips the motion, tags it with hands, nervous, thoughtful, fidget.

"You sure it needs fixed? I kinda like it."

Click! Click! Click!

#the barking writer #xisuma #hermitcraft fic #robot!xisuma #android!xisuma #woe! my headcanons be upon ye!#ive been reading a lot of scifi lately #like... A LOT of scifi #like almost 200hrs of audiobooks in the past 3 weeks #long post #longpost

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the-meme-monarch · 4 months

Text

hey have y'all seen the game A Little To The Left. yes the cute little organizational game with the cat. i need to tell you about my interpretation of the game A Little To The Left. I'm going fucking crazy.

ok. I think your cat died and you are busying yourself with organizing as a distraction. chapter 1 starts with fixing a lone picture frame of your cat. level two is putting its toys in a basket, with no actual way of organizing it, and the cat itself is nowhere to be seen. yes you see it intermittently after this, when it comes in to ruin the progress you made, but in chapter one your cat isn't the focal point at all and you never see it in full, not until the last chapter, and in the last chapter things are going kinda Unreality, things are moving between picture frames and you can Unmelt candles and move shadows. I think the cat might not actually be there and you’re just getting more In Your Thoughts.

every now and then, in the beginning, when it ruins what you organized, you move on. you don't fix it. playing through I thought that was weird considering the the whole game being about Organizing and Being Very Particular About It. I think you Just Leave because you remember your cat and you need a New distraction. I also think this might be why some of the things you’re organizing don’t make a lot of sense like the tool kit one or organizing your breakfast on your plate like That.

but your cat becomes more of a focus as it progresses, with levels increasingly centered around it/ its presence, but I think it’s more about how you’ve been putting off Really Dealing With it’s absence, like cleaning up the paw prints, like they’ll never leave any more after you finally clean them up.

In the last level of the fourth chapter, you wipe off a flower vase and pick up the flowers to look nice and alive again, then the shadow of your cat looks over them and the flowers die again and it’s implied the cat broke the vase. I Feel Like This Is Your Character. using cleaning/organizing as a distraction to feel normal before remembering your cat and grieving its death all over again. Chapter five starts with picking up the pieces of that broken flower vase.

to rehash what I said about moving to a new distraction when you think about your cat, there’s a level in the fifth and last chapter where when it messes up what you’ve done at your computer space, fix it and you carry on with the level, you don’t leave immediately after. you make constellations of your cat in the sky in one of them. the third to last level is just. petting your cat. the very last level is building a tower for your cat to climb up to the moon. your cat is in the sky. Your Cat Is In The Sky. Do You Hear Me. i think it’s about Organizing Of Course but also quietly about learning to move on from your cat’s death. i could be making this Entirely up but i just finished the game with my sibling and that was the impression I got with the moon thing and everything Now put in perspective and I've convinced my sibling of this and we're Crying

#words from the monarch #a little to the left #animal death #we named the cat Persephone before we knew. bc the name meant destruction. and the cat destroys things throughout the game.#but now with the perspective of The Cat Being Dead. you cat. was taken from you. to the afterlife. aauuughhoooooohhhhhhhhh

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negrowhat · 4 months

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what are your top ten fav bl's of all time?

Hey Anon! I had to take some time to think about this. It's hard for me to choose things like this! You're really putting me on the spot lol. Here we go tho...I might cheat a little.

To My Star. Both 1 and 2. I love Seo Joon's and Ji Woo's story. I love their relationship dynamic. I loved how protective they were of each other. Both Ji Woo and Seo Joon are complex characters with layers that you can really bite into and analyze many ways. I know a lot of people were not fans of s2 but that was one series where I truly ate up the angst. Ji Woo is a hard character to understand unless you really take the time to watch the series and focus on his behaviors. You'll never, ever catch me talking bad about TMS.

Gameboys the Series. Both the seasons and the movie. CaiReel have such a modern and relatable love story. I think it being a series about finding relationships in the middle of a global pandemic while we were ALL sharing the same plight really stood out. I felt like I made new friends while watching that series. Also for s1 to be shot completely on an iPhone and for most of the actors to not actually be filming their scenes at the same time, I was BLOWN away by the quality AND chemistry. That series made me SOB and that is also something I consider impressive. If it can make me cry then it's certified gold.

Utsukushii Kare. Both seasons and the movie. This is another series with complex main characters. Hira deals with his general uninterest in damn near everything EXCEPT Kiyoi and photography. And Kiyoi deals with his need for attention even if he generally doesn't like people because they always disappoint him. It's interesting to see how they handle their seemingly unbalanced relationship. Hira is willing to give Kiyoi all the love he requires and not get close (which is normally what Kiyoi wants) and Kiyoi learns that with Hira he wants a real true love and relationship and that's quite a task when the man you love doesn't value himself. It's just interesting seeing the growth between them.

Color Rush S1. I love the way they tackle the soulmates trope, and explore the darker side to the obsession that could happen once you find your perfect match ESPECIALLY when that match can help you see a full picture. Yeon Woo struggles with a myriad of thoughts and fears as he does his best not to get close to Yoo Han even though Yoo Han is serving up himself on a silver platter with tantalizing promises of helping him learn the colors he craves to see. Yeon Woo becomes obsessed, but little does he know that Yoo Han is also obsessed because Yeon Woo also helps Yoo Han see a clearer picture. But maybe that obsession is really just them falling in love and not knowing what to call it.

Moonlight Chicken. Messy and relatable to a person like me who is smack dab in the middle of the age groups involved. This series really showcases how messy romances can be. It shows how hard it can be to close the door to a chapter you thought would end happily. This series shows how hard it can be to move on when a normally open door shuts in your face suddenly and forever. It shows how a chapter that starts off terrible can lead you into the most thrilling moment of your life. It shows that the last chapter you finished might have you TERRIFIED to move on to the next one. Stuck. This was a series I found difficult to dislike any of the characters even if they were being terrible. Emotions were high and reactions were warranted. This was a series where I felt like people were allowed to feel the way they were feeling.

We Best Love. Yes, both seasons. Shu Yi and Shi De had such an up and down ship. Shi De went through such a roundabout way to get close to Shu Yi and I really enjoyed watching them become friends. I enjoyed watching Shu Yi come to realize he was in love. I wanted to beat Shi De up in s2 for ghosting Shu Yi and I was enjoying watching Shu Yi get his lick back, but really he was just looking for answers so he can decide if he was stupid for wanting to forgive Shi De the moment he saw him again. It's another fun and messy series.

Lovely Writer. I LOVE Gene ok. He really made me love the series because he was such a bomb ass character. I also found Nubsib's psycho/stalkerish tendencies quite entertaining because he was so polite about it. I love that the series took stabs at all the things wrong with the BL community while simultaneously having the main character be an actor in one of the most toxic fake BLs I've ever seen. Just meta on top of meta. Satire in the form of a trendy BL within a BL.

History 3: MODC. Salt run aside, I just really loved this series. Can't believe a series about the shy kid falling in love with his bully is a fave. That sentence alone would make it problematic af...not to mention the questionable age gap between the 2nd couple. But it was beautifully constructed. Hao Ting found the best version of himself in Xi Gu and Xi Gu found a brighter side to life with Hao Ting. And they were WAYYYYY into each other and Hao Ting did put in his work to be forgiven. I do my best not to overthink Zhi Gang's age difference from Sun Bo because it's such a norm in Taiwanese BL. It's kind of interesting to see their relationship play out. Zhi Gang definitely has his hangups with the age gap and Sun Bo just doesn't care.

Blueming. Such a laid back series. Si Won is just a sweetheart dealing with self-esteem issues trying to make his presence known in life so he can get the best out of his university experience. And Da Un is just that effortlessly cool guy Si Won strives to be like. He can't even fathom the idea of such a cool guy having a crush on him that he takes the flirting as arrogance lmao. I think it's sweet that Da Un helps uplift Si Won and I think it's sweet that Si On showed Da Un the attention he never got at home.

Ingredients the Series. Just a sweet lil slice of life miniseries. It fills me with joy to watch Tops and Win pine after each other as Win works on his music and Tops works on his cooking and they live together symbiotically. There's not too much to this series. It relies heavily on food and chemistry and that's perfectly perfect for me.

#to my star #to my star 2 #blueming #gameboys #gameboys the series #gameboys the movie #we best love #we best love: no 1 for you #we best love: fighting mr. 2nd #utsukushii kare #utsukushii kare: eternal #ingredients the series #lovely writer #lovely writer the series #history 3: modc #history 3: make our days count #moonlight chicken #color rush

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justagalwhowrites · 9 months

Text

Yearling - Ch. 3: Noise

You start getting to know Jackson - and yourself. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-2 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Attempted SA (not completed). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 6.5k

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Electricity had a sound.

You’d never noticed it before but that had to be what it was. The buzzing.

It felt loud in the small room, a constant whine that made your ears ring. Everything here was loud, it was so fucking loud. The people on the street outside, the sound of the lights and the power humming in the walls, the tick of a clock in the corner.

Was the world always this fucking loud before? Were you just numb to it before?

You closed your eyes and crossed your arms tight over your body. You were still in that man’s coat. Your legs were freezing, feet numb. Your fingers were starting to defrost and they hurt but your stomach felt oddly numb. The wetness of your blood was there against your skin but the pain wasn’t there. It should be but it wasn’t. You didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“You’re a hard woman to keep track of.”

You jumped back, away from the voice, eyes flying open, arms flying out and hands groping for something - anything - you could use for a weapon.

“Woah, you’re OK,” there was a woman in front of you. She was older than you - you thought, anyway, you weren’t quite sure what year it was - and she had a gentle, kindly look to her. Her hands were up in front of her, empty except for a pen, a notepad tucked below her arm. “Not going to hurt you, you’re OK.”

That seemed like bullshit. Everything in this fucking town seemed like bullshit, none of it made any goddamn sense. Your eyes darted but there wasn’t much here. It reminded you of a doctor’s office waiting room. A few couches, a coffee table with some books and old magazines on it - the kind of magazines your mom would put out, not the ones she’d actually read, shit with short stories and pictures of landscapes in it. Nothing you could really use as a weapon. Your best hope would be running.

You should have just left when you had the fucking horse, you shouldn’t have listened to that man. It didn’t matter that he seemed strangely familiar and safe and beautiful you should have listened to your fucking gut and run, had you learned nothing since the outbreak? You don’t trust people, that’s how you get fucking killed or worse. People were dangerous, people were so fucking dangerous.

And now you were in a town full of them.

“Can you talk?” The woman asked, her brows raised, hands still up.

“Yes I can fuckin’ talk,” you kept backing up until you were flush with the wall behind you. God this was fucking stupid how had you been this goddamn stupid? “Do I look like a moron to you?”

“Absolutely not,” she said kindly. She was talking to you the way you talked with wild horses. Like she was trying to keep you from lashing out or taking off. “You just seem scared and like you’ve been through a lot. Sometimes people aren’t able or willing to talk after things like that and that’s OK.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped. “Just need to get out of here…”

“OK,” she said. “I can help you with that. Let me just take a look at where you’re bleeding and we can get you out of here, sound good?”

“Why.”

The woman frowned.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to see where I’m bleedin’,” you asked. You were starting to feel the pain in your stomach. Your head was light, vision fuzzy on the edges. “What do you want with me?”

“Just want to help you,” she said. “Promise. If you don’t get in bed soon I’m guessing you’re not going to have much say in the matter, you’d lost a lot of blood when you came in and you’re losing more. You’re going to pass out if you’re not careful. So just let me help you, that’s all I want to do.”

She was right. You knew enough about keeping yourself alive that you knew when you were close to passing out and you weren’t far off from it. You couldn’t stay on your feet much longer, not without help.

Help this woman was apparently offering. For whatever fucking reason.

You tried to think of another option but your brain was fuzzy, too. Slow and sluggish, like working your way through the well worn pathways of survival in your head suddenly required swimming through Jell-o.

But you wouldn’t survive if you tried to run now. Even if no one ran you down, you’d pass out in the snow and freeze in hours at best. That’s assuming no one else got their hands on you first. It was better to give in to whatever these people wanted and escape when you were stronger. Then you’d have a chance at making it. You’d stolen a horse once, you could do it again. And you doubted anything they were going to do to you here was going to be any worse than other shit you’d managed to live through.

“You can look,” you said, relaxing back from the wall a bit so you were no longer clinging to the wood.

“Thank you,” she smiled a little. “Come with me? It’ll be easier if you’re in my exam room. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

You didn’t trust that. You couldn’t afford to trust that.

But she was probably in her late 60s, smaller than you and definitely weaker. Even injured, you could overpower her. That made it better.

You didn’t say anything, you just nodded and followed behind her a small room with a padded table in the middle. She set out a step stool and patted the end of it.

“Can you hop on up for me and lie back?” She asked. You kept your eye on her as you obeyed. You might be in here with this woman but you weren’t about to turn your back on her. The table was cold on your bare legs and you found yourself oddly thankful to the man who’d given you his jacket. You didn’t understand that either. “Just going to…”

The woman opened the front of the coat and lifted the shirt, making you stiffen. She gingerly touched near your injuries and you tried not to flinch.

“You pushed it too hard, honey,” she said, smiling a little sadly at you. “I’m going to need to repack these and you need to actually take it easy for a while, OK?”

You looked back toward the ceiling and didn’t respond.

“Let me know if something I do hurts too much, we can take a break,” she said, going to a cabinet and coming back with a tray of shiny medical equipment. She set to work around your stomach and your fingers dug into the cuffs of the man’s coat, the wool and leather of it comforting to the touch. “Want to tell me your name? I’m Carol Livingston, the doctor here in Jackson…”

“What do you want my name for?” You clenched your jaw as you felt her pull something out of you. “What was that?”

“Gauze,” she held up a wad of bloody fabric in a pair of tiny tongs. “Can’t stitch up a gunshot wound, had to try and make sure we’d cut off the source of major bleeding and then pack it for a bit while it healed. If you don’t do things like climb out a window and take off on a horse, it’s usually pretty effective. And I’d like your name so I know what to call you. Start a file for you since you’re here now, all that.”

“A file?” You hissed it as she pulls more gauze from you.

“Sorry honey,” she said. “Almost done. And yes, a file. You’re old enough, you remember before, you must have gone to some doctors, they had records. Going to flush this with water now, stay still for me, OK?”

“I remember before,” you gritted your teeth and tried to think about something besides what she was doing to you.

“It’s important to have a medical history,” she said, sounding a little distracted. “And to keep track we need a name. Going to put more gauze in now, almost done…”

It had been years since anyone knew your name. You hadn’t given it to anyone in decades.

The last time had been 2003. September 27, 2003, to be precise.

Just a few days into the outbreak and you were already disoriented and uncertain about how much time had passed. But the first day was easy to remember. You rode Nike until she was foaming at the mouth, pushing her far harder than you should have. But you didn’t have another choice.

You stopped at a ranch, one that seemed quiet and still now. There were bodies, though. Flies were on them, gaping wounds in their chests and stomachs. One had a bite at their neck like Justin did.

The ranch was big, one you recognized from the summer tourist season and taking rich people who wanted to pretend they were roughing it on trail rides. There should have been a lot of people here but they were gone.

You were still quiet, guiding Nike slowly to the paddock, eyes wide open as you waited for someone - something - to come for you. Nothing did.

You got off Nike for the first time since you’d left home, opening the gate and letting her in. The trough was dry and a horse in the corner lifted its head from where it was grazing to look at you, not paying you much mind. You looked around for a moment and found a water spigot and refilled the trough before pulling the gun from the waistband of your panties. The metal had all but carved a spot in your skin from where you’d been bent over it, clinging to Nike as you fled the chaos and the death. You crept toward the bunkhouse, so like the ones you’d fled hours before, when it was still dark.

Pickings were slim when it came to clothes. You were the only woman rancher where you’d come from and there had been no women working on your parents’ ranch when you were a girl. You checked a few rooms at the bunk house before you spotted the main house through a window. If there was a woman living here - your best shot at finding pants and boots that fit - it would be there.

You crept over the open land, gun in front of you and aimed at the ground, the sharpness of the earth snagging on your feet. The main door to the house was open and the table in the entry was overturned, broken glass from what looked like was once a bowl scattered across the ground. You tiptoed around it, hoping you didn’t cut your feet too badly, and went upstairs, whole body tense.

It didn’t take long to find the bedrooms. There was a teenaged girl living here, one who looked like she was a bit younger than you judging by the posters on the wall and the canopy over her bed, but not much smaller than you. You raided her closet, focusing on things that could be a little tight but would still work - t-shirts and sweatpants. You emptied a backpack that had been tossed in the corner onto her bed and started packing.

You found the master bedroom next. Thankfully, the rancher was married and his wife was closer to your size than his daughter. Another blessing, this rancher’s wife actually dressed like she lived on a damn ranch unlike your own mother. Her Levis were the same size you wore but a different cut than you usually went for. Her shirts would just about fit, and she had bras that were only a cup size off from your own. You got changed quickly and grabbed extras of everything. Her boots were a size too big, so you grabbed a few pairs of thick socks and layered them before putting them on. Being dressed again was a comfort. You hadn’t realized how vulnerable you’d felt because you’d been half naked, not just because you’d been attacked and everyone seemed to be losing their humanity.

Next was the kitchen. You grabbed what non-perishables you could fit in the pack - a stash of Poptarts, cans of chili and soup - and gorged yourself on what was left in the fridge. You chugged sodas and peeled hard boiled eggs so fast that you knew you’d eaten some shell, too. You devoured the pears in the basket on the counter and added the apples to your bag before finding a canteen and filling it with water. There was a bottle of Advil in the pantry and you grabbed that, too. You tried turning on the TV in the living room, seeing if there was a news network that had information, but all that was being broadcast was an emergency alert signal, the sound so loud it made your ears ring. It said to stay inside. Like hell you were doing that.

Overly full and no longer half naked, you made your way back toward the barn to look for tack for Nike. Once she’d had a rest, you planned to get underway again. It might be quiet now but you weren’t counting on it to stay that way. You’d feel better with some distance, at least until all this shit - whatever it was - got figured out.

Once you were at the barn, you started at the gun safe. Lucky for you, someone had left the door hanging open in the chaos of whatever the fuck had happened the night before. There was just one weapon left - a shot gun - and some ammo. You grabbed all of it and put the ammunition and the handgun into a saddle pack you’d grabbed from the tack room. You loaded the shotgun and tucked it under your arm before you moved on.

You’d just found a saddle that would work well for both you and Nike when you heard the door creak. You spun, whipping the shotgun around into your grip, aiming it at the man standing in the doorway. He threw his hands up and froze.

“Woah there little girl,” he said. You narrowed your eyes. “Not here to cause you any trouble…”

“Then get the fuck out,” you said. “Shot two other men today, don’t mind makin’ you the third.”

“You’re the one in my barn,” he said, still in the door, hands still up. “Takin’ my shit…”

“This ain’t your ranch,” you looked him up and down. There hadn’t been a bedroom for a young man upstairs and he wasn’t old enough to have a teenaged daughter.

“No but I work here,” he said. “Think I’m the last one left. Think that makes it mine. You’re not gonna lose your mind on me like everyone else here did, right?”

“No,” you snapped. “Are you?”

“Don’t think so,” he said. “But I don’t think they did, either.”

You lowered your gun slowly, still watching him. He lowered his hands but stayed by the door.

“That your horse out there?” He asked. “The filly?”

“She’s mine,” you said. “Couldn’t get her tack before I left, wasn’t safe.”

“You can take that,” he said, nodding to the saddle that you’d dropped in your haste to defend yourself from him. “Reins, bit and bridle, too. Whatever else you want… She broke enough for you to ride though?”

You scoffed.

“She’s dumb broke but I’m the one who got her there,” your fingers twitched on the gun. “Don’t need you fuckin’ her up for me.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Just never seen a girl rancher before, let alone one who breaks horses…”

“I’ve been breakin’ horses since I was 13,” you stuck your chin out, defensive. “And I’m a champion bronc rider, too, so I can promise I can stay on the back of an unbroken horse a lot longer than you.”

“Alright, alright,” he smiled a little. “Not tryin’ to call your expertise into question. I’m Leo, what’s your name?”

You clenched your jaw for a second. Part of you was telling you to run, even if you didn’t shoot him, at least get the fuck away from him.

But you were also alone. You’d never been alone this long before. You’d moved straight from your parents house into the bunkhouse. You had your own room but there was always someone just on the other side of the wall, always someone in the barn, always someone else working with a horse or repairing a fence or mucking a stall. You’d never been truly alone, not like this. If this guy hadn’t become an inhuman monster, maybe he never would. Maybe you didn’t have to be alone.

You gave him your name. He stepped closer.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Like I said, there’s no one else here. Everyone else is dead. Don’t think there’s anyone but you and me for miles. Stay. For a bit. You and I both know your mount needs some rest, not sure where you pushed her from but you pushed her.”

“You would too if you were in my shoes,” you snapped and then sighed. “But she could use the rest…”

“I’m just glad to know I ain’t the only person left who wasn’t some flesh eating monster,” he laughed once. “It’ll be good. Promise.”

It was good, for a day. Nike rested. You and Leo went through all the rooms of the bunkhouse and the main house, taking inventory. You figured the two of you could hold out there for weeks at least while the rest of the world got its shit together. Plenty of time for things to calm down and some new kind of normal set in. You could figure it out from there.

Your second night there, Leo raided the liquor cabinet at the main house. You recognized the labels from your dad’s own stash, the thick amber liquid in heavy crystal glasses as much a part of his identity as his belt or his hat. Leo poured you a cup and you got drunk around a fire, not far from the horses, the stars bright overhead.

It felt good. You liked it. Until Leo tried to kiss you.

“No,” you shoved him back, twisting your body so you could put your boot in his chest if you needed to. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

“C’mon baby,” he leaned closer but stopped when you gave him a warning look. “You really gonna tell me that I might be the last man on Earth and you’re turnin’ me down?”

“Could be the last man in the universe and I couldn’t give less of a shit,” you snapped. “If that’s what you want, I’m leavin’.”

You got up to go but his arms flew out, his eyes wide.

“No, please!” He was begging, pleading. “Don’t go, please don’t go. I don’t want to be on my own here, I’m sorry I did that, won’t happen again…”

You looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. But he looked sorry. He sounded sorry. And you didn’t want to be alone, either.

“It better fuckin’ not,” you said, sitting down on the ground again, putting more distance between the two of you.

He kept his hands to himself until you woke up with his weight on top of you. You could feel him through your jeans, your wrists in his hands holding you to the ground, his mouth by your ear as he moaned your name.

You shrieked, making him jump, lifting his head enough that you could slam your forehead into his nose. It crushed beneath your skull and he yelped, his hands leaving your wrists and flying to his face as he collapsed next to you. You scrambled away from him, going for the saddlebag and grabbing the pistol from inside it. You aimed it at him, standing over him as he sobbed, holding his face, blood on his fingers.

“What the fuck?” He was crying, his face red. “Why’d you do that?”

His voice was thick.

“Told you not to fucking touch me,” you snapped, panting for breath. Your heart was pounding, you could hear your blood in your ears. You were shockingly sober after all the whiskey you’d had earlier in the night. You aimed the gun at his leg and shot him in the thigh. He screamed. “Lucky I don’t fucking kill you.”

You grabbed the backpack and tack for Nike, hauling it outside. You kept the gun easily accessible as you saddled her up before going back into the barn for one last check for what you needed. Leo was still on the ground, clutching his leg. You sighed and got the first aid kit off the wall, throwing it at him, before you got the shot gun and some rope from the wall. You tucked the pistol into your jeans, slung the rope on your arm and aimed the shotgun at him as you made your way to the paddock again.

“I ever see you again, I will shoot you in the head,” you said. “Understand?”

There was a trail of blood from his nose over his mouth, his chin, staining his shirt.

“You’re gonna die on your own out there,” he snarled. “And you’re gonna fuckin’ deserve it.”

“Better than living here with you,” you said, leaving him alone in the barn. You opened the gate and led Nike out before closing it and mounting up, keeping the shotgun accessible.

“C’mon girl,” you gave her ribs a squeeze as you pointed her in the direction of the mountains, away from the place you’d come from. “You and me, let’s go.”

It was the last time you’d told someone your name. It was the last time you’d heard your name said by anyone who wasn’t you. It felt dangerous, sharing it, but you sometimes said it to yourself the first few years of the outbreak. First, middle, last. Just to make sure it didn’t fade into nothing.

You hadn’t done that in years.

But you did then, you said all three to the doctor as she gently put gauze into your body to soak up your blood.

“See, not so bad to share is it?” She said, smiling gently. She got out more gauze and medical tape and put it over your wounds. “There, you’re all set. Want to see?”

You nodded and she helped you sit up and got a mirror from a cupboard, holding it in front of your stomach so you could see without needing to bend as much.

“You were shot twice,” she said, pointing to the spots covered in clean, white gauze. “We were able to make the worst of the bleeding stop and pull the bullets out without opening you up more, which is good. You have some other bumps and bruises but we’re pretty sure there’s no internal bleeding, which was a concern, and no broken bones that we could find evidence of. You’re just still down a lot of blood, hon, so you have to take it easy, OK?”

Being shot sounded familiar. You knew there was a stretch of time you were missing. You remembered running, Cody helping you get out. You’d been on the run for three days - you thought, anyway - before they caught up with you, the fresh snow giving you away. You didn’t remember much after that. There was pain and red snow and something soft and warm that smelled woodsy and wild, like the coat you still had on.

There was a knock at the door and you jumped, eyes going wide. The doctor smiled a little and tugged your shirt back down. You pulled the coat back tight around you.

“Come on in, Maria,” she called, keeping her eyes on you. A woman opened the door, a pile of clothes in her hand. She was about your age, you thought, and pretty. She smiled a little at you. “She’s all set with me but I’d like to keep her here overnight, make sure she hasn’t lost too much blood…”

“Sure thing, Carol,” Maria said.

“I’m going to leave you in Maria’s very capable hands,” Carol smiled. “You’re OK now, honey. You’re OK.”

She got up and left, closing the door softly behind her. You fought the urge to back away from the woman standing next to you now.

“Hi,” she smiled gently. “I’m Maria. I’m sure you have a lot of questions and I’m here to help you. First thing, you’re safe here. You don’t have to be afraid of me…”

“Not afraid,” you cut her off. “Just like knowing where I am and that I can leave when I want is all.”

“Well, you’re in Jackson, Wyoming,” she said.

You nodded slowly.

“What part of the state is that in?” You asked.

“Near the Idaho border, south of Yellowstone,” she replied. You nodded again. Not too far from where you’d been then. That was oddly relieving, knowing they hadn’t taken you that far. “And you can leave whenever you want. We’d just like you to not die when you do so we’d like it if you stayed with us for a little while, at least. You were picked up by one of our patrols a few days ago…”

“This a QZ?” You asked. “There are a lot of people here…”

“No,” she laughed a little. “No, we’re not a QZ. We’re a commune, just a few hundred people who have agreed to share the work and the benefits of living together as a community…”

“So what do you want with me?” You frowned. You still hadn’t gotten a straight answer to that, not one that made sense, anyway.

“Nothing at all,” she said. Her voice was so calm and even, you wanted to lean into it, to trust her. That alone made your chest tight. “Our patrol didn’t want you to die in the woods and we take care of the people who come here. You’re welcome to stay, if you want. We have houses, clothes, plenty of food. If you stay you’d have to pitch in but no more than anyone else.”

You narrowed your eyes at her and she laughed.

“You don’t look like you believe me.”

“I can’t say I do,” you said. “That doesn’t… people don’t just do that shit, especially not now.”

She smiled, a little sadly.

“You were on your own for a while out there, I’m guessing,” she said. She was mostly right so you nodded. “We are an unusual place, I’ll admit that. But we’re good people and we’re proud of what we’ve built here. We won’t hold you prisoner and if you want to go, you can go. But I think you should at least consider sticking around. People aren’t all bad, you just have to find the right ones.”

“And you think I’m one of the right ones,” you said, still skeptical.

She shrugged.

“I don’t know yet,” she replied. “But honestly, anyone who tries as hard to live as you did is a good person to have around. And we have plenty of room here. May as well have you take up some of it.”

You nodded slowly.

“To start, let’s get you into something that isn’t bloody and a little warmer,” she said, holding out a small pile of clothes. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“I’m not sure,” you said. “Don’t know how long I was running or how long I was out.”

Maria nodded.

“I’ll get you something small to start, see how you do,” she said. “In a day or two, when Carol says you’re up for it, I’ll give you the tour, get you settled into a house. Sound good?” You nodded. “I’ll leave you to it. Try not to hurt yourself getting changed, I’d rather not get on Carol’s bad side.”

You smiled a little and waited for her to leave before you delicately shrugged out of the coat and peeled off the bloody shirt. She’d brought you a long sleeved t-shirt this time, a little oversized and pale blue. The pants were plaid, the same color blue in part of the pattern. You lay down to slide the shorts off and pull on the clean underwear and pants Maria had brought. Sitting back up took work but you were proud of yourself for getting there. You lifted the shirt and checked to make sure the gauze was still white, no signs of bleeding getting bad again. You shrugged back into the coat and were pulling on thick, wool socks when Maria came back, knocking once before opening the door with food in hand.

“We’re starting you slow, don’t want to push it according to Carol,” she said. “But I have some soup, half a sandwich, an apple and some water for you. Eat what you can, OK?” You nodded.

“Any questions for me right now?”

“When is it?” You asked. She looked at her watch but you cut her off. “Sorry, no, I mean what month is it?”

“November,” she said. “Early November, Thanksgiving is in three weeks.”

Thanksgiving. You’d all but forgotten about Thanksgiving.

“What year?” You asked, brows raised, fingernails digging into your leg.

“It’s 2025,” she said.

You tried to hide your surprise at that but it didn’t go well.

“What?” She asked.

“I’m younger than I thought I was,” you replied. It felt like you’d been with them for longer than that but apparently not. “Not that it really matters.”

“You can say you’re even younger if you want,” she smiled a little. “Beauty of the apocalypse, no one is going to check your birth certificate. Just be 22 forever.”

You laughed at that, hard enough that you felt the wounds at your stomach pull and you winced.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll try to not be too funny. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” you gripped the edge of the table. “Could you hand me that mirror? The one on the counter? I just… haven’t seen myself in a while.”

“Sure,” she smiled tightly again and handed you the mirror, face down, before heading for the door. “I’ll see you again soon, OK?”

You nodded and she closed the door behind her.

It only took a few seconds before you could hear what felt like everything again. The room was tinged pink, the sun setting outside, and the electricity was buzzing. You lifted the mirror slowly and held it in front of yourself with your eyes closed for a second before you took a deep breath and opened them.

Recognizing your own face was a shock. It seemed like, after everything, you should look different now. And part of you did. You were bruised and there was a cut on your cheek and you thought the signs of creases next to your eyes were more obvious now than they had been the last time you saw yourself. Your hair was starting to streak with gray. But your eyes were still your eyes. So were your teeth, your nose, your eyebrows. You were still you. You still looked like you. It was disorienting. It was comforting. You set the mirror down before you ate the food Maria brought you, suddenly starving but just a few bites feeling heavy in your empty stomach.

Eventually, Carol came back and brought you to the room you first woke up in. The bed had been made with fresh sheets.

“Here,” she smiled gently. “Why don’t I take that coat…”

“No,” you said quickly, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. She frowned. “No, I… I want to hold onto it, if that’s OK.”

“Not going to try to run on us again are you?” She asked, brows drawn together. “Because…”

“No,” you cut her off. “I just… it’s warm, I like it. I want to keep it. For now.”

She looked at you, like she didn’t believe you. Which she shouldn’t. You didn’t want to keep it because you were cold or because you wanted to run. You wanted to keep it because it felt good. It smelled right. Your fingers tightened on the cuffs. You didn’t remember much about coming here the first time. All you really knew was because of this coat. The man had given it to you and when it settled over your body, the collar brushing your nose, the smell of it brought back a memory you didn’t know you had. One where you were warm and in a daze and swaying on the back of a horse with something broad and warm at your back. Safe. You liked safe. You needed the coat.

“OK,” she said. “If you need a bathroom, there’s one right through that door there. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

You waited until she closed the door before you crawled in bed. It was dark outside now but you knew it couldn’t be too late. Even so, you were exhausted, and you somehow felt safe enough to close your eyes and rest.

***

“That girl is not sticking around,” Maria said as Joel sat beside Tommy in the mess hall at dinner.

“Who isn’t?” He asked.

“That woman you brought in from outside,” she replied. “She is skittish as hell, seemed fucking terrified…”

“After seeing what she did to the men out there, we should be thankful she’s just skittish,” Joel said, starting in on his meatloaf.

“What’d she do?” She frowned, looking to her husband. Tommy winced, bouncing his son on his leg.

“Well, now, see, I didn’t want to worry you…”

“Tommy,” she said in a warning tone.

He sighed.

“Well we found the other guys first,” he said. “One was just shot, nothing bad…”

“OK…” she said slowly.

“The other,” he sighed. “Well she’d damn near scratched his face off with her bare hands.”

She startled back from him.

“You didn’t think this was an important piece of information for us to know before we offered her a place to stay with us?” She asked. “Before you brought her into our community?”

“Guy deserved it,” Joel said. Maria narrowed her eyes at him and he shrugged. “Well, he did. Did you look at her at all? Got the shit beat out of her. Looked like she’d been tied up, someone fuckin’ branded her….”

“Jesus,” Maria shook her head. “Can’t say I looked too close, no. Too busy trying to keep her from taking off on me.”

“Sure the fuckers we found deserved it,” Joel said. “We won’t give her a reason to do that to us so we’ll be fine…”

He couldn’t be sure of that, of course. He didn’t know you, not really. But he felt like he did. Looking at you, it felt like he knew you.

“Well it’s a moot point,” she said after a moment. “She’s taking off as soon as she’s able, mark my words. She’s terrified of this place.”

Joel didn’t bother to respond. He knew what that felt like, coming into a place like this when you were used to something so different. It had been scary for him and he’d come here of his own volition. He’d known someone here.

You were different. Of course you were terrified.

Tommy and Maria left to go back home before he did and Joel sat there, watching for Ellie to come in with her friends. She usually did, about half way through dinner. If she came in the right door, he’d sometimes hear her laugh. That was worth sitting there for a bit. More than worth sitting there for a bit. That girl, her life, her happiness were worth a lot of things. He could justify damn near anything for her.

But Ellie came in the door further from where he was sitting that night and he didn’t hear her laugh. She saw him watching her and shot him a glare as she crossed the mess hall. A warning message, of sorts.

“I’ll go back, but we’re done.”

That’s what she’d said to him. She’d meant it. And that was OK. She was alive so he could live with that. But at least this way he got to see her. Even if it was just for a second. Even if she hated him through it.

He was gone before Ellie and her friends were looking for a place to sit.

It was cold out, without his coat. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, thumbs hooked on his belt loops. Going home sounded lonely. Lonelier than usual. He didn’t want to go bother Tommy and Maria, they had enough going on with a toddler at home. Getting a drink at the Tipsy Bison sounded miserable.

There was one thing he felt like doing. It was just a bad idea. So Joel just walked for a bit, wandering aimlessly through the town, letting the cold bite at his exposed skin. But he kept finding himself back in front of the clinic, the light on in the front room.

It couldn’t hurt anything, right? Just… he could check. Just check.

Carol smiled when he opened the door slowly, the hinges creaking.

“I can take a look at that for you,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Just a squeaky door,” she said. “Nothing much to worry about fixing. Can I do something for you?”

“No,” he shook his head for a second, looking at the ground and cupping the back of his neck before he could bring himself to look her in the eye again. “I just… was hoping to check up on the woman I brought in. Make sure she’s alright. You know.”

She smiled a little wider and shook her head once.

“She’ll be fine,” she replied. “Just keeping her here tonight because she lost a lot of blood. But, as you know, she was up and about plenty today. She just needs to give herself a chance to heal before she tries to crawl out a window and take off on a horse again.”

Joel laughed once at that.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he said.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you your coat back, though,” she said. Joel frowned. “She’s still wearing it. Wouldn’t let me take it. I think you might need to go find a new one, Mr. Miller. I don’t think she’s giving it up.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s fine she… she can keep it.”

He turned to leave before he stopped in the doorway.

“Don’t tell her I came by,” he said. “Don’t want to freak her out.”

“Sure,” she smiled a little. He nodded. “Have a good night, Joel.”

“You too.”

The night was still biting and cold but he felt a little better, walking home in it as he looked at the clinic window as he passed, the one he knew you were just on the other side of, wrapped in his coat because you didn’t want to give it back.

He was still warm when he got home.

Next Chapter

A/N: I'm so sorry this update has taken so long! I wanted to finish up Beskar Doll before I fully dedicated myself to Yearling and now I can settle into a comfortable writing space with this fic which I am so excited for.

Bambi has officially landed in Jackson and Joel has taken notice. I love that for him.

I'm also really enjoying this softer Joel compared to Lavender Joel. It's interesting to write the same character who is in such a different place in his emotional journey and I can't wait to explore both of them further! I hope you enjoy the ride as we do :)

I do have a taglist. Please comment below if you'd like to be added!

Thank you for reading! Love you!!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #yearling

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