@ignitedwill​​

A panicked expression immediately engulfed her countenance upon hearing the other’s interpretation of her perceived hastiness. Though that comment had stemmed more from her own timorous and recluse nature, along with the general desire to not present herself as a burden to even those she deemed to be amiable and gentle in nature. The fact that her anxiety also tended to surface when interacting with those whom she’d just started getting to know certainly didn’t help matters much.

Damn her social incompetence and gauche public mannerisms. Mentally cursing herself, the thoughts within her brain quickly scrambled and tumbled upon themselves as she frantically sought for an efficient way to smooth things over and immediately pursue damage control. 

“Oh! Oh no no, I - ... You couldn’t be farther from the truth, Fang! Please, please forgive me for my idiocy a-and seeming rudeness, i-it had truly not been my intention. I ... I merely did not wish to perturb you while you were eating, a-as I assumed that I’d only be a source of unnecessary annoyance while you were eating, I - ...” And she continued to inanely stumble upon her own words in her overly protracted, bumbling attempt at an apology of sorts. 

Those pale cerulean hues which bore intensely into her own dark ones, along with the distraught placement of his hands on her shoulders resulted in Nadir responding in kind, albeit rather awkwardly. Smaller hands attempted to position themselves reassuringly upon the shoulders of her taller conversational partner, wavering a tad in mid-air as she momentarily questioned whether such a gesture would even be welcome from her. 

“Th-there is nothing wrong with your face in the slightest, it would be beyond asinine for anyone to even entertain such a thought! You ... you have a very nice, pleasant, and genial visage, one I’m sure many would die to have- ...” 

Leo: rip

Raph: ayy lmao

Donnie: tragic

Mikey: yeet

Casey: ded

             “Oh, I am sorry– do you have somewhere                you plan to be?”

Hector smirked as he bent down, testing the hold of the ropes that bound his prisoner. He usually was more fond of killing than keeping prisoners, but something had made him change his mind. Maybe he just liked this one’s attitude.

              “It will go on until I get what I’m after.                How long that takes depends entirely                on you.”  

          “Matter of fact...”

Logan began, neck arching back and head tilting, grinning up at the outlaw- even with the strength of the sun behind Hector forcing his eyes to squint. This was by no means a comfortable situation, but that was hardly enough to put Logan off a favoured past-time; and antagonising someone as volatile as Hector Escaton was certainly a tried and tested delight. “I do.”

Alright, so it had been a dick move to convince a couple of the parks stronger hosts (two generally overlooked, simple souls who worked at either the blacksmiths or the hardware store- Logan hadn’t cared enough to remember or, indeed, to even ask,) to rob the Mariposa a little earlier in the day, thereby removing the safe mere minutes before Hector rolled into town. Maeve had been less than impressed, but after a convoluted and entirely not worth it venture... Logan had succeeded.

All for this.

“Well see, much as I’d love to give you the safe- no can do. I’ve got plans for it.”

With careful fingers and precious seeds, right from the Arctic apocalypse vault somehow still unearthed and undisturbed, Bradford and the Commander have begun a garden out back of the house they moved into at the end of the war.

Said House was his work, all by hand and furnished with items stolen or bartered for or ‘borrowed’. Said garden is full of hardy vegetables: beans and kale and cabbage, mostly, and when Bradford visits it at the heat of the day, he finds the Commander napping amongst the sprouts, cheek against the planter’s wood frame.

Bradford gingerly steps through the rows to them, stares down at their slumbering form. They look almost elegant in a way, curled up snug to the planter with a beam of sun illuminating their skin, sending notes of dust and pollen swirling around them like some kind of glitter.

He absently wonders if glitter still exists somewhere as he sits in the edge of the planter next to them. Their breaths are soft, even, not the chaotic panic they are sometimes when he is woken in the night to them clinging to his body slick with sweat and with fear.

“You’re going to get a crick in your neck,” Bradford murmurs quietly to them. Right then, he decides to make a hammock.

Sure, he’s got no idea how but it can’t be any harder then building a home- they’ve fought two wars to get here, a hammock should be a piece of cake.

There are two trees at the far end of their backyard, where the grass gets longer and more wild, where their property becomes possibility and wilderness. Bradford jogs back into the house and grabs a blanket from its draped position on the couch and comes back out, where he ties both ends of the blanket to the ties and forms a pocket of fabric between them.

Bradford tests it first, and thanks himself for doing that as the hammock breaks under him. A tighter tie at both ends, and another test— it holds this time. Good. The Commander weighs much less then him, it should be fine.

Bradford eases them up, careful to make sure they’re still sleeping as he carries them across the distance to the hammock. Gently he sets them down into it; for a moment he fears it will break and he will have to explain himself to a bemused and grass covered Commander, but it holds, even as they shifts in their sleep.

He stands there, watching their chest rise and fall, and feels warmth erupt in his own heart. Twenty years of searching and occupation had all but beaten even the slightest idea he would ever get this from his head. He had been ready for so much less, had all but settled for so much less…