#anyway i've been kicking this post around in my head for two months now so hopefully someone still finds it interesting!

[quoththemaiden]

Aziraphale: The Sword that Guards the Tree of Life

Looking where the furniture isn't

This post is dedicated to @meatballlady's excellent insistence that if we want to try to predict where season 3 will go, we need to look at where the furniture isn't. That is, what must have been there but wasn't shown?

For this one, my source material is going to be Genesis. That is, in no small part, because it does in fact fuck severely that Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett took the angel with the flaming sword and the serpent of Eden and made them kiss (@joycrispy, @ouidamforeman). It's also because Genesis, quite simply, exists, and it seems safe to assume that most everyone in Gaiman and Pratchett's intended audience has been exposed to at least its first few chapters dozens of times.

What does Genesis tell us about Aziraphale's purpose?

3:22 Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of Us, knowing good and evil; and now, he might reach out with his hand, and take fruit also from the tree of life, and eat, and live forever”—  23 therefore the Lord God sent him out of the Garden of Eden, to cultivate the ground from which he was taken.  24 So He drove the man out; and at the east of the Garden of Eden He stationed the cherubim and the flaming sword which turned every direction to guard the way to the tree of life.

@joycrispy's analysis above highlights Aziraphale's role as given in the last verse: as the angel chosen to wield the flaming sword, he was sent down after Adam and Eve were expelled to prevent them from returning. Instead, he chose to protect them by giving that sword away. His desire to protect humanity is indeed beautiful (@give-soup-please, @snek-eyes).

But wait, what came right before that? "And take fruit also from the tree of life...?"

2:9 Out of the ground the Lord God caused every tree to grow that is pleasing to the sight and good for food; the tree of life was also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

That's right: What we see in the show is that Adam and Eve were sent out of Eden so that they'd have to deal with the rain and the animals and have to work for their food, but that was never the primary motivation. God planted two special trees, and after Eve and Adam ate from one of them, God was terrified at the prospect of them turning around and eating from the other. And thus, the Garden of Eden was made off-limits and set to be permanently guarded by an angel with a flaming sword.

So, the flaming sword.

Twice now, Aziraphale's sword has helped humanity survive complete and total destruction (@nottobehornyonthemain). The first time, he handed the sword to the first two humans, which protected not just them but the entirety of the human race via Adam and very pregnant Eve.

The second time, he let it be wielded by The Them, who used it to best the Four Horsepeople of the Apocalypse and save the billions of humans already alive as well as unborn generations.

Perhaps the flaming sword was only intended as a plot point in the first season. However, if its purpose were completed, it could have easily been destroyed. As a narrative piece, it could have broken dramatically at the end of the face-off against the Four Horsepeople. Or, Watsonianly, God could have chosen to break it Herself; after all, it was already used against its intended purpose twice, so why let it keep existing?

Instead, it's carefully taken away to... where? Heaven?

The place Aziraphale is now going?

Or at least a place where he could likely find a record showing where it's being stored?

Whether you call it "rule of threes" or "Chekhov's gun," I think it likely that Aziraphale will be getting his sword back in season 3. He probably doesn't want it (@createserenity, @ineffableigh, @doctorscienceknowsfandom), but he'll need it.

The question, then, is what would Aziraphale do with the flaming sword he was given to prevent humans from reaching the tree of life?

If we're looking at where the furniture isn't, the biggest stretch of an interpretation would be to say that the missing furniture is the tree of life. If anyone knows where Eden is, it would be Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. We know that both Heaven and Hell want to end humanity. The opening credits have humanity walking to their judgment after their deaths; what better way to prevent that than by preventing those deaths?

The most intense version of this theory says that the audience should be familiar with the story of the Garden of Eden and know damn well that there are two special trees there and that Aziraphale was put in place to guard the second one — the one humanity hasn't eaten from yet, the one that grants immortal life. That's where, if I were truly trying to swing for the hills by aiming at where the furniture isn't, I would ideally like to end this post. If that were the case, season 3 could even open with Aziraphale walking towards the Garden of Eden, sword in hand, but this time approaching it from the outside with the intention of tearing the wall down.

But, let's be honest, making individual people immortal doesn't feel like it would fit with the themes of Good Omens, nor with Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett's world views.

So, let's take the tree of life symbolically: Instead of the tree of life granting individual humans immortality, it could instead represent giving humanity immortality. In that case, the thing that's where the furniture isn't is Aziraphale's sword. You know, the sword that's already saved the human race from extinction twice now, with both times being because Aziraphale gave it away.

I suspect that the sword will wind up in Aziraphale's hands again in season 3. I also quite suspect that it won't be staying there. In the end, I expect it will once again be up to humanity to reach out their hand to take the apple from that second tree.

[fireinmoonshot]

safety first | boone x fem!reader

Pairing: Boone x Fem!Reader Summary: After a close call during a chase, you have a panic attack and Boone helps you through it and keeps you company afterwards. Warnings: Reader has a panic attack, slight PTSD/trauma references Word Count: 1.6k A/N: I've been wanting to write for Boone forever and finally I am here posting something for him. I love his character so much and this was fun to write. I'm definitely gonna be writing more for him in the future so please send in any requests for him (as well as other Twisters characters, of course)! I should be asleep right now cause I have work early in the morning but here I am, yet again being head over heels for the Twisters characters... anyway, enjoy! 💗

Six months ago, you had walked up to Boone and Tyler, standing around the truck waiting to head out on a chase, and told them that you were riding with them today.

Unsurprisingly, that hadn’t gone very well.

Ever since you’d joined the Wranglers, your job had been simple – stay with Dexter and Dani at a safe distance away from the tornadoes and edit the videos for YouTube. But you always felt like something was missing. That you couldn’t properly edit the videos to capture the true chaos of storm chasing if you weren’t experiencing it too.

Boone and Tyler had been incredibly against the idea, trying to convince you to stay with Dexter and Dani or even just ride with Lily if you wanted more of a thrill, but you hadn’t budged and eventually, they’d come around. 

They had only one condition: whenever you rode with them, there would be absolutely no driving into tornadoes. They’d get closer than Dexter and Dani, but not close enough that you could be seriously injured if something went wrong.

Technically it had been a condition of Boone’s but Tyler had agreed with it and you had too, realising that accepting it was your only chance at getting closer to the storms.

Today, however, things had gotten a little too close for comfort. Everything had been going to plan at first. The storm was a good one and when the tornado touched down, you were close enough to get a great view of it without being in the path. 

But then the conditions changed and with them, the direction of the tornado changed as well. 

You tried your best not to think about it as you washed your hair in the motel, enjoying the feeling of the hot water on your aching body. It had shaken you up enough when it had happened, you didn’t need to dwell on it any longer.

Just as you turn the taps off you hear a knock on the bathroom door. 

“No rush, but you nearly done in there?” 

Boone’s voice. The two of you were sharing a room at the motel. Everyone had paired off when you’d arrived and since you’d been the last one to grab your stuff, you also got the last room, which ended up being with Boone.

Not that you minded. Boone was a good roommate.

“Just about!” You call back, hurrying to dry off and get dressed so you can get out of the bathroom and let Boone have it. 

When you come out of the bathroom, towel drying your hair, Boone is sat on one of the two beds, feet kicked up comfortably. Your laptop is on his lap and by the sounds coming from it, he’s going over footage.

“You stealin’ my job, Boone?” 

He flashes you a grin. “Oh, I’d never. Gotta keep my girl around.” 

You ignore the butterflies that erupt in your stomach and cross the room towards him, perching on the bed beside him and  taking a glance at the screen. He hands you the laptop as he pushes himself up and off the bed. 

“Thought we could go over it together since we’re roomies for tonight,” Boone suggests. “I’ll shower and then we can try and get a start on the edit if ya don’t fall asleep on me first.”

You nod, happy about the idea of having someone else there to go over the footage with because of the stress of the day, and try your best to get comfy on the bed while he heads into the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for curiosity to get the better of you, though, and you tap the space bar, making the video continue playing where Boone had stopped it. 

It’s honestly a little strange, watching the footage from a different angle of what you’d experienced from the back seat. It’s easy to admit that the chase today was the first time you were actually, genuinely afraid while chasing.

You watch the way the windscreen wipers catch on the windscreen, the debris and branches hitting it as Tyler tries to get you out of the path as quickly as possible. You can hear the sound of the wind rushing against the truck in the video, the rain pelting against the side of it and the feeling of the truck moving with the wind while Tyler desperately tries to keep control of it. 

It’s not until your breathe catches in your throat that you realise your heart is beating way too fast and your breaths are coming too quickly, too heavily. All of a sudden it feels like you can’t breathe anymore. Like there’s no more air to breathe at all.

You have no idea how long you’re sitting there, struggling to breathe, until you feel the bed dipping underneath you with the weight of someone sitting on it – Boone.

“Hey, baby you gotta breathe, c’mon,” Boone gently rests a hand on one of your knees in an attempt to help ground you again, thumb stroking it softly. “Can you look at me, baby?”

It takes all your strength to move your eyes from the now paused video on the laptop screen and up to Boone’s eyes. You have no memory of pausing it and realise that it must’ve been Boone who did it for you. 

Boone looks relieved when you meet his eyes.

“That’s it,” he nods. “Can you breathe with me? In and out, slowly. I’ll count with you, okay? One, two, three…” He breathes with you, taking long, deep breaths until you start to follow him.

You finally start to feel your heat beat start to steady and your breathing slowing down. But with it, you feel a little light-headed thanks to the hyperventilation. 

Boone continues counting with you until your breathing is back to normal. You squeeze your eyes shut and take another long, deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your voice sounds weak, even to your own ears, so you can’t imagine how it sounds to him – or how your lie sounds. You know exactly what happened and you know Boone does too.

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologise, ‘kay? You’re all right, you’re safe. Nothin’s gonna happen to you, I promise.”

You’re a little afraid to open your eyes again, not wanting to see the image still paused on the screen of the laptop, worried that it might bring back the panic you’d just fought so hard to get rid of, but it’s almost like Boone can read your mind.

“I closed the laptop, baby. You can open your eyes.”

Carefully, you blink them open and see the closed laptop sitting on the bed beside you. “Thank you,” you mutter. “But… wait, no, Boone, I need to start editing.”

Boone strokes a thumb over your knee. “Dex and Dani can do it. You’re not doin’ this one, ‘kay?” He pauses. “You wanna talk about it?”

You look at him for a moment before shaking your head. If you even try to talk about it, you’re not sure that you’ll be able to keep calm and the last thing you want is to have another panic attack in front of Boone, even though you know he wouldn’t judge you for it.

“It’s all right,” he assures you. “Honestly, kinda scared the shit outta me today too but probably for a different reason than yours.” He laughs a little, more at himself than at anything else.

“You don’t get scared by tornadoes,” you say.

Boone flashes you a smile. “No, but I do get worried about you, baby.” 

Your eyebrows knit together and you’re just about to ask Boone to elaborate on why he gets so worried about you when he cuts you off, once again almost like he’s reading your mind. 

“Not today,” he says. “Some other time when you’re not shakin’ like a leaf.” Boone shuffles to sit up beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and tugging you into his side. He kicks the laptop out of the way towards the end of the bed. “C’mon, try and get some rest.”

“I’m not going to sleep on you,” you shake your head. “This bed is tiny.”

“Don’t care,” Boone says, resting his head against the back of the headboard. “I’m not movin’ till you’re fast asleep and gettin’ some well needed rest.”

You stare up at him. “Boone, you’ve had a big day, too.”

“Baby,” Boone looks down at you, his eyes serious. “Will you stop arguing with me and just try and get some sleep? Today was just a normal Tuesday for me, but it wasn’t for you.”

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, letting silence fall over you for a few moments. “I actually can’t sleep while my hair is still wet or I’ll feel gross in the morning.” Your words are quick, not wanting to irritate Boone any more.

Boone, however, hears every single one of them. He lets out an annoyed huff – even though he’s not annoyed at you in the slightest – and moves to slide off of the bed.

“Where are you going?” You sit up, slightly alarmed and already missing the warmth of his body beside yours.

“Don’t think I’m lettin’ you ride in the truck with us next time, baby,” he starts, changing the topic as he walks into the bathroom. “I know you wanna be up in the action more often to help with the videos, but you being safe is more important than getting views on Youtube.” 

“Boone–”

He emerges from the bathroom holding the motel hairdryer. “Is there a plug beside the bed?” He asks, wandering back over to you. “I’m gonna dry your hair for you. No arguing.”

[milaisreading]

HIIII i love ur posts!!

Can i request a tired or mentally drained and at one point she breaks down on front of the bllk boys and all of them start panicking or trying to comfort her? 😭😅

I've been tired cuz exam season ( >:p ) "and i wanna cry but i physically can't ( idk why? ) and i want some comfort sooooo.... yeah!

if u dont wanna its cool :)

byeeee❤️❤️

Author: I FEEL U! I have been feeling soo drained and useless ever since my exams finished. Literally can't even relax during this small break I got:// Anyways, I hope u like this! Thanks for the request🩷

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

On any normal day (Y/n) didn't mind the chaos the boys caused her, after all they were under a lot of pressure, so she let them unwind while cleaning up after them. But today was not one of those days. Ever since the preparations for the next Blue Lock phase started she felt like they were more and more chaotic, while she was losing herself more and more in all of her work. The whole week was just a whole mess for her, from running errands for Anri and Ego, to breaking up fights between the teammates, she just felt like giving up. Right now, she was enjoying some quiet time in the lunch hall, just drinking some tea while fighting back sleep.

"This morning was so tiring...." She winced while grabbing her stomach. This morning, Rin accidentally kicked the football past the goal, which ended up hitting (Y/n) in the stomach. This caused a loud argument between the captain, Isagi and Barou. (Y/n) tried to stop them, but the fussing coming from Aryu and Hiori stopped her. She was annoyed that they didn't let her handle the issue, instead Kurona and Yukimiya ended up dragging her toward the infirmary.

Next thing that happened was an hour after the first incident. Karasu and Otoya were practicing with Bachira and Aryu, (Y/n) was as usually sitting and taking down the stats of the 4. Nothing unusual. Until Bachira decided to goof around with the football and yell at (Y/n) to watch him do some tricks. She admitted, they were impressive, and she commented on how great they are. Her comments along with the impressed look on her face caused the other three to start doing the same. The problem was that there were 4 of them and (Y/n) would have to look every 2 seconds at a different player, which did make her dizzy. Ego had noticed the commotion and yelled at all 5 of them to get back to training.

The 3rd incident happened barely an hour ago at lunch time. (Y/n) was sitting with Gagamaru, Isagi and Chigiri during the time, and while talking with the 3, she didn't notice an argument between Kunigami and Nagi unfolding. Everyone knew that (Y/n) barely ever ate her dessert, it had too much protein, so she would always left it to one of the players to eat. The dessert was pretty much the highlight of their day and the team agreed on whoever got the most points for the day, will get the sweet treat. This arrangement worked for 2 months, but today was the first time that two players were tied in points.

Kunigami and Nagi were both known to be level headed and somewhat apathetic towards everything, except when it comes to their manager and her attention,  that's when both are pretty much irrational.

"I think you seem to misunderstood me, Nagi. I am getting it today." Kunigami said, sending a tight smile towards the albino.

"And you seemed to have misunderstood me, Kunigami. But that pudding is mine."

"Calm down, you two." Niko rolled his eyes, still mad that he lost this time.

(Y/n), blissfully unaware of that whole agreement, noticed Gagamaru staring at her dessert. Knowing she won't eat it anyways, she decided to give it to him.

"Here. I won't eat. Hope you like strawberry flavor." She said, handing the surprised Gagamaru her food.

Chigiri and Isagi gasped silently. They shortly sent the flustered goalie jealous glares before looking at Kunigami and Nagi, who were staring degers at Gagamaru.

"A-are you sure?" The boy asked as (Y/n) nodded her head, smiling warmly at the boy.

"Of course-"

"Gagamaru, you traitor!" The two flinched and looked in surprise at Nagi.

"Ha?" (Y/n) panicked a little as she saw Kunigami and Nagi glaring at the duo.

"Keep it down, you two." Reo rolled his eyes, earning a nod from Tokimitsu.

"M-maybe we should let Gagamaru have-"

"Shut it, Tokimitsu!" Kunigami and Nagi yelled and then started arguing with Gagamaru. It eventually spread across the whole lunch room, and (Y/n) started twitching a little. Nobody was listening to her as she tried to calm it down. Was it the exhaustion or pure desperation to shut everyone up, but (Y/n) eventually started crying silently. Lost in her own thoughts while crying, she wasn't paying attention to what the rest were saying.

"I am the fastest. The dessert is mine!" Chigiri earned a show from Aryu at that.

"You forget I was in the top3 and I am the one with the better hair."

"Oh, shut up you peasants! You all are beneath me and (Y/n), therefore the pudding is mine."

"Says who? You, Barou? You do not have the charm to be anywhere near (Y/n)."

"Otoya, you cheated on your girlfriends. What makes you think you are worthy?" Yukimiya sighed.

"And what about you, Yukimiya? You are so plain, there is no way she will fall for you. Now me on the other hand-"

"Oh, shut up Karasu. Your charms are below Antarctica's temperatures." Niko groaned.

"I think the cutest one of us should get the pudding. So me-"

"Bachira, that would be me. I am also the ace, so that's just a bonus." Isagi smiled, earning a glare from Rin

"Pipe it down, you two can barely pick up a 2nd language." The captain added in.

"English is hard." The two protested.

"I think the richest one should have a say in the dessert." Reo smirked, earning louder protests.

Tokimitsu shivered a little in fright and looked over at (Y/n), freezing for a moment as he saw her crying.

"What's up, Tokimitsu?" Hiori wondered, one of the few who decided not to argue. Kurona looked over to where Tokimitsu was looking, and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw her crying too. He nudged Hiori.

"Look." Kurona said and the cyan-haired boy looked at (Y/n). He wasted no time and ran to her side, followed by Tokimitsu and Kurona.

"He-hey, don't take it to heart. They are stupid like that." Tokimitsu said as he patted the sobbing girl's back. Kurona and Hiori moved closer, both trying to calm her down, all three felt their hearts breaking as they watched her cry. The room grew slowly quiet too, as the rest looked at (Y/n) in concern and guilt.

"(Y/n)...." Chigiri gulped.

"It's just hard to keep up with you all. You keep arguing and destroying things at times... and it's just hard to keep up... I can usually take it, but I guess today isn't my day." A wave of guilt hit the team as they quickly scrambled for the right words. The last thing they wanted was for their (Y/n) to cry, or worse, contemplate on leaving them.

"Tokimitsu, go and take (Y/n) somewhere quiet to calm down. The rest of you stay here." Rin said, quickly getting unto his captain mode. The rest said nothing, deciding not to make things worse, and they watched with guilt and sadness as (Y/n) got dragged out by Tokimitsu.

"Alright, listen up." Rin spoke up, causing the rest to look at him.

"We need to pull our shit together, unless we want (Y/n) to leave and for some other manager to replace her. The team pretty much shuddered at the idea, there was no way someone will replace her!

"So, what's your idea, captain?" Barou wondered.

"I will tell you, but first... Reo, I need you to do some calls." The billionaire heir raised his eyebrow and slowly nodded his head.

And soo, that was what had happened. (Y/n) ended up crying for about 30 minutes as Tokimitsu stayed around, just in case. The boy was collected and calm, no sign of his previous fidgety demeanor. After she calmed down, she apologized to Tokimitsu for inconveniencing him, but the boy didn't mind.

"If you feel down again, don't be afraid to tell us. We will listen." The boy said with a smile, which calmed her down a lot.

After lunch, she went back to her normal duties, helping the other staff members and the team out. To her surprise, they didn't cause any ruckus, they were calm and friendly. Even Rin, Isagi and Barou stayed away from arguing with each other. Unbeknownst to her, whenever a staff member tried to scold her, Karasu, Aryu and Nagi would send them warning glares. They alone caused them to back off quickly. All in all, the day went pretty well, and (Y/n) felt a lot lighter now. She slowly walked into her bedroom, and stopped at the entrance as she noticed a box on her bed. Slowly walking towards it, she looked at the note on the box and slowly started reading it. (Y/n)'s eyes widened a little as she read it through, realizing that the team sent her this, and her heart melted at the apology they wrote out.

'They are chaotic... but I love them like that.' She smiled and slowly opened the box, only to find various treats that she could only buy outside of Blue Lock's facility, she even got a small (f/c) bear.

'They probably made Reo get this...' She chuckled and plopped on the bed, hugging the bear close to herself.

'I will make it up to them... maybe Teieri-san can help me get them some small gift next week.' She thought, slowly falling asleep.

[burntheedges-updates]

over again, chapter 1

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him and your whole family in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming. or, five times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse (and one time you did something about it)18+ minors DNI chapter tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, light angst, cursing, no use of y/n, no description of reader (see note below), smallish age difference (reader is 26, Joel is 32/almost 33 when they meet in 2000) (small for this fandom, anyway) (the smut comes later, y'all, we're just getting started here) a/n: Well, here we go! This is part 1. This fic is completely finished. It’s a 5+1 and for some of the 5 parts I’ll post them together (on Sundays) and for some I’ll post them separately (on Sundays and Wednesdays) just due to length. Obviously I'm posting this one early (lol). I’ll tell you whatever the schedule is for the different parts. I've paid a lot of attention to the reader's description in this fic. I've avoided skin color, hair type, body shape/size descriptions, and even clothing (except for one or two spots where you are specifically wearing jeans and boots). You are vaguely shorter than Joel. He does not run his fingers through your hair, and you feel the blood rush to your face or your face heat, but you don't turn red or pink. Please tell me if you notice anything I missed - I want this to be as inclusive as possible. word count: 1724 (for this part) series main post & chapter list | series playlist (w/ plot-related mix) ao3 | chapter 2

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

Jackson, Early Winter, 2023

You’ve been heading northwest from somewhere in Kansas, thinking you’ve never bothered going out this way, even Before, so why not? It’s been months since you saw another person. You’re not even sure the last time you spoke out loud. 

You blame the lengthy isolation for how easily they get the jump on you. 

It's just after dawn when you're rudely awakened - at first, you’re not sure why, but a second kick to your hip sends you scrambling to sit up in your sleeping bag, which is tangled around your legs. Looking around as you struggle, you realize you’re surrounded by people on foot and on horseback. Every single one of them is pointing a gun at you. You glance to the side and realize your backpack along with anything possibly useful inside of it has been kicked away from you. The woman who kicked you has a steely look in her eye that reminds you, in your half awake state, of the last boss you had Before. 

“State your business.” As she speaks you notice the two men closest to her start to fan out a bit, but you don’t dare look away from her.

“I’m just passing through, I’ve been looking for a good place to spend the winter.”

Or, that’s what you would have said, if not for the voice from your past shouting your name in shock just as you open your mouth. “No goddamn way, is that really you?”

You think you must be hallucinating, because everyone you knew Before is dead, but then Tommy fucking Miller pushes his way in front of the woman who spoke. For a moment you can’t do more than stare at each other — him with his gun hanging limply in his right hand, you with your legs still tangled in your godforsaken sleeping bag. Then you launch into motion and start to kick it away as you find your voice. It comes out shaky. Or maybe you’re shaking all over.

“Tommy? But — you’re alive? Where the hell have you been? Wait, are Joel and—“

Tommy cuts you off as he pulls you to your feet and into a tight hug. “Holy shit, we thought you were dead. Holy fucking shit.”

“We? Tommy wait, are they—“

Tommy pulls back, keeping hold of your shoulders as he looks you in the eye. He’s grinning, his eyes wandering all over your face. “He’s alive, sunshine. Or he was when he came through here about a month ago. We’re expecting them back in the spring.”

You can feel your heart racing and your whole body feels hot and tingly. You’re overwhelmed. You didn’t think you could still feel hope like this. It’s terrifying, but you have to know. “He’s- Them? They’re both alive? Sarah?”

You know the answer before he even says anything. Tommy’s face falls, his eyes drop from yours, and you feel it like a sucker punch, as bad as it was the first time around. Your knees give out even though this is what you’ve known, or tried to convince yourself must be true, for 20 years. Tommy falls gently with you to the ground.

Your baby girl. “Oh god, Sarah. And Joel, he must have been—“

“Yeah, sunshine. He thought he lost you both. It wasn’t… well. It wasn’t good.” 

You’re starting to feel numb. You have no idea what your face is doing right now, but judging by Tommy’s, it isn’t pretty. 10 minutes ago you were alone in the apocalypse, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with your almost-brother-in-law and you know, without a doubt, that your fiancé hasn’t been dead this whole time. Is this shock? It’s been 20 years since you felt a shock like this. Since you felt anything like this. 

“Tommy, I… I need to sit down.”

“Well, you are sitting down, sunshine. But get up, gather your stuff. You can come to town with us. Stay as long as you’d like.” You nod, unsteady, and Tommy guides you carefully towards what must be his horse. 

The day passes in a daze. You think you might actually be hallucinating, or still back in your sleeping bag, dreaming, because a whole, functional town? A commune, and a house they’re just going to let you have as your own? A real community? With your only remaining family, miraculously alive? It’s impossible. You float through the rest of the day and find yourself sitting on a bed in a house with indoor plumbing that somehow belongs to you, having just eaten real food in the company of the family you thought you lost 20 years ago.

You give up and go to sleep. (What else are you going to do?)

...

As you settle into life in Jackson, the knowledge that you might see Joel — your Joel, any day now — never leaves your thoughts. It’s like a drum beat at the back of your mind that only repeats his name, marking time every hour of every day. You don’t know how you’ll prepare yourself for it. How could you? You haven’t seen him in 20 years. Anything could be different. You can so easily picture him with a daughter, but it’s Sarah in your mind, not Ellie, who Tommy has told you a bit about. Every time you open those old wounds that you’ve done your best to bury it hurts like the first time. Would he still want you? Still know you? Do you still know him? Would Ellie like you? You can’t imagine not knowing Joel, or Joel not knowing you, but it’s been 20 years and people change. You’ve changed, after all. Some days you barely recognize yourself. 

You express these fears to Tommy once, but he only laughs and says his brother may be stupid but he’s not stupid enough not to want you. It’s reassuring and rude, so, exactly like Tommy. At least some things never change.

The day Joel Miller walks back into Jackson you happen to be standing on the road near the gates, talking to Tommy, and you swear he spots you in less than 5 seconds. It’s like you can’t help but look to each other first, even when you don’t know the other is alive, even when you haven’t seen each other in 20 years. You’d know the shape of him anywhere and your eyes have never stopped looking for it, never stopped catching on a set of shoulders, a cocked hip, a tilted head, only to be disappointed when it faded like a mirage. When the person in front of you didn’t fit the hole he left behind. It hurt every time. Maybe it’s been the same for him. 

Joel looks like he’s seen a ghost, and you have no idea what expression is on your face, but the moment you lock eyes all you see is the moment you first met, almost 24 years ago, like a film negative laid on top of what’s really in front of you. He’s older, of course, but so are you, and he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He steps towards you and whispers your name like a prayer.

Joel fucking Miller. 

Austin, Summer 2000

It was a Saturday morning in late summer, so not yet the hottest part of the day, but not comfortable, either. Your belongings were steadily moving from the truck to your new rental house under your somewhat careful supervision when movement from the house next door caught your eye. You looked up just as one of the guys from the moving company almost dropped your nightstand off the back of the truck, distracting you from the sight of a young girl, maybe about 10, rocketing out of the house next door and down her front steps. She was wearing a bright green soccer uniform.

By the time your nightstand had been righted and you looked back towards your neighbors’ house, she’d made her way to the bushes between your driveways, standing on her tiptoes and taking in all of the commotion. She met your eye and grinned. You grinned back as she called, “Hi, new neighbor!” 

You walked over, stopping on the other side of the bush to introduce yourself. “Hi there, neighbor.” 

It didn’t seem possible, but she grinned even wider. “I’m Sarah, that’s my dad.”

You looked up, realizing there was a man coming down their steps towards the two of you — the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life. He was tall, with broad shoulders and the look of a man who spent a lot of time in the sun, tan lines peeking out of his shirt sleeves. His brown curls were a bit messy and his shoulders and strong arms drew your eye like a magnet. You caught yourself giving him a quick once over and felt your face start to warm, embarrassed, but when you met his eyes again you caught him doing the same to you. You realized you were both caught and you smiled, introducing yourself. 

“Nice to meet you, darlin’. Joel Miller, and I think you’ve met Sarah.” You felt your face turn hot at the endearment but you knew he probably didn’t mean anything by it. Southern hospitality and all. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You’d opened your mouth to respond when you were rudely interrupted by a crashing noise from the moving truck behind you, and you whirled around to see a box on its side on the ground that definitely should not have been. You glanced back at your neighbors as you excused yourself. “It’s great to meet you! Sorry, I need to see what that was.”

They shooed you along before you could even finish your sentence, reassuring you that they understood. “Let me know if anything broke, darlin,’ I’m pretty handy, could probably fix it. It’d be my pleasure.” He smiled at you a bit, just on one side, edging towards a smirk, and you did your best not to stare at his mouth. “Deal,” you agreed, grinning. Both you and Joel seemed unable to draw your eyes away from each other. You were stuck, pinned in place under his gaze until Sarah tugged on his arm and dragged him towards their truck. “Dad, we’re gonna be late!”

The view from the back was just as nice as the front. 

...

a/n: ch 2 is up!

taglist: @morgaussy

[pedrostylez]

The Gray: Chapter 5

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count: 5k

chapter warnings etc: NOT CANON JOEL MILLER, swearing, mentions of violence, punching, kicking, blood, anger, SMUT, dirty talk, riding, hella consent, some size kink stuff okayyyy, pet names including Eminem references and nicknames but not to be associated with the appearance of reader. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: If you didn't see my personal post, I've had a wild couple months, and finishing this was last on my mind. BUT I want to thank those that have stuck around to read it. I apologize for errors, mistakes, and grammatical issues-I was inspired enough to finish it so let's give some woop-woop for that huh? Anyways, love yall <3

 Be mindful, and control your own reading experience.

Joel doesn’t want to think it was a mistake.

Laying you out on his bed, fucking you and letting you ride him the way you did. It’s not like he can help himself, really. Once he got a taste of what it was like to have you, he couldn’t stop.

From round two of bending you over the couch and eating you out while you whined and called his name, to letting you suck him off in the shower, Joel doesn’t think he can go back to the routine you had before. 

He’s easily distracted by you now. The way you float out of the training room, ready to take on the next file of paperwork to review. The way you blink at him slowly from the bed, silently asking him to join the warm blankets when it gets late. The way your teeth sink into your lip when you want to ask him for something that he’s more than happy to give. 

He wants to give, give, give.

It’s been so long for him. 

But the battery of one of his camera’s goes out during the week and he swears to internally, knowing he has to go fix it. When you ask if you can go with him, he realizes how easy it was to say yes. 

“Just a dead camera, sugar.” He mumbles out, cheeks tightening with a smile when you scoff at him.

“We should stick together, in case anyone recognizes us.” You point out, leaning back on the couch and stretching like a cat in the sun. Your shirt rises, tempting Joel to go for the smooth skin beneath the fabric, but he refrains.

“We could go tonight. I don’t want the system to be down for too long.” He turns back to the screens, eyes hovering over the darkened one before shrugging. “I should probably check my mail too.”

You turn your head, frowning for a moment. “You actually get mail?”

Joel lets out a laugh, turning back to you.“I have to get those care packages of cereal sponsorships from somewhere.” He finds himself sitting down next to you, your legs easily lifting to lay over his lap. His fingers tickle at your calves, your smile the only indication that you notice he’s doing it.

Your eyes close as if you’re exhausted, yawning. “How are you still sponsored by Honey Nut Cheerios if you’re considered a villain?”

His hands tighten around your legs, squeezing at the muscles. “Don’t hate on my hussle.”

You burst out in a laugh, trying to pull your legs away but he holds on tighter, pulling you toward him until you’re able to sit up and straddle his lap. It’s almost instant how you lean into him, lips brushing his and sighing out happily as you grind your center against his own. 

He shouldn’t get used to this, but he wants to. 

Joel’s feet felt heavy on the sidewalk, his hood blocking his peripheral vision and the cover of dusk barely enough for him. 

But you’re under his arm. 

Your hand is wrapped around his waist under the sweatshirt, your own hood pulled up as he directs you. Your breath is fanning over the open zipper, one hand holding a bag of packages from the post office before you peer up at him. “Do you think we look crazy?”

Joel grunts, not giving you an answer as he turns his head to look into the road. The street lights are beginning to turn on, and the people on the streets are heading home. The temperature is dropping, he can feel it through the fabric, and your arm is so warm around him. No one notices or cares about your shared presence, and it sets his mind at ease.

The alleyway is coming up on the right, his body turning toward you, walking you backwards into a wall. You huff out a breath, confusion clear. “Kiss me.” It’s a demand, purely for the disguise he tries to tell himself, but he feels this pull toward you that he just can’t tame. You breath catches, your pupils widening as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. 

He’s trying to keep control of himself–your hand is snaking up to around the back of his head, keeping his hood in place. Your lips are so soft, and he can’t help but groan when he tries to pull away, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “We need to go here.” He mumbles into your ear, letting you explore the rest of his body with your hands. “Keep going.”

“I think you just wanted to kiss me.” You tease, turning your head to capture his mouth again, sighing happily. 

He pulls you away from the wall, taking another glance around before pulling you down the dark alleyway into the shadow. His hand is stuck to your back, and Joel is trying to get ahold of himself. 

He unlocks a door in the back of the alley, no lights in sight as he pushes you into the hallway, the door shutting quietly behind you both. Joel feels your breath catch, how you hold it until he squeezes around your hip. “Alright?” He asks gruffly, feeling you nod against his chest. 

You hum in a high pitched tone, breathing in sharply and reaching for his hand and squeezing roughly. “I can’t see.” You squeak.

Joel frowns in the darkness, tilting his head to look down at you. His eyes have adjusted, used to this, his powers kicking in to accommodate, and your eyes are wide and searching around in the shadow for anything. Terrified. 

“Just step forward, sugar.” He says quietly, giving you another squeeze. “Your eyes will adjust.”

His attention is fully on you, steering you in the direction he wants to go, you still blindly trusting him. This thought in the back of his head that you shouldn’t be trusting him, and he shouldn’t trust you goes quiet, keeping a firm grip on you. 

He feels you shake, unable to relax enough for your eyes to take in what little light there is, and he lets his body relax against you. “There is a room at the end of this hallway where I can turn on the lights.” He says quietly, letting you set the pace for how fast you both walk but still directing you. 

You let out a shaky breath, nodding without a word as you continue on. His hand lets go of you, your back stiffening against his front, until a light flickers on and you’re both bathed in the yellowed bulb. 

Joel steps in front of you, a small smile on his face as he looks you over. “Should train you in the dark instead of running.” He comments, hoping to lift your mood. 

When all you do is nod, biting at your lip and looking around, he frowns. 

Here in the light, he can see the wires he’s haphazardly put up, messy but working. His eyes find the backup battery, crouching over to begin opening it. “Just a quick fix.” He grumbles, letting you stand in the center of the room as he works.

Joel notices the way your lips upturn for a moment, pretending that you’re fine as you stare only at him and not behind you. He pulls batteries out of his pocket, hand gliding over the different stations and replacing the old with the new. 

“What happens if one of the wires goes bad?” You ask quietly, eyes trained on his features as he glances in your direction.

“It hasn’t happened yet, but I would replace the wire. It doesn’t go very far, just to a wireless router that lets the visuals come to me virtually instead of the wires being all around town.” He speaks quickly, feeling embarrassed for a moment before he shrugs. “Not too complicated.”

You nod, placing your hands behind your back and taking a step toward him. “Anything I can do?”

Joel is already shaking his head, frowning internally. “No, just…stand guard.” He mumbles, turning his back to you even though everything in him tells him he shouldn’t be trusting you this way. It’s only for a few more minutes.

You’re standing awkwardly a few paces away from Joel still, 30 minutes later. You had offered again to give him help, but he grumbled that he “needed you to stay put.” and you chose to lean against the wall instead. 

Something felt off. 

Joel over the past few days has been either fucking you or observing you. And to be honest with yourself, you prefer it when he’s fucking you because at least then you can both shut off your brains for a moment. 

Now that it’s happened, whatever this is between you, Joel is closing himself back off. You thought you were making progress, showing your interest, your shared goal of getting revenge was opening him up, loosening him so that you could truely work together. 

But now…

Joel suddenly stands, breaking you out of your thoughts as he turns. “All done, let’s go.”

“What took so long?” You question, wincing when he shuts off the lights again, the green and red indications on the battery packs and where the wires connect the only thing you can see until Joel stands in front of you, blocking the light. 

“The old battery leaked, I had to clean it out.” He mumbles, his warm hands landing on your shoulders and you can’t help but jump. He turns you, ignoring your physical reaction and leading you back down the hallway. 

When you feel the cool metal at your fingertips, you breathe a sigh of relief, the latch opening into the night that is somehow just as dark. But the street lights are nearby, and your eyes are more easily adjusting to out here than to in the alleyway. 

The silence between the two of you, Joel arm wrapped stiffly around your shoulder again, your hand clutching the fabric of his sweatshirt as he leads you back the way you came, has you retreating into your mind again. 

Back at the hideout, the bag of his mail being placed gently on the table, you look over to Joel. He’s grabbing at his hair, pulling at the roots of the gray by his ears and looking to the security system. You glance at the screens, taking a double take when you see Marianne in town square, AJ at her side as they walk casually into The Organization headquarters. 

Joel grunts unhappily, turning to look at you. “We have to get this plan moving.”

He’s back to sharing with you, a wave of relief filling you as you sit down on the couch, taking off your sweatshirt. “I agree. They shouldn’t get too comfortable.”

Instead of sitting beside you, he pulls a chair out from the table to sit across from you, leaning forward with his elbow on his knees, scratching at his chin. You bite the inside of your cheek, doing your best to keep your thoughts to yourself, no matter how much you want to jump him right now. 

The ease at which he leans, his biceps straining against even the sweatshirt he still has on, has your eyes trailing over him as he talks. “We have to grab AJ, minimum, tomorrow during his next PR stunt. That’s the only way. We’ve let them do their thing for a few weeks now, letting them get comfortable, but it’s not wise of us to assume that they aren’t preparing as well.”

“Of course.” You cough, eyes looking back up to him after catching your thoughts wandering too far to pay attention. 

His eyes, deep brown crinkle at the sides as he smirks at you, a glimmer of mischief. “Watch it, sugar.”

“I didn’t do anything.” You feign innocence, not bothering to shoot him a smirk of your own when he leans back, his arms crossing over his chest and his chin tilting down to examine you better. 

“Maybe not.” He says quietly, the roughness of his voice making your insides clench. He pushes a foot out, the toe of his boot barely brushing yours. “But you’re thinking of something.”

“Not a thought behind these eyes.” You squeak, crossing your own arms to mirror him. This is what you prefer with him; this banter back and forth that keeps him relaxed around you. When he gets stiff and awkward, as if he’s hiding things from you, makes your own guard come up. 

His tongue peeks out, licking his bottom lip as he taps his foot one, two, three times. “Want to know what I’m thinking?” He asks, leaning back forward and letting his arms release and reach for your knee. Joel doesn’t wait for your response before he continues. “I’m thinking about how you would look right now if you were riding my cock.”

You widen your eyes, almost choking as his fingers sink into the skin on your leg and pull you toward him, as if inviting you right now. “You want me to?”

“If you want.” He says quietly, his gaze glancing down to your shirt, to where his hands are holding your legs. 

You tilt your head, biting your lip and letting your hand land on top of his. “I always want to.” You admit, smiling at him when his eyes come back to meet your own. 

His cheeks slowly fade into a shade of red, shaking his head at you in disbelief before he stands, grabbing your hand to pull you up with him. 

He switches places with you, spinning you around so that he can slowly lower himself on to the couch. His lips trail along the front of your shirt, a path of heat left in his wake. Joel quickly squeezes at your hips before he fully sits down, leaning comfortably with his neck exposed to you. 

Like there are no thoughts in your head, you press one knee down into the cushion by his thigh, pressing your center to his as you sit in his lap. “This is what you wanted?” You ask breathlessly, resting your hands on his shoulders. 

He hums, letting his eyes half close before pressing his lips in to your collarbone. “You’re just so pretty propped up on my lap like this.”

Your heart races under his mouth, closing your eyes and sighing to try and keep it together. “You just want me to do all the work, Joel.”

He chuckles, fingers digging into your hip as an answer before he lets his fingers drift up under your shirt, skating the fabric up over your ribcage. When the shirt comes off and his eyes are trailing over your chest, you can’t help but reach down to his jeans, unbuttoning them as quickly as your fingers allow. 

You almost don’t notice how Joel brings a hand up, squeezing you before pinching a nipple to listen to you hiss. “Let me see you, baby.”

You’re barely able to move his zipper out of the way fast enough, the strain against the fabric making it hard to manuver. He grunts as your fingers wrap around him, pulling him out of his briefs as best as you can to look down at the weeping head. 

You feel your mouth dry, seeing the length of him catching you off guard like it has previously. But he doesn’t allow you to think for much longer about it, shifting your hips forward to let the head of his cock press at your opening for a moment before lifting you just enough to fit himself in. 

You groan in unison, eyes closing in bliss as you attempt to adjust to Joel’s size. He gives you little time, fingers pressing into your hips and torso, urging you to lift yourself on your knees and press yourself into him over and over. 

“Lift that perfect ass up.” He growls, snaking his hand down to the roundness of your ass and squeezing. 

“Let me just–” You moan, the slight lift from his hand before rocking back down on him has you losing focus. “You’re just so–”

“I know.” He coos, his other hand pushing your hair back, hooking around the back of your neck and jaw. Your eyes blink open, leaning into his hand to see how his pupils have blown wide, his mouth open with his own breath. “I know, baby. It’s a lot, huh?”

You furrow your brow at the tone, the light teasing as if he is challenging you. You fall into his trap, lifting yourself slowly to being riding him, picking up the pace as you gain momentum. Your hands support yourself on his shoulders, his head lolling back at the feeling of you squeezing him. 

“That’s it.” He breathes, lifting a hand away from your ass and landing a light smack to the skin. “So fucking good like this, sugar.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, closing your eyes as you feel your end approaching. The way his cock has been brushing against your walls, the press of his fingers into your skin…

“Joel.” You warn, digging your nails into his shoulders. “I-I’m–”

“Go ahead, baby.” He pants, lifting his own hips to meet yours as your rhythm begins to falter. 

When you finish around him, your walls squeezing him to the point that his own moan is choked, you almost fall completely into him. Your vision goes completely white, unable to know which way is up or down, not knowing how long it lasts for.

Joel holds you steady, pumping his hips up from the couch into you for only a few more times before he comes himself. “Fuck–sugar–” He calls faintly, your ears ringing as you rest your forehead against his neck. 

You both sit there for a few moments, catching your breath as you cuddle into his chest before he lifts you with him still inside, standing and carefully walking toward the bedroom. 

“Tomorrow?” You ask breathlessly, referring to AJ’s PR stunt. Your eyes are drooping, heavily closing and reopening with less and less ability to keep them open to focus on him. 

Joel sighs, a new shirt covering you and him, his jeans replaced with pajamas as he’s pulling the blanket up past your shoulders and pressing his lips to your temple. “Y-yeah.” He coughs, laying his head down on the pillow next to you. “I’ll wake you up so we can be in position before they get there.”

“Okay.” You respond, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

But Joel doesn’t sleep. 

Instead, he lays next to you until he knows you’ve truly passed out, standing up and grabbing his jeans before shutting the door behind him and heading to his stash of weapons. He’s only given you the information he knows you would have already had if you were still in contact with AJ and Marianne. 

You wouldn’t do that to him. 

But he can’t be too careful. 

There’s this alarm in the back of his brain, telling him that he’s gotten too sloppy with you. That he played right into your hand, got too comfortable because he likes burying his cock into you, likes having you around. 

Likes you. 

But he can’t think about that too much right now; he puts on his gear and straps a few extra weapons to him in case something goes wrong. He can do this alone like he had always planned before, and he will deal with your wrath after. Assuming you would be upset with him and not impressed that he caught on to some ulterior motives you may have. 

Joel swears to himself as he looks at the closed bedroom door, not daring to open it in case it wakes you. 

He knows he will get his revenge, whether you’re with him, or against him. 

The roof of this building is just like the rest, the wind whipping through and slapping him in the face roughly. He squints, doing his best to not react any further and hold himself still, watching as the shadows get darker around him. 

He watches the camera crew, come and go, come and go, and come and go again. Setting up their equipment, being berated by Marianne over the phone, changing out the gear. Joel remains patient, prowling, keeping his eyes on what is in front of him. 

He’s so intently focused, that when the sun begins to set, and the time that AJ and Marianne gets closer and closer, his thoughts wander to you. He had set up his cameras to detect when you left, to alert him, but nothing. He refrains from checking his watch, knowing he may miss what is right in front of him. 

And then suddenly, AJ strides in front of him, just as Joel knew he would scanning the area curiously before turning to the cameras set up but abandoned. 

That worries him, but only long enough for him to think about it before the person he is after is in front of him again. “Am I early?” He calls, turning his body away from Joel’s direction unknowingly.

Joel creeps out, the shadows around him covering him for a second longer before he lets it drop. “AJ, how nice to see you again.” He says gruffly, tilting his head as he watches AJ turn slowly. “Expecting me, I see?”

“Joel…” AJ says with a warning tone, clenching his fists at his sides, tilting his chin down and breathing in deeply. “Why are you here? Where’s our little friend?”

“I figured she would be with you…” Joel trails off, realizing now that he was wrong…of course he was wrong. He’s been too paranoid to know the difference. “I’m not letting you leave this roof alive.”

AJ scoffs. “Like hell, old man.”

Joel doesn’t wait any longer, rushing him and letting his fist connect with the side of AJ’s face. AJ turns, blood spilling from between his teeth at the uanticipated blow before shaking his head back. Joel hears the crack of his bones, and rocks another into AJ’s shoulder before he can send one back. 

AJ sneers at him, spinning and launching himself forward with a powerful kick aimed at Joel’s midsection. Joel dodges, barely getting the toe of the boot to his ribs as he lets his open palm slam into AJ’s nose. 

"Pretty good for an old man!" Joel laughs, following up with a series of quick jabs into AJ’s kidneys from behind. But AJ is able to turn, wrapping his arm around Joel’s neck quickly with his lightning speed before Joel even has a chance, letting his knuckles bruise Joel’s cheek. 

He keeps connecting his fist to Joel’s face, over and over and over again, to the point that Joel suddenly regrets being here alone. This feeling swells inside of him, his arms flailing, trying to catch on to AJ’s sleeves, or on to anything before AJ completely obliterates his face, but he can’t seem to get a grip. 

“Just like always, Miller.” AJ says breathlessly, taking a break long enough to tilt Joel’s face up to get a better look at the blood, at the bruises blooming below the surface. “You always start it, but I will always finish it.”

Joel should have known better than to do this alone. But he just couldn’t help himself. 

Another blow to the face before the ringing in his ears increases, the break from AJ’s fists only temporary while he feels the vibrations of AJ’s laugh. Another punch to his cheek, his hands becoming weak from holding at AJ’s arm, not able to provide air for himself any longer. 

But suddenly, the arm is lifted from his neck and he is able to kneel roughly, coughing into the concrete and supporting himself on his hands. Joel looks up, the ringing subsiding, his heartbeat still loud in his ears to see you, standing above AJ leaning over the side of the roof. 

And it’s not like the movies, with anything said between the two of you, or him pleading for his life. No, Joel watches as you reach down, your foot pressing deeper into AJ’s sternum and wrapping your hands around his head, quickly twisting and snapping his neck. 

Your suit glows around the arms, the strength you used not your own, as you stand there and stare at the life you just took, before releasing your foot and letting AJ’s body fall over the side of the building. 

Joel releases a sigh, breath heaving as he looks at you, turning your body to face him as if he is next. Your eyes are glued to him, blood on your hands, splattered up your wrists from your own punches thrown, and all he can see is fury. “Why did you do that?” He asks, husky and dry on his tongue. 

You stare at him a bit longer, a frown of confusion on your face for a moment before you lift a hand and point at him. “You don’t trust me.” You spit at him. You suit continues to glow, and Joel realizes that you’ve made your suit work off your emotions; your anger.

Joel coughs, closing his eyes from the pain radiating through his face, before the words spill out of his mouth.  “I couldn’t. I had to be sure. I had to do this myself.”

You laugh, shaking your head and looking down to AJ’s still body over the edge of the roof. “Yeah well I finished it.”

At first, Joel doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure if he should thank you, or if he should be upset with you. He settles on indifferent, sighing heavily. “I know. I’m at peace with that.”

You turn you back to him, shoulders coming up to your ears in defense as if Joel is going to take a step forward and touch you. Part of him wants to–to put a hand on your shoulder, to turn you around, to whisper how thankful he is for you. For saving him. He was literally about to be pummeled to death. 

But he doesn’t, he stays where he is, one knee on the ground and the other supporting his elbow. He begins to stand, grunting and groaning at the feeling before resting on the balls of his feet and staring at you. 

You open your mouth, straightening your back and turning to him again, but this time you’re even more stone cold. No anger, no anything, just looking at him. “I’m not at peace.”

Joel is confused for a moment, eyebrow furrowed as he waits for something else to come out of your mouth. “What do you mean?” He concedes. 

“If you can’t trust me, I can’t trust you.” You say matter-of-fact, looking at his feet before snapping them back up to his face. “I’m done.”

The silence of the night fills the air between you, the distant sound of sirens reach Joel’s ears as he begins to understand what you mean. You can’t trust him, and so you won’t stick around. But that can’t be right, he just got used to you. 

“You can’t be done with me.” He scoffs, shaking his head. 

“I can. I am.” You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest in defense. 

“Slim, please,” He caves, suddenly hyperaware that the sirens are getting closer, and they are likely coming here. The overwhelming feeling to fight for you comes over him, and he reaches out for you. 

You try to dodge him, but his fingers graze your wrist. “Don’t fucking touch me, ever again.” You snarl, the cold exterior dropping for a moment and he swears he sees your eyes pool with tears. “You used me this morning, and nothing you say will change that.”

Joel shakes his head. “I know, baby I’m sorry–”

“Stop.” You cut him off, taking a large step away from him. The sirens are ever present, and you begin backing up toward the edge of the roof where AJ was standing. “I’m leaving.” You announce, twisting yourself to get ready to launch and fly off the edge. 

“Will you come back to the hideout?” Joel persists, stepping forward and reaching for your hand. You’re already mad, maybe this won’t help, but he has to try. His fingers graze yours, and you pull away as if burned. 

You shake your head, hissing. “Never. You can’t trust me, I can’t trust you. We’re done Joel, do you hear me?”

Joel lets his hand fall back to his side, the feeling of something warm dripping down the side of his face as he whispers. “Is that what you want?”

You gasp, eyes searching over his face, not expecting him to ask that. He sees you nod your head, the tears back. “Yes.”

Joel nods, stepping back toward the shadows, the sound of yelling filling his ears. “Get out of here.” He nods at you, covering himself in shadow as he launch yourself off the side of the roof. 

When Joel is able to make it back to his hideout, the news on the TV already covering AJ’s death, he roughly sits down on the couch and sighs heavily. He looks to the open bedroom door, the sheets and blankets a mess, and can almost see the panic that you endured as you began to get ready, trying to find where Joel was. 

He almost laughs, the feeling on the side of his face radiating a pain he hasn’t felt before. His eyes flick back to the screens in front of him, Marianne plastered over every single one as she tries to work the PR crisis. 

But Joel doesn’t feel anything about it, about Marianne being on the screen. Instead, Joel stands and clicks a few buttons, his surveillance cameras turning to the rooftop he just came from, rewinding the time to see what exactly happened. 

He watches, emotionless, until you appear on the screen. He commands his security system, a few clicks of triangulation, and now the security system is focused for him. Focused on finding you. 

Joel knows you don’t want to be found; you made that very clear. But…he knows he can’t help himself. 

If he can help protect you, even though you can do it yourself, then he will try. 

[thewritingofspencerrose]

In a World of Boys

Lance Stroll x pregnant!OC

josie.jackson

liked by lance_stroll, chloestroll, scottyjames31 and 20,589 others

josie.jackson in a world of boys, he's a gentleman 🤍

lance_stroll my whole heart 💚

fan01 someone please tell me i'm not the only one who noticed the white and green hearts???

"Did you really have to post that middle photo? I did not need to see my brother-in-law shirtless," Scotty complains, glancing up from his phone to meet my eyes from where he's sat on our couch, Chloe wrapping in his arms while Daniel sits to his other side, only fueling our constant joking that he's the one truly married to Scotty.

Before I can even answer him Chloe has wapped him upside the head, turning around with a glare. "Shut up. Now. They're cute and in love and I've never seen Lance happier. Plus I love Josie more than I do him so if you ruin this I swear to-"

"Okay, that's enough of that," Lance hushes, his voice vibrating through his chest as he holds me close on his lap. "Also, I'm insulted Chlo. I thought we were closer than this."

"We are," Chloe assures with the softest smile, turning to me before continuing. "But then you brought her into my life and she's my new favorite family member."

"Awe, Stroll I really think you're closer than you know to losing your girlfriend and baby to your sister," Danny comments, his smile bright as the sun at the opportunity to tease Lance, Scotty chiming in with his own laughter.

"You boys need to leave him alone," My tone chimes in, sounding like a mother already. "We all know I won't be leaving Lance for Chloe," I assure, although I do send Chlo a wink, Lance wrapping me tighter in his arms and starting to poke at my sides, making me giggle. His hands come to rest on my stomach, baby boy kicking at his father's attention.

"How have you two kept the little one such a wrapped secret anyways? Does Lawrence even know?" Scotty questions, having asked the original question a couple years ago. Does Lawrence know his son is dating someone? The answer had been no, but Lance had gotten his personality from his father, and it was clear as day when Lance first introduced me to the original L.Stroll.

And I thanked Lawrence that day, nearly six months into my relationship with his son, for raising not just a boy, but a gentleman in a world of boys.

Lawrence's response? A hearty laugh and the question on if I was talking about the right man.

"No, we're going to announce it at the family Christmas party," I answer on our behalf, my hand joining Lance's over baby boy. "I've managed to get away undetected so far with large Aston Martin gear and loose dresses, but when I'm not able to attend the first few races next season, Lawrence will have questions."

"Ah," Daniel grins, gathering our attention. "The grid nepo baby has a baby, I can see the headlines now."

[threewaywithdelusion]

I Forgot What I Called This on AO3 (Stranger Things Fanfiction)

Because AO3 is down and I'm posting my fanfic over here for people to read. If you search "Mia writes fanfic" on my page, you can see all the fic I've posted here

Steve had been getting things ready for the kids all week and they were arriving tomorrow morning and he definitely wasn’t losing his mind. Robin had called him a mother hen three times already and had taken to just smiling fondly and rolling her eyes as Steve moved the couch for the twelfth time, trying to make sure Max’s wheelchair would fit through the tight space. 

“It’ll be fine, Dingus,” she said for the millionth time. “The kids love you and they’re going to keep on loving you even if you don’t move our coffee table three inches to the left.”

Steve scowled. “You say that, but if Max hits the table Lucas is going to bite my head off. And Dustin will say something about how if I’d paid more attention in math or physics or wherever the hell you learn this stuff, I would have known to move the table three inches to the left. And then-“

“And then nothing!” Robin said. She set her glass of wine down on the floor — Steve winced, knowing she was going to trip over it later — and came over to take his hands. “They’ll still love you exactly the same. They’re your kids.”

“I haven’t seen them since Christmas!” Steve said. 

Robin gave him a fond look. “It’s been three months, Steve. They haven’t forgotten you in that time. Now sit down with me before you give yourself gray hairs and ruin that pretty head of yours.”

Steve took a deep breath and followed Robin to the newly-relocated sofa, picking up her glass of wine and handing it to her moments before she could kick it. 

Steve picked up his own glass of wine, which he’d barely touched. 

“To our last moments of peace and quiet,” Robin said. 

Steve knocked his glass against hers.

***

The kids looked so grown-up. 

Lucas was insanely tall and he looked like a proper, put-together adult, pushing Max’s wheelchair with one hand and carrying two duffel bags on his shoulder. He’d clearly been working out and his clothes were a little trendier than what he used to wear. He was the only one of the three to have already turned eighteen, and Steve couldn’t believe how quickly he was growing up. 

Max also looked completely different from the kid Steve had first met. There were the things strangers noticed about her first — the milky-white eyes she refused to hide behind sunglasses, even when the lights gave her headaches, and the wheelchair — but she’d also cut most off that long red hair off. She had a short cut which she’d spiked up with hair gel and Farrah Fawcett hairspray — Steve had taught her how to do it, over a year ago — and it made her look badass and alternative and like she was comfortable with herself. 

Dustin still wore his nerdy baseball cap, but his curls had grown out past his shoulders — an homage to Eddie — and still wore a nerdy shirt with a button up over it. Of all the kids, he looked the most the same, the most like the thirteen-year-old who had dragged Steve into his life with a hunt for a missing demodog. 

Steve loved them all so much. 

He ran towards them, ignoring Robin’s “they’re walking this way anyway!” and immediately pulled Dustin into a hug. Dustin dropped his suitcase to return it, holding Steve tightly and already chattering away. 

They rocked from side to side for a moment. 

“I thought California was supposed to make you tan, but you look the same,” Dustin said. 

Steve gave a watery laugh and pulled out of the hug. “I missed you too, you dick.”

“Is Steve crying?” Max asked. 

“No!” Steve protested. 

Max raised her eyebrows judgmentally. “Are you lying to the blind girl?”

Lucas grinned, leaning on the back of her wheelchair. “Not cool, Steve.”

Steve stepped around Dustin and Lucas came over to give Steve a hug. God he was so fucking tall. 

Behind him, Steve could hear Robin greeting Dustin. 

Steve bent down to give Max a hug too. She squeezed him, then traced over his head before letting him pull back. 

“Did you cut your hair?” she asked. 

“A bit,” Steve told her. “There’s a longer floppy bit in the front, but it’s shorter all around.”

Max tilted her head. “Does it look good?”

“Of course!” Steve scoffed, right as Lucas said “eh.”

Steve snapped his fingers at Lucas. “You’re dead to me, Sinclair.”

“So your hair got worse and you’re pasty, Steve?” Max teased. “What have you been doing out here?”

“I’ll have you know that I look amazing,” Steve told her. “Lucas and Dustin are just liars.”

“You are pasty!” Dustin protested. 

“It’s okay, I don’t have to see it,” Max said. She put a hand over her heart. “I’ll always remember you fondly, the way you looked on Lovers Lake.”

Steve grinned. He’d heard this story many times over the years and he always loved it, even though the details tended to change depending on whether Max, Lucas, or Dustin was telling it.

Lucas scowled. “Forget him! You should remember how hot I looked!”

Max reached behind her and Lucas put his hand where she could find it just so that she could pat it condescendingly. “I remember, baby. You looked great for fifteen.”

Lucas made a sound of indignation, but he was smiling fondly as he picked Max’s hand up and kissed it. 

Dustin groaned. “I’ve been third-wheeling them the whole way here. Please tell me I don’t have to share a room with them.”

“We’re not that bad,” Lucas protested.

At the same time, Max said, “You’re just jealous because you don’t see Suzie until Wednesday.”

“You don’t have to share a room,” Steve said. “Robin and I are taking her room, Lucas and Max are taking my room, and Dustin, you get the couch.”

“Why do I get stuck with the couch?” Dustin asked. 

“Because you’re only here for four days,” Steve said. 

“Yeah, Steve’s jealous that you don’t like him as much as Suzie,” Robin teased. “You’re breaking his heart, Dusty-Bun.”

“That is not true!” Steve protested. 

“So does this mean you two are finally…” Dustin directed at Steve and Robin, eyebrows waggling. 

Steve groaned. “No, Dustin. Never going to happen. Come on, let’s get going.”

He grabbed both of the duffels Lucas had been carrying so Lucas could use both hands to push Max. 

“Why would we be paying rent for a two-bedroom in San Francisco if we were together,” Robin asked Dustin. “Have you seen rent prices around here? Cause I could probably sell a kidney for less than an apartment.”

Dustin got a thoughtful look on his face. Steve wasn’t optimistic that Dustin would give up if he hadn’t in the past four years, but he watched as Robin walked with him, trying (hopelessly) to talk him out of it. 

“What about Robin?” Max asked. 

Steve didn’t answer at first, assuming she was talking to Lucas, until she poked him in the thigh. 

“What?”

“Does Robin look hot?”

Steve groaned. “Not you too, Mayfield.”

“Come on, Steve, you have to tell me.”

“Her hair is a bit longer and the tips are blue,” Steve said. 

Max huffed. “Thank you for that being completely unhelpful. Do you even like girls? That was the lamest description I’ve ever heard.”

Steve sputtered. 

“Yeah, she looks hot,” Lucas said. 

Steve shot him a look, trying to warn him that when your girlfriend asked if another woman was hot, it was always a trick question. You should never, ever answer with a yes.

If Max and Lucas broke up again right before staying with him for a week, Steve was going to lose his mind. 

“Thank you, Lucas!” Max said, sounding triumphant. “That’s how it’s done.”

Steve blinked, first at Max, then at Lucas. 

He would never have gotten away with saying that to Nancy or Debbie or any of the girls he’d dated. Hell, the only woman he would say that to was Robin, and that was because she had equal interest in pretty women. 

Lucas gave Steve a little smile that Steve couldn’t interpret. 

Steve gave up. 

“Whatever is going on between you two, just know that I promised Mrs. Sinclair multiple times that you wouldn’t be in the same room. So if anyone asks, Dustin bunked with Lucas and Max stayed with Robin while I took the couch.”

“How noble of you,” Dustin shouted back, the little eavesdropper. “To take the uncomfortable couch instead of forcing it on your unsuspecting guests!”

Steve flipped him off. 

“We’re not stupid,” Max said. “We know how to lie our asses off.”

“And I don’t want to hear any noises!” Steve added. “I don’t care what you do in there, but for the love of god, don’t make me hear it!”

Lucas made a horrified face. “Man, please stop talking.”

Steve was also blushing, but he forged on. “Last thing, I promise. I’m hating this just as much as you are.”

“I doubt that,” Max muttered.

Steve’s face was burning. “There are condoms in the bedside table,” he told the floor. 

There was no response. Steve risked a peek at the kids and saw that they both looked vaguely traumatized and bright red. 

Robin and Dustin, who had stopped by the car, watched as the three of them approached. 

Robin took one look at Steve’s face and cackled. “Did he give you the safe sex talk?”

Dustin groaned. 

Robin looked gleeful. She patted Dustin’s arm as she leaned in, pretending to whisper while talking loud as fuck. “Don’t be jealous, Dusty-Bun,” she teased. “Steve also bought you condoms to take to Utah.”

She and Max burst out laughing while Dustin turned to Steve with a look of horrified betrayal. 

Steve pinched his nose. “Everybody get in the car or I’m leaving without you.”

***

Of course it didn’t matter how much Steve had fretted about preparing everything just right, because disaster struck just as they were getting ready to leave for their dinner reservations that night. 

Max accidentally hit the end table. Steve watched in what felt like slow-motion as Robin’s half-full wine glass from the night before teetered off the side and into his lap, soaking his jeans. 

He cursed at the huge red wine stain in his lap. 

“Whoops,” Max said. 

“Robin!” Steve hissed. 

“Sorry!” Robin said. “I forgot I left the wine glass there. But like, in my defense, if the end table had been in its usual place or the couch had been in its usual place or you hadn’t rearranged literally all of our furniture, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“So it’s my fault?” Steve asked, pouting at her. 

She was unmoved by his puppy-dog eyes. “Go change, Dingus. I’ll clean the couch.”

Steve stood, ignoring the wine running down his legs, and went to Robin’s room. It was a disaster because Robin emptied half her closet onto the floor every time she tried to decide what to wear. Two years of living with her had been enough for Steve to unlearn two decades of keeping his parents’ house neat and clean, and when he’d grabbed clothes from his room to give it to Lucas and Max, he’d ended up dumping most of it in a pile on the floor. 

Steve toed off the dirty jeans and looked through the pile as best as he could. He’d grabbed way too many shirts and it looked like the only pair of jeans he’d taken were his going out jeans. They were tighter than his usual pair and made his ass look amazing. 

He yanked them on quickly and met the others in the living room in time for them to head out for the reservation. They made it to the restaurant with just enough time to spare, Steve dropping them all at the door to claim the table and then driving a few more minutes to find parking. 

When he finally entered the restaurant, the kids enthusiastically waved him down and he couldn’t help his smile as he slid into the booth beside Robin.

It was great to catch up with the kids in person instead of over the phone or Dustin’s Cerebro. Like this, Steve could watch Dustin’s eyes get all fond when he talked about going to school with Suzie in the fall if they both got accepted into MIT. He could hear Max’s laugh without static interrupting it. He could watch Lucas act out the plays in his most recent basketball game and see the way he still looked to Steve throughout the story, wanting approval. 

Steve was so fucking proud of all of them. 

Robin squeezed his hand under the table. “You look happy,” she whispered. 

Steve squeezed back. 

After Steve paid the bill — something that was much harder these days, but which he wasn’t going to tell the kids — they all meandered back to the car. Lucas and Max went ahead, murmuring quietly to each other. It was a nice night, clear and relatively warm for March.

“If you think so, then I’m stealing your coat,” Robin told Steve when he said that aloud. She didn’t wait for him to hand it over, but started stripping it off him. “I’m freezing.”

She wrapped his coat around herself and he laughed and put an arm around her, pulling her into his side and rubbing up and down her arm. 

“Better?”

She hummed. “Toasty.”

There was no comment from Dustin, which was suspicious enough to make Steve check he was still there. 

He was, walking on Steve’s left, but his attention was focused on Steve’s ass. 

Steve frowned. “Dustin?”

Dustin looked up at him. “I don’t get it. Is there some fashion trend that Eddie was years ahead of? Or are you doing it to remember him? Neither of you were even super close with him!”

Steve took a minute to try to understand that, but it made no sense. He glanced at Robin, wondering if she was being slow, but she looked just as confused. 

“What?”

“Your handkerchief,” Dustin said. “Are you wearing it for Eddie?”

Steve’s stomach flipped as he understood what was going on. He’d grabbed his going-out jeans in a hurry and he’d forgotten to take the handkerchief out of the back pocket from the last time he’d gone to a club. 

Steve glanced over his shoulder to check what color he was wearing. It was dark blue, tucked into his right pocket. 

Steve bit back a series of curses. He glanced at Robin again, who was watching him with wide eyes. 

“Um,” Steve said. “I’m wearing it… like Eddie? In the same way, I think.”

“So to honor him?” Dustin asked. He traced his long curls. “Maybe I should do that.”

“No!” Steve said hurriedly. “Absolutely not!”

Dustin looked hurt. “I was way closer to him than you were, Steve. And I was the one there when-“

He cut off, glancing away. 

Steve felt awful. 

He and Dustin had had a bit of a rough time after Eddie’s death. Dustin had blamed both himself and Steve for letting Eddie die, and he’d felt guilty being friends with Steve when they’d lost Eddie. Like he was replacing one friend with another. 

He knew how sensitive Dustin was about Eddie.

Steve was so open in San Francisco. He had followed Robin here because she wanted to be able to live without the same fear she’d had in Hawkins. He would have followed her anywhere. If she’d chosen the most homophobic town in the country he would have gone, despite the fact that traveling Europe with her after defeating Vecna had led Steve to realize he was interested in men. He was here because of her, not because of him.

But he loved living in a place where he could openly be himself. Where he could pass other men flagging on the streets and not just in discreet bars, hidden in the back corner of alleys. He loved when he and Robin went out and both brought people home, some girl coming out of Robin’s room in the morning to find Steve and his one-night-stand already making breakfast in the kitchen. 

Being bisexual was a bigger part of him than he ever could have imagined back when he lived in Hawkins. 

But he’d never been brave enough to tell the kids. They lived so far away and he saw them so infrequently and he hadn’t wanted to risk a negative reaction. If it went badly, they didn’t live in the same town. He couldn’t keep running into them, forcing them to slowly accept what he was. If the kids took it badly, they could just decide to never come back. 

Steve couldn’t bear it if the kids walked away from him. 

Robin nudged Steve gently, knocking him out of his thoughts.

Dustin looked really confused and upset. Fuck. 

Steve would get hurt a thousand times before he ever hurt one of his kids.

“I’ll explain when we get home, okay?” Steve asked. 

Dustin made a face. “Why not now?”

“It’s not something I want to just explain on the street,” Steve said. You never knew who might be listening, even in San Francisco. Besides, Dustin was guaranteed to ask a million questions even if he took it well, and Steve did not want to have that conversation on a random sidewalk. 

“Fine,” Dustin huffed. He sped up a little to walk with Max and Lucas. 

“You okay?” Robin asked. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tight with fear. 

“Dustin will be fine,” Robin said. “He loves you. He loved Eddie. I’ve never heard the kid say a single homophobic thing in his life.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeated. 

“Steve,” Robin said seriously. She stopped walking and turned to face him. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. You can still make something up.”

“No,” Steve said finally. “I can’t. You’re right, I don’t think he’ll take this badly. Which means the only reason not to tell him is because I’m scared. I’m being stupid.”

“You don’t owe it to him,” Robin said. 

Steve smiled tightly. “I’ve faced Demogorgons. Coming out has to be easier than that, right?”

Robin shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong lesbian, Steve. I’ve only ever come out to other gay people. I mean, even when I thought I was telling Steve “the Hair” Harrington — which was already easier, cause I was like, high on Russian truth serum — and that he was all popular and straight and definitely not gonna take it well, I didn’t know that I was secretly coming out to a bisexual guy who was going to become my platonic soulmate. So. No words of wisdom from me.”

Weirdly, Steve felt better after hearing that. 

“Thanks, Robin,” he said. 

“I love you,” she said seriously. “I’m here.”

“I love you too,” he said. 

***

When they got back to the apartment, Dustin stomped over to the couch and took a seat, arms crossed. 

Lucas looked at Steve warily. “You also did the bandana thing?”

Also? Was Lucas also still thinking about Eddie?

Steve sighed. “Okay, sit down. I’ll explain.”

Lucas took a seat beside Dustin and Max rolled her wheelchair so she was vaguely next to the couch, bumping the table again. 

Steve moved to stand in front of the couch, wringing his hands together. Robin leaned against the wall behind him, silently offering support. 

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m, um,”

Bisexual. 

The word wouldn’t come. 

“Flagging,” he said instead. “That’s what it’s called when a guy wears a handkerchief in his back pocket.”

Lucas frowned. “Is that a fashion thing?”

“Not exactly,” Steve said. “It’s, um, a code? To let people know what you’re looking for.”

He was met with three blank stares. 

“In the bedroom,” he croaked out. 

Dustin’s face twisted. “It’s a sex thing?”

“Dude!” Lucas said. 

“Why were you wearing it to dinner with us?” Dustin demanded. 

“I forgot it was there!”

“I guess the new hair and the pastiness are working for you, if you’re getting enough girls that you’re forgetting your freaky sex flag is in your jeans” Max said. She looked the least affected of the three, but she was also blushing a little. 

Yeah, Steve didn’t want to be talking about his sex life either.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense,” Dustin said. “It can’t be a new thing because Eddie was wearing one three years ago. And it can’t be a big city thing, because Eddie and Will were wearing them around Hawkins. So who wears it?”

Steve choked on his spit. “Will?”

“Yeah?” Dustin said. “I told you. I said neither of you were close with Eddie, so it didn’t make sense that you were wearing a hanky like he did.”

Steve gaped at Dustin. He didn’t know what to say. Dustin had just outed Will to Steve and he had no idea he’d done it. And now if Steve told Dustin who used hanky code, he would be outing Will to right back to Dustin. 

“Fuck,” Steve said, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

“Does it mean something bad?” Lucas asked anxiously. 

“No!” Steve blurted. “No!”

“So what does it mean?” Dustin asked. 

Steve hesitated. 

“Come on, Steve!” Dustin whined. 

“Okay,” Steve said. “Look, I don’t know about Will, okay? Maybe he’s doing something else. Maybe it really is for fashion or something to him. I’m just talking about me.”

Max’s mouth dropped open a little and a look of comprehension crossed her face. 

Steve didn’t stop to wonder what she’d put together. If he didn’t keep going, he would lose his nerve. 

“It’s a gay code,” Steve said, voice shaking a little. “To let men know what I’m looking for.”

Absolute silence. 

Dustin was frozen, mouth open and eyebrows up. He was staring at Steve is complete disbelief. 

Lucas’s eyes were wide, and darting between Steve and Max. 

Max’s face was frozen, the way it usually was when she needed to figure out what expression she wanted to show. She was cagey, only showing what she wanted and rarely what she was actually feeling. 

Steve hoped she wasn’t hiding a negative reaction.

“YOU’RE GAY?” Dustin screamed. 

Steve winced and shushed him. He wasn’t sure what the neighbors knew and did not want to find out. 

“Bisexual,” he said. He felt Robin come up beside him to slide a hand into his and he dropped a little of his weight against her. “It means I like both. Men and women.”

Dustin looked like he was processing a new scientific discovery. “That’s a thing?”

Steve nodded. 

“How did you know you were bisexual?” Dustin fired right away, brain clearly whirring with questions. 

“I slept with a guy and liked it. So I slept with a couple more and liked that too, and then I got confused because I didn’t know you could like both and I was really sure I liked women. So I talked to a friend and they explained to me what bisexuality was.”

“Huh,” Dustin said. 

Steve couldn’t take the suspense. Dustin had skipped straight to the interrogation and entirely blown past any kind of reaction, and the other two kids were just watching them go back and forth like it was a tennis match. 

“Is that… okay? With everyone?” Steve asked. He heard Robin’s shoes scuff the ground behind him, like she was also anxiously waiting for an answer. 

“Of course it’s fine, man,” Lucas said. He still looked a little surprised, but definitely not confused or revolted. He was actually taking this suspiciously well. 

Over the years, Steve had given a lot of thought to how each of the kids would react. He’d figured Dustin would be nosy but accepting, Max would try to act cool even if she was a little freaked out, and Erica would say something insulting but would defend him harder than anyone. Mike would almost inevitably be a little asshole about it — Steve had eaten dinner at the Wheelers’ a lot when he’d been dating Nancy and he knew what sort of ideas Mike had been raised on. He’d been preparing for years to not take it personally when Mike reacted badly. Will was a bit of a wild card — Steve figured he was probably gay, but that his reaction would depend on where he was on his own journey of self-acceptance and whether he would be happy to have a gay friend or if he would lash out in an attempt to seem straight. 

Lucas, though? Steve had never gotten a good reading one way or the other. He’d never heard Lucas say anything about gay people, positive or negative. And Lucas knew what it was like to be hated on by bigots like Billy because of the color of his skin, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was okay with gay people. In retrospect, Steve was pretty sure Billy had been some type of queer (he’d spent a lot of time harassing Steve while they were either sweating on a court or naked in the showers) and that certainly hadn’t stopped him from being racist, so it could definitely go the other way. 

But Lucas was acting as if Steve had announced something unexpected but vaguely boring. Like he’d said he’d started rooting for the Golden State Warriors or traded in his car for a new one, instead of announcing he was sexually and romantically interested in men. 

Dustin, on the other hand, looked insulted. “You think I care if you’re gay? I’m a little mad you didn’t tell me, but I don’t care who you date.”

“Yes, you do,” Steve said. “You try to set me up on dates all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just cause you’re always single and you can never get dates on your own. It’s kind of sad. I care about you not being lonely, not if you like dicks or not.”

Steve frowned. “Was that an insult or a compliment?”

Dustin scoffed. “You’re an idiot. But I, uh, love you and stuff. Even if you didn’t tell me you were gay for literal years.”

Steve felt a little warm inside and he couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, buddy.”

He looked at Max for a reaction, but she looked deep in thought. Okay. Maybe she needed time to process. He’d circle back to her. 

“Was Eddie gay?” Dustin asked. 

“Um, I mean, I can’t know for sure. He didn’t come out to me or anything. But he was definitely flagging and I’m pretty sure he was flirting with me when we were in the Upside Down.”

Dustin squinted at Steve. “So you and Eddie…?”

“No,” Steve said. “I only realized I liked guys after… everything.”

Dustin nodded like that made sense. “Is that why you moved to San Francisco?”

Steve debated how to answer that. 

“No,” Robin said. “Steve moved here because of me. I moved here because it’s easier to be gay in San Francisco.”

Steve turned to gape at her. Robin was shaking slightly and cutting off the circulation in Steve’s hand, but her chin was tilted up proudly and her eyes were boring into Dustin. 

Dustin was gaping. Max’s face was turning red. 

“Sorry to steal your thunder,” Robin whispered. 

Steve squeeze her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

She beamed. “You too, Dingus.”

“Oh my God,” Dustin said slowly. “Is this why you two won’t date?”

Robin laughed. “Yeah. I’m way too much of a lesbian to date Steve.”

Steve scrunched up his nose. “Like I’d date you, Buckley.”

“You asked me out,” Robin sing-songed. “You would totally date me.”

“You asked her out?” Dustin demanded. 

“Ugh, yeah. Back when we still worked at Scoops Ahoy. She told me I would have a better shot if I was Tammy Thompson.”

“I knew Robin was your type!” Dustin was bouncing on the couch in excitement. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said. “You also didn’t notice that Robin was a lesbian for four years, so don’t be too proud of yourself.”

“Oh come on, Steve, how was I supposed to guess that everyone I know is gay?”

“Everyone?” Steve asked. 

Dustin listed them off on his fingers. “You, Robin, Will.”

“You can’t be sure about Will,” Steve said halfheartedly. 

Dustin gave him a look. “I assumed he was gay when we were like ten, Steve.”

Yeah. That made sense. Steve barely knew Will Byers before all the Upside Down shit had happened, but even he’d heard rumors in the days following Will’s disappearing about Will being gay. It made sense that Will’s oldest friends would have heard those rumors — and probably more — and that they would wonder if some of them were true. 

“One out of three isn’t terrible gaydar,” Robin said. 

“One out of four,” Max said. 

They all turned to look at her. She was staring vaguely in the direction of Steve and Robin, holding Lucas’s hand in a death-grip. 

“What?” Robin breathed, sounding excited. 

“I like girls too,” Max said. “And Lucas.”

God, she was so fucking brave. Max had no choice but to stand out. Everywhere she went, people stared at the blind girl in the wheelchair. They pitied her. They pitied Max, which was insane. Max was smart and brave and stubborn and sarcastic as hell. She wasn’t someone to be pitied, she was someone to be admired. 

Case in point: she didn’t have to paint another target on her back. She could have kept quiet and kept dating Lucas, who she was probably going to marry, and no one would ever assume she was anything other than straight. 

Steve was twenty-two and had known he was bisexual for two years and had only said something because he hadn’t seen another way to keep from hurting Dustin. 

Max was seventeen and already braver than Steve would ever be, holding Lucas’s hand defiantly and volunteering the information that she liked girls. 

“See!” Dustin said, gesturing at Max. “Everyone I know is gay!”

That was a very Dustin reaction, even if it wasn’t necessarily the right one. 

“Thanks for telling us, Max,” Steve said. 

“If you ever wanna talk about girls, you can call me,” Robin said. “I talk to Steve sometimes, but he has terrible taste and he has the audacity to say that I have terrible taste and I would love to talk to another girl about this.”

Max grinned. “I get to talk to Lucas. And I know he has perfect taste because he chose me.”

Dustin made a gagging sound. 

Lucas pressed a kiss to Max’s shoulder, looking embarrassed but pleased. 

Steve was so proud of him. Max had clearly told him before tonight, and he was still here holding her hand, so he must have done everything right. He obviously hadn’t acted offended or taken it as a challenge to his masculinity that his girlfriend liked girls. 

Steve thought of their little exchange in the airport and the way Max had asked if Robin looked hot. 

His heart warmed, watching them. 

He never would have believed that a relationship between two thirteen year olds would last this long. He was going to walk Max down the aisle someday, and he was willing to bet his measly life savings that Lucas would be the one waiting for her at the end. 

“Am I gay?” Dustin wondered out loud. 

Steve laughed. “Dude! I think you would know if you were gay.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Robin said. “But sometimes your twenty-year-old best friend tells you he thought everyone thought about pretty boys and you realize that some people are too much of a dingus to realize they’re gay.”

The kids all laughed. 

“So what does your bandana mean?” Max asked, waggling her eyebrows. 

Dustin made a face. “I don’t wanna know what Steve does in bed!”

Max shrugged. “I do.”

“Okay, someone’s a little too interested, Mayfield,” Steve said. 

“I’m bisexual too!” Max protested. “I need to know this stuff.”

“You’re blind,” Dustin muttered. “You can’t even see the bandana.”

Max hit him threw a pillow at his head with unnerving accuracy. 

“Girls don’t really use the same code,” Robin said. “You have to actually have the guts to go up to a girl and talk to her instead of knowing what she’s into based on what she’s wearing.”

“But how does it work?” Lucas asked. “Are you just saying you’re looking for a hookup?”

Steve blushed. 

“Educate the queer youth, Steve!” Robin said, the traitor. 

“Only one of them is even gay!” 

“You can’t tell Max and not me!” Dustin immediately protested. 

“And Max tells me everything, so I might as well hear it too.”

Steve groaned. He kind of wished a gate to the Upside Down would open under his feet so he could get out of having this conversation. 

“Okay. The colors mean you’re looking for different things. And it also matters if the bandana is in the right or left pocket, because that tells people if you wanna do the thing or have the thing done to you.”

There. That was a kid-friendly description, right?

“So if Eddie’s bandana was black, what does that mean?” Dustin asked. 

Steve gulped. Robin cackled. 

“Um, black is sadomasochism,” Steve said. He had to force every word out of his mouth. “So he liked, um, rough sex.”

He cringed as the kids all turned bright red. 

It wasn’t a new feeling, wishing Eddie hadn’t died. But this was the first time Steve wished he was alive specifically so Eddie could be having this conversation instead of Steve. Eddie would have been shameless, loudly proclaiming his preferences to everyone around, and then the kids would learn to stop asking invasive questions when they learned much more than they wanted to. 

“What’s yours?” Dustin asked. 

“None of your business,” Steve said quickly. 

“Come on, Steve,” Dustin said. “Now that I know you can’t date Robin, I need to find someone else to set you up with. And how am I supposed to know you’re compatible if I don’t know what your bandana means?”

Robin was shaking against Steve. He looked at her briefly in concern, only to see that she was losing the battle against a fit of giggles. 

“Save me,” he hissed to her. 

“Steve, this is the best entertainment I’ve had all year. I’ve never you seen you this red, even that time in Scoops-“

“It’s dark blue,” Steve said, to keep Robin from telling that particular story. “So just regular sex.”

Dustin frowned. “You’re wearing a bandana that literally just says you’re looking for sex?”

“What’s regular sex between two dudes?” Lucas asked, frowning. 

Steve groaned. “Did your parents never give you the sex talk?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t cover that.”

Steve scrubbed his hands down his face. He remembered when he’d first started sleeping with men, how much information he hadn’t known. He’d been traveling through Europe with Robin, hitting different gay clubs in each city, and he’d initially picked up a guy because he was bored and thought he might as well try it. (In retrospect, the man had been really pretty and Steve had been curious for a while, but boredom had been the excuse he had given himself to go through with it). 

He hadn’t known what two men could do with each other. He hadn’t known how to be safe. He was really goddamn lucky that he hadn’t taken home the wrong guy, or gotten an STD, or gotten AIDS. 

No one had ever given Steve the gay sex talk either, and if they’d offered it to him back when they’d given him the straight sex talk, Steve wouldn’t have wanted to listen. 

And here his kids were, asking him to explain. Sure, Dustin and Lucas were probably straight, but everyone had thought the same thing about Steve. 

It couldn’t hurt for them to have more information than they needed, but it could definitely hurt for them to have less. 

“Fuck it,” Steve said, “Fine. Always the goddamn babysitter.”

Robin made a squeaking sound. “Are you seriously giving them the sex talk?”

Steve nodded wearily. 

“I’ll go be other there,” Robin said, gesturing at her room. 

Steve caught her hand to keep her from leaving. “Absolutely not. You’re here to provide a girl’s perspective.”

“Steve, I did not sign up for this and I’m in no way qualified to give this talk.”

Steve stared at her. “And you think I am?”

“Goddamnit,” Robin huffed, conceding the point. “Fine, okay, sex talk, yay! This isn’t awkward at all.”

What followed was the most embarrassing hour of Steve’s life. He tried to start with the basics (consent, condoms) and only give the kids the absolutely essential facts, but they all asked really pointed and specific questions. Even Lucas, who Steve couldn’t imagine asking these questions in a group setting, was emboldened by Dustin and Max’s shameless questions to ask about a horrifically detailed “hypothetical” that had Max blushing and burying her face in her hands. 

Dustin made Steve explain the entirety of the hanky code (“Wait, why would you wanna be the one getting fucked? How does that feel good?”), asked a million questions about Steve’s type (“Hot brunettes isn’t a type, Steve!”), and then asked for advice about how to make sure a girl was actually ready to have sex and wasn’t just doing it to rebel against her super-religious family (… uh, Robin? Any thoughts?”). 

At the end of the night Steve was pretty sure that he was going to have a bright red face forever and that his hair was in disarray from how many times he’d run his hands through it, but he also felt like his kids were thoroughly prepared for any situation they might encounter. 

He sent the kids use the bathroom first and started laying sheets on the couch for Dustin. He layered a few blankets on because San Francisco could get cold at night, then was handed a pillow. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking up to see it was Dustin helping out. 

Dustin barreled into his chest, throwing his arms around Steve in a tight hug. 

Steve dropped the pillow and hugged him back. 

“I miss you,” Dustin said.

“I miss you too.”

“Will you still come visit me when I’m at MIT? Even though it’s farther than Hawkins and the rest of the Party won’t be there?”

“Dustin, you haven’t even gotten in yet.”

“But will you?” Dustin asked, planting his chin on Steve’s chest to look up into Steve’s eyes. And even though Steve knew he was 17, almost a full adult, he looked just like the kid Steve had first met, wide-eyed and looking to Steve for reassurance. 

“Of course,” Steve said. “I’ll be over there so much you’ll get sick of me.”

“Even though you have a job and Robin and you don’t have to drive us around everywhere anymore?”

Steve huffed. “Dude, I haven’t driven you all everywhere in years. And Robin can survive without me for a few days. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Steve said. 

Dustin pulled out of the hug, giving Steve a toothy smile. Then he scowled and punched Steve’s arm. “Next time, don’t wait years to tell me something important, asshole!”

Steve grinned. 

Dustin didn’t care. He wasn’t pushing Steve away for being queer. He was actually trying to make sure that Steve would stay in his life, that growing up didn’t mean Steve would leave. 

Steve pulled the brim of Dustin’s cap down, earning him a disgruntled yelp. 

“Alright,” Steve promised. “The next time I have a life-changing realization, you’ll be the first to know.”

Dustin smiled evilly. “Even before Robin?”

Steve froze. “I’m not picking favorites Henderson, so don’t even try it.”

Max and Lucas emerged from the bathroom and Steve gently pushed Dustin towards it, finally joining Robin in her room. 

Robin was lying on the bed in her pjs, still faintly blushing from the sex talk. “I am never having kids. That was the worst, oh my god. I suddenly understand why my parents just threw a bunch of books at me and told me to figure it out.”

“I got the sex talk from health class,” Steve admitted, digging through the pile on the floor for pjs. “It was not helpful at all.”

Robin snorted. “I’m sure you learned from hands-on experience, Romeo.”

“No, but that’s my point,” Steve said. “I slept with all these girls and all of them only said nice things. I was so sure I was doing a good job, and then I date Nancy for longer than a few weeks and she’s Nancy, so she does research.”

He hissed the word and Robin sniggered. “Oh, she would.”

“She did! And then she gave me notes. Literal, physical notes, on how to do better!”

Robin laughed so hard she went quiet, rolling from side to side on the bed and clutching at her ribs. 

“Robin, Robin, don’t laugh at me,” Steve pouted. “It was humiliating.”

Robin could not stop laughing. “Were the notes on flashcards?”

Steve aggressively yanked pajamas from the pile and refused to answer. The notes had been on flashcards. And they’d been color-coded into general tips and things Nancy specifically wanted to try. 

Steve changed into pajamas as Robin gradually got her giggles under control. 

“Hey, babe,” Robin said. 

Steve looked up. “Yeah?”

She looked serious, sitting up and meeting Steve’s gaze. “I’m proud of you. You were really brave tonight. And you gave me the courage to be brave too, and I never could have imagined a few years ago that I’d be living in San Francisco with my queer best friend and platonic soulmate having an extremely embarrassing sex talk with a bunch of teenagers, but it’s kind of perfect. I kind of love it.”

Steve smiled. He never would have imagined himself here either, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. His friendship with Robin was the most important thing in his life. And his kids, his wonderful, amazing, brilliant kids, who accepted him and admired him and needed him and loved him — they were here. They’d traveled 2,000 miles just to see him. 

“I kind of love it too,” Steve said. 

Robin beamed. “Definitely worth a little Russian torture.”

What a weird, fucked-up metric. And Robin was still absolutely right. 

[karahalloway]

Morally Grey - Part III: Russian Roulette

Fandom: TRR x Mission: Impossible II

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series: Morally Grey

Synopsis: Things continue to heat up between Harper and Drake...

Word count: 3,500

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, multiple lemon-scented moments)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: I know I haven't posted anything in over a month (life has been way too busy!) but in the few moments of spare time that I have managed to eek out, my brain decided that this is the series that it wants to focus on, so here is Part 3.

A/N2: Unlike previous parts, are no YouTube clips for this part - the movie skips over whatever happens between the car chase scene and Ethan and Nyah waking up in bed together the following evening, so I took Harper and Drake's lead to fill the time gap.

"I haven't...forgiven you," I gasp against his lips, even as I find myself yielding to the direction of his hands.

"This ain't an apology," he replies, tipping my head to the side so he can coast his tongue down my jaw.

My eyes shudder shut as the scrape of his stubble across the sensitive skin of my throat leaves me breathless.

Damn, he's an arrogant ass...

But I can't deny that I want to fuck him.

Whether it's because of my oh-so-close brush death... or because I'm still pissed at him and I need an outlet for the messy cocktail of emotions burning inside of me... or some kind of twisted combination of the two, the end result is the same. My brain is a mess and my body is on fire.

Which means I need to break this off now, before things become dangerously complicated between us.

"Good," I tell him, pulling abruptly away. "We're on the same page, then."

His eyes widen as I grab onto his shoulders to swing myself off his lap. "The hell—?"

"Nice knowing you, Walker," I throw over my shoulder as I shunt myself across to the other side of the car.

He grabs my wrist. "You said you'd listen."

"No," I correct. "I didn't."

He cusses under his breath as I twist away. "Look, will you just hold on, for one second, and—?"

"And what?" I interject testily, hoisting myself up onto the doorframe. "Give you yet another chance to con me? No thanks."

"You wanna be mad at me?" he grits. "Fine. Be mad. But don't pretend that's a good reason to walk away."

"Funny," I snark, swinging my legs into the Porsche. "It's working surprisingly well for me so far."

"Until you find yourself backed into a corner..."

I freeze mid-motion.

"You're on Interpol's wanted list," he reminds me. "And that kind of heat is hard to shake. Even if you decide to lie low for a while, or full-on retire, you're not getting a free pass. Not without help, anyway."

"Why should I believe you?" I snap through gritted teeth, hating the indecision raging inside of me.

"Honestly? 'Cause you ain't got a choice," he huffs. "And I know you got no reason to trust me right now. Hell, I wouldn't trust me either. But I'm in a bind, and my offer's legit. So, as far as get-out-of-jail-free cards go, you'll be hard-pressed to find a better one."

I glare out into the night. Damn it, why does he have to be so right?

On one hand, logic — and experience — tells me that I should steer clear of gift horses that seem too good to be true, as they invariably have rotten teeth.

And yet, in spite of every rational inclination, I want to trust him... I want to give into him.

As behind the somewhat gruff exterior and annoyingly pushy attitude, there is a certain frankness to him. I mean, he could've bullshitted me over the alarm, or even fed me to the wolves for kicks... but he didn't. Which makes me want to think that he has some measure of integrity.

But I've been wrong about guys before...

"Fine," I declare abrasively, wiping the wetness from my face. "I'll help you. But I want that offer in writing."

"Done," he accedes, the sudden warmth of his breath lapping the shell of my ear.

Whipping around, I find myself nose to nose with him, his hands splayed on the Mercedes' doorframe on either side of me, as if our renewed proximity somehow serves to seal the deal.

But he's wrong if he thinks he's won this round.

"And you owe me a necklace," I add, lifting my chin.

A scoff escapes him, tickling my lips. "Fuck me, you're demanding..."

I shrug up at him. "You wouldn't have chased after me if I wasn't."

He regards me for a long moment, his jaw working.

I force myself to hold his gaze, even as I feel the latent embers left by that kiss start to smoulder again under the weight of the prolonged contact.

He breaks off first. "I'll see what I can do."

A relieved breath rushes out of me.

I have no idea whether he'll come through for me on either front. But a long career in larceny has taught me to aim high, and always have a back-up plan in my pocket.

And of things don't work out...? Well, I guess I'll just have to pawn that expensive watch of his.

"Great...!" I chirp, fully conscious of the bare modicum of space between us. "So, what's the job?"

"No clue," he admits, finally backing off to slip past me into the Porsche.

My jaw drops. "What do you mean you don't know! You came all this way to set me up and you don't even—?"

"Trust me," he grumbles, sliding into the driver's seat. "I'm well aware. But my brief was to locate you first, and then report in to get the rest of the details."

"And you follow your assignments to the letter..." I surmise with a sidelong look as I plop down into the passenger seat next to him.

He scoffs wryly as he flips the engine over. "Very rarely."

Yanking the wheel hard to the right, he rams the gas pedal down to detach his car from mine with an ear-splitting screech of metal, taking the Mercedes' wing mirror off in the process.

Swerving out into the middle of the bridge, he guns the Porsche into the night, leaving the carnage behind us to dust.

"You always drive like a maniac?" I shout over the whip of the wind.

He slants me a deadpan look. "I'm not the one who almost ended up in the river..."

I roll my eyes at him. "Where are we meeting this guy?"

"Stormholt," he replies, punching some coordinates into the Spyder's navigation system. "But it ain't a joint exercise."

"Why?" I counter with an arched brow. "You don't trust me?"

"Not one bit," he grins.

I can't help but laugh. "How do you know I won't skip out on you, then?"

"I don't," he admits, meeting my eye across the width of the car. "But I'm hoping I've given you enough reason to stay."

I glance quickly away before he notices the sudden colour spreading across my cheeks. "But...umm... Why me?"

"You came highly recommended."

"By whom?"

"By my agency."

My brows furrow. "I didn't think the CIA kept tabs on common thieves."

"I don't work for the CIA."

"Then...?"

"I'm an agent with IMF."

I nearly choke. "IMF?"

"Impossible Missions Force," he clarifies.

"You can't be serious..." I blurt.

Luckily, he mistakes my disbelief for confusion as he says, "Hey, I didn't come up with the name. But at least it's accurate."

"If you say so," I mutter, sinking deeper into the seat and wrapping my arms around myself.

This can't be a coincidence... Can it?

"Here," he says, shrugging out of his suit jacket while managing to keep the Porsche tracking steady with just his knees against the steering wheel at over 80 mph.

I shake my head. "I don't—"

He cuts off my protest with an impeccably aimed toss, landing the jacket square in my lap. "It's a long drive. And the adrenaline will be wearing off now."

As if on cue, a shiver runs over my skin. Heaving a begrudging sigh, I set about pulling the jacket on. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he murmurs, grabbing hold of the wheel again.

I can feel the heat of his mocha gaze on me, but I make a point of not meeting it as I busy myself with turning the lapels up and tugging the front closed around myself to keep the midnight chill at bay.

As regardless of the one too many ways we've found ourselves up close and personal over the past hour, this is now a transactional relationship — pure and simple. So, I'm not going to indulge him with anything beyond that. It's a bad idea to play Russian roulette, and I have no intention of becoming physically (...much less emotionally!) entangled with someone who holds the keys to my proverbial release.

Making myself comfortable — albeit at the expense of now being scent-marked by the lingering spice of his aftershave, which I force myself to ignore — I let my focus drift over the shadowy forms outside the car as they zip past us on our way back down to the capital, wondering if I've just backed myself into the very corner that he warned me about.

But, I must have dozed off at some point, for the next thing I know, I am being shaken gently awake.

"Harper..."

Opening my eyes groggily, I find Dallas — Drake — looking at me with that impenetrable gaze of his.

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Where are we?"

"At a safe house," he replies, unclipping the seatbelt he had apparently pulled over me at some point while I was passed out. "Not far from the marina."

"What time is it?" I ask, stifling a yawn.

"Still early," he advises, exiting the Porsche, the slam of his door echoing across the exposed concrete of the underground garage he had parked us in.

Arriving at the other side of the car, he pulls the door open for me and holds out his hand.

Ignoring the offer of assistance, I swing my legs out to push myself up to standing on slightly wobbly feet, my body still in the process of shaking off the vestiges of sleep.

"You good?" he asks, peering down at me.

"Yeah," I affirm, slipping his jacket pointedly off and handing it back to him.

He doesn't look like he believes me, but he nods nevertheless. "This way," he prompts, tilting his head towards the back of the space.

Following behind, he leads me through a heavy-looking metal door and into an airy, white-washed hallway with terracotta flooring that opens up into a spacious, open-plan kitchen with vaulted ceilings and arched windows through which the dawn is just starting to peek through.

"Fridge should be fully stocked," he advises, striding past the large centre island. "And there's coffee, if you want it."

I nod silently, casting my eyes around the minimalist, but nevertheless welcoming interior... which definitely tends towards more executive Vrbo than run-of-the-mill safe house.

"Bedroom's this way," he advises, turning down a corridor. "Your clothes should be in there already."

I blink. "My clothes?"

"Figured you'd want to get changed," he shrugs. "So, I called ahead and got the bags from your rental moved up here."

"Of course you did..." I mutter, stepping after him.

This guy is nothing, if not thorough...

Entering the room, I am greeted by a four-poster bed, breezy white drapes that kiss the floor, and a cavernous en-suite... with no door.

Great...

"You hungry?"

His question catches me off guard. Twisting back 'round, I find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

I suddenly feel naked under the weight of his dark gaze. "I..."

"I can cook something up," he clarifies.

My discomposure evaporates in a blaze of disbelief. "You... cook?"

He cracks out a laugh — warm and rich, like a perfectly brewed macchiato. "Call it a hobby."

"Umm... Okay," I accede, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear while I try... and fail once again to figure this guy out. "Surprise me."

"Yes, ma'am," he agrees with a lopsided smirk as he turns away.

I let out an explosive breath as he rounds the corner and disappears back down the corridor.

Who is this guy?

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter..."

I'm not planning to stick around long enough to find out, and I'm not interested in the answer anyway. This is a temporary set-up, and once I help him steal whatever it is that needs stealing, we'll go our separate ways.

Decision reaffirmed, I turn back into the room, where I find my bags stacked neatly against the foot of the bed.

Grabbing the larger of the two suitcases, I quickly extract an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boyshort undies. Since I fully expect to just hang around the safe house today, there's no need for anything fancier, and I'm definitely not going to be giving Drake any mixed signals by dressing up for him.

Locating my bag of toiletries as well, I make my way into the bathroom.

Stepping through the curved archway, I am greeted by an oasis of calm. Cream-coloured tiles lead to a claw-foot tub nestled under a large window, beyond which sits a waterfall cave shower complete with steam and pressure jets.

Four Seasons, eat your heart out.

Dropping my clothes on the floor, I quickly pull my heels off and shimmy out of my dress. Grabbing a fluffy Turkish cotton towel, I make a beeline towards the shower, eager to get under the spray and wash the night away.

Slapping the faucet onto its hottest setting, I step under the flow, and let out a sigh as the steam envelopes me, melting the tension that has built up inside of me over the past 24-hours out of me.

Once I'm sufficiently sous vide'd, I set about washing the hairspray out of my hair, and the make-up off of my face before turning the water off somewhat reluctantly.

The long soak had been a welcome reprieve, but as much as I may want to, I can't hide in here forever. Especially since I am now genuinely hungry.

Peeking out of the shower, I check to see that the coast is clear, before slipping out to quickly envelope myself in the towel.

I'm not shy about my body per se, but given the already delicate tightrope I'm having to navigate with the guy, I don't want to get caught in a — potentially even more! — compromising situation with Drake. Because as hot as he is, and as great as he is with his tongue, I can't afford to tip across that line with him... And him seeing me naked after that heated kiss on the bridge would only be adding fuel to the already dangerous fire simmering between us.

Which is why I make a special point to not doing anything with my hair apart from squeezing any excess water out of it, or even bothering to put on any make-up. As the fewer ideas I can put in his mind, the better — for both of us.

Dropping the towel, I quickly pull the fresh clothes on, before walking back out into the bedroom...

...and straight into a tell-tale smell wafting in from the kitchen.

I scoff. "He didn't..."

But the ambrosia emanating from the other end of the corridor leaves little room for doubt, and I feel my mouth start to water as I'm pulled almost unwittingly towards the source.

Poking my head around the corner, I can't help but gasp as my suspicions are confirmed. "Are you making... pancakes?"

"You told me to surprise you," he throws over his shoulder as he catches the crêpe he's just flipped into the air.

"When I said that, I wasn't expecting... this," I admit, taking in the rest of the spread jostling for space on the centre island with a slack-jawed expression.

While I'd been soaking myself in the shower, Drake had whipped up a pair of ham and cheese omelettes, a steaming pot of coffee, as well as a carafe of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice. Not to mention the small tower of pancakes that he has just put the finishing touches on.

"Good," he grins, flipping the gas off on the cooktop, and stowing the pan. "Wouldn't want to disappoint on the first day, now, would I?"

"Technically, we're into day t—"

I very narrowly catch my jaw from smacking into the countertop as he turns to face me.

At some point during the prep process, he had thrown the buttons of his shirt open — whether to stop it from getting splattered, or whether to keep himself cool — with the result that the perfect ridges of his abs and the toned mounds of his pecs were now on full, unadulterated display... making my body crave a very different kind of meal.

I jerk my gaze away before he can realise that I'm staring.

Keep it together, Harper! Neither of you needs any encouragement, remember?

"So, umm..." I cough to clear my suddenly patched throat as I reach for the coffee. "Where did you learn to do all this?"

"My dad," he admits, placing the plate of pancakes down on the island. "He was an amazing cook."

"Was?" I ask, my gaze jumping upwards on its own accord to meet his in surprise.

"Was," he confirms, lowering himself onto a bar stool across from me, and tugging his shirt mercifully closed.

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely, passing him the caffeine. Having grown up without a family myself, I know the feeling of that particular pain all too well.

"Don't be," he replies, refilling his mug. "He died doing what he signed up for, which was protecting his country."

I reach for the pancakes. "Is that why you became a spy?"

"No," he scoffs, as if at some private joke, shunting some jam, lemons and sugar my way. "You don't apply to IMF. You get picked. Whether you want to be, or not."

I nearly spread jam all up my arm, instead of over my pancake. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say that I ended up in a corner. And just like you, I wasn't really in a position to bargain my way out of it."

"Not a great feeling, is it?" I point out dryly, rolling my crêpe up.

"Nope," he affirms, taking a swig of his coffee. "But I got a second lease on life, so I ain't too sour."

I quirk a brow at him. "That's the third time you've done that."

"Done what?"

"Said 'ain't'," I tell him 'round a mouthful of pancake — which, I have to admit, tastes just as good as it smelt, and literally melts in my mouth.

"So?"

"So, which state are you from?" I press. "Kentucky? Georgia? Tennessee?"

"Texas," he replies tersely. "Not that it matters anymore."

"Why not?"

He heaves a low exhale. "I'm a ghost. I don't officially exist. I'm not in any government system and every passport I have is a fake."

I look upon him with new eyes. "You can never go back to your old life, can you?"

"No."

"Neither can I," I admit, stuffing the last of the crêpe into my mouth and reaching for an omelette.

He watches me silently for a long moment. "D'you want to?"

I shake my head. "You?"

"I'm not sure anymore."

My gaze lifts to meet his, and within those deep mocha depths, I am surprised to find specks of sadness, floating like lost leaves down a river.

An unexpected lump forms in my throat. "I'm sorry..."

"You don't need to keep apologising."

"I know, but—"

He lays a hand on my arm. "The choices I made were my own. No one else's."

The heat of his palm burns into my skin, and I suddenly realise I've made a huge mistake by engaging him. As in the course of our seemingly innocent conversation, we ended up straying out of the safety of the professional, and into the minefield of the personal.

Gulping down the final bite, I shoot out of my seat. "Thanks for cooking! This was—"

I barely make it half a step before his hand shoots out to intercept me.

Jerking my head across the counter, I find him staring at me with all the latent intensity of a wolf on the hunt.

"Wh-what?" I challenge, hoping he doesn't notice the slight tremble in my voice.

"You missed a spot."

"Wha—?"

He tugs me forward. "Just here."

I stumble to a stop before him, palm subconsciously flying out to seek purchase against his chest in a bid to steady myself.

He raises his free hand to wipe the lone smear of jam from my cheek.

I stand, rooted to the spot as our gazes meet against my better judgment... and I suddenly find myself falling into his cinnamon-flecked irises.

His thumb brushes against the corner of my lips. "Damn, you're beautiful..."

My mouth parts on its own volition...

...and the next thing I know, my lips are crushed against his.

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Picture credits:

Drake - Kiss - Harper - Cooking

[whatevertheweather]

Well, hello again.

It's been a very busy month, and I have roughly nothing left in my head, but it's Wednesday okay, and that's finally aligning with a day I ended up driving home thinking I want to do a wip post okay. So first, thank you to everyone still commenting on Musical Chairs, and I'm sorry to anyone who's been hoping I can get the last chapter out in a timely manner. I can't, obviously, but as a sad offering in that chapter's stead, I have here An Ode to How Soundly Musical Chairs Is Kicking My Ass.

This is a multimedia presentation. In this essay I will-

I don't have a posting goal anymore. As soon as possible is a moving target. But I do have two deleted scenes, and here's one.

“Stupidity has no bearing on whether or not I hate something,” Baz said. “No? The two’ve always struck me as pretty intertwined,” Niamh said, picking up her drink. And then, like it was a completely separate observation, “I’ve noticed you seem to hate a lot of things.”

I also have 44 pages at the top of my Miscellany document that contain nothing but snippets for musical chairs, and scenes cut from musical chairs, and scenes rewritten for musical chairs, and checklists made for musical chairs, and all caps yelling for musical chairs, and-

Featuring such goodies as:

And:

So in theory. And I hate this because I’D HAVE TO REWRITE AGAIN but in theory.

And:

[HEY MAYBE JUST FULLY FUCKING SWITCH TRAJECTORY AND GO] “[Redacted].” Baz raised an eyebrow. “[Also redacted].” [FUCK BUT ACTUALLY. IT’S WEIRD AT THIS POINT. AFTER HE’S ALREADY PUSHED THIS MUCH. FUCK. YES OKAY MOVE IT UP TO COULD HAVE HAD SOME FUN. SIMON JUST PIVOTS FROM COMMITTING TO THAT/MAKING BAZ MAKE HIM COMMIT TO THAT BY SAYING HE DOES ACTUALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT. AND THE SCENE WILL DEFINITELY AND FOR SURE WORK THIS TIME AMEN.]

It's possible these latest two yellings are leading me in the right direction, but I don't know yet, because I made those notes and then dusted off my hands and ran walked away for a month. We'll see. I've at least started thinking about it again. (The trick is apparently pacing small circles around your enclosure while you're on hold with customer support for an hour.)

Here's that other deleted scene, as a treat. It was a treat for me, anyway, because I don't remember writing it.

“Despite our best efforts,” Agatha muttered, and everyone looked at her. She raised her eyebrows. “She started it. I was out for a week because of her.” “You gave Agatha a concussion?” Baz smirked as Simon said, “You’ve had a concussion?” “Yes,” Niamh answered, and Simon added, “That explains it.” Agatha turned from whatever she’d been about to say, replacing it with, “Explains what?” Simon gave a sad little hum and nudged her chin. “Why you don’t even know what it explains.”

By the way, the actual final chapter is 45 pages at present. One (1) page deeper than the burial ground for its failures. Though the burial ground has a lot of gaps between graves. That probably adds a few pages.

Anyhow, I do sincerely hope y'all will be able to read it before another 7 months have passed. I'll do my best. In the meantime, thank you to everyone who's still tagging me in things, and I'm sorry I disappear a lot and don't shower y'all with the love you deserve for it <3

Here's an incomplete mess of tags, because I do need to go do many other less fun things now.

@fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @cutestkilla @whogaveyoupermission @aristocratic-otter @alexalexinii @iamamythologicalcreature @facewithoutheart @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @run-for-chamo-miles @rimeswithpurple @thewholelemon @forabeatofadrum @monbons

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 26

Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

We. Are. Back!!

It's been almost six months!! 😶 Motivation comes and goes, but I'm very happy to be posting again. Like I said in a comment on Ao3, this book is too special to me to ever abandon. Thank you for your patience!! 💙

When Rick kicks the stool out from under Jim's feet, there's a simple crunch sound, and then he's dead.

I watch from afar as his body dangles from the rafters like a doll filled with sand, wondering why I thought it would be louder. It feels like I can breathe again. As if I've had a noose of my own wrapped around my throat until this very moment. Jim's dead. He ain't a threat. Just dead and dangling. Silence pours out across the farm. It feels strangely comforting; a hug from somebody you thought you didn't like.

I know Dale would disagree. I don't gotta ask to know he didn't want this.

If he weren't under six feet of dirt and bugs right now, I think I'd tell him I'm sorry.

Not just for Jim having to die, but also for being angry. He knew it never did nobody any good to be angry. If I hadn't told Carl to leave that muddy walker alone, wanting it to suffer and pay for some crime weren't even its fault, then maybe Dale would still be here.

I kinda realize in this moment that I don't care if dead people don't gotta see bad things. Because Dale ain't get to see the good things anymore, either. Like books and soup. Hugs, jokes. The baby, once it's born. Neither does Momma or Sophia or Shane.

It's like Jim said. I should be dead by now. On account of all laws of nature and chance, I should be long dead.

But obviously, I ain't.

And I'd be a stupid, silly, brainless little girl to not think that makes me at least a little bit lucky.

As I fiddle with the metal buckle of my overalls, Dad and Rick carry Jim outta the shed, their hands hooked around the dead man's armpits and ankles. Carol's probably thinking something like,��He's with his loved ones now. But I ain't Carol, and I don't believe in heaven, so all I'm thinking is, I hope it didn't hurt. I've never had my neck snapped before, so I wouldn't know. They shuffle over to the pile of wood and walker bodies, tossing him on top, dusting their hands off on their pants. They's gonna burn him. No graves for them that ain't family.

Good. We have enough of those, anyway.

Dad and Rick turn away from the pile, their faces largely blank.

Before they can see me, I stand from my spot near the fence and scurry away, because I know I'm not meant to be watching.

That morning, everybody gets busy doing something. Whether it's bringing supplies into the house or cleaning a grimy rifle, nobody's twiddling they thumbs. There's something about putting work into a thing that needs it that clears the mind, I guess. Stops us from thinking about Jim, anyhow. Me, I help out by going around with a basket of fresh fruit, handing them out to anybody who wants some.

The first people I swing by are Rick and T. They've begun reinforcing the fences together, using old metal sheets and planks of wood to barricade any weak points they find. They gratefully take a juicy pear each, leaning against their handiwork to bite into the sweet flesh, groaning at the taste. Something nice happens in my chest when I see them smile. It's like looking at a puppy. You just can't be sad.

"Wow, this is good," T-Dog nods, turning the fruit over in his hand. "Thanks, Harley."

Rick doesn't say nothin', but I'm just glad to see him enjoying himself. Even for just a moment.

I head over to Patricia and Carol next, who are scrubbing at some laundry over by the trees. I earn myself two more smiles when they take a couple peaches, leaving them to their own devices and making my way through everyone else. Herschel, keeping Maggie company as she hangs up some wet clothes over a line in the sun. Jacqui and Lori, tidying up camp a bit, preparing lunch. Jimmy, polishing guns.

When I give a pear to Dad, who's fixing some of his crossbow bolts, he kisses my cheek as thanks.

And Beth. I don't forget her. She sits in the bay window of her bedroom, nibbling away at a green apple.

I know eating a good piece of fruit ain't never stopped nobody from wanting to kill themselves, but everything counts.

I've only got a peach, apple, and a pear left tumbling around in my basket when I approach Glenn and Andrea. They're stood around the hood of Dale's RV, frowning into the rubber tubes and gears like there's a jigsaw puzzle in there, muttering to each other.

"You gotta tap it three times," I think he's saying, pointing at something, "And—"

"— And give her a twist," Andrea sighs, throwing her hands up. "I know, I know."

Glenn notices me out the corner of his eye. He doesn't light up exactly, but the tension leaves his shoulders. "Oh. Hey, Harley."

"Hey." I give a little smile, holding out the basket. "Y'all want some fruit?"

"Ugh. Yes, please."

They each pick one out, leaving me with the apple. I toss the basket onto the nearby folding chair and bite into its waxy skin, the sugary juices leaking down my chin. It's sweet as candy. Well, from what I remember candy tastin' like, anyway. It's delicious.

Andrea seems to agree. "God. Remind me to always become stranded on a farm with an orchard."

Glenn bites a chunk out of his peach as he takes the screwdriver from the blonde, scooting around her to stand in front of the exposed engine. "Here. Let me have a go... Dale told me that in these old vehicles, the points get corroded."

I wipe my sticky chin, watching as he pokes around with the small tool.

Dale knew everything there was to know about this RV. Whenever it broke down, he didn't even need to check beneath the hood before he knew exactly what was wrong with it. Hell, even I've picked up on its quirks by now, and I know jack about vehicles. There's all sorts of screws and bolts and duck tape crammed into the poor thing's inner workings, but it just refuses to die. Like a stubborn old mule. 

A bit like Dale. No matter how many times ya put that old man down, he'd come back ten times stronger.

"I let him down," Glenn suddenly sighs, and it's easy to know who he's talking about.

I glance over his shoulder, through the front windshield. Dale's ridiculous amount of souvenir air fresheners still hang from the mirror. Oklahoma. Illinois. Missouri. Kansas. That ain't even half of 'em. We used to tease him about them, but he always just laughed us off and recited some philosophical quote from a dead guy about how memories feed the soul, or whatever.

Nobody ever understood it when he said stuff like that, but I still know we all miss it.

"He was proud of you," Andrea tells him; then me, "Both of you."

I sheepishly look away, picking at the stem of my apple. No, he weren't. But that's nice of her to say.

"That's easy for you to say." Glenn shakes his head. "You had his back."

She doesn't know what to say for a moment.

"Well... All I know is that there's no way he didn't know how much we all cared for him, even in the end. He was too smart for that."

I got no doubts about that. He knew everything. Knew everything about the RV, about poetry, about us. He was just one of them types of people. I only wish I hadn't argued with him that day, but I argue with Dad all the time, and he still loves me. So, can't all be bad.

Glenn pulls back from the engine with a resolute, "Welp... That should do it."

When Andrea climbs inside and twists the key into the ignition, I'm proven right. This old RV just refuses to die.

"Well done, Glenn," I smile over the noise of the engine. "You did it."

He turns to me with a smile of his own, looking proud of himself.

After that, he and Dad leave the farm to search for a hearing aid. 

Maggie hands them a list of houses they can try their luck in, and then we exchange the usual goodbye hugs and kisses before waving them off. There ain't no use in sitting around, wondering if they're going to get bitten and die because of me, so I leave to find something I can distract myself with instead. Luckily, Rick and T-Dog are more than happy to let me help them out with the fences.

If we're gonna get serious about staying here at the farm, we're gonna have to make some upgrades.

I obidiently tail them as they work, lugging around a bucket filled with rusty nails to pass to them.

"You know, Harley," Rick grunts as he hammers a scrap of metal to the wooden posts, "Carl still ain't stopped chewin' my ear off about all those things you taught him the other day. If I have to hear the word 'mushroom' one more time... I'll go crazy."

I pluck a nail from the pile and hand it to T-Dog.

Just to be annoying, I say, "Mushroom, mushroom, mushroom."

"Hey. Watch it." He scolds me, but not very well. He's smiling. "Anyway. You two ain't on good terms right now, are you?"

I raise a brow. "How'd ya know?"

"Well, I figured you'd be playin' with him right now if you were. And to be honest, he's been in a bit of a mood lately."

I huff a little, silently cursing Rick's parents for making him like this. "We squabbled. That's all."

He hums thoughtfully.

"Whenever I argued with my sisters," T-Dog tells us, "They'd start messin' with me. They'd hide my Xbox controller. Eat my snacks."

Rick chuckles. "They sound nice."

"Yeah, you could say that," He chuckles along with him. "A real pair of peaches."

"Well, Carl ain't done any of that," I suppose, adjusting the bucket in my grasp, "But he did call me a stupid baby."

Rick turns to look at me. "What?"

"He snitched on me about the shed and called me a stupid baby. Then I told him I hated his guts."

As I stand there, he fixes at me with a funny, What am I going to do with you?, sort of look, until he returns his attention to the work at hand. "Well, he was right to 'snitch' on you, but I'll have a talk with him when I can. It's not okay to name-call."

"I think it's 'cause he's gonna be a brother soon." I think aloud. "He said he's gotta protect me."

T-Dog argues, "You got all of us here to protect you. Boy's got nothing to stress about."

"I know. He just likes bein' somebody's keeper."

Hammering the last nail into the metal, Rick gives the thing a bit of a shake to test its strength, pleased to see it won't budge.

"Okay, I think this one's good." He decides. "Let's move onto the next one."

As we gradually make our way down the fence line, we continue chatting away about other useless things. The weather, future plans for the farm. Something we don't talk about, though, is the baby inside Lori's belly. I don't think Rick wants to think about it, let alone talk about it. He must be mulling over all the hundreds of things that could go wrong. As the leader, that's his special talent.

By the time we reach the area around the barn, I'm not listening to the conversation anymore. It's difficult to concentrate on making out their voices for such a long time, so I just tune myself out, absentmindedly gazing past the two of them, into the field.

That's when I notice something off about the burning pile.

It's still sitting there, a boring bunch of wood and junk, but the problem is I can't seem to spot Jim's body on it.

I know they didn't move it to some other place, and it's definitely not been lit on fire yet, so it can't be that.

When Rick holds out his hand for me to pass him another nail, I leave him hanging. He frowns down at me in concern; confusion. I think he says my name, but then he follows my gaze, followed suit by T-Dog. I can tell the exact moment they catch on.

"Okay," T-Dog levels with nobody in particular, holding up his hands, "That's creepy as shit."

"Stay here," Rick wearily tells us, before jogging away to investigate.

I don't need to be told twice. Clutching the bucket to my stomach like it's a teddy bear, I huddle closer to T, letting him step in front of me as if a chupacabra is gonna pop out from under the debris and gobble us all up. We watch Rick approach the burn pile, creeping up on it, concerned he might wake it up. He peeps this way and that, the hammer held tight in his grasp, ready to strike.

Was Jim bit, I find myself wondering, Was he bit, and we just didn't notice?

No. No, that can't be right. If he was bit, he would've turned long before we had the chance to hang him.

Rick flinches backward. He gawks at his own two feet. I think he might've crossed paths with a snake, or even that chupacabra, but then a hand shoots out from behind the burn pile and we learn the thing tryna bite him ain't an animal. It's got black hair and a grubby red shirt, a pair of milky eyeballs. It's Jim. He crawls after Rick like he's tryna avenge his own death, his neck still swollen and wrong.

Once he's absorbed his own shock, Rick brings the hammer down on Jim's skull, but he's fresh, so it's not mushy like it is usually. He has to bludgeon him two, three, four more times before the bone cracks open like an egg, wet brains dribbling down his face.

We all catch our breaths. I don't think any of us were prepared to watch Jim die twice today.

"Where was the bite?" T-Dog calls out, sounding like he's about to barf all over himself.

Rick kneels to check under Jim's shirt, flip him over, roll up his pant legs, because of course he does. There has to be a bite.

But when he stands, he calls back, "I can't see one."

There's a gaping pause between us all.

"Well, it ain't on his ass cheek, is it?"

Rick raises a brow as he steps over the body. "You wanna go check, be my guest."

"Nah, thank you, man." He answers drily, eyeing the blood dripping from the head of the hammer. "Well, what the Hell happened?"

Instead of telling us he doesn't know, or offering up a theory, Rick just sighs. He tosses the hammer into the little wagon we've been pulling along with us, rubbing at the faint wrinkles on his forehead. I remain hiding behind T-Dog. I know there's no snake or chupacabra to be heard of, and now, not even a Jim. But I don't like the danger in the air. The danger of something being wrong and not knowing what it is.

Rick lowers his hand, gaze landing on me. He keeps it there for a moment.

To be a walker, you gotta get bit. I can't see one. Everyone knows that.

"Come on," He eventually mutters, reaching to take the heavy bucket from me. "Let's get back to the house."

"Rick, what's wrong?" I whine as he grabs my hand. "We ain't workin' on the fence no more? Why?"

T-Dog snatches up the handle of the wagon and hurries after us.

"Don't worry about it, honey," He soothes, giving my fingers a squeeze. "The grownups will handle it, okay?"

Rick says this, just like he always has, but all he does when we get back to camp is eat lunch and talk to Maggie about our progress on the fence. I decide it's not a big deal. I trust him. Maybe he's just waiting until me and Carl aren't around to talk with the other adults about it. Maybe Jim did somehow get bit while he was in the shed. Maybe it really was on his ass cheek. I won't pretend to know.

In any case, I dig into my scrambled eggs and buttered bread without giving it much more thought.

After lunch, the three of us go back to working on the fence, anyway.

"Hope you enjoyed the apple."

With her forehead resting against the window, Beth gazes down at the farm, like some lonely angel peering down at another world. The afternoon sun gently contours the subtle curves of her girlish face, which isn't looking nearly as dreadfully pale as it did before.

"I did," She answers sweetly, smiling as I come to sit next to her on the thin cushions. "Thanks, by the way."

I give a shrug. "Yer sister says peach and pear season's just about up, so all we's got for a while is apples, anyway."

She surprises me by giggling at me, a pretty tinkling sound that suits her. "That shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"

My cheeks go warm. "Huh?"

"I saw you," She explains, a fondness in her eyes. "Chowin' down on that apple just before."

"When I was wit' Glenn and Andrea?"

She nods. "You were smiling. It was nice."

I contemplate calling her a stalker, but all that comes outta my mouth is an amused scoff, rolling my eyes and turning to look out the window. I understand why she likes it up here. I can see the whole farm. People milling about camp, chickens pecking at the ground. And off in the distance, the herd of black cows dotting the paddocks like little beetles, munching on bales of hay. And quiet. Precious quiet.

I glance at the distant treeline, thinking about the recent whispers of the horde. I brush it off quick as I can.

I steal a glance at Beth, instead.

That little smile is still pulling at her lips, a lively glint in the soft green of her eyes.

For some reason - mainly my talent for speaking without thinking - I ask her suddenly, "Do you still wanna die?"

She stiffens ever so slightly, and I only have a few short moments to feel awful about it before she meets my eyes.

"I just mean," I continue, wishing I ever knew the right thing to say. I think back to when Carl was in my exact position, asking nicely for me to not do what Beth did. He also threatened to smack me in the face, but I don't imagine that would go over too well with Beth. Neither would shouting at her like Dad. So, I just do something stupid, another one of my talents, and I improvise. "I been worried about you. Not, like, pity or nothin', but... I know how you feel. And after Dale... I realized that just 'cause people die, it don't mean I gotta die, too. It ain't a reason to wanna die. It's a reason to wanna live. 'Cause I'm just glad I ever knew Dale and Sophia and everyone else that died at all."

I feel encouraged by her glassy expression to keep talking. Not that I could stop myself if I tried.

"So that makes us lucky, y'know. Yer Momma's dead. My Momma's dead. But we loved 'em, and you can keep lovin' other people, but not if you're in a grave somewhere. Besides, it would just pass it on to them that would miss us. Not worth it, if ya ask me."

When I finish my word puke, she pins me with a tense, watery look that makes my insides cramp up.

"Maggie told me," She says, "That if I decided to keep living, that I'd find moments where I'd know I made the right decision."

She takes a deep breath, chuckling afterward.

"I think this is one of those moments," She decides.

"It is?"

I feel a weird sense of pride. I know me and my stupid apple and bad advice didn't singlehandedly solve anythin', but I was able to make her realize she don't got nothin' to regret by surviving her own mind, and that's more than enough for me.

I nod, trying not to smile, because this is supposed to be a serious moment. "Good. That's... good."

Her chuckles turn into laughter. "Why you so awkward all the darn time, Harley?"

Then I'm being wrapped up in a hug. I hate hugs. But this one ain't too terrible.

When we part, I ask her, "Are we friends?"

She seems to find that funny. "'Course."

"Well, my Dad and Glenn are gonna be gone for a few more hours," I tell her, "So, we should play something 'til then."

Beth warns me that she's seventeen years old, so she might not be able to play the same way me and Carl play, but that's okay. We don't have to play pretend or anything. We can do something she likes. Apparently, that's painting our nails. I have to try not to pull a face, but I guess I end up pulling one anyway, because she bursts into giggles and pulls me to my feet. I'm not the biggest fan of girly things. It's just not what I grew up with. I'm used to scuffing my nails while climbing trees and playing in the dirt, not painting them. But I'll give it a go.

"What's your favorite color?" She asks me, setting me down on her bed and rummaging through her desk.

"Yellow," I chirp.

"Actually," She lilts, pulling out a little bottle of yellow polish, squinting at the label. "It's Electric Spring Citrus."

I scoot over to make room for her on the bed, presenting my nails to her.

The afternoon slips away easily after that.

Nighttime paints over the orange sky.

Me and Beth have migrated downstairs by the time the sun has disappeared beneath the farm, lured in by the domestic commotion of dinner being prepared. It's soup again. I recognise the smell by now. While we wait to be served by Maggie and Patricia, the rest of us gather around the coffee table, ribbing each other as we break the rules of a card game Jacqui suggests. Carl keeps cheating by lying about what cards he has, but he's too dumb to realize he'll have to show them to us at some point. I laugh hysterically when he loses.

"You weren't listenin' to the rules, was ya?" I enjoy taunting him as he goes red. "Typical!"

He complains, "Shut up, Harley!"

"Okay, okay," Lori placates, doing a very bad job of hiding her smile behind her fan of cards. "Settle down."

I almost don't think about Dad and Glenn or Dale or Sophia or Shane or Momma for the whole game. By my standards, that makes for a good time. Carl continues losing miserably, whining even more miserably-er, while Jacqui beats us over and over again.

I'm reminded of the night we had our first dinner together - The one where Patricia made everyone feel super uncomfortable, and then I almost died. It's hard to believe this is the same house and the same people. Probably because it's filled with laughter.

We continue playing even through dinner.

When I lose for the fifth time, I take my bowl of soup and retire to one of the sofas, settling in next to Rick and quietly sipping at the warm broth. He sends me a bit of a look as if to ask me if I'm okay, probably reading my face in that weird way he got, noticing I'm thinking about Dad and Glenn. I reply with a simple nod. He doesn't seem satisfied with that response, but he can't do nothin' about it.

It's too noisy in here for him to talk to me, and neither of us know a single lick of sign language.

So, he just gives me a thumbs up and hopes it gets the point across. They'll be okay.

Eventually, even Herschel gets roped into playing.

"Hey, I actually happen to know a thing or two about this," He tells us, before proceeding to eviscerate Jacqui at her own game.

We all go awww, as she throws down her cards.

"Darn..." She sighs. "You weren't lyin', old man."

"As Jesus as my witness," He holds up a hand, "I never lie."

Lori asks, "Where'd you learn to get this good?"

"I used to spend a lot of my time in bars, young lady." He explains. "I got more than enough practice finessing card games."

"Well, I'd say it paid off."

He raises his fluffy white brows. "They used to call me Great-Hand Greene back in the day, you know."

Everybody in the room can't help but laugh.

"Now, Daddy," Maggie exclaims, "That's a lie!"

Great-Hand Greene calmly enlightens her, "It surely isn't."

This is the moment headlights turn into the driveway. Everyone turns to look. My heart squeezes. Dad and Glenn. The two lights come to a sudden stop, watching us like two eyeballs through the dark. The sound of doors slamming. I place my bowl on the coffee table and hurry out of the lounge room, followed by some other footsteps. But when I reach the foyer, the door bursts open without my doing.

Dad first, then Glenn. Both of my lungs deflating in relief, and then both of them knotting right back up again.

"That horde's headed this way," Dad wastes no time in announcing, "And it ain't stopping for nothin'."

Everybody freezes. A horde? The horde? Headed our way? Right now?

Rick pushes past everyone. "You saw it?"

"Trust me, man." He jokes dryly, shaking his head. "You can't miss this thing anymore."

"There were hundreds of them," Glenn agrees, frantic. His hair is suckered to his forehead with sweat, even though the season's turned. "We were over by Mallory Road when we caught wind of them; got us stuck for a couple hours until we could slip past."

"Not that it matters now," Dad snides.

Maggie asks, "Were you able to get the hearin' aid?"

He gives a nod, but nobody's paying attention. "Bits and pieces."

"Patricia," Herschel orders, our card game long forgotten, "Kill the lights."

We follow Rick out onto the porch. The night welcomes us with a cold gust of wind. At first, I can't see much of anythin', but then the lights blink out one by one and my stomach drops into the floorboards. On the other side of the field, leaking out from between the trees, are bodies, bodies, and bodies, so many it's not worth trying to count. They make the group on the highway look like a couple of stragglers.

As the masses of feet stumble up the driveway, I'm hit with the feeling that our fences aren't going to save us.

"I'll get the guns." Andrea mutters, and I think that feeling has hit everyone else, too.

Rick runs off in the direction of the cars. It's where we've kept our bags of emergency supplies for a time like this. Does that mean we're gonna leave? Or are we gonna fight? Is it even possible? I didn't even get to finish my soup. That feels important, somehow.

"Maybe they're just passing." Somebody stupidly guesses. "Like that herd on the highway."

"Should we go back inside?"

"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about." Dad drawls, gazing out. "Horde this size will rip the house down."

I worry up at him, "Daddy, I don't want it to rip the house down."

He shushes me, putting a strong hand on the nape of my neck, squeezing reassuringly. I let it calm me. I feel a fool for panicking, but if there were ever a time to panic, it would be now. I cling to him as Andrea dumps the bag of guns on the floor. She passes them out to everyone that got two thumbs and a brain. Maggie, Glenn, Dad, Rick. Jimmy. Even Herschel. Nobody is being left out of this fight.

Not even me and Carl. A gun is pushed each of our hands. You know how to use it, I remind myself.

"This the plan, then?" Dad confirms with everyone, because it's crazy. "We take 'em all on?"

Andrea passes me a loaded mag. I don't have to count the bullets inside to know it's not enough.

"We have guns. We have cars."

"We kill as many as we can." She's on board. "We'll use the cars to lead the rest of them off the farm."

"The burn pile," Glenn adds, "There's a bunch of kerosine and matches down there. We could lure them into the barn, set it on fire."

Rick climbs back onto the porch. "Bags are all packed. If things start to get hairy, we can leave."

"We're not leaving." Herschel argues.

"Herschel—"

"This is my farm." His voice booms as he pumps a pair of fat bullets into his shotgun's chamber, fire in his eyes. "I'll die here."

"Alright." Dad lilts over the droning rumble of death incoming, looking around for objections. "It's as good a night as any."

I get herded into Maggie's car. Dad gives my face a kiss and slams the door shut. I bump the mag up into the chamber. I know how to use it. I do. Two more slams. Glenn at the wheel, Maggie in the passenger seat. I've shot two walkers before, when I was out in the woods with Shane. I just have to do it again. And after that, again and again until they're all gone. Glenn stomps on the gas. The car screeches forward, ripping through the grass, barrelling into the night. I don't even bother buckling myself in. That's not how I would die tonight.

"You got enough ammo back there, honey?" Maggie fusses, digging through the glovebox and throwing me a spare.

"Thanks." I catch the cardboard box, trying not to shiver as Glenn rolls down all the windows. Groans and wind flood the car.

He shouts, "Start shooting!"

Just like that, gunshots erupt from all possible angles.

I grip my pistol tight, aim it out the window. You're gonna hold it like this, Shane's voice tells me, Firm. Confident. You're the one in control, here. I'm in control. My home's bein' invaded by the dead, and a horde this size might rip the house down, but I'm in control. The car spins. I lurch. It's hard to aim like this, but I gotta try. I line my eye up with the wobbling sight. I breathe in and out.

I squeeze. BANG. 

I can't even tell what I hit, or if I hit anything at all, but it don't matter. I squeeze again. BANG.

Glenn weaves us in and out, around, through the horde, never getting too close, never veering too far.

In the other car, T-Dog, Andrea, and Carl. They swerve around us, shooting down every dead bastard they can hit.

I squeeze. BANG.

BANG, and again, BANG, and again, BANG.

The jaw of a nearby walker explodes off its meaty hinges. It swings around. It trips. It slumps. I've killed it.

"How we doing back there, Harley?" Glenn calls out. "You okay?"

"I— I'm fine!" I shout back, pulling my body back into my seat to reload.

I peel open the box of ammo. A curse falls from my tongue when the little bullets go tumbling onto my feet, rolling under the seats. I quickly snatch them up, shoving them into the mag. On the other side of the car door, fireworks of gunpowder and bullets, squealing tires and breaking bones, a blazing Hellfire lighting up the sky. Orange and roaring. I notice it, then. Dad. Rick. That must be them. They've set the barn on fire. It's cracking and falling to pieces, a burning church. The walkers fight to get inside like it's the last Sunday on Earth.

An important beam succumbs to the flames, snapping in half like a broken twig, bringing the rest down with it.

I hear wood breaking, and then there are chickens running lose across the field, screaming, flapping.

I squeeze and I squeeze and I squeeze. BANG.

A rotten old man crumples to the ground. BANG.

A lady's shoulder bursts open, a pop of bone and muscle. BANG.

A girl with one of the poor birds in her mouth, choking on feathers, dead. BANG.

For every one we kill, five more are there within a heartbeat to replace it. Glenn's foot falters on the pedal, and we come to a crawl, and then a stop, unable to do much but watch as the farm is consumed. This is a losing battle. There's no other type.

Herschel said we weren't leaving tonight, but that can't be true. I guess he is a liar, after all.

"We gotta go," Maggie's shaking her head, the tears in her eyes collecting like little pearls. "We're not gonna win this. We gotta go."

As if only to prove her point, the barn collapses once and for all. I almost feel like crying.

"I'm sorry, Maggie." Glenn says weakly.

Yeah. Me, too. I gaze out at the oak tree, still standing bravely; the little wooden crosses clueless beneath it.

As Glenn drives us back into the chaos, my pistol stays in my lap. I don't got any bullets left, anyway. I just sit there, watching everything pan by. Mine and Dad's camping spot, tucked away in the distant trees, just how we liked it. The crumbled fireplace where I talked to Dale for the last time. The shed. The swing outside it me and Carl used to play on. The orchard. The patch of dirt where Sophia died.

I wish I had the power to know when things were gonna end. That way, I could've savoured my last day.

It's not as cool as the superpower's them people in Carl's comics got, but it's the one I'd want.

It was silly. Working on the fences today with Rick and T-Dog made me think we were gonna be okay.

When I look up, we're approaching the house. Jacqui's sitting on the porch steps all by herself, staring out at us.

Glenn pulls us in close, getting out and hovering around the hood of the car, waving her over. "Come on! We gotta go!"

I crawl across the seats and shove open the door. "Jacqui? Come on!"

She's not coming. Why is she not coming? The door is open. We can all leave together. When I call out her name again, she convulses ever so slightly, as if she's got a bad cough but doesn't wanna let it out. I feel my face fall all at once. Her arm gives out, slumping from her neck, into her lap. I notice the blood first, all ten gallons of it, and then the bite. Her muscles spasm again. Oh. No, no, no.

"Jacqui?" I call out uselessly, but Glenn's already back in the driver's seat and Jacqui's already dying.

"C-Close your door, Harley," He orders, slamming his own.

She's dying. We can't stay here. I know both these things, but it still takes everything in me to pull the door shut.

After that, the deaths just keep coming. We drive past Patricia as the horde pull her into their mouths, Jimmy as he stumbles from the RV, clutching at his open throat. There's nothing we can do for any of them, but we manage to reach Carol just in time. She climbs into the seat next to me, and we ask her if she's seen anybody else, but she hasn't; she hasn't seen anybody.

Turning my face to the open window, I let the wind dry my tears, seein' as my Daddy ain't here to do it for me.

The faces of the horde pass by, a sea of rats on a burning ship.

I want to go collect my things. I want to pet the cows one last time. I want to do everything we won't get to.

My body lurches all on its own, then.

A face in the crowd. It's different from the rest. I'm not good with faces or names, something my teachers used to grumble over, but I'm good with this one. That one walker, tucked in with the rest of them, wearing the Police cap. It's Shane Walsh, dead and walking.

How? How is that possible? Why are the tears back tenfold, now?

Lit by the moon and the flames, I see his broken cheekbones for the first time since that day, the way they're bulbous like apples, mishappen like clay. Everything about him is wrong. His nose is broke. Clothes all mussed up. Ribs pouring. His eyes are glossed over. He don't seem to mind his broken body, or the fire, or the smoke. He just wants what all other walkers want. To bite into something. It's him, but not.

I almost want him to look at me. I clutch my locket, wanting our eyes to meet just to make him prove it.

This just can't be true. He didn't get bit. He got shot and beaten, but he didn't get bit.

As if I've willed him to do it, he looks my way.

"Carol," I croak, watching as he noses at the air like the animal Dad always said he was, "You got any bullets left?"

I feel something being placed in my hand. It feels just like the locket, but colder. I shakily load it into the chamber; lift the gun. I believe in you, His voice is back. Now line your eye up with the sight. I stare down the barrel, carefully placing his face on top of the sights. I only have this one bullet. I can't miss. Not only because I need to put him down, but because I think I want to make him proud.

Breathe, I take a deep breath, In and out. 

Damn it. These fuckin' tears, they're messing up my aim. I smack them away and line up my shot again.

And squeeze.

BANG.

All the air rushes outta my lungs as his body hits the ground, disappearing amongst the horde.

I lower the gun.

Carol's already looking at me before I glance her way.

When we peel onto the highway, I can still see the flames burning over the tops of the trees, like some old religious painting.

Maggie breaks the silence. "What if nobody else made it?"

Nobody answers. I preferred it when the only noise in the car was the gentle humming of the engine, but I can't blame her for asking. We got no idea who else made it out alive. The four of us are all alone out here. Ain't no phone number we can just dial to ask if they're alright.

"They made it," Glenn eventually just decides, staring out at his high beams on the dark road. "They had to."

"Well, how are we going to find them?" Carol asks innocently, petting my hair as I lay my head in her lap. "They could be anywhere."

Maggie sighs. "We could circle back to that place I found y'all on the highway?"

"No," Mumbles Glenn. I can see his finger tapping against the wheel. "No, the horde came from that direction."

That's where our ideas run dry.

"Glenn?" I whine, clutching at my temple. He glances at me in the mirror, concern in his eyes. "My head. The ringing. Hurts."

He makes a troubled sound. "It must've been all those gunshots... I'm sorry."

Carol suggests, "Maybe we should just stop somewhere for the night."

There's a pause between them, but it's a short one, because it doesn't take much for Glenn to agree. He's musing to himself about how we can't drive all night. It would be a better use of gas to drive in the daylight. But really, we all know it's because he's a big softie.

He pulls us into a little nook on the side of the highway, killing the engine and turning on the ceiling light.

"I'm sorry," He says again, as if he put the ringing inside my head himself. "Maybe there's something in the supplies?"

Maggie unzippers the bag at her feet, pushing around the stuff inside it, shaking her head. "Just some water. Thirsty?"

I shake my head.

"I think we should all get some sleep." Says Carol, her voice a whisper.

Yeah. A good sleep sounds really good right about now. I think we've earnt it. Georgia will still be here when we wake up.

"Okay." He reaches up to press the ceiling button that turns on the moon, its dim white light spilling across the console in the dark. We all loosen slightly, completely exhausted. "We can just pick up again tomorrow. I'm sure the others are doing the same thing."

"Goodnight," Maggie tries to smile, reaching around her seat to stroke my shoulder.

"Goodnight," I mumble, echoed by Glenn and Carol, and then it's silent.

I close my eyes.

No eggs and buttered bread for breakfast today. Just a stale granola bar I gotta split with Carol, and a sip of water I gotta split with all three of them. After we take turns peein' in the bushes outside, we're back on the road again, and we're on it all day.

I don't know where we're going. I don't think Glenn knows, either.

I'm starting to think we might be driving all night, too, by the time we run into the others. That's right, the others. Herschel's shitty old pick-up truck is parked in a swath of brown leaves on the side of the road, right next to Dad's truck and bike, and another grey car.

When Glenn pulls on the brake, I think we're all crying happy tears, but I'm too busy crying happy tears to notice.

I climb out, grinning, running into my Dad's arms.

"Harley," He sighs in relief as he picks me up, squeezes me tight. "I knew they'd take good care of ya."

"I knew you'd take good care of you," I giggle, hooking my chin over his shoulder.

"How did you guys find each other?" Glenn marvels.

"Well, when I saw their little Toyota goin' the speed limit," He nods behind him, "Figured there just had to be a cop at the wheel."

As chuckles break out between the group, he places me back on the ground.

Maggie asks, "Where's the rest of us?"

"We're the only ones that made it so far," Rick answers, and it's now I notice just how much smaller we are now; barely ten. We're just as alone as we were when it was just me, Glenn, Maggie, and Carol. No shelter, no food, no direction. Feathers in the wind.

"Where's Andrea?"

Lori shakes her head. "She was with us at the farm, but we got separated."

"Did you see Jacqui?"

Jacqui. Poor Jacqui. Maggie, Glenn, and I share a look without even meaning to.

"It was awful, Dad," I mutter, the memory caught in my throat, "We found 'er by the house, but we had to leave her behind."

Glenn explains, "She was bit."

"They got Patricia, too." Beth says. "Took her right in front of me. I was holdin' onto her, Daddy, but they just..."

"We saw Jimmy, too." Maggie sighs as Herschel wraps her little sister in a hug. "He was in the RV. It got overrun."

"But, you guys definitely saw Andrea?"

"There— There were walkers everywhere," Lori seems sorry to say, "But, yeah. We saw her."

"Well, we have to go back for her."

Rick argues, "We don't even know if she's still there."

"She ain't." Dad butts in. "She's either somewhere else or she's dead."

"So, we're not even gonna look for her?"

"No. We gotta keep moving." Rick agrees. "There's walkers all over the place."

Maggie scoffs, "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"I say we head East." Dad suggests, pointing vaguely in the direction of the sinking sun, cresting through the fog. "Head East, and stay off any main roads like this one. Bigger the road, the more walkers we gon' run into. The more assholes like this one."

He lifts his hands from where he's been resting them on my back, swinging the crossbow off his shoulder.

"I got him." He grumbles, sending a bolt through the stray walker's nose.

"Well, I hate to tell you guys," T-Dog scratches at his head, "But we been riding red for the past hour."

"We can't all fit into two cars."

Rick decides, "We'll have to make a run for some gas in the morning."

"Spend the night here?" Beth hisses, shivering lightly. "I'm freezin'."

"We'll build a fire." He gestures at my Dad. "You can go out lookin' for firewood, but stay close."

He raises a greasy brow. "I only got so many arrows, man. We can't just sit here with our asses hangin' out."

"Watch your mouth," He snips.

Glenn raises his hands at the group. "Everyone just stop panicking, and listen to Rick."

"Look, Glenn and I can go make a run right now," Maggie placates, "Try and scrounge up some gas so we can get back on the road."

"No." He shuts her down. "We stay together. God forbid something happens and people get stranded without a car."

That other side of Rick is back - Someone I might as well start callin' Second Rick; Scary Rick - and everyone can tell. It's the same one that was outside the shed, telling us with no room for argument that he was going to execute Jim. He's tense. He's a rubber band pulled tight, his eyes darting from face to face, just waiting for a flash of disagreement from somebody for him to pounce on.

I make sure he don't find one on my face. I'm not keen on upsettin' him.

Glenn's a little braver than me, though, because he says incredulously, "Rick, we're stranded now."

He shakes his head. Not listening. Not accepting it. Just, No, no, no. 

"I know it looks bad," He reasons, even though we don't need to be told. "We've all been through Hell and worse. But we found each other. I wasn't sure. I really wasn't, but..." He scans our faces again, a little less coldly this time, taking us all in. "But we did it. We're together, and that's all that matters. We'll find shelter someplace. It's gotta be out there somewhere. It's gotta be."

But we had shelter already, I feel like shouting at him, I don't want another one.

"Rick, look around, okay?" Glenn's voice raises. "There's walkers everywhere. They're— They're migrating or something."

"There's gotta be a place not just where we hole up," Rick doubles down without care for what he's saying, smacking his knuckles into his palm. "But that we can fortify. Hunker down. Pull something together for ourselves. Build a life for each other."

That's what we tried to do at the farm. He should know that. He was the one fixing the fences with me.

"I know it's out there," He says angrily, as if that place he's talkin' about is hiding just to spite him. "We just have to find it."

I muster up the courage to voice my thoughts.

"But, Rick," I say, "How many those places we already been?"

He shakes his head again. "We fooled ourselves into thinking they were safe. We won't make that mistake again."

At the quarry, our mistake was being too close to the city. That was way back in the beginning when nobody had died yet, and we thought we just had to wait it out until the army came. But they didn't. And after that, our second mistake was trusting Jenner. We wanted answers, but we almost lost everything trying to get 'em. Then, the farm. I guess that was a mistake, too, now. You never know 'til after.

I don't say anything to that. It's cold, and I'm hungry, and I don't want to argue any more.

He's pleased with my silence. "Okay... We make camp tonight here; get back on the road at the break of day."

Carol murmurs something.

Whatever it was, Beth agrees with her. "What if walkers come through, or another group like Jim's?"

"Speaking of Jim," T-Dog fixes Rick with a look. "We ever gonna talk about him?"

Lori's confused. "What do you mean? What could possibly be left to talk about?"

"We saw him turn," He's happy to reveal to everyone. "Thing is, though, he wasn't bit."

"How is that possible?"

"Shane, too." I blurt. "I— I saw him when the farm went down."

Lori turns her gawking expression onto her husband. "What the Hell is going on?"

He's not looking at any of us. He's glaring at some ordinary pebble on the ground, brooding, hesitating.

Then, "We're all infected."

What?

It's so vague and profound that nobody knows what to make of it.

My Dad does us all a favor and squints at him. "How you mean?"

"At the CDC," He confesses, his voice a hoarse whisper that I can only just make out, "Jenner told me. Whatever it is, we all carry it."

We all carry—? The germs that make the dead ones come back? We all carry them?

He's been lyin' to us this whole time. The CDC, that was months ago.

Sometimes, lying ain't just sayin' something. It's not sayin' something. Daddy taught me that the night I told him I'd had a good day at school, and then come dinnertime, I let it slip that Ethan, the boy that sat behind me in class, had actually punched me in the belly that day at lunch. He got so mad. He ripped off my shirt. There was a purple blotch on my pale skin. Then he taught me how to punch boys back.

That's what Rick's done. He's hidden a purple blotch from us, and now we should be angry.

Carol steps forward, her silver brows pinched. "And you never said anything?"

I consider my body. I don't feel sick. Not like I did when we thought I was bitten.

Rick lamely asks, "Would it have made a difference?"

Yes, I think, but he already knows that.

Glenn accuses him, "You knew. You knew this whole time."

So, that's why Jim and Shane woke back up. You don't gotta get bit. You just gotta die and come back with enough to be able to bite.

That means even if you jumped off a bridge and all your bones were broken and you died, you would still come back.

My—

My Momma would'a still come back.

"How could I have known for sure, huh? Until we found Jim, I had no proof Jenner was even tellin' the truth. You saw how crazy that mother f—"

Glenn cuts him off. "That is not your call. Okay?"

"When Daryl found out about the walkers in the barn," Lori adds, "He told everyone as soon as he had the chance."

Rick don't care. "Well... I thought it best if people didn't know."

Glenn and Dad look right at me. Like they've both thought the same thing I have. They're the only ones here that know what happened to my Momma. I remember telling Glenn about it at the CDC. Momma. We were outta the city when it happened. It was the night the world ended twice. First when we got the call, and again when our neighbours tried to eat us. It's a lot of people's worst ever night. It's mine.

I won't ever know for sure, but I'd be kidding myself if I thought the rules didn't apply to my Momma.

At least we know that if any of us were to die, the others would make sure we didn't turn. Survivor's honor, or whatever it's called.

The silence goes on for so long that he just gives us one last look over, turns, and walks away. Nobody cares where.

Dad crouches; looks up at me. "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah," My voice wobbles, but I'm telling the truth. "I just... Don't wanna think about it."

Glenn clears his throat. "Well, it looks like we don't have much of a choice about this. We need to set up camp."

As everyone slowly breaks off to do their part, Dad takes my hand and leads me over to his motorcycle. "Got somethin' for ya."

Oh, right. The hearing aid; bits and pieces.

I'd almost forgotten.

"I hope it ain't complicated," I tell him, fiddling with my craggled ear. "Maggie said Herschel don't know about this stuff."

"We'll figure it out." He promises, before squeezing my hand and letting it go. "I ain't even sure if they work."

He opens the saddlebag, taking out a wrinkled plastic bag. He reaches in and pulls out what looks like an unusually shaped piece of skin-colored plastic with a rubber bulb on the end. And two other hearing aids, one brown and one purple, the type I'd recognise.

He stuffs the bag away and tucks some hair behind my good ear, making room to stick the first one in.

"I think it goes like that." He leans in closer, messing around with something on the back of it. "How do I—...?"

Something clicks.

All of a sudden, there are birds in the trees.

My eyes go wide, jaw dropping, gawking out at the forest like I've never seen one before.

A grin sneaks its way onto my face.

"The birds," I muse quietly, taking in the sounds of their distant chirps. "I can hear 'em, Dad."

It's not perfect. It's not as crisp as it was before. I think the batteries are low. But I don't care. It's still one of my favorite sounds.

He's smiling faintly up at me. "Good."

"Dad, your voice!"

"My voice?"

"I forgot what it's s'posed to sound like," I giggle. "It's so loud. And annoying."

He snorts, giving my butt a smack for being silly. "Well now when ya tire of my naggin', you can just pull that thing out."

As quickly as it had come to life, it makes a crackling noise, a sudden beep, and then there are no more birds.

I pluck the aid out my ear, giving it a bittersweet look. It didn't last forever, but it was nice while it did.

He mumbles something; then, louder, "We'll find some more batteries soon. Sorry, baby."

"Don't be sorry." I say. "It was perfect."

After packing them back into the saddlebag, we leave to collect firewood together. I imagine the sounds of the birds around us.

Night comes. We can't stop it.

I pretend we're camping.

We're not stranded. No, we just decided to go on a camping trip together because we thought it would be fun. That's why we're all huddled around a campfire in the dark, instead of sleeping in our beds at the farm. I'm curled up against Dad's stomach, which is better than a bed, I think. Beth's cuddled into her Dad's side, too, staring into the flames while Maggie and Glenn whisper to each other beside them.

I wish we had a deck of cards. I wish any of us would wanna play.

We got nothing but a wall of stone to protect us from the forest on the other side, but I pretend that away, too.

I just focus on the sound of an owl hooting somewhere off in the trees. I bet it ain't scared. Owls; they know the night.

Tomorrow, we're gonna have cheap steak and ketchup for breakfast, and then Merle's gonna let me sit on his shoulders just like always.

"We're not safe with him," Carol suddenly mutters, and that's not something I can pretend away. I'm back here, now, and we're stranded. No steak. No ketchup. No Merle. "Keeping something like that from us. Why do we need him? He's just gonna pull us all down."

Maybe I don't wanna be camping, anyway. It's good enough right here, surrounded by the people I care about.

"Nah." Dad's voice is a rumble in my lower back. "Rick's done alright by me and mine."

I cuddle further into him, shuddering lightly as he rubs my cold arms. His leather vest don't make a great blanket.

"You're his henchman." She reminds him. "And I'm a burden."

He scoffs. "And Harley?"

"You both deserve better," She says softly, her face pensive in the orange light.

It don't matter what we deserve, I told Shane when he said the same thing.

Unamused, Dad pries, "What do you want?"

"A man of honor."

"Rick has honor."

They leave it at that. I think they wish we had a deck of cards, too.

The owl hoots again.

Then, a branch breaks.

CRACK.

I straighten.

"What was that?" Beth murmurs worriedly. "Was it a walker?"

We all stare off into the dark, ready to fight whatever might come out of it.

"Could be anythin'," Dad mumbles as he stands, readying his bow. "Could be a racoon. Could be a possum. Could be the Easter bunny."

Carol hugs herself. "We need to leave. I mean, what are we waiting for?"

"Which way?" Glenn asks.

Maggie points at the thin trees behind T-Dog. "It came from over there."

"That's back from where we came."

"Yeah."

"The last thing we need is for everyone to be running off in the dark." Rick scolds us, reminding us he's here. The light from the fire washes him in flame, the dried blood on his forehead glistening with sweat. "We don't have the vehicles. No one's travelling on foot."

"Don't panic," Herschel soothes us all calmly, still clutching his shotgun.

Maggie argues, "I'm— I'm not sittin' here, waitin' for another herd to blow through. We need to move. Now."

"No one is goin' anywhere," Rick snarls.

"Do something!"

"I am doin' somethin'!" He retorts. If he really was that rubber band, this is the part where he would snap in two. "I am keepin' this group together. Alive! I've been doing that all along, no matter what. I didn't ask for this. I shot my best friend for you people, for Christ's sakes! For you Daryl, and you, Harley. I was the one that took care of Jim. Me! Everything! Everything has been on me!"

I know I said we were supposed to be angry with him. But, actually, I think we're just scared.

Lori's holding Carl's head to her chest. Dad stands in front of me, as if he doesn't want me to see. T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie; all with their mouths sealed shut, not sure where to look, or what to say. Is this really the same Rick that comforted me at dinner?

"Maybe you people are better off without me." He shrugs, taunting us. "Sure. Go ahead."

I've never had to be a leader before. I did have to kill Shane, but Rick's done so much more for us. I'm not better off without him.

"I say there's a place for us out there, but maybe—" He's just rambling, now. "Maybe it's just another pipe dream. Maybe I'm— Maybe I'm fooling myself again. I'm just as much a sucker as Shane was. But, hey, why don't you go find out yourself?"

He sweeps his hand behind him, presenting us with the forest.

"Huh? Send me a postcard."

I can't hear the owl anymore. I think it flew away.

"Go on. There's the door. You think you can do better? Let's see how far you get."

I pull the leather of Dad's vest up to my face, shyly peeping over the top of it; breathing shakily. I don't want to see how far I can get. I want to stay right here with my people, whether we're starving or not; freezing or not. I think everyone else does, too.

Or at the very least, they want to stay here where there's a warm fire and guns.

"No takers?" He lilts. "Fine. But get one thing straight. If you're staying—"

He pins every single one of us with a look.

"— This isn't a democracy, anymore."

That word Dale used. The one that means things is fair.

Then he sits right back down where he was before, like he didn't just threaten to abandon us all.

Slowly, everyone else sits back down too, because there's nothing else to do. We all heard him. We can't leave. When Dad settles in behind me again, I squirrel into his chest, his arms wrapping around me. There's no sound except for the branches crackling in the fire and the heartbeat beneath his shirt. I don't know where we go from here. But I do know Dad will keep me safe, and Rick will keep the group safe. He's worked himself raw and bloody to make sure we survive. The fish fry, the CDC, the highway, Shane, the fall of the farm. All of it.

We didn't survive all that bullshit just to fall apart now. There's still something out there for us.

We just have to find it.

Author's Notes.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed 😊

I'm sad to see the farm go, but we had a nice time while we were there.

Please leave a comment! I'm anxious to hear from you all after so long :)

[cranberrymoons]

Coffee Shop Au for WIP Weekend!

@steventhusiast @shares-a-vest @sidekick-hero

COFEE SHOP AU!!! 🗣️☕️

this one started over the summer when I got a very aggressive brainworm about Eddie running a shop called Corroded Coffee and then at the end of august when ao3 was down for a few days, I posted the first chunk of it here on tumblr and then immediately ruined goldie's life by making them wait 6 months for an update 😭 but I've been working on it! it's still on the list! the whole thing is about 10k right now and I DO want to finish it and get it posted for real at some point SOON I PROMISE

anyway, here's a little snippet :)

“You’re very smooth,” Steve says. “Everything you do is like –” He laughs, shaking his head. “Like something out of an old movie or something.” Eddie makes a face. “Smooth makes it sound like it’s an act.” “Is it not?” He shrugs. “My uncle raised me right.” “You were raised by your uncle?” Eddie hums, nodding a little. They come to a stop as they wait for the light to change, and he squeezes Steve’s hand.  “My parents didn’t really stick around.” He takes a breath, staring across the street. “Dad was in and out of prison, until he was just… in. And my mom was all over the place, but Wayne was always there.” He shoots a look over at Steve. “No Hungarian nannies for me.” Steve laughs a little. “I regret telling you that, by the way.” “Was she like – a live-in nanny?” Eddie asks as they start walking again. “Did she carry a big handbag and fly with her umbrella and sing songs about spoonfuls of sugar?” “No,” Steve says, laughing harder. “She was just a lady. She took care of me after school when I was a kid. My parents weren’t around a lot either.” “Oh, so ‘nanny’ is just rich people speak for ‘babysitter’,” Eddie says. “Got it.” “Basically,” Steve says. He tucks his chin into his scarf to hide his smile and lets their hands swing between them as they walk. After a moment, he looks over at Eddie again. “You never answered me, by the way. Do you live around here too?” “Yeah, just –” Eddie points in the direction they’re walking. “A little ways up, on the right.” “Oh,” Steve says. He raises his eyebrows. “Okay.” And Eddie laughs, giving him a teasing, sideways glance. “Okay.” They walk for another moment, Steve swaying closer into his side until Eddie slows them to a stop as they reach the steps up to a brownstone, old and rich-looking with lights glowing in the upper story. “So,” Steve says, tilting his head to the side. “I guess this is you?” Eddie lets go of his hand to settle it on his waist instead, pulling him closer. Steve lets himself be pulled, feeling his heart kick, his breath catching a little as he stares at Eddie, head angled back. They’re almost the same height, but Steve is just an inch or two shorter, and up close like this it feels like Eddie towers over him.  “I’m going to kiss you now,” Eddie says. “Is that okay?”

(lol at my wip weekend literally extending INTO THE NEXT WEEKEND because I'm such a slow replier rip)

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina... I need to rant 😠 lmfao

As a life-long Chiefs fan and KC native all I can say is this T*ylor shit is fucking annoying. I know you talk to a LOT of people in the fandom, so you may not remember, but I'm a fellow Sw*ftie hater (maybe that's too harsh but idgaf) and I didn't think it was possible to get more annoyed with this woman than I've been since I stopped being a fan in 2018. Boy, was I WRONG. I'm a die-hard Chiefs fan. I loved my team even when we sucked and couldn't make it to the playoffs (before Patrick Mahomes), so to see EVERYONE make the game on Sunday about her is beyond frustrating. People (Sw*fties) are seriously saying she's the only reason we won. Like we haven't won multiple AFC championships and two Super Bowls in the past three years. Maybe I'm just taking it too seriously, but when our boys played a kick ass game on Sunday after such a shitty season opener (that we lost), it was so nice to see that we're getting our mojo back but I literally can't look at any post, tweet, article, tv segment, etc that doesn't make the game about her.

God, please don't let her be around for the rest of the season 🙏🏻

Also, I'm not saying they're not hooking up, but this is 100% for PR. I've personally never seen them pan to a celebrity so many times during the game. I've never seen "candid" photos of Travis Kelce, Patrick Mahomes, or any of the other popular Chiefs' players leaving Arrowhead Stadium after a game like we just got with Travis & T*ylor, or "candid" photos & videos of any of the popular players driving through the city, which is so sus. And then what really sealed the deal for me was that T*ylor announced earlier today that her concert film will be shown internationally. She was also named as an entertainer of the year for entertainment weekly and is on the cover. Not to mention, she has a new re-recording coming out in a month and continues to announce new versions of the 1989 re-recording. "Someone" must not be happy enough that she's already broke records with the Speak Now sales, is selling the most number of albums overall, but she must be aiming to break those Speak Now records with the 1989 re-recording sales bc she's releasing new versions quite often. I mean, how greedy can one person be. Like you haven't sold enough albums? You don't have enough publicity? You don't have enough money? It's just gross to me.

Also, I personally just found her reactions over the top for someone who isn't even a fan, especially whatever that head shake thing is at the end. But maybe that's just because I find everything she does annoying and cringe.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CxmAHqjrACL/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

Plus, the stats around Travis and the Chiefs have skyrocketed. So they're absolutely getting a lot out of this as well as the NFL like someone mentioned earlier.

I'll attach an article but here are some numbers:

Travis' jersey sales went up almost 400%

Stubhub ticket sales for Chiefs' home games increased threefold in just 24 hrs

Travis gained 325k new ig followers - more than he gained after winning the last Super Bowl

Sunday's Chiefs' game was the most watched NFL game on any network last week

It was also the most watched game among girls and women 12 to 49 yrs old

https://www.axios.com/2023/09/26/taylor-swift-travis-kelce-merch-sales-up-chiefs-kansas-city

And yes, I know I know a lot about her for someone who doesn't like her. But she's inescapable even when I have muted everything related to her... And now she's taking over my everything related to my favorite football team and my city 🤢 Where's Pete Davidson when you need him? 😂

Ok, sorry for that rant. I know I probably sound ridiculous, but I prefer my life T*ylor free just like I prefer my life Ol*via free, and I thought you might understand 😂 Anyways, feel free not to post if you don't want to discuss her anymore.

I hope you're having a good night, Gina. Lots of love.

She really is a horrendous actress. Everything she did at that game was so embarrassingly fake. But clearly people want to believe it because it’s everywhere.

That’s bananas how much his stats already went up and just shows why it’s worth it to do this kind of nonsense, even to someone who’s already really famous.

I’m not interested in football at all, but I’m so sorry she’s contaminating your safe space. 😩

[nowoyas]

Edible Arrangements 34

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: sorry this is running late! I had like three assignments due today and I've been in a depressive rut for like three months so I totally thought I just needed to edit a chapter and post it today. turns out that was the last chapter in my bank and it was only halfway written so AFTER taking an exam I haven't done any coursework for (and kicking ass fuck yeah) and writing a 1k word essay I also hadn't done anything for and also playing stardew valley bc of who I am as a person I finally got the time today to bust out the rest of the chapter! this is more lightly edited than usual due to time reasons. anyways rant over! here's the chapter!

Chapter Summary: Fuck yeah axe throwing and heists!

Warnings: uhhh hospital and knife mentions

Word count: ~2500

Holy fucking shit Tenya is insane. Holy fucking shit you love this.

Axe throwing. He took you axe throwing.

And holy shit, you’re living your best life.

The place does competitions between teams of two, and luckily, there was another pair hoping to fuck shit up on this fine Friday afternoon. They’re both younger, you think—at least, one is. The first, with bobbed brown hair, is definitely around your age—she smiles and waves as you approach. The other, you’re not able to be sure about, namely because she’s just some floating clothes. She’s invisible, apparently.

You wonder if you’d be able to see her features if she lied to you.

“Glad to see we’ve got another pair!” the brunette says as you and Tenya take point beside them. "This is fun, but I think it's a little more fun as a competition!" She's got a playful glint in her eyes. "I'm Ochako! And this is Tooru."

You nod. Tenya gives your names.

"Have you been here before?"

You have not. Tenya shakes his head for the both of you.

“Do you think they’ll be mad if I scream?” you ask as you inspect one of the throwing axes. “I’m going through some shit.”

Ochako laughs. “Go for it. Just try to make it sound more angry than in pain so they don’t freak out, and you should be good!”

Ochako and Tooru are great, as is Tenya. The girls give both of you pointers on good technique as the resident axe-throwing regulars, and you proceed to scream out your rage as you successfully hit a killshot on the target. It’s pure, violent delight, and even Tenya gets into it. By the time it’s over, Ochako and Tooru have thoroughly thrashed you (you silently write it off as the result of both you and Tenya having pretty heavily burnt arms) and you’ve walked out with both girls’ numbers and a group chat entitled “axing questions”.

And speaking of group chats, you haven’t looked at your phone except to get the chat set up since entering the axe-throwing venue. You almost feel light.

Tenya, for his part, is almost hands-off for once. Typically, he can't help but reach in to situations. You never fault him—it's who he's always been. But you can't say you don't welcome the way he's treating you now.

When at last you part ways with Ochako and Tooru, you return to shopping, and though the weird tightness in your chest remains at the thought of Tsuyu, you stick it out to go gift shopping for her. Her birthday's coming whether or not she pressed into something she shouldn't have, and honestly, by now you can't even remember what you were so upset about. You're just stressed about Izuku, is all.

Tenya takes you home when you've both secured your birthday presents for Tsuyu, and at the door, you pause. You wish you'd spent more time out of the house today. Confronting Izuku with everything going on is not something you're up for, and it's all you can do to hope he's still locked away in his office when you walk in. Tenya, sensing your hesitation, places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"You're okay?" he asks.

You nod. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

"If you need to talk..."

He's watching you with this weird look on his face. Familiar. But weird. It's not an attempt to hide a lie, and anyway, you don't know why he would need to lie about offering help.

"Thanks. I'll keep you in mind."

"Um, [name]?"

He's still standing there as you pause with your hand on the doorknob. You wait, patiently, as he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

"I... thank you for today. Truly."

"Are you alright, Tenya?"

He smiles. He doesn't glow. "Better than I have been in a long time. Don't let him worry you too much, alright?"

You smile thinly and nod. "Thank you for today. I think I needed this more than I realized. You've been distant since new year's, so I'm glad that whatever it is has cleared up. I don't think I could take you being mad at me, too."

He chuckles softly. "I could never."

He bids you goodnight, and you linger on the porch until long after he's gone, palm massaging a particularly itchy bite mark. The night air will be your comfort, if that is all you get to have.

~

This plan might possibly be ill-conceived.

It's funny; Neito never thought he'd question himself like this. Ever since his untimely death at the hands of his stepsister, he's been doing that plenty.

So now, every time he thinks back to tonight's plans, he finds himself preening. Smoothing out a shirt, then deliberately re-wrinkling it just to do something with his hands as he goes over it again and again.

"You're going to drive yourself insane like that."

He snorts softly. "And you're going to drive yourself insane worrying so much about me."

Itsuka leans against the door frame, hands clenched into fists. Normal-sized, thank god. "It's not like you don't give me reason to worry. I feel like a mother, and I'm not even out of college yet."

"Now, now, there's plenty of mothers in college. You know one of them, she brings her infant to our—"

She rolls her eyes. "I get it. You're obnoxious."

"Isn't that what siblinghood is all about?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

He can work with standoffish. The words are coming easier to him. Even just the one session with Dr. Fuyumi seems to be doing its work well, given that he and Itsuka are actually talking.

"You do realize how stupid this plan of yours is, right?"

"Isn't it?" He smooths out the cotton undershirt over the table once again. "But I think it's all we have."

"Did you try asking her for the records?"

"What good would that do? If she said no, not only would we be at square one, but she'd be more vigilant. She'd know to keep an eye out for missing records, and she'd know who'd taken them when she noticed them gone. Like this, she has no reason to suspect anything."

She sighs. "I get it, but... this is illegal, you know?"

"A lot of things are illegal. But you know, many ethical theorists agree that the most moral action ignores the concept of justice in favor of—"

"Oh my god, do not talk to me about philosophy. Just... this is me, trying to talk you out of it. And if you and your friends get caught stealing the therapy records of one of your classmates, I'm going to tell the police that I tried to talk you out of it. So just, do me a favor and pretend like I've talked you out of it. If you go out and do it anyway, I don't want to hear about it. So if the cops ask, I'm not involved, you're my stepbrother and you're crazy and I honestly thought I talked you out of this stupidity. Got it?"

"Aw," he teases, "I'm glad to have your blessing."

The smack to the back of his head is well worth it.

~

The receptionist isn't cold, but she's not talkative, either. Hitoshi keeps his phone on his lap, waiting for the signal from Mina. Namely, for her to walk in through the door.

Tsuyu to Heist Crew at 6:32PM

Tsuyu: We're here. Hitoshi, heads up.

Hitoshi: cool. no cameras in here. I love patient privacy rights.

Tsuyu: I'm sure you do.

He glances up from his phone at the receptionist, who's hard at work with some stack of papers at her desk. One deep breath. Another.

This is for you.

"Hey, where's the bathroom?" he asks.

"Oh, it's down the—" She chokes on the words, face going blank.

Bingo.

Hitoshi: come in.

"Stay in your seat and close your eyes." A precaution.

The girls file in quickly, gloves already in place. Hitoshi snaps his own onto his hands.

"Give me your keys to the building."

The keys wait in her palm. He takes them carefully, and the trio strides into the back of the office.

It couldn't have been better-timed. Neito's appointment was the last of the day, which meant no distractions. No risks.

"Tsuyu, you check the receptionist's computer. Mina, with me. We're going to search the file room," he whispers. Several nods, and they're sliding down the hall.

Dr. Fuyumi Todoroki likes to keep files on paper. It was a nice quirk for Neito to notice during their first session: she wrote every single thing down. According to Neito, corroborated by both Mina and Tsuyu, you started attending therapy right around two years ago. Mina takes the filing cabinet labeled "2047", and Hitoshi beelines to "2048", to cover both potential years.

And it's easy. It's almost too easy. He finds a file with your name on it, calls off Mina and Tsuyu, and slaps the entire thing into the copier. With the copies in place, stapled, your file is returned, and then everything is locked back up. They slide out of the back, Tsuyu joins them, and then Hitoshi is handing the keys back to the receptionist. "Put these back in your desk drawer and close the door."

When she obeys, Mina and Tsuyu walk out with the copied file in hand. Only then does Hitoshi give his last command. "Forget you ever saw me or these two."

There's the subtle twitch of the expression, and then he walks out the door. When he's sure every sign of them is gone, he releases his hold and tells himself that this hasn't proven anything.

Hitoshi to Neito at 6:36PM

Hitoshi: hey, I'm going to wait at the cafe down the street. let me know when you're out of your appointment.

He pockets his phone. No sense waiting for a return text that won’t come.

The three of them hang out in said café as long as they can. Hitoshi nurses his coffee, watching with an approximation of amusement as Tsuyu does her damnedest to keep Mina from blurting about everything they just did. When a lull comes in the conversation, Tsuyu catches his eye.

“You’re a really quiet person.”

“I’m just tired,” he replies.

“Constantly?”

“Yes. Constantly.”

There’s a moment of pause, where she seems already to know whatever it is is running through Hitoshi’s mind. Honestly, he’s not even sure, until he’s saying it.

“It feels weird actually reading the notes we got,” he admits with a shrug.

She nods. “I feel like we have to. This won’t work if the notes don’t back up everything we say, right?”

“Not to be your resident killjoy, but we don’t know if it’ll work at all.”

“So we’re all clear?”

Hitoshi turns to see Neito, standing behind their table looking absolutely elated for someone who wasn’t even directly involved in pulling off their little heist. “Yeah. We got them. Get your vanilla latte or whatever and we’ll take a look to see if it’s any good.”

Neito pauses. “How did you know my coffee order?”

“Wow, that’s seriously it? You are easy to read.”

When Neito returns with his coffee, Hitoshi lays out the notes on the table. “We need to get our story straight with the notes. If even one detail is off, they’ll latch onto it and this whole thing falls apart.”

He wishes he’d made multiple copies of the notes. Luckily, Tsuyu and Mina needed a refresher more than anything, having been there, so the notes were mainly shared between Hitoshi and Neito as they laid out the details.

Regardless, they keep their heads down, their nose to the work, and they iron out every last detail until they’ve got a truth powerful enough to smash your thrall.

This better work.

~

You don’t know how long you sit on the porch. The night air is a comfort, and Izuku’s front door seems just so heavy tonight. So you sit. You breathe. You think of the fight with Izuku.

You don’t think you’re unjustified in wanting him to live. You don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask someone not to do something which might very well kill them, let alone to ask that of someone you care deeply for.

But… shit, you get it. He’s going after someone who destroyed everything he cared about. You have to understand that, and you do!

But…

You continue to turn the “buts” over in your head, passing them back and forth until you’re dizzy with the effort to just stop being mad at Izuku.

“I really hate this,” you whine into the cold.

“Aw, that’s too bad!”

A shrill giggle.

The cold isn’t just in the air now. It’s in your blood, in your lungs, in the glint of metal in the hand of—

A man. He’s tall, ratty-looking, with features you can’t make out in the dark. It’s just as well—they’re dripping away into a far more familiar sight.

You’re not sure if the scream leaves your mouth or stays viciously stuck in your throat.

~

“So then we’re seriously doing this!” Mina chirps as they stride out of the café at last. “[name]’s gonna get all her memories back!”

“Seems like it.”

“When should we go talk to her? I know she’s been kind of down lately, but—“

Mina’s phone rings. She takes it out, glances at the caller, and, brows furrowed, answers it.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Surprise on her face morphs into trepidation. Trepidation morphs into horror. If a girl with pink skin could go pale…

“W-where? I’m with most of the others right now. Everyone but Tenya, actually…”

A pause. A nod. Hitoshi hasn’t even tried not to pay attention since she answered the phone.

“But why did… why did you call me?”

“…yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. Okay. Um… are they… how are they…”

“No, yeah, I’m okay! Yeah! I… I have to be, right? This isn’t the time to be… You know what, all of you. Walk with me. Tsuyu’s car. Now.” She gives an urgent look to Hitoshi and the others, and they each go along with it. Mina doesn’t drop the phone from her ear until she’s sat in the passenger’s seat and everyone’s buckled in, and even then, only to give Tsuyu the address to a hospital.

“When do you think she’ll tell us what’s going on?” Hitoshi whispers to Neito, who shrugs.

“I’m sure we’ll find out…?”

“Izuku, listen. They need you to breathe right now. We’re on our way. Have you called Tenya?” A pause. “Okay, I’ll call him. Tsuyu, is his place on the way?”

Tsuyu nods. “He’s not far from the hospital.”

“Stop to pick up Tenya.”

Tsuyu nods, knuckles white on the wheel. Mina goes back to her careful attempts to talk Izuku through whatever’s happened. The others in the car just have to wait to understand, apparently.

As though that’s fair to anyone.

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[princess-pill-enjoyer]

Crazy to log back in after all this time especially after the way I left things. So much has changed and I'm nearly 2 years sober in November. My year long addiction such a central part of me now. Even with me never bothering to take it anymore, being in that state of mind for so long changed me in so many ways. In just a year at that

I've color coded the sections. It was too much of a wall of text. Orange is for work, pink for my boo, green for my life perspective now that im sober and older, the other colors... you'll see it when you get there. Just a summary of everything I've ever wanted to talk about in all this time.

I've quit that job I was talking bout last post. Worked there til mid April and I rage quit. Put my two weeks in then just ain't show for the last what.. 4 days? Fuck that job fr. Assholes worked me to death. How tf I was parttime and working 12 hour shifts back to back at that?

Anyway. I still work in the same field. I'm just at these retirement homes now. I work two at the moment, though one just offered me a new position up there so hopefully I can leave the one closest to me. Buttholes think I'm a robot up there.

The biggest change is thatt, I have a partner now. He's been here with me since late July. We've gotten an apartment now, too as of like 2 months ago now. I've never trusted anyone more.

How it all went down? I was friendly with his sister as she was the one that trained me. I used to talk to her alot which end up leading to me meeting her brother since he also worked up there and was constantly around his little sister. We ended up talking more than me and the sister did. He used to come out to the cafeteria i was running and talk to me for however long time allowed. Whether for an hour or for a few mins, he'd say hi to me.

After a lil while, led to her inviting me to her house. At my old job, in our 12 shift, we were really there for 14 hrs. They gave us an hour and a half break between the 1st and 2nd shift. With her only living 5 mins from the job it wasn't a hard ask lol. Sitting around at that job was not fun. I was by this point not feeling nothing towards my partner but friendship. Which was crazy cause a few days later, I went out there seeing if my dad was outside, only to see him outside waiting to pick up his sister. I was talking to him out in the rain for a lil, then i ofc got in the car to continue talking after a while. Sat there running my mouth for long enough that his sister came out. She had this devilishly big smile on her face when she said "oh I did invite you over"

That one trip led to coming over hanging out with her brother specifically, spending a night watching movies in her room, getting friendly with their mom. I started to feel so welcome. Then, I got a lil tipsy annd bumped my head and he pulled me towards him trying to see if I was okay annnd the rest was history. I ended up moving in, with their mother's push and my family pushing me away with how eager they were for me to gtfo. Barely talk to me now that im gone. Unless i reach out ofc. It's been ups, downs, but he somehow was there through all that.

I even got kicked out the house for "hitting" their mother. In reality, by that point, I was paying $250 a month for the room I shared with him, I paid for household supplies, I cleaned. Everything. So after a while, it was a bit tiring getting screamed at for any and every mistake I made. I had threw away pieces of this series x box and she told me take it out her trash and throw it in the outside. I grabbed as much as I could at the time as I had other pieces already in my hand but it wasn't good enough. She said to come get the rest and I was confused. I just said my hands are full and I went to throw the rest away. But me saying my hands were full was a problem. I don't know if I said it in a tone, I was tryna be as calm as I could, but it wasn't good enough.

She started yelling and talking shit, calling me names. All types of stuff. Me and him was just taking it. Not saying a single thing back, like she liked. But he threw his phone at the wall in frustration and I thought it was time to fix it. It wasn't that serious in my eyes. So I came up to her asking why she thought I had an attitude so we can fix it. I didn't have an attitude and even if I did, I still did what she asked with no hesitation. With two trips, I threw the whole box away and ripped it up just like she wanted to make sure it wouldn't take up too much room. But all that was null and void because of how she perceived my voice.

So in my failed attempts to get her to talk to me, she just getting angrier and angrier which made me frustrated. I just stood there asking again and again what did I do to make you think I had an attitude, her getting mad and saying she ain't have to explain herself to me, which I was trying to explain I wasn't trying to make her explain why she was mad I just wanted to know how I wronged you so I CAN FIX IT. And me standing there and her getting angry eventually led her to pointing a finger right in my face which I swatted away. It was reflex really. Was mere inches away from my eye and I never once touched her so why get physical?? I don't know what possessed her to even do that.

And me swatting her hand, was the worst decision ever. The mother started trying to swing at me, the sisters boyfriend that also lived there at that point was trying to hit me and my boyfriend jumped in and pulled me back. I couldn't focus on nothing anymore and the next thing I knew the sisters boyfriend came up to me and pushed me onto the bed. I was so scared I didn't know what he was going to do next and I started freaking out. I couldn't breath I couldn't think. I just felt so scared and helpless. I had to hear the rest after the fact

My boyfriend and his sister's boyfriend both got into a fight, the sister and the mother tried to break up. The mom got pushed down to the floor in the process (which was as I said, happened during the process of a whole fist fight between these grown men. You'll see why I clarify this), my boyfriend picked him up, and somehow someway, the sisters boyfriend went to go grab his gun. A gun that he apparently had at the house. It was an assault riffle

When he did that the whole atmosphere changed. No one was focused on the fight they were focused on him putting the gun up. Then they came to me and that's where my pov comes back. I was there on the bed curled up crying ripping out my hair, and my boyfriend standing over me just angry at everything. He just stood over me crying frustrated trying to get me breathe. Then the sister just stood over me, like I was an alien. I regretted even saying anything. I wondered if I should've just grabbed it all and just let it fall out my hands so she knew I wasn't being funny acting. I started to wonder if I was right to swat her hand or should I have let her touch me first before I did that. All these thoughts made me feel so powerless as none of those decisions should have led to this brawl.

The sisters boyfriend tried to play man of the house and talk shit and the sister just smiled. My boyfriend still hasn't forgiven her for it. He never looks at her the same anymore. It feels like I broke up the family. To. This. Day. The mom kicked me out and my boyfriend said fuck everyone and left with me. He helped me pack everything because the mom was telling me "my fatass needs to hurry up" and "sitting there like shit sweet" and smart comment after smart comment while I'm over there just bawling my eyes out. We went to his dad's house who asked for an explanation but once we explained, he respected that it was a huge blowup, and the dude pulling out a gun was bigger than all this.

Little did we know, the little bit of relief we felt being at his dad's house for the night would be short lived. The mom, sister, and her boyfriend were all going around calling up family to tell their twisted version of events. They said I hit mama and my partner pushed her to the ground. I felt like a mouse. The whole family hated me atp. But we spent a night at the dad's house, explained everything to everyone calling him and just kept on going. The sisters ended up believing us in saying they were kinda shocked to hear I'd hit their mom knowing how I am so they were more mad that they twisted the story and didn't even include the fact this man just pulled out a gun on their brother. We told everything as it happened so it helped our story alot

Anyway, we lived there for a few months, feeling trapped and stupid. His dad's house was filthy and we were working hard to pay rent at his dad's, find and apartment, and save for a deposit fee. We barely could eat because the kitchen was so nasty half the time you didn't know what you were touching. The silverware were half dirty, the fridge handle always had food remnants caked on it, food would be left out overnight and more, dishes there for days. Everything. This is all because his dad is half blind and his fiance works so she expects him to do all the cleaning. His cleaning skills are not the best but I can't fully blame him given his disability.

We were eating off fast food everyday for months because of this. We'd barely eat just because we hid rhe fact we were eating out where we could, so he wouldn't feel offense on why we wouldn't eat his and her food, and we kept it pushing.

We moved out in April annd things have gotten better in a sense. We argue way more but I think that's natural for how much more we get to be around each other. I don't work as long hours and we're in each other's face 24/7. But I get so angry. I don't know why. It's like I hold back so much, just angry talking at first, then he says something that makes me snap. Then, I'm screaming, throwing things, and I try to get away. It feels all instinct, like someone else is taking over. And all I can do is wait til I calm down and apologize for being scary. I don't hurt him. I never will. I've thrown my phone, broken countless bracelets off me, and I've scratched myself over and over trying to make myself focus on something else, but I've never thrown more than a pen directly at him. I feel so guilty everytime I do it. But I be feeling unheard in the moment and I just want it over with. To be left alone again.

But he holds onto me anyway. He sees me for more than just my blowups. He hates it and has asserted he won't take it forever, but he understands Im not used to love upclose. I'm the ex princess pill enjoyer. I went an entire year with an addiction only my sisters noticed. I've lost my two closest friends along with the whole robotics friend group I thought I'd have in an instant. I usually am one disagreement from losing someone, so I hold it in. But now, I have someone to learn to let it out for. Someone to learn to not blowup for. It's just hard.

I'm really trying though. I tried jumping out the car cause I was so mad and he just stopped the car and held me. Even though he was just as mad at me. We were arguing just a second before. Ever since then, that rage scares me. I'm not in control the way i thought I was. I would never jump out a moving fucking vehicle in my life. You can break your arm, scrape the skin right off you, knock yourself out. Anything. But I just felt this trance of I couldn't keep being in this car arguing and I started saying I couldn't do it and just opened the door. I don't know what I was thinking. I really wasn't thinking. But knowing that's a possibility, I just know I have to fix myself.

I've been doing better. I nowadays will just throw my phone and get mad and he'll just leave it instead of continuing like normal. Then once I calm down, we talk about why I got so mad, he explains why he was mad at me in the first place, and we're good. I hope someday I can skip on the rage part entirely but I've been doing better now that I have a moment to collect myself. Plus, I know no matter what argument, til the day he betrays my trust, I will always want him in my life and these petty arguments change nothing. He's shown me time and time again he loves me through everything so I will make sure I love him unconditionally too.

And that's where everything is now. I'm at work typing this now. I'm resisting the urge to impulsively quit. My boss just called me yesterday frustrated I don't pick up morning shifts last second trying to make it like I just don't want to work. I just don't think that's a humane ask. On your day off, would you want to be called awake at 6am to get up and IMMEDIATELY go to work? No. She'd give me a one day notice on morning shifts too and I'd say no, because I didn't want to cut the day short to go to bed for work. And that's a problem here.

I have a second job that's been great but the distance and pay wasn't the best. But they appreciate me, they've tried to fight for better pay, and the were sad I tried this job. Annnd crazily, I came back, did orders for a few days, and they offered me a part time receptionist while doing orders too. Giving me damn near full time hours. Like FINALLYYYY I'm not waiting on random shifts to make my money. I can just come in and do the same work everyday.

It's not confirmed til Monday but, soon as it's confirmed. I'm outttt

Life doesn't get better, it just changes. If anything it gets worse. Seriously. I've wanted to die all the time lately. It's just a new hurt. You can't ever escape it. In a way, it's harder and easier. On the one hand, you have a different type of worth now. Once you move out, youre not just parents burden, you become your own burden. So that constant guilt I used to feel is gone. I don't ask for help no matter what. I even hate gifts from them now. I feel like they use that as their way to have something to say about what I'm doing. But you burdening yourself also stings cause you have to drag yourself to shit you don't want ALLLLLLL THE TIMEEE. Don't want to go to work? Call in sick? Don't have any sick hours? Call in with an emergency. Gotta do what uou gotta do. I'm not proud of it. But even then... you have to be socially aware of everyone's opinion of your actions. Or, you choosing yourself too many times will make you lose a job, get played at your job, or fuck you over come time to pay everything. It's such a big sacrifice to choose yourself now.

That's just true in general when you get out the house. That's what makes it so difficult.. I barely was choosing myself before. But now? There's no one else but you. If you don't go out to make yourself some money, you'll make yourself miserable worrying about food, bills, and keeping a roof over your head. But some days you argue right before work. Some days you want to end it and you don't want to to think about nothing else. But I have to think, if I fail this time, what's gonna happen? If you try it, and you fail, what are you going to do? Are you gonna be able to afford copays on your hospital stay? Are you gonna be able to get back to work if need be? Are you gonna be able to be in others faces right after that happened to you? Is there even going to be a job waiting on you by the time you recover?

I'm more scared of the day I'll attempt now. If I attempt now, I'll fuck over my partner. I wonder how he'd take it. I'd probably break him. Even though I regularly tell him I want to die to this day, he'll never feel the full weight til he sees how serious it gets for me. I don't want to take away his character showing him that. I'll break up and do it before I sneak off and do something like that now. I know that would hurt him still. But even before him, it's just harder on me making that decision.

I'm still open to it though. Thus far, this life shit still sucks. The work life balance is just gone in America. Unless you're making top dollar, buying a house, regularly vacationing, and having money to properly invest in your hobbies, you're just sitting around on you butt/doing chores/getting business handled. You've always had to work for your money but nowadays uou need to hoard this nonexistent extra money just to do anything. It's so dull. I already didn't want to do this and now I'm bored to death half the time. Great!!!1!11!!! (I've developed a tiktok addiction now. It's an instict for me to get on as soon as I'm not doing anything. I can't stand to be bored for one second 😶‍🌫️)

Anywaysss. That's it. I'm alive, I'm the same, but with a boyfriend now. I have the same brain from way back when I was daily posting on here. There's just more stuff chaining me down to this world. If you read all this thank you. I hope you feel seen. I know it's not easy out here

...and to the people that didn't read. Yea. I get it 😅

[totally-not-deacon]

It's WIP Wednesday, my dudes!

Tagged by @throughtrialbyfire! Thanks a bunch!!

In turn, I'll bug @miraakulous-cloud-district @kookaburra1701 and @rogueshadeaux if ya wanna!

Sooo, I haven't had as much time to write as I usually would, thanks to condensed courses kicking in. Thankfully it's only for the next two months. And most of the writing I have been doing isn't directly part of AR, but a future may-not-ever-be-published-cause-it's-just-that-self-indulgent sappy epilogue lmao. That one started out as getting a scene out of my head, and then it just... exploded. I'll give y'all some of the main fic I've chipped away at, and as a treat, a little bit of epilogue that won't spoil TOO much of what's going down under the cut.

Arenthia Red:

“When this is all over with, I’m moving somewhere flat.” Marasa shivered so hard she felt she’d fall over. Maybe there was a shout out there that would teach her to fly. Wouldn’t that be nice? “I don’t even want to see an anthill after this.” “And yet you’re the one that dragged us up here.” Nebarra grumbled. “And once again, left me to haul all the firewood.” “Oh, you’ll live.” “The day’s not over yet.” “Guys, can we please go inside now? I’m not even sure I still have toes.” No, if any of them was looking worse for wear, it was Lucien. The fact that he was still upright and not lying frozen halfway back down the path was a shock to them all. She wasn’t sure he’d ever acclimate to the cold or altitude. “Alright, alright, we’re going.” Marasa bumped his shoulder playfully before dragging the massive door open, the frozen metal scraping against the stone making their ears ring. Their footfalls echoed across the hall, just as they had the first time they’d stepped through. In fact, it looked like nothing had changed at all. Maybe it had always been like this, even at its founding. “Hello? Arngeir, you home?” she called out, wincing at how loud her little joke was compared to the relative silence of the monastary. “I’m sure he just ran down to the market for some bread and eggs.” Nebarra deadpanned next to her. “Shut it, skeever brain.” she rapped her knuckles against his breastplate. “Rich coming from the goblin wearing an elf suit.” “Are you children done?” Xelzaz shook his head. The gods must have a strange sense of humor when it came to picking their champions.

Self-Indulgence ahead! (set four-ish years post-game in 4E205)

“What’s the name of the ship again?”

“The… Sword of Alinor, I think.”

“Huh, weird name for a passenger ship.” she mumbled, letting her feet dangle over the side of the dock, toes just barely skimming the water’s surface. Must have been repurposed after the war. Marasa’s fingers twisted in the hem of her tunic. She tried to focus on the sound of the waves crashing against the docks, trying to keep the urge to run at bay. She zeroed in on it. This had to be a mistake, just what was she thinking?

“Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?”

“You’ve been pacing for the last hour.”

“I get sea sick.” he said, simply.

“No you don’t.” Nebarra grumbled to himself before taking a seat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. She pressed herself into him, sighing. It was uncommon for either of them to show much affection in public – rarely did they let their guard down enough to do so. The change of pace was… nice. Maybe it would last. “Besides, they’ll like you. Probably.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” he said flatly, feeling her laugh quietly against him. “And you’re sure they won’t mind me…”

“Being an Altmer?” she asked, shaking her head. “Not at all. I mean, my first partner was Khajiit, after all.”

“Wait, really?” Had she not told him that? Must have slipped her mind. “He wasn’t one of those… really big ones, right? ‘Cause I’ll fight your ex if I have to, but –”

Marasa snorted. “No, and you don’t have to fight anyone. Last I heard, Ja’zan’s married and been living in Riverhold for decades now.”

“But seriously, what’s got you nervous?” That was his job, anyway. This was more terrifying than any dragon they’d faced together – including Alduin – as far as he was concerned.

“ Besides the obvious? It’s just… Last time, I didn’t even tell them I left, or why. Just… hopped on the first ship out at dawn, didn’t matter where it was going. And now,” she chewed her lip. “It’s been almost fifteen years. What if they don’t want to see –”

“Then they wouldn’t have sounded so excited in their letter.” He rested his hand on the back of her neck, thumb rubbing soothing circles against it. Marasa leaned into the touch. “Besides, at least you’re better at writing home than I am.”

“I’m glad you did, though.”

Only to get you to quit harassing me about it.” he teased.

[hoenn-hakase]

what was the TPP moment that gave you the most writing fuel? one that still rly sticks in ur head. (feel free to ramble)

Gosh, that's both super hard and super easy to answer! Twitch Plays Pokemon has had SOOOO many memorable moments that immediately come to mind that have captured my imagination or turned into a major part of my lore, there's just too many to name. However, there's a lot of moments that mean so much to me but I haven't written anything (or at least not published it) about those moments. I think I have fics either plotted out in my head or partially written for just about every single Randomized Run we've done because rattling the formula always brings out some of the coolest concepts and creativity within the community. Like I have an entire backstory and character arc for Lorekeeper James from Randomized Alpha Sapphire, which a lot of people fell in love with this random Bug Catcher suddenly getting boss music. Or when Trevor in Randomized Y turned out to be the Flare Admin we had to fight at the Poke Ball Factory, but then we had a crash and my heart just breaks thinking about the scene afterward where we went "back in time" to before all the kids met up at the park. And now Trevor, Calem, and Venus all awkwardly trying to pretend nothing happened while staring each other down with the utmost scrutiny as each wonders if the other two is aware of what happened. But don't worry, all this causes him to have a bit of a breakdown and soul searching before turning against Team Flare to go rescue Abomasnow. Or even as recently as Randomized Violet+ and how I've been a bit obsessed with Terra and her misadventures for the last few months and her showing up again as the host for Super Gauntlet Ruby is not helping that. Heck, Randomized Platinum was probably the biggest world building run for my lore it's one of the three establishment fics I've had partially started that I feel needs to be either written or fully explained to point to why the Haji TPP Verse is the way it is! And hhhnnngggg.... so much more...

Of course there's also a difference between the lore to come out of things (which I've written for after being inspired by other authors or artists in the community) and the onscreen moments that seemed to change everything. And while I have a lot of runs I love, a few I can point to as "THIS still hits hard" are things like my very first fanfic I posted to the TPP subreddit was in the aftermath of Leech King's death. I remember being at work, plotting out an entire series that would follow Abe and the others trying to get to the bottom of who had her murdered and why, having Alakazam and Venomoth that joined around the same time being hired detectives, and ICU coming into her own as the heir to the throne and whatnot, but it didn't get very far and even looking back was pretty bad writing. I did eventually get around to writing the post game like I wanted with my Much Ado About Blue series so that's definitely continued to be a wealth of writing fuel. Heck, when I started my Connections series, the inspiration was from Faba kicking our ass eight ways to Sunday in Waning Moon and the feeling there was probably a personal connection there. But I literally only planned for like seven chapters if even that because I didn't expect myself to start novelizing the run as a way to lead up to that moment. Originally the plan was to skip between certain cutscenes to establish lore on Quips. (My doc is still simply labeled "Hau" even though the story has grown since then.) But for moments? I mostly do angst and dramas anyway, but one piece I'm rather proud of and STILL upset about is my short for the ending of Pyrite. Ugh, the bitterness and how everyone and their dog had an opinion on the ending of that run and poor Eeyup getting dropped after we finished instead of getting some kind of proper send off or victory lap. Or on the note of Evan and Azure, this spur of the moment piece that's kind of hinted at. I love when I'm archiving runs and something comes up like a Glitch or crash, or something so unexpected I just INSTANTLY get the idea and need to write a short for it.

But I must say when I read this question, the first thing that came to mind was my novel for Blazed Glazed. Holy crap, this Run changed a lot of things for me. For one, being an original ROM hack means there's an entire world that has been a fountain of writing fuel for me I intend to get back to eventually. Who are these original characters? What is their story? How does Tunod work? How does it connect to other games it made a guest appearance in? Team Fusion showed up in RW2 meaning there's a whole history there with these guys. I made special edits of the Team leaders. It's kind of insane because I had written stuff for other runs before, obviously, but this was like all consuming on my brain. And you know what started it off? ...I started watching the VODs because it seemed like there wasn't much talk about it for me to know what was happening. We got our starter, met with THE INVENTOR, met Blake (our NPC partner for the long haul) and suddenly there was a Glitch. I was already intrigued by the opening, but when the Inventor was supposed to follow and instead became frozen and uninteractable, my mind started running. I paused my viewing and started writing. It's by far the longest series I've written and what made it so fascinating in a way was writing as I watched meant there are several points I didn't know where the story was going. So I may plan on something, but then it didn't turn out that way so how do I rework the script to account for the unexpected character appearances? Freezes? Glitches? How about a random detour to find specific teammates? And don't get me wrong, like most games, the actual plot can seem vague or even silly in the writing sometimes, but then that makes it fun to try to flesh out what the deeper reasoning could be for why something is happening? And then tying it into the larger TPP universe has just been... ahh~ <3

Anyway, this has gotten really long but I hope that answers your question. I'm sorry this kind of turned into one big shameless plug. Dang I've written a lot, but I love this fandom so much. I can't even ;w;