#i always play fast and loose with canon

[izzysarchivedblogs]

There's groan given that is paired with a roll of his eyes, cheeky smile put upon his lips. "The internet is boring, Tony." He loves the internet for its ease of access for a lot of things. Google was incredible, but when they were cuddling on his couch. Tony in his clothes, ignoring the tv to chat. He blame Stark absolutely for putting him in a talking mood now. Still wasn't glad for the what is this conversation.

"Where's the fun? You've either got to show them to me-" That makes it personal, intimate, sharing with a friend. "Or I'll get them another way." Break in. It's been awhile since he and Natasha have attacked or slipped into Tony's place and gotten into his system. It's mutually beneficial, Clint and Nat test out their ability to get into places they shouldn't and Tony gets to find all the flaws in his system.

"Bet you were a potato baby, all chubby and squishy." Cute.

He lays his chin down on Tony for a moment, listening to him and only mumbling. "That sucks." He would have something more to say, constantly being in pictures and having no privacy would be awful. He couldn't imagine it. Guess in way one, he should count himself lucky there's no physical evidence besides being deaf of his past. Oh, and Barney. "Were some of them good?" He means the memories, "Problem for me is I have nothing. At all. Suppose having too much is also a bad thing." There was nothing that he and Barney got to keep. Even the good memories of their mother are only memories, no relics and he's never bothered trying to find them. No pictures.

It was like he didn't exist until he was Hawkeye.

What Clint's not expecting from today was to find out something new and personal about Tony, that he's got a brother and that he was adopted. Shit, is all he can think. "I hate to say it but it's not surprising. Before we ran away, we were in an orphanage. The place's motto? A heart for every child, or something like that. They didn't care." If Tony was sharing deep, personal than he would share back. So Tony didn't feel like he was the only one opening up.

"Philanthropist." He just mumbles, "Spending time with kids ain't bad, I'll teach the neighborhood kids some thing time to time." Like the teenage girl, who thinking of her is opening the front door. "He pissed, he shat. Lucky's happy, almost got a girlfriend." She calls out, unhooks the dog and leaves the apartment without so much as looking up at Clint. He doesn't even have time to call back to her besides.

"Thanks." With that, Lucky is bounding over to his food and water bowl before he comes to sit in front of the couch and stare at the both of them.

Tony laughed. "Get out your phone and google," he said, reaching down and pinching his hip in the same playful style of the bite and flick. The way it was going they were going to end up wrestling on the floor like a couple of kids. "One of the side effects of being born rich and attractive means you don't get any privacy. You can find all kinds of pictures of me. Childhood ones. Ones were I'm napping in the back of cars. Police mug shots. Edits that made me look like I have the body of a well waxed porn star. I'm sure there's mullet pics there of me."

He let out a huff. "Though I may have been born attractive, it wasn't rich. Haven't you heard? Tony Stark was adopted. I have a brother and everything."

It was new news to him too and something he was still getting used to. Arno was on the board of Stark Solutions and was smart enough to keep up with Tony. But he was bed locked due to a childhood illness. So while it wasn't a secret, it also wasn't something everyone knew about. "Pretty weird, huh? Imagine deciding to adopt a kid and then treating them the way he treated me?" He stopped and shook his head. He wasn't going to get darker than that. Not when he was enjoying the softness. "Anyway, I've been looking into my biological parents. I've been spending some time at orphanages. Funding them. Spending time with the kids. That's been nice."

[formosusiniquis]

🪱 Wiggle Wednesday🪱

Thank you @paperbackribs who tagged me last week, I saw it while I was in class and immediately forgot until I saw people posting their things today. But I'm always excited to share my current brainworms

This is a scene from a fic that I pick at every now and then, so it's basically always on the brain. It started as something about Lucas and Steve and trying to explain away the slight anachronism of Steve (popular and rich) being in Nikes before Jordan made them cool (thank you Air) and it has turned into something much more about Lucas and also his Mom relating through a shared love of basketball and Steve is also there.

It’s a Friday night after the end of the world, and strangely Lucas is at a basketball game.

Or maybe it’s only strange because it’s so normal.

A Friday night in a small town and there isn’t much to do except support the home team. Only Mom won’t watch football, she calls it barbaric, so she reserves all her team spirit for November when basketball season starts. Lucas’ skin itches a little under the Hawkins Tigers shirt he’s wearing, as he’s pretending to be normal when a couple weeks ago he learned monsters were real. What can he do though? Mrs. Byers has Will on house arrest, Mike is still mourning Eleven, and Dustin hasn’t been allowed out since Will’s Lazarus act.

Maybe he’s being too sensitive. Steve is here, who Lucas mostly knows from Mike complaining about being Nancy’s stupid boyfriend. Steve is playing like everything is fine, even though Lucas knows Steve knows. He heard whispering about it with Nancy when he went to the bathroom the last time he was at Mike’s. But Steve is smiling as he paces down the court. Miles better than the other players around him, when Steve has the ball Lucas feels like he does when he’s watching a real basketball game on the couch with his Mom.

If Steve can act like things are normal. If he can sink three pointer after rebound after assist, maybe it’s okay that Lucas is wearing his Tiger green. He floats down the court and everyone cheers. But no one cheers right. When #21 Hagan gets a rebound off of Seymour’s best player, a girl’s voice screams so loud it makes his throat hurt. No one cheers that way for Steve. It’s just excitement for the game, not for him and the way he is playing.

When the game ends, Hawkins 73: Seymour 42, and the crowd storms the court Lucas stands by his Mom in the bleachers. She hates feeling the push of the crowd against her and as he gets older, and people’s hands get rougher, he’s starting to understand. He’s too old to be caught standing by his Mom though. After everything, he knows better than to move too far away from her; going to the game with your Mom is one thing, being the kid getting called out over the intercom because she can’t find you would be life ruining.

Lucas watches the thinning crowd while he waits. Parents and girlfriends crowding their sweaty players. He doesn’t want to get caught looking at any of those boys for too long now that they aren’t playing. He isn’t sure why. So he keeps looking for something familiar.

Steve is standing beside a short, dark haired man who’s got what his father calls a beer gut. He doesn’t look anything like Steve, but he’s also the only adult anywhere near him. He’s the only person at all that’s really near Steve. They’re talking excitedly about something. He claps Steve on the back and whatever he says next has Steve looking down toward the floor.

“Is that Steve’s dad?” he asks his mom before thinking about why that might be a weird question to ask her.

“Who?” The way she says it makes him sure she hadn’t actually heard the question. She’d caught a name, when he interrupted her conversation with the lady next to them, but not enough to answer. It’s a free chance to drop the issue. To say sorry, never mind, and go back to watching people move on the floor below them.

“That guy,” she slaps his hand down as he goes to point. “The guy next to Steve, number 8, is that his dad?”

“How do you know him?” The question, instead of an answer, startles him enough that he looks at her instead of Steve. Stern, he knows he doesn’t want to lie to her, but he also isn’t sure how to say that this random high school boy saved two of his best friends’ older siblings' lives.

“He’s Nancy’s boyfriend. Mike talks about him.”

If he’d just waited. He would have gotten his question answered without asking Mom. They both watch as that man says one more thing to Steve, shakes his hand, and walks out of the gym. “I don’t see Nancy here.” Because they both know he doesn’t really need his other question answered anymore.

“I don’t think she really likes sports.”

Mom sucks her teeth, a judgmental tchk that has heat climbing the back of his neck when it's not even for him. "Well that's a shame, he's a good player." There's finally enough space on the floor that they could leave. He wants, desperately, for them to just go cause something about this conversation is making him feel guilty again. "Do you want to to say hi?"

There's nothing he wants less than that. Lucas thinks if he has to go up to this guy, who went toe to toe with a monster, while his mom trails behind he'll die. Lucas thinks if he says hi to a guy who has only seen him maybe twice in the context of Mike Wheeler's house, and has to sit there while Steve blankly accepts his congrats he'll melt into the floor.

"Can we just go home? I still have homework."

And some tags to @fuctacles, @cauldronoflove, @thefreakandthehair, @stevespookington, @stevieharringtonwifeguy

@eriquin, @grasslandgirl, @augustjustice, and anyone else who wants to play!

[ickypuppi3]

i’m confused because is that not literally how she’s written in the show- her storylines do revolve her love life 99% of the time

like as shitty as that is, it is canon & surely you can’t blame fans for how crap the shows writing is and how characters are depicted?

[libraryofgage]

Harlequin Prince (3)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two | Three (you're here!) 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three Leverage Crew One

So that Suicide Squad Isekai anime huh (it's great, I love it actually)

Anyway, I'll be playing fast and loose with Batman canon so all the batkids can be around at the same time have fun with that cuz I did (also forgive me if anyone is a little too OOC; i'm here for a good time not a long time), and the little flashback bit will continue in the next parts as Steve meets more batkids ^_^

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't UwU

----

Harley drops him off at Wayne Manor just after ten in the morning. She tugs a window open, carries him inside, kisses him on the forehead, and promises to pick him up in a week before climbing back out. Steve watches her until she's past the gate, clutching a Green Lantern plush his mother insisted he carry around because it'll annoy his Uncle Bruce.

Steve glances down at the plush, wishing his mother didn't have to go off on a mission when she'd just gotten out of Arkham two months ago. His wishes won't actually change anything, though, so he might as well make the best of his week with Uncle Bruce.

He turns on his heel, taking in the plain bedroom that will probably become his for the next few days. He holds the Green Lantern plush close and marches to the door, stepping out into the hall and choosing a random direction to walk in.

According to his mother, Wayne Manor can have anywhere between two and ten people staying in it at one time. She told him that Dick would be the most welcoming, if not the most confused, the girls would be the most fun, and Damien would be the most guarded, likely to consider him a threat for his entire stay.

It's just his luck that the first person he runs into is Damien. The other boy drops from the ceiling, blade of his sword glinting in the light as it comes to a stop just against Steve's neck. Steve freezes, glancing down at the sharp edge as Damien says, "Think very carefully before answering. Who are you, and what are you doing in my home?"

Steve looks away from the sword, tilting his head slightly as he shrugs. "I'm Steve. I'm staying here for a week," he says.

Damien's eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer, adjusting his arms so the katana doesn't move. "Says who? Does Father know you're here? Are you a spy sent by my mother?"

"Says my mom. Maybe. No," Steve replies.

A few more seconds pass before Damien hums. "Who's your mother?"

"Harley."

"Quinn?"

"Is there another?"

Slowly, Damien lowers the sword. "I suppose Quinn is somewhat reformed. How old are you?" he asks.

"Almost six."

"So, you're five," Damien says, nodding once. He sheathes his sword, apparently deciding Steve is no threat to him. "That makes me older than you, so you have to do what I say. Consider me your big brother for the week."

"Are you gonna make me hurt myself?"

"No."

"Mom said you wouldn't like me."

"Father said I should try being more trusting and welcoming. You are small and untrained, like a puppy. I could dismember you before you hurt me, which makes you ideal for practicing," Damien explains. He's quiet for a few seconds before getting a slight smirk. "Besides, it will greatly annoy my brothers if you obviously prefer me over them."

"I'm great at pretending as long as we can do fun stuff, too."

"Then we have a deal. You will act like I'm your favorite, and I will make sure you have fun."

Steve considers this, decides Damien is well on his way to actually being Steve's favorite, and steps closer. "Mom said Alfred makes the best cookies. Can we have some?"

"Yes," Damien says, "If you're hungry, then it's my responsibility to feed you as your big brother."

He offers his hand, seeming unsure when Steve takes it, like he isn't used to this kind of contact. Still, he doesn't pull away; he just hesitantly squeezes Steve's hand before leading him down the hall.

----

Not two days ago, Steve was telling himself he'd never set foot in Hawkins High School. Now, after getting the run down on the Upside Down (and holy shit did this place suddenly get a thousand times more interesting), Steve decides he'll just have to brave the brick walls to get Eddie out.

He leans forward on his motorcycle, arms resting on the handlebars as he looks up at the building. There's an American flag waving in the wind, faded paint on the outside, and security so lax it'd be suspicious in Gotham. Steve briefly considers leaving his helmet on, but he settles for placing it on the seat once he's off the motorcycle.

Walking into the school is easy. He doesn't even get stopped by the receptionist at the front desk. She just waves him in without looking up from her book. So, yeah, getting in is easy; figuring out where Eddie is might be a little harder.

He wanders the halls and stops the first student he sees, a girl with short brown hair carrying an unwieldy instrument case in her arms. Steve places his hands on the case and gently pushes down, flashing a grin when he can finally see her face. "Uh, can I help you?" she asks, her tone implying she very much does not want to help him.

"Yeah, I'm looking for someone," Steve says.

Her nose wrinkles slightly in disgust. "Listen, dingus, if this is some kind of pick-up line dare, save it," she says, rolling her eyes. She takes a step back and Steve follows.

"Nope, definitely not," he says, "You're not my type, sorry."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, unless you're not a girl...," he says, voice trailing off and eyebrow raising as he watches her understand his meaning.

She blinks, her shoulders rising some. She glances around, confirms the hallway is still empty, and relaxes. "Word of advice," she says, "don't just say that shit where anyone can hear. People aren't exactly nice about it around here."

Steve flashes a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I can take care of myself, but thanks. Anyway, still looking for someone."

"Oh, right, uh, what's their name?"

"Eddie Munson. Know him?"

She blinks again, her eyebrows shooting up in slight disbelief. "Yeah, I know him. Whatcha need him for? He doesn't usually sell until after school."

Oh. Steve hums softly, filing away that tidbit of information for later. "Not here to buy. I'm here to take him somewhere fun," he says.

A few seconds pass in which the girl looks at Steve, drops her gaze to the instrument case between them, and then glances around the empty hall. "Well, shit, man, I wanna go somewhere fun, too."

Steve considers her for a moment, trying to figure out the logistics of fitting her and Eddie on his bike. Well, he can just have her sit on the handlebars or something. "Okay, but the instrument won't fit," he tells her.

The grin he gets in return tells him that won't be a problem. "Name's Robin, by the way."

This has to be fate, right?

"Steve. Nice to meetcha, Robin."

Robin's grin gets even wider, and Steve knows they'll be great friends.

---

"Eddie usually sits in a corner," Robin says, standing at the edge of the cafeteria with Steve. It's teeming with life, and Steve hears snippets of conversations that blur into one dull roar that settles over the space. It reminds him of bars in Gotham even more than the actual bars he's visited here in Hawkins.

He can't see into the corners from here, but that doesn't bother him. "Wait here," he says, flashing a grin at Robin before walking to a mostly empty table. He climbs onto it, reaches into one of his jacket's inner pockets, and pulls out an air horn.

Steve waits long enough to see Robin cover her ears before raising the horn in the air and pressing down. It blares through the room, drowning out conversations and forcing people at the surrounding tables to cover their ears. A few more seconds pass before Steve lets up on the horn, grinning widely at the sea of eyes turned towards him.

"I'm looking for Eddie Munson," he says, twirling the air horn in the palm of his hand.

Instead of a verbal answer, he watches as the eyes turn from him to a corner across the room. A few people even duck close to their tables to clear Steve's line of sight, allowing him to see a confused Eddie sitting with his friends.

Steve grins, pockets the air horn, and starts making his way across the cafeteria. He walks on tables, jumps between them, and narrowly avoids stepping on more than one tray along the way. By the time he reaches Eddie's table, most of the students have gone back to their lunches and conversations.

"How's it going, Eds?" Steve asks, crouching in front of Eddie with a grin. He glances at the other boys by him, notes the identical Hellfire Club shirts, and nods in acknowledgement.

"Better now," Eddie says, his startled blink telling Steve he definitely didn't mean to say that out loud.

Steve somehow grins wider. "Wanna make like a banana and split? I've got somewhere fun in mind," he says, popping up from his crouch before hopping off the table and into the narrow space between Eddie's chair and his friend's.

"Dude, really?" one of his friends asks. "We have a session today."

Eddie looks torn at that realization, halfway standing and stuck like that. "That we do, Gare-bear," he says, defeat bringing his shoulders down.

"In that case, consider this a kidnapping," Steve tells them, grabbing Eddie's hand and pulling him up. He wraps his arm around Eddie's shoulders, winks at his friends, and promises, "I'll have him home before six, though."

Eddie's friends exchange glances, and Steve graciously pretends not to notice the puppy dog eyes Eddie aims at them. After a few seconds, one of them stands up, towering over Steve and outweighing him by a good bit. He clears his throat, glances at the other two, and tries to sound intimidating as he says, "Make it five thirty, and no funny business."

Steve nods and offers a mocking two-finger salute. "Yes, sir," he replies, flashing a grin before taking Eddie's bag from his seat and dragging him to where Robin is waiting.

"So, where are you kidnapping me to?" Eddie asks, managing to stick close to Steve despite having to weave through chairs and tables.

"Nothing special, really. Just an abandoned laboratory in the middle of the woods that has a gateway to another dimension filled with faceless monsters. Oh, and Robin's coming, too. Don't worry, though, I won't let you get hurt. "

He glances over to meet Eddie's wide eyes, something warm curling behind his ribs when Eddie finally smiles and whispers under his breath, "Fucking metal."

-----

Tag List (definitely still room, so let me know if you'd like to be tagged!):

@nectandra, @y4r3luv, @just-a-tiny-void, @dotdot-wierdlife

@midwestharpy, @twilitdragoneye, @disrespectedgoatman

@lawrencebshoggoth,

And now, a meme:

[artbyblastweave]

So I recently had the thought that Superman as depicted in the DCAU canon probably has the best-articulated-by-the-narrative and most-consistent character flaws of any Superman I’ve seen, in a way that’s enabled by the long-formedness and consistent creative vision of the series.

He’s got an Atlas complex that grinds the gears of his equally-durable, equally-capable colleagues in the Justice League. He has deep-seated fears of moving the wrong way and breaking something or someone, which is then upstream of some moderate control issues. He’s got anger problems, although it’s rare for someone to push him far enough that this takes center stage; you see this with Prof. Hamilton in the series finale of STAS, but also in a number of fights against opponents strong enough that he starts getting frustrated. When the stakes are lower, he can be cocky bordering on genuinely vindictive; there are lots of examples of him rubbing his opponents' noses in it when he finally gets them on the back foot, and it’s shown in flashbacks that he was genuinely kind of a dick when he was a teenager and hadn’t completely sorted out what proportional responses looked like. He doesn’t always think through the implications of his grand projects, be that the implicit threat-escalation posed by the expanded JLU, or the massive disarmament project he spearheaded that turned out to be part of an alien invasion scheme. There are probably more of these that I’m forgetting. The final roundup here is that he’s a good guy. He’s far and away from a perfect guy, with perfect judgement. All of this amounts to something that’s more coherent and specific than the contradictory, subject-to-eternal-revision mess you could assemble from his 60-something year publication history in the comics, but nonetheless with a substantial-enough runtime that all of these traits can be put on display again and again.

In turn, this allowed the collective DCAU continuity to get away with at least three “what if Superman went rogue” plots- four if you count the mind-control situation in Legacy- specifically because they did the legwork to establish the concrete neuroses and psychological vulnerabilities that might cause this specific version of Superman to go rogue. It was never completely insane that Luthor might figure out the exact set of words, actions, and personal losses necessary to coax this depiction of Superman into an authoritarian partnership for the supposed greater good. It’s not completely insane that this depiction of Superman, if pushed far enough, might lose faith in the collective judgement of humanity and decide to put the world and all his loved ones in a bottle. And when the Cadmus plot rolls around in JLU, it’s as effective as it is because they’ve already advanced two roads-not-taken, established what levers you need to pull to make this specific version of this guy cross the line, and that Cadmus and Luthor are pulling all of them. 

I emphasize the specificity here, because the flipside of this are Superman-gone-rogue narratives that jump right to that as the cornerstone of the continuity, with no real opportunities for juxtaposition. A major issue I eventually developed with the Injustice franchise is that despite its pretenses of being an alternate universe, there’s no established continuity that it’s deviating from, bar its own. To some extent I feel as though it’s banking on the audience transposing their gestalt-understanding of Superman and the broader DCU- hell, their understanding of the Justice Lords arc in particular- in order to elide that they’re playing extremely fast-and-loose with the specifics of what has and hasn’t happened to Superman in this continuity. The DCEU is a runner-up- jumping right to the Damocles-sword of a bad-future after two movies is jumping the gun, in the same way everything about the 2010s DCEU was jumping the gun. I think you could plausibly attack TDKR’s portrayal of Superman under this logic, although I personally wouldn’t- but that’s its own post.

Point being that you can’t sell me the upset of a paradigm if you never established it-you need to set up the pins before you can bowl worth a damn.

[finsterwalds]

Got a very inspired ask inquiring about the villains in my Better Call Saul french AU so here's Gus aka famous chef Gustavo Faure and his main waiter Léo haha. More info under the cut as always...

So at first I thought about making Gus a fast-food owner like his canon counterpart, but it just doesn't fit really well if you wanna frenchify it all with nuance. We have fast-foods ofc and we do enjoy fried chicken lol, but Los Pollos Hermanos has this very distinct "patriotic" feeling that wouldn't translate as well in France, as fast-foods are american in conception. I thought about making Gus the owner of some cheaper chain like Courtepaille lmao, but it feels too memey and doesn't have the prestige that his character has canonically. Gus assimilates perfectly into american society with his brand, and caters to the people locally, so I thought it would be fair for him to do the same in France. And if you wanna cater to lovers of chic, gastronomy and prestige, what's better than being the chef of some fancy restaurant, right? It felt cliché af and looses the "close to the people" part but it honestly fits his character well, imo...

He would be extremely respected locally but still friendly and approachable due to him crafting some kind of tragic backstory for himself and his restaurant. Basically he would play the "Chilean refugee that climbed to the top of foreign cuisine" card and everyone would buy it. French people love to eat and are fond of mixing their culture's meals with more international food, so yes: I think he would serve a fusion of french/Chilean food!

He'd also be an entrepreneur as famous french chefs often have side businesses like bakeries or published books, which I think respects his canon personality pretty well. Fancy french chefs also like to hang out outside their kitchen to greet their guests and I can totally imagine Gus do that. He'd still be able to conceal his shady side nicely. He's canonically seen to like fine wine, good products, and cooks Paila Marina for Walt, so congrats to Gus for already being french in conception and not making this idea feel like a stretch lol.

I have no idea about his exact role concerning drug traffic in Europe, as I said I'm pretty ignorant about that… But he'd use his business and image to form connections and launder his money. His backstory with Max stays the same in the AU aka Max was his business """"partner""" who died killed by the Salamancas.

I don't think changing his first name was necessary, but his last name sounding american I thought I would just frenchify it a bit lol. I don't know what the name of his restaurant would be, but definitely something short, spanish, and aesthetic/poetic. Maybe a reference to Max to allude to the Hermanos part.

Bonus : I know they don't canonically meet, but in my AU I think Chuck, as a rich lawyer, would eat at Gustavo's often. They'd be acquainted :) And maybe Jérôme aka Jimmy meets him thru his brother and later discovers Gus' shady side, when the events of BrBa start.

[eowynstwin]

i have this fascination with price. hes sort of this unsulliable steel, consistently to nearly always making the (as the games frame it) correct decisions, even when hes playing fast and loose with the law. his plans always work, hes never truly failed in the sense of real negative consequences for a choice (until 3 but 3 was badly written and i did not like it). hes always (in the game's framing) right. he never shows a moment of weakness. i love him ❤ i want to see him suffer i want him to make an objectively wrong choice. i want that choice to have consequences that shake his steady foundations and rock him to his core. i want him to fail. is that weird? i want him to lose control of his carefully maintained stony exterior. i want to see that side of him that is barely acknowledged to be genuinely explored. i know people justify it by saying hes a military captain in a ridiculously tough branch to get into, so of course hes like that, but in real life those guys are just as human as the rest of us, just as capable of mistakes and taking fat Ls and making poor decisions. I do love his character, he is my blorbo, i just want to put him in a jar and shake him real hard. is that weird?

Deadass, when I heard what happens in mw3 (still haven't gotten around to watching it, I'm fond of my brain cells and I feel like it'll kill some of them)--my first thought was that they should've killed Price.

Price is always barely restraining himself but he manages to keep himself in check for the most part. I imagine he's learned the hard way that if he lets his feelings dictate his actions then a lot of people get hurt.

Gaz and Soap, however, do not have the benefit of his experience. Ghost does, but he doesn't wield authority like Price's, and I have the feeling that he believes the Price keeps him in check (in his origin comics, he has frequent nightmares in which he assaults and murders people, because he went through months of classical conditioning in captivity).

So, let's say Mak shoots Price dead instead. Suddenly there's no one there to guide the surviving 141. Suddenly the wealth of experience he had to offer, the instincts for warfare that he honed over decades, is gone. Gaz loses his mentor. Ghost loses the man who holds his leash. Soap loses the one commanding officer he had any faith in.

Can you feel how that would raise the stakes exponentially? Price's influence, throughout the reboot, has kept everyone in line. He knows how to break the rules effectively while minimizing the consequences. He knows how to ignore distractions. He is ruthlessly efficient, without being brutal. The other three just do not have those skills. They are not capable of doing what Price does. They have neither the experience (in Gaz and Soap's case) nor the disposition (in Ghost's case).

Price dying would send shockwaves through the 141--through the entire cast--in ways that Soap's death just does not. Soap should have been the one in Shepherd's office with a silenced gun, because assassinating a FUCKING FOUR STAR AMERICAN GENERAL IN THE PENTAGON!!!!! Is not what an experienced captain in the SAS would do, no matter how he feels!!!!!! That is what a sergeant with more aptitude than sense and an overwhelming feeling of rage and loss would do!!!!!!

Aaaaand this is a rant nearly completely unrelated to what you were talking about lol. Sorry. I do want to see that old man suffer don't get me wrong. It's just that the suffering he's been set up for now, in canon, is SO MUCH BULLSHIT.

[goodlucktai]

the soft animal of your body (1/3)

rise of the tmnt daemon au word count: 4k title borrowed from 'wild geese' by mary oliver

this au is the brainchild of myself and my dearest meeks, @gibbouslunation on ao3, @mykimouser on tumblr. it's inspired by 'his dark materials' but we're playing fast and loose with canon so please dont take it too seriously <3

the daemons so far !

read on ao3

x

“Mikey,” a persistent voice says, “wake up!”

“Mmmmno,” he mumbles, rolling over. “Five more minutes.”

The mattress gives beneath him with a bounce and a furry body wriggles its way close, shoving a wet snout against Mikey’s cheek. He giggles despite himself and tries tugging the blanket over his head, but it’s caught carefully in a set of teeth, and a game of tug-o-war starts immediately. 

“I thought you wanted to make Raphie and Teddy’s favorites for breakfast this morning! If you sleep in there won’t be time!”

With a start, Mikey remembers the significance of the day and shoots upright. A second later, his arms are full of a very enthusiastic Border Collie. Helianthus is always excited to see him in the morning, like she didn’t just see him the night before. She’s always excited to see everyone, and Mikey both understands her and loves her with his whole entire soul. 

He gathers Sunflower’s head in both hands and kisses her firmly between the eyes. She holds as still as a statue until the deed is done and then explodes into action, licking his face like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, entire body wagging from the force of her happy tail. 

Dodging her affections and untangling himself from the blanket, Mikey manages to climb out of bed. He’d wanted a hammock when he was little, but when Sunny settled, it didn’t make sense to have a bed that was so tricky for her to get into and out of. 

She was the first of all his siblings’ daemons to settle, even April’s. She knows exactly who she is, and always has. 

“Breakfast!” he reminds her.

“Oh, right!” she says, and shoots out of the room like an arrow. 

A startled squawk in the kitchen probably means Donnie and Terror are up already, which probably means they pulled an all-nighter. And if they’re awake, their twins definitely are.

Leo’s relationship with sleep is hot and cold on a good day, but there isn’t a force on earth that could persuade him to lay around in bed while his counterparts were getting into trouble somewhere without him. 

Sure enough, Mikey rounds the corner to find the four of them clustered around the kitchen table. Lucky perks up when she sees Mikey, and waves with one of her tiny paws, and he takes that as full permission to swoop in and steal her from Leo. 

Leo smiles into his coffee mug and lets his little daemon be the one who says, “Good morning, Angie!”

She rubs her face against Mikey’s cheek, as outwardly affectionate and sweet as Leo likes to pretend he isn’t. 

“Good morning, Lucky girl,” Mikey tells her, giving the ringtail an extra squeeze before letting her climb nimbly up his shoulder and perch on the lip of his carapace. 

With his daemon already smothered in love, Leo leans into Mikey’s hug immediately, none of that new reluctance they’re all trying to maneuver present in any inch of him. That’s how you game the system. 

(April was surprised by it when they first met. She was nine years old at the time, and absolutely fearless about following her new friends to their subterranean home. She greeted Splinter with the brisk, unbothered attitude of any native New Yorker and was an order of magnitude more impressed by Yumemi, who landed on August’s head in greeting as gently and prettily as a snowflake. 

Mikey had been pretty sure that nothing on earth had the power to surprise this girl. 

But less than an hour into her visit, Terror had gotten into trouble, as usual. She was scampering up the cabinets as a red-knee tarantula, because she’d made a bet with Lucky that she was just as fast climbing as she was flying. But when she was little, Terror tripped over her feet constantly no matter what form she was in, and eight legs was way more than she was used to keeping track of.

A panicked little squeak was their only warning when Terror slipped from the top of the cabinet, and maybe she would have thought to shift in time not to get hurt or maybe she would have kept scrambling to catch herself. It didn’t matter either way, because Raph reached out with both hands and caught her in the cup of them, safe and sound. 

April had sucked in a startled breath, but the twins and their daemons all chorused, “Thanks, Raphie!” as he stood on tiptoe to place Castor carefully back in the spot she’d slipped from. And the spider raced off again, lesson totally unlearned. 

“It’s okay, she won’t fall again,” Mikey had piped up, six years old and completely misunderstanding April’s reaction. “Terror is super clumsy but after their game she’ll probably turn back into something that flies!”

“It’s not that,” April said, looking between Raph and Mikey and Teddy and Sunflower like she had just discovered something besides their green skin and turtle shells that made them very strange to her. “Didn’t it—feel bad? To hold someone else’s daemon?”

She hugged Augustus to her stomach like the thought of anyone getting too close to him was enough to upset her. 

But Raph tilted his head in confusion and Teddy, a fluffy baby cow at the time, tilted hers with him. “It felt the same as holding mine,” he said. 

Any silly scampering part of Donnie was a part of Raph, too. Obviously. 

They hadn’t known it was anything strange growing up, as insular as their family was. Of course, they hadn’t known about their ninpo back then, either—that secret mystical connection they inherited the second Splinter became their father, that tied them all together, that made their souls neighbors to each other. 

And only a few years down the road, on a random summer afternoon in a busy comic book convention hall, when the big crowds were causing Teddy to shrink into a miserable little ball on Raph’s shoulder, April would say, “Come here, baby.” 

She wouldn’t overthink it or second-guess herself when Theodora crawled into her arms, even though a random kid in the crowd who clocked the exchange would do a comical double take. She would just scoop her little sister up and make her feel safe, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Because by then, April would be Hamato, too.)

While Leo’s occupied, Terror hops across the table and dips her beak into his cup. He clocks it and sighs deeply but doesn’t wave her away. 

Terror can get away with most things by virtue of being able to out-talk literally anyone, or by simply flying around like a maniac until her siblings get tired of trying to scold her and move onto damage control instead. 

“It’s not my fault your coffee tastes better,” she complains, feathers ruffled. “Donnie’s still trying to pretend like he likes to drink his black, and it’s gross!”

Sunflower laughs out loud, then tries to pretend like she didn’t. Donnie’s head snaps up from where he had it buried in his phone, an expression of theatrical betrayal painted across his face. 

“Castor!”

“Buy my silence! Use some syrup and creamer!” the hooded crow screeches back. 

Leo is giggling too, slumping down in his chair so he won’t be Donnie’s next target, and Pollux springs from Mikey’s shell on his way past the table to rejoin her person. She has her own little cup of coffee but she dips her weasel-like snout into Leo’s instead, because whatever Terror does, Lucky wants to do. 

“Good morning, Michelangelo,” a melodious voice greets him as he ties his apron on. 

Mikey beams at the little moth perched on the upright handle of a wooden spoon and says, “‘Morning, Emi. Did either of those bozos make you tea yet?”

The moth hums, an amused, affectionate sound. “Yes, my dear. They’ve been awake for an unfortunately long time already.”

“Ugh, that’s what I was afraid of,” Mikey grumbles, but his heart isn’t really in it. There’s no sunlight in the lair, but the company of his dad’s daemon is warm and bright all on its own. 

Yumemi is all the parts of Yoshi he doesn’t know how to express. Even back when his bad days could turn into bad weeks and he couldn’t muster the strength to get out of bed, his children never had the opportunity to question his love.

Not when Yumemi remembered all of their favorite things, and oversaw meals with watchful eyes to make sure everyone was eating their vegetables, and woke them from bad dreams with lullaby soft Japanese that needed no translation. 

Of course dad loved them. His soul was proof. She told them every day. 

Since he’d prepared the batter the night before, Mikey makes a decent headway on breakfast and has a tall stack of thin, flaky crêpes to show for it by the time Raph and Theodora wander in. 

They look surprised and then pleased to see everybody waiting for them, smiling at the lively chorus of “good morning”s and “happy birthday”s they’re accosted with right out of the gate. Terror is quick to flap around them at speed, talking a mile a minute, and it detracts from the weird bit of tension between Raph and Leo that still exists in the margins. 

Lucky quivers eagerly where she’s perched at the corner of the table, uncertain of her welcome and waiting on a cue. But the second Raph puts his hands out for her, she’s leaping into them. 

“Happy birthday Raphie, Teddy! We picked out the best best best presents for you!”

“We helped!” Terror interjects, incapable of being sidelined, or silent for longer than thirty seconds. “It was a team effort!”

“With all four of your heads together, I bet it’ll blow us away,” Raph says, gentle in that particular way he saves just for little siblings. 

To his credit, he doesn’t hesitate at all to pull Leo into a sidelong hug at the same time as he does Donnie in the opposite arm, and Leo sinks into it readily. Things have been a little weird and different, but not necessarily bad. 

When you can hold each other’s hearts in your hands on the regular, it’s hard to miss how loved you are. 

(About a week after Splinter’s abrupt announcement two years ago, shifting the leadership mantle from Raph, who had always held it, to Leo, who had never given indication he even wanted it, things were tense, to say the very least. 

Yumemi was downright chilly with her other half in a way Mikey hadn’t witnessed since the disastrous flu incident when they were kids, that time Donnie’s fever had to officially break 101° before Splinter could be convinced that Something Was Wrong.  

And unfortunately for dad, Leo had decided he was fully not on board with the decision, being his most contrary, uncooperative self at every turn. You have never seen malicious compliance until you’ve seen Leonardo with a point to prove. 

It all came to a head in a big blowout argument that really everyone should have seen coming. 

Looking back, Mikey doesn’t remember what started the fight, but it had been festering for days. Raphael was frustrated and his feelings were hurt. He’s been replaced out of nowhere, and his replacement didn’t seem to care about the job one way or another. 

And to make matters worse, Leo almost seemed to be baiting him. He had his arms folded and his hip propped in the doorway, a mean little smile on his face that Mikey almost didn’t recognize—he had never, ever seen Leo smile like that at Raph before. 

“Can’t you take something seriously for once in your life?” Raph said, fists clenched at his sides. “This is important and you’re acting like you don’t even care.”

“I think it’s safe to say you care enough for both of us,” Leo replied blithely, unmoved. 

Mikey felt a sharp spike of worry from Sunflower, who was reading all the high emotions in the room like a book. Teddy was still trying to mediate, but her soft voice got shouted over. 

“What if you goof off and one of your siblings gets hurt, huh?” Raph yelled, at his limit. “What if somebody gets killed cause you couldn’t bother to just grow up!”

Leo’s expression didn’t change at all, every inch the irreverent, unbothered teenager fully prepared to breeze past everything his big brother had to throw at him. 

But Lucky burst into tears. 

It drew everyone up short. The entire room just froze, like someone took an ill-timed screenshot. The only sound was Lucky crying, and then the scrabble of nails on concrete as Sunny raced across the room at top speed to comfort her, and Terror clicking her beat anxiously, all puffed up to twice her size. 

Raph looked like someone punched him in the stomach. Leo didn’t look at anyone at all. At least his mean little smile was gone. 

“Okay, boys and girls,” Yumemi said suddenly, startling them all out of the tense tableau. She was perched on the back of a kitchen chair, having observed the argument for who knew how long. Long enough, probably. “Family room, now.”

She was using the no-nonsense mom voice that got everyone moving. Seemingly between one blink and the next Mikey found himself on the sofa, Sunflower pressed into his side and panting anxiously. 

“I won’t pretend not to know what this is about,” the moth says. “Yoshi has certainly spent the last few days hoping it would resolve itself before intervention was necessary, but that clearly isn’t the case, and I’ve let this go on for too long.”

She wasn’t scolding them. She had a soft spot for her turtles and their daemons that was a mile wide on all sides. But she clearly expected to resolve this issue right then and there and wouldn’t tolerate the usual time-wasting tactics. 

Beating everyone to the punch, Terror bated her wings and blurted, “They don’t want to be the leaders, duh.”

After a beat of silence that felt extremely loud, Donnie added, “I would have thought that was obvious.”

Raph seemed shocked and Mikey felt that way too. Their whole lives together were a multi-part series of Leo stepping up and smoothing things over when they got out of hand, convincing his brothers to wait half a second instead of diving right in, scheming a way to get them out of trouble—or into trouble, as the situation called for it. He always seemed to live for it when a plan went off without a hitch. 

Mikey had never thought about it before, but now that it was laid out in front of him, it was weird. You’d think Leo would jump at the chance to lead. 

“It’s not really my bag,” Leo said instead. He had a hand on Pollux, almost hiding her completely. “All that extra work and responsibility, and not even a decent pay raise? No thanks. Besides, Raph does a great job. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

He refused to bend, sticking to his story. Knowing she was the weaker link, Lucky pressed her face into his plastron and wouldn’t answer any direct questions. Raphael looked like he was afraid to even breathe too loudly in their direction after making his littlest sister cry, and nodded rapidly when Yumemi asked if he was alright with things going back to the way they used to be. 

“Yeah. Of course. Whatever—whatever’s best.”

The moth sighed, but not at any of them. 

“Very well. I will speak with your father. He was wrong to handle this the way he did. Any future changes will be discussed beforehand, as a family. As for right now, Raphael is the eldest and he will continue to lead you.” 

Leo was out of his chair and out of the room so fast that Mikey wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t teleport. Donnie followed right behind him, their regular roles flipped. Raph didn’t move at all, hands squished between his own knees as if he didn’t trust them. 

Teddy was talking to him in her gentle voice. It was always so obvious to everyone who knew him why Raph’s soul took the shape it did, this soft thing that carried around a love so big it was better suited to someone ten times her size. 

Mikey couldn’t hear what Teddy was saying, but it wasn’t for him to hear in the first place. He couldn’t bear to leave his big brother like this, but he couldn’t bear to leave another brother hurting out of sight either.

Their bond pulsing both ways with white-hot worry and impatient, leaping love, Mikey could tell when Sunflower absolutely couldn’t wait another second. She hopped off the couch and circled around to where Raph was sitting and laid her head on his knee. 

It was delayed, but still a knee-jerk reaction for their biggest brother to give her the attention she was begging for. After a few minutes of petting her soft glossy fur, it was Raphie’s turn to cry. 

Lingering, still not entirely willing to leave them and feeling torn in two about it, Mikey looked at Yumemi. The moth waved her antennae at him gently, an unspoken assurance that she would stay and make things right. 

So Mikey left his heart behind to work her magic, and followed the twins from the room to work some magic of his own. If he could wheedle at least one smile out of each of them by dinner, he would call it a win. 

That evening, when everyone had been dragged to the table not quite kicking and screaming but close to it, Splinter stood up awkwardly and apologized to the far wall for how he had handled the situation. From his expression, Mikey wouldn’t have been that surprised to find someone holding a gun to his head. 

“The important thing is that you are a team,” Splinter went on, the formal stiffness fading from his tone and something more natural, more rueful and affectionate, replacing it. “You have always been a team, and a very good one at that.” 

Yumemi fluttered from the table to his hand, wings opening and closing slowly in approval. Splinter took strength from her, and added, “It does not matter who leads and who follows, as long as you remain on each other’s side.”

Leo darted a quick, sidelong look at Raph, who met his gaze hopefully. Some line of tension in Leo’s shoulders went slack and he said, “Where else would we be?” and smiled as easily as if the last handful of hours had happened to somebody else. 

Forever the more honest of the two, Lucky crept across the table inch by inch until Teddy could draw her into a tight hug that lasted well into dessert.)

Now Sunflower hops down from her padded bench and scrabbles like crazy around the counter for Raph’s attention. She’s such a good girl for waiting when all she ever wants to do all the time is run right to the people she loves as soon as she sees them. 

Raph scoops her up as easily as April can scoop up August, a full size Border Collie dwarfed in his big arms. She shrieks gleefully and bellows “Happy birthday!” loud enough for all of Manhattan to hear. Mikey smiles as if her joy is his own and carefully flips the next crêpe. 

“What do you want to do after the party tonight?” Donnie asks, setting his phone down. “The world is your oyster, Raphala.”

“But no patrol,” Terror pipes up. “It’s an important holiday.”

“It is an important holiday,” Sunflower agrees, tilting her head to the side so deeply that her floppy ear matches the upstanding one. “So are we going to the arcade? The movies? The park? New Jersey??”

“Hey, watch your language,” Leo says faux-sternly, causing her to yip with laughter. 

“I was thinking ninja tag,” Raph says. He crosses the room to Mikey as he speaks, and wraps both arms around him from behind to lift him off his feet in a big bear hug, spatula and skillet still in hand. Mikey giggles and holds breakfast as steady as he can. “We haven’t done that in ages,” Raphael adds. 

It’s an activity that rides the thin line between training and play, but if that’s what Raphie wants to do on his birthday, then that’s what they’re doing. Leo falls in line now as agreeably as he did two years ago—maybe even moreso. There’s some whining and complaining when the situation calls for it, but no more than any of the others are prone to; average annoying little sibling stuff because it’s good for Raph’s constitution. 

Mikey thinks the biggest difference is that Leo doesn’t really suggest his own ideas anymore. He doesn’t test Raphael’s authority the way he used to, even when sometimes they could really use his voice of reason or his lateral thinking. He so adamantly does not want to lead them, for whatever reason, that he won’t do anything that might give someone the right idea he’s leadership material. 

It’s something Mikey desperately wants to bring up, but every time he starts to, he can’t help but remember that uncomfortable family meeting and at that point his courage always deserts him. 

The last thing he wants is for Lucky, that easily hurt part of Leon’s heart that walks around unguarded outside his body, to feel small or sad because of something Mikey said. He doesn’t know if he’d ever recover from that. He doesn’t know how Raph did it. 

Two years ago, Leo would have thrown up his hands and said something like, “Ninja tag? For your eighteenth birthday? Come on Raph-a-doodle, think big! We’re hitting the Cheesecake Factory and then your favorite karaoke club. We can play ninja on the way home, how about that?”

Today, Leo stretches his arms above his head and then folds them, leaning back in his seat and telling Raph in his good-natured teasing kind of way, “Whatever you say, big guy. But don’t think I’m gonna let you win just ‘cause it’s your day.” 

It’s a change you have to squint to see. But Sunflower told Mikey in a whisper one night that she missed how playful Pollux used to be. She missed the little ringtail who used to want to be everyone’s friend and solve everyone’s problems, who used to run around in circles trying to be helpful and good, never worrying about making herself a nuisance because she knew better than to think her family would love her any less for it. 

“Maybe she’s just growing up,” Mikey had whispered back, stroking Sunny’s soft ears and ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach his own words put there. 

“Maybe,” Sunflower said, but she didn’t sound very sure either. 

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - epilogue

you know you never stood a chance series

epilogue: maybe light a candle

series masterlist | prev chapter 

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Joel hasn't come home yet. (this takes place about three years after the end of the main story.)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, christmas in the apocalypse, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, mentions of breastfeeding (not as a fetish), found family, poor communication, oral (f receiving), postpartum depression, possibly violating child labor laws by using a baby as a plot device, pls remember I am playing fast and loose with both canon and the timelines lol

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Christmas Eve.

Or, at least, according to the council. You’re not sure if anyone is really sure what the date is anymore.

But for all intents and purposes, maybe it’s Christmas Eve. The holiday is a thin, moth-bitten version of its former self, but you’ve never been the holly-jolly or the religious sort, so Christmas Lite suits you just fine.

Maria had invited you and Lulu to the mess hall for a big meal and activities for the kids. It was less of an invitation than an expectation, but you stayed home anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she wanted you there for the same reason you didn’t want to be there. She’s fucking tough, maybe the strongest person you know, but she has to be feeling Tommy’s absence today, too. It isn’t Aléjandra’s first Christmas, but likely the first one she’ll remember, which is worse.

But it’s more than it just being Lulu’s first Christmas. It’s that Maria had made a point of telling you that Ellie would be there.

You prepare to watch her leave for the night. The light pours in the window when she opens the shed door, and you know she can see your shadow haunting the living room.

You want Ellie to meet her sister. You dream of it nearly every night. But there’s no way in hell you’re doing it without Joel. It’d break his heart. You like to think she knows, at least. Someone (probably Tommy) had to have told her.

So when she climbs the steps instead of walking past, you freeze. Her knuckles rap against the wood, and you close your eyes. You can’t. You need to, but you can’t.

“Maria asked me to remind you that you promised to come by tonight,” she calls through the door.

She knows you can hear her. She knows you choose not to respond (but she doesn’t know you bite your lip so hard to resist that it bleeds).

It would be wrong. But the ache is so strong you’re convinced it must be a physical wound.

She leaves.

“There goes Ellie,” you tell the baby, as you always do. “She’s got places to be, but she loves you very much.” The guilt of keeping them apart makes you nauseous.

Maybe it isn’t true yet, but you think it is. You think, despite everything, despite the anger she harbors for Joel (and a fragment of that for you), that she already loves her sister. Even if she’s only the shadow of a sister spied through dark windows and across the street.

You wonder if she knows her name. Tommy had started the whole “Lulu” thing, and though it had grown on you now, it made you suspect he hadn’t thought to mention she had a real, full name.

Luna Luann. Luna, for Ellie, and Luann for Joel’s favorite tía, the one who smuggled them chewing gum and taught Joel his strong right hook when the other kids were picking on Tommy.

You’d take this secret to the grave, but you hated the name Luann. But when he brought up the suggestion, he had talked about her for nearly twenty minutes, and so you love the woman despite her name, just for the way she brought a little more of Joel out.

You thought they’d be home by Christmas. You’re trying not to worry, but worrying’s one of the things you’re good at. It doesn’t help that you’re still struggling. You’ve been told it’s normal, but these last two weeks with Joel gone have been so hard.

She’s cutting a tooth (her very first), and you can barely catch a break. You sleep when she sleeps, but it’s never enough. A few neighbors have been bringing casseroles still, and it’s the only reason you’ve been eating.

So, you think it’s probably understandable that you crumble after you watch Ellie walk away and Luna starts to cry. The lights are out except for the single candle in the front window. You keep it lit all night in case Joel comes home. A beacon.

If you had a widow’s walk, you’d be haunting it. But you’re not a widow—couldn’t be, you’re not even a wife—and he’ll be fine. He’ll come back.

Joel always comes back.

It might be Christmas Eve, and you’re slumped against the wall of your living room, crying in tandem with your infant. There’s nothing wrong, you checked. It’s so much worse that she’s probably just picking up on your mood.

You orbit around each other that way. She is the sun that you and Joel revolve around, but his absence has sent you both off balance.

The sun might be the more accurate comparison, but you usually like to say Lulu, your Luna, was your moon, and Joel was the sun. He disagrees. He says he’s the rock, and you are her light.

It was profoundly beautiful, but none of the concepts held up to the reality. The truth was that you were a constellation, but without Ellie, you made no recognizable form. Sagitta with one feather, an arrow that can never fly true.

When you settle down to sniffles and the errant tear, Lulu has fallen asleep against your chest. You creep upstairs and lay her in the crib squeezed between the bed and the wall.

The room was plenty large, and part of it had been set up as a nursery. But after she was born, you spent each night on the floor next to the crib.

Joel hadn’t been having that. After the first week, he sat you down and asked if you’d be able to sleep in the bed if she was next to you.

And then he just… built a second, smaller crib. One that fits right up against your side of the mattress. It was low to the ground, so all you had to do was reach down, and you could feel her little chest rise and fall, or scoop her up to nurse her in the middle of the night. She’ll grow out of it fast, but by then, you hope you’ll feel secure enough to move her to the big one just across the room.

You had been embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. After all, mothers had been putting their children to sleep in different rooms for ages. But you weren’t afraid to tell Joel, knew if there was anyone in this town that understood, it’d be him (and Maria).

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keepin’ your baby close,” he said, as gruff and blunt as always.

When Joel comes home, he finds you that way. On your side, arm dangling into the crib with Lulu’s tiny fingers wrapped around your own. He sat down and gently tapped your shoulder, trying not to disturb the baby.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he whispers when you stir. You blink up at him through sore eyes, then smile softly, sending his heart skittering.

“You’re home,” you say, extracting your finger and sitting up to reach for him.

He wraps you in his arms, lets you burrow into the nest of his broad shoulders. “M’sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, chasing the words with a kiss.

“Tommy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Just hit some delays on the way home. Bridge was out. I thought y’all were going to the party?”

You don’t answer right away. You know he’ll feel bad. That he does feel bad, that the guilt eats a little part of him each day. All he wants is his girls all together.

“I was,” you mumble, feeling the tears prick with a vengeance. “But Maria said… Maria said that Ellie would be there.”

Joel’s arms squeeze you a little tighter for a moment. “Y’know I don’t want to get in the way of you talkin’ to her.”

“I know. But after last time… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, anyway.”

“She’ll come around,” Joel says.

It reignites a new round of self-hatred, that he’s sitting here consoling you. After all, she had spoken to you after their fight. Sat down and told you she wasn’t mad at you, that she knew he probably didn’t even tell you.

And he hadn’t told you, hadn’t clued you in, trying in his foolhardy way to spare you the burden of the lie. And you were mad at him for it; you’d had your own spat after.

But you weren’t mad he did it. Not one bit.

He can tell you don’t want to keep talking about it, and that’s fine by him.

“You miss me, baby?” he murmurs, a teasing brush of his lips over your neck.

You roll your eyes. “Oh no, did you have to go two weeks without gettin’ laid?”

He chuckles, dark and raspy, as he reaches to cup your ass and squeeze, smirking when you gasp.

“And you’re tellin’ me those little fingers were enough for your greedy cunt? Like ya ain’t droolin’ for my cock right now?”

You whimper. He’s right. Two weeks is too fucking long for either of you.

He tugs you properly into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, before he just stands up and carries you into the guest room across the hall. It’s not ideal, but if you leave both doors open, you’ll be able to hear Luna if she wakes.

“How’ve you not thrown your back out?” you grumble as he manhandles you.

He tosses you onto the bed, already peeling off his clothes and pointedly ignoring you.

He’s halfway through tugging his jeans down when he stops and looks at you. “What’re you doing? Let me see ya, sweetheart.”

You’ve long gotten over how easy you are for him. You only hadn’t stripped yet because you wanted to work him up. “You can see me just fine. Or do you need your glasses, old man?”

He takes the bait, shaking his head, before looming over you and running his hands down the sides of his old shirt you use for a nightgown. He barely grazes your breasts, just brushing the tips of your hardened nipples and grinning when you whine.

“Up,” he orders, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

You lift enough for him to pull it off and flop back down. It’s your turn to smirk as he watches the way your tits bounce with deep hunger.

And then he fucking rips the along the side of your panties and pulls them off, throwing them to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, you can sew ‘em back.”

“I’ve already sewn that pair twice, Joel. You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“Is that so?” Suddenly his breath is hot against your cunt, and you clench around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he runs one finger along the seam of your cunt. “‘Cause you’re a menace.”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Let me do a survey around town.”

He shuts you up by sliding two fingers right into your cunt, the stretch almost too much. Almost. But you don’t really notice because he buries his face between your lips, and any sassy remark comes out in a desperate cry.

He pulls away and gives you a warning look, head tilted. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, thick fingers clamping down and digging into your cheek. It makes you moan, but it also muffles it, so it works out fine.

“If you want your turn, you gotta be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just have mine and shut you up proper.”

You choke down the moan dredged up by the thought of his cock down your throat and make the saddest pleading eyes you can muster.

He rolls his, shaking his head, before he goes back to your neglected clit.

You’re close, so close when you hear it. You pat Joel’s head, sitting up. “Was that the door?”

The shift is immediate. Three years in town has allowed Joel to relax somewhat, sometimes, but he slips back into it in an instant. He pulls back, brow furrowed, squinting like it’ll help him hear better.

It comes again, louder this time, insistent enough for him to pick up. A firm knocking.

There’s a pause, but Joel’s already on his feet, pulling his clothes back on. He tosses your shirt over as he ducks out of the doorway and you’re slipping it over your head when whoever is outside grows impatient.

Rapid, furious banging rattles the door, and you dart across the hall to shut the bedroom, but it’s too late.

Lulu starts wailing immediately, her little face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and tears pouring out faster than a faucet. You scoop her up and soothe her, cradling her as she finds solace for her hurt feelings and empty stomach.

Joel goes downstairs, partly to shut up the racket but mostly because the sound fills him with dread. When he opens the door, it flings wide, and the tirade begins immediately.

Ellie storms in, already yelling. “—could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? You won’t even let her come out for fuckin’ Christmas because she might see me?”

You’re going down the stairs as soon as you hear her voice, but she stops yelling when she sees you on the landing.

“It’s not his fault,” you say, face hot with frustration and raw hurt. You hate the way your eyes water.

“Like hell, it isn’t. Maria said you were going to come, that one of you might actually have the balls to tell me you had a fuckin’ baby, and—”

“And I decided not to go, Ellie. Joel wasn’t even home. He didn’t know.”

Lulu has started to cry again, distracted from nursing by your ire. You murmur apologies, kissing the little tuft of dark hair on her head, and try to coax her back to your breast.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, and feet planted, ratty sneakers dripping filthy snow across the floor. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the tiny, ruddy creature who finally agreed to return to her meal.

“Hey, Ellie. We had a fuckin’ baby,” Joel says after the silence hangs for a minute too long.

The bark of laughter that bursts out of her looks like it hurts, but she can’t fight it. The tension dissolves into absurdity and then tears.

Ellie sits on the ground instead of the perfectly nice sofa to her left. You come down the stairs and sit beside her.

You look up at Joel, and he nods. You wish he’d come sit, but he’s too afraid to break the peace. “Would you like to hold your sister?” you ask Ellie, keeping your voice low and steady.

“Can I? I mean… what if I break her?”

“She’s pretty tough.” Lulu is done eating, just suckling for comfort, so you pry her off your breast and tug your shirt back up.

Joel takes her without thinking, leaning her against his shoulder to help her work out the air.

Once she gives a satisfactory belch, he thrusts her at Ellie, who’s startled enough to take her without thinking about it.

You all hold very still. Except Lulu, who is blissfully unaware of the strife and coos up at her big sister. She bats a little hand at her face, smacking her nose in an attempt to grab on. Ellie laughs, and her smile, her perfect smile that you haven’t seen in a year, breaks out.

You can’t help it; you start crying. Ellie looks up in alarm, but Joel shakes his head, moving closer to rub your shoulder.

“It’s not you,” he says solemnly, “it’s just hard, after.” He gestures at the baby.

“It is you,” you say, and Joel scrubs a hand over his face with a soft groan. “It’s—I’m sorry, I just—”

Ellie’s looking like she might make a break for it. She tries to hand the baby back to Joel, who refuses.

You get ahold of yourself. “It’s not bad, Ellie. I’ve just been waiting for this since she was born.”

Ellie softens and then scowls. “Then you should have told me. You should have told me you were pregnant in the first place. I said you could talk to me.”

“No, I couldn’t,” and you pause as she shoots a dirty look at Joel. “No, not because of him. Because I would have done the same damn thing, so you may as well hate me too.”

“What?” She seems genuinely shocked, which you don’t have the patience for.

“I would do the same damn thing. If I had been there, there would have been nothin’ in the fuckin’ world keeping me from getting to you, Ellie. Nothing short of death. Not then, not now. I’d do it for her, too.”

The room is stifling, and Joel hasn’t even lit the hearth yet. Your breath comes out in little puffs, and every one of you has wet, devastated eyes. Even Lulu, who looks like she might be the first to break into tears.

Ellie looks down and sighs. “So, Lulu, huh?”

“Actually,” Joel says, and chances a step closer, squatting down. “It’s Luna. Luna Luann. Tommy’s just an idiot.”

Ellie’s a smart kid. You can see the moment it clicks—the way she looks up at Joel with something akin to hope. It fades quickly, but you know he saw it, too. His own staggering heart, heavy with love unspoken, is betrayed in the way he has to fight a smile, choke down the relief. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe next year, you’ll get a tree.

thank you all so, so much.

*title from "Alone This Holiday" by The Used

[sidekick-hero]

we tangle endlessly like lovers entwined

(steddie | explicit | 3.4k | AO3 | cw: unsafe sex, very brief mention of canonical child neglect/abuse)

This was written as my entry for @eddiemonth and the prompt "parents" as well as for @kinktober2023 and the prompt "hand holding".

Summary: Eddie and Steve are friends with benefits but when Eddie acts weird during one of their hookups, things change. Or: It's canon Steve likes to hold hands during sex.

"Fu - uck, is that all you got, Harrington?" Eddie asks, his voice thinner than he'd like it to be. But damn if Steve's long, thick finger in his ass doesn't take the breath out of his lungs.

His grip on the headboard of Steve's bed is white-knuckled and a shiver runs through his naked body as he continues to writhe under Steve's ministrations. Eddie is already keyed up, his skin too tight for his body, and he needs... he needs...

"Another one, come on. I need more." He gasps, using the headboard to push back against Steve's finger. "Don't be a fucking pussy, I won't break. I'm not one of the delicate girls you usually—"

Smack

The sound is loud in the enclosed space of Steve's room.

Eddie's groan is even louder.

"I have no idea what's gotten into you, man, but stop acting like you're possessed or you won't get any of my fingers. Let alone my cock."

And then Steve makes good on his words, pulling his finger out of Eddie and no. No, no, no... Eddie doesn't realize he's babbling until Steve's other hand strokes his back soothingly, his deep voice reassuring.

"Hey, it's okay, Eddie. I got you. You gonna let me set the pace? Be a good boy?"

Another sound rips from Eddie's throat, a desperate one, wet and needy. "'Ye-yeah, gonna be good, so good. Please, Steve, need it. Fuck me hard. Please, please, please."

Two fingers, slippery and cold, thrust into him and he moans, the relief palpable. Steve doesn't even wait for Eddie to get used to the intrusion. He just picks up where he left off, pumping his fingers in and out of Eddie at a brutal pace right from the start. Eddie wants to sob at how good it feels, his mind finally starting to empty, making room for Steve and only Steve, just as his insides make room for Steve's thick and veiny cock. His perfect cock that Eddie thinks about more often than he would ever admit out loud.

"This what you want? For me to fuck you like this? Hard and fast, so you can still feel it tomorrow?"

Eddie tries to nod, tries to speak, but his words won't come. Instead, more needy sounds roll off his tongue, sounds so desperate that he can’t swallow them, no matter how hard he tries. His hips push back against the onslaught of Steve's fingers, urging him on, wordlessly begging him for more, always more. It's not about feeling it tomorrow, it's about—

When Eddie feels a third finger pressing against his hole, he snaps at Steve, forgetting his promise to be good. "I don't need another finger, I want you to fuck me. Stop playing around and give me your cock. I thought that's what we're here for."

"Don't wanna hurt you, Eddie, lemme just—"

"I don't care. I need you to fucking fuck me already, okay? Hurt me. Ruin me, goddamn it, but stop acting like we're making love or some shit."

Eddie can feel Steve freezing up behind him and a part of him feels bad for the way he is behaving. It's not that either of them has to wine and dine the other, theirs is not that kind of relationship. But they’re still friends.

Friends who like to fuck each other's brains out, but friends nonetheless.

Still, they usually take their time. Heavy make out sessions, mouths and hands on each other's bodies. Eddie fingering Steve for so long that he was coming dry by the time Eddie finally fucks him, his hole so loose and sloppy with lube that Eddie's cock sinks in like a knife in warm butter. When it's quick and desperate, it’s usually trading messy hand- or blow jobs, both of them too impatient for any kind of foreplay. Just quick and dirty hookups in the video store break room or in the shower before they have to start their day.

But today, Eddie needs it hard and fast. Today, Eddie needs Steve to fuck every thought out of his head until all he can think about is the ache in his body from being used, from being owned, from being ruined. He needs it to hurt.

Today, Eddie needs to forget.

Because if he can't get out of his head, he doesn't know what he's going to do. There is a monster inside of him, with his father's face, his sneering voice, and his spiteful words. This monster has sharp teeth and even sharper claws that will hurt anything that gets in its way.

It used to hurt Eddie the most. But also Wayne. And Gareth and Jeff and Freak. It might hurt Dustin now. Or Steve.

Eddie doesn't want that, doesn't want to hurt anyone, so he needs... something. Something to forget the fucking letter.

The fucking letter from that fucking asshole who calls himself his father, when the only person who ever deserved that name was Wayne. Asking Eddie for money of all things. He hasn't heard from him since he took Eddie with him when he robbed that liquor store and left Eddie behind when the police came. They caught up with him less than an hour later.

It was the worst and the best day of Eddie's life because while he found out that his father didn't give a shit about him, he also has been living with Wayne ever since.

And now this asshole has the nerve to ask him and Wayne for money.

Eddie wants to scream. He wants to hit something.

He is afraid of hitting someone.

So he can't get high. Can't get wasted. Can't lose control.

That's why he's here, with Steve, hoping that Steve will take the control from him. Just for a little while.

Just until he settles back into his skin.

"I don't think we should be doing this. Something is clearly wrong." Steve sounds worried, his voice soft and his hand firm on Eddie's hip, as if to keep Eddie from just taking what he wants.

Then Steve moves again, slowly withdrawing his fingers, and Eddie panics. Before his brain can provide any input, he lets go of the headboard and his left hand wraps around Steve's wrist before he can fully withdraw his fingers.

It's the first time he's seen Steve's face since Steve pushed him onto the bed, face down and ass up, and the expression Eddie finds there makes something inside of him clench painfully. Steve looks pale, his eyebrows are drawn together in a deep frown and his lips are thin, confusion and displeasure in every line of his beautiful face.

Eddie screwed up. Again. Just like his old man, using someone who cares about him for his own gain and hurting him in the process.

"Steve—" He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to make it right. Goosebumps break out all over his body, but he feels too hot, his skin stretched thin. There is lead in his stomach, in his veins, making everything heavy and shit, he feels tears prickle in his eyes.

Steve must notice some of the turmoil inside him, his eyes widening at what he sees in Eddie's face. He grabs Eddie's hand where it's wrapped around his wrist to keep him still as he pulls his fingers completely out of Eddie's body and Eddie hangs his head in defeat.

This is it.

Now Steve will ask him to get dressed and leave, telling him that this is not what he signed up for, that it's too much.

That Eddie is too much.

"Can you turn around for me?"

Eddie's head jerks up at Steve's words. He must have heard him wrong. But when he looks back into Steve's face, all he sees are searching hazel eyes, still warm in his solemn face. "What?"

"Turn around? I'll fuck you like you want, but I want to look at you."

Eddie's cock has gone almost all the way back to soft since their exchange, but Steve's words, their implication, are enough to bring it back to half-mast in no time. He clumsily gets up on his knees and turns around so that he's on his back with his legs spread on either side of Steve.

Steve looks down at him with a hungry look as Eddie spreads them even wider, exposing himself completely, a silent surrender.

That's when it hits him.

They have never fucked like this before. To be fair, they only really fucked a handful of times, mostly from behind.

And one memorable time, Steve had fucked him against a wall.

He still thinks about that one when he's home alone with his hard dick in his fist, whimpering every time he remembers how it felt to be held up by straining arms. How it felt to have his thighs pressed tightly against Steve's waist, his arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as Steve pounded into him.

But they had never fucked missionary before.

Steve crawls forward on his knees, his eyes never leaving Eddie's face as Eddie watches his heavy cock swing between his legs, waiting for it to touch him. When it does, dragging along his inner thigh, Eddie feels the pre-cum smear across his skin, matting the fine hair.

He's jolted out of his fixation by Steve's hand on his chin, turning his head back up. "My eyes are up here, Munson."

Eddie grins, for the first time almost forgetting why he was so upset in the first place. "Aww, I know. And they're almost as pretty as your dick." As he says this tongue-in-cheek, he reaches down and wraps his fist around Steve. He pumps the shaft a few times, his grip too shallow to really do anything but spread some of the wetness leaking from the tip along Steve's length. Batting his eyelashes at Steve, he adds, "Will you finally fuck me with it?"

Searching for Eddie's gaze and holding it with his own, Steve leans all his weight on his left arm where it rests beside Eddie on the bed and reaches between them. Steve's hand, so much bigger than Eddie's, surrounds his and draws it away from his cock. For a second, Eddie thinks he's read it all wrong, but Steve doesn't pull away.

Instead, he laces their fingers together and lifts their joined hands up over Eddie's head.

Butterflies take flight in Eddie's stomach, filling his insides and chasing away his dark thoughts. He feels like he could float away if it were not for Steve's body anchoring him. Steve's hazel eyes look down at him, soft despite the hunger simmering in them, and he leans down to capture Eddie's lips in a surprisingly tender kiss.

Lowering his naked body onto Eddie's, their heated skin touching from head to toe, Steve almost immediately slides his tongue into Eddie's mouth. And yet there is something almost chaste about this whole moment. The way Steve kisses him feels like a Sunday morning spent in bed, the sun warming him as he stretches lazily, his whole body humming with contentment. Eddie lets himself melt into the mattress and a sigh spills from his mouth into Steve's.

"There you are," Steve murmurs against Eddie's mouth before descending on him again. The wet sound of their lips against each other and their panting breaths is loud enough to drown out his thoughts for a while, but it's not enough. The thoughts creep back, not even the feel of Steve's tongue in his mouth or the way his hard cock keeps sliding against Eddie's sweat soaked skin is enough to keep them at bay.

Pressing his knees against Steve's hips, Eddie tries to get him to move, the frantic energy from earlier returning and he needs...he needs...

"Steve," Eddie whimpers as soon as he catches his breath, his mouth tingling from their kisses, "Please."

Steve doesn't answer, at least not verbally. What he does is squeeze Eddie's hand as his mouth leaves Eddie's to kiss his cheek and down his throat, distracting Eddie enough that he doesn't even notice Steve reaching for the lube or coating his cock with it. It comes as a surprise when he feels the slick head of it nudging against his entrance.

He gasps out Steve's name, only to have it swallowed by the man himself as Steve pushes into him.

It's not the first time, but it feels like it, the feeling of Steve overwhelming as he fills Eddie inch by tantalizing inch and Eddie squeezes his hand so hard it must hurt.

Steve never stops, never hesitates as he slides inside him and it feels like it will never end. Just more and more of his hot flesh making its home inside Eddie until he can feel it in his gut, in his fucking throat.

They both moan as Steve's hipbones finally press against his ass.

As he pulls out almost all the way again, Steve squeezes Eddie's hand before slamming back into him with a force he has never used before. With each sharp thrust, more of the choked up sounds are punched out of Eddie's body. A particularly hard one pushes Eddie higher up on the mattress and he clings to Steve's body with his legs around his waist. Their hands are still intertwined and it feels like a lifeline, keeping him grounded in the here and now as Steve grinds impossibly deeper into him.

Steve is fucking him just like Eddie asked him to, hard and fast and teetering on the edge of too much. And yet Eddie can't help but think that it feels like Steve is making love to him. Like he's carving a place for himself inside of Eddie, fusing himself into Eddie's essence until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

It feels like no one has ever wanted Eddie as much as Steve.

The thought draws a wet sob from his lungs and eager lips catch the sound before it spills out of the intimate bubble they built around their writhing bodies. Steve kisses him like it's the only thing keeping him alive and Eddie has never felt this way before.

Wanted and cherished.

Loved.

They've never talked about what they are to each other outside of their friendship, let alone love, but Eddie can't help but think the word over and over again. Lovelovelove, like a mantra. The despised words from his letter are drained from his mind like venom from a snake bite by Steve's mouth. Steve's hands, and especially his cock with its intoxicating slide against his inner walls, is the remedy Eddie craved.

"Steve," he moans, hoping Steve hears all the things he couldn't say. "I'm close, so close."

Pressing his body harder into Eddie's, Steve leans closer and whispers in his ear, "Me too, baby. Feels so good around me, fuck. Can you come like that, just on my cock fucking you?"

He has never done it before, always needed a hand on him to finish, but Eddie thinks he can this time. It's different. It feels different. The way Steve's hairy belly rubs against his own cock trapped between them, while Steve's thick length presses into him, its head dragging against his prostate, it all makes the coil of desire inside him tighten.

"Yeah, just keep going, keep going," Eddie babbles. A shiver runs through him at the sensation of Steve's tongue flicking against his ear before licking a wet line up his neck.

"Taste so good," Steve hums contentedly into his ear as his hips pick up speed again. "My good boy, so sweet, so good for me, you're perfect."

Squeezing Steve's hand again, Eddie matches the rhythm of his thrust, muscles clenching around the thick head, pressing harder against where his pleasure burns the hottest.

"That's it, take what you need, baby. So beautiful. All for me, only for me." Steve sounds reverent as he says this, his voice full of wonder. Like he can't believe his luck, like it's not Eddie who's thanking his lucky stars every day to have someone like Steve even look at him. It's incomprehensible to him, the way Steve makes him feel, but Eddie knows he never wants it to end.

"Only for you, no one else makes me feel the way you do," Eddie gasps, too honest, but he can't help it. He'll blame the cock-drunk confessions spilling out of his mouth on his imminent climax, even though he means every single word.

Steve groans at his words like he's been hit, his hips faltering in their relentless assault, no longer slamming into Eddie almost brutally. Instead, he's grinding against him, his hips flush against Eddie's ass as if he's trying to crawl into him. "Eddie, fuckfuckfuck," Steve whines and Eddie feels the hot wetness of his release spilling into him.

Even as he shudders apart on top of him, Steve's hips keep going, urging Eddie to follow. As if Eddie could ever deny him. He clenches harder, bucking his hips just so, and the added friction is enough to push him over the edge as well, spilling between them in hot, messy spurts.

With an exhausted grunt, Steve collapses on top of him, letting Eddie take his weight as he catches his breath. Steve's face is pressed against Eddie's neck and Eddie can feel the hot breath against the cooling sweat on his skin. The hand that isn't clasped with Steve's finds its way to Steve's back, stroking it soothingly.

Eddie feels Steve softening inside him and hisses as Steve shifts his hips enough to slip out of Eddie. A trickle of cum follows, leaking out of his hole and onto the mattress. He tries to hold it in, wanting to keep some of Steve inside him as long as possible, but Steve's length has him gaping, and more drips out the longer he lies there. Eddie knows they will have to clean up soon, and he can feel the mess on his stomach drying, skin and hair sticking together uncomfortably.

He allows himself just a few more minutes of peace and quiet. Steve doesn't seem to mind, judging by the way his fingertips keep running up and down his arm in meaningless patterns.

They are still holding each other's hands.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, his voice thick as he tells Steve, "Thank you."

Steve hums in acknowledgment, his fingers never stopping their soothing motion.

"I'm sorry. For...you know. Acting weird."

That makes Steve pause, and Eddie is glad he keeps his head on Eddie's shoulder. He's not sure he can have this conversation with Steve's eyes on him.

“’s okay. Had me worried though. You wanna talk about it?"

No, he really doesn't. But he'll do it anyway, because it's Steve. Eddie takes a deep breath and says, "My father never wanted me. I tried everything to be good enough for him. Learned how to hot-wire cars, pick locks, the works. But he never cared. Left me behind to save his own ass. And now he's asking me for money. Today was the first time I heard from him in a decade, and the only thing he wants is money."

The bitterness in his words sounds muted to his own ears, the burning anger replaced by defeat. There's no point in getting angry about the things you can't change, he knows that.

That doesn't mean they don't hurt.

Letting Eddie's words sink in, they both remain silent. Eddie doesn't expect Steve to say anything because there really isn't much to say. He doesn't want pity or lies about how deep down his father cares, he just can't show it. It's a cheap comfort, not made to last before it cracks and crumbles in his hands.

Steve offers none of these things. Instead, he pushes himself up to look into Eddie's eyes, holding his gaze as he lifts their joined hands to his mouth and presses a soft kiss against the back of Eddie's hand.

"Fuck him. You don't need him. You have Wayne. Your band. The kids." Another kiss, this time on Eddie's lips. "You have me, in any way you want me."

There it is again, at the forefront of his mind.

Love.

"Even in the forever way?"

Steve's smile is blinding as he presses their hands to Eddie's chest, right over his heart.

"Especially in the forever way."

[writeforfandoms]

Island 2

Find the series masterlist

More conversations are had, plans are made, and you all make a run for another drop. Of course, things don't always go smoothly.

Warnings: Swearing, intense emotions, reader has Issues, canon typical violence, shooting at dinosaurs, blood, death (dinosaurs only), playing fast and loose with Ark mechanics.

Word count: 2.5k

Eventual Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x f!reader

All four of them helped you carry in the meat and berries, and you showed them where you kept everything. It took longer to pluck the dodos, leaving the feathers in a large basket. Gaz took over that for you, and you stood in the middle of the house for a minute, hands on your hips. 

“Taming really isn’t a day two topic,” you said, shaking your head a little. “But. Oh well.” You breathed in deep, fingers tapping against your hip. “Obviously you lot have seen Bessie and Watermelon. Taming creatures is generally not hard, but it is a process. The herbivores are the easiest, you just find their favorite berries and feed ‘em until they like you.” You paused there and then sighed. “You kind of have to take all of this with a grain of salt, because none of this makes sense. I just knew when Bessie was tame, same way I just know that hyaenadon will be ready to come in tomorrow. I didn’t have to train Bessie, she just knows.” You shrugged. 

“So, what, you just feed things until they follow you home?” Gaz didn’t look up from the dodo he was plucking. 

“I mean, with herbivores, yeah. And a few carnivores, like the hyaenadons. But most carnivores are much more dangerous.” You shook your head. “I’m honestly amazed Tom was able to tame Ripper. Raptors are dangerous and they’re pack hunters.”

“So how did he tame it?” Price crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Nuh uh.” You pointed a threatening finger at him. “Nope. Week two. Survive that long and I’ll teach you.” 

His eyes gleamed and he tipped his head to look down at you. “Fine.” 

“Are we goin’ for the green drop?” Soap asked as he finished piling meat in the preserving bin. 

“Haven’t decided. The closer you get to the mountain, the more dangerous the creatures are.” You shrugged, turning away to check your berries. You needed to do something with some of them. More hard biscuits, probably. Especially considering how many Gaz had eaten. “Gaz, let me know when you’re done with those dodos.”

“Will do.” He sneezed as a feather tried to drift up his nose, making Soap laugh at him. You just rolled your eyes. Children. 

The rest of the day passed in more or less easy work. Gaz picked up how to get the most meat off the birds quickly, only grumbling when Soap interrupted him. Ghost had vanished outside again, which you decided was Not Your Problem. Price had studied the map for a bit and then started poking around. 

It was not the same kind of quiet that you’d grown accustomed to since Jasper got killed. But it was quiet, mostly. 

Gaz helped you with dinner, which was good, because you weren't used to cooking for five. 

Dinner was quiet too. This time, Soap grabbed the dishes before you could, leaving you inside with Gaz and Price. Gaz stepped outside as well. 

Lovely. 

"You haven't searched for a way out?" Price asked, leaning back in his chair, hands folded together over his stomach. 

"I never said that," you shot back, a little annoyed. "Of course I have. Everyone has. And nobody's done it. This place is a fucking death trap." 

He was quiet for a few moments, watching you. You looked away first. 

"Forgive me if I don't believe there's no way out," he drawled.

You waved a hand. "Believe what you want," you muttered. "You'll figure it out." 

He blew out a breath. "What else do we need to learn?"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "More about taming, later," you said. "Weapons you seem to know. We need to go through berries and edible plants, of course. Basic repairs. Basic building. Creature identification. Things to avoid at all costs." You shrugged. 

Price nodded, still relaxed in his chair, still watching you. "You haven't given up yet."

You tensed. "What?"

"You're still here. Still alive." His lips quirked in an almost-smile. "Much as you insist this place is a death trap, you haven't resigned yourself to it. Not fully. Else you wouldn't have survived this long." 

You stared at him for a few long moments, lips parted, eyes wide. Your heart beat hard and fast in your chest, the same feeling the last time you'd come across a raptor. 

You slammed out of the house before you knew what you were doing, walking fast away from that train wreck. He wasn't even entirely wrong - there was still that tiny glimmer of wondering, that tiny what if.

More than that, though, you were mad he had read you so easily. You weren't used to that. Maybe it was all the time you'd spent alone, or the lack of emotional intelligence from Jasper. 

Either way, you probably could have reacted better. 

“Love?” 

You startled a little at the nickname and half-turned to look at Gaz. The bastard had snuck up on you. “Hm?” 

“You alright?” He took a slow step closer, hands twitching at his side.

“Yes, of course.” You breathed in, swallowing hard. “You lot got the dishes done already? Gonna have to find more things for you to do before you get bored.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Gaz murmured, taking another step closer. “We’re good at keeping ourselves busy.”

“Hm. Even so.” You turned away from him to fuss with one of Bessie’s saddle bags. “Nice having help, definitely makes the chores go faster. If that green drop is still there tomorrow maybe we’ll go find it. Green drops usually have better stuff in them.” 

“Yeah? Anything you want in particular?” He stepped around you so he could see your face again, leaning against the fence. 

“Wouldn’t mind getting a shotgun,” you admitted on a sigh. “And boots. I would kill for boots.” 

You both looked down at your current pair, which were in poor repair by now. And too big for you. 

“See what you mean,” Gaz murmured. ��Well, we can check tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathed out again. “Long as there aren’t raptors along the way.”

“There a lot of them around here?” 

“Not usually.” You shifted your weight, finally giving up on messing with the saddle bags to mirror Gaz’s posture. “Get a little further up into the mountains, though, and there are all kinds of things. Raptors, sabertoothed cats, carnotaurus. Even rexes, if we’re really unlucky.” 

“Sounds like everything wants to eat us.” But he was still relaxed, smiling a little.

“You joke, but you’re right.” You shook your head. “There are so many things on this island that want to eat you. So many.” You shivered as the memory of screams echoed in your mind. 

He frowned, hand settling on your shoulder. "It's alright, love," he murmured. "There are five of us, now. And you've got experience. We'll manage." 

You leaned into his hand, swallowing convulsively. It had been… a long time since you'd had human contact. A long time. "You're right." You breathed in deep, trying to wrangle your emotions back under control. "We'll be okay." 

He smiled at you, warm and confident. "I know you don't know us yet," he said, shifting closer to you, brown eyes holding yours. "But we keep each other safe, and we'll do the same for you." 

You shook your head a little, smiling even as you pulled back. "Don't worry about me," you demurred. "Focus on yourselves at first. I know what I'm doing." One deep breath in and you stepped back. "Come on, we should go set up for bed." 

He nodded, motioning for you to go first. You breathed in deep before you went inside, scooping up the basket of glow crystals. 

The evening was quiet. Gaz helped you set up, and ended up sitting near you for a little while. 

"Think you're gonna name the hyaenadon?" He asked, glancing at you. 

"Oh, probably." You smiled a little. "Dunno what yet." 

He nodded, relaxing next to you. "Think it'll be right around here?" 

"I hope so." You chuckled. "Or maybe it'll find us when we go to the green drop." 

He nodded and watched as Soap and Ghost came back in too, settling down for the night. 

"You should get some sleep," you murmured to him. He was close, you could touch him. You could. It wouldn't be weird. Your gaze settled on his hand, a nice, innocent spot. "Gonna be a long day." 

"Sleep well." Gaz hesitated another moment longer before he pushed up to his feet. You watched him go.

You should have touched his hand. 

Annoyed at yourself now, you retreated to your own bed for the night. You needed to take your own advice, especially if you were leading them off to the green drop. 

Huffing to yourself, you curled up on your side with your back to them. 

It took you a long time to sleep.

Gaz helped you with breakfast the next morning, standing a little closer than he needed to. But you didn't mind. 

And then Soap crowded in on your other side, and you eyed the both of them. This felt distinctly like pranks, or something. Mischief. 

But nobody got into trouble through breakfast. Thankfully. 

It didn't take long to get armored up again, and you grabbed another piece of meat for the hyaenadon. 

“We'll take Watermelon today,” you said, glancing around at them. “He'll be good help.” 

“How so?” Gaz asked, sidling closer to you. 

“These guys are good as watch towers. They're kinda paranoid, and they alert at any sign of danger.” You shrugged, walking over to the paddock. “Hey, Watermelon. Hi cutie boy.” You held out a hand, smiling as the parasaur plodded happily over to you. “Good boy,” you cooed. 

“Big dinosaur,” Soap muttered, shifting his weight. “Ye sure it'll help?”

“Saved my ass before,” you said with a shrug. “Okay, come on. Let's get going.” You whistled for Watermelon to follow. 

The walk up to the green drop was longer than you liked, and you were on alert the entire walk. So was Watermelon, ambling behind you all and looking around constantly. 

Watermelon bleated in alarm, and you halted, gun up, scanning for the threat. 

But the only thing to approach was the hyaenadon. 

“Okay,” you breathed. “Do not shoot my hyaenadon.” You glanced back at the men to make sure they were listening. Price nodded once, so you tucked your weapon away and approached the hyaenadon. Handing over the last piece of meat was easy, and the hyaenadon wagged as it ate. She licked her lips and then sat politely in front of you, jaws parted in a canine grin. 

“Good.” You patted her on the top of her head, ruffling her fur. “Okay, come with us.” You whistled and she trotted happily along with you as you rejoined the others. 

“Done?” Price asked, glancing down at the hyaenadon. 

“Yeah. She's all tamed now.” You breathed in deep. “Alright, let's get going again.” 

You took the lead again. A quick glance back showed Soap and Ghost both giving your newest tame a good berth. But Gaz looked curious. 

Eh. You'd deal with any questions later. 

You paused at the top of a rise, looking across the flat land towards the green drop. This was a potentially dangerous area. So far all looked quiet, and the pair of pachys roaming the flat area were a good sign. 

Hopefully all would stay quiet. 

“Alright. The drop is just up there.” You glanced back at them, a little surprised to see them all already watching you. “We’re going to approach slowly. If you see anything, speak up. I've seen raptors up here before.” 

They all nodded, and you took the lead to the drop. Watermelon looked around anxiously, but stayed quiet. Probably a good sign. 

You popped open the crate, peering inside. Some armor pieces that looked too big for you, ammunition, another assault rifle, two more canteens, and… a pair of boots. 

“Hell yes,” you hissed, picking up the boots immediately. They looked like they might be a little too big, but you had extra cloth you could shove into them. Good enough. 

Gaz helped you get everything into the saddle bags, grinning when he spotted your boots. “Finally, eh?” he murmured. 

“Finally,” you agreed with an easy grin. “Alright, let’s–”

Watermelon bleated, lifting his head and looking to one side. You turned, pistol in hand, scanning the tree line.

“Raptors,” you hissed, eyes narrowing, even as you stepped forward, all too aware of the men behind you. “Fuck I hate raptors.” 

“How many?” Price asked, closer than you expected. 

“At least three.” You tracked one pacing at the edge of the trees, dark green skin blending into its surroundings. “They’re fast, be careful.” 

The first one burst from the trees with a screech, two others flanking it. You aimed for the leader, jaw tight as you timed your shots. Blood bloomed against the dark green, bright and almost startling in the sunlight. 

The leader fell, jaws still open even in death. You huffed in satisfaction. 

One of the other two leapt over the leader’s body with a screech, claws extended towards you. 

And then fell just shy of you from a shot to the eye, bleeding sluggishly. 

Your breath escaped in an unsteady whoosh, hands trembling even as you reloaded your pistol. “Nice shot,” you managed, voice more or less even, gaze still fixed on the corpse. 

“You alright?” Gaz stepped up next to you, one hand hovering near your shoulder.

“Fine.” You forced your gaze to him, plastering on a smile, even if it felt wrong. “Not the first time raptors have ambushed a drop.” You did a quick visual inspection of him before looking at the others. “Everyone okay?”

“All fine,” Price said, glancing between you and Gaz. “No injuries.”

“Good.” One more deep breath and you shoved everything down. You didn’t have room to break, to panic, to cry. Not here. “Right, let’s head back, I don’t want to see if that noise attracted anything around us.” 

The walk back to base was quiet, with all of you on high alert. The hyaenadon trotted next to you, ears perked, listening to everything around you.

You were very, very grateful that nothing came for the group of you. You were even more relieved when you closed the gates behind everyone, once again safely in base. 

“Let’s get this lot unloaded,” you said, swallowing against sudden exhaustion. “And then figure out dinner.”

“You alright?” Gaz asked softly, standing next to you to unload the armor while you grabbed your new boots. “Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m fine,” you lied with a quick smile. “Nothing to worry about. Go on, head in with those, I’m going to get Watermelon settled.”

Gaz shot you one more worried look before he obeyed, falling into step next to Price. 

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, even as you took off Watermelon’s saddle and got him settled in the paddock with Bessie again. 

You stood outside for a few extra minutes, hidden from sight of the building, just breathing. You hadn’t lost anybody today. You hadn’t lost anybody today. 

You’d make sure you didn’t lose anybody tomorrow.

[overthinkingtaleblr]

Oh he’s missing half his right arm?

(Chainsaw Revving)

btw Johnny ghost has dyslexia and a half missing right arm. and curly hair. and the biggest prettyboy brown eyes you've ever seen. if you care

[sweetie-peaches]

Constantly thinking of soulfire, they where everything to me, the way the base felt so cozy and warm after all the disasters was so :[

And I do wonder what would have happened if tubbo didn't keep as tight a hold on bad, if he let his honor slip even a bit, but I think that's the beauty of his character. He never let his honor go.

Despite the death, despite the others wanting to destroy it all, tubbo was always there for moral and to keep the others honorable (well most of the time-)

Bad was the ruthlessness they needed, Tina was the engine keeping it running, and tubbo made sure they kept up their spirits despite it all...

Wish it hadn't ended on a kinda anticlimactic one v one tho like...the whole point was team events...why a one v one...

Anon kissing you on the lips rn

I was talking about this on twitter. But I think that the soulfire base was such an aid to them psychologically. Because it forced them into proximity with each other, and was a shelter from the chaos outside. It was a support. I could write essaysssss

Anyway, tubbo’s honor is such a fascinating topic. Especially his morality, he wants things to be fair, for it to be a good fight in the end. I’ve been rewatching Alta recently but the fire nation’s idea of honor fits tubbos ideals as well, though he has the morality of airbenders. In most cases tubbo would want a fair fight that he knows he has a high chance of losing then a fight where he betrays his own moral code to win.

At his core I think tubbo is a diplomat, but if fighting is necessary he wants it to be fair. But that doesn’t mean he won’t do what it takes to end up victorious

And he tries his best to hold to these morals, and holds his team to them as well, for better then worse in some cases.(Aside from the obvious moments)

bad balanced out tubbo’s honor perfectly with his ruthlessness. And throughout purgatory they were such opposites that worked so well. Tubbo sat back and was careful, bad was reckless.

And bad was loud Bolas was so afraid him because he didn’t care for the blood on his hands. He attacked quickly and fast. It let tubbo hide behind him, make himself seem like someone who was just holding the leash. But remove bad and tubbo was just as much as a threat.

And then Tina played support amazingly. First off the tea strat which was just. Wow. Secondly, even if she wasn’t best at pvp she still but in so much work at ‘home’ that made her so so vital to the team. She also provided vital morale support that soulfire would be nothing without.

And I know this ask didn’t talk about him but I think Pierre’s mindset was interesting as well during purgatory. How he was sort of a loose canon.

He was a big leg up in the game because of his experience with games like purgatory before. But as seen with the ggn elimination day is quick to turn on his team when his ideals start to turn from his own.

I’ve talked about how soulfire became a whole unit before but I have to repeat again. They were a unit. Tubbo was held with such respect by his teammates and in turn they held respect for him as a leader, or “coach”

And then purgatory 2 was so different and it’s just so cool

(As for the ending,,, yeah. I won’t say anything on that but. Just. Yeah. I think there was a lot of things went into that that it’s just a whole god damn mess lol)

[cuubism]

Transmasc Hob or transmasc Dream are always and forever on my mind. We need more hot sexy men with vulvas representation. Especially in smut.

hell yeah 🫡

i do like how the fandom plays fast and loose with gender and with different body types. I've never seen anyone be like 'well the characters can't be X because blah blah'. it's refreshing. go crazy and depict them however you want.

trans hob is super interesting conceptually in the canon universe. what was his life like in different eras? it's fun to consider.

fandom loves transmasc dreamling, i love transmasc dreamling, we all prosper

[pfangirl]

SAAMMM! Why we really should be excited for Season 2 of Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft

Honestly, as exciting as it’s been to learn that a second season of Netflix animated series Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft is on the cards; that it will in fact feature a team-up between former best friends archaeologist Lara Croft (voiced by Hayley Atwell) and documentary filmmaker Sam Nishimura (Karen Fukuhara); and that their pairing will revive the decade-old Salara/S.S. Endurance ship regardless of how things actually pan out romantically for the young women…

The greatest thrill actually stems from the fact that Season 2’s first promotional image reveals Lara and Sam glaring at each other. No grateful reunions shown, there’s clearly a lot of unresolved tension between the duo. And with a mountain of issues to scale, it feels safe to say that there’s going to be a lot of meaty emotional content paired with the show’s globe-trotting action. As in Season 1.

Before jumping into that, though, it’s worth remembering that Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft is playing fast and loose with the lore established in the games (if you take Roth’s revised depiction as an indication), and apparently acting like the tie-in comics and novelisations don’t exist at all. It’s therefore unclear how much of existing canon will filter through into Season 2.

That said, we can assume the former best friends aren’t on speaking terms – even if the series chooses to ignore Sam’s off-screen psychiatric hospitalisation twice(!) for Himiko possession, and a kidnapping or two.

Officially, if we stick to the games alone, we know that in Rise of the Tomb Raider, Sam wouldn’t talk to Lara even if her doctors would let her. By the time of Shadow of the Tomb Raider, Sam is communicating with Jonah again, but Lara simply wasn’t returning her calls. At a certain point after that, we can assume Sam gave up on reconnecting if Lara wasn’t making the effort from her side.

So yes, Sam Nishimura has every reason to be pissed, for two very good reasons.

Lara Croft is a terrible friend

The whole of Season 1 of Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft is Lara learning to get over her isolating tendencies; to treat the people who care about her with simple respect, like actually asking for help instead of treating it as a given, and communicating her actions instead of simply running out on people.

With Sam, the ghosting has been especially brutal because out of all the Endurance crew, Lara’s bff experienced the most trauma on Yamatai next to our title hero. Sam was betrayed by both Mathias and Whitman, set up to be burnt on the stake, violated by the invading soul of Himiko, killed cultists in self-defence, and before all that, she pulled strings (via her wealthy treasure-loving uncle) to fund the expedition when investors pulled out. Lara may have provided the directions to the island, but trust fund baby Sam made it happen, making her as culpable for the deaths and disaster as Lara.

The two friends could have found solace in their shared experience, but Lara is so wrapped up in her own guilt and pain that she never once asks Sam how she’s doing. As Reyes jeers back on Yamatai, “It’s always about Lara.” Back then, Sam instantly replied with a “That’s not fair,” but a few years down the line, that reaction is probably no longer the case. This after the pair were clearly each other’s biggest cheerleader, their ride or die, believing in each other and supporting each other’s dreams – typically when no one else did.

It’s notable in Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft that Lara reacts with especial prickliness when Jonah tells her to talk to Sam instead of using him as a message middleman. As soon as Sam’s name comes up, Lara immediately cuts off the conversation and closes her manor door. And when Lara briefly does calls Sam in the season, it’s solely for her own cathartic purposes. Again, there’s no asking how Sam is doing; it’s all about the “I” that is Lara. As a far more empathetic, less emotionally stunted person, it’s likely Sam will have picked up on the friendship imbalance. And, as a less easy-going and patient figure than Jonah, it’s not a stretch to say that her resentment has been quietly building towards Lara. For very good reason.

Sam isn’t a damsel in distress

This is the biggie. Sam clearly has a chip on her shoulder about being considered useless or inconsequential in comparison to Lara. While the topic is the source of her biggest argument with Lara in the Dark Horse comics – in the Queen of Serpents arc – it even surfaces briefly in the 2013 game when, before a mishap with a mounted machine rifle, Sam is in the process of explaining how Lara isn’t the only one who can be helpful.

The thing is, while Sam may label herself “a ditsy American troublemaker with a camera” in one of the 2013 game’s collectible documents, the reality is that she has kept pace with Lara Croft for years. As equals.

We should never forget that Sam and Lara had multiple “awesome adventures together” in their college years – backpacking, hiking, climbing and exploring the world. And as much as she’s shown enjoying the finer things in life, Sam is revealed to be as serious about work as she relishes play, having already filmed in some of the world’s most extreme environments, including the Arctic, Red Desert and volcanic regions. This attitude, in combination with her extroverted party girl nature, actually positions Sam closer to Classic Lara than the latest iteration of the character.

In 2013, Sam escapes the sinking S.S. Endurance on her own, and later steals a radio to communicate with Lara. In every one of her appearances in Tomb Raider media, barring the Ten Thousand Immortals novel, she’s proven to be driven, spirited, brave and resourceful, whether she’s fighting off an attacker with cupcakes, sassing her itchy-palmed kidnappers, defending herself against a shark, or stabbing herself to finally escape the presence of Himiko (all in the comics). That last one is especially important as Sam ultimately saved herself; not Lara.

Sam’s master improviser and problem solver status is even apparent in the first released image for Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft Season 2. While Lara is fully kitted out to face whatever is behind the door, Sam seems to be wielding an oversize lock or something similar. If Lara is Fred Astaire, Sam is Ginger Rogers because she does what Lara does… but essentially backwards.

As for why Sam is investigating the black market artefact trade, well, it could be to make a point to Lara, who has consistently sidelined her since Yamatai. Or, it could simply be that Sam is following a great story, in keeping with her professional ambitions; her own hunger for the truth – which once again mirrors her best friend’s primary drives.

As a side note, as we don't hear the conversation, we do maybe have to question if Sam actually called Lara in the final episode of the S1? Though it's likely it was Sam (reaching out to her previous savior in desperation, knotted up in complicated emotions regarding her own capabilities), it could also be a trick from a third party to get the brilliant archaeologist on the case.

Either way, given that Sam and Lara have a very different dynamic to Lara and Jonah, with the latter providing protection, reassurance and stability, Season 2 of The Legend of Lara Croft should have quite a different tone. Get the popcorn ready because if Season 1’s deep dive into Lara’s psychology was any indication, we’re going to get front row seats to the resurfacing of all of Lara and Sam’s resentments and other… pent-up feelings. Finally, after over a decade of dodging the issue.

We just have to keep fingers crossed that they’re both alive and reunited in some capacity at the end of it all. If Indiana Jones and Nathan Drake can have figures like Marion, Sallah, Elena and Sully backing them up in their adventures in various capacities, why can’t Lara Croft?

[tanoraqui]

key elements of Crownless (the Young Aragorn show that lives in my head and heart) season 1:

(Note that I will play a little fast and loose with timelines and for the sake of a better story. And/or take ruthless advantage of canonical slow Dúnedain aging to spread the timeline out over several decades)

First episode(s) is Aragorn (age 21, functionally late teens) leaving Rivendell to start wandering the wilds with the Rangers. I would do Elrond & his people dirty and say that Aragorn has been kinda sheltered growing up, a little because Elves tend to baby Men, especially young Men, and mostly because everyone wanted to be sure Isildur’s heir was safe as darkness grew in the world, especially after his father was killed when he was 2.

So Aragorn starts with significant book smarts, homely peace smarts—historical knowledge, animal friendship, herblore, diplomacy skills, technical sword/knife/bow skills…but he doesn’t know the dirty fighting tricks that win a fight. His tracking, hunting, forest stealth, etc. skills…suck at first. He’s prone to freeze in urgent healing (or combat) situations, because he’s never done this on his own before—though he has a natural talent for the ‘calling people back from death’ thing we see in LotR.

(This gives Aragorn obvious skills to pick up that demonstrate his character growth as a leader, while also establishing from the start that his real talent in kingship is, always was, diplomacy, strength of character & connection with his people, literal and metaphorical healing. Also, weirdass plans, often based on things he read, with success resting on luck/prayer/hope more than any reasonable thing…including a willingness to trust strange new and/or sketchy people…and they work.)

Maybe eps 1-2 is a double-length episode: opens with newly widowed Gilraen arriving in distress with a toddler 18 years ago, then first half is mostly restless late teen!Estel in Rivendell, ending with Elrond revealing his true name, broken sword, time to go forth… Smash cut to Aragorn tripping in the forest and falling in a stream while 2 other baby Rangers laugh at him and whoever’s stuck training these new recruits sighs heavily. There’s a lot of “this is the new Chieftain of the Dúnedain, Isildur’s heir?”

Format: 22ep 44min monster of the week (like GOD INTENDED) focused on the newest young Rangers: Aragorn, Halbarad, Dúnawen (OC: “maiden of the west”, don’t @ me for naming), as they range throughout Eriador learning how to be badasses guarding the boundaries of civilization. Monsters include orcs, wargs, mortal bandits, trolls, giant spiders, a small ice wyvern that made its way to northern Dale, barrow-wrights, unhoused fëa, rival clans of Men or maybe Dwarves who are about to go to blood feud war…

…and a slowly mounting season plot of the trouble of 3 Nazgúl reoccupying Dol Goldur, after the White Council forced the “Necromancer” out 15ish years ago. (Riling up ghosts throughout the countryside? Something something themes of moving on from the past. Also, can’t go wrong with an episode in which heroes must confront their literal personal ghosts.)

Repeat cameos from Elrohir & Elladan, cousins of all Mannish Dúnedain (and kind of older brothers to Aragorn in particular.) Are they helping him? Are they harder on him than on the other new recruits? Are they good cop/bad cop-ing it?

Arwen! Meet briefly ep1 and/or she’s a key feature of midseason finale; return in season finale to be badass. “Tinúviel! Tinúviel!” scene in Lothlórien casts a hiccup in a fledgling romance between Aragorn and Dúnawen

All combinations of Aragorn/Halbarad/Dunawen ARE welcome, nay, encouraged. They’re functionally in college and they’re all hot, and constantly in near-death situations. I advise the writers to have fun. Bisexuality is free.

Gandalf introduction early, ep2? Probably also in finale (something of a large team-up).

Late season bottle episode, maybe just before a 2-parter finale, in which due to a thunderstorm/mudslide/cave-in incident, Aragorn, Halbarad and Dunawen are trapped in a cave/small series of caves with a random assortment of other travelers on the road west of Bree: a pair of Dwarvish merchants, a few men, 1 elf (journeying to the Havens to Sail?), and 1 hobbit, Mr. Drogo Baggins of Hobbiton, who was making a perilous journey to Bree and back in order to fetch his beloved, very pregnant wife a particular kind of cheese she was craving. No loss of air threat, but they’re stuck. Obviously getting Drogo home is of utmost importance (and everyone else needs to get home safe, too). Tempers run high! Only once the Junior Rangers sort out their late-season interpersonal drama can Aragorn rise to the occasion and organize/mediate this microcosm of Middle Earth’s populace to dig their way out of this cave.

Aragorn is exceptionally good at facing down Nazgúl and their weaponized despair because he has—indeed, he is, by name!—hope. This show is about hope first and teamwork second, and looking badass in a beautiful landscape while Howard Shore music swells third.

[s2 in notes]