#like i only really know center point road

[myownwholewildworld]

uniformed!joel one shot - the police officer

series masterlist | main masterlist | part ii

pairing: police officer!joel x f!reader.

summary: you're driving back home and, unbeknownst to you, you've committed quite a few traffic offences, noticed by the one and only police officer, joel miller. he's not gonna let you get your way that easily.

a/n: umm hello?? idk what happened, but here we are. i threw this idea to the wind, people seemed to like it, so i started typing and this is what came out. read the warnings and do not judge me please lol this is inspired by this and this ask, so kudos to them! so basically i have decided to start a series of one shots where joel miller wears different uniforms. YEAH, i know, i'm not okay but that's okay. if you guys have any suggestions for this series, my askbox is open! also, i've decided that if i/you guys want, i can write the same uniformed!joel more than once (e.g. two fics of police officer!joel). if someone is interested in being in the taglist for this series, please do let me know. anyways, i do appreciate all comments, reblogs, likes and asks. as always thank you for reading! <3

warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. dark theme. filthy smut. dub-con. age gap, no age gap, you choose (joel is mid-late 40s, reader is at least of legal drinking age). power imbalance (joel is a cop). alcohol consumption (reader is sober by the time it happens). fingering. squirting. oral (m and f receiving). mouth fucking. slut shaming. cheating. rough, public sex. unprotected piv. creampie. joel is a bully and a dick, basically, so be warned. alternating pov. no description of reader apart from having hair that can be pulled. not proofread so i'm sorry.

w/c: ~4.6k.

tagging some people who seemed to be v interested (please let me know if you want to be removed, no pressure!):

@fartcloudfartcloud @liciafonseca @fan-fiction-floozy @sweetlummie

“Shit”, you mumbled as the car keys slipped off your fingers.

You crouched down and blindly dabbed the asphalt, your phone falling off your hand too. You grunted in frustration ― maybe you did drink a bit more than what you had intended. Not to the point where you thought it would be dangerous, otherwise you wouldn’t be driving home. You were already clumsy when sober, so this was no sign of anything, really.

The keys had tumbled under your car, so you got on all fours and bent over to reach. After a few trials, you finally got hold of them. Steadying yourself on the handle of the driver’s side of your car, you got up. Your tiny, fitted skirt had scrunched up at your waist, so you pulled from the hem to bring it back down. Looking around, you hoped you hadn’t flashed anyone.

You had dressed up for the occasion. As you grew older, your group of friends slowly drifted apart, so agreeing on a date and time to meet up had been a fucking miracle. You had been out since midday and sipped on many margaritas to quench your thirst. But knowing you would need to drive back home, you had stopped drinking a couple of hours ago. If you could, you would have gotten hammered. Living in the outskirts of Austin sucked.

You managed to finally open your vehicle and sat down. You hunched down, avoiding the steering wheel, to undo your heels. A satisfied sigh escaped your lips when you took them off ― your feet were hurting so bad, you questioned all of your life choices. A minute later the motor roared awake, and you were on your merry way without a hitch.

That was until you drove out of the city center onto not very well-lit roads. You were driving through an industrial estate when sirens went off behind you. Clicking your tongue, you looked through the rearview mirror, thinking it may be an ambulance asking you to give way.

Ah, no, you were very mistaken. It was a freaking police car, and it seemed like it was asking you to pull over. Great, just fucking great, you thought.

The headlights blinded you, so you couldn’t see the man approaching your car. Then you heard a tap, tap, tap on your window, the officer dazing you with the torchlight. You inhaled deeply, putting on your best smile, and rolled down the window.

“Good evening, officer. What can I do for ya?”, you battered your eyelashes at him, still dazzled by the torchlight.

Maybe if you played all sweet and innocent, he would take pity on you and let you go.

However, you were met with a deep, husky voice.

“License and proof of insurance”, he barked, no good evening miss, no please, nothing. So rude.

When he put down the torch, you caught a glimpse of the guy’s face. Bearded jaw with a prominent moustache, brown curly hair with slivers of silver, an attractive hooked nose, and some devilish hazel eyes. He was in his mid or late forties and was so fucking handsome you almost drooled at the sight.

You bit your bottom lip, a lopsided smile curling at the corners.

“Yes, of course, officer”, your voice was sweet and smooth as you bowed over the passenger’s seat, your boobs casually resting on the steering wheel.

You opened the glove box and handed him the papers, faking the most innocent, girly look you could muster.

“Is there something wrong, officer?”, you asked, leaning on the door frame, gifting him with the tentative sight of your deep cleavage.

His eyes wandered off the papers he was holding and lingered where you intended. You read the tag on his shirt: Officer Miller. Well, Officer Miller looked damn good in that tight uniform. The black shirt clung to his flexed biceps, the buttons slightly giving way to the bulge of his chest, the belt hugging his waist and… good fucking lord, those thighs, the size of a rugby player’s.

Your mouth watered.

You would lie to yourself if you said you were not affected by his presence. In fact, your damp cunt might as well fucking disagree with you. You pressed your knees together, unconsciously looking for some relief to the sudden wet heat gathering in between your legs.

His eyes drifted up lazily, locking on to yours. You swore a muscle on his jaw twitched.

“You were speeding, doing 40 on a 30-mph road. And your headlights are off”, he replied, his tone raspy.

Fuuuuuuuck, that’s why I couldn’t see shit. Were you that drunk? You didn’t feel like it.

Your face expression didn’t flinch, playing dumb might just do the trick. So you giggled, smacking your forehead with the palm of your hand.

“Ah, silly me. But it was well lit up until now, sir, so no harm done, right?”, your honeyed voice pleaded. “I swear this was a 40-mph road a couple of months ago?”

“It was but got changed. Did you not see the road sign?”, he seemed to be very annoyed.

You had no time to answer, because Officer Miller pointed to your lap. For a second you panicked ― surely your arousal had not drenched your clothes, right? You were aware of how wet your pussy was, but not to that extreme. Right? You looked down ― your phone was resting on your lap, but nothing else. A wave of relief overcame you and then you glanced up at him, confused.

“You were talking on the phone while driving, I presume.”

You gasped and promptly shook no with your head.

“No, no, officer. You see, I left it there when I got in the car, I forgot it was on my lap. I promise I wasn’t texting or anything like that.” Your explanation was genuine, but he cocked a brow. “I wouldn’t lie to you, sir.”

“Why? Because you’re a good girl?”. That question caught you off guard and turned you on at the same time, sending shivers down your spine. Your clit twitched. You gaped and nodded unwittingly. “I see. Step out of the car.”

Your heart was racing, attempting to jump out of your chest. Maybe you had been too suggestive. But he was the embodiment of the law, surely the officer had had his good share of temptation and would not yield so easily.

You got out of your sedan, slightly dishevelled, and tugged at your skirt so it would stop riding up your thighs. Officer Miller had taken one step back, his eyes measuring you from top to bottom, loitering on your breasts. His tongue quickly darted out to wet his bottom lip ― you were mesmerised by the simple gesture and pondered how it would feel if you choked on his tongue.

That thought made your cunt gush some more. You pursed your lips ― eyes on him, trying to convey normalcy.

“You’ve been drinking and have also been driving barefoot. That’s a total of, what, five offences?”. Miller clicked his tongue in disapproval. “It’s like you’re begging to spend the night in a cell.” His eyes flickered with malice ― and something else. Lust?

You really did not want to sleep in a cell tonight. You just wanted to get home, that was all. Also, most of your “offences” were bullshit. You were certain he couldn’t charge you with half of it, but his wickedness made you wary.

“I’m not drunk,” you said with a languid smile, touching his forearm, his arms crossed at his chest. “I stopped drinking two hours ago, officer.”

He raised an eyebrow ― Officer Miller didn’t believe a word you said.

“I can smell it.” You didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but his eyes drifted down to your pussy.

“I-It?”, you repeated, lips parted.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you for a long minute. Your bravery had flaked a bit, although your cunt was begging for him to do something about it.

Joel was having a hard time curbing his horniness. You were so inviting, so insinuating, it was like you were asking to be fucked there and then. Oh, yes, you were, he knew you were. Showing off your boobs, wetting your lips, rubbing your knees together, playing with the edge of your tiny skirt. He had noticed every single one of your seductive attempts.

His cock was hard, so much so that it was stretching against the zipper of his work trousers. He kept his arms crossed, but what he really wanted to do was to readjust his erection so it wouldn’t be so damn uncomfortable.

“Turn around, hands on the car”, he ordered with a steely voice.

You first looked muddled, but finally obliged, giving him your back ― your palms resting on the roof of your car, your knees pressed together. He was sure your cunt was pulsing, and you were just trying to calm yourself down.

The thought made him mad with lechery. His dick was throbbing already.

“I’m going to pat you down, and then I’m gonna cuff you. Understood?”, he warned you, getting close to you.

You suddenly looked over your shoulder, your smile unwavering. You tilted your pelvis back, your ass against his bulge. You glanced down and then back up at him decisively.

“I’m sure we can work something out, officer?”, you whispered, your butt pressing on his swollen lump.

No, Joel was not imagining things. You were definitely asking to be fucked senseless in exchange for just a warning. He was still contemplating whether to entertain the idea or not. You were tempting, he would give you that. Your body was built to satisfy a man’s pleasure ― he could see that even when you were clothed. Barely clothed. Your top was too small, your boobs almost spilling over the neckline; your skirt was too short, your ass cheeks almost visible ― and he was sure you had some slutty heels on before you jumped into the car.

His cock jerked at the thought of rearranging your guts. Because that was what Joel would do to you if he had the chance. He cupped his groin for a second now that you were not looking, pressing it slightly to relieve some of the tension.

It didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. He suppressed a frustrated groan.

Joel slotted his right knee in between your legs and forced you to separate them, his heavy boot grounding him. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, you’re under arrest for at least reckless driving. Now stay still.” He was fully aware of how the top of his thigh brushed your crotch, but made a titanic effort to ignore it, for his own sanity.

Your panties were so fucking drenched, you feared your discharge might start dripping down your inner thighs. In fact, you let your head down to check discreetly and sighed with relief ― nothing to worry about, he wouldn’t notice how fucking horny you were.

Then he forcefully parted your legs, and you felt the fabric of his trousers sliding against your wet panties. The subtle touch made you jerked your hips up and then back down in surprise, your clothed cunt flushed against his thigh ― you had to swallow the sluttiest moan of your entire life, it felt damn good.

“I’m― I’m sorry”, you mumbled, lifting your body up to break the contact.

You didn’t need to look down to know that there would be a wet patch on his black trousers.

“You should be, making a mess of my uniform like that”, he grunted, exasperated.

Pressing your lips, you inspected every inch of the roof of your car while he patted you down. His big, calloused hands lingered on your underboob longer than necessary, almost cupping them. Both hands travelled down to your waist, his fingertips slightly under the waistband of your skirt.

Your heart was pounding, suddenly unsure of the whole thing. What were you really doing? Were you so desperate that you would let him use you in exchange for letting you go? Were you getting more than what you had bargained for?

It was like the excitement had burnt the last drop of alcohol in your blood and now you were fully aware of what you had unleashed.

But you had no more time to question your attitude, because Officer Miller completely slipped one of his hands under your underwear and buried all of his fingers in your soaked folds, except for his thumb which quickly found your clit. You shut your eyes and moaned audibly, your knees giving way.

His free hand wrapped around your waist to help you stand up, while his fingers traversed your whole slit, from your perineum to your clit, buttering your cunt with your own fluids.

“You are so fucking wet already, you should be ashamed of yourself”, he whispered in your ear while he pushed your ass back into his bulge.

Your treacherous body had awakened at his touch, your clit felt like it was on fire and your cunt was pulsating so hard it was uncomfortable. You rubbed his dick with your buttocks, unconsciously looking for some more friction. Miller groaned behind you, jerking you closer, his cock hard pressed against your ass.

Two of his fingers dipped further down and found your leaking hole, his thumb still rubbing your clit languidly. You whimpered and stirred your hips when one fingertip circled your entrance tentatively. Your back arched, pushing your butt further into his erection.

“Aren’t you a slut?”, he hissed as both fingers slid inside you, your brain not registering his words.

Your moist pussy clenched around his fingers, squeezing them hard. Every time your heart beat, so did your cunt. Officer Miller started fingering you, first slowly, and then picking up a relentless pace. Unable to control yourself, you mewled like a kitten in heat, your forehead now resting against the cold metal of your car and a thread of spit hanging from your mouth. Your needy cunt was so stimulated, so hot, so slippery, you couldn’t stop yourself from coming, even if you wanted to.

So you let go. You orgasmed so hard, you squirted with his fingers still dug in your creamy pussy. But you coming didn’t stop Officer Miller from driving his digits inside of you over and over again, forcing another climax on you a minute later. Your inner walls palpitated so violently, you felt the emptiness of your womb. Then you noticed it: the trickle of your own cum streaming down your inner thighs.

Officer Miller forced his fingers out of you, a pop sound making it obvious that your pussy was drown in your own fluids. The cop tapped your pussy a few times, almost gently, as the last wave washed off your nerve endings. You had never come so hard in your life before. Not even your boyfriend of five years had been able to turn you on this bad.

When your limbs regained some strength, Miller let go of your waist and stepped back. You slowly turned around to face him, but as your eyes drifted down his uniform, you realised that there was a new wet patch on his trousers, this time on his bulge. You had leaked so much, you had drenched his own pants.

You tried to find the words to explain to him that this was not what you had intended. Or was it?

“You’re still under arrest”, his voice was resolute, as if nothing of what just happened had affected him.

Before your neurons could make contact with each other, he handcuffed you, your laced hands resting in front of you, conveniently covering your spent pussy.

“But―”.

“No but’s, blackmailing a cop is an offence too. So that makes it six now, right?”, he cut you off.

You huffed, not believing what he was saying. You had not blackmailed him, not even close, he was just making it up now. Before you could argue, Officer Miller removed the keys from the ignition, shut the driver’s door and locked your car. He then grabbed you by your elbow, forcing you to walk in front of him towards his cruiser.

“Oh, c’mon, you’re now just bullying me”, you complained, your sweet façade quickly toppling.

Miller didn’t reply to your taunting. He simply opened the back door of his Crown Vic and threw you in. You almost tripped but manage to stop the falling. You sat down on the seat, your legs still out of the car, bare soles against the asphalt.

You didn’t know what possessed you, but your cuffed hands darted up and played with the buckle of his belt. Maybe if you gave him some head, he would relax and let you go. You were already in too deep anyway, your whipped pussy living proof of your desire.

“Officer, please, I can make it worth your while if you let me go”, you muttered, your fingers unclasping his belt.

Miller did not say one word, he just stared you down while you held his gaze. His waist slanted forward in an unspoken invitation, his eyes swirling with lust and wickedness.

You were not sure why you were doing this, or if you wanted to do this. But you were a horny mess, your pulsing cunt urging you to keep going, saturating your panties even more. Sure, you could drive home and ask your boyfriend to take care of you, but by the looks of it, you were going to spend the night in a station cell if you didn't do something about it. About him.

With firm hands, you undid the buckle and unzipped his trousers. His big, meaty cock sprung out with no warning, swaying in front of you. He was wearing no underwear. You marvelled at the sight ― his dick was the longest you had ever seen with a considerable girth, veiny and hairy at the base. It looked scary, but also fucking tempting.

“Don’t just stare, do something”, he commanded, grabbing your cuffed hands to bring them closer to his erection.

Ah, someone is impatient, you thought with a smirk before wrapping both of your hands around his circumference. With your mouth agape, close to his leaking tip, you rubbed the precum against his slit with your thumb and then started pumping him. His cock was palpitating, hard and velvety under your clasp ― and warm, so fucking warm you could feel his blood rushing underneath.

His jaw clenched, his eyes transfixed on your moving hands as you upped the rhythm. And then, without prior notice, he fisted your hair in a ponytail and drove his whole dick down your parted lips. You retched when his glans surpassed your uvula and coughed with his cock still in your mouth.

You were suffocating, but he didn’t give a fuck. In any case, he pushed his cock further down, but it had nowhere to go. His pubic hairs tingled the tip of your nose as you looked up, silently asking for mercy with teary eyes.

Miller glanced down at you and the motherfucker just smiled as you were still gagging.

“Look at you. What a whore, you’re taking it so well”, he mumbled under his breath before pushing your head back.

His cock slid out and you coughed to clear your throat of precum, swallowing it. His brutish attitude, although unwelcome, made your traitor of a cunt gush.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat to teach you a lesson. Open up for me, darlin’.”

You didn’t know why, but you just obeyed. Without breaking visual contact, the cop slotted his cock back in between your lips. With his hands on your temples, he tilted his hips forward until his tip stroked the end of your throat. Then he pulled out harshly and started jackhammering your mouth relentlessly, driving his cock in as far as he could every single time, his hairy balls hitting your chin. With Miller taking the lead, your cuffed hands were free. They were lazily resting on your lap until you dipped them down, your index caressing your deprived clit.

You just took it like a champ. After a while, your gag reflex relaxed and you dared to press your lips around his girth, so it would be more pleasurable for him. His slick cock was drumming in your mouth, filling it up entirely, choking you.

Miller pulled your head back sternly ― you were panting like a puppy by the time he was done with your throat. Your eyelashes were damp with unspent tears. You were sure that tomorrow it was going to hurt like if you had caught the worst cold of your life. Your mouth was filled with his sticky precum, a bridge of it connecting your mouth to his cock.

“You’ve not thrown up, well done”, he chuckled darkly. “Clean this mess for me.”

Again, as if you were not in control of yourself, you did as you were told. You licked his throbbing cock, swallowing all the fluids you had swept off his groin.

He lightly patted your cheek. “Good girl, now get up and take that finger out of your pussy.”

You had not realised you had been fingering yourself all along and your clit was begging for some relief. With a trembling sigh, you removed your hand from in between your legs and stood up.

Only then you caught on: he had not come yet. Fuck, you thought.

Did you want this? You were not sure. Letting him finger you and giving him head was one thing, but letting him fuck you was a completely different story. You were not a slut nor a cheater, but he made you feel like one. Your dribbling pussy made you feel like one.

Joel snatched his fingers around your elbow once again and made you walk to the front of his cruiser. He was in extreme need of relief ― his cock was pulsing so hard it was driving him mad with lust. He was gonna fuck that cunt of yours till you begged him to stop.

Unceremoniously, he splayed you down across the hood of his car ― your chest against the metal surface, your ass up in the air and your legs spread wide. If he could take a picture to jerk himself off to, he would.

He needed to see for himself, taste for himself. He was sure as hell that your pussy was drooling, beseeching to be filled to the brim. So he knelt behind you and parted your ass cheeks to have a better look. You whimpered, tiptoeing to give him better access to your soaked flaps.

“You’re such a slut. I could scrunch your panties to fill up an entire glass with your cum. Your thighs are all wet and tacky too”, he couldn’t stop himself from pointing it out, driving his hands up from the back of your knees, up your inner thighs, until they reached your crotch, framing your pussy.

He leaned forward and sipped from the fountain of your underwear, his fingers digging in the flesh of your ass, smelling your sweet sex. You wept, moving your hips against his mouth. Ah, yes, he knew you wanted him to fuck you hard. Very hard.

Joel rode up your tight skirt, exposing your ass to the elements. And then he pulled down your panties and put them in the pocket of his vest, as if they were a trophy. Because they were.

He now could have a better look at your creamy cunt, all smeared with your wanton fluids. Spreading your pussy open with his hands, he lapped you entirely a few times, even your butthole. Joel heard your moans loud and clear, knowing that you had never had your pussy eaten this good before. So he kept on going ― lapping, licking, sucking, biting until you squirted in his mouth, leaking like a broken tap and whining like a bitch in heat.

Joel drank it all and when you were finished, he stood up. He spanked your ass and with a swift movement, impaled you until his balls were flat against your thighs.

You screamed, literally screamed at the top of your lungs, when he stabbed you with his cock. You tried to hold onto something, but there was nothing you could grab. This was exactly what your cunt needed, being stuffed like a goddamn turkey in thanksgiving. Officer Miller drove his cock in and out of you lazily at first, and then he started fucking you stupid with such vigour that your body was being rocked back and forth, the handcuffs sliding against the hood, scratching the metal underneath.

You just moaned uncontrollably throughout the whole thing, unable to quieten yourself. Your cunt clutched around his throbbing dick, squeezing it hard, so hard you felt your muscles strain. Your clit spasmed severely, another fucking climax creeping up on you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK”, you implored to the sky, to him, to whoever was listening.

The cop then fisted your hair in a ponytail and pulled backwards, forcing you up off the hood, your back arching against his chest while he drilled you mercilessly. You were sure the squelching sounds your pussy was making could be heard from a mile away.

Then you finally came again, shrieking ― your treacherous pussy clamping down on his dick, leaking absolutely everywhere, trying to desperately milk him dry. Your eyes welled up, your black eyeliner running down your cheeks.

“You’re gonna take it inside and you’re not gonna complain”, he moaned in your ear and even in your blissful daze, you panicked.

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” you mentioned, but you knew it wasn’t going to stop him.

“Ah, do you? Doesn’t seem like it right now”, and then he huffed heavily, letting go, driving his cock as far inside of you as he physically could.

His warm cum filled you to the brim, painting your walls of sticky white. Irremediably, you sighed, heaving, and closed your eyes, letting yourself rejoice in how full you were of his spent, of his cock.

And as soon as it started, it ended. His dick slid out of your crying, sensitive pussy, leaving your damp skin exposed to the cold air.

You took a minute to compose yourself and pushing down your skirt. When you looked at him, he had already tucked away his cock back in his work trousers, his cop uniform slightly in disarray. Now there were more wet, sticky patches adorning his groin area, a mixture of your shared pleasure.

“Can I have my panties back, please?”, you requested, extending your hand to him, with a sunny, albeit quivering, smile.

“No, I’m keeping them.” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Can I at least have a tissue to clean myself up?”, your voice grew smaller as you lost confidence.

“No. I want you to go home with your pussy bursting with my cum, so that boyfriend of yours knows you’ve been fucked stupid by someone else”, he explained, full of himself.

At least you were going home. Or so you thought until you saw him walk to the back door of his Crown Vic, holding it open for you to jump in.

“This means nothing, you’re still spending the night in the cell”, he said, matter-of-factly.

You scoffed, angry. “Are you fucking serious?”, you asked, although what you really wanted to do was cry.

But you swallowed your tears, contrite ― your pride was bigger than your shame. And right now, you felt mortified.

What had you done?

Well, you had gambled, and you lost.

But, on the other hand, he had fucked you so good, so filthy, you were not sure any other cock would measure up to his.

[stormythalamus]

agatha finale rant

so I’ve been seeing a lot of people complaining about the finale of Agatha and I wanted to give my two cents on their main points: 

1. “they used agatha’s show as a way to promote a man!!” well yes! that’s how marvel tv works im afraid. or any tv, really. wandavision was used to introduce agatha and monica, which led to their projects in the mcu (aaa, marvels). agatha introduced billy, leading to his future in visionquest or his solo series, which will introduce tommy and vision, which will lead to children’s crusade to reintroduce wanda. this is common for any tv show, but especially a big, connected franchise like marvel. i find it so concerning that even after all the promotion that showed us billy and agatha as co-leads, people were STILL shocked when the finale sets up a future story centered around him. like i hate to break it to yall but marvel wants money. and more shows means more money.

2. “they killed off a lesbian woman and not the gay man!” first of all, in the comics, agatha is a spirit guide for the scarlet witch. this form is her most comic accurate yet. also, did yall really think that was an unfair ending? or an ending PERIOD? all her death made me think of was the possibilities for the future with both billy AND rio. and again; rio was promoted as the ‘antagonist’ to agatha since the beginning. i don’t know how people went into this excepting a happily ever after for these two. they were always depicted as tragic lovers, and i honestly think the kiss of death was beautiful and poetic. i also don’t think this is the last we’re seeing of rio. and, as a side note, homophobia is still not okay! it doesn’t matter if you’re also gay; lesbians can be homophobic towards gay men, and gay men can be lesbophobic towards lesbians. and i’ve seen wayyyy too much of both in this fanbase. you can criticize characters and critique actors without bringing up their sexuality. we have enough incel homophobes doing that for us

3. if you’re still complaining about wanda not coming back i have no hope for you

4. this show, since day ZERO, was promoted as a show with billy and agatha as coleads. while i wish we had more backstory for how agatha and rio met, the salem flashbacks involving nicholas, the road scheme, and the song were much more important to the show. the parallels between nicky and billy were explored throughout the season a lot more than agatha and rios story (whether or not you like it, it’s still true (i personally wish we had a bit more on how they met 😭))

5. sending hate to actors about things their characters did is STILL not okay! and never will be!

6. this might be a hot take but if you’re only watching a show for a ship and don’t care about the story at all your opinion is irrelevant to me. like people who started watching after it was revealed in the show that agatha and rio were lovers (because, correct me if i’m wrong, this was never revealed before the episodes dropped) have no right to be upset when the show focuses on other things. and this is coming from a MASSIVE fan of agathario. and a lesbian. i loved the fact that i was watching characters who just happened to be lesbians have their own story. yes, i wish there was more agathario in the flashbacks. but i’m really not upset at all by what we got. and don’t get me wrong, people have every right to be disappointed, but they don’t have the right to hate on the creators and actors of the show. that’s not cool.

this is way longer than i thought it was gonna be 😭😭 hope everyone enjoyed the finale

[aliwritex]

franco thoughts: 18+ car quickie 1.6k

“You should’ve stayed back, I know you get car sick”

“It’s fine, we’re not even moving anyway.”

You had been stuck in traffic for a while. You didn’t really know where you were but it was a busy avenue. The car was quiet, the radio barely audible and none of you saying much as the sky darkened above you. You had been sent to get some missing ingredients for dinner before the sun even set.

Now it was night, you hadn’t even gotten to the market yet and you were bored out of your mind. The only thing keeping you entertained was your shirtless boyfriend.

He was coming out of the pool when his dad threw the car keys at him, giving him the chore. You were kind of glad that he was such a stubborn person and didn’t listen to you telling him to change before getting in the car, he only threw a shirt over his shoulder instead.

You wish you could stop starring but the thing was, you had been staying with his family for the holidays so alone time was a tad more difficult. You had tried the first night you got there, of course, you missed each other and couldn’t stop your hands, but the next morning at breakfast you could see his family avoiding eye contact — so there was no way you’d do that again. But it had been more than a week now, and God, you were horny.

You couldn’t help but reach out for his thigh, he looked down at your hand and covered with his.

“You okay?”

He watched you nod and moved his hand away from yours after a squeeze. He didn’t get it. You removed your hand from his thigh and took it to your shirt undoing the first few buttons, exposing your chest and the bikini top that barely covered it. It took him a while to notice but when he did his eyes rolled back into his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Just getting comfortable, looks like we’re gonna be here a while.”

You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, but not without your hand pressing hard on his thigh. When you sat back on your seat he was glaring at you.

Another idea popped in your head when you realized the first wasn’t working so well. Your hands dropped to your jean shorts, slowly unbuttoning them. Franco started watching you, eyes on your body as you struggled to get out of your shorts.

You heard him curse something in Spanish and it only made you smile as he moved the car a couple meters forwards. You spread your legs open on his passenger seat, only your bathing suit covering your bottom half. You caught him shaking his head from the corner of your eye as your fingers danced around your clothed middle.

“You’re fucking impossible” he muttered

“C’mon, Franco, let me touch you, I miss you so much” you practically whined “please?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just turned back to the road, relaxing and spreading his legs wider.

“You see that street over there?” he pointed through the glass “I’ll stop there to sort you out.”

“If you can last till we get there” you teased, dipping your hand into his shorts before he could even stop you.

He was starting to get hard, you could feel him becoming warmer and stiffer in your hand. His entire body tensed up for a second before he relaxed again. Franco shook his head when you started massaging him. Your palm ran up and down his shaft till you felt him completely hard in your hand, soft sighs leaving his lips.

You pulled away just to move in your seat, settling into a position where you could simply bend over the center console and face his crotch.

"Mi amor, please"

"Please, what?" you teased, lifting yourself till your lips where brushing his cheek, "want me to stop? Just say the word, yeah?" you kissed his face as your hand pulled him out of his shorts, making his eyes screw shut, still not saying anything. "Right, just enjoy, love"

You bent over again, your lips meeting his tip in a quick kiss before you spit on him. He groaned as you paused, waiting for the spit to drip down his shaft. A few more licks, quick kisses and soft touches till you sat back in your seat, leaving Franco confused, looking at you.

"The traffic lights, Franco" you told him, nonchalantly. He drove the car for a couple more meters before turning back to you. "I need you to concentrate, you don't wanna hit anyone in this state, do you?"

Your hand dropped to his lap again, grabbing him.

The spit helped as you started moving your hand up and down. You were being extremely slow with your movements, partly to tease him and partly so he would last.

Your hand worked skillfully around him, squeezing, thumb pressing his veins and his tip, making curses and moans fall from his lips. You tried to stop when he had to drive but it just made him more desperate.

"Don't cum yet, I really need you." you whispered to his cheek.

He nodded, flicking the turning signal on. The noise driving you insane for the next couple of minutes till he finally reached the street. He struggled to turn, almost scraping the car in front but nothing was gonna stop him. He parked behind a building, immediately pulling the handbrake.

"Come here" he whispered, pulling the seat back.

You chuckled as you climbed over him, sitting on his thighs. He finally felt your lips on his, soft and warm as they moved together in a rushed kiss. His tongue pushed into your mouth as his hand dropped to your middle.

You felt his fingers tug your bikini to the side, easily sliding between your wet folds. A sigh left your lips when they pressed against your clit, making you pull away from the kiss. He smiled at your reaction and let his lips drag down the side of your face, meeting your neck.

Franco kissed and nibbled at your neck as you teased each other with your hands, sighs and soft moans leaving your mouths as you did.

“Fran, please” you whined, both of your hands going to his hair, tugging on it.

He nodded and pulled on the side tie of your bikini, making it come undone. Franco didn’t even bother with the other side, he just lifted your hips up and pushed you down on him. Satisfied groans left both of your mouths, your foreheads meeting.

“Ai, mi amor, missed this so much” he whispered, diving his hand into your hair to pull you into a kiss.

Your hands rested on his bare chest as you started moving. His own hand running up your waist to tug your bikini top out of his way. You moaned into his mouth when his cold palm met your breast, your nipples hardening because of the temperature.

Your hips moved against his in a slow rhythm, enjoying the drag of his skin against your clit as he kissed you. That was till he dropped both of his hands to your hips, guiding them up and down. Franco then wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you close to him.

He bounced his legs to help you move on him. His chin rested on your chest as he looked up at you, watching your face twist in pleasure. He couldn’t care less about his pleasure as he saw you use his body for your own.

You were shocked as you felt the warmth of pleasure grown inside of you so early but when your boyfriend took his hand between your bodies to circle at your clit there was no doubt that your orgasm was creeping up on you. Your walls were clenching around his cock as every single muscle in your body tensed up. His legs still bouncing to work you entirely as you reached your high.

He watched and felt all the little reactions your body had as you moaned. Your hands closed into fists on his hair, making him groan at the sting. Franco almost spilled inside you as you convulsed around him but he managed to ground himself, waiting for you to come down and finally pull out.

You smiled and kissed him, sitting back in his thighs. “You could’ve come inside, you know I don’t mind” you whispered to his neck, still lost in the bliss of your orgasm.

“No, I wanted to cum in your mouth, don’t want you to be a mess while we shop”

You smirked and moved away from him, settling back on your seat before bending over to take him in your mouth. He tasted like you when you first took him in so you made sure to clean him off, licking and sucking away all your wetness from him. His hand dropped to your hair, pulling it away from your face before he bucked his hips into your mouth, holding you in place as he shot ropes of cum.

A Spanish curse left his lips in a sigh as he finished and finally let go of you. “‘m sorry”

“You don’t need to apologize, love.” you pecked his cheek, “if I wanted you to stop you would’ve known.”

“You okay, though?” he asked as he tucked himself away.

“Perfect, love” you gave him a peck on the cheek.

You fixed your clothes as he took off and it turned out, there was a better way to the store, you were there in no time.

[awkward-walking-potato]

I’m obsessed with how you write for Logan, like it’s becoming an addiction at this point. Maybe after a hard week for reader and for Logan, they finally get some time together. So Logan puts on some slow music from the 40s/50s and pulls reader into the kitchen of the apartment to slow dance together. So they just hold each other, maybe discuss some things, or get kind of vulnerable with each other. And it’s just cute and sweet. And then from the living room Wade speaks up, breaking their perfect moment together because let’s be honest, it’s Wade. I love your writing sooooooo much. Thank you🤍

Dancing in the Kitchen

The apartment was quiet, a rarity these days. The week had been long—brutal even. Missions, confrontations, sleepless nights—both you and Logan had been worn thin by the constant demands of a world that never seemed to give either of you a break.

But tonight, the world was far away. The curtains were drawn, the lights dimmed low. The only sound was the steady hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath your feet. You leaned against the kitchen counter, letting out a deep breath. The weight of the past days still clung to you like a heavy coat, but at least here, in this small space with Logan, you felt some semblance of peace.

Logan appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, and you couldn’t help but smile. His usual scowl was softened, the lines of his face more relaxed than you’d seen in days. He held up an old vinyl record, its cover worn but still intact, and nodded toward the living room.

“Thought we could use a little music,” he said, his gruff voice tinged with a warmth that made your heart swell.

You nodded, watching as he moved to the old record player he’d insisted on keeping despite its age. The needle dropped, and soon the soft crackle of the record filled the air, followed by the smooth, crooning voice of a singer from long ago. The melody was slow, languid, like honey dripping from a spoon, sweet and comforting.

Logan turned back to you, holding out his hand. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s dance.”

You hesitated for only a moment before slipping your hand into his. His grip was firm, but gentle as he pulled you into the center of the kitchen. There wasn’t much room, but it didn’t matter. In fact, it felt more intimate this way, with the small space making you press closer to him.

Logan’s other hand settled on your waist, and you looped your arm around his neck, your fingers brushing against the short hairs at the nape. For a few seconds, neither of you moved, just swayed slightly to the rhythm of the music, finding a comfortable sync.

“I miss this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you began to move slowly, your bodies swaying in time with the music. There was something almost magical about it, the way the world seemed to fade away until it was just the two of you in this moment. The tension that had been coiled tight in your chest started to loosen, and you found yourself resting your head against Logan’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“You’ve been holdin’ up okay?” Logan asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your ear.

You sighed, a little shakier than you intended. “It’s been hard. I feel like I’m running on fumes.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “I know the feelin’. But you’re doin’ better than you think. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, finding them softer than usual. “You really think so?”

“Hell yeah,” he replied without hesitation. “You’ve been through worse, and you’ve come out on top every time. This week’s just another bump in the road.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the music or the closeness. Logan didn’t dole out compliments often, but when he did, you knew he meant every word. It was one of the things you loved most about him—his unwavering honesty.

“Thanks, Logan,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anytime, darlin’.”

For a while, you both just danced, the music wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You could feel Logan’s breath on your hair, his strong, calloused hand still holding yours firmly, like he was afraid to let go. And for the first time in days, you felt safe, like everything might just be okay.

But then, as if the universe couldn’t resist ruining the moment, you heard a loud, exaggerated sniffle from the living room.

“Oh my God, you guys are so cute, it’s making me nauseous!” Wade’s voice broke through the serene atmosphere, full of dramatic flair. “Seriously, I’m over here trying to watch a movie, and it’s like a Hallmark commercial in there!”

Logan stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was impossible to be mad at Wade when he was just being his usual self. You turned your head to see him sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his stomach, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal his mouth.

“Wade,” Logan growled, though there was more exasperation than anger in his tone.

“What? Don’t look at me like that, Wolvie! I’m just appreciating the domestic bliss you two have got going on here. It’s inspiring. I might even write a poem about it later. ‘Ode to the Mutants Who Dance in the Kitchen’—has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Wade, do you ever stop talking?”

“Not unless I’m unconscious, which, thanks to this wonderful healing factor of mine, is pretty rare,” Wade shot back, grinning cheekily.

Logan sighed, shaking his head, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible, Wilson.”

“And you love me for it,” Wade replied, throwing a popcorn kernel into the air and catching it in his mouth.

You turned back to Logan, the moment interrupted but not entirely lost. You gave him a small smile, your hand squeezing his gently. “We can always try again later.”

Logan nodded, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Damn right we will. And this time, I’m lockin’ the door.”

Wade’s voice piped up again from the living room. “Locking the door won’t keep me out, Honey Badger! I’m like Santa Claus, I’ll find a way in!”

You and Logan both laughed, the tension of the week finally melting away completely. Maybe the moment wasn’t perfect, but it was yours—and that made it better than anything else.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 3: The Ones Who Died Without A Name]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Holiday” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

The Tahoe runs out of gas just west of Ashland, Ohio, coasting to a stop along the shoulder of State Route 96, sapphire skies and cotton ball cumulus clouds, emerald fields of Swiss chard and beets slowly being nibbled bare by deer and rabbits, the inheritors of an abandoned earth.

“Well, that’s it,” Baela says, offhand, blasé, as if it’s not a disaster. You’ve sorted this out, it didn’t take long: there are people who aren’t allowed to panic. If they do, it’ll be like a dam crumbling, and the flood will burst through to drown everything, like when Noah’s wrathful God decided it was time for the world to start over. Baela can’t panic. Aemond can’t panic. And maybe you can’t either. Rio gives you a skeptical look—Are we really about to walk to Oregon?—and you slap his thigh encouragingly as you climb over him and out of the Tahoe.

“Everyone gets a gun,” Aemond says as he starts distributing them: Rugers for Rhaena, Baela, and Helaena (although she winces as she obediently takes the revolver, immediately tucking it away into her burlap messenger bag), .22s for Daeron and Aegon, Remington 12 gauges for Jace and Rio, who gives you his M9. You’re better with it anyway. Aemond’s Glock 20 is in a handmade leather holster he took from the cellar of the house back in Distant, Pennsylvania. Luke, still a potential zombie, will not be armed; but Aemond slings the strap of a .22 over his own shoulder for in case Luke recovers.

“Safeties on, right kids?” Rio goes down the line checking everyone’s gun. “Remember what we practiced, use your sights, don’t go pointing the barrel at anyone unless you’re okay with blowing a hole in them. The noise is risky, but getting bit is worse, so use your best judgment.”

“I don’t have any of that,” Aegon says, grinning.

Rio grabs Aegon’s sunburned face roughly and smacks a kiss onto his cheek. “I know, Honey Bun. Don’t you worry. Stick close and I’ll do your thinking for you.”

You spy it up the road a ways on the right, half-obscured by tree limbs: a white and orange sign, a logo shaped like a diamond. “Oh my God. It’s a Stewart’s.”

“A what?” Aemond asks, squinting at the sign. It’s late afternoon, and soon the sun will be sinking into the west like a drowning man through deep water, and like all prey animals you are restless without the promise of shelter.

“A Stewart’s Root Beer. They used to sell hot dogs and barbeque and all these neat soda flavors like key lime and black cherry. We had one where I grew up. That was the fancy place. You knew it was a good day if you ended up at Stewart’s for dinner.”

Aemond considers you, that subtle ceaseless curiosity. “We can stay the night there.”

“I thought we didn’t want to waste any daylight, Aemond,” Jace jabs as he helps Luke—miserable but presently human—out of the Tahoe. “That’s what you said when I wanted to check out that Barnes & Noble, Aemond.”

“What the hell do you need books for?” Aegon says. He’s grabbing clear CD cases out of the center console of the Tahoe. He pounds on the eject button and then punches the CD player when he realizes he won’t be getting that particular disk back. “Oh, you bitch! I had Shakira on there!”

“I would like to preserve my ability to read at higher than a fifth-grade level. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I was going to work for Sullivan & Cromwell, you know.”

“And now you’re a jobless loser just like me. Isn’t life funny?”

“You can’t be serious,” Baela says to Aegon, his arms full of CD cases. “You’re going to carry all those to California? You don’t even have a way to listen to them.”

“I’m not leaving my mixtapes.” Aegon shoves them into a U.S. Army backpack he found at Fort Indiantown Gap and then hoists it onto his back with a grunt.

Aemond tells Jace: “We only have a few hours until the sun starts going down. We don’t know what’s up ahead. We should take advantage of a safe place to sleep if it’s available. Getting caught out in the open after dark is the worst case scenario.”

“Whatever, Aemond. It’s your call. Everything is your fucking call.” Then Jace plods out into a field of rabbit-ravaged Swiss chard to relieve himself semi-privately, his back to the Tahoe.

“Hey, Chips Ahoy,” Aegon says, taking the folded-up map out of the pocket of his shorts, mint green plaid. “Want to tell me if there are any nuclear power plants near our route so we can steer clear of them and not get irradiated?”

“Uh, well, I don’t exactly have them all memorized…” You examine the map, hoping the black-ink cities will jog your memory, trivia you catalogued years ago, snippets you’ve heard from your fellow seamen. “Perry’s in Cleveland. We won’t be anywhere near that one. Fermi is up by Detroit.” You hesitate as your fingertips skate past Chicago. “Braidwood, LaSalle, and Byron are someplace between Chicago and Peoria, but I’m not sure where. And then there are a few others around the border of Illinois and Iowa. West of that, I don’t know. Rio?”

“Cooper’s in Nebraska, dead east of Lincoln. That’s all I got.”

Aegon is nodding, making notes on his map with a glittery forest green gel pen. “Cool, cool. If I don’t end up eaten or a zombie, I can look forward to being a sterile, glow-in-the-dark mutant.”

Luke frets: “What if we accidentally drink contaminated water or something?”

“Then you die an agonizing death, kiddo,” Rio says. “Your cells dissolve and you turn into human Jello and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

Luke swallows noisily. “Awesome.”

“You might just get cancer if the dose is small enough,” you tell him. Luke does not seem pacified. Rhaena gives him a sip of warm Coca-Cola from a plastic bottle from the Wawa.

Jace comes trudging back to the road, zipping up his khaki chino shorts. “Alright, are we ready?”

Helaena is gazing solemnly out over the fields of green leaves, red roots that grow like arteries into the soil. “We should try to find antivenom.”

“Antivenom?” Aemond asks, distracted as he makes sure nothing of importance was left in the Tahoe. The keys are still dangling from the ignition; you won’t need them. There’s no breathing the Tahoe back to life. There’s no returning to Aemond’s house back in Boston. There is only the West, beckoning you to cross rivers and plains and mountains to join her, and to do it as people did two hundred years ago, no cars, no phones, no escape hatches. The only way out is through.

“For the snakes,” Helaena says.

Aemond stares at her. The stitches in his face are dissolving as the flesh weaves back together, jagged maroon scar tissue, beautiful savage ruins, landscapes of improbable survival. “Helaena, antivenom has to be refrigerated. Even if we miraculously found some, it wouldn’t be useable.”

She nods, eyes wide and glazed, still peering into the fields, into the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hand brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, a whisper through the dissipating indigo of sleep: “Guess what today is.”

You startle awake and yelp as you bolt from your assailant. Aegon is watching you without any shame whatsoever. People are laughing as they gather up supplies so you all can get moving again, brushing teeth, arranging hair, drinking glass bottles of Stewart’s soda found last night in crates in the storeroom, snacking on bags of Utz chips. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows; specks of dust glimmer in the air like comets through the inhospitable void of outer space.

Luke says from where he is sitting on the floor, his arms and legs tethered: “Hopefully the day when somebody’s going to untie me.”

“It’s my birthday!” Aegon announces.

You’re still blinking at him, disoriented. “What…?”

“Aegon, I told you,” Aemond says, sipping a bottle of Stewart’s key lime soda. “It’s not your birthday. It’s not the 23rd.”

“It’s the 20th, right?” Rhaena says.

Rio looks to you, bewildered. “Isn’t it like the 25th?”

“We’re still in June?” Luke says. Now Aemond is hacking through his ropes with a hunting knife from the cellar in Distant, Pennsylvania.

“Your hand is healing up. Your color is good, your temperature is normal. I guess we can officially declare you human for the foreseeable future.”

“I knew it,” Jace says, combative so no one will see the desperate relief underneath.

Aemond examines your hands next, calloused over where the heat of the transmission tower burned the skin. There is no pretext for needing to tend to them any longer, no antiseptic or ointment or gauze. Aemond nods somberly at your palms, as if he isn’t entirely happy to pronounce them cured. His hands linger on yours for slow, unnecessary seconds.

“So what are we going to do special for my birthday?” Aegon presses eagerly.

“We’re going to walk between ten and twenty miles towards California,” Baela says.

“That’s not a birthday activity!”

Daeron groans as he inspects the screws and bolts of his compound bow. “Aegon, it’s not your birthday!”

“Shut up. You can’t even apply to get a credit card.”

“No one can get a credit card now! Currency is worthless!”

Rio offers you a cherries and cream soda. You take it and say: “Aegon, how old are you? On today, your alleged birthday?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the important part.”

Aemond smiles as he tells you, mock-whispering: “He’s thirty.”

“Thirty?!” Rio exclaims. “That’s like, an actual adult age. Marriage and a mortgage, shit like that. What were you doing before everything went insane?”

Aegon gestures vaguely. “I was considering a number of opportunities.”

“He was living on my couch,” Aemond says.

Rio shakes his head, grinning. “No job? No school? No nothing?”

“I wasn’t doing nothing. I played a lot of golf.”

“He was totally doing nothing,” Jace says. “I was in my third year of law school at Harvard, Baela was getting a master’s in Aeronautics and Astronautics at MIT, Rhaena just started an Anthropology PhD, Luke was getting a master’s in Screenwriting at Boston University—he was going to be very sad and very broke, but still, he had a plan—and Aegon was doing…nothing.”

“I’ve never had a real birthday party before,” Aegon tells you; and there is something in his murky blue eyes that is tremendously sad, wounded, childlike. “I might not get another chance.”

“What do you want to do?” Now people are alarmed, skittish glances and mouths open to object. You are encouraging him.

“I don’t know yet,” Aegon says. But he’s glad you bothered to ask. You can see it on his face.

It’s not until several hours later—after noon, the sun high and blazing, everyone’s unpracticed feet aching and blistering in their shoes—that Aegon experiences a revelation like the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary or Sir Isaac Newton extrapolating gravity from an apple falling on his head. Aegon’s epiphany appears in the form of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio called Luxury Lanes. It is remarkably unluxurious, a nondescript black rectangular building with a few doors in the front, one small tinted window on each, and no other openings. To Aegon, it is an oasis in a desert.

“I want to go bowling!”

“Aegon, we’re not going bowling,” Baela says, breathing heavily but trying to hide it, her hands massaging the small of her back. Aemond is watching her worriedly. Baela is the only person not burdened with carrying any supplies beyond her hammer and shiny new Ruger—and she resisted this accommodation at first—but still, she suffers more than anyone.

“Once again, it is my birthday—”

“Aren’t bowling allies soundproofed?” Rio asks Aemond. “You know, so they don’t get noise complaints?”

“Uh, I guess so…?”

“It’s kind of a fortress, isn’t it?” Rio continues. “Not many ways in or out. We wouldn’t be seen or heard. Might be a good place to stop for the night. ”

“Yeah!” Aegon says. “Right, Aemond?”

Aemond looks at you. It takes you a moment to figure out why. “I think the bowling alley is a good idea,” you tell him. “It’ll be safe, assuming we can clear it. And Aegon can have his party.”

Aemond is skeptical. “A party?”

“Survival isn’t just about not dying. It’s also about holding onto the things that make us human.”

“Like bowling!” Rhaena says excitedly. “It’s preserving a tradition! And I used to be so good at bowling. I bowled a 250 game once.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Aegon says, still delighted to have her on his side.

“There’s a sign for a Walmart maybe half a mile up the road,” Daeron points out. “We could search it for supplies and then double back here.”

Aemond polls the audience. Everyone agrees.

Shenandoah is tiny, rural, religious, and out of the way from the major highways. The Walmart doors are chained shut with padlocks, and amazingly no one has taken that as an invitation to drive their car through them or otherwise shatter the glass yet. Rio is honored to be the first. He takes the butt of his Remington shotgun and punches through the glass of the locked doors, kicks away loose shards, whistles and shouts to lure out any zombies. A dozen of them come reeling out of the aisles and towards the doorway. Daeron shoots down most of them with his compound bow. Rio kills two with the butt of his Remington, his new favorite toy. Aegon, the birthday boy, uses his golf club to beat in the skull of a teenager who is still wearing glittery pink nail polish and fake eyelashes. According to her nametag, her friends and family once called her Raelynn.

Inside the Walmart, Jace and Aemond take one side of the store, you and Rio the other, doing a quick sweep to make sure you didn’t miss any undead employees or customers waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into you. And when that’s done, you begin shopping.

The shelves are probably two-thirds empty, but there are still treasures to be found. You push carts through the aisles and fill them with candles, lighters, Chef Boyardee, Doritos, canned soup, fruit snacks, tuna pouches, 5 gum, bottles of Snapple, socks and underwear, hair ties, t-shirts and shorts, Kleenex tissues, pads and tampons, toilet paper. Baela finds some cute maternity dresses. Helaena picks through the pharmacy for useful medications, Aemond shadowing her with a baseball bat in his hands and his Glock at his waist.

“Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!” Rio exclaims, tossing several boxes into your cart.

“I miss grocery stores,” Rhaena says as she climbs the shelves to get the last box of Teddy Grahams.

“I miss going to the mall and getting Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets,” Aegon commiserates. Then he stumbles upon the liquor aisle and his eyes light up like high beams. “Aemond!”

Aemond appears—perhaps a bit flustered—and deliberates for a while as he browses the selection, Aegon waiting anxiously, before he decides: “Since it is allegedly your birthday, you can drink tonight. And you can pick one other person to drink with you. But only one.”

“Rio,” Aegon says immediately.

“Come on!” Daeron whines.

Aegon is already putting bottles of Captain Morgan rum into a cart. “Sorry. Illegal. Underage.”

“I’ve helped you butcher countless zombies, but I can’t drink?!”

“Just Say No, as Nancy Reagan would tell an innocent child such as yourself.”

Jace strides over, sly and playful, gnawing on a Twizzler. “Aemond, were you over there rummaging through the medicine aisles again? What do you keep looking for? Condoms?”

There is an awkward silence, an extremely awkward silence. Aemond glares at Jace. Jace’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I, uh…I was definitely joking. But…congrats on the possible future sex!”

“I already checked,” Luke tells Aemond apologetically. “You know condoms were the first thing to get bought up or looted everywhere.”

“Okay, great,” Aemond says quickly, willing the conversation to be over. There is blood, hot and mortified, flaring in his cheeks. He was thinking of you, he had to be; the only other single woman here is his sister, and obviously that’s not an option.

Jace takes another bite of his Twizzler. “Just pull out, man.”

Baela, incredulous, gestures to her belly. “Because that worked out super well for us.”

“I told you to stop riding me!”

“Yeah, a whole two seconds before you impregnated me with your super-swimmer Michael Phelps sperm.”

“Please don’t make me listen to this,” Luke begs. “I’m starting to wish I really was bitten.”

“Don’t you know all the tricks to not getting someone pregnant, Aemond?” Jace says. “Wasn’t that going to be your specialty? You wanted to be a vagina doctor? So don’t you know all the mysteries of the vagina, Aemond?”

“He was going to be an OB/GYN,” Baela says, unamused.

“Really?” Rio turns to Aemond. “Why would you want to do that?”

“So he gets to look at pussies all day,” Aegon says morosely, as if heartbroken that such a path is inaccessible to him.

“That’s not why,” Aemond insists, mostly to you.

You smile. “I didn’t think so. What’s the actual reason?”

“Interns do rotations in different departments so we can figure out what we enjoy and what we’re best suited for. I knew within two days of my OB/GYN rotation that that’s where I wanted to be. Giving birth is the only life-threatening trauma that is necessary for humanity to continue. I wanted to help people get through it as safely and painlessly as possible.” Then his gaze darts to Baela. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound worse—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m very much aware. It hurts like hell, people die. Believe me, I’d be thinking about that even if you hadn’t said it. I think about it all the time.”

“I have an idea you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Baela says. Aemond nods to the nearest shopping cart. “No way. You’re not going to push me around in one of those.”

“I believe it’s an adequate solution until an alternative appears.”

She sighs. “I’ve lost my body, my career, my society, my parents…must I lose my dignity too?”

Aemond winks. “Only when you’re too tired to walk.”

“Alright, Aemond. I realize you’re under the impression that this is a favor. So thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Let me give you a favor in return.” Then Baela begins shooing everyone except you and Aemond out of the liquor aisle. “Grab anything else you want, we’re leaving in five minutes! Jace, come look at the baby clothes with me…”

When the two of you are alone, Aemond says: “I really hope that didn’t make you feel too weird. I’m not someone who gets uncomfortable about the…um…the subject matter in general. But I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…I don’t know. Assume anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t already open to. Obviously I like…um…I mean, enthusiastic consent is essential, and I just…I would never try to convince anybody or…you know what, I’m just going to stop talking now. Okay?”

“Aemond, I’m fine. I didn’t think it was weird.”

“It’s a compliment,” he confesses, flushing pink again, touching his chin, perspiration gleaming at his temples.

Now you have to show interest so he knows you’re on the same page. You’ve never had to think this way before, you’ve never liked anyone enough to play the game. “So hypothetically, if someone didn’t want to get pregnant but there were no condoms, pills, etcetera…what are the options?”

He looks at you, pleasantly surprised. “Well, there’s the rhythm method. It’s not perfect, but it’s been around forever and is reasonably reliable if done correctly.”

You are only vaguely familiar. “We didn’t get a lot of sex ed down in Kentucky.”

Aemond chuckles then leans in, a mischievous curl of his lips, a craving in the crystalline river blue of his eye. He grips the shelf above your head, his arm a canopy. His voice is hushed. The front windows of the Walmart face west where the sun is setting; golden light floods in to illuminate the store. “Is your cycle regular?”

“It is, actually.” This should be embarrassing, but it’s not; it’s exhilarating. You’re imagining him seeing you, touching you, unearthing secrets you’ve never been tempted to share with anyone else.

“So if we imagine it like a circle…” He draws one on the back of your hand, invisible, mesmerizing, blue-white lightning crackling up the path of your metacarpals, wrist, ulna and radius, humerus and clavicle, descending ribs like the rungs of a ladder to jolt the sinus rhythm of your heart. “The start of your period would be Day One.”

“Okay,” you say, hypnotized as his fingerprint skates in an arc across the bumps of your knuckles.

“Ovulation doesn’t happen until around Day Fourteen. You might have noticed some increased arousal and…wetness. Clear in color, elastic consistency.”

Your eyes are trapped in his face, smooth skin, jagged scar tissue. You tease him back, stepping closer. You can hear people snickering in the next aisle as they eavesdrop. You don’t care about them, and neither does Aemond anymore. “Now that you mention it…”

“That’s nature trying to trick you into reproducing. Day Fourteen is crunch time. Once ovulation occurs, the egg is only good for up to twenty-four hours. And then the rest of the cycle you’re effectively useless, as far as making miniature humans is concerned.”

“Wait, you’re telling me people can only get pregnant one day a month?” This seems improbable. “How has the species managed to survive this long?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Aemond admits. “Depending on the health of the specimens, sperm can survive up to five days inside a woman’s body. And it’s difficult to tell exactly when ovulation occurs. So, in practice, there’s basically one week a month when you’d want to avoid a man…completing the act, if you will.” He’s still smiling, taunting, famished, imagining the same scenes you are. You know this with a categorical certainty, as if you’re reading his thoughts like stark stripes of distance on a measuring tape. “And that’s also the week when your hormones are demanding you have sex, inspiring you to make all sorts of impulsive yet extremely consequential decisions.”

“Don’t I know it,” Baela laments from the next aisle, and there is a rupture of wild giggles.

“Anyway.” Aemond lifts his finger from the back of your hand and you have to stop yourself from reaching for him as he recedes from you. “There’s a basic overview.”

“It was very educational.” You follow him out of the liquor aisle.

“I’ve used the rhythm method for years,” Rhaena says as everyone makes their way towards the front of the store with their carts. “Clearly that’s just anecdotal, so don’t think I’m officially endorsing it. When I’m in my fertile week we add condoms. Well…we used to. Back when we could get them.”

“Ugh, I hate condoms,” Baela grumbles.

“We can tell,” Aegon says.

“I hate the way they feel, I hate the way they smell…”

“They’ve never bothered me,” Rhaena says. “I don’t notice that much of a difference. And it can be fun to try different kinds.”

“Are you on drugs?” Baela whirls to you. “Seriously, what is wrong with her? I’m right, aren’t I? Condoms are awful.”

Rio gives you a cautious look, uncharacteristically reticent. He’s not going to be the one to reveal it. He doesn’t know if it’s something you’re willing to share. But if anything is going to happen with Aemond—and you want it to, already you know you want him—then it’s something you think you should be honest about. You want him to know about you. You don’t want to have to create some false version of yourself to wear like a pelt, heavy, smothering, something that will inevitably need to be taken off.

“I am regretfully not qualified to say.”

“You’ve never used condoms?” Baela asks, a bit dubious.

“I’ve never done any of it.”

Everyone freezes at the defunct checkout counters and turns to gawk at you. “No sex?” Jace says. “No nothing?”

You shrug, smiling a little self-consciously. “I made out with a guy once.”

“The Marine from Corpus Christi?” Baela asks. They’re obsessed with him, they’re convinced there’s some lore to be excavated, translated, displayed like a relic in a museum. There isn’t. Sometimes people pass in and out of your life as seamlessly as shadows or sunlight, no weight, no indentations, nothing to recall or relay. He existed and then he didn’t. He was an airplane drawing contrails in the sky that faded before the blood red fire of dusk filled the horizon.

“No. Someone from home. Just a guy, not even worth mentioning.”

“Girl, you gotta fix that, soon, pronto, like yesterday.” Jace seems genuinely horrified. “You can’t die a virgin.”

“You really can’t,” Daeron adds, and Aegon pretends to be distraught over the loss of his youngest brother’s virtue.

“That’s what I’m always telling her!” Rio says.

“Not everybody wants to have sex,” Helaena murmurs as she records today’s findings in her spider notebook.

“True,” Jace concedes. “And that is totally legit. Mother Teresa, Queen Elizabeth, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Joan of Arc, Sir Isaac Newton, Nikola Tesla, the Jonas Brothers for a while, all great people. But Chips is not celibate by choice, correct?”

“Buddha had a wife and son,” Aemond says, preoccupied. He isn’t looking at you now, which is concerning; he’s peering down at where his hands grip his shopping cart, his brow creased with…what is that? Unease, disapproval, concern, thoughtfulness, fear?

“It’s not some big thing,” you backpedal. “I don’t have a hangup about it, I just never met a guy I liked enough, and enlisted men, they’re…well, a lot of them are taken, or cheaters, or idiots. Or all three.”

“Not to worry, Chipper.” Aegon claps a hand on your shoulder; and you aren’t sure if it is his purpose to break the tension, but he seems to have that effect regardless. “If you ever wish to be initiated into the art of lovemaking by a slightly below average and entirely unintimidating penis, I’d be thrilled to assist you. I love condoms. But in their absence, I am the king of pulling out. 100% success rate. Zero bastard children running around to my knowledge.”

“You should give Jace lessons,” Baela says.

And the last thing Aegon takes from the Walmart is a green battery-powered Toshiba CD player so he can blast to his mixtapes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flickering candles lining the middle lane, drinks and snacks strewn across the tables, Rio’s Moonbeam propped up so it’s aimed at the disco ball still hanging from the ceiling from a time before the dead started devouring the living. Daeron is at the end of the lanes to reset the pins after each player’s turn. Helaena is keeping score in her notebook; Rhaena is currently in the lead by a massive 80 points. Aegon is wasted, dancing on a table and crunching Cool Ranch Doritos beneath his bare feet, his blonde hair flopping. Each time it’s his turn to bowl, Aegon has to roll the ball down the lane with two hands like a child. Rio, several shots deep but unable to feel much shy of half a bottle, is singing along with him to Cruise by Florida Georgia Line, but it’s really more like shouting, each sentence an off-key monstrosity that makes you laugh.

“Baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!

Down a back road, blowin’ stop signs through the middle, every little farm town with you!

And this brand new Chevy with a lift kit, would look a hell of a lot better with you up in it!

So baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!”

You cleared Luxury Lanes easily; the only difficult part was figuring out how to get into the area called the pit where, in normal times, felled pins were mechanically collected and sorted. There were two former employees roaming around back there in their tattered uniforms, snarling and drooling blood. Both were rapidly neutralized.

Someone always has to be by the front doors, watching through the small tinted windows for signs of trouble, whether from zombies or living humans. Aemond is currently on guard, nursing a Snapple. According to the bottle, the flavor is called Takes 2 To Mango. You grab your own Snapple—plain and simple Lemon Tea, no charming gimmicks—and walk over to join him.

“So now I guess it’s my turn to say I hope that conversation didn’t make you feel weird.”

He smiles politely, glancing out the window. “No, I’m completely fine.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to look at me differently than you would any other girl, like I’m better than them, or worse than them, or like there’s anything wrong with me, because it really isn’t something I consider to be paramount to my identity, and people always seem to get all twisted up about it, but it’s a pretty boring story, I just…”

“You’ve never liked someone enough to take the risk. I get it. I don’t think you’re a freak or anything.”

“Okay. Good.” The next song on Aegon’s mixtape is Shaboozey’s A Bar Song. Jace is dancing with Baela, spinning her around as she giggles. With Rhaena’s coaching, Luke bowls his first strike. You rest your head on the door as you gaze up at Aemond, the phantom of a smile on your lips. “I might like you enough.”

And he says as if it’s the worst thing in the world, a plague, an infection, an apocalypse: “You’d fall in love with me.”

It hurts, of course it does, this flippant rejection. He burns you, he cuts you, he stitches you up with no anesthetic. You try not to show it. “You’re…confident.”

“No, I don’t mean because of anything specific I would do, it’s just…it’s natural to form a certain…attachment. To the first person you’re with. It leaves an impression.” Not an impression like a first judgment, superficial and swift; an impression like an imprint, a hollow, a prehistoric fossil that is preserved through eons. “That was already true before. And everything is more intense now, because life is so…” Aemond takes a while to settle on a word. “Precarious.”

You say like a challenge: “Are you still in love with the first girl you slept with?”

A shadow that ripples through his face, a flinching he tries to hide. You shouldn’t have asked. Still, you feel like you need to know, like you’ll run out of oxygen if you don’t. “I think I’ve gotten enough distance from it to realize that she wasn’t…wasn’t good for me in a lot of ways. It was an unconventional situation. But I still carry all these pieces of her around with me, yes. I don’t think that will ever go away.”

“Aemond,” you say gently. “Who was she?”

He is evasive, smirking. “It’s a cliché.”

“Was she a patient? That’s very Grey’s Anatomy of you.”

“No. She was my professor.”

An older woman, wise and experienced and captivating and sophisticated. He’s cut you again, a blade slicing effortlessly through veins like soft butter. “Oh. From med school?”

“Undergrad.”

“You were really young,” you say, a little startled.

He nods. “I was eighteen when it started. I was this shy, insecure, friendless freshman, she was married with two kids around my age. And it was off and on, but there was never anyone else for me, she took up too much space in my head, in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe unless I knew we were okay.”

“It went on for seven years?”

This seems to stun him, hearing how much of his existence she bottled like a terrarium. “I guess so.”

Is she dead? Missing? Safe somewhere with her husband and kids? “Is she…gone?”

His gaze drops to the floor. “Yeah.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“I was the one who killed her when she turned.”

It’s indescribably horrible; you don’t know what to say. “Aemond, I’m…I’m really sorry…”

He is abruptly nonchalant, the blue of his eye cool and dispassionate. “Look, I’m not prepared for this to be anything more than casual. And I don’t think casual is really in the cards for us. So it’s probably best to leave it alone.”

“Right,” you agree numbly, not meaning it.

“We’re headed different places, I’m going to California, you’re planning to end up in Oregon, it’s just…a bad idea to muddy the waters, I think.”

“Because I haven’t done this before.”

He shrugs ambiguously. “It’s a contributing factor.”

“Well you seemed pretty interested before you found that out, so.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You aren’t offending me. You’re disappointing me.”

Now Aemond is offended. “By trying to protect us?”

“No, by saying you don’t think I’m a freak when you clearly do, and by having some savior complex, or a whore-Madonna complex, or whatever’s going on in your head, it’s always such a mystery to everyone else.”

He downs the rest of his Snapple and shoves the bottle into the nearest trash can. You hear it thump against the bottom, no garbage bag. “Alright. This was fun.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of making a mistake, just like I always was.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have to teach you how to do everything,” Aemond snaps.

“I taught you how to shoot.”

“The fact that you don’t realize how wildly different those two situations are proves you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, bye. Sorry about your zombie girlfriend.”

Aemond glares at you, shocked, furious. “That was so fucking low.”

It was. You regret it. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him that. You flee to the far end of the bowling alley and sit alone at a table draped in shadows. After a while, Rio notices and ventures over to see what’s wrong, a bottle of Captain Morgan swinging from one hand. He’s tipsy now.

Rio sighs as he takes a seat beside you, reaching over to rub your back. His hands are large and indelicate; what he means to be comforting is more like getting manhandled. Sometimes he leaves bruises, but it’s not his fault. Nature gave Rio the body of a killer. If anyone is going to survive the zombie apocalypse, it’s him. “What’s going on, Chips?”

Your voice breaks as you say it; tears sting in your eyes. “I hate caring about people.”

He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s the worst, isn’t it? But once in a while it works out.”

“Bryan.”

And now he knows you’re serious. You have his full attention, large dark eyes fixed on your face, lines etching into his brow beneath the artificial starlight of the disco ball. “What are you asking me?”

“We can’t leave them and walk to the West Coast ourselves, can we?”

“I mean, technically we could, but it would be really stupid. Everything’s so much easier with ten people. And also I think I’d have to kidnap Aegon and take him with us, I love that little dude. Why? Do you really want to leave them?”

“No.”

“I figured.” He offers you the half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Come on. It’ll take the edge off.”

You look at him. Rio looks back, smiling now.

“I’ll watch out for you,” he says. “And if you get bit I’ll shoot you dead, no hesitation, swear to God. I remember our promise. I won’t let you die alone.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm with the bottle of Captain Morgan. “A few swigs won’t hurt. It’ll help you sleep.”

You take the bottle, twist off the cap, drink down amber-gold poison that burns like gasoline, like fire.

[starlightsearches]

Yes, absolutely! So. Eddie x FemReader. They are best friends and have this special bond but all of a sudden Eddie pushes her aside for another girl he's dating or is interested in, letting her sit in the reader's seat, canceling traditions of years like movie night, etc. But somehow he wakes up and realizes he has been an ass to her (maybe because he actually wanted to get over his own feelings for her) but the reader isn't so quick to let it all go - she wants him to prove how sorry he is!

Jealousy, Jealousy

📼✨ mixtape milestone ✨📼 requests are open!

thanks for the request, bestie! and an even bigger thanks for your patience 😬 i hope you enjoy!

Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Comments likes and reblogs are always appreciated, let me know what you think 💖

Warnings: mostly just language and a little drama and angst and then fluff I think but let me know if I missed anything. I've always wanted to play around with POV switches like this, which is probably why it's taken me so long to finish this one 🙄

You're fuming in the front seat.

Eddie keeps his eyes on the road—more than he probably ever has while driving—afraid that if he even glances in your direction all the smoke you're letting off will start to fog up the windshield. Like he's driving around with a forest fire in his van.

"Listen," he says, even though he's not sure what's going to come after, "it's not even a big deal."

They're the first words out of his mouth since he told you, and they're definitely the wrong ones. Your eyes flash, smoldering at the center like cigarette ends.

Your look may be fire, but your voice is all ice.

"To you."

"What?"

"It's not that big of a deal to you, Eddie," you tell him, shifting against the dirty leather seat like you can't even stand to be near him, "but it is a big deal to me."

Valerie fucking Reed—just thinking her name has you seeing blood. Everything about her puts the wrath of god in you, from the fake-ass pitch of her voice to the way she flips her hair over her shoulder whenever she thinks she's said something clever.

You'd hated her from the moment you'd met her, after the painfully cliche the freaks sit over there cafeteria routine she'd put on for you your very first day in Hawkins. You were more prepared for that shit now—had educated yourself in the art of biting comebacks and fought only with words even when you wanted nothing more than to bash her head into the linoleum tile.

But at a brand new school when you were desperate to make friends? Absolutely devastating.

If you were held at gunpoint and forced to say one honest, nice thing about her, there'd only be one you could offer up: it was her fault you'd met Eddie. With tears still stinging in your eyes, you'd carried your lunch tray in the direction of her pointed finger, falling into the nearest empty chair and tucking your chin into your chest so no one would see you cry.

That was when Eddie swooped in, big doe eyes and denim vest rattling with pins, and a thousand stupid jokes—not exactly a knight in shining armor but you'd never wanted one of those anyway.

Now Valerie wants to take him away from you, too.

Eddie drums his hands on the wheel, fidgeting with the volume on the tape he'd let you choose to soften the blow. He let's Fleetwood Mac fill the empty space between you, all the words he should say replaced with Stevie's soft vocals.

He's not used to fighting with you. Your friendship has always been as easy as breathing—except when it's not.

. . . But you really can't be blamed for that. It's not your fault he feels all weird inside every time you smile.

He wishes you'd smile at him now.

"You know," you say, feet planted on his dash and your chair pushed all the way back, "I didn't say shit when you started ditching me at lunch to deal to her and her friends, or when you skipped on movie nights for all those parties she threw because I get why you had to go, but a fucking date?"

"She just needs a place to smoke . . ." Eddie mumbles, skin hot at the word date.

You roll your eyes with enough bite he actually feels the sting.

"Right. She just needs to get high with you at your place, because she has nowhere else to go.”

Your lips drip with venomous sarcasm—absolutely soaked through with the belief that he couldn't possibly sit in the same room as Valerie and not touch her.

Do you really have so little faith in him? Eddie's got way more self-control than either of you would give him credit for. There's never been a moment he hasn't wanted his hands on you, and he's alone with you all the time.

“Come on,” he says, swallowing so his voice won't crack, “we do that.”

“It’s different," you snap back quickly.

Yeah it fucking is, he thinks, but Eddie doesn't say a word. Maybe the silence will speak for itself—or maybe it could, if you'd let it.

You carve a frustrated hand through your hair, staring him down. “Like, how do you think it would feel for you if I went out with fucking Jason Carver?"

He resists the urge to gag. "It's not like that."

It's really not like that. Just the thought of it has Eddie feeling both sick and violent, unsure if he was more likely to throw a punch or throw up.

He takes the turn into your driveway, watching you collect your stuff with a brutal speed.

"Yes it is, Eddie," you tell him as you slide from your seat before he's even fully hit the breaks, "actually, it's worse. Because Jason is a dick to everybody, and Valerie's got some fucking target on my back. I wouldn't be surprised if this was all part of some evil plan of hers to make me jealous because—"

You cut yourself off immediately, words stoppered by some invisible dam, eyes wide. Eddie's body goes cold when you slam the door without saying goodbye, stomping off to your doorstep.

He scrambles for his seat belt, practically falling out of the van in attempt to catch up to you before you get inside.

"Wait a second," Eddie says, holding the door open with his hand and trying to catch his breath, "why would that make you jealous?"

You scuff the toe of your boot against the step. "Nothing, it's stupid."

Eddie raises a brow, but you can’t look at his big, brown, beautiful eyes right now, tracing down along his leather sleeve to where his hand is planted against the door, black-painted nails splayed wide and already chipping, although you only did them a few nights ago.

Rude that the only time you get to hold him is when you're doing him a favor.

"Stupid how?" he asks.

You shrug. "I dunno . . . she just thinks I have a crush on you or something."

It's a surprise he hadn't already heard; about half of the girl's locker room were still stripping out of their gym clothes when Valerie had to bring everybody's attention to your black lace bra, before sharing a few theories on who you were wearing it for.

"Like I said, stupid." You ignore the heat in your cheeks, gripping the door again and trying to force it shut, but Eddie's not finished.

You wouldn’t notice, but his chest is heaving under his black t-shirt, palm sweating against the door. A crush? On him?

Is Valerie as delusional as he is?

"Wait," —his mouth is on a roll before his brain has caught up— "do- do you?"

Your eyes go wide with surprise, and then shrink into slits as you push him back from the door, one hot hand planted against his chest.

"Fuck you, Eddie," —he catches the words just before the slam— "fuck you for real."

It wasn't a no.

He repeats the words in his mind like he’s casting a protection spell. Like it’s some kind of ward against your anger as he scales the tree outside your window.

It’s harder than it looks, and he’s already making it look pretty difficult—but one hand’s busy clinging to the greasy paper bag packed full with burgers and those crispy tater tots you love. He manages to wiggle his way up to your window sill without losing his pants, even though the tears at his knees got caught on every twig and branch he passed.

Eddie steals a glance of you through the sheer curtains, holding back his fist from knocking. Just so he can look at you properly, without all the static of having you look back.

You're stretched out on your bed, feet in the air and headphones caught over your ears while you flip through the pages of a book. He hasn't seen these pajamas before—the little shorts that just cup the edge of your ass, and a sheer tank top. His nails are leaving little indents in his palm.

Eddie hasn't made a sound, but with the way his eyes are tracing over you, you gotta feel it. You find him at the window, and he panics, rapping his knuckles against the glass a second too late.

You roll you eyes at him, but at least you let him in.

There are honest-to-god butterflies in Eddie's stomach when he flops beside you on the bed. And he wouldn't lie—at least not to himself—but he'd tried to feel something like this before, when Valerie first started paying all that attention to him.

Her manicured hand would brush over the sleeve of his jacket while he'd be getting her product and he'd wait for this same feeling, hoping he had a weakness for all pretty girls, that any attention would him stumbling over his words and these feelings didn't have to be the end of the best friendship he'd ever had.

But it's you.

You cross your arms over your chest, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

Eddie's smile is sheepish, but not nearly apologetic enough for your taste. He holds up the paper bag in his hand, dotted with dark splotches where the grease leaked through. It lets out the heavenly scent of fried food.

"I brought dinner, you know, for movie night."

He slips a tray of tater tots from the bag, and you're resolve falters. You hold back your hand from reaching for one even though you already know how incredible it would taste, the little rivulets of salt and shining grease coating the golden skin.

"What about Valerie?" you ask, stealing your eyes away from the junk food. You hate how petulant your voice sounds.

He just shrugs, pouring out some ketchup onto the tray, licking the excess off of his pinky finger. "Told her I had other plans."

Eddie pops a tater tot into his mouth and bites down with a heavy crunch, but it feels like your heart's the thing being popped between his teeth.

And what more were you expecting? That he'd tell her to fuck off and take her money and friends with her? She's the queen of Hawkins, and you're . . . not.

Maybe you and Eddie are both delusional—or stubborn—enough to pretend like you don't care about the politics of high school, but people had abandoned their morals for less.

“So you blew both of us off, then?”

He pauses mid-bite, like a prey animal, like if he doesn’t move you can’t be mad at him.

“What?” he mumbles through a mouthful of chewed-up potatoes.

You snatch a tater tot from the tray, chewing and swallowing even though your stomach is starting to churn because something bad is going to happen and you can feel it coming like a storm in the air.

“Why are you here, Eddie?”

“I- uh, to say sorry,” he stutters.

The food's getting cold in his hands before you respond.

“What’re you sorry for?”

What’s he sorry for? Eddie has a whole list: sorry for making a fool of myself, sorry for hanging out with Valerie because I thought it might make you jealous, sorry sorry sorry for trying so hard to get over you and doing such a bad job at it.

“I, you know . . . I shouldn’t have made other plans on movie night.”

Those were the wrong words again. Crazy how easy it is for him to fuck this up—like it was something he was born with.

For a second, Eddie thinks you'll yell at him, and he's comforted by that. If you yell at him, you still care.

You take in a deep breath, and Eddie braces himself. He can take whatever you give him, will shoulder any insults you hurl and forgive you for it the second it's over.

But your shoulders slump. You let out a heavy sigh.

And he knows he can't take that.

"I'm really, really tired, Eddie," —you won't even look him in the eyes when you say it, sliding the window open again,—"see you tomorrow?"

But Eddie doesn't see you for two whole days.

That's a fucking record.

He thought you might need space, you know. So he gave you Saturday to cool off, kicked around at the trailer and gave Wayne vague answers about why you weren't around and ignoring the look in the old man's eyes. Listening to sad records and getting high and trying not to stare at your smile in all the photos plastered on his wall.

Sunday, Eddie drove by your house with the volume all the way up on your favorite Rolling Stones album, windows down while he idled at the curb. There was a twitch in the curtains, but you weren't there to shout at him for all the noise before climbing in on the passenger side.

Eddie knocked at your door this morning, hoping at least you’d want a ride to school. Your mom opened it with a sad little frown, telling him you’d already taken your bike.

And really, the two days have only ended on a technicality. Eddie sees you right now, reading a book with your head bent low, sitting at the far end of another table.

"Hey—" Eddie twitches when the flying french fry lands against his cheek with a wet slap— "are you gonna go talk to her, or did you just wanna stare?"

Mike laughs at his own joke, and the other guys giggles along.

Eddie's used to the ribbing. He's never minded it—when you're not around. Kind of enjoyed it a little. Even with his heated cheeks and stammered shut ups that completely gave him away, he needed somebody to acknowledge what he was feeling. It made it more real.

But Eddie's not in the mood for jokes today. And he doesn't need anybody to remind him that he's in way over his head with you.

He shoots the freshmen a look that works just as well as throwing a hand over their mouths—without the risk of being licked—and brushes the potato chunks from his hair while the rest of Hellfire pick timidly at their lunches.

And Eddie goes back to staring.

This time, though, you're staring back.

He meets your eyes. Just for a second, wide with surprise before you snap your head back in the direction of your book, tucking your nose between the pages. Doesn't matter how quick you were though. Eddie caught the look you were giving him.

And his heart is beating hard, like it did on the day he first met you. His limbs all staticky and weird, palms sweating because even from the first second he knew you existed he's wondered what kissing you would feel like and the question never left his head.

Eddie's on his feet before he can think about how bad of an idea this is.

"Hey," Dustin calls to him through a mouthful of square pizza, "what're you doing?"

Eddie just shrugs.

"Probably something stupid."

You can see Eddie's long legs moving in your direction from the corner of your eye, and your stomach drops out of your ass like a dip on a roller coaster in the dark and you can't see the end. He says something to the guys—his lips are moving—but you can't make it out over the sound of the cafeteria rumble, the chatter of the other girls sitting at the same table as you, talking animatedly about all the dates they went on over the weekend and completely ignoring your presence.

You dip your head closer to the pages of your book, so close all the words blur together, trying to hide from Eddie like you've been hiding the past few days. You shouldn't have even glanced in his direction, should have let the burn of his presence so close and still too far away swallow you up.

It’s getting hotter with every step he takes toward you, and you’re getting smaller, body tight and your lips caught between your teeth.

He slides quietly into the seat beside you, fingers drumming against the table, and the sound feels louder now that the girls have quieted down, not-so-sneakily listening in on whatever's about to go down between you and Eddie—hungry like sharks for any new gossip, ready to spread the nitty-gritty about why the freaks are fighting.

Eddie dips his head down, eyes big and already so sorry it feels like a punch to the gut.

"Hey," he whispers, trying to smile and failing miserably, "come here often?"

You try to smile back, but it's not much better. "Hey, Eds."

It's quiet, but not the comfortable kind of quiet you're used to around Eddie. It's a hot and sweaty quiet, a trapped-in-a-car kind of summer burn that makes your lungs go shallow.

Eddie perks up, the first words he can think of spilling out of his mouth.

"The guys were thinking about going to the record store after school. Would you wanna come?"

You wouldn't have thought for a second about refusing an invite like that a week ago. Heaven was nothing compared to wandering around a music store with Eddie.

"I don't know if I can today," you say instead, and then when you see the look of hurt on his face, you soften the blow with, "I gotta go to the library for some . . . stuff."

He hums. "Stuff?"

You shrug, playing with the pages of your book. If you're quiet enough, maybe he'll give up.

But he doesn't go anywhere. His hands stay planted on the table, silent and still for once. The black nail polish is almost completely chipped off his nails—probably picked off and littered all over the linoleum.

Eddie's voice is a whisper when he breaks the silence. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

"About what, Eds?"

"Why you're so mad at me . . ."

You've seen Eddie through a lot of shit, but you've never seen a look like this on him—eyes like saucers and brimming with shiny tears.

And you thought being in love with him was rough, but hurting him is a thousand times worse.

"I'm not mad at you, Eddie," you admit, hiding your eyes in the palms of your hands and pressing down until you see stars, "it's just . . ."

You don't get to finish your sentence.

Valerie's calling Eddie's name from across the whole fucking cafeteria. You watch her waving, standing on her tip-toes like she's not the only place in the room anybody can look, like every facet of her doesn't already scream give me attention!

Eddie sandwiches his lips together, pressing until they turn white. You're not going to like whatever he has to say next.

So you slip the dagger from his fingers, standing from the table. He can't hurt you if you hurt yourself first on his behalf.

"Actually, we can talk about this later," you tell him, slipping your bag on over your shoulder.

"Hey—"

There's sparks in your hand where he holds you, an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. It's just your hand in his, but that's all it takes for you to forget yourself, eyes caught on his soft mouth and pink tongue.

Valerie's approaching. You can see her stalking toward you over Eddie's shoulder. There's no room for vulnerability within a mile radius of her. You've got to get away before she sees all the softest parts of you exposed and decides to go for the jugular.

The door's within reach when the room goes quiet. Quiet enough Eddie doesn't even have to raise his voice when he says your name.

He's no stranger to standing on tables, but it's the first time you've seen him look so awkward, hands swinging at his sides in tight fists.

"I- I think I might be in love with you," Eddie says, "and I'm really, really sorry."

There's a chorus of ooooooooooohs from the audience, and maybe a few confused whispers from all the people who passively assumed you were already dating. Then all eyes are on you, waiting.

It's too fucking hot in this room, and your vision's starting to blur at the edges, feeling like you're on a stage and you can't remember the next line after Eddie's verbal punch to your gut.

You mumble a sound, falling backwards through the door and into the safety of the hallway.

Eddie's down off the table as soon as you disappear from the cafeteria, totally ignorant to the laughter and the jeers from all the dickheads watching.

Valerie's in his line of sight when he hits the ground.

"That was weird," she says, and Eddie can't tell if she's purposefully getting in his way, or if she's just got that aura of somebody who could tackle you to the ground but would never bother because she doesn't have to. "I mean I always knew she was a freak but—"

"Fuck off."

Eddie really would like to get into it more with her, maybe mention that he's been up-charging Valerie every time she mentioned your name, or that half the stuff he's been selling her was mixed with ten-year old spices from the cupboard above the oven.

There's more noise, but nobody else trying to get in his way, the path clear all the way to the door.

It's quiet in the hallway, and that alone leaves Eddie disoriented, swinging his head wildly, unsure which way you went.

"I'm down here."

You're on the floor a few feet away, head rested back against one of the lockers, and all of the bad shit goes away. It's that simple—like a light-switch—Eddie's panicked, and then he's not.

You're looking up at him with a soft kind of smile, despite the tight look in your eyes and sheen over your skin.

He slides down to the floor, long legs stretched out into the empty hall, shoes leaving little scuff marks across the linoleum.

"I'm sorry,"—you tell him as soon as he hits the ground, "about, you know. It was just, um, a lot."

"Don't be," he laughs, "that wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had."

The smartest idea he ever had was talking to you that first day, snatching you up before anybody else could.

Your tongue snakes out from between your lips, and Eddie has to physically hold himself back from tasting you. Your eyes dropped to his lap, your voice is small when you ask, "did you mean it?"

"Yeah, honey,"—probably should've kept the nickname to himself— "meant every word."

He's about to mumble something like, but if you don't feel the same it's totally fine, even though it definitely wouldn't be, when your head drops onto his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know . . . just felt like a personal problem."

You laugh, and the sound shakes through him.

"I dunno, Eds. You being in love with me kinda sounds like something that I'd wanna know."

"I'll keep that in mind, for next time," he whispers. You're looking up at him with those big, soft eyes, breath pillowing against his face.

"It's the same for me," you tell him, "in case you were wondering."

In all the time Eddie's thought about kissing you, he never imagined it happening like this—on the floor with somebody's combination lock digging into his back. With your hands in his hair and the dull roar of the lunchroom somewhere nearby and his thumb tracing along your jaw and you smiling against his lips.

He was definitely missing out.

There's the metal clank of the door, and a chorus of footsteps somewhere down the hall. Eddie recognizes Dustin's voice.

"Oh my god, dude. Fucking finally."

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #6: BREEZE BLOWS

(also on spotify!)

Welcome back… to Constant Companions Closeups…. a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions…

Last time, we talked about Cadmium Colors! Today, we're keeping the alliteration but moving back a letter in the alphabet! Breeze Blows, with Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs!!

---

oh baby mental health

Last post, I mentioned as an aside that I have OSDD-1b - a kinda complicated diagnosis that is defined by not quite being Dissociative Identity Disorder but being similar enough. And obviously that's super reductive but I'm not an expert on this I just have brain peculiarities. I won't fully explain how this functions, or every intricacy of how I deal with it, but I can try to convey what it feels like.

My sense of self is comprised of parts. Not an exceptionally high number, but nonetheless distinct parts that fit together like puzzle pieces to make a full individual. They talk to and interact with each other, and most times it is one specific part that takes the lead while the others simply follow, but ideally, they all move in sync and work together.

This collaborative effort is relatively new and was an incredibly hard-fought state of being. For many years, it felt much more like there was just me and a bunch of nightmare voices in my head constantly lashing out violently!! My own inner monologue felt completely out of my control... and it ultimately turned out that it kinda was, but not for the reasons I thought.

Showing those voices kindness and starting a conversation was the big moment of revelation for me, that there was this whole other half of me that had been locked in a box for god knows how long. She was scared and lonely and just wanted to be understood, and really, that was all I wanted as well.

Writing these self-directed songs of love and companionship became a really important part of becoming 'whole', in some sense. Not that there are no more individual parts or anything!! Just that my inner monologue these days is far more of a conversation between friends.

...

Constant companions, if you will.

---

As a couple people have pointed out, this song is very much a counterpoint and companion piece to weathergirl, a song by my band FLAVOR FOLEY! Neither song was originally written with the intention of complimenting the other, but the parallels simply emerged naturally, and it only felt right to reinforce them. At 2:14 in Breeze Blows, you can even hear the icy little keys motif from weathergirl front and center!!

On that note, while I would love to make MVs for every song on the album, Breeze Blows is the one song I am dead set on putting out an MV for no matter what... A yellow, very natural aesthetic to contrast with weathergirl... ANRI in a sundress, fluttering in the wind and clutching her hands to her chest...

the fucking yuri...

Of course, this song was a collaboration with some other dear friends of mine, Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs! We've been fastidious friends for freaking forever. Marcy, especially, has been with me through thick and thin - together, we've gone on road trips, worked on Homestuck music, bounced countless ideas off of each other, embarrassed ourselves in front of each other's parents, queued for probably a triple digit number of FFXIV instances, and of course, collaborated on some of my favorite music I've ever released. Not to discredit Marlow or anything!! These two are genuinely some of the coolest people I know, and I love them wholeheartedly. Hopefully we can play some mahjong again sometime so I can kick their asses and feel like I'm even a tenth as cool as them

Our initial ideas for this song came together while we sat at the piano at my parent's house, aimlessly banging out chords together while I left my phone recording on the other side of the room just in case. Ultimately, the voice memo barely sounds anything like Breeze Blows, because the process of translating things to MIDI on Marcy's laptop also introduced a lot of defining creative choices, but it's still at least amusing to hear.

Apologies and/or you're welcome for the shorter post this time around!! Thank you for reading regardless; If you have any more questions, I'd be glad to answer them below!! Tomorrow... we can grow so big.... (aggrandicize)

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

How Batman uses the idea of those "born for" vigilantism to justify working with Teen Vigilantes before and after the death of Jason Todd, and what it has to do with Stephanie Brown.

(DISCLAIMER: I'm not trying to condemn the concept of child/teen vigilantes in superhero comics, its a staple of the genre and dumb to condemn it like you would in the real world. I'm analyzing the times in which Bruce Wayne the character has questioned the concept himself, and the rationalizations he comes to about it)

By examining Bruce Waynes mindset immediately before, during, and after Jason Todd's deadly time as Robin, we can see how Batman rationalizes and justifies teenaged vigilantism.

When Dick Grayson as Robin is shot by the Joker, Batman essentially fires him from being Robin. Bruce entirely dismisses the concept of working with a "child" to fight crime. Batman seems to believe working with Dick as Robin is simply too dangerous.

Batman #408 (1940)

His Mindset at this point: Teenaged Vigilantism = Dangerous and Bad

But this, obviously, doesn't stick. It barely takes any time at all after this forBruce Wayne to take in Jason Todd and subsequently make him the second Robin.

Crime fighting with a 19 year old is too dangerous, but crime fighting with the 12 year old? Yeah, sure, why not!

There is an obvious contradiction, and a clear change in mindset.

In order to rationalize his choice to take in Jason Todd as Robin after firing Dick, Bruce Wayne must internally reendorse the concept of Teenaged Vigilantism. And he does so in a specific way:

Batman #410 (1940)

Mindset: If Jason Todd was not Robin, he would become a criminal and die

The dying part is specific as well. When confronted at first by Alfred, its more of an afterthought, something which would occur down the criminal "road" Jason was bound to end up on. But when he is later confronted by Dick, the idea that being Robin "saved" Jasons life takes center stage.

Batman #416 (1940)

It's no longer some distant crime related death Jason was on course for, it was an imminent death which Bruce was able to save him from.

Mindset: If Jason Todd was not Robin, his "self destructive energies" and lack of "self esteem" would have killed him.

This phrasing is SUPER interesting to me, because its not true in a very specific way.

1. Jason Todd wasn't really shown to have "Self destructive energies" before he became Robin. He was stealing to make a living, to stay alive. He never showcases a desire for "self destruction", unless you count his hitting Batman with a tire iron, and his interference in Ma Gunn’s heist. Which I don't.

2. It seems to imply Jason Todd might have died because of specifically "self destructive tendancies", which seems ascribes a small amount of passive potential suicidal ideation, which is also vastly unsubstantiated by anything we see from Jason before he becomes Robin. But you know who is a character who is deeply rooted in concepts of suicidal ideation? Batman. (I'm not going prove this point here, but this concept gets more firmly rooted in the upcoming years after this comic, Knightfall being a great example) Being Batman, Knightfall will establish, is pretty much all that keeps Bruce Wayne living. You could say that being Batman saved his life.

3. Bruce admits he took Jason on because he was lonely in this very same confrontation when Dick pushes him on this idea. This makes it abundantly clear why he needs this rationalization in the first place, his real reason for making Jason Robin appears to be somewhat selfish.

But what does this all mean? For one, it proves that Batman's primary explanation for why he took on Jason Todd is lowgrade BS. It also shows how Batman's rationalization has begun to veer into projection. He states that Jason was saved from his self destructiveness by becoming Robin, something that is certainly true for himself, but not really Jason.

We see this projection fully take root when Leslie Thompkins confronts Bruce. Not only is Jason Todd saved by becoming Robin, now he wasn't even chosen by Batman. It was, much like Bruce Wayne becoming Batman, inevitable. Something he was "born" to do.

Detective #574

Mindset: I didn't chose Jason, he was chosen, he is just like me, we were born for this

This is essential. This mindset will show up again and again as a core part of Bruce's ability to rationalize working with child vigilantes once Jason has died.

Lets look at how his mindset has been evolving from before he meets Jason to his time as Robin progressing. Batman has gone from:

Teenage/Child vigilante Bad --> Child Vigilante Good because Jason would have become a crimial --> Child Vigilante Good because Jason would have died, I saved his life --> Child Vigilante is Good because I saved his life and Jason was meant to be Robin just like I was meant to be Batman, this is what we were was born to do

This is insane rationalization. But it works. For a while.

Then, Jason begins acting out, and putting himself in danger. Whoops. uh oh! How can Jason be saved by becoming Robin, if he is endangered by it? The balm for Bruce's semi-suicidal ideation was crime fighting, so if Jason is self destructive as Robin, does that mean Jason isn't like Bruce after all? Does that mean he wasn't born to be Robin? Was Bruce right in the begining? Is Teen Vigilantism Bad? Well, lucklily, the rationalization Bruce has built doesnt need to change too much in order to accommodate these new facts.

Batman #426 (1940)

See, this issue has not reverted back to being child vigilantism, it's the fact that Jason isn't ready yet.

Batman #426 (1940) / Batman #427

Batman latches onto this idea, he identifies it as "the problem". Is he wrong? No, not really. It does seem like Jason needs come to terms with his parents deaths. But this is important because it is still a rationalization for mindset he started with, still part of the reason he can be in favor of Teenage Vigilantism.

Then Jason Todd dies, as Robin. That truly breaks the underlying concept for this rationalization, that being Robin saved Jason Todd. The entire justification has fully shattered, and Bruce Wayne has lost a son. And, so because of this, in the wake of Jason Todds death, we see a full 180 revert back to the idea Bruce held onto at the end of Dick Graysons time as Robin: Teenage Vigilante = Bad.

Batman #428/ The New Teen Titans #55 (1984) / Batman #439

He has fully rejected the very concept of working with anyone, including the now adult Nightwing. He is literally right back where we started, with even deeper convictions against working with someone else (especially a kid) ever again.

But we all know this doesn't stick. He takes on 13 year old Tim Drake as Robin not long at all afterwards. As the 90's progress Bruces goes on to work with a huge variety of other vigilantes and partners, both teenaged and adult.

So how does he possibly justify this?

I believe he retrofits his rationalization for taking on Jason as Robin.

He adheres to a primary idea. The idea that some people are, like him, simply built for Vigilantism. That they, much like he once believed Jason was, "born" for it.

Mindset: Child Vigilantle is not always Good, but it can be Good. When its the right kind of teenager. Some Teenaged Vigilantes are meant to be Vigilantes just like I was meant to be Batman.

In this way, Jason Todds tragic murder is not a failure of concept, it a category error. Batmans mistake was not working with a teenager, his mistake was working with the wrong kind of teenager. Jason Todd was not built for vigilantism. But others are. This means he's still totally in the clear to work with teenagers, Tim Drake as Robin, then Cassandra Cain as Batgirl, and then eventually Stephanie Brown as Spoiler. So long as Bruce is able to believe they are "born" for it, that they are like Batman himself, meant to do this, and incapable of living a normal life, there is no contradiction, his rationalization holds.

But where’s the proof?

This mindset can be clearly seen and prominently seen when Stephanie Brown is fired as Spoiler.

When Steph is fired as Spoiler because she has moved in Bruce's mind from the "acceptable Teen Vigilante" category into the "unacceptable Teen Vigilante category". And the reasons he gives for this decision are exactly in line with the rationalization I've lain out. She is consistently contrasted to other teen vigilante characters who are fit for duty because he does not see her as "like him/them".

Detective #790

Notice how he jumps right from "Jason and Stephanie were/are not fit to fight crime" to "they could/can have a normal life" right to "unlike me and you, Cassandra Cain, who are stuck fighting crime forever". Much like how he originally justified his decision to work with Jason Todd as Robin through the idea that Jason and Bruce were both destined for this life, he applies the exact same idea, but this time, about himself and Cassandra Cain as Batgirl. And in contrast to them, and in directly comparison to Jason Todd, Stephanie is not meant for crime fighting.

Batgirl #38 (2000)

And Stephanie Brown is contrasted with Cass again, when Bruce first explains why he fired Steph to Cass. This is a consistent pattern. She is not like Cass. This is why she shouldn’t be a vigilante.

When he explains that he is going to fire Steph as Spoiler to Tim, he says something very interesting which invokes the same idea. In the list of three reasons he throw out that Steph shouldn't be Spoiler, he mentions that she is going to "throw her life away". When taken in combination with the other panels discussed, its clear to me that he means this is the common way the saying is used. That she is wasting her life by being a vigilante, that she should, as he mentions earlier, be living a normal life. But why is he saying this to Tim? If one of the reasons Steph shouldn't be Spoiler is her ability to lead a normal life, why the fuck is Tim exempt? I think it comes from a genuine belief that Tim is "like him". Unable to live a normal, non-vigilante life, "born" for crime fighting. Much like Cass, who we already saw him directly compare himself to in this exact same way. Thats why he can directly reference to Tim Steph's ability to have a normal life as a reason she shouldn't be a vigilante, he doesn't believe Tim fits the same category at all!

Robin #106 (1993)

So why the fuck does Stephanie move categories? She was acceptable earlier? What changed?

I've already done an in-depth explanation for what the subconscious underlying reason Bruce fires Stephanie: she simply is no longer useful to as a balm for his loneliness. I highly recommend checking out the post here if you are interested in the breakdown of why and how.

But in addition to that, it’s clear to me that it also has a weird amount to do with Jason Todd.

Stephanie simply and clearly reminds Bruce of Jason Todd. He points out their similarities in personality, and it’s worth mentioning the similarities in their circumstances as well (mothers who struggle(d) with drug addiction, and fathers who were criminals).

As we saw in Detective #790, their personality similarities led to Batman associating Steph with Jason. This makes sense, this association would only grow as he got to know her over the time she is sanctioned as Spoiler.

I believe this association leads to him eventually placing her in the same category as Jason, as not "born" for vigilantism at all, and as capable of having a normal life.

But it also serves as a clear way to rectify his mistakes with Jason. It’s his way of “making up for” his role in Jason's death. It’s his second chance. Never mind that this second chance leads to his assessment of Stephanie having very little to do with Steph herself, and a whole fucking lot to do about Bruce’s guilt over Jason’s death.

This is especially brutal because it seems to come from a place of genuine care (and a selfish desire to assuage his guilt too), but Stephanie doesn't get the tender moment of explanation and grief and regret that Cassandra hears. She doesn't get to know this.

What she gets, is to be told point blank that she is fired because she just isn't good enough. She gets to hear that she lacks the "skills and talent" from the same man who originally came to her to train her because he finally saw and recognized her potential. She gets told she will never be good enough by the guy who told her that she could learn and improve under his instruction. She gets two sentences. She has to fight for any more.

I cannot emphasize enough the fact that she had to track Bruce down to get an explanation for why he was suddenly ghosting her. He didn't even have the decency to tell her himself. Stephanie had to track Bruce down just so she could find out that he gave up on her.

Stephanie gets a blunt lie about why she is fired. And Bruce Wayne gets to feel good about "correcting" a mistake that had nothing to do with Stephanie. Stephanie gets cut off from her friends. Bruce Wayne gets to reconcile with his team. Stephanie gets to feel worthless. Bruce Wayne gets to feel justified.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 45

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,850ish

Summary: On the road, your group finds a family in need of help.

Warning(s): lots of movie dialogue, canon violence, injuries, character death(s)

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

The four of you found yourselves back on the road soon after the wedding ceremony. Things seemed lighter in a way. Laura and Charles sat in back while Logan drove and you sat beside him. Logan kept one hand on the wheel while his other kept a firm hold on yours. He didn’t want to let you go before your marriage was official, but now he really didn’t want to. 

Charles was drifting in and out of sleep as Laura stared out the window with her sunglasses, locking and unlocking the door.

“Knock it off,” Logan said, voice gruff. Laura made no move to stop. “I said, knock it off!”

“She’s a child, Logan,” Charles said. “And, point of face, she’s your—“

“How long has it been since you took your meds?” Charles exhaled, annoyed. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know!”

Logan scoffed. “You saw what happened yesterday. If that shit had gone on any longer, everything in that casino—“

“I did what I had to do to save Laura and Y/N.”

“What?” You questioned, turning to look back at Charles.

“I knew you wouldn’t get to my meds and I kept you from doing so. You wouldn’t have been able to take on all those men while protecting Laura and I.”

“You had a fucking seizure on purpose?!” Logan exclaimed, clearly furious.

“I guess you prefer me pharmaceutically castrated, rambling on like a lunatic. So much easier for you.”

“Easier? There is nothing easy about you, Charles, nothing!”

“Yes, yes, please be like the rest of the world, blaming someone else for your boring shit.”

“I know, Pop, I’m such a giant disappointment.”

“What? Logan, you’re not a disappointment,” you tried to interject. 

“You honestly derive no sense of purpose from what we’re doing?” Charles continued.

“Okay, what are we doing?” Logan questioned. “Hmm?”

“There is a young mutant sitting in our car.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“And where we’re taking her, there are others. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yeah, means nothing to me. Especially since Nurse Gabriela made all that Eden shit up with fucking comic books.”

“What are you talking about?”

Logan let go of your hand and opened the center consul. He pulled out a bottle, handing it to you. “Give those to him, will you?”

“Logan,” you tried.

“Give ‘em to him.”

You sighed, opening up the bottle and taking two pills out. You turned back and handed them to Charles, giving him a sympathetic smile. Charles took them and tossed them into his mouth before getting a drink.

“I wanna see it,” Logan said, looking at Charles.

Charles made a noise as he opened his mouth and stuck his tough out for Logan to see. Logan took the bottle from you, threw it into the consul, and then slammed it shut. You sighed, so much for the happiness that the small wedding brought. Logan glanced over at you as you stared out the window. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss.

“Sorry,” Logan muttered. “On edge.”

“Clearly,” you replied, turning to face him. “Can you try not to be mad at anyone in this car? The rest of the world, sure, but those in this truck are off limits. Got it?” 

“Only for you.” He kissed the back of your hand again.

“Whipped,” Charles muttered.

“Have something to tell the class Professor?”

“Nothing.”

Your group fell into a calm silence for a few moments until one of the auto-semi-trucks moved too close to your truck.

“Motherfucking auto-trucks!” Logan exclaimed.

“Language, Logan,” scolded Charles. “And you’re screaming at a machine.”

“Oh, what? She can gut a man with her feet, she can’t hear a few naughty words, huh?”

“She can learn to be better.”

“You mean, better than me?”

“I’m sure that’s not—“

“Actually, yes,” Charles interrupted you. 

You knew Charles wasn’t totally in his right mind, but you wished he could fully realize how much his words affected Logan. 

“And, by the way,” continued Charles, “Laura’s foot claws are the obvious result of her gender, you know.”

“Is that a fact?” Logan asked.

“In a pride of lions, the female is both hunter and caregiver.”

“Good to know.”

“She uses her front claws for hunting and the back claws defensively.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan’s sarcasm was clear.

“Thus, ensuring their survival.”

Laura watched this—and every— interaction with curiosity and caution. It was clear to her that her comics were right about somethings. One being that the Wolverine was tough and hostile, but had a soft side for those he cared about. Especially for you. Though the comics Nurse Gabriela had shown her did not do the love you two shared any justice, both the good and the bad. Laura could tell that Logan didn’t know how exactly to deal with Laura and who she was, but she could tell that the hostility was dying, though extreme slow. Laura knew that was thanks to you. As she continued to watch and listen, you looked back to check on her. You shot her a soft smile. Laura wanted to give you one in return, but she really didn’t know how, so she opted for a nod and to turn back to the window.

Just then, an auto-truck honked and began to move over to the lane that your truck was in without even waiting. Logan was forced to swerve quickly, driving into oncoming traffic. Laura held onto Charles trying to keep him steady while you gripped the handle near your door and the middle consul. Logan maneuvered through the oncoming traffic until there was a clearing and he could turn around, coming to a harsh stop. He looked around, noticing that everyone was clearly shaken up.

As the four of you tried to calm down, you watched as a truck pulling a horse trailer stopped across the road. The horse trailer had been knocked open in the incident, with the horses running out. A young man and his parents got out of the truck, rushing to get the horses off the road.

“We should help them,” Charles suggested.

“No, we have to keep going,” Logan retorted. “Someone will come along.”

“Someone has come along.”

Logan looked your way, wanting to know your thoughts.

“I think it would do us some good to help someone else right now,” you told him.

With a sigh, Logan drove the truck across the lanes of traffic and parked it in front of the other truck. Charles rolled down the window and closed his eyes as you and Logan exited the truck. You watched as the horses all came back over and lined up in the trailer. Logan looked back over at Charles with a angry look. You caught it, slipping your hand into Logan’s and giving it a light squeeze. Laura slipped out of the car and stood a bit behind you two.

“Hey, uh, you need a hand?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” the woman replied. “Our truck is stuck. After we get the horses in, we could really use some help getting it out.”

Once the horses were in the trailer, the woman got into the driver’s seat and turned on the truck to help reverse it. Logan and her husband got in front to push it while the son was helping from the side. Once they were all set, they started moving the truck back.

“Ah, good,” the husband patted the front as soon as the truck had moved to a good spot, “got it. Come on, let’s get home.”

“Laura! Y/N!” Logan called. The two of you were standing near the trailer, Laura looking at the horses.

“Thank you so much for your help,” the woman said. “I’m Kathryn.” She reached out her hand.

Logan shook it. “James.”

“This is my son, Nate.”

“Hi,” Nate said.

“Hey,” Logan responded.

“Is that your wife and daughter?” Kathryn asked.

“Uh, yeah, thats, uh—“

“I’m Y/N,” you walked up to Kathryn, “his wife. That’s our daughter Laura.”

“Yeah, and that’s my dad, Chuck,” Logan pointed to Charles in the truck, who waved. “Come on, Laura, let’s go.”

“Well, can we show our appreciation and treat the four of you to a decent meal?” Kathryn wondered. “We don’t live far from here.”

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“That would be lovely!” Charles exclaimed. 

You stifled a giggle at the look Logan shot Charles. You walked over to Logan and took his hand. “As long as we aren’t a bother,” you told Kathryn.

“Of course not,” she said. “Just follow us home.”

~~~

“I don’t like this,” Logan grumbled as the table was being set. “We need to keep moving.”

“Logan, it’s just one night,” you told him. “No one would suspect us to stop somewhere like this.”

“Still.”

“Everybody, have a seat,” Kathryn said. 

“James, why don’t you sit at the end of the table?” Will, Kathryn’s husband, suggested.

Will sat on one end while Logan took the opposite seat. Kathryn and Nate took one of the longer sides, while Charles, Laura, and you took the other.

“You wanna say grace?” Kathryn asked. “Say grace, baby.”

“Uh, thank you, God, for this food,” Nate said, “and for our new friends, the Howletts.

“Mmm. They came to our aid. Amen.”

“Amen,” you joined in with the rest in saying it.

Everyone began eating. Logan noticed quickly that Laura was stuffing the food into her mouth using her hands. He reached over and handed her, her fork. The bowl of corn got passed to her and she quickly began scooping. Logan took the bowl away before she could take it all. You bit your lip as you noticed how the others were watching you all. 

“Oh, there’s plenty more if she wants,” Kathryn offered. 

“She’s fine,” Logan said. “Thank you.”

“This is delicious,” Charles said.

“Oh, thank you,” Kathryn responded.

“It’s so good.”

“Where are you all headed?” Will asked.

“Uh, Oregon,” Logan said at the same time that Charles said, “South Dakota.”

“Well, Oregon and then South Dakota,” Charles corrected.

“Vacation?” Kathryn wondered.

“Uh, yes. Uh, long overdue. We’re city folk. Always wanted to take a road trip, see the country. And meet the people in it.”

“Well that sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“If we go traipsing all over the country, who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will retorted.

“Exactly. I say, let it go.”

“And live off what?”

“The Lord will provide.”

“I”m still waiting for the Lord to provide me with a new thresher.”

“All the same, I’d love to travel someday.”

“And I bet, you will,” Charles told her.

“I could drop out of school,” Nate offered.

“Okay, let’s not go that far,” Kathryn said. 

“I mean, I’ll do it.”

“No, no.”

“Why not? You wanna travel, I wanna travel.”

“Son, son.”

“That sounds good to you, right?” Will asked.

“It’s the perfect plan,” said Nate.

“Why oddly you want to do that, Nate?” Charles wondered.

“Careful,” Logan spoke up, “you’re speaking to a man who ran a school for a lot of years. Right, Charles?”

“Really?” Will asked.

“Yes, it was a… it was a special needs school,” Charles said.

You tried not laugh at his description.

“Uh-huh. That’s a good description,” Logan smirked.

“He was there, too,” Charles pointed at Logan. “In fact, these two both were.”

“Yeah, I got kicked out a few times.”

“Some of them were by choice,” you spoke up, teasing him.

“I wish I could say you were a good pupil, but the words would choke me,” Charles said.

Everyone laughed, including Logan.

“Not that Y/N was much better,” Charles added.

“Wait, what?” You questioned.

“When Y/N first arrived at the school, she hid and refused to participate. Took me years to get her to do anything.”

“Hey, woah. Not years. Maybe one.”

“Whatever.”

The laughter and chatter continued until everyone was full. Logan stood up.

“Ma’am, I can’t thank you enough for this,” he said. “Uh, it was great. But we have a long drive ahead of us, so—“

“But you need to rest, don’t you?” Kathryn questioned.

“Yeah, we’ll find a motel somewhere.”

“The nearest one is two hours from here and it’s not even that nice,” Will said. 

“We have a perfectly fine room upstairs for your father and your daughter if you don’t mind you and your wife sleeping in the living room on the convertible,” Kathryn offered.

“Kathryn, it’s very, very nice of you, but we really should go.”

“We can leave early in the morning,” Charles said. “Break of dawn, as it were.”

Logan looked at you, hoping that you’d side with him. You weren’t going to though. It was nice to interact with others and seem normal for a while.

“Okay,” Logan sighed, “why don’t we wash up, Pop?”

Logan pushed Charles away to the bathroom.

“Would you two like some dessert?” Kathryn offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you replied.

“Of course not.”

“You all have been really kind to my family. Thank you.”

The water coming from the sink suddenly cut in and out. 

“Oh, shit!” Will exclaimed.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Nate, go fill up the tub before we lose pressure.”

“They shut if off again,” Kathryn said.

“They are just not going to let this thing go.”

“Well, you might as well handle it now.”

“It can wait till the morning. We just had rain last night.”

“We got four houseguests and a sink full of dishes.”

“Alright, alright.” Will turned to talk to Logan. “The pump station that supplies us is a mile and a half from here. Sometimes it gets itself shut off.”

“By assholes,” Nate added.

“My son is happy to go with you,” Charles offered.

“No, no, no, that’s fine,” Will said as Logan gave Charles a look of unbelief. “The men that do this, sometimes they can be—“

“I can go,” Nate said.

“No,” Kathryn said, “you’ve got homework.”

“Alright, I’ll go,” Logan said. “Just, uh, let me get my dad settled.” 

He walked over to Charles and picked him up. Your heart broke as you could hear the strain in Logan’s breathing. You took Laura’s hand and followed Logan and Charles up the stairs to the open bedroom. Laura saw Nate in his room and opted to follow him.

“Behave,” you whispered to her with a smile before letting her go. 

You peeked into the room, watching Logan get Charles tucked in. He held up a remote.

“Want TV?” Logan asked. “There’s TV here.”

“I’m fine,” Charles breathed out.

“Okay. Get some rest.”

“You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. A home, people who love each other. Safe place. You should take a moment and feel it. It’s been too long since you’ve had that.”

“Yeah It’s great.” You stepped back as Logan came to the door.

“Logan. Logan! You still have time.”

“Charles, the world is not the same as it was. We’re taking a risk hanging around here, you know that. And where we’re going, Eden… it doesn’t exist. Her nurse got it from a comic book. You understand? It’s not real.”

“It is for Laura… It is for Laura.”

“Get some rest.”

Logan walked out of the room, completely shutting the door, to find you there.

“What are we doing, Logan?” You asked quietly. “If you don’t believe that Eden is real, then where are we taking Laura? What are your plans with her?”

Logan sighed, coming up to you and placing his hands on your arms. He ran his hands down until he could hold your hands. “I… I’m trying here.”

“Try harder… for Laura, for Charles… for me. You need to decide if you believe in it and if you’re willing to trust that Eden will be a safe place for your daughter.”

“Do you believe in it?”

“I hope it’s real. For her sake.”

“Then I’ll try a little harder, okay?” You nodded, leaning into Logan. His hands dropped yours to wrap you in a hug. “I won’t be long.”

“Be safe.”

The two of you met for a brief kiss. You walked Logan down the stairs and watched as he and Will headed out to the fields. You saw Kathryn in living room, reading the pull-out bed. 

“Thank you, again,” you told her.

“Of course,” she replied. “It seems like you all have had a long journey and need some good rest.”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“The bed’s all ready. Sleep well.” 

Then Kathryn walked away. You crawled onto the bed and curled up, thinking of Logan. You heard footsteps just as you were about to fall asleep, the weight was familiar. Your back was facing towards the slow, on coming footsteps.

“Logan?” You whispered quietly, only to receive no verbal response. 

A hand fell to your back, moving until it was above your beating heart.

“Logan, what are you—“

Quickly, the hand formed a fist and three metal claws entered your heart. The darkness came instantly.

~~~

When Logan and Will arrived back at the house, Logan went to the truck to try to calm down his coughing. A gunshot and screams had his head snapping in the direction of the house. Logan raced inside the best he could with his limp. Will was at the bottom of the stairs, claw marks through his chest. Logan looked up to see a copy of him—younger and less scarred—carrying a screaming and bound Laura down the stairs. Logan froze, only able to pant and stare as the copy of him walked past him, Laura still screaming.

“Charles!” Logan shouted up the stairs. “Y/N! Charles! Y/N!” 

He used the railing to get him up the stairs faster. At the top of the stairs, he found Kathryn dead with Nate at the entrance of Charles’ room. He froze for a moment upon seeing Charles bloody and barely breathing in bed. Blood was running out of Charles’ mouth as he shakily reached for Logan. 

When Logan finally broke out from his trance, he rushed over and used some of the bedding to pack Charles’ wound. He maneuvered Charles’ hands to be over the bedding.

“Hold this,” Logan whispered, fear coursing through his veins. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”

Logan picked Charles up carefully, still scanning the house for any sign of you. Charles let out a moan as he struggled to keep conscious.

“Just hold on, Charles,” Logan said.

Logan went out the side door and rushed Charles over to the truck, placing him in the bed.

“I’ll be back,” Logan promised, before going back inside. “Y/N! Y/N!”

Suddenly, his nose got whiff of a familiar scent. Your blood. He rushed for the living room, where the pull out bed was out. There was a large bloody stain on it, but no you. There was no sign of your fire or your smoke or your ashes. Logan’s heart hammered in his chest as he continued to find no sign of you in the house. Logan stammered out of the house to hear more screaming and gunshots. He saw his duplicate self killing the men who turned off the water. There was a military grade truck past his duplicate. Logan noticed Laura on the ground but when he his moved, his breath caught in his throat. 

They had you in a glass box, like Snow White or a doll. There was blood on you and Logan could tell from where he was standing that you weren’t breathing.

“Charles!” Logan exclaimed quietly. He went back over and pressed on the wounds. “Hold this down, right now, tight!”

“Save them,” Charles whispered. “I’m… sorry…”

“What?”

“Go…” Then Charles heart stopped.

“No.” 

Rage grew inside Logan. How dare they create a duplicate version of him and have him kill you and Charles? He had to get to you before they did anything. Suddenly, the military truck blew up, throwing the glass case you were in forward, crashing next to Laura. The glass broke. Logan needed to move fast. He knew that if you went up in flames and your ashes were separated, there would be no coming back for you. He wouldn’t be able to continue on the rest of his short life without you.

Logan snuck up on his duplicate as the duplicate marched towards you and Laura. With each grunt, he plunged his claws into the duplicate. But his copy made no move to fight back, just walking backwards with each hit. Logan plunged both sets of claws into the copy.

“What the hell are you?” He grunted.

The duplicate stabbed Logan in the shoulder and tossed him over to the ground. Logan shielded himself with his claws before the duplicate could do it again. Every muscle and bone was straining with Logan, but he couldn’t stop. Not when you weren’t safe. Logan jumped back up and continued fighting, but the duplicate was better, stronger. The copy kept making hits, causing Logan to yell out in pain. 

Eventually, the duplicate had Logan pinned against a large tractor tire. Before it could make the final kill, Will’s truck rammed into the duplicate, pinning it against the fence. Will stumbled out of the truck with his gun, shooting into the duplicate multiple times. Once Will believed the duplicate to be dead, he turned his gun on Logan, but couldn’t do anything before he fell to the ground, dead. 

Laura’s shrieking continued as she laid bound beside your dead body. Logan stumbled over to the two of you, bloody and bruised. He knew that you needed to get someplace safe, but he also knew that you would never forgive him for leaving Laura. He grabbed Laura and carried her over to the truck, placing her into the seat next to his before turning to get you.

As he knelt beside you to pick you up, the tears fell. The three punctures over your heart was enough to tell him that his copy had done this to you. He groaned as he picked you up and cradled you against him.

“It wasn’t me,” he whispered, like him saying that would wake you. “It wasn’t me.”

He carried you to the truck and slipped you into the back seat. Laura turned around and saw Charles dead in the bed of the trunk and you dead in the back seat. Her shrieking got worse as she fought against her bindings. Logan turned on the truck and sped off into the fields. Laura thrashed around, trying to free herself. With a shaky hand, Logan released his claws.

“Hold still,” he told her, moving the claws over to her cuffs. “Hold still.”

He cut through the bindings and quickly put away his claws, focusing on driving through the field. Laura crawled into the back seat and placed your head on her lap. Logan glanced at her through the rearview mirror, not missing the tear that slipped down her cheek.

next chapter >

[musings-of-a-rose]

Camping Trip

Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader (nickname Autumn)

Word Count: 3400+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Listen. I don’t know. I just saw the picture in the upper right of my moodboard and came up with this. Ok fine I wrote the first 3 paragraphs in May and the rest now. Will and I are complicated, ok? Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for reading and listening to my ramblings as always!

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

It had been a rough few months, no doubt about that. Somehow, I survived. Made it to the solo camping trip I had been thinking about for months. It's nothing I haven't done before. Even the trails and campsite are familiar. Still, it had been a few years and I was itching to get away from the city and all the noises it pounds into my head.

I head down the backroads, the pine trees growing thicker the further out I get from the city. At first I pass a lot of cars, mostly traveling into the city. But after a while, when the trees are so tall I can't see over them, so thick I can barely see through them, I'm the only car on the road.

I see the sign for the campsite and turn, heading down the dirt path to the small parking lot about a half mile in from the road. There are a couple of other jeeps and trucks here, one of them belonging to the park ranger who sits inside the small welcome center/general store. I head inside to use the bathroom, the last little "luxury" I give myself before spending a week away from everyone.

"Hi mis- Autumn! Haven't seen you for what...3 years?"

I smile at the man behind the counter, giving him a little wave. "Hey Jay! You're still working here? I thought you'd have retired by now." I grab a couple of bags of the beef jerky they have on sale. It's made by a local farmer and I can only get it here.

Jay chuckles. "Next year. Maybe."

"Don't push yourself too hard, Jay."

"Oh! Mary had her baby! Course she's 3 now."

"Oh really? Damn, 3 already?”

Jay looks at me pointedly. “Well that’s what you get for taking so long to come back and visit.”

Before I can answer, the bell on the entrance door jingles out and Jay glances over my shoulder. “Afternoon, sir! Can I help you with anything?”

“Just a trail map, thanks.” His voice is a little raspy, like he hadn’t used it for a while. I turn to point to the map stand but am momentarily frozen. 

This man is gorgeous.

Tall, short blonde hair, slightly longer up top. Military or ex military judging by the cut and the way he holds himself. But his eyes meet mine, slate blue and what was I saying? 

Jay pinches my arm. “Show him the maps, Autumn.”

I force a small chuckle to Jay, quickly pulling my arm from his pinching fingers and walk towards the blonde man and am hit with the scent of pine, leather, and old spice. Normally I would not be into the latter on a man but the way it mixes with his natural scent is going straight to my head. And other places.

“Here,” I somehow manage to walk past him and grab a map from the spinning holder, turning to hand it to him. The man takes it, his eyes twinkling before he gives me a quick wink.

“Thanks, darlin’.” His eyes quickly flick down my body, or maybe I’m imagining it? 

“You check the weather before coming, sir?”

His eyes are on mine still for another moment before he turns to address Jay. “Yeah I did. This isn’t my first time camping.”

Jay nods. “Military?”

The man chuckles. “Vet. Am I that obvious?”

Jay shrugs. “Not exactly. I just know people. Well, as long as you know what you’re in for. Shouldn’t be too bad but just make sure to stay warm. Not sure how long you’ll be here but if ever a blizzard alert comes up, you come right back here, ok? There’s a small cabin out back that’s open to campers 24/7.”

“Thanks.” The man takes his map, declining Jay’s offer of a bag. He glances back over at me. “See you later, darlin’.”

Fuck. Me. “See you!”

It takes me the usual couple of days to make it to my favorite spot, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I break through the trees, the breathtaking view of the mountains and lake spread out before me. It feels like coming home. 

I get to work setting up my camp, fire and tent good to go, my food hanging from a bag in a tree. I managed to find a place with a good fallen log, perfect for sitting on or against and close enough to the fire so I can keep warm. The wind blows through the nettles of the tall pines around me, the cool, misty breeze coating the exposed skin on my face. I take a deep breath in and out. I really missed being here. 

I do turn on my high powered radio to listen to the weather report twice a day, making sure nothing unexpected is coming. There’s something the weathermen are looking at, but they don’t think it’ll be anything. Still, the temps are sure to drop in a couple of days and there may be a bit of snow. I’m prepared for it, but it’s still good to know. 

A couple days later, I’m about a half mile from camp, walking along the trail near the lake. So far, I’ve seen a couple of deer and a ton of birds. I’m stopped, leaning against a tree trunk to take a quick break when I hear the sound of footsteps on the path ahead. I know I’m not the only one camping, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t instantly on alert. Another couple of seconds of hearing the sound and I know it’s human. From around the curve of the path emerges the man from Jay’s, his pack full and looking heavy. He sounds a little winded and had obviously been walking for a bit. I straighten myself and wave to him.

“Hey! Fancy seeing you here!”

The man glances at me and smiles, the same one from the shop. “Hey…Autumn?”

I nod. I tell him my real name. “But Jay’s been calling me Autumn since I first came to this trail.”

“Let me guess. It was during Autumn?”

I chuckle. “Jay is original.”

He comes closer, but stops several feet away, breathing heavier. “I’m Will.”

“Nice to meet you, Will.”

He nods to me. “Same.”

He still doesn’t move. “I don’t bite, you know.”

He cocks his head, confused, but then seems to piece it together. “Oh. Well, I didn’t want to freak you out by invading your space.”

I’m fairly positive if this man wanted to take me down, he could’ve done that, several feet away with a pack on or no. “Thank you. That’s…unexpected. And kind.”

“Don’t other people do that?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Oh. Well they should.”

I shrug. “Maybe….but Will, you can come closer. It’s alright.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

He remains rooted to the spot. “You don’t think I’ll take advantage of you?”

I snort. “I’m fairly positive you could’ve done that already, Mr. Military. Don’t threaten me with a good time.” What the fuck did I just say?

I swear I see the tips of his ears turn pink as he chuckles, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. “A good time it would be.”

He comes closer and I gesture towards my bag which is resting against a log. He takes his own off and sets it beside mine, shrugging and stretching his shoulders a bit. “I really should’ve taken a break before now. Gettin’ old sucks.”

I chuckle, my eyes roaming down his arms, the flannel on his shirt hugging his biceps in all the right ways. 

“You look in great shape to me.” 

His eyes meet mine and we stare at each other for several moments before I blink, shaking my head a little to rid myself of the not at all PG thoughts I was having.

“So…are you trying to make it back to that cabin before the weather moves in?”

Will clears his throat, giving his own head a little shake before crossing his arms across his broad chest. “That was the plan.”

“Have you listened to the weather station today?”

He furrows his brows and I melt. “No, why?”

“The uh..storm? Is moving a little faster than they thought. No way you’ll make it back to Jay’s cabin before it starts to pick up.”

“Shit.” Will sighs, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I really thought I’d be able to make it but my leg was acting up.” 

I can tell he’s not used to this, needing breaks. He seems like the kind of guy that just pushes through the pain. Until it pushes back.

“Come on. You can stay with me.” I push back from the tree and lean down to get my pack, swinging it up on my back. When I look back up at Will, he’s staring at me, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Did you just invite me to your camp?”

I adjust the straps on my shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s get going so that way we aren’t stuck.”

“You trust me?”

I click the last strap into place across my chest before I look at him. “I thought we established that I do.”

He studies me for a long moment, his eyes moving between mine and I swear he glances down at my lips. “You sure you have the space?”

I shrug. “May be a little bit of a squeeze but temps are dropping anyway. We can always find a way to get warm.” What did I just say?

A small smirk spreads across his beautiful face. “I’m sure we can, darlin’.” He leans down and grabs his own pack, situating it on his back before he gestures to me. “Lead the way.”

Talking to Will is easy, comforting almost. He tells me about his time in the army, Delta Force, and his brothers, including his real life brother Benny. A golden retriever of a man if I ever heard of one. He asks me questions about my life and listens intently, actually interested in what I have to say. Before I know it, we’re back at my camp. Will stops for a moment, staring out over the lake at the mountain behind it and whistles. “You found a hell of a view.”

“Thanks. It took me a couple years to find but now it’s like home.”

Will helps me start a fire and get food cooking, laughter and conversation flows just as easily as before and I find myself gravitating towards him, physically. But he also seems to be scooting closer and closer until our legs are nearly touching. Snowflakes start to fall, coming in faster and thicker.

“We should probably get the sleeping bags set up before it gets hard to see,” Will suggests, his breath puffing out in tendrils in front of him. 

“Good idea.”

Will gets the outside of our little camp ready as the sun starts to dip and night comes. We manage to get in the tent before the snow really starts to come down. It’s a little bigger than a one room tent, but we’re still pretty snug in here now that there’s two of us. And he’s so fucking broad. I shift my sleeping bag over a bit more and Will slides his down next to mine. He looks between our bags and then up at me, his eyebrows pulled together in slight concern.

“What is it?” I ask nervously.

“It’s…nevermind.”

I punch his arm and have to choke back a scream at how firm it is. “Just tell me.”

He chuckles while he dramatically rubs his arm. “Ouch,” he smirks as I roll my eyes. “But we should zip our bags together. For warmth. It’s about to get pretty cold.”

“William Miller. Are you asking to get in my sleeping bag with me?”

He shifts nervously, his ear tips turning red. “No! I uh, that’s not… I mean, it’s basic survival. I didn’t mean.. I don’t want you to think-”

I laugh then, cutting him off. “Chill out, Will. I know how you meant it. You’re a nice guy. I just like watching you blush.”

He rubs at his face. “You’re dangerous.”

“How dare you, good sir. I am a lady.”

He snorts and I swear under his breath he says “I bet you are.”

We get the bags zipped together and slide down in them, trying to leave as much space as we could between us. After several minutes of us shuffling around awkwardly, Will chuckles.

“You wanna be the big spoon or the little one?”

My laughter rings out in the tent joining his, tears streaming down my face at this brilliant tension breaker. “I’ll be little,” I choke out. I turn around, facing my back towards him. I feel him scoot closer and heat instantly rushes through my body, pooling between my thighs. Can he hear how my heart is about to beat from my chest?

“Is this ok?” Will’s breath fans out over my neck, goosebumps erupting in it’s wake. 

“Uh..I uh…y-yeah. All good. Is it uh, close enough? For survival, I mean.”

Will clears his throat. “Uh, well I mean. We should probably be, uh, closer. To stay warm. For survival, of course.”

“Well if it’s for survival, scoot as close as you want.”

He makes a choking sound but shifts closer, his body molding to mine. I can feel his hand hovering, unsure of where to place it. I reach back and take it, gently placing it on my hip, trying to ignore the heat that immediately ignites, flowing down between my legs. The wind blows outside, the tent rustling with it. I shift my hips a little and Will’s grip on my hip tightens, his fingers digging into my skin. And I can feel something else pressing against my ass and I swallow hard.

“You’re going to have to stop moving around, darlin’. Please.” He chokes out the last word, sounding restrained. 

I take a deep breath. “What if I don’t want to?”

His grip tightens even more and I know I’ll bruise if he keeps it up. And I don’t care if I do. 

“I’m trying really hard to be respectful, Autumn.”

I glance over my shoulder at him. “Don’t be respectful then.”

A quiet growl emanates from him. “What are you saying?”

I make sure I have his gaze. “Be disrespectful. If it’s permission you want, you have it.” 

He watches me for a long moment before I feel him shift, his arm that’s not gripping my hip sliding under my neck. He twists his wrist, sliding it down to unbutton my shirt, his hand finding it’s way down my shirt and under my bra, gently swiping his fingers over my nipple. But at the same time, his other hand slowly moves from my hip, pulling my leg up and over his own, his hand gently teasing my skin as he pushes it under my pantline and between my legs, another groan when he feels how wet I am. I gasp as he nips at my shoulder. 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, Autumn.”

I try to respond, but instead a moan escapes me as his fingers start to play with me, gentle circles with alternating pressure as all my blood rushes between my legs, that fire igniting rather quickly. 

“Will, I’m gonna…” I’m not entirely sure what I say as I come, my leg twitching as my body soars, pleasure radiating out from between my thighs, spreading throughout me.

“Feeling warm?” Will speaks deeply in my ear, nibbling a little on my ear lobe.

I nod, my head flying already. “You didn’t even take my clothes off.”

He chuckles against my neck. “I told you I was respectful.”

Surprising even myself, I reach behind me and grab him over his pants. He grunts but pushes against my hand, no doubt relieving some of the pressure. I turn my head towards him, my lips barely brushing his. “Please, Will.”

His eyes are like a storm at sea, blue and wild, darkening. “Tell me.”

I take his hand and push it between my legs where I was growing wetter by the second as I push my hips back, grinding on him. He grunts in my ear. “You gotta stop doing that or I won’t be able to hold myself.”

My hand, still over his, pushes his fingers towards my entrance, his thick fingers circling me, heat and anticipation swirling around me. “D-don’t hold yourself back. Fuck me, Will. Please,” I’m not above begging at this point, his finger continuing to edge me along. But then he’s pulling his hand out of my pants, trying to sit up but struggling because we’re in a sleeping bag. 

“Take off your clothes before I rip them off.”

That command went straight through me, my fingers moving quickly to take off all my clothes, tossing them out of the sleeping bag. Will does the same on his own, starting his own neater pile outside of the sleeping bag. I lay back down, assuming he’ll want the same position. His fingers skim across my side, watching the goosebumps pimple up. But then he pushes my hip down, turning me on my back as he slides over my body, my legs opening as wide as I can to give him space. He’s heavy, fuck he’s so much bigger than I thought as he presses against my clit, hot and pulsing. His eyes find mine, a dark twinkle in them as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. I part them and he slides his tongue inside, the kiss quickly heating up as he starts to move his hips. He slides himself over me, back and forth across my clit, swallowing my moans. My fingers dig at his back, silently begging him for more. The pressure is so intense, so much, that if he doesn’t fuck me now, I may just pop. Or go insane. 

Then Will gently takes my wrists, pinning them on either side of my head. His hips shift and with a confident stride, he pushes into me, my head pressing back into the pillow as I feel the pleasant burn, my body stretching to accept him, all of him. He pulls his hips back and pushes in, this time with a little more force and I feel a jolt through my body as he hits some spot at the back of me. I whine as Will continues to fuck me, slowly but forcefully, heat coursing through me. And then, I snap, crying out his name as I squeeze around him, my entire body lighting up and carrying me away from myself, my release made more intense by being pinned under him, unable to move away from the intense pleasure. 

Will’s breaths are heavy, panting out with restraint, like he’s holding himself back. He kisses me again, hard, nipping at my bottom lip before pulling back and out, but before I have a chance to feel too empty, he somehow flips me on my belly, my boobs pressing into the sleeping bag as he arcs my hips up just enough for him to slide in easily, my body greedily taking him in. He lays on top of me, his arms over mine as he laces his fingers with my hands. The weight of him both on and in me sends heat right back between my legs. He bites at my neck and shoulder as he fucks into me, deeper and harder with every thrust until I’m coming again, screaming his name into my pillow as I feel his hips sputter, Will whining in my ear as he spills inside of me. His body slumps against mine, both of us trying to catch our breath. Eventually, he slides off of me and to my side, turning me and pulling me to his chest. He nuzzles in my hair, wrapping his arms around me again, one massive hand holding a boob.

“Warm enough?” Will whispers in my ear.

“Mmm..” I respond. “You didn’t tell me you could fuck, Will.”

He chuckles and kisses my neck. “I’m restricted by this sleeping bag, darlin’. I did the best I could.”

The whine that escapes me is loud. “I’d love to see that.”

“Well when I’m done with you after this camping trip darlin’, you’re going to need some time to recover. And then I plan on showing you exactly how my fucking is.”

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[sapphire-weapon]

I would've not been so upset about the whole Leon simping over Ada issue on RE6 if Capcom had given us at least some resolution to their decade-long cat and mouse game. If you're gonna center the narrative on Aeon, give us *something* new. But we got nothing. Like what was the point. Same old vague bullshit and Ada leaving and Leon being all aDaAA 😣 exhausting

I swear to god, sometimes I feel like I'm taking crazy pills.

It was resolved.

At this point in the game, Leon is legally dead. Helena gives him the opportunity here to finally escape his hellhole of a life and disappear with Ada.

And he says no. He says no because he realizes, in that moment, that he never really knew Ada at all.

For the entire series, Leon's taken Ada's help and presence for granted, but RE6 makes him realize that he never took the time to wonder why she did that. He assumed it was because they had some kind of special connection, but Simmons is proof that Ada creates "special connections" with whoever's most useful to her at the time.

In the past, her "special connection" was with Wesker, and OG Leon knows this. Now it's Simmons. And he's standing here, at the end of RE6, wondering why she works for those guys and strings them along, only to then turn around and help him when the rubber hits the road.

He asks the question, realizing he doesn't have an answer. He doesn't have an answer, because he doesn't know her.

And Ada has no interest in giving him the answer or being pursued by him, either.

So, in the one singular moment in this entire franchise where Leon and Ada have the chance to finally run away together and be together, they both look at each other and say "no."

That was the point.

The will they/won't they question was answered, and the answer is: they won't.

At the end of the day, their relationship is a professional one. The pretenses of love between them are gone. Their shared arc has reached a conclusion.

That

was the point.

And that is why Ada's been absent from ID, Vendetta, and DI -- and why she was originally planned to be in RE8. Her story with Leon is over. The two of them are now free to pursue independent storylines, even if they do still wind up running into each other again in the future -- they won't be beholden to each other the same way.

And that was the point.

[maluustrawberry]

"My biggest treasure"

(Túlio X Fem!Reader X Miguel)

(The road to El Dorado fanfiction)

{Part. 1}

A/N: HOW NOBODY WROTE A FIC OF RTED?? Don't ask me why, but I really wanted to write a fic about them after watching again. (It's my favorite movie after The Emperor's New Groove) I was undecided which character to write (I love these two so much) so I decided to do both and you readers will decide, {Túlio X reader} will be a relationship between enemies to lovers and {Miguel X reader} will be friends to lovers. You who will decide, remembering that if there is any error, you can correct me. Good reading 🤗.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It was just another normal day in Barcelona, Spain in 1519, and things weren't looking too good in the city, especially for Isaac, or rather Y/n. As we all know, we were still in the 16th century where theft and machismo were still commonplace. Y/n wasn't like the other women who accepted this quietly and whose only job was to serve her husband and look after the house. She liked to be free and not depend on anyone, earned her own money by disguising herself as a man to work on an export ship, it was her only way of earning money since women weren't allowed in jobs and especially jobs like these. She had to be a man to work and a woman to walk around quietly when she weren't working.

Today you'd find yourself at the market in the center of town, buying your things with the money you'd earned through your efforts, luckily in the eyes of others it was your "husband's" money.

You were at the fruit stand choosing apples to buy and take home, until a man bumped into you by "accident," he was thin, tall, wearing a blue shirt, his black hair was tied up in a ponytail:

“Sorry, Señorita.” The man said as soon as he bumped into her and continued on his way in a hurry.

You were a clever woman, and the way he bumped into you in such a hurry made you suspect what he was about. You quickly put your hand in the pocket of your dress where your money bag and your diary should have been, which was one of your most precious possessions, and unfortunately they were no longer there, the only thing that went through your mind was that you had been robbed by that man. It wasn't going to stay that way, you wasn't going to lose the money who had fought to get and the diary that belonged to your father:

“Hey! Come back here!”

You spoke to the thin man and he accelerated his steps. You had no choice but to go after him, passing through the crowd of people and not letting him out of your sight. As soon as you were out of the crowd, he started running and you ran after him. The brunette didn't expect you to react, after all he thought you were like all the women he'd stolen, little did he know that he'd messed with the wrong woman.

You kept running after him, turning corners and entering the streets where he passed, there was no point in calling the guards since there were none around, only the people around, but you knew that if you asked for help no one would help.

The thief had an idea to lose her. As soon as he turned the corner, he knocked over the barrel of fish when no one was watching, the ground was wet and sticky, as soon as you passed, you overbalanced because of the slippery ground, tried to hold on to the other barrel so as not to fall, but failed, the barrel containing dead fish spilled on you and making you slipped on the ground and fell. Luckily, no one was around, not even the vendor responsible for delivering the fish, the poor woman was all wet and stinking of dead fish. The thief watched the whole scene from seated on top of the wall and laughed:

“I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, lady. Looks like someone's going to have to pay for that...” The skinny brunette laughed and teased you by showing you the bag of money he had stolen in his hand. “...and you need a bath too.” He added, grimacing.

“You little fucking thief! You'll be dead when I get my hands on you!” She tried to get up, but slipped once again, drawing laughter from the man.

“Wow, I'm scared to death of a girl who stinks of fish.” He sneered as he analyzed the old diary in his hands.

“At least give that notebook back.” Y/n said angrily.

“There must be something very important in there for you to run after me and dirty yourself with dead fish over a notebook...”

He smiled and put the notebook in his pocket:

“Adiós.” He jumped over the other side of the wall, taking your notebook and your money.

You finally managed to get up, cursing that damned thief, you'd try to catch him next time, that's for sure. You were angry not only because you had lost your money but also your father's diary, in that diary there was a lot of information about the legendary city of El Dorado, your father was obsessed with finding that city and when you were little, before he died he gave you that diary, which has now been lost by that thief...

You were upset with yourself for that. As soon as got up, you quickly left the place before the vendor saw that you were responsible for the mess and made you pay dearly for it, probably more than half your salary for those fish.

Luckily, your house was nearby. On the way there, there were murmurs, ugly looks and disgusted faces about you, after all, you stank and looked awful. When got home, you immediately took a shower to get rid of the smell. While was showering, you cried with anger and sadness, but you tried to stay in a good mood, because you was going to work that afternoon. It probably wouldn't be so easy to get rid of that fishy smell...

~ {Pov} Tulio:

I couldn't stop laughing as I remembered that girl's fall after stealing from her, she was such a fool to think she could catch up with me. I went over to Miguel who was attracting the others to our bets, the blond was playing his mandolin to attract more people, he immediately stopped and his attention went to me when I arrived:

“Where were you? Did you get anything?” He asked and I handed him the girl's money bag and the diary. “Wait a minute, why the diary?”

“I don't know, I just stole it from a girl and it looked like something really valuable to her, maybe there's something in there.”

I know Miguel is curious, so he put the diary in his pocket and put the girl's coins in the pile of money on the floor:

“Why are you keeping that?” I asked.

“As you said, there must be something important, it's not every day that a girl can read or write.”

“I think it's a waste of time reading that witch's diary... It's probably just girly stuff.”

I helped him attract more people, we had a lot of money from the bets, and all thanks to our addicted data. Before Miguel could open that girl's old diary to read what was in it, three men came up and decided to bet, but in exchange for money it would be for the map of El Dorado. They're seriously going to bet on a map of a city that doesn't even exist!? Miguel soon became very excited about this, he always wanted to live an adventure and believed in these legends. Before I could say "no" to their offer, Miguel pulled me close to him to take a closer look at the map:

“Just a moment, gentlemen...” I said and joined the blond, analyzing the map with him.

“Tulio, look... El dorado! the city of gold... it could be our destiny! Our future!”

“If I believed in destiny, we wouldn't be playing with loaded dice!” I whispered to him, of course I thought this idea was ridiculous, I wasn't going to give up everything because of a map. Miguel made that sad dog face at me. “Don't make that face! No! No...”

“So, do we have a deal?” The man asked and Miguel kept looking at me with that face, I can't believe I'm going to do this...

“All right, let's start.” I started to shake the dice to play, there was no way we could lose that bet with our dice, but the man interrupted me.

“Wait, not with those, this time we use my dice...” Miguel, you pay me... “Got a problem with them?”

He showed us his dice. I had no choice but to accept or else they would suspect that our dice was loaded. I took the dice from him and turned to Miguel, making that sign by putting my index finger to my throat:

“I'll kill you!” I muttered between my teeth to him. He kept smiling and went back to playing his mandolin.

“That come on baby, papa need that crappy map” I said to myself as I shook the dice and blew a little for good luck. “Come on... Show me seven...”

I threw the dice that rolled across the floor, hoping to get the number I asked for. The first dice landed on four and the third on three:

“Seven!” Miguel and I celebrated happily, Miguel picked up the map and I bent down to pick up the money that was on the floor. “Well, nice doing business with you...”

My dice fell to the ground, giving the number seven. The man picked up the dice and threw them several times, but they gave the same number:

“I knew it!” the man exclaimed angrily and everyone looked at us suspiciously and angrily. “Your dice was loaded!”

Now was the time... I have to play the game. I held your mandolin, stopping it from playing and looked at Miguel:

“What?! You give me a loaded dice?!”

“You dare to impune my honor!?” Miguel got into acting, Also pretending. “The dice was yours! You were the one cheating and stealing from those men!”

The guards were close, Miguel grabbed the sword of one of the guards and I did the same, then we started to fake a sword fight, fortunately everyone was believing, it was a good opportunity for us to escape from that situation.

~ {Pov} Y/n:

I was at work, pretending to be a man and loading the export food onto General Cortés's ship, which was going on a trip in search of El Dorado as well. Fortunately, I was going on this trip to take care of the ship's cargo, at least one trip to make up for the horrible day I'd had. But now I have to be as careful as possible or I'll be discovered, since I'll be around men twenty-four hours a day... My back was already starting to ache from this, so I stopped for a while to stretch until one of the men called out to me:

“Are you tired yet, Isaac?” That was my male alias, sometimes it's hard to get used to being called by that name. “I need help with the apples.”

He pointed to the large basket of apples. Holy shit...

“Sure, I'll be right there.” I smiled and forced my voice to sound more masculine.

I helped him carry the big basket and we put it on top of the two barrels that were on the lower deck of the ship:

“That's all for today, we're leaving now.”

He spoke punching me on the shoulder and left the deck. As soon as he had left me alone there, I lay down on the wooden floor, tired, and took a deep breath. I felt the ship moving, we were leaving now and starting our journey. As I was going to be on deck for a long time, I decided to take a break and sleep, after all, I deserve a bit of rest.

I kept thinking about the diary that had been stolen, of course I know a lot of things in that diary from having read it so many times, but it was something of value to me, it was my father's. I felt quite down when I remembered that diary. I was looking forward to it too, after all I would get to see the city of gold, but something was bothering me, something was telling me that I didn't want it to be this way... I felt my eyelids getting heavy and the tiredness getting stronger, and it wasn't long before I fell asleep.

*****

I woke up a little lost in time, wondering how long I had slept, sat up stretching my back and yawning, until my attention went to two voices on the deck.

“One... two... three...”

“One... two... three...”

I don't recognize anyone with those voices, and they were inside the deck, but how? If I'm the only one here:

“Let's go again... one... two... three!”

The voices were coming from the two barrels, and I worried that they might be thieves who had sneaked onto the ship. I got my sword ready and went over to the barrels that were being covered by the apple box, they were trying to get out, but the big heavy box was preventing them from doing so... I was curious to know who they were, anyway I was going to report them to the captain and the general.

I helped, taking the heavy box off the barrels with a lot of effort. Hell, I've never picked up something so heavy... as soon as I did, two men pushed the lid off the barrels and came out, immediately startled to see me. I pulled out my sword and pointed it at them, the first man was a blond man with medium hair wearing a red shirt, the second man... my eyes went wide, I immediately recognized him, he was the man who robbed me!

To be continued...

[lou-struck]

The Couple in the Car

Atsumu Miya x reader

Flufftober Day 14- The Couple in the Car

W.C. 1.7k

~ Atsumu thought he would impress you by taking you to the drive-in for a scary movie date… But apparently, the universe had some other plans. 

The sun is setting, and you are thankful that you are warm inside Atsumu's car. Staring out the window, you squint into the light of the setting sun that just a month ago would still be in the sky.

"What's playing tonight?" you ask as your boyfriend pulls down the little gravel road to the drive-in, his warm car filled to the brim with fuzzy blankets and all your favorite movie snacks. 

"The Hammer, I think," he says, trying to play it cool, but you read your boyfriend like a book. That slight curve in his lips tells you that he is really excited to watch this notoriously scary slasher film with you. 

You pull up and see the headlights of at least a hundred cars parked in the stalls. "Wow, it's busy tonight."

"No kiddin," he comments dejectedly. And you know he feels guilty for picking you up so late this evening. Your heads are on swivels as you drive through the packed lot until an attendant drowning in a large hooded sweatshirt comes up to you holding a flashlight. A thick scarf covers his chin, protecting his face a bit too well from the evening air as he waves you over to a spot at the very back of the theater. 

"Hey man, are there any closer?" Atsumu asks disappointedly. 

"Not tonight; this is the only place I could fit you guys in." He says, not meeting your gaze as he turns and quickly walks off. 

"I'm sorry baby, this is my fault." He frowns, his background playing sports having taught him the importance of being better than on time for everything. "I would've picked ya up earlier, but Samu borrowed my keys and had to work late."

"It's really not that bad, Tsumu," you say, looking at the screen. "We can still see the movie really well from back here." you grab his hand resting on the center console and give it a comforting squeeze. "Plus, we have so much privacy back here. It's almost like we have the place to ourselves."

With that little tidbit, he brightens up and grins, "Yeah, we do," he winks, sliding an arm around your shoulder. "Now I heard this thing is pretty scary, so feel free to hang on to me nice and tight if ya get scared. 

"I'll keep that in mind," you laugh, pressing a teasing kiss to your boyfriend's lips. Just as the movie begins to play.

~

Maybe this movie is a bit too much for the oldest Miya twin. Ever since 'The Hammer' took his first victims, a young couple who chose the wrong night to go up to the small town's lookout point, your boyfriend has had a tight grip on your hand. 

Although he's not in the movie, he flinches at every corner, his mind anxiously awaiting the next jump scare. You are torn between watching the movie or the little show he's putting on for you. 

The Main girl's friend creeps through the winding basement with her flashlight, looking for clues and her impending doom. When suddenly, a rat scurries across her foot.

While the rest of the drive-in hears her scream, you can only hear Atsumu's

"Are you alright, Tsumu?" you ask as he places his hand on his chest and slows his erratic breathing. 

"Y-yeah, i-i'm fine." he lies, slightly, releasing the death grip he has on your hand. "Just spooked a bit, I guess." he looks so ashamed, even more so when he realizes that in his panic, he knocked over his drink, and it is currently spilling onto one of the blankets he packed. 

. "Oh no, that's getting everywhere," you say, opening the glove box hoping to find some napkins but find only an old pack of gum and his car's owner's manual.

"Stay right there, I'll go get some paper towels from the concession stand and wipe this up," you offer, getting up from your seat, but he is quick to stop you.

"What are you doing?" he says with wide eyes, "Stay in the car, haven't ya been watching?"

You are touched by his concern but know that if you don't get this cleaned up, the mess is gonna get worse. "It's fine, but if you're worried. How about you go with me for protection?

He swallows nervously but nods, walking you to the snack counter.  The line snakes around the corner and you feel thankful that your boyfriend planned ahead and brought you all of your favorite snacks. 

"Here they are," you say, taking a handful of paper towels from the condiments counter. Atsumu regards the stand with interest. 

"Do ya need anythin?" he asks. 

"Only you," you grin, grabbing onto his strong arm. 

"Yer cute." he chuckles, feeling much better than before as you start to walk back to your lonely car. You are almost there when he stops in his tracks. 

"What's wrong?" you ask, worried that he has forgotten something, but he only points to the ground. A single long Iron nail has been struck precariously into the dirt, just like what the killer does in the movie and you are hit with a wave of uneasiness. 

That wasn't there before…

"That's weird" you say, putting on a brave face, casually stepping over it. "Is this someone's idea of a joke? Someone could trip over that."

"Spooky," He mutters, his hand resting on your lower back protectively as you resume your walk. 

~

"Are you feeling better?" you ask Atsumu during a dull part of the movie. 

"Yeah, much better," he says, running a hand through his blond hair. "Sorry for freakin out earlier, that wasn't very cool of me."

"You know, I don't love you for just your coolness." you tease watching as his face turns from touched to teasing. 

"Aweeee, you loveeee meeee, don't ya?" he winks, leaning in for a kiss. But just before his chocolate colored eyes shut, he stops, looking beyond your shoulder out the car window.

"Did ya see that? I swear I'm not crazy." his hand trembles as he points to the woods; when you turn around, you are horrified to actually catch a glimpse of something moving through the trees. 

"Maybe it's a deer?" you say, not really believing yourself. 

Deer don't walk on two legs. 

"It's the Hammer Man,"… he whispers. The ridiculousness of it all fills your head with doubt. 

"Tsumu, it's just a movie."

"Based on a true story," he says firmly. "They say they never caught the guy. What if he is here tonight wantin' to take revenge on another hot young couple in their car."

You shudder thinking back to the opening kill of the movie. "It's just a movie," you repeat, this time as if you are trying to convince yourself. Atsumu's imagination is like a tornado, beautiful but dangerous if you get caught up in it."

"There he is again." he cries, and you see it this time, a man in a mask walking through the trees. You track his movements until he disappears behind a wall of green, and you try to figure out where he went."

With all your attention on the tree line you fail to notice a new figure creeping up to the window until they slam their fist on your glass. Someone screams (you) as the man in the mask raises his oddly shaped hammer as if ready to strike. 

"Oh no, ya don't," Atsumu says, leaning over your seat, sideling you with his body. His arm files to the door, and he forces it open quickly, sending your would-be assailant to the ground.

"Ouch, that hurt…" a familiar voice groaned, rubbing their head through the mask.

"Stay away from them~" Atsumu grunts, awkwardly climbing over you and getting on top of the killer. 

"Get off me, you oaf," the voice grunts, and you see recognition flash in your boyfriend's eyes as he carefully peels off the mask to reveal his brother…

"Samu?" he breathes, still sitting on his twin's chest.

"Duh… Now move, I can't breathe." the grey-haired twin says, shoving him off. 

"What are you doing here?" you ask, sliding from your car seat. And when you notice the large bump on your future brother-in-law's head, you almost feel bad.

Almost

He looks almost apologetic as he looks up at you, "Hey, y/n. Uhh sorry about that. We had planned on scarin Tsumu when ya went to the bathroom or somethin, but we got tired of waitin'."

"You bastard," Atsumu says, but you are more focused on his response.

"We?" you ask, hoping for a bit more clarification. 

"Hey hey hey, guess who got pranked?" a loud voice calls from behind the car. Atsumu's teammate, Kotaro Bokuto, leaps out of the darkness, holding a mask identical to the one Osamu had been wearing. He must've been the one running through the trees earlier. 

"I helped too," the attendant from before says, removing his hood and large scarf to reveal Shoyo Hinata.

"You guys were all in on this?" Atsumu asks, looking much better

"Pranked ya,"  Bokuto says, slinging an arm around his friend. "And it was all Samu's idea."

"The owner of the drive-in owed me a favor," Osamu explains with a devilish grin. "So he let me borrow the back row of the theater, and I made sure ya ran late to pick up y/n." He looks so proud of himself for putting this all together that if you weren't still catching your breath, you would applaud him for his creativity.

"You guys are jerks," your boyfriend says, twisting out from under the large spikers' arms to hold on to you. "Are ya okay babe?

You nod, "Just excited, I think; they got us good."

"Thanks for being such a good sport about this y/n," Hinata says, fiddling with his disguise. "You're super cool."

"Thanks," you grin. "So, whose idea was it to put that nail into the ground over there?"

At your question, the three men go silent. Until they ask the scariest question of the evening. 

"What nail?"

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[morganbritton132]

Eddie doesn’t post much over Parents weekend. When he does post, it’s a picture to the Official Corroded Coffin twitter account of Wayne rocking a vintage CC sweatshirt (vintage as in Eddie made it for him before the band even existed).

Overly invested fans don’t have to fret though because whereas Eddie isn’t posting, the kids are.

Every year they fill out bingo cards with Very Specific Things that they think will happen over the course of the weekend and play to see who gets bingo first. This all plays out across their TikTok accounts because the rule is: if you don’t get a video, it didn’t happen (the rule was made after the cheating scandal of 2016).

The game is always centered around whoever is hosting so this round is Steddie-centric. So, no one makes it obvious that Steve’s mom clearly didn’t show up, but if you’re invested enough in his mama drama than you’d pick up on everybody’s effort to keep him engaged enough that he doesn’t really have to think about it.

(1) The first to get a piece on the board are El, Mike, and Lucas. They manage to catch on video Claudia Henderson fully lifting Steve off his feet when she hugs him. You get three different angles of Dustin next to them with the most ‘are you shitting me?’ look on his face because she hugged Steve first.  This is a staple of these events. It happens every time. Everybody had it on their bingo cards but the others didn’t get it on camera. 

(2) Will has ‘Karen says something that would’ve gotten Steve’s neighbor burned at the stake’ on his card. He posts a TikTok of Karen referring to Steve and Eddie’s salt and pepper shakers as ‘kitschy.’ Steve smiles and says, “I know! Eddie picked them out.”

(3) ‘Eddie stands on a table’ was banned from being on the card because it has happened at every single event ever. ‘Eddie falling off a table and being caught by Steve’ however? Very specific. Weird it happened. Lucas gets points, but also a little side eye.

(4)It’s not going to win Erica any points, but she posts a video of her mom talking to Robin about finding her a good man. Now, don’t get her wrong. Sue Sinclair’s LGBT+ ally-ship is only rivaled by Joyce Byers, but she never remembers that Robin is a lesbian and Robin is always too awkward to correct her. It’s like watching two robots have a conversation because Sue mentions that Dustin is single and Robin is just like, “And…short?”

Eddie is not in the video but you can hear his wheezy laugh next to her. Erica’s just like, “Would you use your inhaler or die somewhere else?”

(5)Dustin posts a video of Steve standing by the window, clearly lost in thought as he stares out at the road. You can see Eddie sneaking up from a distance but instead of scaring Steve, he takes him by the hand and spins him around so they’re facing one another. Dustin isn’t close enough to hear what they’re saying but you can hear him mutter ‘gross’ when Eddie presses Steve up against the window to kiss him.

Steve’s the one to pull Eddie towards the stairs going to the studio, but they don’t actually make it down them because Hopper pulls Steve away to talk to him. There’s an argument between the party in the comments of the video of if this counts as ‘Steve and Eddie sneak off to make out like teenagers in the studio’ because they don’t actually succeed in sneaking away.

(6) Every single person playing gets a video of Hopper looking at Eddie and asking if he’s on drugs. Eddie says, “I don’t doOoOo drugs, Dad. It’s just marijuana.”

Dustin gets an extra point for catching Steve’s eye roll. Eddie has repeated that phrase at least a hundred times since Dustin told him about the Russian elevator.

(7) Max and Dustin both score a point with ‘Steve and El pull a “prank” on Eddie’ and it’s just Steve very confidently claiming that he can roll a nat 20 easy-peasy just by rolling the dice in a special way. Eddie obviously calls bullshit and then Steve rolls a 20 three times in a row.

After the fourth time, Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve and then spins around until he spots El on the other side of the room and points at her like “YOU!!!” No one watching understands this video. There are fights in the comments about what the hell is even happening here.

(8) Max is the only one with ‘Eddie says ACAB’ on her card. She posts a video of her handwritten card and then pans the camera up to Eddie. They’re all sitting around a bonfire later in the evening. Steve’s practically in Eddie’s lap as Eddie says, “-exactly what I mean, ACAB! All cops are bastards!”

Steve: Not Hopper

Eddie: Especially Hopper! Are you kidding me? Do you know how much weed he stole from me?

(9) Mike catches Steve and Eddie sharing a cigarette on the front porch later that night. It’s only after someone edits the video to remove the sound of the wind that you can kinda hear Steve say ‘It’s just that this is kinda it, right? I opened the door and she slammed it in my face.’

Most of the conversation is inaudible, but Joyce catching them and taking the cigarette from them is not. Neither is her shooing them back inside and finishing the cigarette herself.

(10) The party members all end up staying the night and everybody sleeps in the living room since Hopper and Joyce have Steve and Eddie’s bedroom and Wayne has the guest room. Steve and Eddie sleep on the couch because Eddie’s back can’t handle the floor. Max and Lucas get an air mattress, and Dustin claims the other side of the couch with El since they’re the only single people there. Everybody else is on the floor

Max wins bingo with a one-two punch the following morning with Mike complaining that Steve stepped on him with his big ass sleepwalking feet and Dustin posting a picture to his Instagram of him, Claudia, and Steve with the caption “best moms a guy could have.”

[steveharrington]

can you elaborate more on steve being abandoned by the narrative?

yes <3 so i think there are two very unfortunate circumstances surrounding steve's character that have led to the current state of his plotline: 1. after not killing him in s1 like they originally planned, the duffers have never really had a plan for steve and 2. they are extremely influenced by audiences. when they were conceptualizing steve to fit in among the ensemble cast, the duffers were picturing him as a douchey boyfriend who unceremoniously dies. lonnie was originally going to come back to the byers house to save jonathan and nancy. there was no need to picture where he'd be 4 seasons down the road, so they just didn't account for that. then joe keery charmed them so hard that they literally couldn't bear to kill him, so steve ends season one still somehow alive.

but we've already established the nancy/jonathan plotline, because jonathan was once the duffers' self-insert who must defeat the evil jock and win over the girl. they couldn't just backpedal on that right away, so they needed to give nancy and jonathan a plotline alone, away from steve. but steve only ever functioned as an extension of nancy until this point, so what do we do with steve now? in an accidental stroke of genius that the duffers have admitted was a last second decision, they pair him with the children and make him into a babysitter. it almost instantly boosts steve into being tied with hopper and el for most popular character from the show, potentially even beats them both out. in 2017 when s2 aired, you could not escape mom steve jokes. it was everywhere, steve was everywhere, joe was everywhere, it was arguably the second coming of #justice for barb, which, in netflix business-y terms, was the exact viral meme type situation that the show wanted and needed to sell merch and remain relevant and say "see we still got it!!!"

you know who has the 2nd most lines in the entirety of season three? directly behind hopper? ahead of winona ryder? steve. think for a second about how absolutely insane that is. the character who was written specifically to die in season one. joe keery's name wasn't even in the season one credits, because he wasn't considered a series regular. and now he has the 2nd most spoken lines in the big blockbuster season because he rocketed up in popularity so intensely. season three marketing features the mall so heavily, creates a literal physical shrine to 80s nostalgia, and when the very first promo is released an entire year before the season airs, who's the star of that teaser trailer? and who, pray tell, is featured in the main brand sponsorship ad that plays in movie theaters worldwide? thats right its america's little darling steve harrington.

but here is the issue. the duffers look at what made steve popular and they see: funny exasperated babysitter, heartthrob action hero. they're like oh okay so we should keep putting him directly in the center of the action, bang him up every season to give him his classic bloodied aesthetic, but. he still needs to be funny. we can almost kill him, but we can't actually kill him because he's profitable. we can let him get horrifically injured because it's badass, but we still gotta let him crack jokes. it creates this very weird tone to steve's role in the story starting in season 3 because he's both the action hero and the comedic relief and protected by plot armor, so we get scenes where he's being literally tortured until he's begging for his life and gasping for breath but the tone is still.......fun? comedic? light and goofy? i think the duffers also forgot he's supposed to be a teenager.

now this is partially me making educated guesses but i feel pretty confident about this: once again, like gollum, joe keery uses his big shiny eyes and manages to evade death again in season four by being so likable and charming and marketable that netflix execs or shawn levy or maybe even the duffers themselves were like oh fuck we just can't do it. they were obviously tossing around the idea of taking mom steve all the way by letting him die sacrificially for dustin, so in season four they make eddie, transfer steve's relationship with dustin directly onto him, ctrl f steve's name in the death scene and just type in eddie instead, and once again steve is alive but he's directionless.

so what does he have now, in season four? i think the duffers have a whiteboard somewhere with steve's name and around it are little circles that say "funny" "cool" "DO NOT KILL" and steve is now stuck in this endless cycle of getting beaten up, popping back up somehow unharmed like a looney tune, saying something cute and oblivious, rinse and repeat. because that's what worked, that's what made him popular all the way back in season two. that's what the duffers are obviously keeping in mind when they're writing steve: popularity. not realism, not depth, not growth, just literally how to continue making him popular. meanwhile, other characters get to be part of the actual story. other characters get to serve a purpose other than selling merch. when el is bitten by a monster, she gets to actually feel pain and need help because that's realistically what any human would need. when hopper is tortured, he gets to suffer and ponder his existence and reflect on the relationships in his life. steve never gets any of that, because the writers just don't see steve as the 19 year old boy on his 4th straight year of traumatic events that he actually is.

they literally just see him as a money maker, there for cool viral moments and witty lines and maybe the occasional emotion experienced but only if it's about his romantic prospects. and the narrative that other characters get to have and be apart of just kinda runs parallel to steve. he's there, technically, but he's not really in the story. and it's like actually crazy because you'd think after all the funko pops he sold, he'd have earned an actual storyline!!!

[stuffyflowers]

follow up to the bad driving post from yesterday. explanations under cut also feel free to argue with me lol

So basically top left = characters who drive badly but not in a way that will cause a crash, top right = characters who are actually all things considered good at driving, bottom left = characters who should not be behind the wheel ever, bottom right = characters who are good drivers in theory/most of the time, but certain factors can make them become car crash material.

Dalv: In my mind, Dalv is the most cautious and safe driver ever, to the point where he loops back around to being a shit driver. You do not want to get stuck in a lane behind this guy he will not go even CLOSE to the speed limit. He will probably let you through when he has right of way. etc etc. Ig on the bright side he doesnt get into enough situations where a car crash could really occur? yay?

El Bailador: Kind of guy who drives windows down music blaring probably speeding slightly at all times but somehow has never had anything bad happen to him. he is being protected by higher powers because he is sooooooo nice and cool :)

Ace: Ridicules all his friends for being bad drivers then actually gets behind the wheel and he sucks almost as bad. Yk, given how his whole thing in the Wild East is facepalming at the five's antics while arguably being worse than a lot of them in that regard. Why are you encouraging a child to gamble. Why are you tormenting blackjack with mooch. Whats his problem

Edward: Okay I didnt really know where to put Ed.. Hes in a weird situation where,, i think his biggest problem would be finding a car thats actually suited to him. Like how he wants to play the guitar but his hands are too big to actually play any of the ones they have. After that though, I think he'd be pretty good, at least decent! He does have some anger issues to deal with (beat up blembino that one time lol) that could cause problems but hes working on it :)

Moray: Pretty self explanatory. The most normal feisty five member. Probably their designated driver 90% of the time. The only reason theyre not completely top is bc their one weakness is whilst they ARE the voice of reason, they do ultimately go along w the group most of the time even if they feel whats happening is wrong. Maybe picks up on the five's bad habits a bit? Overall still a trustworthy pick for driver i think.

Flowey: Ok.do not take this too seriously..............Ik he doesnt have feet for th pedals but consider. Its funny. He can use his vines trust me (also even if he cant physically drive i feel like he'd have a really good understanding of driving. guy who has read every book is bound to have useless knowledge on topics that arent at all relevant to him. and you cant crash the car if youre not driving i guess!!!!!!!!!! but also. funny.)

Ceroba: Similar case as Ed. Actually good at driving but holy fuck the road rage. I feel she'd be worse at responding to it than him bc she has so little self respect. very "I will kill us both😳" attitude abt tailgating and shit like that. Usually better at keeping it in when shes driving with someone else.

Martlet: Maybe she should be furthest down bc she is the only one to canonically crash a vehicle…, Idk I feel like she’d be sliiiightly better w a car where her focus has to be constantly checked, she cant get distracted while filling in questionnaires with clover if she’s driving. That being said she is still. Yeah.

Mooch: similar to mart. Just cannot see her being a good driver. Sorry girl </3

Starlo: starlo.

Axis: faceplanted right in the center bc hes a wild card to me. Would he have insufferable road rage? Would he actually be pretty chill and responsible? Can he even drive if his foot is a singular wheel? Who knows.