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madelynraemunson · 3 months

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NEED…MORE…EX-HUSBAND!EDDIE…I AM FERAL AND FOAMING AT THE MOUTH PLEASE BLESS US MORE I’M BEGGING

IT’S ANGST O’CLOCK!!!

𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠)

ex husband! eddie x fem!reader

“all that still matters is ‘love ever after’ — after the life we’ve been through” — life after you // daughtry

WC: ~950 words

3AM. The witching hour.

The air smells of twilight musk and marinating dew. It's pitch black all around you, the nearest gas station being an agonizing 1.3 miles away. You're also 10 miles from Hawkins, pulled over in nothing but platform heels, a black mini dress, and expired pepper spray in your purse. To make matters worse, the only friends up who seem to be up at this hour are hungry bears and obnoxious, chirping crickets. And skinwalkers if you're where you think you are.

A horrible ending to a girls night out. Just what you needed.

Alone and afraid, you decide to call the number one person on speed dial, whose gradual distaste towards you renders itself very evident from the moment he answers the phone.

"What?! I'm trying to sleep."

"Eds." you whimper into the phone. "I need you."

There's a long pause in response to your petrified sobs, followed by the clicking noise of a phone keyboard before you hear cursing and the frantic ruffling of sheets.

"I’ll be there."

"Well?"

You watch as Eddie crinkles his forehead in concentration, examining your car while his soot-tainted hands explore every crevice of your hood. Routine maintenance has never been as issue because you've always had a personal mechanic at your feet. But since the divorce, you've gotten pretty bad about it. Otherwise, the you and Eddie wouldn't be stuck in this situation. Obviously.

"Weeelp." Eddie sighs, stretching out every bit of the syllable. He slams the hood shut. "She's just about blown out. You're lucky that thing didn't overheat too much with you in it."

You've prided yourself in not needing a man to change your tires, wiper fluid, OR oil nowadays. But in the midst of your journey towards self love and independence, you somehow forgot that your car could also overheat.

"Oh..”

You try not to watch intently as Eddie cleans his hands off with his hanky, the one he keeps neatly tucked into the back pocket of his flattering dark, denim jeans. Your eyes then trail towards his leather jacket, which housed his broad shoulders and delicious waist so nicely, you would've thought it had been tailored just for him. And you could just about fall right into him when he angles his torso towards you, his sculpted jawline glistening in the moonlight — but nearly not as glistening as those gorgeous chocolate eyes, the ones he used to his advantage during your marriage to get you to forgive him for whatever mistake he seemed to make that week. Before you could fawn any further, Eddie snaps you back to reality.

"When was the last time you put some coolant in this thing?"

"Some what?"

"You keep Prestone at the house?" Eddie pesters. "Antifreeze? Peak?"

Cheeks reddening, you shake your head. "No.”

"You get this thing examined often?"

“Not unless you do it," is what you shamefully admit. “For the most part…”

Eddie's face scrunches out of frustration. He knew this would happen.

"God, I hate when you do shit like this," he snaps. "For all I know your engine light could've been on for weeks."

"But it wasn't." you mutter softly. You're already scared. This is the last thing you need.

"You know your car in particular needs to be serviced every half year?" Eddie mutters. "Oil changes, tire rotations. Your break pads have also seen better days. Which is concerning."

"Ok.”

"And how many times do I have to say you gotta pay attention to this fucking radiator?!" Eddie hisses, slapping at the hood again with his open palm. You shudder at the loud *THUNK* noise that echoes across the woods. "We wouldn't be out here in 3AM if you had just taken proactive measures.”

"Stop YELLING at me!" you whine, a piece of your inner child spewing outwards to combat Eddie's belligerent word vomit.

"I'm not yelling." Eddie firmly insists.

He turns his back to you and starts towards your car again.

"Yes, you are, you always do." you croak miserably, balling your fists up in frustration. “You always do Eddie, and I'm sick of it! You always want to be right, and you always kick me when I'm already down to-"

“Okay, okay, okay." Eddie hushes you. He runs a frantic hand through his hair. "Agh, fuck, okay — I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with guilty, glimmering eyes as you shift your body away from him. Guarded, tense. Closing up all access of you towards him because he lost those rights a long time ago. Muttering to himself now, Eddie scrapes at the pebbles beneath his feet, fiddling with the chain of his wallet before he dares to speak to you again.

"I just worry about you a lot."

You peer back over at him. "Deadass?"

He snorts. "Well yeah."

With your permission Eddie stalks closer to you.

"I don't want to wake up to a phone call talking about my wife's car bursting into flames — with her inside." He rolls his eyes. “All because she hasn't been maintaining her shit.”

"I have been," you fib just a bit, though most of it rings true. just forgot to iron out some little details."

Eddie relaxes his shoulders.

"I know," he surrenders. “I guess there's a part of me that secretly hopes you'll still need me somehow. Some way, or another."

"I'll always need your presence," you reassure him.

Your ex husband softens up. He always thought that during your separation you had found another Superman to save the day. Some other handsome devil to fix your car and maintain all the leaky faucets inside your once shared home. But as you've always insisted, nobody has your back like Eddie. Your very own George Reeves. At your disposal for you and you only.

He suddenly wraps his arms around you, and as you predicted you ease right into him, the comfort and familiarity of Eddie melting away any ounce of hostility you guys have ever harbored against each other. You both have your days, but the love you two have for each other has always remained the same. Just changed form, is all.

"I'm glad you're okay," is all he says.

'I'm glad you're here," you sniff. "Always playing hero, per usual..."

"Well for you, always."

He plants a gentle kiss on top of your forehead as you two sway around in unison. You hum to showcase your endearment.

And he'd do it again.

———

🏷️ tagging peeps who seemed interested in this lil universe 🫶🏼✨ thank you guys for reading :)

@highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths

#maddy’s mailbox ✨#blurb #eddie munson blurb #ex husband!eddie munson #Eddie munson x reader #ex husband!eddie x reader #ex husband!eddie munson x reader

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encasedinobsidian · 3 months

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smalltown shit

Charlie Swan x fem!reader [explicit, 18+]

Summary: "You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asks, and it isn’t with a scowl but it’s something of the sort, a narrowing of his eyes and a dryness to his voice. It’s no better than a scowl anyway, his skepticism like a concrete wall between the two of you under the dim lights of the bar where Charlie is stuck with you, just where you want him. Warnings: 3.4k ish words. Porn with minimal plot, implied age gap, unprotected PIV, oral sex, truck sex, alcohol, pining, no use of y/n. This was written a bit fast lmfao A/N: This is my first ever Charlie Swan fic! It started as a joke (just like they all do), but I thought it might be fun to do something different. In case you enjoy my writing and want to see more, here are links to my ao3 and to a heavily Charlie inspired Narcos fanfic I wrote recently :)

Wearing a man down takes a while. It takes patience, a steady effort, bit by bit, like the thick clouds covering the sky above the evergreens only letting down a single drop of rain at a time. Charlie doesn’t notice them at first — the little droplets of water he’s too used to from living in Forks, rain that might let up for a little while in July but comes back every time, like something he can count on if nothing else in this world.

They land on his jacket, on his badges, on his nametag — C. Swan in yellow lettering — on the black strands of his hair. One by one, they seep in, quickly forgotten, followed by more until the windshield wipers on his police cruiser push away the onslaught of rain that’s inevitable at this time of year, on a foggy, hazy October evening when the headlights of the car light the way to his house, and he’s already drenched when he makes his way inside and changes out of his uniform.

They land on the thick flannel of a jacket that always hangs in his hallway, the house empty when he locks the door behind him and runs to his truck. The rain gets on his jeans, on his hair, it gets on the Mariners sweater underneath his jacket. The lettering across his chest reveals itself when he takes off the flannel and hangs it over the back of the chair he sits down on, nodding towards his friend at the bar.

His eyes scan the room from corner to corner, lazily combing through the other patrons of the bar until he spots you and you lock eyes. And you’re frozen, your friends’ voices becoming a buzzing murmur next to you as you try not to move, try not to startle the man whose attention you’ve pathetically yearned for, for so long, longer than you’ll ever admit to the girls at your table, or even to yourself.

You have it now, for a moment that stretches like a ring in your ear, long enough for your lips to part, for you to swallow tightly around the fizzy, sweet sip in your mouth, to lick the drop that slides down your bottom lip. His gaze is as intense as it is dark, piercing through the crowd of people in a small bar in a place that nobody can place on a map, where you think it must just be a hallucination or that he’s looking at someone behind you.

But behind you is a window, and behind the window is nothing but a cover of trees, and his eyes flash open for a split second before they narrow, then trace down, only a quick glance at your torso before they slide back up. He clears his throat, swallows, and averts his eyes, attention caught by the beer set down in front of him. He nods and says something, then takes a sip, a little hastily, inhaling deeply before he leans back.

And then, there is nothing to do but to look and to wait.

Nothing to do but wait until he begins to feel those drops of attention, of glances and gazes from your end of the room. He’s not chief Swan under this roof — he’s Charlie, he’s a man in his early forties, he’s a single dad whose daughter came to stay with him recently. He’s a man with dark eyes and dark eyebrows, with a thick mustache and a gorgeous smile you know he hides. Maybe it’s rude to spy, but you’ve had no other real option — a chronically good girl from the start, never acknowledged by any of the Forks PD officers, scurrying away from house parties at the first flash of a blue light, out through the yard and home to your parents’ house.

You haven’t gotten any attention from him since returning to your hometown either, coming back after nearly a decade away, still a goody two shoes through and through who doesn’t leave the house after darkness settles in the streets. So all you have is random encounters, one-sided as they’ve all been, random sightings in bars and across the street, at a restaurant next to his daughter. And he’s always quiet, always observing his environment without interaction.

Until now, when it all seems to shatter in an instant, and his usual, calm demeanor is replaced by something flustered, maybe even nervous if you dare to think so. He takes to laughter a little too quickly, he smiles too much, nods along too enthusiastically when Billy speaks to him on his left.

You can’t hear anything, regretfully — the rain drums on the window beside you and slides down to obscure the view of the forest that the bar is situated on the outskirts of. Your friends talk about something, something about nothing about guys or work or God knows what it is this time. Your elbows rest on the table and the top of a plastic straw sits between your lips as you slowly sip your drink.

Sometimes he looks over, following the same routine every time as the hour passes; a lull in the conversation, a polite smile, his eyes sliding down to the table, a glance up, and then his head turning slightly, eyes shifting in your direction until they meet yours and he quickly dodges the attention, straightening his back and clearing his throat.

Once, and only once, he lingers.

He lets his eyes narrow, focusing on you while you pretend to look away. And he shouldn’t fall for little tricks like this, silly little girl tricks meant to dupe men much younger and dumber than himself, but he’s only a man, isn’t he?

So it shouldn’t be surprising that, when his friends excuse themselves to go outside for a smoke or to the bar for another round, he leans back and remains seated. And there is no other time but the present, so without excusing yourself, you suck down the rest of your drink, let the bottom of the glass slam against the tabletop, stand up and walk over to him.

You take a seat across from him and hold out your hand, your name the first thing out of your mouth and a firm handshake given when he reaches out.

“Charlie,” he says, and the nervousness you saw earlier must be nothing but an illusion.

“Charlie,” you repeat, a little softer and a little sweeter, “How’s your night going?”

“It’s alright.” God, he’s dry. If you were drunk, you’d make a joke about how wet it makes you. “And yours?” he asks.

“Pretty good. Better now.”

He breathes a laugh and looks around, presumably trying to figure out where you came from, but there are no answers in a bar full of people looking the other way.

“Haven’t seen you around,” he says, “Are you from out of town?”

“Nope, from here. I was gone for, say, eight years getting my degrees, though.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow, and you indulge him for a little while, answering questions you can’t tell if he’s asking as a father or a man, questions that come from the same place anyway, things he’d ask a young lady as you bet he’d say, to make small talk when he’s forced to.

It’s not very interesting, but you can’t scare him off either, can’t plop down into his lap and touch his hair and beg for it. It’s a slow process with a man like him, one that takes patience, and little droplets of attention, a splash of flirting here and there, every question back and forth, about school and work and yada yada smalltown shit. It’s like the raindrops seeping into the fabric of his jacket, unnoticeable until it reaches his skin and he’s soaked, a humidity that clings to him, and fog he disappears in.

You glance up at the door and see his friends at a different table.

Time ticks by, and Charlie is dry as ever, regardless of how pathetically you try to squeeze your chest together and lean onto the table between you, regardless of how you try to nudge him with the glossy, heeled boot on your foot. He doesn’t budge, he might offer you a smile in response to a fun story but it’s not getting you anywhere.

It’s time to be aggressive, and when there’s a lull between you, when the bar is still buzzing with chit chat and the lights are still low, you pounce.

“Are you seeing anyone these days?” you ask.

The man looks like he wants to laugh. “Uh—” he clears his throat, “No, not right now.”

“Interesting,” you purr, tilting your head to the side and flashing him a smile. “Best news I’ve gotten all day.”

He huffs. “You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asks, and it isn’t with a scowl but it’s something of the sort, a narrowing of his eyes and a dryness to his voice. It’s no better than a scowl anyway, his skepticism like a concrete wall between the two of you under the dim lights of the bar, and Charlie is stuck with you, just where you want him.

So you shrug one shoulder and smile, pushing your lips together before they separate, and his eyes are on them so fast that it’s not even funny. “I wouldn’t say so,” you say as you shake your head.

He almost seems humored, huffing a laugh as he looks around the room and shakes his head. “What about your friends?” he asks, “They don’t miss ya?”

“Probably not,” you whisper, scrunching your nose at him. “Does it look like they do?”

You nod towards the table by the windows and his eyes follow, a quick look over at a group of girls all leaning in towards each other in conversation.

“Guess not,” he says, in the same flat tone of voice.

He clears his throat again, and his rejection is imminent, you think, so you try again, one last time.

“You’re very handsome, Charlie.” Your chin rests on your knuckles, head tilted, eyes sweeping over his face like you have nothing to lose, and he might be able to hide his thoughts, but he can’t hide his fluster.

“Thanks,” he mutters and averts his eyes, looking at nothing in the corner of the room. “You’re not, uh—” He looks up and spins his mostly-empty glass around, “Not too bad yourself.”

It’s a little bit like pulling teeth.

“Thank you,” you say, then chew on the inside of your cheek while you try to think up a way to get him out of where he’s stuck, unwilling to make a move. “Could you— could you give me a ride home?”

He rolls his eyes and nods, downing the last of his beer, and he absolutely thinks he has you figured out. His expression seems to default to a scowl, and it’s only then that you realize how cheerful he looked a moment ago. “Alright,” he groans, then mutters something under his breath while he grabs his jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Thank you, officer,” you beam, jumping up and following him through the bar, heading towards the exit.

He opens the door and lifts up his jacket to hold it above you, shielding you from the onslaught of rain pouring down when you step away from the awning outside the bar. Golden light shines out from the stained glass window in the door, bathing him in it as he waits for you to take the step you don’t take.

“I don’t actually need a ride home,” you admit shyly, looking up at him, “I’m just messing with you.”

He blinks a few times and his eyes shift around as he breathes. “Alright, why did you get me out here then?”

A laugh breaks out of you as you ask, “It’s not obvious?”

His brows pull together and he begins to shake his head when you roll your eyes, grab the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. And it could be a mistake, but it doesn’t quite feel like it when his hand finds your hip and he pulls you a little closer, reciprocating the kiss and carefully giving you his tongue.

He pulls back quickly, looking side to side, “Let’s—”

“Your truck?”

“Sure, yeah,” he mumbles, and you hurry towards the only red vehicle at the far end of the lot, with Charlie on your heels and the rain beating down on his jacket above you, on his hair and his shoulders, soaking him by the time he steps in front of you and pulls open the passenger door.

He barely gets inside before you grab the collar of his sweater and pull him in, spit smearing and groans swallowed as you climb onto his lap. He’s hard already, you can feel the thick of his zipper pushing up between your legs, before he even gets his hands on the bunched up fabric of your skirt piled onto your hips, kissing you again. And he lets his palms slide down over it, onto your ass, giving you a tentative squeeze with firm hands, while he grows thicker, harder, little grunts slipping out of him when you roll your hips over that firm bulk, every pass over it smearing wetness into your panties.

Until it’s too much, and the truck is too hot, too humid. You throw off your jacket, toss it into the passenger seat and pull away from him, climbing back into your seat, only on your knees, and begin to work at his belt.

You feel a hand at your shoulder, pushing gently. “You don’t—” he inhales deeply as he shakes his head, “You don’t have to do—”

Your hands pause at the top of his pants and you peer up at him with a pout. “But I want to,” you say, “Can I?”

His head hits the back of his seat with a sigh, his eyes closing as he breathes in again and nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, “Yeah.”

He helps you with his belt then, undoing it with unsteady hands and lifting his hips when you pull the bunch of his pants and boxers down to reveal his cock, to see the thick length of it, the hair at his base and below his navel. You take it into your hand before he has the chance to say much of anything, and you feel his hand at the back of your neck, brushing your hair away — nothing obstructing his view as you drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft, all the way up to the tip where a bead of precome spills onto your lips.

He groans then, pushes down the top of his pants a little more and lets you take him into your mouth, his cockhead sliding into the back of your throat while he curses under his breath. Your spit smears over his crown and runs down his length, into the curve of your hand to let you stroke him, and every lick, every pull of your lips, makes him sigh and groan, makes more of his precome seep out onto your tongue for you to taste it, for you to swallow and let the soft wet of your mouth massage him.

And you think it must have been a while, because you suck and stroke his cock slowly for only a little while before he begins to mumble. “I’m getting, uh— I’m pretty close,” he says, and you pull off of him, still slipping your hand up and down his wet cock while you raise up and kiss the side of his neck.

He groans then too, grimacing a little.

“You want to fuck me, Charlie?” you purr, “You want me to ride you?”

He huffs a laugh like he’s surprised. “I don’t have any condoms on me,” he says, his voice flat and dry as it ever was, but a little deeper, raspier, rougher-edged.

“You could just pull out?” you suggest, licking a stripe up his neck just to feel the goosebumps chasing your tongue on his skin, “I could just swallow it instead.”

“Jesus,” he breathes, “Yeah... Alright.”

You pull off one boot and begin to yank at the waistband of your leggings, but he pats his thigh and pulls you back onto his lap.

“Let me,” he says, pushing his thumb under the soft fabric and the strap of your panties, pulling them down over your leg, only bothering with one and not the other, while the rain hammers down on the windshield and it’s silent for a moment, his hands steady and his gaze focused. His cock is still hard too, heavy as it lays against his stomach.

You stabilize above him, hovering over where he grabs the root of himself and glides his tip through your folds until he reaches your opening.

“Down,” he says, and you do as he tells you to, sinking onto his cock with a deep breath, pressing your lips to his so that your sigh is shared, letting the whole thing split you open, taking more and more until your hips are flush with his and he grunts, his cock pulses, you lean back and carefully lift up, then roll back down, slowly riding him, half kissing, half panting into him.

It’s all slow, deep, squeezing around him, letting him slide out until only his tip stays within, and then taking him back inside and he pushes into your cervix, sure to leave you sore tomorrow. Everything is wet between you, smeared warm and sticky over your inner thighs, his groin, dripping down his shaft and over his balls, soaking into the top of his jeans.

His cock pushes into the most sensitive, soft part inside of you, over and over, rubbing over it while you reach down to massage your clit, still swapping spit like you’re teenagers and he doesn’t have a decade on you. He twitches inside when you moan for him, groans low and rough when you begin to come and you ride him a little harder, faster.

He grabs your ass, lifts you just enough to get leverage, and starts to fuck you, pushing his face into the side of your neck and grunting into your skin, hot and sweaty at the roots of his hair when your run your fingers through it, trying to find something to hold onto, to stabilize when he hits just the right spot and you feel seconds away from unraveling. And the truck must be shaking, the sounds of your moans are only stifled by the sound of the rain tapping on the roof and sliding down the windows, the dark surroundings of a wet parking lot, the two of you tucked away at the very back while you feel every inch of him filling you, rubbing you, making you come once more.

Until he grunts a little louder, until he pants, “Fuck, I’m about to come—”

You let your orgasm wane with a few slow rolls, savoring them, so few drags of his length inside that you can count them on one hand, and you lift off, climb over on shaking legs, sticking your bare ass up towards the foggy window and slip his wet cock into your mouth. A firm hand around his base, your tongue licking over his head, you suck him until his breath stutters and he releases hot spurts of come that you swallow while you stroke and tease and take every drop he gives you.

He’s quiet after that, a careful hand on your back while you lick up the last smears of his orgasm and lay your cheek on his thigh, looking up at him.

“Did you like it?” you ask.

“Of course I liked it. Did you like it?”

“Yeah.”

He looks out of the window, his cock softening against him while he runs a hand over your hair. “Let me take you to dinner or something,” he says after a minute, “Make me feel less… I don’t know, sleazy?”

You bite your lip and smile. "Will you drive me home after?”

He rolls his eyes and takes in a deep breath, catching your gaze with a smirk on his lips and something a little softer in his expression. "I was gonna do that anyway."

#charlie swan x reader #charlie swan smut #twilight fanfic #twilight smut #charlie swan

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naavispider · 5 months

Text

💙💞Survivor: bonus scene💞💙

Read Survivor on AO3, my cop au where Quaritch is a high ranking police officer who finally works out the street kid he's had multiple run-ins with is his son.

For everyone who wanted a scene from Quaritch's point of view! Here's the moment he worked out Spider is his ✨ (I changed it from the main story so that Spider told the precinct his full name the last time he was arrested, instead of telling the hospital the day Q found him. It's not a huge change, just run with it).

It was grey, blustery Thursday morning in downtown St Mark’s, the wind whipping against the windscreen of the PD’s Ford Explorer as Miles Quaritch patrolled down another empty street. At 6am, no one was out yet. The world was quiet apart from himself and his partner sitting in the passenger seat.

“She was a beauty,” Lyle Wainfleet reminisced, vastly overestimating how much Miles actually cared. “That was the one that got away, I’m telling you.”

“Is that so?”

“I should message her again.”

Quaritch rolled his eyes without looking at his partner. He’d known Lyle for a long time and there was no one more reliable he’d rather be on shift with. However, their differing attitudes towards Lyle’s hunt for a woman was sometimes a point of contention between them. “Should you now?”

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“It seems to me she made her feelings pretty clear.”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine today? Come on, Colonel, I’m trying not to get my heart broken, here!” Miles shrugged, surveying the bleak street ahead of them. It had been an uneventful night shift, which is exactly the kind that Miles should have hoped for. However, he couldn’t deny that a huge part of him still missed the action and danger of the marines. Rain had just started to spit from the overcast sky, forcing him to turn on the wipers. This part of town was known for its drug involvement, most of which Miles himself had uncovered. Now though, the street was empty, not a single sign of life in the dawn light. There was nothing amiss here.

“You wanna get a coffee?” Lyle’s bored voice drifted over from the passenger seat. He’d already switched off for the shift.

Miles sighed, thinking they may as well, but then he saw it. A shapeless lump on the floor in one of the archways that lined the shopfronts. “Hold up,” he said. “Let’s deal with this first.”

Unfortunately, the homeless were nothing new to the pair. They had time to check one more over. Miles pulled the car over to the curb, gently bringing it to a stop a few feet away from the sleeping figure. Now that they were closer, the Colonel could make out that it was someone small, maybe young, but their face was hidden in the concrete. Miles frowned as he realised that the person wasn’t huddled up in a blanket or sleeping bag like usual, but instead they were lying almost completely exposed to the wind and the cold, limp and seemingly lifeless.

“Oh, shit,” Lyle articulated as he too clocked that this could be something serious.

Without wasting time, Miles opened the door and cautiously approached where the person lay. “Hello, there,” he called loudly, as per protocol. “Are you alright?”

As he knew there wouldn’t be, there came no response. Lyle joined him and they stepped closer, Miles’s heart thudding at the expectation of finding a body. Since joining the police force, it had happened once before to Miles. It was nothing like the death he’d seen in the warzone, but it was almost… sadder. These people had nobody with them, no one waiting for them at home and possibly no one that would miss them when they went. At least there was honour in dying in combat.

He grasped the young person’s upper arm and shook firmly. “Hello? This is the police, do you need help?” In doing so, he finally caught sight of the person’s face. It was a teenager - and one he recognised at that. The boy had a young face, dirty blonde curls that covered most of his head and a peaceful expression that remained unresponsive. He remembered the teen from a couple of run-ins they’d had over the past few months. Once for underage drinking and then again for stealing. He was a runaway foster kid, barely sixteen if he remembered correctly. “Shit,” he murmured, a pang of something anxious striking his insides at the thought that he’d had the chance to help this boy and he might now be dead. “We know this kid. Wake up!” He pulled the boy by his arm and the teenager rolled over limply, completely out of it. His lips were blue and there was dried vomit on the side of his face. Ignoring the smell, Miles put his ear to the boy’s mouth, checking for breathing. He couldn’t see or hear anything for several torturous seconds. Lyle was already radioing for an ambulance.

Suddenly, a gurgled cough escaped the boy’s lips. “There, we go,” Miles murmured, trying to rub the kid’s back as he racked his brains for the alias the kid had given them. “Can you wake up, kid? It’s the police, we’re gonna get you some help.”

He knew the boy couldn’t hear him, but he kept speaking anyway. Once he was confident the kid was taking semi-regular breaths, he cast around the scene for the drugs packet he knew he’d find somewhere. “Here,” he said, handing the tiny bag to Lyle, who got the drugs kit out. A few seconds later, they had their answer. “Cocaine,” Lyle confirmed. “Isn’t this the kid we picked up a while back for stealing?”

“That’s the one.” The boy was cold to the touch. “What’s the ETA?”

“Four minutes,” Lyle responded. “There’s a camera up there. That could be interesting,” he nodded towards the CCTV placed not too far away. It was pointing in their direction and would have covered the boy while he slept.

Miles nodded, pulling the boy’s thin blanket over his frame while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. “Kid, can you wake up? You’re in a bit of a rough state.” He raised his voice as if he was speaking to someone who was deaf. “Kid? Can you hear me? Try and wake up.”

He could tell he’d broken through by the wince in the boy’s features, his body seeming to spasm for a moment before his chest heaved and vomit spluttered from his mouth.

“Easy, tiger…” He rubbed the kid’s shoulders, making sure he was on his side. “At least he’s alive,” he glanced up at Lyle.

Eventually, the ambulance arrived with flashing lights. It couldn’t have come soon enough, as far as Miles was concerned. Every second felt like the kid was slipping further away from them. “What’s happening, then?” a kind woman with brown hair asked as she and another paramedic hurried over, bags over their shoulders.

“Sixteen year old boy, found unresponsive. Cocaine on his person.”

“Okay,” the paramedic nodded her understanding. “My name’s Janine, this is Sarah. We’ll get him on board as soon as we can. Do you have a name?”

“Spider.” It came to Miles like a flash of lightning, the strange nickname finally illuminated in his brain. “We’ve met before.”

“Spider?” Janine asked, taking Miles’s place at Spider’s side. “Can you hear me? We’re here to help you. I’m just going to put this Pulse Ox on your finger…”

Miles stepped back to allow the medics to assess Spider. He was a marine, he was used to chaos and stressful situations, normally the picture of calm as he navigated the safest and most efficient way back to safety. But he had to admit this one had thrown him. He was glad that someone else was here to take charge because his concern for Spider was growing by the minute. It somehow felt like his fault the boy had ended up here, and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. As he watched them work, it struck him that he felt responsible.

Which was ridiculous, of course. This wasn’t his responsibility in the slightest. He’d done his job the previous times they’d met. He’d tried to help the kid as much as he could. But something deep inside was nagging at him. It wasn’t enough.

He didn’t like it. He looked at Lyle, hoping for one of his usual unfunny quips to take his mind off the feeling. His partner was speaking to the other medic and it was all Miles could do to help Janine heave Spider off the cold concrete.

“Get off me!” Spider suddenly burst out, surprising everyone. His eyes were still closed, but at least he was gaining consciousness.

“Spider? I’m trying to help you,” Janine continued. “You’re okay… Let’s get you into the ambulance. I need you to stand up. I’ll help you.” She glanced at Miles for support, and he quickly pulled one of Spider’s arms over his own shoulder in tandem with Janine. The boy was extremely weak, relying totally on their support. It would have been easier if they’d just left him sleeping, because like this Spider could lash out at them in his disorientation. Together, they heaved him onto the ambulance and the gurney. He groaned and angry tears began to slip from under his closed eyelids. “Fuck!” he slurred as he curled up on the bed.

“He’ll be alright,” Janine said, slightly out of breath as she turned to Miles. “He’s dehydrated and has a high blood pressure, but I’m more worried about his temperature. He should be frozen, but he’s burning up. He might have taken something else.”

Miles took this in, thinking what the procedure was for this kind of thing. This was a minor with no known relatives, so he knew they’d have to accompany him to the hospital. At least until they could contact CPS.

“Okay, we’ll meet you at the ER. You going to St Mark’s?”

She nodded, holding the back of the ambulance open for Miles to exit. “We’ll do our best to hold him until you guys get there, my guess is that you’ve got a few hours at least until he’s lucid.”

Miles thanked her and pressed his radio as she pulled the heavy ambulance door closed. “Fike, can you get me any info on that kid we bought in a few weeks ago?” He retreated to the car as the ambulance sped off down the empty street. He watched it go, feeling like it was carrying precious cargo. Then he realised how ridiculous that feeling was and shook himself.

“Which one? Can you be more specific, Colonel?” Fike’s voice came crackling back over the radio.

Lyle slid back into the passenger seat. “Good spot, Colonel. Now can we get coffee on the way?”

Miles let his annoyance settle quietly in his stomach, ignoring his partner in favour of the radio. “Kid bought in for stealing an iPad from the Apple store. Sixteen.”

“Copy that, I’ll check for you.”

“There’s no way the kid told them anything,” Lyle commented, listening to the exchange. “It’s real sad, but he's on a one track road and it’s going nowhere good.”

“And that’s okay is it?” Miles surprised himself for his response. He was never normally this invested in a case. “We should just let it be?”

Lyle had the decency to look abashed. “What are we supposed to do, Colonel?”

Miles shook his head. He knew it wasn’t their individual responsibility to take in every lovable stray, but it still felt like a failure of the police department that a kid like Spider had been allowed to deteriorate to such an extent. “I don’t know,” he relented.

Thankfully, Fike was quick. “Miles Socorro, ward of the state.”

Miles’s heart stopped.

For a moment he thought… but it must have been radio static. “Can you repeat that, officer?”

A few seconds of confused silence went by as Lyle stared at him and they waited for Fike to get back to them. “Copy, Miles Socorro, ward of the state.”

Dread filled his stomach.

Vile nausea rose in his throat and he needed air… he needed to step out… Miles Socorro. She’d called the baby after him?

This couldn’t be right. This was a mistake, a coincidence. It had to be a common name.

“Colonel, you alright?” Lyle's voice was far away.

He was outside again, leaning against the car door, his head in his hands. He just needed some deep breaths. Miles Socorro. Miles Socorro. Miles Socorro. Miles Socorro. Miles Socorro.

It wouldn’t stop.

The name swirled around his brain incessantly, each time with more veracity and more vengeance, over and over again until he realised it would never let him go. The baby. The baby.

It was him.

Of course it was. He’d known it from their first meeting when the kid had squinted at him against the blinding sunset with an empty cider bottle in his hand.

“Holy shit.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and vaguely registered that Lyle was concerned about him.

“I fucked up,” he said. “I fucked up. I messed it all up.”

Of course it was Miles. His son. Suddenly he thought of nothing else, gaining a sense of clarity for just long enough to press his radio once more. “Can you look up Paz Socorro?”

He didn’t care what anybody was thinking right now.

“Is this a relation, Colonel?”

“Just look her up!”

“She’s not on our system… Hang on, let me search…”

Miles held his breath, the nausea hot at the back of his throat, burning him from the inside out.

“Paz Socorro, deceased. Died in 2013.”

Miles couldn't stem the surge that retched its way up his throat. He bent double over the sidewalk, vomiting feet away from where they’d found Spider.

She was dead? Why hadn’t they contacted him? His son… the baby he’d made… had ended up here!

“Colonel, steady!” That was Lyle.

“Everything okay over there?” That was Fike.

Miles’s chest was imploding. He’d failed. He’d failed. How had he not been made aware? How could he have not bothered to check? They’d agreed it was for the best they had no contact, but Miles could never, never have imagined…

Suddenly all he wanted was to be by Miles’s side. His son’s side. Spider.

He didn't bother replying to either man, instead wiping his mouth roughly on his cuff and slamming the door behind as he climbed back into the driver’s seat. Lyle quickly followed him back inside the car but seemed too stunned to address anything. “Er, Colonel…”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

A moment of silence passed. “Who’s the kid?” Lyle asked in a low voice.

Miles gripped the steering wheel tighter than he had in his life, his knuckles turning white. He couldn't say it. He couldn't say it out loud. Then it would make his failure real. His life’s failure, real. “I think you know,” he said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

Lyle sat back in the seat and allowed Miles to drive the short distance without pressing any further. “All good here,” his partner replied when Fike radioed back.

Miles’s voice had stopped working. He wasn’t sure any of him was working any more.

#miles spider socorro #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #spider socorro #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar modern au #lyle wainfleet #my stuff: survivor #bonus scene #quaritch pov

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innershoesuitcasebiscuit · 4 months

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So I'm back again, I'm taking my time right now reading the manga, not because I'm starting to grow tired of it. It's because I'm now in the Marine Ford War Arc.

We know this arc was great and it also triggers our depression 😰.

To cope up with it I'm checking for the screenshots that I have taken and have myself a Zorobin therapy.

So I've actually noticed a somewhat connection between Zoro and Robin. I realized that we can compare the two of them to 'start & end of a bridge'.

For example with this scene in the manga:

The Bell was actually discovered by Robin when she actually read the inscription she found in Shandora. Enel while observing Robin realizes that she could read those words.

Then at that scene above Enel yelled that he was going to take the Bell. While Robin was explaining the location of the Bell Zoro was reminded of what Luffy said to them.

Then they saw a leaf fall down with Nami instructions to cut the stalks. Zoro proceeded with the task but he only cut down one of it.

We will also see here in this scene that Wiper disagrees with ringing the bell as this is their will or their duty. As Usopp continued the attack on the stalk, Robin told Wiper the tale of Montblanc Noland.

Please pay attention to this scene as it is very important.

Robin then told him the reason why Luffy is insisting on ringing the bell at a cost of his life. She also told him the name of diamond-ossan.

Which gave the push so that Wiper can destroy the other stalk. As he might have believed that this is the will of Kalgara.

As I said before Zoro and Robin are like the start & the end of the bridge right? Then that makes Luffy crossing that bridge.

For Luffy ringing the bell would make Cricket-san know that the city of gold is actually at the skies, but it also has a deeper weight than that. As ringing the bell also signifies the reunion of friends 😭.

We know that Cricket-san is Noland's descendant and Wiper is Calgara's descendant.

Calgara also promised that when Noland will come back to Shandora they're going to ring the bell. Noland through his descendants fulfill his promise of returning the only one left is for Calgara to fullfill his.

Wiper at this scene is in a bad shape, using the reject dial took a toll on his body (he's also on the verge of death).

Zoro said he doesn't understand what Wiper's goal.

Zoro added that he's an honorable warrior (the reason he's saying this is because he heard Montblanc Noland's name and the fulfillment of a promise.)

It would have been sad if Kalgara's descendant would have died while Noland's descendant lived. It would be a tragedy.

Robin discovers the bell and the location, which helps Luffy to decide to ring the bell to notify Cricket-san. Zoro partially made possible by cutting half of the stalk.

Robin told Wiper about Montblanc Noland & Cricket. Making Wiper helps them in bringing down the stalk indirectly saving Wiper as well. Zoro upon hearing what Wiper said decided to help him live by making Chopper tend to his wound.

So that's it there are also circumstances like this one but. I think this is very long already so I'll end it here.

As for the freebies:

Here I offer an inquisitive Zoro.

(admit it you like hearing her talk Zoro 🥹)

💜💚🌸⚔️

#one piece #roronoa zoro #nico robin #skypiea #roronoa zoro x nico robin #zoro x robin #zorobin

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handelgamer · 20 days

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My top 5 weapons in Splatoon 3! I'm going to be taking all of these into Grandfest as a capstone to my time in Splatoon 3.

Flingza Roller is my best with over a thousand wins. Splat Roller was my first five star with 618 wins. Wiper Deco is third with 416 wins and with Flingza, was a one two combo to get the gold Tenta Missles badge. Splatana Wiper has 167 and my current main, Order Shot, is 143. OC musings under cut!

Miss Flingza Roller Mika is my main oc for this game. She's pursuing a career out of being a rock musician...and is curently dating Callie! (hehehehe) Probably going to be retiring her as an oc after this game, likely will be too busy with work to do much Turfing or Salmon Run. Team Future, because she has a lot to look forward to!

Splat Roller...eh. That was early in the game I pushed it and I don't think I had a specific oc in mind. I'm using my design for Cap 3, as I was primarlly leveling it in anticpiation for Krak-On Roller...which I only got to 4 stars because, unlike back in Splat 1, I found the lack of entry tools when on the defensive annoying. Oh to be older and more competitively aware! Team Past, because it is my nostalgia for Splat 1 that keeps me loving the rollers.

My Wiper Deco is...Agent 4! Le gasp! My headcanon for her is that she feels guilty about nearly causing the end of the world with her Salmon Running in Splat 2 and so she is studying Marine Biology to try to help out! Also in the collegate turfing team. ...also this was picked up to help with my certified nusicance gold Tenta Missles badge. nehehehehe. Going Future because she's ready and hyped for it and also maybe there will be 4 there!

Splatana Wiper is also a unique OC. Monique! Splatlandian native in her last year of high school. Off the Hook fan. She doesn't want to think about the future, she's not doing that hot in school. D-grade, tend to be traunt to do Turf War. Her future is probably like her dad, taking up lots of odd and part time jobs, including Salmon Run. Let's just have fun in the Present.

My current main, Order Shot, is 8! 8's also in college and is studying biology and science. Mostly going, WTF are inklings and octolings so suspectable to being altered by stuff such as sanitization and fuzzifaction. Also in collegate turfing team but will go pro if he gets scouted. He is very much where I put the most try-hard of my urges in Splatoon. Anyway ride-or-die Off the Hook so Present.

#splatoon 3 #splatoon #oc musings #captian 3 #agent 4 #agent 8 #oc #splatoon oc #if anyone is wondering where neo 3 is at #she's bow and I'm a melee weapon liker #incompatable we are!

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scryptids · 1 month

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emilio sakraya / he/they ——— no way is that KASHA BRONSON.. they’re a 28-year-old ENHANCED notoriously known for being CANTANKEROUS & GRUFF but there are some people who have seen them being STRONG & HUMOROUS. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of clothes piling up in front of the laundry basket, cuts and bruises always littering his skin, the lack of a proper shirt at any given time, and scarred knuckles, but that could just be because they’re considered the RUTHLESS around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

TW: car accident

full name: kasha emir bronson birthdate: june 29th height: 6’0” occupation: underground fighter ship status: in a relationship with sabrina marin bio:

kasha was born and bred to be a fighter, and that’s all they’ve ever known

their father had been a career boxer, all of his awards proudly displayed on the walls growing up so his son could be shown what it was like to be a winner

and of course kasha looked up to his father; he was strong, and loving, and he cared about his family more than anything

and so by the time he was six years old, kasha had his first pair of boxing gloves and was in the gym training almost every day

their mother didn’t particularly like it, but she knew it made her husband and son happy, so she chose not to say anything

kasha was never particularly serious, always sporting a smile and cracking a joke just so he could bring some sort of joy to others

but when it came to being in the ring, he made sure that people knew not to mess with him

it was clear that kasha took fighting seriously, and as the years went on and his training got more intense, so did his attitude

in school he made a lot of friends, always surrounded by a minimum of two people at a time, and seemingly developing an untouchable air about him

most people assumed he was cocky and full of himself, but once they got to know him they realized he was the complete opposite

kasha wanted to be able to protect everyone,so when he saw a bully in the hallway he didn’t hesitate to defend whomever the victim was

he became known as the protector in the hallways, and that was a title he wore proudly

unfortunately his classes and grades weren’t his top priority, and when his grades began slipping, his mother took fighting away entirely, making it a stipulation that if he wanted to fight, he had to at least pass his classes

he was able to complete that goal, barely passing by the skin of his teeth and earning himself a diploma, which made his parents beyond proud

but kasha had no plans on attending college, and so he threw himself into training, just like he’d always done

he made a career out of fighting, often winning people bets ad reaping the benefits of the exposure

he was well on his way to becoming a professional when and unsuspecting accident occurred

he was on his way to the gym on a particularly rainy night, and no matter how fast his windshield wipers were going, they just couldn’t seem to clear the glass fast enough

he had been driving carefully, but the same couldn’t be said for the car that T-boned him

kasha woke up in the hospital without any recollection as to what happened, surrounded by his loved ones

the only way to save him had been by cybernetically enhancing him, and kasha felt like his whole world shattered

he had taken pride in how hard he worked to gain the strength he had, but now he felt like a fake

not only that, but his enhancements made it so he could no longer feel pain, which was dangerous in his world

his attitude shifted to one that was more dark, no longer so willing to make friends and be surrounded by people

he felt fake, and he didn’t want to inflict that upon anyone

it was a good two years before he got back in the ring, but he didn’t go to the gym he normally did

instead he met an individual who told him about the underground ring, and kasha never turned back

he had been fighting there for a couple years before he met sabrina marin

she was sassy and headstrong, and everything he’d ever wanted in a partner

kasha took his time courting her, wanting to get to know her first and foremost before they made their relationship official, especially given everything they’d both gone through

these days, kasha is almost back to his normal, goofy self, all of which he has sabrina to thank for

he still very much fights, finding that the money he brings in from it is enough to keep him going until the next match

kasha still isn’t used to being enhanced and doesn’t think he ever will be, but slowly he’s coming to terms with it

overall, he’s just a very chill guy with a laid back personality

#kasha bronson: intro #cyberplexintro #car accident tw

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alfredomonocaris · 1 year

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Splatana wiper mains I respect you more than any US marine

#splatooie #splatoon #splatoon clips #tower control #anarchy battles #ranked #trying to one star every weapon in the game :) slow journey

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aqualogistics · 2 years

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Everyone want easy access to clean water. Everyone needs access to clean water if they want to survive and be healthy. One of the reasons there are so many various methods for cleaning and purifying water is because of this.

#Accommodation ladder #watertight sliding doors #Marine wipers #Ballast Water Treatment System #LED Lighting

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shynim · 3 months

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Exploring Self-Drive Car Rentals in Kochi

Kochi, often referred to as the Queen of the Arabian Sea, is a vibrant city in the southern state of Kerala, India. Known for its rich cultural heritage, stunning backwaters, and bustling port, Kochi attracts tourists from all over the world. To explore the city and its surroundings at your own pace, a self-drive car rental can be an ideal choice. This article delves into the benefits, options, and tips for renting a self-drive car in Kochi.

Benefits of Self-Drive Car Rentals

1. Flexibility and Freedom: One of the primary advantages of renting a self-drive car is the freedom it offers. You can plan your itinerary without being bound by public transport schedules or the availability of taxis.

2. Comfort and Convenience: With a self-drive car, you can enjoy the comfort of a private vehicle, making your travel more convenient, especially if you are traveling with family or a group of friends.

3. Cost-Effective: Self-drive car rentals can be more economical compared to hiring taxis or using ride-sharing services for multiple trips. You can also save on tips and surcharges that come with chauffeur-driven cars.

4. Privacy: Traveling in a self-drive car ensures privacy, allowing you to have personal conversations and enjoy the journey without any interruptions.

Popular self drive car rentals in Kochi

Several companies offer self-drive car rental services in Kochi, catering to different needs and budgets. Some of the popular ones include:

1. Zoomcar: One of the leading self-drive car rental services in India, Zoomcar offers a wide range of vehicles from hatchbacks to SUVs. They provide flexible rental plans, including hourly, daily, and weekly options.

2. Myles: Another well-known name in the self-drive car rental industry, Myles offers a variety of cars to choose from. They have a user-friendly app for easy booking and provide vehicles that are well-maintained and equipped with GPS.

3. Drivezy: Drivezy provides an extensive fleet of cars, including economy and luxury options. They offer doorstep delivery and pick-up services, making the rental process seamless.

4. Revv: Revv offers a subscription-based model along with traditional rental plans. They have a diverse range of cars and provide all-India permits, allowing you to explore beyond Kochi.

Tips for Renting a Self-Drive Car in Kochi

1. Book in Advance: To ensure availability and get the best rates, it’s advisable to book your car rental in advance, especially during peak tourist seasons.

2. Check the Car Condition: Before taking the car, inspect it thoroughly for any existing damages and ensure that all essential features like brakes, lights, and wipers are in working condition.

3. Understand the Terms and Conditions: Read the rental agreement carefully, including the terms related to fuel policy, mileage limits, and insurance coverage.

4. Carry Necessary Documents: Ensure you have all the required documents, such as a valid driving license, ID proof, and the rental confirmation.

5. Follow Traffic Rules: Adhere to the local traffic regulations and drive safely. Familiarize yourself with the traffic signs and rules in Kerala to avoid fines and penalties.

Exploring Kochi with a Self-Drive Car

With a self-drive car, you can explore the many attractions that Kochi has to offer:

1. Fort Kochi: Known for its colonial architecture and historic sites, Fort Kochi is a must-visit. Don’t miss the iconic Chinese fishing nets and the St. Francis Church.

2. Marine Drive: A picturesque promenade, Marine Drive offers stunning views of the backwaters and is perfect for an evening stroll.

3. Mattancherry Palace: Also known as the Dutch Palace, this historical site showcases Kerala’s rich history and art.

4. Cherai Beach: Located a short drive from the city, Cherai Beach is ideal for a relaxing day by the sea.

5. Hill Palace Museum: Once the residence of the Kochi royal family, this museum now houses a vast collection of artifacts and exhibits.

Renting a self-drive car in Kochi can significantly enhance your travel experience, providing you with the freedom and flexibility to explore the city and its surroundings at your own pace. Whether you’re visiting for a short trip or an extended stay, self-drive car rentals offer a convenient and cost-effective way to make the most of your time in this beautiful coastal city.

#luxury car rental kerala #self drive car rental kerala

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