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joelmillerisapunk · 7 months

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unbelievable

mechanic!Joel x f!reader

masterlist

wordcount: 4,489

summary: the 'It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?' Trope

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, lots of fingering, there's a joint, lots of 'sweetheart', some aftercare but like a bit different (I don't wanna spoil it) mentions of anxiety (bc I'm an anxious bltch and this would happen to me) fluffy smut?

notes: hiii 🥰 I hope you like mechanicJoel because I fell in love with him so fast, he has no right being so hot 🙃 The title is unbelievable by diamond rio, it felt pretty accurate to my inner Joel dialogue. a big thank you to @saradika-graphics & @firefly-graphics for the dividers (graphic designers deserve the world honestly)

You've always had a thing for rugged men, and Joel Miller is the epitome of a handsome, rough-around-the-edges mechanic. His strong hands, grease-stained clothes, and confident demeanor make your heart race every time you see him, which has been a lot recently since your old car has been having its fair share of problems.

It's a hot summer day, and you decide to visit the garage where Joel works, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. As you walk in, the smell of oil and gasoline fills your nostrils, making you feel a little lightheaded. But then, you see him. He's hunched over a car engine, his muscular arms covered in sweat and grime. Your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight of him.

You approach Joel, trying to act cool and collected, even though your insides are turning to jelly. "Hey, Joel," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I was wondering if you could help me with my car again. It's been making a weird noise, and I don't know what to do."

Joel looks up at you, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of grease on his face. "Sure thing, sweetheart," he says with an almost knowing grin. You've been coming to see him every couple of weeks for the past few months. "Let me take a look for you, darlin."

As Joel inspects your car, you can't help but steal glances at his muscular physique. You imagine what it would be like to run your hands over his firm chest and his stomach, to feel his stubble scratch against your skin as he kisses you. The thought makes you wet, and you squirm, trying to hide your arousal.

But Joel notices. He looks up at you, his gaze intense and seductive. "You seem a little flustered, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "Is there something on your mind?"

You swallow hard, trying to gather your nerves. The heat in the garage is making you feel more and more flustered, and the idea of Joel noticing your arousal only adds to your embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, I guess so," you manage to reply.

Joel's eyes rake over your body, taking in the way your shirt clings to your body and the way your nipples are hardening under the hot conditions. "I can tell you've been coming to see me for a while now. It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?"

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your face. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stammer, trying to deny the truth even to yourself.

But Joel isn't backing down. He steps closer to you, his body towering over yours. "I can help you with your car, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low growl. "But if you're looking for something else, something a little more personal, I can do that too."

Your mind is racing as you try to figure out what to do. On one hand, you've always had a thing for rough-and-tumble men like Joel, and the idea of being with him is almost too much to bear. On the other hand, you're not sure if you're ready for something like that with someone you're not even dating. As you stand there, frozen in indecision, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to decide right now. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Joel continues working on your car, he takes his time, making sure to do everything a little slower. He runs his hand over the engine, and with every turn of the wrench and every adjustment of parts, you can't help but feel your heart race, your skin tingle, and your body heat up. He's wearing a pair of tight jeans that hug his thighs, and every time he bends over the car, you catch a glimpse of the outline of his bulge. You wonder what it would feel like to touch him there, to feel him hard and ready against your skin. Your mind races with fantasies of him taking you, claiming you, making you his in ways that go far beyond the mechanical fixings of a car.

Joel takes a bit of a break from your car, and you think he's about to tell you what was wrong with it. "You know, sweetheart, I could fix more than just your car," he repeats himself again, " I could fix all your problems, make you feel good in ways you've never felt before."

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "What do you mean?"

Joel grins, a knowing look in his eyes. "I mean, I could show you the kind of fixings that only a man like me can provide," he says, his voice low and seductive. "Make you mine, take you right here. I promise you, it's something you'd never forget.”

“Oh, uh I, uhm I need to -” You pause, looking at your phone, “I have a thing soon. So I should uh go when you're done.” You can barely keep yourself together as you fumble through your sentence.

Joel smirks, "Of course, sweetheart," he says, his voice reassuring. "When you're ready, I'll be here.”

As you exit the garage, you feel a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through your veins. Joel's words have left you feeling both turned on and terrified at the same time.

You spend the next few hours trying to shake off the encounter, but your mind keeps wandering back to Joel's words and the way his body made you feel. You can't stop thinking about the way his muscles bulged under his tight jeans, or the way his hair curled, his strong jawline, or the way those lips would part everytime he would focus on your car. You want to touch him, taste him, feel him- anything. And you're desperate to hear him speak that sexy accent of his once again.

When you finally arrive home, you let yourself into your apartment and immediately head straight for your bedroom. You shed your clothes as fast as possible, trying to rid your entire day from your skin. After your shower, you pull on a pair of shorts, your favorite oversized t shirt before padding barefoot across the carpeted floor of your room.

Just as you're opening your bedroom door to get a snack, your phone rings. You glance at your screen - a number with no name showing up - before answering the call, your heart pounding in anticipation. “Hello?”

You can hear a woman's voice in the background, "I told you not to come in my office. You can't just call random clients." Then you hear a muffled males voice and the woman again. "Yes... I understand she hasnt paid, but we don't contact clients until the end of the month."

You sit there unsure of what to do, should you say something? Should you hang up? Should you ignore her? Suddenly, you hear yelling. "Out - now!" she exclaims before apologizing for the misunderstanding and hanging up the phone on you. As you hang up the phone, you can't help but feel a sense of confusion and disappointment wash over you. You had been hoping that it was Joel on the other end of the line and that he was calling to follow up on his earlier proposition. But instead, it seems like you were caught in the middle of a heated exchange between a man and a woman, and you can't help but wonder what it all means.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You know that you can't let yourself get too caught up in the idea of Joel. You need to focus on yourself and your own needs rather than getting swept up in the allure of a man you barely know. You've got plenty of people who love you, and it's better to prioritize your relationships than get carried away with a man like Joel. You know you wouldn't be able to handle it.

But then suddenly here you are. You take a deep breath and steel yourself as you walk back into the garage, hoping to catch Joel before he leaves for the day. The receptionist gives you a disapproving look as you enter, but you ignore her and make your way towards Joel, who has just finished up with a customer. As you approach, Joel looks up and sees you, a small smile spreading across his face. "Hey there, sweetheart," he says, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I, uh, I had some questions about my car," you say, trying to sound casual. "I figured I'd come down and ask you in person."

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods towards the back of the garage, inviting you to follow him. As you walk, you can't help but notice the way his muscles ripple under his shirt or the way his jeans hug his hips. You feel a heat creeping up your neck, and you hope he doesn't notice.

Once you're in the back, Joel crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you with a serious expression. "Listen, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I know what you're doing, and I want you to know that it's not going to work."

You furrow your brow, confused. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

Joel takes a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I mean that I know you're trying to avoid what's going on between us," he says, his voice softening. "And I get it. I know I'm not the easiest person to be around." You open your mouth to protest, but Joel holds up a hand to stop you. "But I also know that there's something between us, something real and intense," he continues. "And I don't want to ignore it anymore."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "What are you saying?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel takes another step closer to you, his body almost touching yours. "I'm saying that I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I want to make you feel good, to show you things you've never experienced before."

Your mind is racing as you try to process what Joel is saying. On one hand, you're terrified of the intensity of your feelings for him so soon, of the way he makes your heart race and your skin tingle. On the other hand, you can't deny the attraction you feel towards him, the way your body responds to his voice alone.

As you stand there, frozen, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring.

You know that you have a choice to make, a decision to make about what you want and what you're ready for. And as you stand there, looking into Joel's beautiful brown eyes, you know that you're ready. Without saying a word, you lean in and press your lips to Joel's, feeling the heat and passion of his kiss. Joel responds eagerly, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. You can feel the strength and power of his body. As Joel deepens the kiss, he reaches down and gently lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you over to a nearby workbench. He sets you down gently, cupping your face in his hands, "Be right back, sweetheart, don't go anywhere.”

Just as Joel turns to lock up, the receptionist calls out, "Joel, she can't stay here. She's not an employee."

Joel turns to her, his expression stern. "I'll take care of it, Linda," he says. "Just go home."

Linda looks taken aback, but she doesn't argue. She grabs her things and leaves the garage, shooting you a disapproving look as she goes.

Once she's gone and the doors are locked,Joel walks back over to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He pulls a small joint out of his pocket and holds it up for you to see. "Ever tried this before, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

You shake your head, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "No, I haven't," you admit.

Joel grins, lighting the joint and taking a deep drag. He holds it out to you, his eyes locked on yours. "Here, let me show you," he says.

You lean in, taking a tentative puff on the joint. The smoke is harsh and unfamiliar, but the sensation of Joel's hand on your back, guiding you, is intoxicating. You feel a warm, tingly sensation spreading through your body. He pulls back, his eyes shining with desire as he takes another drag. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to speak. You've never smoked weed before, but with Joel, it feels right. It feels intimate and exciting, like you're sharing a secret that only the two of you know. For a while, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away, like you're the only two people in the entire world, and it's a feeling you never want to let go of.

But eventually, the joint burns down to nothing, and the two of you are forced to come back to reality. Joel grins, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his lips are soft and gentle, his tongue exploring your mouth as he deepens the kiss. You can feel the warmth of the weed spreading through your body, making you feel relaxed and happy.

As you kiss, Joel's hands roam over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and the swell of your breasts. You moan softly, your body responding to his touch. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your clit throbbing with desire.

Joel breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I want to make you feel good.” You nod, your body trembling with anticipation. You want him too, more than anything. You want to feel his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. You want to feel him inside you, filling you up and making you his.

Joel's fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it up over your head. He tosses it aside, his eyes raking over your body. You're wearing a lacy bra, the color of pale pink. Joel's fingers trace the lines of your bra, his touch gentle and teasing. You can feel your nipples hardening under the lace, your body begging for more.

"You're so beautiful, sweetheart," Joel says, his voice low and husky. "I can't wait to taste you." With a quick motion, he removes your bra, throwing it to the floor.

He leans in, his mouth closing over one of your nipples. His tongue flicks at the hard peak, making you gasp with pleasure. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down, his fingers tracing the lines of your lacy panties. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's fingers find the edge of your panties, tugging them aside. His fingers trace the outer lips of your pussy, his touch gentle and teasing.

Joel's fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you with ease. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. He starts to move his fingers inside you, faster, his touch more urgent. You can feel the orgasm building inside you.

"Fuck, sweetheart, so fuckin' tight," Joel growls.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Joel's fingers continue to work their magic.

And then, suddenly, you're there.

You cry out as you come, your orgasm ripping through you like wildfire. Joel's fingers continue, drawing out your pleasure until you're left weak and trembling in his arms. “S'okay baby, s'okay, you did so so good for me sweetheart.”

As your orgasm subsides, Joel pulls his fingers out of you, his eyes dark with desire. He licks his fingers clean, his tongue tracing the lines of your juices. You watch him, your mouth parted like you just watched him lick the tastiest ice cream cone.

Joel reaches down, his fingers finding the button of his jeans. He undoes it, tugging his jeans down over his hips. He's not wearing any underwear, and his cock springs free, hard and ready.

You can't help but stare, your eyes wide with desire. Joel's cock is long and thick, the head dark and swollen. You can see a drop of pre-cum glistening on the tip, and you can't wait to taste it. Joel steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your thigh. You can feel the heat of it, the hardness. You reach out, your fingers wrapping around the shaft. Joel groans, his head falling back as you start to stroke him. You can feel his body trembling, his cock twitching in your hand. You stroke him faster, your hand moving up and down the shaft. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, tugging your panties off in one swift motion.

You're completely exposed now, your pussy on full display. Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his cock throbbing in your hand.

"Fuck, you look so hot," Joel growls.

You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with Joel, it feels right. It feels exciting and thrilling, he reaches down, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub, his touch gentle and teasing.

"Do you like that, sweetheart?" Joel asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, unable to speak. "You're so fucking hot,," Joel growls. "I can't wait to taste you."

He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. He reaches up, his fingers tracing your inner thighs. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's tongue finds your clit, gentle and teasing. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel's tongue moves lower, tracing the outer lips of your pussy. His tongue finds your entrance, pushing inside you. You can feel him exploring his tongue, tracing your walls. Joel's fingers find your clit again, rubbing in time with his tongue.

"Fuck, Joel, m’gonna come," you cry out grabbing onto his hair.

Joel doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers continuing, his eyes don't leave yours, it makes him almost painfully hard watching you come. You cry out as you come. Joel's tongue continues to lick at your pussy, drawing out your pleasure.

"You taste so fucking good, sweetheart," Joel growls, standing up.

He steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your entrance. Joel's hands find your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. "You ready for me sweetheart?

"Yes, please, Joel." He pushes inside you, his cock filling you up completely. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel starts to move, his hips thrusting against you. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you with every stroke. Joel reaches down, his fingers finding your. You can feel your body trembling, your pleasure building higher and higher.

"Fuck, Joel, I'm gonna come again," you cry out, your voice hoarse with pleasure.

Joel's thrusts become more urgent, his fingers moving faster. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing with pleasure until you come again. Joel's thrusts become erratic, his body tensing as he reaches his own release. He groans, his cock twitching inside of you as he fills you with his seed.

The two of you lie there, panting and sated, your bodies still tangled together. Joel's forehead is pressed against yours, his eyes shining with desire and affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the beating of his heart against your chest.

"You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You smile, feeling a sense of contentment. But even as those thoughts run through your mind, you also know that you can't let yourself get carried away. You barely know Joel, and there are things about him that you don't know. Important things.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you know you have to do. "Joel, I... I need to go," you say, your voice soft but firm.

Joel's expression changes, a hint of sadness and disappointment flashing in his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Suddenly, the walls feel like they're closing in on you, and you can't catch your breath. "I-I can't breathe," you manage to say, your voice shaking.

Joel's face falls, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "Just breathe with me, in and out. You're safe, I've got you."

You focus on Joel's voice, trying to match your breathing to his. Slowly, the panic begins to recede, and you can feel your heart rate returning to normal. "I'm so sorry," you say, your voice still shaking. "I don't know what came over me."

Joel shushes you, his hand tracing circles on your back. "It's okay," he says. "You don't have to apologize. You've been through a lot today. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."

You nod, feeling a sense of shame wash over you. You wanted to be strong, to be brave, but instead, you fell apart.

Joel must sense your embarrassment because he pulls back and looks at you with a serious expression. "Hey, listen to me," he says, his voice firm. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're allowed to feel however you feel, and I'm here, no matter what. Okay?"

You nod, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding, even for someone who knows nothing about you and you can't help but feel drawn to him.

"Come on, sweetheart," Joel says, standing up and pulling you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here and into some fresh air. How about we go to my place and spend the night? I promise, no funny business."

You know it sounds crazy but a sense of relief washes over you as you agree. You don't want to be alone right now, and the thought of spending the night with Joel is weirdly comforting. As much as you know, you should probably just go home. Joel helps you get dressed, his hands gentle and reassuring. Once you're both dressed, he leads you outside and into his truck. He drives you to his house, his hand resting on yours the entire time. When you arrive, Joel leads you inside and shows you to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers and helps you climb into bed, tucking you in like a child. "Just rest, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft. "I'll be right back."

You nod, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over you. Joel returns a few minutes later with a glass of water. He helps you sit up and take a sip of water, then lays down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It's soothing, and you can feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

"Thank you, Joel," you murmur, your voice sleepy.

Joel kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Anytime, sweetheart," he says. "I'm always here for you."

As you drift off to sleep, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe, and you know that everything is going to be okay.

As you sleep, Joel watches over you, his eyes full of affection and concern. He's fallen for you, hard.

As the night wears on, Joel holds you close, his arms wrapped around you. He knows that you're not ready for anything serious, and he's okay with that. For now, he's just happy to be with you, to be there for you, to comfort you, and to make you happy.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #dom!joel miller #mechanic!joe miller #joel miller fluff

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hotvintagepoll · 7 months

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Propaganda

Angela Lansbury (The Harvey Girls, The Court Jester, The Manchurian Candidate)—The babe, the myth, the legend. In her own words her early hollywood roles were "a series of venal bitches" and they were all glorious. Half of them wanted to kill you and you probably would have thanked them. She even goes toe to toe with Judy Garland in The Harvey Girls! That said, she was chronically underused and misused during this era - she was just 36 when she was cast as Elvis Presley's mother in Blue Hawaii and a few years later commented that she'd played so many 'old hags' that most people thought she was in her 60s. She thought she was "all talent, no looks" but she was the full package! Post-1970 I hope we all know what an incredibly talented and compassionate badass she was, but I feel like not enough people know her early roles as a hot (often villainous) young thing.

Angie Dickinson (Rio Bravo, Point Blank, Ocean's Eleven)—Though it could be argued that overall her career leans more to TV, during this time period she was splitting movie title credits with the very top names in the business.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Propaganda for Angie Dickinson:

Propaganda for Angela Lansbury:

"Angela Lansbury might not be where your mind goes first when you think of hot leading women, because she had a later career revival. But she began acting in the early 1940s after leaving London due to the Blitz. In the first couple decades of her film career she has an openness about her. She said she never really fit in with the Hollywood crowd and to me she gives off a friendly, untarnished vibe."

"Most of us know Angela Lansbury as old lady sleuth Jessica Fletcher, but it's important to know that she was smoking hot in her younger days as well as a damned fine actress. Although she didn't get lead roles until her early 40s, at 17 she was a supporting actress in films such as Gaslight (1944), National Velvet (1944), and The Picture of Dorian Grey, for which she won the Golden Globe for best supporting actress and was nominated for the Oscar. Even in her memorable performance as the manipulative mother in The Manchurian Candidate, she is listed as a supporting actress as she does not play the love interest. She was successful both on stage and screen, and won the Tony for her lead role in the musical Mame on Broadway in 1966. TL;DR While Angela Lansbury mostly played supporting roles in films before 1970, she had what it takes to be a leading actress, which we know from her success on stage and tv from the mid 60s onward"

"She looked like a princess but bit like a viper"

"Is there anything this woman couldn't do? Act in comedy and drama, sing, dance, be a wonderful human being - quite simply a true and wonderful lady."

"god she had such an incredible career all throughout her life really but as a young lady she was just as incredible as she was in her later years. enchanting voice, amazing personality, and absolutely GORGEOUS. she lamented not having the looks to play leads in romance but that idea is so batshit because look at her??? she's one of the most terrific women of all time. also she's my grandmother's favorite actress and i truly get it"

"she is the fairytale princess of my dreams in court jester"

#angie dickinson #angela lansbury #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman #here we go!

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 7: Tell Me That I Won't Feel A Thing]

A/N: Hello besties! Thank you for voting in the poll for Chapter 7. Below are your predictions...let's see how you did! 🥰

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 back yay!!!

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Give Me Novacaine” by Green Day.

Word count: 9.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

Billboards ask you as the Tahoe flies across the flat emerald sea of Iowa: Have you heard the good news? Have you been saved? Where will you spend eternity? Are you struggling with same-sex attraction? Do you regret your abortion? Do you fear the Lord? Do you want to end up in Hell?

Aegon snickers, gnawing on a Slim Jim. The sun glare turns his wild hair to gold, etches crinkles into the ruddy skin around his eyes, murky like deep water, oceans you recognize from other corners of the world. “I thought I was already there.”

Jace’s Honda Rebel 300 is left on the shoulder of the highway with its fuel tank uncapped, drained to feed the Tahoe, prehistoric combustion, bottomless mechanical hunger. Rhaena takes over driving so Baela can sit with Jace, touch him, inhale him, convince herself he’s real. Aegon climbs into the passenger’s seat and skips songs on the CD player until he finds the one he wants: In Da Club by 50 Cent. The miles roll by so soft and so infinite that you can’t imagine ever feeling trapped again, warm July air unfurling down the darkest corridors of your lungs, hawks on lifeless power lines and fields dappled with white-tailed deer. And you think: Everything will be better now.

You cross the Missouri River and into Nebraska at Plattsmouth, which—according to a plaque mounted on the outskirts of town—the Lewis and Clark Expedition passed through over two centuries ago. Rhaena follows Aegon’s directions to cut between Lincoln and Omaha, avoiding the roiling wastelands of the cities and keeping well north of Cooper Nuclear Station, where in the absence of a successful manual or computerized shutdown before the power grid collapsed, rods of uranium are melting down and irradiating the surrounding area, anemia, cancer, heart disease, radiation sickness, an affliction that eats you alive.

Rhaena takes Nebraska State Route 66 north and then Route 92 due west, lush fields of corn and soybeans and sorghum planted before the dead began to walk, bones of devoured livestock. You stop for the night in a town called Broken Bow, the sky turning the colors of fire and rust and blood, the Tahoe exsanguinated like a man with a slit throat. Every vehicle you pass already has its fuel cap unscrewed; the farther west you go—the scarcer the resources, the longer it’s been since the world began to end—the less the earth will yield to you: less guns, less gasoline, less food, less human settlements scattered across what was once called the frontier. You commandeer a two-story house: white wood, wraparound porch, a long gravel driveway that winds like a snake. There is a small cornfield and a barn, both of which you sweep for zombies before making yourselves at home. You try not to think about what happened to the family that used to live here.

Helaena lights candles, Luke and Rhaena distribute bowls and silverware, Aemond and Rio gather kindling for the woodstove, Daeron keeps watch on the porch, Aegon picks all the Twizzlers out of a mixed bag of Hershey’s candy for Jace. There is a 12-pack of Ramen noodles in the pantry, gallons of water in the cellar, and a pot large enough to cook it all in one batch. Cregan takes Ice and disappears into the cornfield for half an hour at dusk—something none of the rest of you would ever consider—and reappears with an opossum that he’s nearly decapitated with his axe. He butchers it and you brown cubes of meat in a sauté pan placed directly on the glowing embers. The others are horrified and won’t eat a single bite until you do. It’s the first real food you’ve had since you left Saratoga Springs, and you feel satiated in a way you had forgotten existed.

In honor of Jace’s resurrection, some revelry is in order. There are bottles of Grey Goose vodka in a kitchen cabinet, and Aemond allows a two drink maximum for anyone eligible to participate: Baela is too pregnant, Daeron is too young, Aemond himself is too vigilant, too self-sacrificial, too indoctrinated into the religion of his own martyrdom.

“Daddy loved his screwdrivers,” Cregan says. “I remember being five or six and taking a big gulp of one thinking it was Sunny D or Tang or something. Lord almighty, was that a shock!” He guffaws, then inspects the pantry, scratching at the dark stubble on his cheeks. “We ain’t got nothing like orange juice though.”

“Mama made hers with Hawaiian Punch.” You point: there are several jugs of it on the floor between boxes of Pop-Tarts and Welch’s Fruit Snacks and Cheddar Whales, red like crushed blackberries or fresh blood.

Cregan grins at you over his brawny shoulder. “That’ll work, Miss Chips.”

Luke and Rhaena have first watch, Rio and Aegon will take the second. You are blessedly unburdened tonight. This house is big enough for you to get your own room; you climb the staircase with Grey Goose vodka burning in your throat, your head warm and dizzy, a sensation like freefalling as you lie down on the bed.

I left them, you think, the walls spinning around you, echoes of Mama’s voice through the phone as Rio stood there nodding, encouraging you to hang up. I left them and I never looked back. Can someone commit such an act of ancestral betrayal without incurring a curse?

You are still considering this when you feel Aemond’s weight on the mattress and fold into him, the world going dark and hushed and harmless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I think it’s safe,” you tell Aemond between sighs, his lips on your throat, his hand between your thighs. Late-morning sunlight slants in through the bedroom windows; goldfinches and blue jays flap by chirping blithely. The dead pillage the misfortunate beasts of the earth, but creatures of the air and water are spared. You can hear geese honking from a distance, and the breeze through the cornfield, and calm indistinct voices beneath the floorboards. You can smell pancakes turning from white to gold in a pan sizzling with Crisco. Cregan must be cooking breakfast in the woodstove.

“How sure are you?” Aemond murmurs, his breath warm on your neck, those small teeth he’s always hiding nipping playfully, and if he leaves marks like stains of ballpoint ink you don’t care. He’s whisked every scrap of your clothing away. Beneath him you are bare and helpless and needing more.

“Like…eighty percent sure.”

“I’ll pull out.”

“Like Jace did?”

He laughs and kisses your mouth, not just ravenous but wild like a storm, and all the rest of the world goes quiet. Your ankles are linked around him, his hips rocking with yours. He is wearing only his boxers, black plaid from a looted Walmart, apocalypse chic. “Hopefully better than that.”

“Just try your best. I trust you. I’m willing to risk it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s worth it to me.” I could be dead in nine months, he could be dead in nine months. I’m not wasting the time we have left.

“It’s your decision. You would be most affected by the consequences.” He draws away and glances down. “I want to look at you.”

“Ohhh.” You stall. “I’ve been trimming with scissors by candlelight. It’s a hack job.”

“I won’t mind.” He grins. “You don’t mind my hack job of a face.”

“I love your face,” you say as you skim your fingerprints down the length of his scar. And then, when he raises an eyebrow roguishly: “I didn’t break any rules. I didn’t say I love you, just your face. I’m totally using you for your face. Your personality is terrible.”

He snickers, kisses you goodbye, retreats to your hips and pushes your thighs apart as you cover your face and whimper, nervous, exhilarated. And then his lips are on you and the trepidation melts away, puddles pooling and then evaporating, and you have a vision of being home again, shivering and dripping in front of the crackling flames of the woodstove after playing outside in the snow and waiting for the fire to take the cold away. Now the fire is growing over you like ivy, tendrils snaking through veins and leaves opening in your lungs, bones vanishing, muscles turning pliant and weightless. You can feel Aemond’s fingers pushing into you, a fleeting second of tension and discomfort, and then a fullness that is delectable, irresistible, maddening.

“Come back,” you plead, and when he does you clasp his face with both hands, kissing him deeply as his fingers remain inside you, thrusting and bathed in your wetness. You’re finally ready for him, you have to be, you need him so badly: like you’re dying of thirst, like you’re running out of air. “Now, Aemond, please. I want all of you.”

And he wants it too. His boxers are gone and he’s positioning himself between your legs, his tongue in your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw as the other guides his cock to where you are slick and aching and aware of an emptiness that has never felt so dire.

He’s so big…

But you are determined to take all of him. You don’t care if there’s pain, if there’s fear. You want to feel what it’s like to be with him before it’s too late.

Aemond presses himself against you, rolls his hips cautiously…and nothing happens. He is a bit more forceful. There is immense pressure, then the beginning of a stretching that is sharp, searing, dreadful, unfamiliar in a way that is completely disorienting. You gasp before you can stop yourself; a wince ripples across your face too quickly to camouflage. Aemond shakes his head and climbs off you, settling beside you on the bed.

“Fuck,” you exhale in frustration, slapping a palm down on the mattress. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why…why I’m like this…”

“Shh,” Aemond soothes, kissing you. “It’s okay, it’s fine. I’ll help you finish and then we can try again later.”

“Why isn’t this easier?”

“You’re just nervous,” he says gently, smoothing your hair back from your face, like it’s no big deal, like he’s pointing out a bird or a rabbit or the shape of a cloud.

“I don’t feel nervous.”

“It’s not always conscious, sometimes the body reacts without the mind even being aware of it. You tense up and things become…more challenging. But fortunately for us, the treatment is very enjoyable. We just keep messing around and working up to it until one day you’re so aroused and so relaxed that I can glide in without any discomfort whatsoever, and then your body adjusts to this glorious new experience and you aren’t so nervous anymore.”

“Can’t you just…you know…sorry, this isn’t very romantic, but like…shove it in?”

“I could, sure,” Aemond says. “If I was a horrible person. And then you’d learn to associate sex with pain, which would just exacerbate the situation.”

“The problem, you mean.”

He smiles patiently. “You aren’t a problem. We’ll figure it out, we have time.”

Do we? You stare morosely up at the ceiling, shadows of clouds, shades of wings. “I should have hooked up with that Marine at Corpus Christi. Then I’d have practice. I was so afraid of giving a man the power to hurt me or get me pregnant or otherwise ruin my life, but I didn’t know I’d meet you one day. And now I just want everything to be easy for us, and it isn’t.”

“Hey.” Aemond turns your face towards his. “For me, you are…” He struggles to decide on the words, his eye drifting to the window, sunlight turning the blue of his iris to a shallow, glass-clear river. “You’re like an island, and everything else is a sea of poison, and violence, and catastrophically fucked up situations, and when we’re alone together it all goes away for a little while. The world gets quiet. It’s never been like that for me before. I don’t mind if it takes time for us to figure this out. I just want to be with you.”

“What happens when we get to Nevada, and you’re supposed to turn south for the Bay Area while I go north to Oregon?”

Aemond shrugs, but his expression is contemplative. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe we’ll all stay together and go to one place, then the other. If Odessa is safe, I can bring my parents, Criston, and Grandfather there. If it isn’t, we can bring Rio’s family south and live in California in that beach house on the cliff.”

“I never thought I’d set foot in a mansion.”

“I never thought I’d eat opossum.”

You laugh and curl up against him, resting your head and a palm on his chest. “How was it?”

“Not too bad, actually. Kind of like dark meat chicken. A little gamey, but I like lamb and venison, so that’s fine with me.”

“Just wait until you try bear.”

“Bear?!”

There is a knock at the bedroom door. Luke’s bashful voice is muted through the wood. “Aemond?”

“Yeah?” Aemond replies impatiently.

This was not an invitation, but Luke doesn’t seem to know that. He opens the door, and as he does Aemond throws the blanket over you so you’re covered, leaving himself completely exposed.

Luke begins: “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, but…” His eyes go wide. “Oh, you’re like, all the way naked.” He turns and stares at the wall to be polite. “If it’s a bad time, I could come back in five minutes. Do you need more than five minutes? Wait, that was rude, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure you can last way longer than five minutes…um…”

Aemond sighs. “What’s wrong, Luke?”

“Jace is sick.”

“Sick?” Aemond sits up straighter, his eye narrowing. “Sick how?”

“He’s been puking since he woke up.”

You and Aemond exchange a startled glance as you clutch the edges of a blanket patterned with wild horses. Illness, virus, plague, curse.

“He hasn’t been bitten or anything,” Luke says quickly. “So it can’t be…you know…that. And he and Baela don’t seem that worried. But you should probably take a look at him.”

Aemond nods, less alarmed now. “I agree. Can I get those five minutes first?”

Luke smiles. “Yeah. See you downstairs.” He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

You look to Aemond. “Why—?”

He yanks the blanket away and drags you towards him. “I said I was going to help you finish,” he says, grinning, a hand slipping between your thighs.

You bite at his lips when he kisses you and tease: “I don’t need your help.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But it’s better when I’m here.”

And he’s right; it is.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daeron is out on the front porch sharpening sticks into arrows and using goose feathers for fletching, attaching them to the wood with a tube of Gorilla Glue that Helaena found for him. Helaena herself is presently floating through the house—soundlessly, ethereally, traceless like a ghost—and partaking in what you all call “apocalypse shopping,” pilfering the clothes and accessories of the former occupants. She seems to know everyone’s sizes without needing to ask. Aegon, Rio, and Cregan are sitting in the living room and eating pancakes off paper plates, carelessly spilling Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup on hideous 1970s couches ornamented with scenes of pheasants and autumn leaves. Down on the Turkish-style area rug, Ice is merrily chomping her way through a stack of burnt pancakes.

“So Cregan,” Rio says, his bare feet propped on the coffee table. “What did you do before the whole zombie situation?”

“I was a lumberjack.”

“No way!”

“Yes sir. I cut down trees for the power company.”

“What a coincidence,” Rio says around a mouthful of pancakes. “I was an electrician!”

“Well how about that? We oughta go into business together once the world straightens itself out. Where’d you work?”

“All over. Wherever the Navy sent us.”

Cregan sets his fork down on his plate. “You were enlisted?”

“Yeah, me and Chips both. That’s how we met.”

Cregan, much to Rio’s surprise, seizes his hand and shakes it soberly. “Thank you very kindly for your service.”

“No problem,” Rio replies, then turns to Aegon. “No gratitude from you, huh?”

“I showed my gratitude when I let you have the last pancake, you ogre…”

In the only bedroom on the first floor, down a hallway and towards the back of the house, Jace looks worse than you expected. He is heaving into a reusable plastic popcorn bucket, gluey ropes of saliva dangling from his lips; his skin is pale and bloodless, his dark curls damp with sweat. Baela is perched beside him on the bed and holding a wet washcloth to the back of his neck. Rhaena and Luke are loitering anxiously in the doorway, watching Aemond to determine if they should panic.

Jace casts you a bitter glance. “You poisoned me with your poor people food.”

“There’s nothing wrong with eating opossum,” you say, somewhat defensively.

Aemond feels his forehead. “That wouldn’t give you a fever. And everyone else is fine.”

“Maybe I’m extra sensitive. My digestive system has higher standards. I’m built different.” Jace resumes retching into the bucket.

Baela tells Aemond: “He can’t keep anything down. There’s nothing left in him, but he’s still so sick…it has to be a stomach flu, right?”

“Who would he have caught it from?” Luke asks, and Baela doesn’t have an answer.

“Stand up,” Aemond orders Jace when his wave of nausea abates. “Strip down.”

“Aemond, he wasn’t bitten,” Baela says. “I saw his whole body last night. He doesn’t have any scratches or bruises or anything.”

“Fine. But I want to see for myself.”

Jace stumbles out of the bed, pushing away Baela’s hands as she tries to stop him. “Okay, Nick Fury. If you wish to gaze upon the goods, I won’t deny you. I’m not shy.” Aemond rolls his eye. You turn around to give Jace privacy. “What’s the matter, Chips? The only dick you’re interested in belongs to Mike Wazowski over there?”

“Jace,” Baela says, but she’s chuckling. Amused, you stare at a picture on the wall—a haloed Jesus guiding a flock of lambs—as Jace sheds his clothing and follows Aemond’s instructions: lift your arm, turn around, show me the bottoms of your feet.

“No bites,” Aemond confirms, deep in thought. “But the symptoms…”

“It’s not that, Aemond, I’m telling you,” Jace insists, rasping breaths between each clause. “Listen, I got sick when I was alone, before I found you guys again. My stomach, my head. Maybe it’s the same thing now. It didn’t last long, and I thought I was over it, but I guess not.”

“People don’t get better and then worse again after they’ve been bitten,” Rhaena observes softly. “They just get worse.”

Jace lies back down on the bed, his face crumbling with pain. Baela uses the wet washcloth to cool his cheeks and neck. “My head hurts so fucking bad…”

“Because you’re dehydrated,” Aemond says.

“Helaena brought pills, but every time I try to take one I throw it up before it can start working.” There is a gurgling sound in his guts, and then a horrified expression. “Baela, I gotta get outside again.” She and Luke immediately swoop in, grab one arm each, and usher him out of the bedroom, through the back door of the farmhouse, and into the cornfield to allow him some semblance of dignity.

Rhaena gives you and Aemond an awkward smirk. “Helaena found Jace a 24-pack of Angel Soft toilet paper in the basement. So there’s some good news.”

“He needs electrolytes,” Aemond says. “We can’t let him get so dehydrated that his kidneys shut down. IV fluids aren’t an option. Pedialyte would be the next best thing, Gatorade or Powerade if that’s all we can find.”

“We passed a pharmacy on our way here,” Rhaena recalls. “It’s only a mile back, I think.”

Aemond nods. “Then that’s where I’m going,” he says, and walks out of the room.

You say as you follow him: “I want to go with you.”

“No.” Aemond points to Rio, who is now playing Uno with Aegon on the coffee table in the living room. “You and I are going to a pharmacy to get Pedialyte for Jace so he doesn’t die.”

“Cool,” Rio says, standing and fetching his Remington shotgun from where he propped it against the wall. “What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know. Maybe food poisoning.”

Aegon says, a hand pressed to his heart: “Personally, I loved the opossum.”

You stare defiantly up at Aemond. “If Rio is going, I have to go too.”

“Aww, so you can protect me?” Rio teases fondly, patting your back with one monstrous palm, an unintentional battering.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Rio looks at Aemond. Aemond looks at you, touching his chin agitatedly. “You are stressing me out.”

“I’m the best shot. I want to be there in case anything happens.”

“Fine, okay, whatever you want. Just stay near Rio.”

“That’s the idea.”

“A pharmacy?” Aegon asks excitedly. “Can I go?”

“No,” Aemond snaps, and continues out onto the porch. In the gravel driveway, Cregan and Daeron are kneeling by the Tahoe and inspecting the front tire on the driver’s side. “What’s wrong now?” Aemond asks, exasperated.

“Got a flat,” Cregan says. “The little fella here noticed it.”

Daeron is mortified. “Please don’t call me that.”

Aemond peers around mistrustfully, out at the road, into the cornfield. “Someone sabotaged us?”

Cregan shakes his head and taps the tire. “Naw, we just ran over a nail yesterday. You can see it right here. A big one too, a masonry nail, I suspect.”

“Can you fix it?” Rio asks.

“I think so. I saw a jack and a lug wrench hanging up on the wall in the barn, now I just need a new tire, a real one. A spare wouldn’t do us much good, not with all the weight we’re carrying. It’d pop in twenty miles.” Cregan gestures to the main road, but westward, the opposite direction from the pharmacy. “Don’t remember seeing a tire place on our way in. Figured I’d try the other direction. I’ll walk ‘til I find a shop or a truck with the right kind of tires to steal from, whichever comes first. Can’t change a tire on gravel, though. I’ll have to drive the Tahoe out to the road and fix it there. I’m gonna need Rhaena’s keys.”

There is an uneasy lull as Aemond studies him. You, Rio, Daeron, and Aegon—who is lingering on the front porch, not yet ready to admit defeat—glance between them apprehensively. Ice is rolling around in the gravel, coating her grey fur with dust. “How do I know you won’t take off without us?”

Cregan’s face goes dark. His brow, heavy and furrowed, settles low over his eyes. “Look buddy, I’ve done a lot of things for you and your people that I didn’t have to. And now I’m fixing the Tahoe so it can take you west, someplace you decided we’re going. If you don’t trust me, do it yourself. Kill your own opossum. Change your own flat tire. But you can’t, can you? Just like I can’t shoot a zombie straight through the eye or tell you how to cure that sick boy in there. We’ve all got jobs here. Let me do mine.”

Aemond glowers at Cregan, knowing he’s right. Daeron averts his eyes; Rio, grinning, eats a handful of Cheddar Whales from a pocket of his cargo shorts. You lay a palm on Aemond’s forearm. “Aemond…he’s trying to help.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies crossly.

“You want collateral?” Cregan says. “Take my dog.” He whistles, and Ice scampers to his side. He points to you. “Go on, princess.” Ice obediently trots over to stand with you, shaggy ash-colored fur, bestial amber eyes like a rattlesnake’s. “She’ll look after you on your way to the pharmacy and back. And if the Tahoe and I have mysteriously vanished upon your return, you can eat her for dinner.”

“You don’t want a warning if you’re about to run into zombies?” Rio asks.

Cregan chuckles as he picks up his axe off the gravel. “Don’t you worry about me. We haven’t heard a peep since we got into town, and I’m just going a little ways up the road. Any less than ten of those abominations, and I can take care of myself.” He gives you and Rio a parting salute and strides into the farmhouse to collect the Tahoe keys from Rhaena.

Aemond turns to Daeron. “Stay here, keep watch. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Daeron nods, glancing to where his compound bow rests on the front porch. “Got it.”

“Aegon will help you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says. “I want to go to the pharmacy too.”

Aemond is losing what remains of his patience. “No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Then can you at least bring me something back?”

Rio is confounded. “What do you need?”

“You know…” Aegon gestures vaguely. “Percocet, Vicodin, Oxy, maybe some of that cough syrup with the codeine in it—”

“Grow the fuck up,” Aemond flares, and Aegon falls silent. “You’re thirty years old. Take some goddamn responsibility for something, for anything. I have to go to the pharmacy, Cregan has to fix the Tahoe, someone has to stay here with Daeron to help protect Jace and Baela, and Luke and Rhaena, and Helaena too. Just shut up and do the right thing. You have to start acting like an adult. Who do you think is in charge if I get killed? I’ve never for a single day of my life had the luxury of making selfish choices, and now I feel like I’m not even allowed to die. Leaving everyone else with you would be like leaving them with nobody.”

Aegon gazes up at him, not offended but childishly, mortally wounded. His oceanic eyes are huge and glistening. “But you’re not going to die before me.”

“That’s not the point,” Aemond pitches back, cutting, caustic. Then he starts down the long gravel driveway towards the road. You give Aegon a small, apologetic half-smile and then follow after his younger brother, Ice loping alongside you.

Rio thumps Aegon encouragingly on one shoulder. “See you soon, Honey Bun.” And Aegon watches the three of you disappear, standing in the dazzling midday light with his arms folded over his chest and his hair in hie face, kicking at the gravel with the Sperry Bahama sneakers he once wore on yachts and golf courses.

“Please try to be nice to him,” you tell Aemond when you’re far enough away to be out of earshot. Rio is humming a song you don’t immediately recognize—probably Enrique Iglesias—and acting like he’s not listening. “You don’t know how much longer any of us have. And if that was the last thing you ever said to him, you’d feel awful about it.”

“You have no idea what it was like being his brother. Since I was born all I’ve done is try to plug the holes he blasts into ships. But there’s always water on the floor, I’m never done bailing it out. He needs to learn how to do things for himself.”

“Yes, he does. But he loves you, and he wants you to be happy. He would never intentionally take anything from you. He’ll grow into his purpose, whatever that is.”

“He needs to do it faster,” Aemond says harshly, and you walk the rest of the way without speaking, listening for snarling or lurching footsteps, hearing nothing but birdsong and wind whispering through leaves.

The pharmacy—a diminutive family-owned business, not a chain—has been ravaged. The glass of the large bay window has been broken out and the shelves looted, empty containers and wrappers littering the floor, crystalline shards threatening to gash, stab, infect.

“Stay out here with the dog,” Aemond tells you. Ice is panting calmly, her ears relaxed, her strange yellowish eyes taking in the scenery without any concern. “If she gets her paws sliced up, Cregan will have yet another accusation to levy against me.”

“You’re going to have to get used to him.”

“Not much of an adjustment for you, it seems,” Aemond says, then steps through the shattered window, glass crunching beneath his shoes. Rio gives you a wink and goes after him. They rummage through the remaining merchandise, strewn about randomly and interspersed among trash. Aemond peeks behind the counter where pharmacists once filled prescriptions and climbs over it, searching for any bottles or boxes that were left behind.

“Sorry guys, no condoms,” Rio announces, then laughs at his own joke.

“Be careful,” you urge from outside. “Look underneath, check the bottom racks. Rio? Rio, down low, check them!”

“Relax, ain’t nothing going on in here. It’s silent as the grave.” He laughs again. “Get it? As the grave.”

“Aemond?”

“I’m fine,” he tells you as he squints to read medicine bottles.

“Okay, okay,” Rio says, squatting to examine the shelves closest to the cluttered floor. “I’m checking all the racks. There’s nothing scary under the racks. Happy now?”

“Very. Helaena said something that freaked me out.”

“She can be a bit of an enigma,” Aemond admits. He is taking a tiny box from a drawer to keep.

“Oh, we got Pedialyte!” Rio says, yanking a jug of pink fluid from a pile of debris. “You think Jace likes strawberry?”

Aemond hurries over to help him hunt for more. “Yeah. It’s like a Twizzler, right?”

Ice noses your hand and whimpers softly. You look down at her. “What?”

She whirls and canters around the side of the pharmacy, then returns to make sure you’re keeping up. You go after her, slow and wary, a hand on one of your Beretta M9s. There’s nothing of note to be found in the narrow, shadowy alleyway other than an overflowing dumpster and two skeletons stripped of every shred of fabric and flesh; even the bones were licked clean.

You turn to Ice. “Did I need to see this?” She whines and shifts her weight from foot to foot, ears perked up. Something else? You look down the alleyway. Far behind the pharmacy and the shops that surround it is a church on a jade green slope, old-fashioned, white wood and a belltower. There is a cemetery beside it, and amidst the small grey blurs of headstones are… “Oh,” you breathe. “So that’s where the rest of the town is.”

The graveyard is full of limp, swaying figures that can only be zombies. You are far away and draped in shadows; you retreat back to the pharmacy without any indication that you’ve been spotted, Ice trailing close behind. Aemond and Rio are climbing out of the window just as you arrive. They are each carrying three jugs of Pedialyte in various flavors.

“Where the hell’d you go?” Aemond says; but he sounds more relieved than irritated.

“There’s a church about an eight of a mile away. And there are a lot of zombies in the cemetery.”

Rio sets his Pedialyte down on the sidewalk and reaches for the Remington 12 gauge hanging over his shoulder by its leather strap. “Okay, let’s go clear them out.”

“No, I mean a lot. Like a hundred.”

He freezes. “Oh.”

“We should leave town,” you say.

“While Jace is puking and shitting everywhere? You want to be stuck in a car with that?”

Aemond is thinking, toying with the little box you saw him pick up earlier. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

He shows you the label. “Injectable morphine. All the pills were gone, but I found one vial of this, and I have syringes in my medical kit. It doesn’t need to be refrigerated. It should still be useable.”

“For Baela?” For when she delivers the baby?

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Just in case.” Then he looks at both you and Rio meaningfully. “Don’t tell Aegon I have this.”

“We won’t,” Rio promises. And Ice begins trotting back towards the farmhouse, as if trying to rush you along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe is at the mouth of the long gravel driveway, still up on a hand-cranked scissor jack. The tire appears to be new, but the lug nuts haven’t been tightened, and the wrench is nowhere to be found.

“Cregan?” Rio says uncertainly, peeking through the cornstalks as they bend in the wind. “Hey, Cregan? Aemond’s sorry he was a bitch to you earlier. He wants you to return ASAP and do manual labor for him.” Aemond grimaces; Rio beams in reply. But Cregan does not appear.

You can hear them long before you reach the farmhouse, muffled chaotic chattering, raised voices and rushing footsteps. As you ascend the steps of the front porch, Rhaena bursts through the door.

“Thank God you’re back,” she says; there is blood on her hands. “It’s Jace, he…he…come look at him. Aemond, you have to do something. He’s sick, he’s really sick. He’s bleeding.”

“From where?” Aemond asks, urgent, bewildered.

“From everywhere,” Rhaena replies, and beckons for him to follow.

The bedsheets Jace is swathed in are blooming with crimson, flowers of doomed gore. Blood drips from his nostrils and his eyes; when he retches into the popcorn bucket, clots of pink and red spew out. Everyone is gathered around him and speaking at the same time, except Helaena. She is crouched on the floor of the hallway just outside his room, her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her face stricken. Ice curls up beside her.

Above the other voices, Baela screams at Aemond, a desperate horrified moan: “What’s wrong with him?!”

Aemond pushes by the others and feels Jace’s forehead, then grabs his wrist to measure his pulse. As Aemond’s fingers tighten, Jace’s skin rips beneath them, the top layer sliding off and leaving only glistening, raw pink. Jace howls, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t know,” Aemond says, his voice unsteady.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” Baela shouts back. “You’re a doctor! Fix him!”

“It hurts, Aemond,” Jace gasps, fresh blood on his teeth. When Baela touches his hair, locks of it fall out into her hand.

“He’s turning, right?” Rio says to you. “This is what happened to Snowflake, the blood and the skin and everything—?”

“He wasn’t bitten!” Luke insists, positioned in front of Jace’s bed as if he’s guarding it.

“I don’t care if we can’t find a bite mark, he’s decomposing for Christ’s sake, what the fuck else could it be?!”

Daeron returns with more blankets and towels. Aegon grabs a strawberry Pedialyte out of Rio’s grasp and tries to help Jace drink it. Cregan is muttering: “I ain’t never seen anything like this…”

Decomposing, you think dizzily. He wasn’t bitten, but he’s falling apart…what else does that to a person?

Baela cleans blood from his lips, a towel turning from snow to rubies. “Jace, baby, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to help you…”

“Could it be rat poison or something?” Cregan is saying. “Rabies? Mad cow disease? Ebola?”

“How the fuck do you think he got Ebola?!” Aemond exclaims. “You think he took a jet to sub-Saharan Africa when he was on his own? Use your brain.”

“I’m just trying to come up with ideas here, doc, and I don’t see you with any bright ones!”

He’s decomposing. He’s decomposing.

And then you remember. You kneel down beside the bed so you can look into his face, so you can make him pay attention. “Jace, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” he replies faintly. He coughs, wet and gurgling. Fresh blood paints his lips. There are blisters beginning to form up and down his arms, you see now, the skin bubbling and separating.

“Jace, do you remember Three Mile Island?”

“What the fuck.” He is baffled, dismissive. “Three Mile what? Huh? What are you talking about…?”

“You’re upsetting him,” Baela says fiercely, tears glittering in her eyes.

But you are determined. “Outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, after we left Fort Indiantown Gap. There were these huge concrete cooling towers. We saw them from the Wawa parking lot.” But he wasn’t there when we talked about radiation. He was still inside searching for guns. “Remember, Jace? Do you remember?”

Now Aemond and Rio are looking at you, petrified, realizing what you must be thinking. No one else understands yet. After a long pause, Jace nods feebly. “Yeah. I remember the towers.”

“Good,” you say, smiling to encourage him. “Okay, this is important. After we lost you at the river, before you found us again, did you see anywhere that looked like Three Mile Island?”

“Yeah,” Jace murmurs as he stares back at you with glazed, bloody eyes; and Rio sighs and shakes his head. “I drove right by it on the Honda. The sign said Byron.”

And it’s been over for him since that moment.

“Alright, Jace.” You want to touch him, to embrace him or cup his cheek. You know it will only make his suffering worse. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to ask.” He begins to gag again, and Baela hurries to place the popcorn bucket so it can catch his liquefying organs. You turn around and walk through the doorway.

“What’s happening?” Aegon asks you, hushed voice, frantic eyes. He has followed you to the living room, along with Aemond, Rio, and Cregan. You nod to Aemond. He knows.

“It’s radiation sickness,” Aemond says, low and bleak.

“What?!” Aegon gapes at him. “I mean, are you sure…?”

“It fits all the symptoms. He was in close proximity to a nuclear power plant, something the rest of us have intentionally avoided. If there was a meltdown, there are miles and miles that are poisoned with radiation. Passing by on a motorcycle could definitely result in a lethal dose.”

“Poor guy,” Rio says. “Not a good way to go.”

“No,” you agree. It isn’t.

“So how do you treat something like that?” Cregan asks Aemond.

“It can’t be treated,” Aemond replies tersely. “Not here, not by me, not by anyone. Not even if the world was normal again.”

“What do you mean it can’t be treated?! Everything can be treated nowadays! Cancer, heart attacks, diabetes, hell, my cousin got testicular cancer and he was fine a month later, he even got to keep one of his balls!”

“Radiation sickness can’t be treated. He’s going to die.”

“But how is that possible when—?!”

“I need you to try to not be stupid for five minutes,” Aemond snaps.

You say quietly: “He’s not stupid, Aemond. He just doesn’t know about this.”

“You are always defending him.”

“Because not going to med school isn’t a character flaw.”

Cregan asks mildly, looking at Aemond: “Could you explain it to me?”

“It’s pennies in a jar, man,” Rio says. “Radiation stacks up and at a certain point it kills you. It destroys your DNA and your body falls apart. You can get it just by going near someplace contaminated, and you might not even feel it happen. And there’s no way to undo the damage. The pennies never leave the jar.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Aemond. “Was that so difficult?”

Aemond ignores him. “We have to tell Jace,” he says instead.

Back in the bedroom—a mineral stench in the air, coppery blood and the salt of sweat—Aegon sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of Jace’s swelling, blistering hands carefully in his own.

“Don’t hold my hand, you loser.” Jace mumbles, and Aegon respectfully releases him.

“Jace,” Aegon begins. “We think you have radiation sickness.”

Jace blinks up at him, wincing and disoriented. “Which means…?”

“Which means, um, it’s going to be…not great.”

“Why are you the person explaining this?”

“You’re right, I really shouldn’t be explaining it. Can someone else explain it…?” Aegon glances around hopefully.

“Jace,” Aemond says. “Those cooling towers you drove by were part of a nuclear power plant that melted down when the power grid collapsed. You received a fatal dose of radiation. It’s the only thing that explains what’s happening to you.”

“Fatal…?” Daeron ventures.

Rhaena gasps and reaches for Luke. Baela’s face is a mask of numb shock. Jace stares up at Aemond for a long time before he speaks. “Aemond, fix me.”

Aemond’s words are brittle and fracturing. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking around, man, you’re a doctor. You can fix me. I know you can. You’re a genius. You’re a total freak but you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Give me the pills, give me the shots. Cut me open if you have to. I won’t scream, I promise. Fix me. I trust you.”

“Jace, I can’t do anything. No one can.”

“I have to meet the baby, Aemond,” Jace whispers, scarlet tears bleeding down his cheeks. “I have to be here for Baela and Luke. Fix me, man. I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

“Jace,” Aemond says, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I can’t help you.”

Jace looks to Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and at last back to Aemond. “How long?”

“Not very. A few days, maybe.”

“Days?” he echoes, dazed. “What happens?”

Aemond shakes his head. You don’t want to know.

“Yeah I do. Tell me.”

Aemond can’t respond; clear silent tears snake down the right side of his face. Rio answers for him. “You continue to bleed out of every orifice and the rest of your skin falls off. And eventually you die.”

Jace breaks down in sobs. “I was trying to find you guys.”

Suddenly, Baela turns to you and Rio and Aemond, wrathful, hissing. “This is your fault.”

Aemond pleads: “Baela, please don’t—”

“You made me leave him at the river. I knew he was still alive, but you forced me to leave him. If he’d been with us, this never would have happened. But he was alone, and it was because of you. You did this to him. You stole him from me.”

Rhaena tries to console her. “Baela, no one meant to—”

“I just got him back!” she screams, and then shelters Jace in her arms as he clings to her, the skin of his fingers and palms flaking at the pressure, holding onto her anyway. No one knows what to say; everyone has tears burning in their eyes and embers in their throats. “Get out,” Baela demands. “Leave us alone. This is the last time I’ll ever have with him and it’s your fucking fault. So get out.”

And you leave them to their final moments, failing flesh in a dying world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Only Luke and Rhaena flit in and out of the bedroom, carrying soiled linens and the plastic popcorn bucket to be periodically emptied. The rest of you are engrossed in a grim, thunderstruck deathwatch in the living room. You discuss the inevitable in hushed murmurs. It is cruel to let Jace suffer; it is unspeakably horrible to let Baela witness it. Ice alternates between receiving scratches from Cregan, Helaena, and Aegon, never trying to enter Jace’s room. You can hear Jace and Baela talking in there, his retching and groaning, her sobs.

It is not until dusk that Rhaena summons Aemond. Luke is weeping as he paces back and forth in the bedroom. Baela is still sitting on the bed with Jace, resigned now. She does not apologize, but she doesn’t have any more venom to spit either. The rest of you watch from the hallway, keeping a respectful distance. Ice nudges your hand with her nose, but you ignore her. Jace’s bloody eyes roll to Aemond.

“I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Aemond replies. There’s no point in lying.

“And I don’t need to feel myself melting like this for days. I get the idea.” Jace looks at Aemond for a while. His voice is anemic but calm; there are fresh blisters on his face and neck. “What can you give me?”

Aemond opens his medical kit and shows Jace the vial of morphine. “I found this at the pharmacy today. It would be painless, like going to sleep and never waking up.”

“Why do you have that?”

“I was thinking a small amount might help Baela during labor.”

“Is it the only morphine in your kit?”

“Yes.”

Jace nods. “Save it for Baela.” His gaze drops to the Glock in the holster at Aemond’s waist. “Can I borrow that?”

Rhaena stifles a dismayed yelp. Baela closes her eyes, but does not protest. Aemond says: “I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Cyclops,” Jace says, smiling. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“It’s heavy,” Aemond warns. He clicks off the safety and gives the Glock to Jace. “Are you able to use it by yourself?”

“It’s a very simple two-step process. Barrel to skull, finger on the trigger. I think I’ll manage.”

Again, Ice bumps her nose against your knuckles; again, you barely notice. Baela kisses Jace on the mouth, her lips coming away bloody. Rhaena says goodbye to him, then Luke, whispered parting words you don’t try to listen to. Before Aemond exits, Jace grasps his hand.

“Take care of my family, Aemond.”

“I will.”

“Don’t let the zombies eat me afterwards.”

And then it becomes real. Aemond’s composure falters. “Jace…I’m so sorry…”

“Go,” Jace urges him. Then there is a coughing fit, fresh blood and pieces of stomach and lungs. “Right now. Before I lose my nerve.”

Baela is the last one to leave the bedroom; she shuts the door behind her. Almost immediately afterwards is a deafening bang. Baela sinks to the floor and wails, one hand on her belly, the other embracing Rhaena and Luke when they rush to her. Ice is whining and pawing at the floor, her nails screeching on the hardwood. Aemond alone returns to Jace’s bedroom and reappears with his Glock. He places it back in his holster, his scarred face vacant. There’s blood on his fingers, you see. Jace’s blood, the last he’ll ever shed. Aemond hasn’t noticed yet.

You reach for Aemond’s hand; he flinches away. You ask him, pained: “Do you think if you don’t touch me, it won’t hurt you when I die?”

“Please don’t say that,” Aemond responds in a hoarse, splintering whisper.

Ice yowls, and Cregan is abruptly aware of her. “Oh shit, the Tahoe is still up on the jack. I’ll go get it.” He opens the front door. Under the moonlight, there are upwards of a hundred zombies stumbling down the long gravel driveway. Everyone begins screaming. Cregan slams the door shut and shoves one of the couches in front of it. “What now?!”

“We go through the cornfield,” Aemond says as you are all frantically gathering your sparse possessions. “It will be more difficult for them to see us. We kill as many as we can and we make our way to the Tahoe. Cregan, how long will it take you to get it ready to drive?”

“Maybe a minute. But I’ll need someone to spot me while I tighten the lug nuts.”

“Sounds like my kind of job opportunity,” Rio says, pumping his Remington. Helaena gives you a flashlight. Cregan secures the lug wrench under his belt and picks up his axe. Rhaena has her Ruger out and is telling Baela to breathe, to stay focused, to let her and Luke lead the way.

Aemond comes to you and leans in close so the others can’t hear. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Not enough. Maybe fifty.”

“Do what you can. Stay near Rio.”

“I’ll try.”

Now there are zombies at the front windows, beating their spongy swamp-colored palms against the glass. Baela, Rhaena, and Luke are leaving through the back door with Daeron; you can hear the whizzing of his arrows and the sick soft sound they make when they pierce rotting meat. Under the weight of so many hands, one of the living room windows pops from its frame and clatters against the floor. You open fire, bullets exploding skulls and spraying brains, corpses jolting and then diving to the ground. You shoot until both M9s are empty, then pause to reload, boxes of bullets that Cregan gave you back in Iowa.

“Let them in,” Helaena says.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Aegon shouts at her. He’s firing his Marlin .22 beside you, quite poorly; Rio and Aemond are in the backyard killing any zombies that find their way towards the cornfield. “We’re not letting them get through the house!”

“Not through,” Helaena says placidly. “In.”

“Oh.” Aegon understands. “Oh! I get it! Trap them inside!” He races to the kitchen and tears the remaining bottles of Grey Goose vodka out of the cabinet, then begins spilling them onto the wood floor. “Helaena, give me a lighter.”

She places one in his outstretched palm and then leaves with Cregan as he escorts her away, leading her by her fragile hand. They vanish together into the cornfield, Ice on their heels.

“Time to go, Chips!” Rio booms; he can’t be far behind Cregan.

“We’re on our way!”

Zombies are pouring through the front of the house; another window has given way. You pull the trigger over and over again as you move with Aegon towards the backyard, his clear river of vodka drawing a path from one end of the house to the other. You hit the grass before he does, then wait for him by the edge of the cornfield. Aemond and Rio are shouting for Aegon to hurry up. He crosses through the threshold, flicks the lighter to life, and throws it into the house. His plan works—the farmhouse is abruptly aflame, cooking zombies like long-spoiled hams—but he neglected to realize that in his haste, he had also accidentally doused his own left leg and Sperry Bahama sneaker. The fire licks up over Aegon’s skin and blazes there radiantly. He shrieks and falls to the ground. Rio yanks his own shirt off and uses it to smother the inferno, then throws Aegon over one shoulder to carry him.

“Go to Cregan!” Rio tells Aemond, shoving him in the direction of the Tahoe. Rio will be slower now, but no one else could still run with Aegon’s added weight. “You and Daeron spot him until I get there!” When Aemond is gone, Rio glances back at you.

“I’m fine,” you say, felling zombies as they round the house. “Get Aegon to the car!” And Rio listens to you like he always does, vanishing with Aegon through the cornfield.

You weave through the leafy stalks, investigating each growl and rustling with the beam of your flashlight. Grotesque, fetid faces plunge through the greenery, and you demolish them. You’re in the rhythm now, wheeling for a target and locking in, squeezing the trigger and watching ghoulish faces disappear. And then you spy a zombie lurching towards you from fifteen feet away, a twenty-something in a red Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt making her way down the dirt aisle between two rows of corn; and when you pull the trigger, there is only a dry click in reply. Your other M9 is already empty. You’ve used all the ammo Cregan gave you.

“I’m out of bullets,” you say, but no one hears you; you are alone. Aemond always told you to stay near Rio and you never did. Too late, you realize what an oversight that has been. “Rio? Aemond?!”

There are human voices and gunshots, but reverberating from a distance. Far closer are snarls and groans of the dead. You click off your flashlight, drop to the earth, and crawl until you are as far under a row of corn as you can be, long leaves tickling the back of your neck and damp soil in your nostrils. Clumsy, lumbering footsteps trod by you. From the road, you hear the Tahoe’s engine start with a rumble.

They’re leaving.

You shake your head, here with no one to see you in the dark. Still, the thought persists.

They’re leaving. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Chips, stay where you are!” Rio shouts. “We’re coming back, we’ll find you!”

You wait until they are within ten feet of you, Rio cracking skulls with his Remington—he must be out of bullets too—and Aemond firing his Glock. “I’m here, I’m here!” you cry, and they are lifting you up from the dirt and dragging you towards Tahoe, and Aemond puts his pistol in your hand knowing you can do more good with it. You fire ten rounds before the Glock is empty, and you think with terror: Do any of us have bullets left?

Then you are being helped into the Tahoe, and the second all the doors are shut Rhaena floors the gas pedal, heading west on State Route 92.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I got my drugs after all,” Aegon rasps as Aemond injects him with morphine on the floor of a laundromat on the edge of Merna, Nebraska, far enough to escape the zombies, not so far that the Tahoe risks running out of gas before you reach the next town. His left leg is burned from the knee down, and burned badly: skin, fat, muscle, blood-red scorched ruin. Even through the modest dose of morphine—Aemond is terrified of accidentally killing him—Aegon can still feel what has happened to him. He knows it’s bad. He knows it could be the last mistake he ever makes. “I’m so thirsty…”

“I got you, Honey Bun,” Rio says, and then uses the butt of his Remington to bust open the vending machines and bring him bottles of Powerade. Baela is sobbing in the corner with Luke and Rhaena. Helaena is shining a flashlight on Aegon’s leg so Aemond can see. Daeron and Cregan are keeping watch by the entrance. You don’t even know why. All the bullets and arrows are gone, Aegon can’t walk, the Tahoe’s gas tank is nearly drained. If you are descended upon now, what will you do?

Aegon sobs and clutches for you, links his arms around your waist, rests his head in your lap. You hold him and comb your fingers through his unruly hair over and over again, like a compulsion, like a ritual. You are so afraid to let go of him. You are terrified he’ll disappear.

I wish I knew what to say. I never know what to say.

He’s shaking uncontrollably as Aemond cleans his leg: peeling away dead skin, wiping down the raw flesh with disinfectant. Aegon’s eyes are wide and glassy. There is blood on the white tile floor, pinkish lymph fluid, bits of charred skin. Ice is whimpering, her muzzle propped on her paws and her eyes darting around the room. Aegon manages through the pain, a reedy, gasping whisper: “Tell me about all those places you went when you were in the Navy.”

You can see it like the miles-deep blue of his eyes: the Indian Ocean, the jewel-tone equatorial sky. “On Diego Garcia, they have these birds called red-footed boobies—”

Aegon barks out a weak laugh. “They do not. You’re making that up.”

“No, really, I swear! They’re like seagulls, but they have blue on their face and bright red feet, hence the name. They’re extremely stupid, and one night a few of us were hanging out drinking Guinness and playing pool, and a booby flew in through an open window. We panicked, it panicked, and then it was flying in circles and couldn’t get out. We opened all the doors and windows, and the booby still just flew around banging into the walls. And of course the whole time it was shitting and bleeding and getting feathers everywhere, we knew it was going to take hours to clean up. After thirty minutes of chasing this idiot bird around, Rio snapped, took off his boot, and smacked the booby with it. He was trying to fling it out the window, like hitting a tennis ball with a racket, but he accidentally hit the bird too hard and murdered it. Its beak literally separated from its body and flew across the room. None of us could believe it, we didn’t even know that was possible. Rio felt so bad he started crying. We took the booby—and its beak, of course—out to the beach for a Viking funeral. We made it a little raft of coconut tree leaves, set it on fire with a lighter, and pushed it out into the waves.”

Aegon is cackling. “Bryan Osorio, terrorizer of the homicidal undead and boobies!”

“What else?” Baela says, and you look over at her, startled. The flashlight incandescence turns you all to ghosts, phantoms, half-shadows. At first you don’t know what she means. “What else did they have on Diego Garcia?”

“Oh, tell them about the coconut crabs,” Rio prompts you. He’s settled down beside Aegon and is resting one broad hand on his trembling shoulder.

“Coconut crabs?” Rhaena asks you, wiping tears from her cheeks with her delicate, small-boned fingers.

You are abruptly aware that you have an audience. You can feel yourself shrinking beneath their gazes. “Rio should tell the story. I’m not good at it.”

“Sure you are,” Rio says, smiling kindly beneath dark, wet eyes. “Go on. Tell them.”

So you do.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #hotd fic

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mindless-existence1 · 28 days

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Dating Miles Morales headcannons

Summery: Literally what the title says, this is aged up Miles but if you are a teen who simps for him you can imagine him at his normal age just don't be weird about it. This is a gender neutral read and reader isnt a spiderperson. Enjoy!

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND!

Masterlist Link

☆Sooooo nervous about dating. The only "experience" he's had is his crush on Gwen so literally nothing.

☆He's worried about hurting you accidentally since he's not used to his spider strength. (You help him get over that fear tho)

☆Speaking of spiderman, it gives him sooooooo much anxiety about whether he should tell you or not.

☆You find out accidentally when he gets injured during a fight and is too hurt to take care of it himself so he goes to your house instead plus he just wanted to see his partner

☆He knocks on your window a few times before you go over and answer it. He takes off his mask quick so you know it's him.

☆After scolding him for being so careless you bandage him up.

☆You guys do have a serious talk about it tho the next day.

☆He calls you really cute pet names because he literally thinks you are an angel incarnate

☆If you don't already know Spanish he tries teaching you how. Even if you are having trouble learning he will get excited that you're trying and at least learning a few words.

☆His parents love you, he was worried about them being embarrassing and oh believe me they were.

☆You guys meet over dinner that Rio makes for you all. After an awkward beginning you guys really start to bond.

☆After that you and his parents tag team tease him and he hates loves it because he knows it means you are feeling at home.

☆He introduces you to the other spider people and you hit it off with all of them (let's pretend atsv was full of sunshine and rainbows and miles got a watch and everything is fine).

☆You, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, and Hobie all hang out in one of your dimensions and do random stuff together

☆You guys text all the time and just send random nonsense throughout the day. Even when he's spidermaning

☆He loves to take you on dates throughout the city but sometimes cuddling together snd watching a movie is just as amazing.

☆You guys share headphones when sitting next to each other (wired headphones) or just Bluetooth ones if you are doing your own thing in the same room.

☆Draws you alllllll the time. Imagine instead of Gwen being who he draws all the time it's you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading!

#miles morales #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #Spiderman #miles morales x reader #X reader #Reader insert #boyfriend headcanons #Miles morales headcannons

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deancasbigbang · 6 days

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Title: La Frontera

Author: Owco

Artist: rezal

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester Jesse Cuevas/Cesar Cuevas

Length: 24000

Warnings: No archive warnings apply, canon typical violence, internalized homophobia

Tags: canon divergent, case-fic, established relationship

Posting Date: October 28, 2024

Summary: Something is picking off men along the Rio Grande river. Luckily, Cas, Dean, and Sam are on the case. As they hunt the mysterious monster, Dean gets more than he bargained for as he is forced to confront his ongoing ill-defined relationship with Cas.

Excerpt: “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was going to the car to get something and I heard voices.” Dean doesn’t mention that the ‘something’ was whiskey because he’d been laying in bed thinking about how nice it would be if Cas showed up. “I understand. She wished to ask me about God and Heaven, and a series of other questions I’m afraid I couldn’t answer,” Cas says ruefully. He looks tired and worn, Dean has often wondered what it would feel like to never sleep. Cas never catches a break, not even for a night. Not really. Dean steps forward and pulls him into a kiss. Cas melts into it, he always does. It’s like coming home each and every time. He puts his hands on Dean’s hips, then breaks the kiss to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. Perhaps this is as close to rest as Castiel ever really gets, in the dark liminal spaces they carve out together. Cas looks too wrung out to be interested in sex, so instead Dean wraps his arms around him and gathers him into his chest. Cas puts his weight into Dean and lets himself be held. Cas tilts his head out of Dean’s shirt just enough to say, “She knew the name Cassiel, and asked if that was another of my names. I haven’t been called that in some time, not since I was a soldier of Heaven, certainly. It was my name to many, but somehow when she said it I almost told her that wasn’t me. I’m so different now, it felt unfair to tell her I was the same Angel. I am, yet I’m not.” Dean strokes his back. He understands not recognizing yourself. He sometimes has a hard time believing that the hunter living out of his car while his brother was away at Stanford is the same man whose voice is still rough from screaming for forty years in Hell. He doesn’t say it, Cas knows. Cas was the one who had pulled him out. Instead Dean answers his own question from earlier; his touch does ease the tension out of Cas. Dean has only known his touch to hurt and burn, so he marvels at how Cas’s muscles loosen under him as he runs his hand up and down his back. “Thank you, Dean.” Cas’s voice is muffled by Dean’s flannel. “Anytime, buddy.” He should touch Cas more, he doesn’t deserve thanks for a little hug. It shouldn’t be something special.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

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dapper-zappa · 1 year

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His Conejita, Her Spider. | Miles Morales

Pairing: Miles Morales x Fem!Civilian!Reader

Summary: While you're hanging out in your boyfriend's place, a particular sketch in Miles's room intrigues you and then you get to know the meaning behind it.

Word count: ~1,5k

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, cute Miles, Uncle Aaron death mention, Mama Rio interrupting some couple's time 😭

A/N: I love how the "Childish Gambino inspired Miles" thing has come full circle so don't mind Miles and Y/N talking abt him in the first part of the fic. If you find any mistranslated Spanish, please let me know abt it <3

Today’s one of those days where Miles invited you to his family’s place because hanging out with his girl is simply one of his favorite things to do, other than drawing various kinds of doodles in his sketchbook. While the two of you don’t have any homework for now, there’s nothing better than to spend the time together… right? Miles’s family also grew a lot on you to the point you almost see his mom Rio as an aunt figure and his dad Jeff as an uncle figure.

“Hi… Mr. and Mrs. Morales. I’m Y/N L/N, Miles’s classmate.” you greeted shyly.

Rio let out a warm chuckle. “Oh mija, no need to be shy around me. Feel free to call me Mrs. Morales or Tía Morales, I’m fine with both though so you’re welcome.” (dear)

“You must be Miles’s new girlfriend!” Jeff joined. “Kinda wish his uncle Aaron is still here because he’d love to see his little nephew together with a girl he pulled up, though.” he whispered into your ear, much to Miles’s annoyance.

“Dad!”

The tunes from various songs in Miles’s playlist flowed through the earbud you shared with him in your ear. One of his hands linked with yours the entire time he talked about why he loved the artists featured in his playlist, and you couldn’t help but smile the entire time at your doe-eyed boyfriend passionately rambling about his favorite artists.

He’s an artsy boy who enjoyed drawing and making , but also in love with music and how it made the world feel more alive, according to him. And you loved him for that because while you’re not an artist yourself, listening to Miles’s rambles about his favorite artists and seeing the drawings he drew by himself made you appreciate the hard work between them more. Even the fact your boyfriend’s mostly self taught in art.

“So I’ve been thinking…” you mused, getting absorbed in the song currently playing from your earbud.

“Hmm? Told you that you’d like Childish Gambino.” Miles gently nudged your arm. “It’s obvious I love Sunflower by Post Malone at this point but dude’s discography is like, everything to me-“

“No no no no, it’s just that for some silly reason, whenever I look at his face… he kinda reminds me of your uncle from the photos here. I can’t exactly describe why but maybe it’s because of his entire vibe? Like, both him and your uncle have this sort of warm, approachable chill vibe? ” you giggled, trying your best to dismiss how silly your brain was being right now. “I honestly don’t know.”

He thought about what you had just said about one of his favorite artists and his uncle for a brief moment, nodding once he found himself agreeing with it.

“You know what, you’re right.” he flashed you a dopey grin. “Actually my uncle introduced me to Childish Gambino first.”

“Wait, what? Miles, are you serious?”

“Cielo, I’m serious.” he immediately paused the music from his phone. “So it all started with that one time I heard ‘Me and Your Mama’ blaring in my uncle Aaron’s place, then when he told me about the song’s title thanks to him noticing me jamming myself to it, he also said that the song reminded me of my dad falling in love with my mom. While he just thinks Childish Gambino is neat, for me his music means a lot because I was really close with my uncle and he always comes up in my mind whenever I listen to one of his songs.”

“That explains why he pops up quite a lot in your playlist.” you said. “I like that. You’ve got a great taste.”

Miles shyly scratched the back of his neck. “You do? Well thanks, I mean- yours isn’t so bad either.”

The more you hung out in Miles’s place, the more you loved his place and his family because of how close you were now with him and his parents. Though you just noticed a particular object displayed on his desk began to arouse the curiosity within when your head turned to face the desk he often used as both his little art studio and his study desk.

It was a drawing of you with for some reason, rabbit ears on top of your head smiling gleefully, along with sunflowers surrounding your smiling face. It was a really beautiful artwork, from what you’ve seen. Out of the many impressive works made by your boyfriend, it’s definitely your new favorite as of now.

“Why, thank you!” you beamed, though your demeanor suddenly shifted into a nervous one as your eyes briefly glanced at his desk. “But if you don't mind… Can I look at the little drawing on your desk?” hesitatingly, you pointed at the artwork on his desk but Miles cut you off before you could say anything else.

His eyes widened at the mention of the piece of artwork you were referring to. “Y-you sure you wanna look at it?” he stammered, standing up from the bed.

“Yes.”

Walking towards his desk, he picked up the paper before sitting back on the bed and handing it to you.

“I hope you’ll like this one.”

You took the paper from his hands and now focused yourself on the drawing depicted on the paper. You couldn’t believe your eyes as you finally got to see it right in front of your eyes. From the precise ink strokes in the sketch that made up your face’s exact likeness, how the drawing pops from the vibrant yellow, orange, and pink used in it, and to the silly little addition he chose to add this time in the form of bunny ears, you couldn’t help but love the drawing (and Miles himself) more than before.

“You like it, cielo?” His question made you snap out of your trance.

“This is way more than beautiful, babe!” you squealed, immediately wrapping your arms around him. “I can’t describe how perfect this drawing is and the sunflowers are the best addition because they look so bright and like, everything about this is so amazing.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” he replied.

By this point, both of your faces were beaming with happiness. You from being impressed by your boyfriend’s art skills, and Miles, from the fact you loved this doodle of you that he had drawn. Keeping your arms placed on his shoulders, you slightly pulled away from the embrace in order to face him while his hands reached for your waist.

“But one question, Miles.” you retrieved the paper again and shoved it directly in front of his face. “Why the bunny ears? It’s not like I hate them or anything, I just wanna know why.” smirking, you waved the drawing to tease him until he revealed the answer..

He playfully shoved the paper away and gave you the biggest and proudest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen as he pulled you closer by the waist, before whispering in your ear.

“Because you’re my cute little bunny rabbit. That’s why I often call you ‘conejita’, because it literally means ‘bunny’ and the sunflowers represent how much I love you and how happy you make me.”

Before you could say anything, you were interrupted by Rio clearing her throat. You immediately scrambled away from Miles and caught the sight of her holding 2 mugs of steaming hot chocolate standing in front of his bedroom door.

“Just wanna say that I made some hot chocolate, kids!” Rio chimed in as she set down the mugs on Miles’s desk. “And my oh my, Miles, looks like you and Y/N were having some serious love conversations right now from the looks of it.” she teased, putting her hands on her hips.

“Mamá, ¿por qué no llamaste a la puerta?” Miles whined. (Mom, why didn’t you knock the door?)

“Dios mío, Miles, ¿no te diste cuenta de que dejaste la puerta abierta?” (My god, Miles, didn't you notice that you left the door open?)

“I’m sorry, mamá, I forgot to close the door so I didn’t notice you were coming.”

“Está bien, mijo. Just make sure next time you don’t do it again, okay?” Rio gently patted Miles’s shoulder before she headed to leave her son’s room, only for her to pop her head back in, much to his annoyance. (It’s okay, dear.)

“What again, mom?”

“I love you both!” she winked, closing the door and truly leaving from the room this time.

Leaving the tiny awkward moment you two just had because of your boyfriend’s mom barging in, you both continued your previous activities of just chatting with each other while listening to each other’s playlist. It’s really sweet to know that the symbolism Miles put in the drawing of you with bunny ears meant wonders to him thanks to his adoration for you. Now you get why movies and artworks tend to be careful with the colors or details depicted there, because symbolism were pretty much seemingly small things that actually mean a lot, like why Miles chose to draw you with bunny ears and sunflowers around you in the artwork.

You’re his bunny rabbit, and he’s your spider. How cute is that?

#miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #1610!miles x you #1610!miles x reader #atsv fic #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv x you #smokey writes #atsv #spider man atsv #spider man across the spider verse

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foxes-that-run · 7 months

Note

MH cried on stage about haylor?? I need to see this give me link

The TLDR is that the meltdown video: ramps up at 3:49, there is also this tumblr post by someone who was there about it and this news about it.

Maylor/Haylor storytime with too much info

Matty Healy's villain origin story is that he’s a nepo baby “Artiste” that was passed by the major labels. Meanwhile Harry grew up nearby and was signed for £20m by a major label off a TV show. MH has been low key obsessed with Harry, eventually dated his girlfriend, dumped her and she said she had temporary insanity. He said they never dated in 2014, doing so would be emasculating and he released a HS diss track at the time. In 2024 he said TTPD does not reflect the relationship they had.

MHs parents are actors Tim Healy and Denise Welch, overseas 1D fans may know his mum from this Loose Women interview with 1D. His parents had a messy public divorce covered in Tabloids.

1999 - When his mum was featured on This is Your Life, in this clip, 10 year old Matty said he wanted to be "a popstar and top class musician" with his mum looking tense.

2002 - the 1975 was formed with school friends in Manchester, it will be 10 years before they have success.

2009 - 1975 met and was unsigned by every major label. Their manager formed an independent label and signed them for £20.

2010 - One Direction is formed on X-Factor with Harry, 5 years younger also from Cheshire, 30 minutes drive from Mattys hometown of Wilmslow, both near Manchester. 1D becomes a national sensation and sign a £1m record deal with a major label.

2011 - One Direction continues to grow with the X-Factor tour, records Up All Night and starts their own tour.

2012 - What Makes You Beautiful is #1 in 16 countries including the UK and US. Harry starts dating Taylor Swift and the world loses it's mind over them and the band.

2012 - December - Halsey posts "That Haylor Song" on Tumblr which went viral, it mocks I Knew You Were Trouble

2013

2013, February - 1975 get their first top 20 song, Chocolate that reaches #19 (Teenage Kicks was on #6 in the same chart, on it's way down from #1).

2013, September 3 - Harry tweeted that he downloaded the self-titled 1975 album. Matty Healy told an interviewer that he went from 4k followers to 15k followers in 10 minutes. Matty said they became mates, he texted Harry to thank him. The 1975 covered What Makes You Beautiful:

youtube

2013, December 28 - Halsey posted to Tumblr photos with Matty Healy and in a hotel room with him, saying "Matty and I got close this year which was amazing"

All fab, or so it seems.

2014

2014 - January - Halsey starts writing about Matty Healy, later in 2014 she said she went to a concert and met him

2014, February - Taylor finishes 1989, Harry and Taylor start dating again and seem to for the rest of the year.

2014, March 20, fallout boy shares this photo of Matty Healy, fallout boy and 1d minus Harry to instagram captioned “London hangs.” I don’t know when the photo with Harry is from, the jacket is St Laurent 2014 and it first appeared on live journal June 2014. Harry wore the coat again in September.

2014, March - MH plays call or delete with Harry's BFF Nick Grimshaw and calls Niall and Harry, he says he has Niall’s number because he is writing a song for one direction and that he had never spoken to Harry before (but had his number and Harry recognised his voice and/or just would know Nick had the show on and who was on it.) MH asks to borrow £5k and Harry agrees. Harry probably knew he was on Nick Grimshaw.

2014, April - his mum says MH is writing a song for 1D and talks about Anne.

2014, April 24 - Halsey covered a 1975 song.

2014, May - Halsey writes about her hand in Matty's curls.

2014, May 8 - One Direction record Change Your Ticket in Fasano Hotel, the TV Special includes footage (2:12) of Julien and Niall figuring out the lyrics and melody in Rio De Janeiro. The band then toured

2014, May 24 - One Direction and the 1975 both play the Glasgow Big Weekend, though 1D fly in for just their show they are then in London.

2014, July - Anne tweets Denise with a throwback photo

At some point they play Change Your Ticket for Matty who Later said:

“They got me in and they said, ‘We really like your band. Would you write a song for us?’,” Matt revealed to Spin. “[But] they didn’t seem to be actually that interested. They just wanted to play me this song that they said was really, really inspired by us.", “Listen guys, fill your boots, the song doesn’t sound that much like ‘Girls’. But the guitar and the whole vibe of it is a complete lift, So take the guitars off and we’re good." “It would have been a bad 1975 song.”

2014 - October 27 - 1989 released. On the same day Halsey's debut 93, about Matty Healy also is released.

Taylor says to Rolling Stone that her publicist has said a relationship is not a good idea:

‘How long do we have on the clock — before something comes along and puts a wrench in it, or your publicist calls and says this isn’t a good idea?'” (bless you @cntfightmydemonsthyknowhowtoswim)

2014 - October 29 - Halsey gives an interview on the All Things Go podcast where she says she had met Matty. She talked about her debut single 93 and Matty Healy, she has posted to Tumblr indicating they were dating.

2014 - November 8 - Matty Healy wears a 1989 T-Shirt, Taylor likes a Tumblr post about it.

2014 - November 17 - FOUR comes out with Change Your Ticket including the 1975-esq guitar. In the Four Hangout Harry says "well done Tyler" (32:25) and Niall adds "your Boyfriends back", Liam adds "Your gonna get in trouble" Tyler is Taylor's name I n the Man video, the 1D band had rhyming or celebrity code names for themselves that they used in interviews (Harry = Susan Boyle, Zayn = Wayne)

2014 - November 19 - Harry, Taylor & Selena go to a 1975 concert together. This is often cited as the Maylor starting point, Harry was there and called her boyfriend by Niall 2 days before. Taylor posts a video of her, Selena and Harry is briefly seen. Video of Taylor and MH backstage.

2014 - November 28 - unverified rumour that Taylor was seen in an SUV at Chattanooga near the 1975 concert. She was in London 30th

2014 - December 2 - Harry and Taylor at Victoria's Secret After party and leave together in London. First time Style performed.

2014 - December 4 - Taylor at a 1975 concert in NYC, last till 2023. 1D in London, appeared on Graham Norton. Rumours Taylor dating Matty. he tweets they got his name wrong.

2014 - December 6 - Taylor has laryngitis at Jingle Bell Ball. Matty Healy does this on stage in Boston, crying and yelling at the audience:

youtube

8 December - Blind "The B- list celebrity offspring of two of the worst celebrity parents ever has been hooking up the past few weeks with the lead singer of the band that Taylor Swift loves. Apparently they sent Taylor a pic of themselves naked in bed together." (Ali Lohan (Dina and Michael)/Matty Healy “The 1975″)

2014 - December 9, after Twitter ran with the meltdown, coupled with Matty being linked to Taylor who the band knew to be with Harry. They go on more Four promo. One Direction was not getting on, Harry had broached the topic of the Hiatus a few weeks earlier. They appear on RTL in the Netherlands. Liam seems drunk and makes a beard joke at Harry.

24 December - Tabloid media about Ali Lohan/MH

And that's the end of the 2014, interaction, between Matty appearing in the 1989 t-shirt and the meltdown was 1 month, and Harry and Taylor were seen together in that time. Taylor did go to one 1975 concert without Harry, 2 days before Matty melted down.

13 December Taylor tweets asking the media to stop accusing her of dating her friends (kk & MH)

In this time Matty was also smoking heroin, from the New Yorker in May 2023:

In 2014, amid the early rush of fame and steady touring, Healy began smoking heroin, the only substance he found that could pull him down from the stratosphere. It was a secret, for a while; then the band staged an intervention. Healy resisted: he was the star, and the rest of them would have to get on board.

2015, November - Matty said to the Guardian:

On 6 December, onstage in Boston. “There was girl stuff,” he says. “There was family stuff. There was financial stuff. There was drug stuff. I remember hearing the crowd and having an identity crisis. I thought: ‘If you want to see a show, I’ll give you a fucking show. If you’ve come to see the jester drink himself into a slumber, I’ll give it to you.’ I felt like I’d become an idea as opposed to being a person.” At one point, a fan shouted, “I love you, Matty!” He’s ashamed of his response. “What did I say to the poor fucking girl? ‘You don’t have the right to love me. You don’t know me. I love you but you don’t get to love me.’ Jesus. Can you imagine your favourite band shouting that at you? What a dickhead. What a horrible thing to say to a kid who fucking does love me.”

2015

2015 - January - Matty also does this interview where he says it was all fake that he dated Taylor and there is noone in the world he knows less than Harry Styles

youtube

2015 - February 26 - Taylor pictured hugging Nick Grimshaw, Harry’s BFF, next to Matty Healy at the 2015 Brit awards after party. Harry was in Australia, he and Taylor had broken Up and this is the night she met and seemed to immediately start dating Calvin Harris’s until June 2016

2015 - April - Matty Healy and sources close gives a lot of interviews saying he is angry about Change Your Ticket and that One Direction stole the 1975's sound.

19 July 2015 - Matty Healy dates Halsey after she goes to a 1975 concert who shares the above instagram photo

2015- Matty starts dating model Gabriella Brooks, who he dates until 20 February 2019

Love Me

2015 - October - 1975 Love Me came out which is a rather direct Harry diss:

the lyrics reference Blank Space "Rumors Fly": "You've been reading about yourself on a plane".

"caught up in fashion, Karcrashian panache" a style reference and a diss to Kendall

music video where Matty makes out with the cardboard cutout of a 17 year old Harry Styles.

on stage he copies Harry's dancing in this song.

In the BTS Matty says "I just wanted to make a video that was about some kind of sexually confused rockstar type that who buys into his own nonsense really"

he also wore Chelsea looking boots and pointed them out in the BTS

Matty said he got permission from the celebrities, but also added that he did not plan to make out with Harry's. Meaning Harry did not give permission for how his cut out was used.

2016

2016, March to Q Magazine, (and widely reported) Matty said:

“I feel like I’m not very good at relationships,” he’d said, and I wondered why. Healy explained the jumble of reasons – insecurity, self-obsession, a fear of misrepresentation. Was it also, I asked, a fear of losing himself? He nodded. “Absolutely. And the reason I mention that is because if I had [properly] gone out with Taylor Swift the first thing I would’ve [thought was] ‘Fucking hell I am NOT being Taylor Swift’s boyfriend.’ You know, FUCK. THAT.” Then he had added an afterthought: “That’s also a man thing, a de-masculinating, emasculating thing.”

In 2016 Matty was dating Gabby and they posted to instagram a lot, like this photo of them at Coachella together in 2016. They seem happy and committed, they dated for another 3 years. He toured the whole year, (dates) South East Asia January, UK/Europe March - April. Coachella 24 April (they were in Canada on the 29th) then US & Canada until July. Back to SE Asia & UK in August, South America in September, US again in October with shows every other night.

12 November 2016 - to the Guardian Matty again mocks Haylor, with a reference to Hobama, also confirming they didn't even kiss:

"Did he have any relationship with her, I ask in my best Ken Starr voice. “No.” Sex? “No.” Did you kiss? “No.” So why the huge hoo-ha? “She came to a show and we hung out. We fancied each other, but then we couldn’t have it go any further, because it would be like going out with Barack Obama.” He says there was nothing misogynistic about his comments, he was simply being honest: he didn’t like the prospect of two giant egos clashing and him coming off second best."

2017

They continued touring constantly, (dates) Uk/europe January, February. South America March, April. US/Canada April - July.

2017 - November - Matty went to Rehab, they didn't tour till 2019. Matty was still dating Gabby.

I'm skipping ahead a few years, Matty brings Taylor and Harry up alot, like in random interviews with Zane Lowe, Nick Grimshaw etc. But the vibe is often separating him from success. I wonder if he is also reminding others he knows them.

12 April Harry maybe shades Matty in his Rolling Stone Interview:

I had a really nice upbringing. I feel very lucky. I had a great family and always felt loved. There’s nothing worse than an inauthentic tortured person. ‘They took my allowance away, so I did heroin.’ It’s like – that’s not how it works. I don’t even remember what the question was.”

In May Taylor and Joe went public, dated till 2023.

September- Harry posted that he liked it when the 1975 covered What Makes you Beautiful. Matty responds saying "you. are. peng"

2019

2019 - February 19 Matty breaks up with Gabriella Brooks, who he dated since 2015.

3 January - MH asks to produce Harry's next album… via twitter…. and says Harry has blocked him.

4 October - Matty Healy interview where he says he wants to produce Taylors record (said about Harry earlier the year) and went on to say 'that taylor swift song about supporting gay people, when it came out we already knew that."

2020

2020, January 20 - Matty starts dating FKA Twigs, they dated until 2022

2020, February Taylor, Joe and Matty are at the NME Awards:

Healy said: “I went over to her. I was like, ‘Taylor, we need to make the record.’ No, I didn’t. She said hello to every single person. Obviously it’s Taylor Swift so everyone was saying hello. “She was just stood behind me. I mean, I haven’t seen Taylor in years so it was actually a really nice room. But it, unfortunately, wasn’t the time for me to pitch my post-rock Joni Mitchell project to [her].”

2022

2022, June 7 - Matty breaks up with FKA Twigs who he dated since 2020

Collaboration with Jack Antonoff

2022 - 5 January - 14 February - he works with Jack Antonoff. The band did not work with Jack before 5 January 2022. On 5 January they were in Real World Studios (i.e. not Electric Lady with Jack) and the record was complete by 14 February 2022. It is an album made to be played live and Jack did not write lyrics, under 6 weeks is about right. There are rumours of a collab which Matty both says it is fake news he worked on Midnights and then that he did but it wasn't used. Taylor never acknowledged.

2022 - 27 March DM Story Jack had an argument with FKA Twigs who was dating Matty after the Oscars.

2022 - midnights comes out, no 1975 collab.

2022, December - Matty starts dating model Charlotte Bliar D'Alessio. they had been dating 'for weeks' and date until the end of March.

2023

2023 - 12 January - Taylor performs anti-hero and The City at 1975 concert, multiple rumors Harry was also there: x, x, x

2023 - 15 January - MH invites HS to perform, H declines. MH makes inappropriate comments accusing Harry of Queerbaiting.

2023 - 11 February blind item:

2023 - March - Reps for Matty Healy's girlfriend Meredith says

“She did not see this coming at all. All the time Matty was in the studio with Taylor, she thought nothing of it. He’d spend the day in the studio and then come home to her. “Things were going well until around March 29 then, out of the blue, he stopped replying to messages and calls. “He just ghosted her and that was it. Then, four weeks later, he went public with Taylor.

2023 - March/April/May/June - Taylor touring the US. The 1975 touring Latin America in March, Asia and Australia in April and May, Europe in June. The only times they would have seen each other are the handful of times they were photographed.

2023 - 14 March - MH spotted with Dasha, said he was bad in bed and TS thing ended.

2023 - 10 April - Taylor and Joe's separation press release. MH delete socials said:

"everything happens in eras. The 1975 is a very eras band. The era of me being a f***ing a***hole is coming to an end. […] I can’t perform off the stage any more.”

2023 April 14 - MH cries on stage in I always wanna die, and puts his head in his hands during Love it if we make it in Sydney. Saying “You changed all the words on my set list to rude words,” he says, pointing off-stage, before admitting the culprit is “trying to cheer me up because I’ve been going through a bit”. Covered in news

2023 April 24 - MH introduces 'She's American' in Tokyo with: "When I picture it, there's like three places I picture people listening to it, there's Manchester, Pennsylvania, that’s a whole other thing don’t worry about that and Tokyo” 1975 was formed in Manchester. Matty and Harry are from nearby Wilmslow or Cheshire respectively.

2023 - May 3 - TS & MH mouth "this is about you, you know who you are. I love you" on stage. Before cardigan, a song Taylor wrote for Harry referencing Falling.

2023 5 May - MH at Eras tour, Sparks Fly and Teardrops on my guitar. He joined Phoebe Bridges on stage.

2023 6 May - OOTW/Fifteen. MH attends again

2023 11 May - MH and Taylor hold hands in NY

2023 12 May - Gold Rush & CBBH, Philli. MH on stage at Eras in skeleton costume. MH and Taylor at group dinner hold hands.

2023 13 May - TS This Love, no intro/Forever and Always (Philli) MH attends eras and seen with Scott Swift.

2023 15 May - Taylor leaving Electric Lady with MH

2023 16 and 18 May - Matty carries a bag to and from Taylor’s NY apartment, she’s seen at electric lady earlier in the day.

May - blinds about MH saying something shocking about Beyonce, shocking porn habits after podcast, hooking up with underaged girls, calling Andrea names, abuse of violent porn stars he watched. (referring to these comments in Adam Friedland podcast - DM link.) double down on racist comments because T doesn't care.

2023 24 May - People reports Taylor kissed MH at Zero bond, no photos of them arriving, no photos allowed in club. Last time reported to be seen together. 50 days since his ex said they were good.

2023 27 May - during the Radio 1 Big Weekend at Glasglow, a broadcast event, Matty Healy acted unusually and said "Try romanticising your life for a job, see how you like it". This section is cut from the BBC's official video of About You. Harry was also in Scotland in Edinburgh. Matty opened the show (wearing a lab coat he took off) with an apparent acknowledgement that the relationship wasn't sincere:

“Is it all a bit? Is it sincere? Will he ever address it?” he asked. “All of these questions and more will be ignored in the next hour. Ladies and gentleman, this is The 1975.”

2023 June 5 - MH break up reported by TMZ later confirmed no longer speaking. People:

"She had fun with him, but it was always casual," a source confirmed to PEOPLE on Monday. "They are no longer romantically involved." "They were never boyfriend-girlfriend or exclusive and were always just having fun," another insider tells PEOPLE. "There is no drama, and who knows what could happen again. It was a good time and ran its course."

2023 August 16 - MH back with the girl he dumped in March for …. That.

2023 September - Matty starts dating Gabby who he is still with.

I have no idea what happened in 2023, but I think the blind about him hating H is correct.

2024 February 15 - MH said on stage “Do not come for me. Trust me. You know who I’m talking to. Honestly, you know who you are. I’m as mental as I seem. I have the receipts. Don’t f**k with me. Trust me.”

2024 6 June to us weekly

“He loves the attention it’s brought to him, [but] he also thinks it’s hilarious because at no time [were they] ever serious,” the friend claims. Healy’s pal adds that the musician was “completely blindsided” by TTPD’s “lyrical content,” especially Swift’s allusions to her and a love interest discussing marriage and children. “For her to be saying things about baby carriages … and living together — he says it had never even come up,” the friend says.

#Haylor #maylor #taylor swift #matty healy

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Note

Navy, Navy, Navy...

You dropped this man in my askbox at the beginning of the week, and I knew I knew him, but it took me a couple of days to figure out exactly which Steve he was...

And then I realized he's absolutely Buck's Eleven Steve...

Fandom: MCU Collection: Buck's Eleven Title: Bookings and Rings Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Female Reader Word Count: 650

Summary: Our first glimpse of Steve's girl in this AU. Can be read as a standalone, you only need to know Bucky and Steve are putting together a big heist job for New Year's Eve 1960.

Content Warnings: hints of 1960s societal views, movement toward smut at the end (fade to black)

Logistical Notes: Thank you @vonalyn for spiffing this up and making sure it was up to snuff. This ticks off my first box in my @the-slumberparty Bingo Card B4 "Proposal."

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You lock and close the door behind you, letting out a happy sigh. You’re home. You drop your keys on the table in the entry and step out of your heels, clutching them in one hand and your travel bag in the other, then make your way down the hall into the living room.

You pause and grin at the sight in front of you.

Steve is sitting in one of the armchairs, relaxed, reading the paper, the bright afternoon sun streaming in from the window behind him. You can tell he’s had a fresh haircut since you saw him last week. He’s in a brown tweed sport coat and black shirt. He always looks good.

“You’re home early,” you say.

“Is that a complaint?” he asks, returning your grin as he lowers the paper to look at you.

“Well, you’re also in my home, not your home.”

“Until you agree to call my home your home, sometimes I just can’t help myself when I want to see my girl.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, but the grin is still on your face. “Good thing you’re handsome, Rogers.”

“And you know I’m good for other things, too,” he says as he folds up the paper and sets it aside. “Now come over here, tell me about your day. Where were you?”

You deposit your heels and your sleek blue Pan Am duffel on the couch, then sit on the coffee table in front of Steve. “Rio de Janeiro.”

“Long flight then, let me take care of my girl.” Steve gestures for you to rest your feet up on his thigh, and as you do, he immediately takes one of your stocking-clad feet in his strong hands and begins pressing his thumbs deeply into the sole. You moan and some of the tension in other parts of your body starts to melt away. Steve smiles at that. “Tell me about your day.”

You do. While you talk, he listens, asks a few questions, moves to rubbing out your other foot completely, and then starts working up your calves.

When you’ve caught him up on the relevant pieces of the things that have happened the past few days, shared the frustrations as well as the funny stories, you finally ask him, “What do you want – I get the foot rubs when you want something.”

“You’d get this regularly if you’d accept my ring, honey,” you open your mouth to protest, but he shakes his head and continues, “I know, I know, you’re not ready to give up your explorations.”

“No, I’m not.”

“But you remember I’ve always got that ring with me. You say the word and it’s yours.”

You lean forward and kiss him, then say, “I’m not saying no, I’m just saying not now.”

“I’ll take you everywhere you want to go.”

You lean back a little and tilt your head. “I know.” You rest your hand over his heart. “And I am yours… just not your wife yet.”

“Yet,” he echoes.

You laugh then kiss him again. It’s a long kiss this time, one that has him eventually pulling you into his lap, and your arms are wrapped tightly around each other, lips and tongues dedicated to nothing more than connecting and expressing the feelings between the two of you.

It only ends when you’re both completely breathless.

“What do you need from me?”

“Two things… I need to get a team into Vegas. Can you book them in?”

“Sure, leave me the list of their names and departure cities before you leave, I’ll put them in.”

“Thank you, honey.”

“What else?”

He grins and his hand slips between your thighs, moving right up to your mound. “Let me take you to bed and give you more reasons to make it hard for you to hold out on finally becoming my wife.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #oceans eleven au #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x you #buck's eleven #navy/navybrat817 #aspen asks #aspen wrote something #female reader

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vhstown · 11 months

Text

CAN SPIDERS SCREAM?

POV: 1610!MILES 🗡️ [halloween one shot]

summary: What's your favourite scary movie?

word count: 2.4k

content/warnings: depictions of murder, blood and stabbing

a/n: unedited :/ tew busy and i have never written fic that isn't x reader so! that's all erm have fun?

“Oi, Miles — wake up, mate.”

With slight surprise, Miles opened his eyes to see the dimly lit living room. Freeing himself from the confines of his friend’s shoulders, he blinked a few times to make out a rather bemused-looking Hobie. The punk’s eyes left his a moment later, and Miles was soon bombarded with the troubles of a movie night with people who had never had Netflix before.

“Give me the remote back, I just wanna—”

“We are not watching Ghostbusters again, Pav!” Hobie let out a slight laugh as a stream of web, and then a remote control, flew past him — right into Gwen’s hand.

“Ghostbusters is a perfectly fitting title for the occasion!” Pavitr protested, Hobie narrowly dodging the hand that flew up in frustration.

“He’s got a point — that Murray lad is scary lookin’,” Hobie chimed in. Gwen narrowed her eyes at him, as if to say “thanks a lot, Hobie”, before turning to Miles.

“You know what? Maybe Miles should pick. He’s been asleep all night anyway.”

“Hey! Not my fault my ma’ made me clean the whole house ‘fore you guys got here!”

Miles’ eyes felt like closing again at the memory; who knew using your webs to help with chores would need so much clean up afterwards? Not one of his brightest ideas, since he was all out of webs now. Though he would’ve been out of a home if his mom saw the kitchen covered in them.

“Where are your parents anyway? Perhaps on a romantic outing?” Miles rolled his eyes, like it’d do anything to subdue Pavitr’s less-than subtle expression.

“On Halloween night? Your lot must love a thrill, mate.” Also a lot less-than subtle — thanks a lot, Hobie.

Cheeks prickling with warmth, he snatched the remote from Gwen’s hand, frowning at the TV screen. Halloween movie…

“Well, if he’s anything like Rio and Jeff, he should be able to pick a movie.” Gwen crossed her legs, and everyone else shuffled back on the tiny couch.

“Thanks,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. Gwen’s knee, Hobie’s elbow, and Pavitr’s stare prodding him at either side, Miles sifted through the different shows and movies.

“How about Annabe—”

“Nope nope nope…!” As the preview came up, Pavitr shielded his eyes. “Anything besides dolls.”

“At least it’s better than Ghostbusters,” Gwen muttered under her breath as Pavitr peeked through his fingers.

“Oi, Gwendy, cheer up, yeah?” Miles ducked his head as Hobie reached over to slap Gwen on the shoulder. “She looks just like you!”

“Hobie!” was shouted from both ends of the couch.

Miles smiled, and grimaced. At least the two of them could agree that Hobie wasn’t any good when it came to movie nights.

Looking through the movies, none of them really interested Miles, or his friends. Each one would be met with an excited “wait!”, and then a disappointed groan, or another heckle from Hobie (it was one way to decide not to watch the movie.)

“Dude, Halloween’s almost over. Let’s just watch Ghost—”

“Just gimme a sec…” At this point, Miles had given up on listening to anyone, clicking through titles after a glance. It wasn’t like it was helping, though.

“Pick your favourite, or something,” Gwen suggested with just as little enthusiasm.

“Well it’s not Ghostbusters…” he mumbled to nobody in particular.

“Hey, not you too, Miles!”

Scream 2 appeared for probably the 5th time on screen. It’d have to do, he supposed.

“You guys seen Scream?” His tone didn't have enough energy to sound like a question.

“Well Hobie hasn’t, because he lives in the stone age,” Gwen started. “And he looks like Ghostface.”

“Don’t need ol’ Ghosty when we’ve got murderers in government.”

“Dude.” All Miles got was a shrug from Hobie, and then a sigh from Gwen. Crossing her arms, she fell back on the sofa with a creak.

“What? Fed up already?” Hobie questioned, brow raising by a twitch.

“It’s been like, 4 hours and all we’ve been watching is Ghostbusters. We ran out of popcorn ages ago.”

“You guys finished the—” Miles stood up, looking into the bowl. All that was in it was his reflection, staring back at him with disappointment. “Damn…”

“That was all Gwendy — swear on my life.” Hobie declared half a moment of silence later.

“Was not!”

“Okay, okay! Fine! Let’s just watch Scream.”

Miles turned on the movie, chucking the remote on the spot he was sat in. The introductory sequence started, and the room went dark with the screen.

“I’m gettin’ more popcorn — caramel popcorn." That got a groan out of everyone.

“If y’all use your webs…!”

He didn’t finish his threat as he walked into the kitchen — his mom could probably do that for him anyway.

The kitchen door swung open, shutting on its own weight. Miles held his wrist out to the cabinet, but all that came out was a click — out of webs. Right, of course.

A crackling bag of “Crunch ‘n Munch” caramel popcorn on the stove, Miles leaned his arms on the counter, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He’d been feeling groggy since he’d woken up, but the dreary tiredness was still lingering. Maybe sitting out here with microwaveable kernels popping on the stove would help. Stretching and letting out a groan, the cheap decorations on the windows caught his attention. He could guess that people were starting to head back from trick-or-treating. It was late, after all. Miles had grown out of it, at least for this year. Going out with his friends who technically weren’t meant to be here wasn’t exactly a good idea, though. Besides, being Spider-Man for Halloween again wasn’t really doing it for him.

Both of his parents were at work, but it didn't bother him too much. They were always busy, and so was he. All of them were keeping Brooklyn safe in their own ways, he supposed. And having the house to himself wasn't so bad.

Faint murmuring — excited, or panicked — could be heard from the living room. Miles laughed through his nose, the crackling of the popcorn getting louder as he haphazardly reached out to flip the bag. That was, until, a searing, high-pitched noise rang out.

Miles almost jumped, before realising that it was coming from the phone: the old-fashioned cordless phone his mom kept for emergencies, or, for making sure he was “actually at home like you said you’d be, because if you and your friends are out somewhere I don’t know about then—”

Better safe than sorry, he thought, picking it up without any thought but an exhale.

Click!

“Hello?”

The faint whirr of static could be heard on the other side; it was dull among the pop of the kernels and giddy buzz from the living room.

“Hello, Morales.” Okay, definitely not his mom.

“Uh, who is this?”

“Take a guess.” Miles took the phone away from his ear, frowning at the screen. These types of phones didn’t seem to give any useful information.

“Ganke? That you?” he humoured.

“Try again. Two more guesses.” His half-smile immediately dropped.

“Okay, nope. This is weird.”

Declining the call, Miles put it back on its stand, rolling his shoulders in discomfort. It was probably just a prank — kind of creepy nonetheless.

Krrrrr….! Miles’ attention quickly turned back to his popcorn, registering the smell of burning. Damn it…

Wooden spoon in hand, he turned off the stove, biting his lip as he assessed the damage. A second barrier of defence against his friends, at least. Come on man, you gotta wake up—

RIIING RIIING! Miles cursed under his breath, and then winced in guilt.

RIIING RIIING! Again? Well, it could be his mom.

RIIING RIII—

“Hello?”

“Why’d you hang up? Don’t you want to play a game?”

“Okay dude seriously? Couldn't you be at least a little original? I don’t have time for this, I literally just burnt my popcorn!”

Miles didn’t know why he was suddenly ranting to a stranger on the phone, but maybe it’d get them to break character, or something. It must be some kids behind the stupid crackly voice — or maybe it was his dad. He tried to stifle a laugh at the thought of his dad trying not to laugh and his tightened expression, even though nobody would hear. Well, whoever this was might.

“You’re making popcorn?”

“Uh-huh. Was gonna watch a movie, actually. And relax — you know, without weird phone calls at midnight.”

“How about this? I ask you a different question this time.”

“Yeah? What is it?” Miles let out a sigh, hands on his hips as the burning died out in the pan.

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“Not even a little improv..." he mumbled under his breath. Might as well stick to the script. “Uh, I dunno. Scream?”

“Scream? That one where the murderer wears a mask and goes around killing people?”

“Yeah, and where the murderer makes dumbass phone calls to their victims beforehand.”

“But that’s your favourite?”

“No..."

There was a pause on the end of the phone, before the modulated voice replied.

“You know... me neither.”

Bzzzt!

“Hey, what the…?!” Miles looked around him, but couldn’t make out anything. The power was out. “You can’t be serious…”

“Scream’s too old-school, don’t you think?”

There were equally confused reactions from the living room, and the voices of his friends got louder as he stepped into the hallway, phone in hand.

“Guys?” he called out, cordless phone by his hip and his own phone flash pointing into the hallway.

“They won’t hear you,” the voice from the phone said. Miles stopped, turning his phone and seeing something catch the light. "When you scream."

Moving, it shot towards him, his web-shooter sputtering empty air at the knife that surged past mere inches away from his face. No webs.

“Guys?!”

Miles pointed the flash up, only to see what looked like a Halloween mask that was melting: Ghostface. He would’ve laughed; it was crude at best. But right now, it was terrifying.

He booked it for the living room, pushing against the door only for it to push back against him. Locked — the panic surged in his chest, but his Spider-sense hadn’t gone off.

Thunk! Knife in wood — right where his face was a millisecond ago. His cheek stung only for a moment before he grabbed the knife out of the door, holding it to the darkness.

His mouth opened, and then closed. Should he call for his friends? Would it put him in more danger? Why couldn't he... Where did the masked person go—

A short breath came out of his throat, strangled. And then hot searing metal, right through his stomach. Why couldn't...

No, the metal wasn’t cold — it was the blood. The pain only seared for a moment, when the knife was pulled out. Miles’ hands went to the growing patch of darkness near his abdomen, bile in his throat and eyes wide, stinging from the dry air.

It was suddenly cold, and his mind was blank. Something that sounded like wind — a laugh, emerged from behind him.

He didn’t feel the second stab.

“Oi, Miles — wake up, mate.”

“Give me the remote back, I just wanna—”

“We are not watching Ghostbusters again, Pav!” Hobie let out a slight laugh as a stream of web, and then a remote control, flew past him — right into Gwen’s hand.

“Ghostbusters is a perfectly fitting title for the occasion!” Pavitr protested, Hobie narrowly dodging the hand that flew up in frustration.

“He’s got a point — that Murray lad is scary lookin’,” Hobie chimed in. Gwen narrowed her eyes at him, as if to say “thanks a lot, Hobie”, before turning to Miles.

“You know what? Maybe Miles should pick. He’s been asleep all night anyway.”

“Huh?”

“We were doing fine!”

“No we weren’t, Pav — I was about to fall asleep.”

“Like Hobie said, Murray is a good representation of the horror genre!”

“And not the literal ghosts?”

“The ghosts too!”

“Hey.” Miles flinched a little at how close the voice was. “You alright? You look a bit pale, mate.”

The three of them went silent, attention turning to him. Hobie’s expression was laced with concern. Miles just nodded, though he wasn’t looking at anyone. He was fine, right? That was…

“Yeah, yeah — I’m cool. I just…” That wasn't real. He was fine. “Tired. Ma’ made me clean… and stuff.”

“Where are your parents anyway? Perhaps on a romantic outing?” He glanced at Pavitr, but it didn’t do anything to subdue Pavitr’s less-than subtle expression.

“On Halloween night? Your lot must love a thrill, mate.” Also less-than subtle. If it weren’t for the fog clouding his head, he would’ve been annoyed.

“Just watch… Anabelle, or something.” The sofa creaked as he pushed off of it. He winced at the feeling of his abdomen reeling in on itself. “I’m gonna get some—”

Two eyes met his: the reflection in the popcorn bowl. It was empty. Figures...

“That was all Gwendy, swear on my life.”

“Was not!”

“Oh, Miles is mad guys.”

“Hey, don’t look at me.”

It wasn't real.

“It was literally Hobie!”

Just a dream — of course.

“Miles…? Where are you goi—” Pavitr’s voice faded as the kitchen door swung shut behind him.

“Just need to call my mom,” he muttered to himself, grabbing the phone off the stand.

“Mira — I’m going to call this phone, okay? You need to call back from the call log. I'm showing you once.”

“Like—” This…

The call log appeared on screen.

Incoming:

31 OCT. 11:42PM Accepted

31 OCT. 11:40PM Accepted

31 OCT. 4:21PM Missed

Only the last one was his mom. Miles clicked out of the call log, met with the tiny blue home screen. It read: TUE 31 OCT.

The time right now was 11:39PM.

RIIING RIIING!

RIIING RIIING!…

His friends were in the other room, still arguing about what to watch.

“…Anything besides dolls...”

“…It’s better than Ghostbusters…”

“…She looks just like you!…”

"...Hobie!..."

…RIIING RIIING!…

With half an inhale, Miles picked up the old-fashioned cordless phone, thumb over the green button. It was the phone he’d answered before, and for some reason, minutes into the future.

The phone he’d answer many, many more times to come.

thanx 4 reading! thats it okay cya i havent slept more than 6 hours in a hot minute goodnight x_x oh n tagging @phoenixinthefiles :P

find my masterlist here !

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vqrtualheartss · 1 year

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ᴅ☆ᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴀʏ| (Yes that is my name)

I'm getting a lil' emotional cz like, my page is growing?? Again, I love y'all for it and like thank you so so much and I promise to get started on atmv3 as soon as I can

I've been seeing these all around so I'm giving them a try

Might turn these into stories

There's are what the title says, plus character pairings

Online Dating AU |

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 On facetime with Miles you told him "I love you" for the first time thinking he wouldn't hear because he was playing CoD until you saw him try to physically wipe the smile of his face with it returning wider each time. He was stuttering trying to say it back after he realized you were looking directly at the screen smiling. (He was basically talking gibberish until he gave in and said it in Spanish). —Bonus, you didn't understand the Spanish so he tried saying it in English and was still stuttering so he used Spanglish—

(💜) "yo love you también- I mean tienes todo mi corazón- Yo estaba tratando de decir I love you"

(💜) Had a 3 hour long call with you two doing hair but kept going offtrack arguing which hair products were better for 4c, eventually he admitted that he just wanted to hear you talk

(💜) Drew a big ass portrait of you in Brooklyn but decided against showing you over the phone promising himself that he has to show you in person one day. It took him days to perfect with him being The Prowler and all

(💜) Visiting unknowingly, Rio caught him singing Spanish love songs to you and teased him about it.

Break up AU |

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 His friends practically begged you to speak to him because he's been out of it in studies, on the court etc. Turned into having that deep talk and you both sobbing, holding each other. Or making out who knows

(💜) "Why are you here ?" x "I didn't know where else to go"

(💜) There were multiple times where you caught each other staring, the tension wasn't anything rough or edgy though, more like unfinished business.

(💜) Both found each other getting wasted trying to forget about one another, when confronted about it y'all had that gaze set upon the other waiting to see who'd make the first move you want to. (Kinda like a Lil Tjay and Rubi Rose moment)

(💜) Made up an excuse that he came for his stuff just so he could see you. (He left them there btw)

(💜) Over the phone he had that honeyed laughter saying " Tesoro, you're not my ex if we're gonna come back to each other? Aún te amo y sé que tú también"

ִ ࣪𖤐 (Y/N) x e42 Miles Tropes

(☁️) Laughs at kids falling x Covers mouth if they do it in broad daylight (vice versa could work too)

(☁️) "I'd never let my girl out like that" — "My wife can do whatever she wants I have a glock"

(☁️) Brat x "Yell at me again and I'll give you a real reason to scream"

(☁️) "I hate my hair today" x "I really don't care. You still look beautiful and I'm trying to not kiss you senseless right now"

(☁️) "Are you making a hickey on me??" x "How else are people supposed to know what's mine?"

(☁️)"I'm nothing special" x "You're special to me"

(☁️) "I don't think I'll be able to give you what you want right now", "It's a good thing we have forever"

(☁️) "I'm so fucked up all I want is you" "I love you too"

I'm so sorry it's short, I needed something to keep my page alive, I have like 3 stories I want to write and have not started one. lol

#Spotify #black tumblr #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles x reader #black reader #miles morales #flowers #earth 42 miles fluff #fluff #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miles gonzalo morales #dae #vqrtualheartss

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the-authoress-writes · 11 months

Text

Wherever You Go

Prologue

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Aviator!reader (Callsign: Thorn)

Moodboard by @bradshawsbaby

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge

Synopsis: Tom Kazansky made a mistake.

Or rather, a series of mistakes.

He chose to take the assignment as an instructor at TOPGUN.

He fell in love with one of his students.

He broke her heart.

He chose to leave TOPGUN, and redeploy.

Now, he was stuck onboard the USS Nimitz with the woman whose heart he broke, with no way out.

Unbelievably, that’s not the problem.

Problem is, he still loves her.

Series Warnings: Teacher/Student relationship (but you already knew that) with no real age gap, warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

Warnings: Here be some cursing, because they are men in the Navy—they will curse.

Other than that, nothing really.

Author’s Note: “It’s only going to be a oneshot.”

Every author knows that those are the famous last words, and that is no truer than with this story.

I really, really thought I could make this into a oneshot but then I gave up on that.

Because I am so in love with this storyline, that it deserves space to breathe.

So this one shot is now going to be at most (hopefully), a six-part series.

*sigh*

Darn it, Val, what have you done to me?

Thank you so, so very much to @roosterforme for hosting the Top Gun Rocktober Fic Challenge, and for allowing me to use one of my favorite 80s rock ballads, “The Flame” by Cheap Trick.

Lyrics from the song will be peppered in throughout this series, because it’s too good not to, and the song is the reason this story exists, as it is what birthed the plotline.

Another thank you goes to the incredible @bradshawsbaby for making the stunning moodboard for this fic, which was beyond my wildest dreams!

Special thanks also to @valmare, the fact that I am writing Tom Kazansky x reader! fic is all your fault; but thank you so much for dragging me down with you, it’s been an absolute joy!

Not much plot happens in this prologue, but I think it’s important to set up the narrative.

Ice cold, no mistakes.

That’s what everyone said about him, and he knew it.

He’d be lying to himself if he said that some part of him didn’t enjoy it, that reputation for perfection.

But now, as Tom watched her doing preflight for her CAP in the shadows of his little nook in the superstructure of the Nimitz, he knew that he was staring at the biggest mistake of his life.

He watched her hands lovingly run across the airframe of her F-14, and he inhaled sharply in remembrance.

He’d only been able to feel her touch him like that once, but it was more than enough to burn it into his memory forever.

As he watched, the large form of her RIO, LTJG Emmett “Romeo” Kinford, came up behind her, slapping her on the shoulder, which elicited a bright smile from her.

It tugged at his heart, to see her smile, even though it wasn’t the same smile she used to smile at him.

What he wouldn’t give to have her smile at him again.

She was the first woman he’d ever really loved, and he knew she’d be the last.

But he’d broken her heart two months ago.

It tore him apart to have to do that, but he had no choice—not if he wanted her to keep her wings, much less her title as Top Gun of TOPGUN Class 1, 1987.

And he knew she belonged in the sky, so he made the bitter choice, and he suffered for it—they both did.

He was still suffering.

It was why he’d chosen to redeploy, even though he loved teaching at TOPGUN, could easily have seen himself doing it for at least another few years, because he couldn’t stand to stay at Miramar, where he had so many memories of her, about her, with her.

He hadn’t missed the half-pitying, half-understanding look Viper had given him as he turned in his transfer papers—the now-Captain had always been intuitive.

“You’re a damn good instructor, Kazansky, we’ll be sad to see you go.”

“I’m sad to go, sir, but I… feel that I need to do this.”

A nod.

“Alright, son.

I’ll turn these in.

You and Kerner should get your new orders in two weeks.”

Within a week, he and Slider were deployed on the Nimitz.

One week after that, VF-1 chopped in, Mav and Merlin included.

“What the hell are you doing here, Mav?” Tom grinned, smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks as he hugged his wingman while Slider did the same for their former Academy classmate.

“I quit teaching.”

“What?!” Tom and Slider exclaimed, while Merlin sighed longsufferingly, shaking his head.

“You loved teaching!” Tom continued.

The dark-haired aviator shrugged. “It was boring without you there—no one else gave me a run for my money.”

“Sounds an awful lot like you’re admitting that I’m the better pilot, Mav.”

“In your dreams,” Mav scoffed. “But again, I will admit it was boring without you there.”

Tom smirked. “Love you too, Mav.”

“Fuck you, Kazansky,” his wingman retorted with a grin.

“No thanks, not in the mood,” Tom deadpanned.

Mav guffawed, making Tom’s deadpan melt into another grin, before the other pilot threw one arm around his shoulder, the other around Merlin’s upper back (as that was as high as it would go without effort, given the RIO’s borderline absurd height of 6’ 5”). “The Layton Boys are back!”

Slider interjected, “Technically, we’re missing Wood and Wolf.”

Mav rolled his eyes, “Okay, most of the Layton Boys are back—better, Ronald?”

Tom sighed, preparing for the bitchfest he knew was coming—he’d learned at Annapolis how much Slider hated his full first name.

(That wasn’t even mentioning the absolute hissyfit that would occur if the middle name was whipped out: Evelyn.)

(It was his great-grandfather’s name.)

“Yeah, Peter,” Slider retorted.

Okay—nothing was going to stop this now, to paraphrase the song—Mav was just as bad; Goose was the only one who could call him “Peter” and get away with it.

An all-too familiar pissy look came over Mav’s face. “Dickhead.”

“Yardstick.”

“Asswipe.”

“Petey Pocket.”

That was new—he and Merlin held their breath to see what would happen next.

Mav stared.

Slider stared right back.

A black-haired blur rushed forward, and Slider took off running, the flight deck now thankfully free of planes, the next CAP not starting preflight for another hour.

“Should we stop them?” Tom asked Merlin, as they watched the other pilot and RIO run across the Nimitz, a faint “Come back here, asshole!” carrying on the sea wind.

“If it’s all the same to you, I say let them go; you don’t know how wound up Mav’s been.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough—Sli could use the exercise.”

Eventually, Slider finally slipped up, and half-tripped on a padeye, allowing the smaller man to tackle him, the chase devolving into a wrestling match, which further devolved into what could only be described as a third grade slap-fight, before it finally ended with both men on their backs, heaving breaths into their lungs.

Tom and Merlin looked at each other, and in unspoken agreement, headed over to their RIO and pilot.

“Missed you too, Shortstack,” he heard Slider mutter, once he and Merlin came close enough.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“I know.”

“You done, you little gremlin?” Merlin asked, a wry expression on his face.

Mav glanced warningly at Slider, who silently raised his hands in surrender. “Yeah, we’re done.”

“Alrighty,” Merlin sighed, offering his pilot a hand up, Tom doing the same for his RIO.

Once both of them were hauled off of the flight deck, the aviators/infants stared at each other once more, and Tom was just about to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, when Slider extended his hand. “Truce?”

Mav considered the extended hand for a beat, before slapping his hand into the other man’s. “Truce.”

Slider grinned, and used their clasped hands to pull the diminutive pilot into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Mav.”

A sigh. “You too, Sli.”

They finally made their way below deck, Mav and Merlin dashing off to report to the Air Boss, before they met again in the Officer’s Mess, the quartet eating dinner leisurely, as none of them had a CAP until tomorrow.

To their surprise, Tom and Slider found out that Mav and Merlin would be sharing their berthing, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder at the Hand of God making such happy coincidences occur (or perhaps the hand of a certain TOPGUN instructor).

The four of them easily settled into the layout they had set up on the Enterprise; who would take which bunk or locker, which segued into the boisterous exchange of stories between them.

In the midst of the familiar camaraderie, Tom could almost forget the ever-present gaping hole in his heart, ignore the pain which always threatened to swallow him whole when he was alone.

But bedtime soon came upon them, which drew the exchange of stories to a close, and had them all lying in their respective bunks, and soon, Merlin’s deep breaths could be heard, indicating the man was asleep.

Mav was, as usual, dead silent, which always made him unsure if his wingman was actually asleep.

And he’d tried to see if there were any auditory tells in the other pilot’s sleep, but there were none.

Maybe eventually, he would figure something out to give away a sleeping Mav, but hopefully, he was asleep.

Slider, however, was pitifully attempting to convey sleep, his deep breaths a little too measured, Tom knowing all too well how the man breathed when he was actually asleep.

Ron, loyal brother that he was, wanted to make sure Tom was asleep before allowing himself to drift off.

So he allowed his breathing to slow, gradually adding the slight rasp in his breath that he knew Slider was listening for.

The last week of being back in a berthing with Slider had been a testament to his acting skills, not having had to hide how he was sleeping (or not, rather) from the other man since the Academy.

Eventually, his RIO succumbed to the siren call of sleep, and Tom settled in for another cold night, in more ways than one.

He blinked up at the ceiling, seconds passing like sand through an hourglass, and though he could feel fatigue pressing in on him, he couldn’t fall asleep, despite all the techniques the Navy had taught him, his restlessness punctuated by the sound of the launch and recovery of two night CAPs.

But eventually, between one blink and the next, Tom woke up to the alarm clock going off.

Realistically, he knew he slept, but it really didn’t feel like it, he felt just as tired and weary as he always did.

He dragged himself out of his bunk, swiftly silencing the clock, as the Slider-shaped mass of blankets began to stir.

“Ugh—I hate mornings,” his RIO moaned.

“Shouldn’t have joined the Navy then, Sli,” Merlin cheerily fired back, feet thudding onto the berthing’s floor from the top bunk.

“Yeah, what the hell were you thinking, Kerner?” Mav grinned, already in the act of making his bunk.

“Why, oh why, God, did I have to be cursed with morning people,” Slider declared, finally throwing off his blanket.

“You love us, Ron,” Tom smirked, unable to help himself, the affectionate snark coming easy to him amidst his brothers, despite his exhaustion.

“Ehh—ask me again after I’ve had a coffee.

Or a dozen.”

The berthing rang with laughter, and as the day progressed, it confirmed to Tom that he’d made the right choice to redeploy, the brotherhood they had, the self-proclaimed “Layton Boys”, being exactly what he needed to nurse his broken heart.

Their CAP was uneventful, being flown with Mav and Merlin, the guard frequency filled with their light-hearted teasing and conversation, and they had to be the cheeriest four men on deployment in the Navy’s history.

But inevitably, another night slowly closed in, leaving Tom alone with his thoughts, his loneliness and pain threatening to overwhelm him as usual, and all the façades in the world couldn’t do a damn thing against thoughts and feelings from your own mind and soul.

The call was, as they said, coming from inside the house.

He felt like he was going crazy; he was losing sleep, he knew he was in too far, in way too deep over her, and he wasn’t sure when he would ever stop feeling like the world had fallen out from under him.

As he fought the urge to toss and sigh for the umpteenth time, he heard a soft “Can’t sleep?” from across the berthing.

Tom fought the urge to sit bolt upright, which was a good thing, as it kept him from banging his head on the top of his bunk.

When he caught his breath and calmed his heart some, he whispered, “Mav?”

“That’s me.”

“What are you doing up?” Tom hissed.

“Pot, kettle.”

“I—sometimes people can’t sleep, Mav.”

“Bullshit.

You couldn’t sleep last night either.”

“How do you know that?”

Mav kept silent.

“I knew you had to be awake,” Tom scoffed.

“Yeah, well.”

Here, Merlin stirred, turning in the bunk above Mav, which caused Slider to also stir and the two pilots held their breath, waiting for their respective RIOs to still.

When they did, Mav crept out of his bunk, grabbing something out from under his mattress, before leaning over Tom. “Come on—if we’re going to be awake, might as well be awake together.”

Tom sighed, nodding.

Maybe if he got up, he’d have some hope of feeling sleepy, and he’d be able to get some sleep.

Mav led him to the unoccupied half of the berthing, on the other side of the lockers, and plopped himself down on the floor between the empty bunks.

Tom took that as invitation to sit next to his wingman, and he leaned his head against the mattress behind him.

A soft noise which he belatedly recognized as the sound of a zip bag opening had him looking down.

Despite the darkness, his eyes had long since adjusted enough to see Mav holding out what appeared to be a cookie of some sort—chocolate chip, if his nose didn’t deceive him.

“Carole made these fresh before I shipped out.

Have some.”

“Thanks, Mav.”

“No problem,” the other pilot murmured, mouth already full.

Tom bit into the cookie, just the right amount of chewy and sweet, with the perfect amount of chocolate chips.

He must’ve made some sort of sound, because Mav chuckled. “Good, huh?”

“Don’t interrupt me, I’m enjoying my cookie.”

“I keep telling Care she can sell these suckers—heaven in a cookie, am I right?”

“Mmm.”

For the next few minutes, neither said anything, and no noise was heard save the sound of plastic rustling, cookies being eaten, and the distant sounds indicating deep sleep from their RIOs.

But then.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?

That’s why you can’t sleep.”

Missile lock—tone.

Sigh.

“How’d you know?”

“Doesn’t take a genius, Ice, even if I am one.”

Tom scoffed, lightly bumping Mav’s shoulder, even though he knew his wingman wasn’t being hyperbolic—the younger pilot had a Master’s in Aerospace Engineering.

Mav good-naturedly took the bump, bumping right back.

When they had settled again, Tom whispered, “Can you blame me?”

“No, I don’t.

But you had no choice, Ice, Jester made that clear.

You were between the proverbial rock and hard place.”

“I loved her, Mav—I still love her.

And she loved me too.

And I broke her heart.

I can’t just… forget that,” he frustratedly said, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not asking you to,” came the even reply. “All I’m asking is that you admit it.

It’s not good for you to keep this all in, you know?

Isn’t that what you told me before?”

“Yeah, it is,” Tom sighed—he felt like he’d been doing a lot of that lately.

“Have you told Sli?”

“Kind of,” he muttered.

Mav hissed, “What does ‘Kind of’ mean?”

“He… he knows that I was in a relationship that ended badly while I was at Miramar, but he doesn’t know that—” despite the fact that the two of them were the only ones awake in the berthing, he whispered, “that she was my student.”

Tom didn’t know it was possible to hear a shocked expression. “Way to bury the lede, Ice.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.

I just—I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“So you stonewalled your RIO?”Disbelief dripped from the sentence.

“I…” Tom vaguely gestured, “gently led him around the full truth.”

“You fucking Obi-Wan Kenobi-ed him.”

He sent the other man a glare even if he wasn’t sure Mav could see it. “You’re the worst therapist ever, you know that?”

“I’m a naval aviator and an engineer, Ice, forgive the slight fumbling.”

“‘Slight’?” Tom scoffed humorously, and in the darkness, he could see an ebony-haired head shake.

There was a joke that a more uncharitable person could have made about engineering in regards to him, but he and Mav were long past that, and he was grateful, something he never would have said before.

“You should tell him, you should have someone other than me who understands, who knows what you went through, Ice.”

Tom could see the point.

And it would feel better, he had to admit, even if it would trigger Slider’s mother hen instincts to the max, even more than they were right now.

“I’ll think about it.

And don’t think I forgot that you were just as sleepless as I was.”

“This about you, not me.”

“Uh-huh, sure—for now, you little shit.

Now hand over another cookie, will you, Mav?”

“The things I do for you.”

The plastic rustled again, and a cookie was placed in his hand.

And as he ate Carole’s heavenly consolation in a cookie, Tom reflected on just how he’d ended up in this position.

To be continued…

Next Part

CAP: Combat Air Patrol

Women were not allowed to participate in combat units and fly combat missions until 1993, so a healthy suspension of disbelief is required to read this story, 😂…

The USS Nimitz (CVN-68) is the lead ship of her namesake class; commissioned in May 1975, she is the oldest US Navy aircraft carrier in service, and the oldest serving aircraft carrier in the world.

If you look at the nametags they’re all wearing in TG86, the second row says “TOPGUN 1”, so I’m assuming that there’s more than one TOPGUN session a year, at least in the TG/TG:M universe.

VF-1, a now inactive squadron based out of NAS Miramar, is the squadron that Mav and Goose belonged to before they went to TOPGUN, although it must be noted that, like most of the squadron patch designs in Top Gun, the patch design as seen on Mav and Goose’s flight suits, is incorrect and not matching the squadron designation.

I am assuming, though I have no confirmation, that Merlin was also part of Tom and Slider’s USNA class.

The “Petey Pocket” insult is a reference to the toy Polly Pocket, which is a toy from the late 80s, notable for its tiny size, which is being sold again by Mattel.

However, the toys did not come out until 1989, and they did not come out until much later than that in the States, and despite my best efforts to find a more period-accurate insult/comparison, the insult was too good not to put, so again, healthy suspension of disbelief.

“Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” by Starship, from the 1987 film Mannequin, is the song Tom references.

A padeye is used to secure aircraft to the flight deck.

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