#debated on giving her the skirt or just having her in pants

[solilakoi]

Monster High March Day 3: Toralei Dancing

Idk why, but as I drew this I imagined her dancing to I Am A Poseur by X-Ray Spex.  Has that kind of aggressive “I dont give a fuck” and abrasive-on-purpose energy that I think Toralei revels in.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [4.7K] mean!eddie, toxic relationships, exes to hooking up, power plays and a nineties house party. You weren’t sure whose house you were in, but there was body glitter smeared across their white walls. 

Weezer was blasting from the stereo in the living room, crowds of people moving between there and the kitchen, more draped over the staircase, making out with people they just met. You weren’t sure what time it was, but it was dark outside the windows, the rest of the house lit up with plug-in disco balls that spun slowly, discs of orange and red and blue and pink bouncing off of faces and floors. 

It was late enough that you’d lost your shoes, late enough that the watermelon vodka you’d brought with you was empty. Late enough to make some bad decisions. 

Robin found you in the kitchen, shoulders bumping against yours as she steadied herself, eyes red rimmed and she smelled like smoke and cherries, the blue eyeshadow you helped her perfect was now a smattering of aquamarine glitter down her cheeks. The lights made her look like a fairy, the cheap drink made her look too far gone. 

“You okay?” You asked her, grinning when she pulled you into her chest, your cheek smashed against her own. You’d have matching freckles now, blue and sparkly. “Where’s Nance?”

“She’s peeing,” Robin yelled back, a little too loud since the music was fading into another song. You winced but laughed all the same when she smacked a noisy kiss to your cheek before turning her mouth to the shell of your ear. “That guy has been checking you out all night.”

Robin gestured not so subtly to a boy by the door. Tall, blonde, green eyes. Pretty enough, if you liked cargo pants and the Ed Hardy look. You didn’t know him but he caught your gaze and lifted his chin in greeting. You looked away. 

“Mmm,” you wrinkled your nose and you dragged Robin back into the living room, coffee tables pushed up against walls as throngs of people gyrated under the lights. Everyone sparkled, mini skirts showing off bare legs, flashes of neon stripes in hair. “Not my type,” you told her. 

“Oh, we’re getting fussy now, huh?” Nancy appeared between you both, a bright blue bottle of something in one hand. She took a sip and then offered it to Robin. “I thought you wanted laid tonight?”

You shrugged, looking down, avoidant. You plucked at the charm bracelet on your wrist, turning the glow stick that was wrapped above round and round. You weren’t sure where it came from but it turned your skin violet. “Maybe,” you told your friends. “I don’t know.”

You had wanted to get laid tonight. That was the plan, anyway. That’s why you were wearing your shortest skirt, a white, pleated thing that would be more suited for a cheerleader but a boy had once told you it was his favourite. The snag in the plan was that particular boy was nowhere to be found.  You had already searched through the party with only the faces of strangers staring back at you, and when you made it into the backyard, your heart stalled at the sight of Gareth, of a leather jacket and a black and white baseball shirt. 

But the boy wasn’t with his friend and you didn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction of letting them know you were looking. So when Gareth caught your eye and smirked, shrugging, you spun on your heel and tried to pretend you didn’t know even know him anymore. 

It had been months, after all. 

And you had been the one to break up with him. Hadn’t you? That part of the story was blurry, maybe even up for debate. At least, he liked to fight you on the fact of the matter. Another party, another girl who got too close, a situationship that hadn’t been defined even though the night before he was whispering all things sweet into the junction of your thighs. It had all been cherry vodka and weed, a messy argument under the blare of R’n’B and neither of you had had the patience to listen to the other. 

You’d thrown his leather jacket at him and walked home.

The next weekend you’d watched as he pulled Tammy Peterson onto his lap and licked into  her mouth, his heavy eyes on you as you stood across the room and watched. Tammy left with his jacket that night, heavy and clinking with zips and chains.

You hadn’t spoken since. 

So why did seeing his name buzz across your phone screen not surprise you?

munson: heard u were lookin 4 me 

You scoffed, staring down at the little pink phone in your hand, the tiny text barely even visible in the low light. Confidence oozed from his message and you lifted your head, scanning through the crowd until you found Gareth, still lingering by the back door and he grinned knowingly when he caught your eye. You scowled, lifting your hand to flip him the bird and the sincerity of it was lessened by the butterfly ring on your finger. 

Robin and Nancy frowned, both of them moving to your sides to peer over your shoulders. “What’s going on? Who’s texted you?”

You hit the back button suspiciously quick, the green Home Screen empty of anything incriminating but you still hid it against your chest. The device seemed to burn you, as did your cheeks. “What?” You yelled over the music, swallowing hard. You suddenly wished the stereo was louder. “Nothing. No one.”

It was easy to make an excuse then, leaving the two girls on the makeshift dance floor as you pushed past people on the staircase, elbowing couples who were too busy making out. You caught the bathroom door just as someone was leaving it, a boy too drunk to stand upright and he slurred something at you just before you slammed it behind him, sliding the lock into place. The music was quieter in there, a muted thud of drum and bass from below your feet. There was a half full can of beer on the toilet cistern and someone had left their bra in the bathtub. There was more glitter on the tiles, pink, lavender and gold and the overhead bulb had been swapped out for a bug zapper, the whole room turned violet. 

You tapped out a reply, perched against the sink, bubblegum pink nails pressing furiously at the buttons, your nose scrunched in annoyance, the tip of your tongue trapped between teeth. 

u heard wrong :)

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply, your cell vibrating in your hands and announcing a new text message. The tiny screen of your Nokia lit up green with the boy’s name, something that still made your heart pound.  

munson: dont play coy w me sweetheart.. we both know u miss me x

don’t flatter yourself baby 

You knew this game. You loved this game. And Eddie Munson was your favourite person to play it with. It was coming around to that late night early morning hour that led to badly made plans, that time of the night when friends were too drunk to keep tabs and the front door of the house you were in had a pretty golden glow to it, an escape to someone’s bed. 

You squeezed your thighs together, chipped nail polish tapping against your teeth and you chewed at your thumb, waiting. You really did want to get laid. It had been too long, one drunken hook up since you’d decided that Eddie wasn’t worth your time anymore, a guy from the town over, taken back to yours after a party in someone else’s backyard that led to beer pong and a heavy make out session against a strangers corvette. 

He couldn’t find your clit, thought foreplay was a few minutes of pinching at your tits and he came before you were close to anything that resembled pleasure. Then he drank the last of your OJ, stole your phone charger and left at four am. 

This? Eddie? One last hook up? You needed this. Nay, you deserved this. Even if your friends would strongly disagree. Your relationship with Eddie Munson had been somewhat tumultuous, most would say. From high school sweethearts to twenty somethings that were headed in different directions, he was a boy you couldn’t quit all that easily. Eddie liked guitar and gaming, smoking weed and sleeping in and your chances at a decent enough career path were woefully diminished if you stayed behind in Hawkins for him.  

Eddie grew anxious, jealous, turned resentful and then got too cocky, growing out his curls, wearing big boots and leather jackets and giving himself tattoos in his friends' basements. You got colder, distant, impatient. Then break ups ended in make ups and that ended in fucking him in the front seat of his van and it would happen all over again the next weekend. 

It was fun until it wasn’t.

But the sex was fucking ridiculous.  

And so was Eddie’s confidence because he simply replied with an address, the new apartment you’d only heard about. He’d taken his time, but he’d saved up and moved out of Wayne’s, out of the trailer park and into a small one bed, a new girl every other weekend to grace the sheets. 

munson: 624 Oakbank Street apt 61B. second floor sweetheart, c u soon ;)

No. You wouldn’t. You shouldn’t. You did. Fuck it, it’s fine. 

You unlocked the door, swerved the drunk girls who fell in through the frame and tackled the stairs again, hopping over splayed limbs and couples intertwined, heading for the front door and hoping someone would be around who could take you to the other side of town. 

“Where are you going?”

Robin. She was grinning, smug, knowing. You shrugged, pocketing your cell before she could grab it and you resisted the urge to make a run for it. “Nowhere. Home. I’m hungry.”

Robin snorted, glitter specks shining from her cheeks. “For dick? Or a cheeseburger?”

Your lips quirked up. There wasn’t much use in lying. “Both?” 

—————

Eddie was standing at his apartment door when you turned the corner. Your heels had clicked up the stairwell and the wall sconces lit the way, your eyes flicking over each door number until it didn’t matter anymore. 61B was already open, a boy standing in the frame in soft jeans, acid wash blue with rips in the knees, a Metallica band shirt that’s collar was loose and stretched out. He still had his rings on, silver and chunky and supposedly scary looking.

The chain you’d bought him for his birthday last year was still around his neck. 

It should’ve made you angry, it should’ve at least made you annoyed but the cheap vodka and the empty feeling in your chest and between your legs had you head spinning. A record that stuttered and skipped, the same dirty loop stuck in your head because you were sure there’d been much hotter men at the party, maybe. Probably. 

Right?

But at that moment, Eddie was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. He was smirking, arms crossed and leaning against the door frame, curls soft and falling into his eyes like he’d just washed them and you tried not to walk faster, to not trip over yourself in a haste to get to him. 

He didn’t kiss you hello. He just kept smirking and he moved to the side to let you in, eyes shining with glee as he followed your movements, your body brushing past him as you entered his new place. It smelled like his room at Wayne’s, held the same scene that once reminded you of home, smoke and hidden weed, Eddie’s cologne and the same detergent his uncle used. 

It made you bristle and square your shoulders. This wasn’t the plan. 

“Nice place,” you said and you sounded bored, unimpressed. Good. “I see we’re still not giving up the toys.” You gestured to the shelf above the sofa, a line of hand painted figurines placed carefully in a battle formation. 

“They’re collectibles, sweetheart,” Eddie grinned and he didn’t sound phased. He didn’t look bothered. “Have some taste. You want a drink?”

“We both know I’m not here for you to wine and dine me, Eddie,” you tilled your eyes and stood in the middle of the room, your hands on your hips. Suddenly, your skirt felt so much shorter than it had before and the boy let his gaze fall to your legs, the expanse of bare thigh that was framed by pretty pleats. “Let’s not act cute.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, an eyebrow quirked. He let himself drop onto the sofa, an army green thing with corduroy cushions, his arms stretched out along the back of it. He pouted. “You don’t think I’m cute?”

You said nothing. You couldn’t. Your heart was beating too fast. 

Eddie made a cooing sound, a soft, patronising thing that made your toes curl in your heels and the cotton fabric of your underwear just grew a little wetter, clinging to you. It was awful. 

“We both know you think I’m cute, c’mon now,” Eddie teased. His eyes were shining, dark in the low light because he only had one damn lamp in the room. “You don’t wanna play nice? Fine.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he plucked a half smoked joint from the amber glass ashtray on the coffee table in front of him. He sparked up, placing it lazily between his lips before gesturing to you, gaze heavy. Smoke trailed from his lips as he spoke, the joint between his lips, expertly held in place with no hands. “Take your clothes off then.”

You should’ve been outraged, you should’ve laughed in his face. You should’ve flipped him off and grabbed the bag you dumped on his breakfast bar and left. But Eddie was grinning at you and he looked like a challenge, he looked like a dare, he looked like the prettiest fucking mistake and you really wanted to make a bad decision. 

A terrible one, maybe. Fuck it, it’s fine. 

You shrugged off your jacket. Denim and metal buttons hitting the floor and you kept eye contact the entire time, unflinching when Eddie’s grin widened. He relaxed, looking every bit in control as he slouched into the couch cushions, eyes wandering over the bare skin you uncovered, smoke trailing from his barely parted lips and up to the ceiling. 

He was already hard, you could tell. You could see. The heavy bulge prominent underneath his denim, twitching as he got off on being in control. 

Your hands came to your chest, trailing down your sternum and chasing the tiny lavender buttons there, a purple camisole top popped apart with each twist of your fingers. It fell apart without much effort, fell to the floor when easier with a tiny shrug of your shoulders and you stood in just your skirt and chunky heels, looking like some kind of wet dream barbie. 

You didn’t need a bra with the plans you’d had for yourself. 

You cocked your head to the side, indifferent, unbothered. You tried to act like your heart wasn’t racing, like your cunt wasn’t throbbing and you wanted to beg to be touched. Eddie could play a cruel game and weakness wasn’t an option, so you stood a little taller and let your tits jut out all pretty, peaked nipples and trails of Robin’s pink body glitter evident on your collarbone. 

Eddie sucked in a breath, lips twisting to hide the twitch of a smile that seemed more real than the others, a proud grin that told you you were winning so far. So you hooked your thumbs into the waist of your skirt and shimmed your hips, white pleats joining the rest of your clothes on the floor, a pretty pool of fabric and dignity. 

Bubblegum pink thong, cherry red heels, strappy and with platforms high enough to crush a man’s ego. 

“Keep the shoes on,” Eddie murmured, jaw tense, cheeks a rosy flush. “They’re real pretty, honey. They new?” The boy leaned forward again, elbows in knees, the roach stubbed out in the ashtray. 

You nodded, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and your bracelets jingled as you ran your hands down your stomach, fingertips trailing along the delicate string of your underwear that curved over your hips, the soft of your stomach. 

“If I told you to come n’suck my dick, would you do that too?” Eddie’s smile was sharklike, his words taunting, a little mean. Like he thought he was still winning. “You look so pretty on your knees, you know that? Love it when you put that hot little mouth to use.”

Your eyes narrowed even though your breathing hitched. Just a little, not enough for him to notice. But you knew it was only a matter of time before you had to rub your thighs together and the pretty pink shade of your underwear would turn a little darker. “Take your clothes off and we’ll see what happens.” 

Eddie laughed, a brave noise, smug and cocky. He tilted his head, jaw a strong line, the shadow of stubble there and you knew if you got to dig your teeth into it, he’d moan for you. 

“You think you’re callin’ the shots here, babe? That’s real cute, you’re almost naked and you think you’re in charge?”

You grinned back, standing a little prouder, fingers hooking into the hand of your thong, running across your navel. Eddie followed the movement, gritted his teeth and huffed. 

“That’s exactly why I’m in charge,” you cooed, pouting, sickly sweet and far from innocent. “Take your clothes off, Eddie, don’t be shy.”

He shook his head, too stubborn, an age old game you both played so well. Except before, it was sweetened with kisses, soft laughter and gentle hands that teased and coaxed the other into submission. Now? Now this was just psychological warfare. 

He stared at you, mean, eyes narrowed and his cheeks still pink, slouched back on the sofa with a casual hand thrown over his crotch. You weren’t sure if it was supposed to hide his hard on or offer some relief, but you watched the length of him twitch when you shifted your weight, popping one hip and he pressed his palm over himself. 

You grinned, victorious. 

But still, he didn’t move. So you sighed, wistful and dramatic and you tried to ignore the rising heat in your chest because you were so exposed and so vulnerable, ready to lay yourself bare for the guy that broke your heart and then spent each Saturday night in bed with you, pretending that he didn’t. 

But hey, maybe you were to blame for that too. 

Instead of saying anything else, you shrugged and made your way over to an armchair. You recognised it from Wayne’s trailer, one Eddie must’ve taken to remind him of home and you dropped yourself onto it, one leg hooked over an arm. You let your head fall back, lazy, the last buzz from the beer you took in the back of the cab simmering below your skin and you didn’t waste anymore time teasing. Your hand slid into the front of your thong, fingers seeking out in the way they knew best, parting your folds until you were spread and hidden, eyes scrunching shut at the pad of your finger swiping over your clit.  

You made a pretty noise, extra soft and gasping, just for Eddie. He’d long since taught you how to put on a show, always about the drama. So you whined, let your lips fall into a pout and arched your back. Your fingers slipped down, prodding experimentally at your entrance before you gave up all pretence and slid two inside of yourself, not long enough, not thick enough, but it satiated the empty feeling that had clung to you since you first arrived at the party. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groaned and your eyes shot open, gaze finding his and he was pinker then before, all flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, his ringed fingers wrapping around the outline of his cock through his jeans and he squeezed it roughly. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart, that’s just filthy.”

He said it like a compliment, words like a reward and they made your body fizz, skin electric and you smiled, humming lazily like you didn’t care. 

You did you did you did. 

You wanted to one up him, you wanted to win, you wanted to break him and put him back together and make him fall in love with you all over again. You wanted to make sure he never looked at another girl. You wanted to make him crawl. 

So you pulled your fingers from yourself, slick and glossy in the low light, bringing them to your lips before you sucked them. Eddie’s jaw dropped, eyes hooded and pupils blown wide and he leaned forward, desperate to see more. He was barely holding himself up, clinging to the coffee table as he stared at the space between your thighs. 

“Holy fuck, babe, that— that’s,” he cut himself off with a groan when you snuck your hand back inside your underwear, wet fingers sliding noisily over your clit. “Oh, that’s so fuckin’ hot. Come ‘n let me have a taste, baby. Let me get my mouth on that pretty pussy, huh?”

You shook your head and smiled, cotton candy underwear stretched tight over your knuckles and you moved a little quicker. You weren’t giving in. You’d make yourself come before you did. 

It took three more minutes before Eddie moved, growling obscenities as he stood and yanked off his shirt, snapping at his belt buckle with one hand as he crossed the room. You thought he’d be on you, you thought he’d maybe drop to the floor and put his mouth on you, lick you slow and soft like he was so good at, like he’d asked for. But he grinned something wicked as he grabbed your wrist, hand tugged from between your thighs and then you were pulled up. He wasn’t rough about it, but he certainly wasn’t gentle. 

“You wanna play games?” He huffed, voice wavering a little because he finally had his hands on you. Eddie gazed down at you, still a little taller even despite your heels. His hand caught your chin, finger and thumb pinching at your cheeks until your lips popped into a pout and you burned. “Let’s play, pretty thing. You wanna be my toy, huh?”

You gave in, only just. You nodded, gasping when Eddie’s thumb stroked over your lips and he smiled, boyish and charming and all too pretty. Then he spoke. “I always used to break my toys.”

Fuck. 

He spun you, fast enough to be disorienting and then you were pushed onto the armchair, knees on the cushions and your chest to the back of it. Your hands curled over the top of it, holding on for what was about to come. The first smack on your ass was startling, hard enough to warm you, heat blooming over the curve of you keened, eyes slipping shut and into that fuzzy space only Eddie seemed to be able to bring you to. Your head fell forward, resting on the cushion and you sighed, his name a whisper that you hoped he didn’t hear. 

“C’mon, baby,” you could hear the grin in his voice and he slapped your other ass cheek, making the fat there bounce. “Make it pretty for me, hm?”

You knew what he wanted and you obeyed, too far gone from the feel of your own fingers, the emptiness that was left after Eddie stopped you from coming. You sucked in a breath and pushed your ass out further, back arched real pretty, your cheek squished to the back cushion. Eddie stood behind you, godlike, unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock free. He stroked it, rough and he get handed, the way you’d learned to touch him, eager, thick fingers pulling at the head until it turned pinker and pinker. 

“Tell me you want it.”

“No.” Your voice sounded small, wavering. 

You sounded like you were lying. 

Eddie laughed. “Still wanna play? Fine.”

Two hands palmed at your ass, skin warm and rings cool, the silver catching at your skin as he squeezed, pulling at your cheeks until they spread obscenely and Eddie groaned. He used his thumb to hook into your thong, pulling what little material there was away from your skin until he got to look at all of you. 

Spread all pretty, slick and wet and shining. A line of spit hit your ass, sliding warm to cool over your puckered hole until it trickled down, seeping into the seam of your cunt and you dripped with him. Fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck it. It’s fine. 

It’s fine. 

Eddie hummed, enjoying the view, enjoying himself, enjoying you. His thumb brushed over your, making you jump in surprise, his soft laughter leaving you burning until you felt the head of his cock line up with your cunt, spreading your folds around his tip. He pushed, just slightly, enough for you to feel the beginning of the stretch and you whined, arching back more, eager. Desperate. 

“Say you want my cock.”

No niceties, no pet names. No affection. Just a power play. Eddie didn’t want a relationship. He wanted to win. 

“No.”

Another laugh, proud and amused and your stubbornness earned your another swift smack and this time you let the boy’s name fall from your lips a little louder. Eddie swore, moaning with you because his name coming from the back of your throat sounded like sex, like victory. So he tried again, a little sweeter. 

“C’mon, baby,” he cooed. He tugged at his cock, let it slide against the dean of you until he was as slick as you were. “Feels good, don’t it? You wanna feel me deep? You wanna feel me here, honey?” He let his hand tuck around you, palming over your tummy and you whined, nodding. 

Game over. 

Fuck it, it’s fine. It’s really fine. 

“Please,” you murmured, voice hoarse, head hazy. “Please, Teddy.”

And just like that, the playing field was evened out. The nickname made the boy crumble, a gasping, groaning sound tumbling from his mouth and he melted over you, his chest to your back, cock sliding in, a tight, hot wet stretch and suddenly you were full. 

You cried out, eyes snapping shut, jaw loose and head falling forward. Eddie caught you, one hand on your hip and the other sinking into your hair as he tugged you back up, a little mean, a little rough. But he brought your face to his, cheek to cheek as he cooed, murmuring pretty things about his pretty girl and it was all too much. 

It felt like the beginning. 

“Look at you, fuck,” he sounded gone, words stuttering out of him with every hard thrust and his hands were bruising, palming at your hips, your tummy, skating over the column of your throat until every part of you felt heated. “Who’s pussy is this? Huh? She’s fuckin’ made for me, sweetheart, so tight she doesn’t wanna let me go.”

His words made you come, like they always did, hot and filthy and possessive and murmured low in your ear. And then Eddie came too, hips jerking, groaning wild, curls falling down his back as he tipped his head and emptied himself inside of you. He liked to sweep his fingers through your folds after it, feeling himself dripping hot and slick out of your cunt. 

And then when you collected your clothes from the living room floor, Eddie was sitting shirtless on his couch as you dressed yourself, already rolling another joint. The lighter flickered, a blue-orange in the night they seemed so much darker and colder now Eddie had moved away from you. 

He hadn’t kissed you once, you realised, your lips lonely. He had blue glitter on his cheek, galactic freckles that matched yours. He was still dripping down the inside of your thighs when he raised his cell and asked you:

“D’you want me to call you a cab?” 

[mrkis]

also that photo you posted once of a guy and a girl on a desk and they’re cockwarming while he’s doing work and i think you said that’s either jeno (and another member who i don’t remember lmao) THAT LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREE

Fuck jenos the biggest whore for pussy ever even when he’s studying he can’t focus or work if his girl isn’t sitting on his cock. like it’s come to the point where it doesn’t need to be communicated with jeno and mc, he’ll silently go to study and his pants are already down and mc knows what she has and wants to do, her skirt is also down and she sits prettily on his cock as he’s studying away. it helps him concentrate but more times than none it ends up with her being pushed against the desk and jeno having her there and then

he can tell that she’s getting hot and flustered, she’s trying to get some sort of movement, anything but either hes not noticing or ignoring her, mc knowing the menace that her boyfriend is she knows it’s the latter. he tuts and sternly nods his head, not moving his head from his work but holding her still by the hips, he’s telling her to stop, saying that if she just sat on his cock like a good girl and stayed still then he’d reward her later. i mean come on, in that world would jeno be aware that his girl is horny and do nothing about it? especially when she’s next to him or even better, sitting on hie cock. he knows, he just wants her to be patient. she very rarely is. about 10% of the time she can sit for hours and contain her urges.

she uses him to get off. he quickly abandons his work and fucks her against the table, edges her all night long

atp the friend group are just used to jeno making excuses and leaving and they all know where he’s going.. filthy animals they send each other texts “i need you” and 2 mins later they show up at each others doors 😭

#hehe had to rush the last part my dad walked in 😭😭

#feel free to add more with that genius brain of urs

# jeno anon 🫶🏽

oh i remember that….😮‍💨😮‍💨 a lot of people were debating between it being hyuck and jeno. i agreed. 100%.

when you’re cockwarming jeno, you know for a fact it’s going to be torture for you. he wants you to sit still for him as he works, his one arm wrapped around your middle to keep you pressed down on him. if you move? prepare yourself for a sharp slap against your inner thigh. a warning. but that alone has you whining and struggle to keep yourself still, already losing your composure as you feel his cock deep within, your arousal coating his thighs. you’re making such a mess on him and he secretly loves it. he loves knowing the effect he has on you without even doing much.

but, if you’ve been good for him, stayed completely still and silent without any complaints or movements, oh he’s going to give you a reward. his hand will dip between your parted thighs, fingers rubbing circles over your neglected clit and smiling behind your shoulder when he feels the walls of your pussy clamp around his cock. but if you move again? if you try and fuck yourself down on his cock? if you try and be greedy for more? he’s stopping. he’ll leave you to cry on his lap, tutting under his breath abt how much of a disobedient slut you’ve become.

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life

Pairing: Clint “Freaky Tales” x f!readers (there’s 2, both have nicknames)

Word Count: 11,000+ (it's a long one, folks!)

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

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

Notes: a huge shoutout to @nerdieforpedro for beta reading this and giving me the confidence to actually hit post. And to Mr. Rose for helping me out of a corner.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Clint Masterlist

CLINT

“No! No, please! Tell The Guy I'll step back from his territory!”

Clint stares down at the man who's now covered in his own blood, coughing and spitting up the red liquid onto the floor, splashing a little onto Clint's shoes. He looks at the man and grabs his hair, yanking his head back and staring him in the eyes, seeing fear at the rapidly approaching end of his life. 

“Then you should've stopped when we warned you.”

Clint slides his knife into the man's abdomen, watching as the man coughs and sputters, small gasps all he can manage as the life leeches from his body. When he slumps, Clint knows it's over. He sits back, shaking his head and sighing, looking around at the mess all over the tarp he'd placed on the floor. I'm getting tired of this.

He cleans up and disposes of the body properly, his stomach rumbling by the end of his work. A quick glance at his watch tells him it's nearly 3am. He hopes there's still someplace open where he can at least get a cup of hot coffee. 

He drives in the general direction of his apartment for nearly 15 minutes before he sees the neon OPEN sign on the side of a little corner diner. He parks around the back, adjusting his pants and smoothing down his shirt before heading inside, a little bell ringing as the door swings open. It's quiet, only one other person sitting at a booth in the back corner, a man who doesn't look when the bell dings, too absorbed in his own issues. 

“Hey, hun! Have a seat wherever and I'll be right over!” The waitress calls from somewhere behind the counter. Clint looks around and finally settles on sitting at the counter, spinning to face the counter on the bar stool. 

The waitress suddenly appears, smoothing out her skirt before turning to face him and when she does, Clint momentarily forgets how to breathe. She is the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen and her smile makes him feel warm and safe, things he hasn't felt since he was a child. And even then, that's debatable. 

Her smile is bright and wide. “Sorry to make you wait! That damn sink pipe’s entire purpose is to annoy me, I swear. Want some coffee, hun?” She's already got the pot in her hand, regular, not decaf. He nods and she pours him a mug with a smile, sliding a small bowl with some creamer and sugar packets towards him. 

“You look hungry. You a steak man?”

Clint pours one of the sugar packets into his black coffee. “I like steak.”

“Great! The steak here is-” She leans closer to him “-edible. But it's best in town at 3am!”

Clint chuckles, the sound almost unfamiliar to him. “Sounds perfect.”

She writes down his order and turns, placing the ticket in a clip and rotating it, dinging another bell so the cook knows he has an order. 

“James? You back there? You have an order!”

There's some sort of affirmative grunted towards her that she accepts with a shake of her head, turning back to face Clint. 

“James is a nice guy. Lost his hearing in one ear in the war. Sometimes you have to be a little louder for him. At his request of course.” 

Clint nods and takes a sip of his coffee, expecting it to taste bitter and cheap, exactly like what you'd expect coffee at a diner open at 3am to taste like. But to his surprise, it doesn't. A pleasant mix of coffee beans washes over his tongue and he can't help a little moan escape him. 

A different smile, this one more sly. “You enjoying your coffee?”

Clint feels the tips of his ears heat up. “Uh, yeah.”

“I'm glad you like it, Mr….” Her eyebrows raised and Clint chokes down his sip. 

“Clint. No need for a Mr., ma'am.”

She waves her hand with another smile. “No ma'am here. I'm not that old!” She chuckles and tells him her name. “But everyone calls me Poppy.”

Poppy. He likes that name. It makes him feel happier somehow, like she's somehow taking care of him, not just because she's a waitress. 

She continues chatting with him while she bustles around, cleaning things and restocking sugar trays, and cleaning menus, Clint chiming in now and again. The man in the back corner eventually leaves and they're alone in the diner together. Aside from James in the back, who had just set his plate down on the back counter. 

“Thanks, James!”

“I'm going out for a smoke, Poppy.” 

She gives him a thumbs up and James takes off his apron, walking out of the side door. Poppy turns and makes a little fanfare of bringing him his diner steak and potatoes, setting it down in front of him and then casually placing the A1 steak sauce next to him. 

“You might need this.” She winks at him and he melts, what can only be described as butterflies in his stomach. 

Get it together, Clint. You don't do this. You don't like people like this. Fall for people. 

But then he's done with his steak, telling her some funny stories from his childhood. She's sitting across the bar from him, leaning on her elbows as she listens, laughing at all the right places. He's trying desperately hard to not be obvious in staring at her boobs, which had been pushed together tighter the more she leans forward. 

“If you don't mind me asking, Poppy. Why are you working this shitty shift?”

She cocks her head to the side slightly, her eyes on his. “Someone has to be here to serve you.”

He nods. “Yes but why you?” 

She waits a moment. “Maybe I'm just waiting for the right man to come on by.”

Shit. He had told himself she wasn't flirting, that she was just being nice to him for a tip. That he could just flirt a little and then be on his way. Normally, he'd take her out back and fuck her in his truck, promises to call again that he knows he'd never fulfill. But none of those women were her. None of them made him feel this way, her laugh and big eyes smiling at him while he sits here with blood on his hands and his past full of monsters.

So instead, he surprises himself. 

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?”

She glances at the clock on the wall. “If you're not too tired, I'm off in an hour and you can take me for breakfast.”

He smiles an actual genuine smile. “Breakfast it is.”

The conversation flows between them at breakfast, both of them laughing and joking throughout it all. And at the end, he walks her to her car, asking her on another date before they reach it, her enthusiastic “yes” giving him the confidence to kiss her, his hands cupping her face as their lips melt together. He presses her back against the side of her car, his body aching to be with her, inside of her. But not like this. She's different. She's special. He wants to take his time with Poppy. So he pulls back, a promise to pick her up in 2 nights for dinner. 

Clint takes her out on several more dates, falling harder for her each time he sees her, hears her laugh, sees how attentive she is towards him. He doesn't think he deserves her, knows he doesn't, but maybe she's his way out of his world of darkness and bad deeds. The world he's kept hidden from her, whether because he's afraid she'd leave him or he's too afraid to bring his darkness into her light he's not sure. 

But Clint knows he can't leave her. He's gone too far. 

2 weeks in, and his resolve to treat her like a lady, an actual relationship, which is what they'd finally called it, snaps when she opens her door in a black dress that accentuates everything about her that he loves. 

“I know we were supposed to go out tonight Clint, but I thought maybe I could cook for you instead?” She looks nervously up at him and he knows right there, he'd do anything she asked him to.

“If it's not too much trouble.”

She shakes her her, chuckling lightly. “Not at all. Come on in.” 

Clint follows her inside, hearing her lock the door behind him. He kicks his boots off and places them by the door. 

“I thought we could have steak. A real one. Dear James does his best with what he has but…” her voice trails off and Clint chuckles. 

“Steak sounds delicious.”

“Great! Would you like a quick drink before I start cooking? Or are you too hungry?”

“A drink sounds great, thanks.”

He takes a beer from her and she leads him to the couch. They both sit, taking sips from their drinks before setting them on the coffee table. He's nervous, his palms a little sweaty. Why is he so nervous? Clint looks at Poppy and he can see the way she's shifting around slightly, obviously nervous herself, which somehow gives him the confidence he needs. Confidence that he's never had a problem with before. 

When he touches his lips to hers, he knows he belongs to her forever. 

POPPY

I knew what I was doing, inviting Clint in for dinner instead of going to a restaurant as we had planned. But I wanted to take care of him, try and help quell that sadness and regret hidden just behind his eyes, the darkness he swallows and blinks away when our eyes meet, for the sake of me. 

We settle on the couch, each taking a sip of our respective drinks before setting them on the coffee table. I see him wipe his palms across his jeans, a sweet, nervous gesture and I smile shyly, turning my head to the side to tuck some hair behind my ear. I look back up at him and find him looking at me already, his deep brown eyes seeing into me and I feel myself stepping off the cliff, diving headfirst into love. Could it be love this early? I’d felt it before once, in my youth. But I had been burned and so kept my heart behind a lock but somehow, Clint already had the key. 

He keeps his eyes on mine when he slides closer to me, hesitating briefly before placing his hand on my bare thigh, my skin tingling where he touches me. I angle my body towards him a little more, feeling his large hand cup my cheek, a soft smile on his lips before he leans in, pressing his lips to mine. We’ve kissed plenty, made out in the back of his truck for hours and hours, but this is different. The energy has shifted, our paths fully converging to become one. 

He slides his hand on my thigh up higher and I spread my legs for him, opening more than just my body to him. His fingertips brush against my panties and I inhale sharply against his lips, his hand stalling. 

“Is..is this ok?” He asks, a nervous tremble in his voice.

“Please,” I whisper, begging him to touch me again. “Please touch me.”

He kisses me again, pushing his tongue into my eager mouth and I feel him between my legs again, gently stroking up and down, up and down, feeling how wet my underwear has become. He pushes aside my panties, slowly swirling one thick finger around me before pushing in, my whine breaking our kiss before he grunts out, mumbling something about how tight I feel. 

He deepens the kiss, his finger gently stroking inside of me, brushing against me and I moan into his mouth, my legs twitching. When he stops, pulling away from me, I think I’ve done something wrong. But then he slides from the couch, getting on his knees, kissing my thighs as he hooks his fingers in my underwear, sliding them off and tossing them over his shoulder. He pushes my legs open wide, putting them over his shoulders as he stares between my legs, eyes dark and admiring. 

He looks up at me and I nod, knowing what he wants even though I’m not really experienced with it. He places soft kisses on my inner thighs, slowly moving to where his hand had been moments before. When his tongue touches me, I gasp, a breathy “oh” escaping me while my thighs try to slam against his head of their own volition. He chuckles against me and I moan at the vibration, feeling him wrap his hands around my legs to push me open wider. His tongue is relentless, swirling around, tapping, and I reach for him, tangling my fingers into his hair and tugging on it when he lightly sucks on me.

“Oh…oh, I-” I break open, cry out as I come, Clint’s tongue guiding me through my release. I release his hair, my legs falling open as he sits back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. 

He stands, offering me his hand and I take it, allowing him to pull me up against his body. He smells like cedar, a hint of cigarette smoke, and me, my head swimming with the scent of it all. 

“Bedroom?” He asks, his eyebrows raised.

I nod, almost too much in my enthusiasm. “This way.”

I take his hand and lead him on wobbly legs down the small hallway to my bedroom, grateful that I had made the bed this morning. Clint closes the door behind himself and turns to look at me. Several long moments pass where we just look at each other, the energy in the air electric, as if he didn’t have his head between my legs just moments ago. He closes the distance between us in a step or 2, stopping just short of me.

“Turn.”

I do as he says, feeling his large hand work my zipper down, his fingers brushing against my skin as he pulls the dress down and off, coming back to do the same to my bra. He moves my hair off my neck, placing soft kisses there as one hand wraps around my boob and the other dips a finger between my thighs. My head lolls back and I moan, feeling him pinch and tug at my nipple as I get wetter and wetter. I can feel him nearly bulging out of his jeans, the denim pressed against my ass, so I gently grab his wrists and turn around. 

I say nothing as I start to unbutton his flannel, sliding it down and off his broad shoulders, noting the appearance of a new scratch on his chest since the last time he’d taken his shirt off around me. I keep my eyes on his face as my hands unlatch his belt, popping open the button on his pants before carefully sliding down his zipper. I push his jeans down, getting on my knees to help slide them off of his legs. I look up at him as I pull down his underwear, a small grunt from him as he springs free. I want to return the favor, take him in my mouth but then his hand grips my chin, pulling me back to standing. 

“I’d love to feel your mouth on me, but Poppy, I want to make love to you.”

He helps me lay back on the bed, his eyes roaming over my naked body, more dark loving than I’ve ever seen them.

“You’re so beautiful, Poppy.”

I spread my legs, allowing him to settle between them. He kisses me, soft at first, his mustache tickling my upper lip, his hands sliding across my body, goosebumps following in his wake. His lips travel down my neck, finding a spot just below the side of my jaw that has me squirming, my fingers burying themselves in his hair. 

But then he pushes in and the world stops, nothing else in the world exists but us. We meld together, our bodies moving as one, slotting together like we were made for each other. I writhe under him, his hips breaking me open out of my cocoon, showing me what pleasure really is, what love really is. His hips thrust a little harder and I come, his name tumbling from my lips like a chant, praising him as my nails dig into his back. I feel his hips sputter, soft grunts and pants in my ear as he comes with me, his forehead coming to rest against mine. 

“Holy shit,” he says, his breath puffing out against my face. “That was..”

“It was.”

He lifts his head and looks at me, kissing me softly before pulling out, and getting a washcloth to clean me up. 

A steak dinner never tasted so good.

CLINT

He was the happiest he’d ever been. Poppy was a beacon of light in the darkness that was his life, always there to welcome him with open arms. It had only been a few weeks, but he loved her. He knew deep down that he never wanted to be without her. 

He just felt so fucking guilty about it. 

He was torn on telling her about his job, his real job, not the one he told her he did. He wasn’t a delivery man, although he did deliver whatever terrible fate that The Guy bestowed upon those who crossed him in business. He’d been a little too preoccupied tonight and his mark managed to slice his cheek with a knife before Clint snuffed the life from him.

But Poppy doesn’t even question it, just takes him into the bathroom and gently cleans his cut, dabbing some alcohol on it that burns, but not enough to distract him from the guilt he feels. He knows he has to get out. 

A few months go by and he couldn’t be happier with Poppy. They had been dating for about 8 months and he wanted desperately to ask her to move in with him, but first he had to leave The Guy. He couldn’t have him showing up whenever he felt like it. No matter what, he would protect Poppy from that side of his life. 

After he kills his next mark, he heads back to The Guy to give him his confirmation of delivery, so-to-speak. 

“What would I do without you, Clint?”

Clint shifts his weight to his back leg, hands on his hips. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

The Guy sits back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “Oh?”

Clint clears his throat. “Yeah. I uh, I need to retire.”

The Guy raises an eyebrow. “Retire?”

“Yeah. My body isn’t what it used to be. My knees almost gave out tonight. I can’t continue like this.”

The guy sits there, his fingers still laced together as he studies Clint. “You have served me well, Clint. I’ll let you out, holding onto that evidence in case you try to cross me-”

“I would never. I’m not a snitch.”

The Guy holds up a hand. “I know. One can never be too careful these days. I think you get that?” Clint nods. “Good. I’ll let you out but I have one more delivery for you to make first. You’re the only one I can trust with it. What do you say?”

Clint stands there for a moment, thinking about his options. He only has one. “Deal.”

They shake on it, The Guy gives him the details, and Clint is out the door, feeling a little lighter now that he can see the light at the end of the tunnel. He’s finally getting out, starting a new life free of bloodshed with the love of his life.

He killed that last mark in near record time, The Guy shaking his hand and thanking him for all of his hard work. 

He knows she’s on the late shift again tonight, so after he cleans up, Clint heads over to the diner, their diner, watching Poppy move about through the dusty window. She smiles at a customer, but when Clint walks in and she sees him, her entire faces lights up, her eyes beaming as she crosses the room, pressing her lips to his and forgetting herself for a few seconds before pulling back, her face hot.

“Clint! To what do I owe this surprise?”

“Move in with me.”

He hadn’t meant to ask it like that, so blunt and harsh. But he couldn’t wait anymore and it sort of just came out when he opened his mouth. Surprise on her face, her eyes widening for a moment before that smile splits her face again, the one she has only for him.

“When can I get my things?”

They get married exactly 1 year from the day they met.

“Poppy! What are you doing?” Clint rushes into the kitchen, quickly snatching the knife Poppy was using to spread peanut butter on her sandwich. 

“Clint, I’m pregnant, not sick. I can do it myself.”

“The doctor said to rest.”

She smiled, a soft smile and squeezed his bicep. “The doctor said for me to relax the last 2 months. Not stay in bed entirely.”

Clint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just..let me do things for you, ok? Have a seat on the couch and I’ll bring your food.”

Poppy looks like she wants to argue for a moment, but then gives in, tossing her hands in the air before heading into the living room. 

“And don’t forget the-”

“Apples. I got it, Poppy.”

Clint arranges 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some apple slices on a plate, also grabbing a glass of water to set on the coffee table in front of her. She reaches for the plate with grabby hands, smiling and shifting her weight as she settles in, making light work of the food before downing half the glass of water. 

“Thanks, babe.”

Clint puts his arm around her shoulders and kisses her head. “Anything for you.” He shifts a little. “You need a foot massage?”

“The day I turn down a foot massage, just know I’m a clone.”

Clint chuckles as he helps Poppy turn, laying back on the couch, her head on the arm. He takes one of her feet in his hands and starts to work them, spending extra time on the knots and sore spots. The sounds Poppy makes has him shifting in his seat, his hands starting to work up her legs. He gets to her upper thighs, leaning down to press kisses along her inner thigh before she gently grabs his wrist. 

“Hey now, that’s what put this here,” she gestures to her belly. 

Clint presses another kiss to her inner thigh, higher up this time, listening as her breath hitches. “Well then, let me help you relax.”

Clint spends the next hour buried between her legs, Poppy’s fingers twisting in his hair, his fingers digging into her legs as she chants his name over and over and he thinks this would be the perfect way to go: smothered between his wife’s thighs.

“And that makes the last payment! Will you be taking home the crib today, sir?”

Clint puts his wallet in his pocket, nodding to the cashier. “I’ve got my truck out front.”

“Let me call for some help.” The cashier leans over her mic and asks for someone named John to come to the front for customer assistance. She makes idle chit chat with Clint, asking how his wife is doing so close to her due date.

“She’s stubborn and better be sitting her ass down and letting me take care of her,” Clint chuckles along with the cashier. 

“Don’t be too hard on her. She is fighting that nesting urge. It’s hard to resist, trust me!”

John comes up and takes the other end of the large box that contains a beautiful wooden crib that Poppy had laid eyes on months ago, determined to have that exact one for their baby. Clint had put it on layaway that same day, making sure he’d pay it off in time to assemble it before the baby’s arrival. He thanks John and takes off, glancing in the back at the box and smiling a little, already envisioning Poppy’s ecstatic face when she sees what he’s brought home. He turns onto their gravel drive, pulling into his parking spot and shifting the truck to park. He glances up at the house before reaching for the handle and freezes.

The door is cracked open. 

It’s very unlike Poppy to leave the door open, even when bringing in groceries. Clint’s eyes remain glued to the door, but he leans over to open the glovebox, carefully extracting the handgun he had stashed there. He checks the make sure it’s loaded before getting out of the truck, cautiously moving towards the front door, his stomach twisting tighter and tighter the closer he got. 

There were wood chips on the front step, an indication that this was not simply a case of forgetting to close the door. Someone had broken in. Gently, he pushes the door open, waiting a moment and hears nothing. He steps inside, gun raised and ears on high alert for anything, any sound. The main hall and living room are empty, aside from furniture tossed about, some of it destroyed. But as he cuts through the dining room just about to reach the kitchen, his boot slips and he looks down, choking back the fear and panic that immediately threatened to take him over.

Blood. 

He pushes into the kitchen, eyes roaming around at the mess and then he steps around the island, dropping to the floor and tossing the gun aside. 

“Poppy? Oh God Poppy? Can you hear me?” He cradles her head in his lap, tears flowing down his cheeks. Her color is pale and he can’t tell where the blood is coming from exactly. But then she blinks and he lets out a choking cry as she looks at him.

“Hey baby! Don’t move. I’m gonna call someone.”

“C…Cl…Clint…” Her words are choked and he can tell she’s holding back tears.

“Ssshh don’t talk, baby. You’ll be alright. I’m here now.” He reaches up on the counter, hand tapping around and landing on the phone before pulling it down to him. He quickly dials 9-1-1, barking at the responder to send an ambulance immediately before Poppy calls his name again and he drops the phone.

“They’re coming, Poppy. Just hold on.”

“Clint…I…I love you.”

“Hey now, none of that. You’re going to be ok, you hear me?” His throat is tight, his stomach churning as he pets her head, wiping the blood onto his pants. 

“Please..be happy. I want…want you to be..be happy.”

“I will be happy because you’ll be here with me.” He cradles her head in his lap, the tears falling harder and she reaches up, a wavering hand smeared with blood that she places on his cheek. Their eyes meet and in them he can see her resolve, her sorrow not for her own life but for him, for not being able to be here for him.

“Be happy, Clint. Have..have a good life. I can’t wait-” she gasps and closes her eyes for a moment before blinking them open and he can already see the glossiness in them. “-can’t wait to hear..all about it. I…I love you, Clint.” 

He swallows hard. “I love you too, baby.”

She smiles, one last time before she slumps, the light in her eyes that hard brightened his life gone, snuffed out too soon. Clint wails, yells, screams, and sobs into the empty house, holding her close. The pain is too loud, too raw and real, threatening to overtake him. But then people are in their house, his house, trying to take her from him. He fights back, yelling and screaming they can’t take her from him, and then he feels a sting in his neck before the world blacks out around him. 

It’s a bright and sunny day, the sky a vibrant shade of blue, and just the right amount of fluffy, white clouds in the sky. Poppy would call it the most perfect of days, warm but not too warm, the perfect day to spend outside. 

Clint blinks in the sunlight as he watches them lower 2 caskets into the ground, one considerably smaller than the other, the priest saying some sort of prayer over them as the people gathered around shed their tears. Clint picks up a handful of dirt, holding it in his hand for a few moments while he stares down at the wooden boxes that contain his family, his future, all taken from him in the blink of a violent eye. He always thought he’d be the one to go out that way, in a bloody mess. But not them. They didn’t deserve this.

Clint tosses the dirt on the caskets and steps back, letting her parents toss handfuls on top as well, not really hearing them when they bring him in for a hug and mumble something about coming over for dinner. He doesn’t hear any of them as they file past him, patting his shoulder, telling him if he needs anything to just call. That they were all here for him. But what he needs the most, they can’t provide. No one can bring them back, bring her back.

Clint returns home, skipping the wake at her parents’ house for some quiet contemplation. The house is nearly silent, only the clock on the wall and the hum of the appliances make any sort of noise. Clint sits at the little table they had in the kitchen, staring down at the floor where he had held her for the last moments of her life. 

He had cried so much since then, wailing and screaming at the world, begging whomever is listening to take him instead, that he would gladly switch places with them, give up his sorry life for them to have a chance. But of course, nothing happened besides his throat hurting, his eyes stinging from overuse. 

But as he stares at the floor, depression and sorrow washing over him, a small thought ticks at the back of his head. He initially had thought it was a random break in, not all uncommon in Oakland. But when he had picked up the pieces of his broken life, he had noticed that nothing had been missing. All of Poppy’s jewelry, despite most of it being costume jewelry, was still there, so was the tv and pretty much everything else. It hadn’t clicked then, too preoccupied in his immediate grief to really think. 

This wasn’t a random act of violence. This was targeted. This was specific. This was for him. 

Clint hates himself anew, burying his face in his hands at the idea of him being the cause of their death. But then it hits him, washes over him and changes his purpose. Once it was to take care of her, of his family, but that had been ripped away and so had his future, his purpose. 

Vengeance. 

He had nothing left to lose. Nothing that anyone could possibly take from him. So why not go out in a blaze of violence, taking down everyone that was connected to his wife and child’s death.

Clint pushes his sorrow aside, locking it away gently as he gets to work locating those who would soon meet their day of judgement.

Several months later…

Clint sits in his truck, staring at the entrance to a seedy bar, watching a few wayward souls enter, one punching the other in the arm before the door closes behind them. He glances down at the paper in his hand, triple checking that he had the address right. He takes out a lighter and burns the paper, waiting until the last embers fade out before getting out of his truck and heading inside. 

He sits at the bar and orders a drink, taking a few sips before flagging down the bartender again, asking him if he recognizes a few names. The bartender, a middle aged man with eyes that had seen war, stares at him for a few moments before nodding towards a corner, a small group of men standing around the pool table. Clint thanks the bartender, leaving a large tip on the counter before turning in his stool to watch the men. There were 4 of them and they were already towing the line between buzzed and drunk, slightly stumbling around before taking their shots. 

Clint moves silently over, quietly sliding his blade into 2 of them, not waiting for their bodies to crumble to the floor before the other two even noticed he was there. One tried to swing at him, which he dodges easily, his blade quieting the man’s movements. The last guy, Rick, backed into a corner, desperately fumbling with something he had in the back of his pants, presumably a gun. Clint takes 2 large steps towards him, a second too late to see the man stop searching for the gun and grab a knife instead, swinging it wide and slicing into Clint’s side.

Clint stumbles, grunting for a moment before straightening up, dodging the man’s swings, ignoring the yelps from the other bar patrons as Rick swings wildly, knife cutting into the air just in front of Clint. He gets a few more blows in, pain searing into Clint before he grabs Rick’s wrist, turning it with a crack, Rick yelping in pain as his knife drops to the floor. Clint gets his knife to Rick’s side, pinning him against the wall.

“You killed my family.”

“Wh..what?”  

Clint presses the knife a little harder and Rick grunts in pain. “You killed my family.”

“Look look look. I don’t know who you are, man!” Another small push and Rick yelps again. “Can you be more specific?”

Clint glares at him. “In my kitchen. Woman. Pregnant.”

The color seems to drain from the man’s face as he recognizes the situation. “Oh..oh..well, listen, we were just given’ the assignment, right? No hard feelings. We were just doing what we were told!”

“Who told you?”

“Ah, look man. I can’t just-” Clint pushes the knife further, feeling warmth start to seep out around the knife. “-ok ok! Fuck, stop! I’ll tell you!” He whispers a name to Clint, a name that sounded vaguely familiar. Frances Stokes. He thinks he’s worked with him before.

“Is that all?” Clint barks out.

Rick furiously nods his head. “Yes, yes!”

“Thanks.” Clint drives the knife further in and up, waiting for Rick to slump over. But when he turns around, the barrel of a gun is pointed at him, the bartender obviously nervous.

“Get out of here, man! Just go!”

Clint doesn’t need telling twice. He doubts anyone in here will say anything, each of them involved in their other dark dealings to be in a place like this. Clint makes it to the front door, stumbling out onto the sidewalk, his hand clutched to his side. He glances down at his hand, seeing the crimson shine in the street light. He glances up and for a moment is transported: a woman, the same hair as Poppy’s stares back at him, only a few feet away, eyes wide as she takes him in. 

“Look out!” She yells at him, just in time for Clint to turn, stopping the man that had been running up behind him with a fist to his stomach. They both fall to the ground, rolling and punching before Clint gets on top, letting his fists fly as the guy’s head slams against the pavement. Clint shifts off of him, turning to see the woman still there, her hair like a shining beacon before he feels himself falling backwards, the blackness swallowing him.

Sunlight warms his face and for a moment, Clint feels transported. Like he was at home, safe in his bed with-

He blinks awake, reality slamming into him as he remembers punching the guy out before blacking out. His head feels like it’s splitting in 2, and his side hurts bad, like he had been stabbed - wait. He had been stabbed. He tries to sit up, groaning and laying back down when his head felt like it was splitting open.

“Hey, he lives! I wouldn’t sit up just yet.” 

Clint blinks rapidly a few times, the disembodied voice trying to permeate its way into the meat that is his brain right now. But then a person moves into his vision and it all comes flooding back: the woman from outside the bar. The one with hair just like Poppy’s.

“Where..” Clint coughs, just realizing how dry his mouth is. 

“Take it easy. I have some water here with a straw.” The woman grabs a cup off the side table and holds it next to him, pinching the straw inbetween her thumb and pointer finger so it stays in place. Clint debates for a moment on taking the drink from a stranger, but then again, if she had wanted to kill him, she’d have left him on that sidewalk. So he takes a few greedy sips before she pulls the straw from his mouth.

“Take it easy. Small sips.”

“Throat..dry.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve been out for 2 days. But you have to take small sips so you don’t overload your system.”

Clint nods and the straw returns. He does as she says and realizes she was right. She sets the cup back on the side table.

“Where am I?” Clint lets out a small cough.

“You’re at my apartment. I couldn’t just leave you there, not after you took care of that man.”

The man. Right. “He ok?”

“I shouldn’t have bothered checking him, not after he nearly attacked me, but I’m a nurse and I took an oath so,” She gestures vaguely around the room. “He died on the sidewalk.”

Well that’s one less thing he has to worry about. “You don’t seem shaken about that.”

Her eyes go somewhere else for a moment before she blinks. “I’m no stranger to death.”

Silence rules the room for several long moments. 

“Are you hungry? I have some pain pills but we should get some food in you too. I also have some clean towels and clothes in the bathroom if you’d like to shower.”

“I think food sounds good.”

She nods and heads out of the room, distant sounds coming from the kitchen. Clint looks around the room. It was obviously her bedroom, sparsely decorated but a few photos of presumably family sit in frames on her dresser, as does an empty vase. She has a random poster on the wall, a movie poster for The Thing. The blanket he has is soft and light blue, but not frilly like he’d expect. But it is warm and comforting. She comes back in with a tray, a bowl of vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich sitting on it, a glass of water off to the side. She places it on the dresser and walks to him. 

“Let me help you sit up.”

“Oh, I don’t want to mess your sheets up.”

She waves her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I can always get new sheets.”

She helps him sit up, Clint holding his head for several moments before the searing pain abates. She puts the tray over his lap, tapping on the tray next to 2 small pills. “Make sure to take those now and eat some food after. I’ll let you eat.”

Clint reaches for the pills. “Thanks, Flo.”

She cocks her head and looks at him. “Flo?”

Clint pops the pills in his mouth, taking a few more sips of water to swallow them with, hoping they act fast. “Yeah. Like Florence Nightingale. The nurse?”

She smiles and tells him her name. “But Flo. I like it.”

That night, Flo insists he takes her bed again, that he needs the space to recover. He tries to argue but she’ll have none of it, promptly telling him goodnight and to yell if he needs anything before closing the door most of the way. 

The pain in his side keeps him from getting a good sleep, pain throbbing out from the wound Flo had stitched up. He didn’t want to bother her, he could just grunt through it, but then she was there, softly pushing the door open and rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

“Fuck, didn’t mean to wake you, Flo.”

She yawns and stretches, her sleep shirt lifting a little and exposing a sliver of skin. “You didn’t. I have to get up for work anyway. But I can see you’re in pain. The meds not working?”

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“That happens sometimes when you gain consciousness. Give me a minute.” She disappears into the other room and returns a few minutes later, some scrubs tossed quickly on. She has a small pill bottle in her hand and she shakes one out, handing it to Clint.

“You can have one of these now but not another until I get home, ok? It’s pretty strong so don’t go mixing it with alcohol or anything.”

Clint nods. “Got it.” He pops the pill and swallows it, thanking Flo as she sets down some food next to him. 

“I’m going to be home this evening, but if you need me, here’s my work number. Just ask for me.” She sets a piece of paper down next to the phone on the nightstand. She pauses for a moment and looks at him. “I’ll uh..see you tonight.”

The meds kick in when she leaves and mercifully, they knock him out, Clint finally able to get the sleep his body desperately needed.

Fuck, getting injured at his age was not fun. Stabbings hurt a lot more than they used to. When Flo gets home she brings him more food, then has him take another pain pill. He passes out again, his dreams carrying him to dark places with familiar violent themes. He thrashes about, trying to rid himself of the images, and is yanked from his nightmare by a hand squeezing his shoulder. Clint’s eyes fly open and Poppy is standing there, her hair framing her face. He reaches out to touch her cheek, his fingers barely touching her soft skin.

“Poppy?”

She’s saying something that he can’t make out, so he shakes his head and blinks a few times. But when he opens them, he sees Flo standing there, worry etched in her features. 

“Clint! Are you with me?”

He puts his hand to his head and nods. “I…I think so.”

She puts her hand on his chest, trying to help him slow his breathing. “Are you ok? You were making a lot of noise.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. Are you ok?”

He takes a moment, his head still foggy. “I…will be. I think.”

She stands there for another moment. “Who’s Poppy?”

Clint's eyes harden as he glares at her. “What did you say?”

Flo pulls her hand back, regret in her eyes. “Poppy. You were calling her name. Is it someone I can call for-”

“NO! Don’t ever say that name again! Get out!”

Flo nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Tears immediately fall down his cheeks and he buries his face in the pillow, remembering the first and last time he’d seen Poppy.

It was nearly a week before he could tolerate not being on those heavy pain meds. Basic ones now worked just as well and his head started to clear. He was having flashes of memories from the week but nothing concrete. He did feel like he needed to apologize to Flo but for what, he couldn’t clearly remember.

Clint walks to the kitchen, the movement feeling good. He puts together a dinner of sorts, random things he can find in Flo’s fridge that seems to just have ingredients, nothing premade. He just sits on the couch, taking a bite of a sandwich when the front door opens and Flo walks in, gently shaking out her coat before hanging it on the hook. 

“Raining?” Clint asks, his mouth still full of sandwich.

“Oh, hey! Yeah. Not so bad here but it was pouring by the hospital.” She moves around to sit next to him on the couch, her eyes studying him. “How are you feeling?”

“So much better. I really can’t thank you enough.”

She glances down at his plate with his small sandwich. “Why don’t I whip us up something warm? Just give me a few minutes to wash off the day.”

“Oh you don’t-”

“I have to eat too. I’ll just make more.”

She made something called pesto pasta, which Clint had never heard of before. It was different but he would eat it again for sure. They watched some game show and then the news before Flo was yawning. 

“You want to take your bed back tonight?”

“No, that’s ok. You take it. I’ve got my own little nest going out here.”

Clint chuckles. “If you’re sure.”

He gets ready for bed and sits down to get comfortable. It was then he noticed that he had left his medicine in the living room. Before he could do anything, there was a soft knock at the door and Flo comes in carrying the pain meds. 

“You forgot these. Figured you’d want them.”

“Thanks.” Clint takes the bottles and pops them open, swallowing the pills with the glass of water on the nightstand. Flo turns to leave but Clint stops her.

“Wait. Can I ask you something?”

Flo turns around to look at him. “Sure.”

“Did I…did I do or say anything to you when I was on those big meds?”

Her face hardens slightly. “Nothing I’m not used to. It’s ok.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. What did I say?”

“It’s ok, really. I’ve had worse.”

“It’s not ok to me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Flo, please. Tell me.”

She hesitates a moment, her eyes bouncing between his before she sits on the bed. 

“You were making a lot of noise one night and I came in to check on you. Your eyes opened but I don’t think you were really seeing things. You kept calling me Poppy. And when I asked who she was, you flipped out.”

Clint’s jaw tightens as the memory floods back. Her hair. That’s what made him think…

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me, Clint. I just wanted to know if I needed to call someone-”

“Poppy…was my wife.”

“Oh.”

Silence stretches on for several seconds before Clint swallows hard, continuing.

“She was…the love of my life. Made me a better man. Great woman. We got married…got pregnant. And then…” Clint clears his throat, blinking back tears, Flo waiting patiently, letting him take his time.

“I came home one day and they were…I held her while she…died.” He whispers the last word, but it’s like he yelled it, screamed it. He’d never talked about it with anyone, not even Poppy’s parents. 

Flo puts her hand on his and squeezes. “I’m so sorry, Clint.” He just nods, trying not to lose his shit in front of her. 

“You have her hair. It’s almost exactly like hers. So I guess I saw it and mixed with the meds, I thought…you were her.”

Flo nods, squeezing his hand a little harder. “I understand.”

Clint looks at her, his eyes hardening slightly. “How would you understand? How would you know what it’s like?”

She takes a deep breath before puffing it out. “I was engaged once. High school sweethearts. We were waiting to get married until we were out of school. Anyway, he was taking night classes and one night, this other guy decided it would be super fun to get drunk and drive….I lost my future that night. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Fuck. So she did know exactly how it feels.

“You remind me of him sometimes.” She says it so quietly Clint almost misses it.

“I do?”

“Yeah. It’s not…it’s in your small movements, the way the light hits your hair sometimes. So..I get it. Honestly, it’s just nice having someone else here. Someone who gets it.”

“Yeah. It is.” Clint squeezes her hand back and she looks at him, her eyes big in the lamp light, the glow bouncing off her hair and looking just like Poppy’s. 

Their hands stay intertwined for several long moments, Clint rubbing his thumb gently over the back of her hand. She scoots a little closer to him, her hand gently sliding up his arm. Clint’s breath picks up as her hand cups his cheek and they lock eyes, both silently asking the other if this was ok. Clint hesitates for a moment before slowly lowering his head to hers, their lips gently touching. Flo’s lips are soft and a little more plush than Poppy’s, but her tongue timidly brushing against his lips is all the permission he needs. 

His hand slides to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulls her close, his tongue dancing with hers. She moans softly, clutching at his shirt and he feels his pants growing tighter. Flo pulls back slightly, resting her forehead against his. 

“Bedroom. Nurse’s orders.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Flo takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom, the door closing behind them. For a moment they stare at each other, another moment of confirmation before she starts to pull her shirt off, the rest of her clothes following. Clint matches her actions, his own clothes falling into a pile on the floor. His eyes roam over her body before stepping forward, pulling her face to his again. Her fingers glide up the sides of his body, her warmth pressing into him and it all feels so intense, but not bad. He walks her backwards, her legs hitting the bed and she breaks the kiss to climb up it, Clint crawling over her, Flo’s legs opening to give him space. Her hands lightly squeeze his biceps, which feels nice but then the light from outside hits her hair a certain way and for a moment he’s transported, sees Poppy. 

His hips push against hers as his hand grips her hair, her heat enveloping him as she moans, her legs wrapping around him. He blinks and it’s Flo again, but as he works his hips against hers, the light catches every now and then in her hair, he gets flashes of Poppy.

Fuck, this feels good. It had been so long since he’d held someone, felt them touch him like this. He had been alone for too long, not letting himself live fully. He felt guilty, even with Poppy telling him to live his life. His eyes find Flo’s and he can tell she goes somewhere else occasionally too, his guilt slightly lessening at the thought he’s bringing her some comfort like she is him.

He can feel himself getting closer to the edge. He licks his fingers and snakes them between their bodies, teasing her between her legs. He can feel her starting to squirm, her breaths starting to pick up. Clint grabs her hand with his free one, lacing their fingers together as he pushes her hand into the mattress slightly above her head. Her fingers dig into his skin but the second she tightens around him he comes, burying his face in her hair. 

When he rolls off of her, Clint pulls her to him, feeling her nuzzle further into his chest before falling asleep. He stays awake a little longer, gently tracing shapes on her back as he thinks.

In the morning, just before the sun rises, he gets dressed, gathering up the handful of personal items he had. He hesitates briefly, staring down Flo as she sleeps. He presses a kiss to her head, silently thanking her for everything she had done for him before he steps out into the morning light, back into his life of violence.

A Few Months Later…

“You thought you could just kill my family and nothing would happen?” Clint twists the knife he had in the man’s leg, smirking when he screams out in pain.

“N..no!”

“Then why did you come for them?” Clint taps the knife and the man whimpers. 

“I wasn’t…we weren’t going to.” Tears were streaming down the man’s face, fear at seeing the end of his life.

“But then you decided to try and find me? Why?”

The man takes a shuddering breath. “Will you not kill me if I tell you?”

Clint grips the knife and the man cries out. “How about I’ll kill you if you don’t?”

“OK! OK!” He takes another breath, inhaling sharply through his nose. “We weren’t trying to seek revenge. But then one day, we get invited to this house and get handed everything on you. Who you are, where you live, all of it.”

Clint cocks his head. “Who gave it to you? Why?”

“They..they said they would give us a chance at revenge. Only if we promise to…to take you out.”

“Take me out. Why did you kill my wife?”

The man blinks, swallowing hard. “We were told to since she was…since your line would be carried on.”

Clint had to take several deep breaths so he didn’t turn this man inside out. He still needed one more piece of information. Someone had betrayed him, and he had a strong feeling he knew who. He swallows down his rage and looks the man in his eyes.

“Who?” He grunts it through gritted teeth and the man shivers. 

“He’ll kill me.”

Clint twists the knife hard and the man screams, jerking around against his restraints. “Who?”

The man seems to rethink his situation. “The….The Guy.”

That was the answer Clint was hoping not to hear but had a suspicion he would. It was the only thing that made sense. The Guy didn’t want him to quit, his best hitman. He knew the only way Clint would come back would be to have someone take away his new life. And The Guy made sure of that. 

Before the man could beg, Clint yanked the knife from his leg and slit his throat, waiting until the gurgling and sputtering stopped, his body still before he sighs, getting to work on cleaning up the mess. But his mind was elsewhere, planning and plotting. Which is why he didn’t hear another man coming up behind him until it was too late, his body falling sideways and slamming into the ground. 

The man gets on top of him, pulling out a knife. Clint dodges as best he can, but he does get a good knick on his shoulder. Grunting, Clint throws his body weight and the man, a lot skinnier than him, gets thrown off balance. Clint pushes up and manages to flip them, gripping the man’s wrist and slamming it against the floor, the knife clattering across the ground. No weapon in hand, Clint reaches for the man’s head, but his shoulder sends searing pain down his arm. He must have dislocated it when he hit the ground. Instead, Clint grabs the man’s hair, slamming his head into the ground until he stops moving. He gets off the man and sits for a moment to catch his breath, his shoulder throbbing.

Well this will make cleaning up suck. 

He can’t go to the hospital, but he knows he needs stitches. He can’t do it himself because of his fucking shoulder, which is just violently throbbing at this point. He knows where he can go, but should he? Finally, he gives in, knowing he has no other option. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Flo, he does. He really does. But that’s the exact reason he shouldn’t go. He doesn’t need to bring his shit to her.

He sighs, knocking on her door. It takes a moment but the door opens and there she is, almost glowing, just gorgeous. And for a moment, he’d forgotten why he was there.

“Oh! You’re bleeding!” Flo takes his hand but he jerks it back.

“Shoulder is dislocated.”

“You’re just all kinds of fun. Come on in.” 

Clint heads inside, kicking off his boots before following Flo into the kitchen. She pulls out a chair from the table and motions for him to sit down as she goes to get her med kit. She returns a moment later and sets it on the table, moving to stand next to him. 

“I take it you’ve had a dislocated shoulder before?” 

Clint looks up, her eyes big and round and he momentarily wonders why he had left. He nods, preparing himself while she gets into position, gripping him.

“Ready?”

“Just do it.”

Flo nods, looking down at his arm. “1…2…I’m pregnant.”

“What?! FUCK!” His arm pops back into place, the initial sharp pain quieting down to a dull ache. Flo hands him some pain meds and a glass of water but he pushes them away.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“Take these. You’ll need them. I’ll also sling your arm.” 

“Fuck the sling. Flo, you’re…you’re pregnant?”

She takes the sling off the table, not meeting his eyes yet. She helps him get situated in the sling and reaches for the alcohol to start dabbing at his other arm. Clint had completely forgotten about the knife gash. But before she starts, he grabs her wrist, giving it a little shake so she’ll look at him. She sighs and meets his gaze, worry etched in her face.

“I..am.”

“Who…am…am I…”

“I’ve only been with you since the accident.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He didn’t mean to get her pregnant. Fuck, this is not what either of them need. It’s not that he doesn’t want the kid. He would love to be a dad, was going to be a dad before…fuck. He has to kill The Guy or he’d find them and kill them too. FUCK. He has to protect them. Clint is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t even feel it when Flo starts to sew his wound, tying it off and putting a bandaid over it.

“You should be all set. Just try not to fuck with that shoulder too much.”

Clint’s mind clears and he focuses on the main objective: to keep Flo and his unborn child safe. He can’t let them die for him, for his mistakes. He will never let that happen again, even if it kills him.

“I’ve gotta go.” Clint abruptly stands and pushes past a bewildered Flo, grabbing his keys and closing the door gently behind him. It never occurs to him to say anything to Flo. She doesn’t need to know about this. About any of it. He’s so absorbed in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the sobs coming from inside the home as he walks away from it. 

It takes him another month to locate The Guy’s new hiding place. He imagines it would be difficult for anyone to find - anyone who doesn’t know The Guy like he does. Clint watches from his steakout point, his eyes hardening and his brain sliding into his job mode, compartmentalizing what he needs to do to protect his family. What he should’ve done before.

The bodyguards at the door hesitate when Clint walks towards them, but soon they are silenced, slumping to the ground before they even had time to draw their guns. Quietly, Clint moves inside, making his way down the hall, silencing another several guards. The Guy really needed to hire better employees. He pauses outside of what looks like a main door, listening. From inside, he hears a familiar voice, a voice that has commanded him to do so many violent things for him.    

“I don’t care what it takes, I want it done!” A phone slams down, The Guy sighs. “I swear, it’s so hard to find good help these days.” 

Clint listens for a few minutes, hearing no other movement behind the door aside from The Guy, assuming he was alone in his office. Clint takes a deep breath and stands straight, holding his gun at the ready before pushing in the door and aiming his gun directly at The Guy. When Clint enters, The Guy glances up, all color draining from his face. He was totally alone and he knew from looking at Clint that the cat was out of the bag.

“H-hey Clint. How’s retired life?”

“Why?”

Beads of sweat start to drip down The Guy’s temples. “Why what?”

“Why did you kill them?”

He seems to debate for a moment, settling on the truth instead of pretending he didn’t know. “Look man, good workers are hard to find. And you were the best. You did everything for me and so when you wanted to leave….well, you knew too much.”

“So you took out my family?”

The Guy shrugs. “I figured maybe you’d come back if you had nothing left. Besides, I couldn’t have you continuing your line if they’d go to work for someone-”

POP!

Clint fires his gun, hitting The Guy directly in the forehead, his body crumbling to the ground. He listens for a moment, but no one comes running. No one else is here. Clint lowers his gun, dropping to his knees and buries his face in his hands, wailing and screaming, as he gets closure on the last chapter of his life.

Clint stands in front of Flo’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. He had been sitting in front of her apartment for another 2 weeks, making sure no one was casing the joint. But no one would - Clint had taken out the remainder of The Guy’s associates. No one would be coming for them. 

The door opens and Flo stands before him looking absolutely breath taking. Her eyes widen and her mouth nearly drops on the floor.

“Clint?” She whispers it, hesitating for a moment before reaching her hand out. 

“It’s me.”

SLAP!

Clint rubs at his cheek, chuckling a little to himself at the assault. He deserved that. He deserved more than that.

“What the fuck Clint? I tell you I’m pregnant with your baby and you just leave? Not even a word?”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Flo. But I had to…had to make sure you were safe.”

“I don’t expect you to be involved, but you could’ve- safe?”

He nods. ”Can I come in?”

She studies him, her eyes somehow seeing through him and she nods, opening the door. “Lock it behind you.”

This time, he decides to tell her everything, about his past life, about what happened to Poppy, what he’d done now to protect them. How he couldn’t let it happen again, not when he has the chance to have a family again. To his surprise, when he was done, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him, holding him tight. He hugs her back, swallowing down some tears and melting into her embrace. It’s several long moments before she pulls back, cupping his face with her soft, warm hands.

“It’s not your fault, Clint.”

He looks down, shrugs a little. “But-”

“You can’t control what other’s do. Poppy knew that. Why do you think her last words were of love and not revenge? She doesn’t blame you, Clint. She would want you to be happy. So, be happy. Even if…even if that’s not with us.”

His eyes snap to hers and he’s surprised to find tears there. “Do you want me to leave? I understand if you-”

“No!” She grips his face a little tighter. “No. I want you here, but I need all of you here. We need it. But if you can’t, I understand.”

“You…you want me? Even though I’ve…I’m a violent…”

She cuts him off by pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Look, I knew you were in some shit when we met. I’m not stupid. You came tumbling out of that bar stabbed and then tussled with another guy. I had to patch you up and you bled all over my floor. I figured you were in some shit. This is Oakland. But..you were also gentle with me and patient, even when I told you about my past and I thought…we had that moment and I know we were both a little in our heads during it, but it was..fuck, it was nice having someone, especially someone who..gets it. I like you, Clint. I don’t expect you to like me in the same way, but however you want to be involved in our lives, that’s fine with me.”

How the fuck did he lead such a violent and fucked up life, all the shit he’s done, and he managed to find not one but two amazing women who just cared for him despite it? Poppy never knew exactly what he did, but Clint always suspected she knew he wasn’t really a delivery driver. She just never pressed. Just carried on loving him. 

Clint reaches forward, cupping her face in his hand this time. “I want to be involved with the baby. And I’d…I’d like to see where this goes,” he gestures between them and she smiles, realizing his intent. 

“Really?”

“Really. But know that no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for both of you.”

Clint and Flo dated for a month or so before they decided it was easier to just move in together. They found a little place for their growing family, a little 2 bedroom place in a better area of town. Clint had had some extra money after taking out The Guy (and raiding his safe) and happily moved them all in. Clint is there for every weird craving, anytime she wanted something at 3am, foot massages, all of it. He loved being there for her, talking to her belly, but also being with her. Flo was the first person to help him realize that he still deserved love. And even if he didn’t believe it, he knew that Flo deserved it and he would spend the rest of his time making sure she had it. 

Their son Christopher came screaming into the world right on time. They got him cleaned up, wrapped in blankets and a little tiny hat and handed him to Clint. He gently takes Christopher in his arms, walking over to Flo who was still laying on the bed. Tears well in his eyes as he stares down at his son, Flo leaning her head on his arm and he sighs, happy that he’s finally getting the life he wanted. 

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[red-elric]

i hear yall on 'girls can wear pants just bc jane does doesnt mean shes a trans guy' but homestuck is a deeply symbolic webcomic. its different! the skirt in homestuck is used as a signifier that a character is a girl more than it is as a genuine fashion choice in the early days of the comic; with the sprite as the only representation we have to go on, rose in particular with her shorter hair becomes more obviously feminine with the skirt, eyelashes, and lipstick at a glance. the need for the skirt as a visual distinction decreases as the readers become more familiar with the comic and the art style advances, but the original motive still remains! and is turned on its head when we are introduced to the trolls; while aradia, kanaya, and feferi wear skirts, nepeta, kanaya, and vriska decidedly DONT. this choice is intentional; we are told explicitly that in troll society the differences between men and women are arbitrary, with fewer rigid rules and distinctions than in human society. the extent to which that is actually TRUE is a little bit up for debate, but it definitely has some truth to it, and nepeta, terezi, and vriska all have a level of gender fuckery about them that aradia, kanaya, and feferi dont quite have in the same way. (kanaya of course has a DIFFERENT kind of gender fuckery about her, but its a different vibe and not really relevant here.)

then we meet the alpha kids. the skirt as a signifier is irrelevant at this point; we already know which characters are boys vs girls because we have the background of their adult counterparts. you can argue that jane is introduced wearing a skirt to make it clear that it is her and not jake in her first teaser panel, since she also has short hair! and thats about it. janes narrative is all about her own agency and her lack of control in her own life. she is brainwashed, she is locked in her own home for her own protection, she is kept in the dark from her friends' true feelings and secrets because they dont know how shell react. every choice she makes for herself prior to entering the medium is framed as a mistake that ruins things for everyone; her dad, roxy, dirk. and yet, when she does enter the medium, she is alone and free from other influences for the first time. her dad is missing, condy cant (or, more accurately, currently isnt interested in) access her, and she is outside the realm of societal pressure from earth, with her three friends who have never met another person in real life before. and with her newfound freedom, she chooses to wear pants; the first human female character in homestuck to do so. she has a hands free computer headset that gives her a faux moustache. and i think thats relevant!

of course, when she becomes god tier and immediately crockertiered, all her agency and control is lost in a way that doesnt ever return to her, even in post canon content. from that moment on, she is the maid or the heiress only, and cannot express her own desires in the narrative; she has been reduced to a caricature of what condy and aranea believed of her, and in this narrative she is grossly feminized in the worst possible way. just. food for thought.

[z-and-the-space-child]

Some midnight burger headcannons: -Caspar says his favourite drink is black coffee. It’s really instant hot chocolate.

leif just. Borrows other peoples clothes, to their dismay.

(Gloria: Leif. That’s my skirt.

Leif: Sorry. My normal tradesmens clothes got a little...out of this current timeline, and I needed to patch this light before the diner re-opens.

Gloria: We won't have a diner to re-open if I don't have a clean uniform to wear. Can't you borrow someone elses clothes?

Leif: Caspar's pants don't fit me and Ava's not really my style...also last time i took her blazer without asking she tasered in my sleep

Ava (from her booth): and I will do it again!)

-Ava has strong feelings about string theory.  It would have been invented when she was a teenager. When she was working on her 1st or 2nd PhD it was getting really popular in both scientific and popular culture. She kind of thinks of it with the same awe and grief(well, she doesn't really grieve much) as a young childhood pet or hobby you just couldn't get into despite how cool it sounded. Oh, the potential.

- gloria did debate and outreach in highschool. she originally started volunteering just to fill the mandatory hours, but she loved it so much she kept racking them up without turning them in.

-gloria also, eventually gets caspar a sleeping arrangement that isn't "behind the counter". i'm thinking bunk beds.

(Caspar: Just for the record, gloria, I think this is a waste of space. and time. and whatever other frames of reference we've got out here.

Gloria: I don't care if you use it or not. As your boss, I need to know you have somewhere to sleep. Just give it a try, okay?"

Caspar: ...fine)

-Sometimes, physicists have people help them out with their math. sometimes its mathematicians, sometimes its other scientists. Leif sometimes needs help with his math. Ava, however, never needs help with hers.

Gloria isn't a gamer, but she is strangely good at video games. Put her in front of any game, and she immediately knows what to do and how to win. Her favourite game to win is any legend of zelda because she likes the noises Link makes and also thinks it's nice to see an unassuming little guy become the chosen one, while at the same time lamenting how young and unexperienced he is. (Gloria: I'm just saying! He's just a little guy, he really doesn't deserve all this. That's a lot of pressure to put on a kid. He doesn't even know what to do with the sword half time time. Caspar: So, you're saying he was tossed into some dangerous situation without knowing what was coming, huh? Gloria: Exactly! Caspar: So you're saying we're Link. Gloria: What? Caspar: We're Link from the Legend of Zelda. We didn't choose this, but we're forced to stick with it to work for better things. Hopefully. Gloria: Huh, I guess we are.)

Effie and zebulon own a lot of quilted things. their comforter, their pillows...they have many quilts around their house, strewn on the sofa, etc.

Effie also uses terms of endearment (dear, honey, sweetheart, etc) on the diner staff. very rarely though, when Max Comfort or Max Parent Mode is needed.

Laundry gets done in the dishwasher. You're not supposed to be able to put clothes in the dishwasher, but theirs is modified (either by Leif of by midnight burger magic) to be able to wash clothes. there's a clothesline on the roof where they dry their clothes if there's not too much of a risk or radiation signature.

[elvisabutler]

ménage à trois

summary: it's date night for your partners and you. you should have known tonight was going to be a mess from the moment you saw their matching grins. fandom: olivia dejonge | austin butler | elvis 2022 pairing: austin butler x olivia dejonge x reader rating: m. word count: 1866 warnings: orgasm denial. dom/sub dynamics. kind of mommy and daddy kink. vibrating panties. p in v sex, implied to be protected re: birth control. oral ( f receiving ) so much teasing. author's note: welcome to a late day 18 for kinktober, threesome with olivia dejonge and austin butler. y'all i missed writing threesomes/poly fics. i did a bunch for the last fandom i actively wrote in and back in my first fandom so this is just a return to form. going back home as elvis would say. see also: it's been a long time, baby. a long time. also exhausted writing this, apologies for any errors i missed.

You should have known when you saw Olivia grinning like the cat that got the canary with Austin following behind her. You should have known that tonight was going to end in an interesting way for you. However, you trusted your girlfriend. Trusted her more than you trusted Austin purely because you had been dating Olivia for longer, you trusted her with your life. Austin- well, he had some catching up to do. He knew that though, knew that he'd have to treat you like a queen to prove that he wasn't just in this for the thrill of being with two women. He had to make sure he took care of both of you. Was it perhaps the healthiest way to introduce him into your relationship? Debatable. Was it working for the three of you with enough communication to make any therapist proud? Yes.

Trusting Olivia had been a mistake as you realized once you saw her pull out what looked like a small vibrator and what was her favorite pair of panties on you from Austin's pants pocket. Your initial response is to say no, it's date night, there's no need to play with something like that on date night but you see how expectant they look and how they're practically begging, well you can't ever say no to their matching blue gazes.

It leads you to where you are right now, sitting across from them with Olivia teasing you, alternating between having no vibrations and turning it to full blast. Austin lets Olivia set the pace, grinning at you while giving the other patrons and the staff of the restaurant the most charming smile and aura he can manage. You hate it. You hate how he's calm and collected in his suit while you- also shoved into a suit because in Olivia's words, "if we put you in a dress Austin would have you bent over before we left the house and bouncing on his dick in the car, I chose the matching suit, babe."- are practically a panting mess in your suit.

The problem with the suit and the problem with the panties and the problem with everything about this is that you can feel how wet you are. You can feel how wet you are and you can't even do anything about it. In a skirt or in a dress, you could convince Austin- beg Austin to touch you and he'd be the great dom that he was and oblige his princess. Or you could get Olivia to put down the remote and just touch her fellow goddess. In the suit, you're left clenching your thighs together and subtly humping the air trying to gain some form of friction to relieve the growing ache between your legs. You can't even come because Olivia refuses to turn it to enough of a vibration for enough time to let you fall off that edge.

You see dessert being placed in front of you, a chocolate cake that has you salivating just a bit but that might be from the fact that Olivia has had you wanting to come for a good minute under what you swear is the highest setting on the vibrating panties. You wouldn't be surprised if your drool is coming from that, after all your doms did always tell you that you looked so pretty when you begged, when you had all that spit making a mess for them. Austin gets up and you're concerned for a minute before you see him head to the bathroom and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding until you feel someone behind you.

"How's my baby girl doing? You haven't come, have you? Mama's teasing you and wouldn't let daddy take care of you. Wish I could already have you coming on my fingers. Make it so I can have two of my favorite flavors mixing. You and this dark chocolate. You're doing so good for us. Just a little longer, baby girl." Austin whispers lowly in your ear, his breath ghosting over neck and sending a shiver down your spine. "You're always such a good girl. Wanna prove to everyone we've got the best girl. No one else compares."

You whimper, shutting your eyes as your chest starts to heave with the effort of trying not to feel his breath and register his words. Olivia takes note and turns the vibration setting to zero and you can't help the small cry of distress that leaves you. When Austin sits back down finally you see his eyes darken and before you know it he's waving down a waiter and asking for containers to go.

"Our date's feeling a little under the weather now. We just want to get her home and in bed. You know how it is." Austin's lie falls from his lip with such an ease that you bite your lip at how honestly hot it kind of is.

You exit the restaurant gripping Olivia's hand tightly with Austin following close behind, his hand settling on her lower back. You see cameras flashing but pay them hardly any mind- after all your mind hand narrowed itself down to a world consisiting of the the three of you. You barely remember the car ride home beyond Austin's white knuckled grip of the steering wheel and Olivia's praise and touches as she kissed up your neck.

"Such a good girl, so good to mama and her daddy. Been such a quiet girl. Mama knows how hard that is for her girl. No one knew you were struggling not to come apart in front of us. We're almost home. We're almost to our bed where you can get whatever you want for being such a good girl. Have you thought about it? Thought about who you want first?" She asks, nuzzling at your neck, her hands feeling your chest through the suit.

The words sound foreign and your head lulls to the side a little before you focus on Austin's grip of the wheel and Olivia's touch burning a fire on your skin. It takes a minute for the words to form in your mouth and exit it. "Him? Maybe. Wanna taste you and have him fuck me while I do. Can I have that?"

Her lips curl into a smirk you can feel against your neck before she huffs out a laugh. The air from it has you shivering. "Of course, baby. Your reward."

The fact that you don't immediately jump into Austin's arms when you reach the house is a feat and Olivia once again murmurs praise in your ear about it, nipping at the lobe and making sure you hear every word. Austin for his part manages to get the door open in record time, pulling you both inside in a flash. Your eyes register his hands- her hands undoing your pants and someone undoing the suit jacket and- you lose track of whose fingers are against your skin. You lose track of whose lips follow those fingers, brushing against your skin. You lose track of whose tongue is tracing your nipple but you can't help the way you keen at it, grabbing at the hair only to realize it's Austin and you three have somehow made it to the bedroom with everyone's clothes strewn across the floor on the way to the room. In a flash you find yourself being pushed softly onto the bed as Olivia postions herself best to allow you to lick at her clit and cunt, to finger her within an inch of her life to- do everything you wanted. The look she gives you before she actually sits on your face is one of complete adoration. You find it makes your body feel warm down to your toes.

Austin lines himself up with you and pushes in slowly, careful not to jostle Olivia in the process. You groan against her cunt, the vibrations causing her to let out a sigh that sounds like a whimper if the rushing blood through your ears hasn't hurt your hearing that bad. He waits for a single set of two taps to go forward, to set a comfortable pace. It takes you a minute but he feels those two taps against his back and starts to thrust in and out of you, gently and softly at first, his hands playing with your breasts as well as Olivia's. His tongue and lips wrapping around her nipples to hear the noises he loves from both of you. Your tongue flicks at her clit as Austin gets quicker. You want to come, but no one has said you could come yet.

"Aus. Y/N, oh my God- why- I'm seriously going to come first, aren't I?" She asks, her thighs tightening around your head, sending a new sensation through your body. You can breathe but you're reminded she can crush you if she wanted to like this. Your hand moves to curl your fingers inside of her and it's not long before you feel her clenching around your fingers and coming with a choked off moan. It takes her a second to catch her breath, noting how Austin is still slowly fucking you, teasing you even longer with his thrusts. She frowns.

"Our girl has been good Austin, give her what she needs. Fuck her." She feels your pleased hum and has to shiver, the sensation feeling rough against her oversensitive clit.

It's as if that was the cue he needed, as his thrusts are quicker, faster, an almost jackhammer like speed has taken over Austin but it's helping you slide to your release quicker. Olivia's managed to get off of you so that Austin can see your face as she kisses it. His eyes narrow as he studies your face while he fucks you. He takes a second to breathe before continuing to speak. "Come, baby girl. Let daddy have your come all over his cock. He'll fill you up too. Such a good girl deserves everything she loves. My best girl."

Your hand reaches out to grasp at Olivia's as you find yourself practically trying to break your back with how hard you arch upward into Austin's torso and thrusts. Your throat closes up when you try and make a sound but when you flop back onto the bed Austin follows you shortly after, coming with a low groan that you feel vibrate in your soul. His body flops on yours unceremoniously as you try and catch your breath, shivering slightly from the sensations still overwhelming you. You feel two sets of hands in your hair and feel a kiss on either cheek.

"Are you okay?" They ask, eyeing your reactions to things and how your chest is still heaving. "Red or are we on-"

You cut them off with a shake of your head. "Yellow. Just give me a minute and I wanna- I want more. Can I have more?"

Olivia and Austin look at each other and back at you, matching grins not unlike the ones they gave you earlier in the day on their faces. "Say the word, baby girl. Say the word."

You say the word. They're true to theirs.

[hanasnx]

hi i asked abt zena and ani. I js wanted to say that their dynamic is my favorite thing in the world. how he’s so nonchalant abt everything and mysterious and her just wanting to crack him. im in love.

also. “ever shot a porno?” god kill me now. i need more of their banter. just the way they speak to each other is so 🫠

i’d love to see a more personal (wink wink) interview between them both.

thank you indy for blessing this earth with zenakin.

(also could i be 🪐)

this is so crazy cool to me tbh bcos i didnt write them together originally to have crazy sexual tension i just feel like i cant not imbue sexual tension into my writing. i love that you asked me about them and youve picked up on their dynamics. the prompt is a little too vague so i hope im doing it justice. also yes ofc you can be that emoji <3

"Bet you thought you saw the last of me." ZENA DAREN remarks smartly, a haughty curl to her lips at the sight of ANAKIN SKYWALKER sitting before her once again. He takes a sip from his water bottle, and she finds herself staring at the way his Adam's apple bobs from the movement. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and drops the bottle next to his chair leg.

"You are persistent, I'll give you that." he relents, and nods in subtle commendation. "Didn't even realize I had an agent until you relentlessly overwhelmed her with every trick in the book. Can't say I'm not impressed." Zena can't tell if this was another one of his signature dry jokes. Krayt House couldn't be so popular now that he wouldn't notice an entire person signing on to be his personal agent to coordinate events behind the scenes? How many papers has this guy signed to have not kept track of something like that? No, must be a joke. It's still taking considerable effort for her to nail this guy down. Like a Rubik's cube, she can't put it down until it's a clear solve.

Her pen points over the precipice of her clipboard. "You told her you weren't taking interviews anymore." The accusatory tone of voice utilized causes Anakin to raise his brows in mock offense.

"The series is over. Why should I?" he debates, sinking further back into his seat that unconsciously pushes out his hips. Those black pants hug him well, and Zena swallows. Additionally, he crosses his arms over his broad chest, swelling the muscle in a most please way. Cords of tendons lovingly tended to in the gym are on full display. At this point, she knows he's attractive— he has been all this time— but what would she expect from a professional porn star with his kind of experience under his belt? It won't go anywhere if she pursued it, but she's far more fascinated in him as a puzzle to solve.

"You neglected to mention to her that I would be an exception." She shrugs, as if it should be obvious, leaning her back against the chair as a snooty expression adorns her countenance.

He scoffs. "You think after a couple of links that you're an exception?"

"Out of the roster I'd say I'm the most consistent contestant. You agree to be on my show thirty-seven percent more than others on average."

Anakin tilts his head forward to peer at her through his brows curiously, "Oh, so you're keeping tabs on me, huh?" There he goes again, being that charming smooth-talker that can tongue-tie her in seconds. It's frustrating.

Warm color blooms on Zena's cheeks, and she rallies. The stumble is noted by her counter-part, who scans her vulnerable figure in her usual professional attire. Her legs crossed neatly over one another in a pencil skirt and heels is practically smoothed over as if his piercing blue gaze was a large hand. "That's not—"

"I get it." He pinches his shoulder to his neck with a sniff of his nose, swiping at it with his thumb as he glances to the side. "We both know you've got a little thing for me. Look, I was just showing up to do my job. It's not my fault you got the rights to me during the run of the series."

Without thinking, Zena blurts out, "Are you always so self-centered?"

The corner of his lips quirk up. "Only when it helps me get a read on my opponent." Once more, Zena is rendered speechless. She's been trying to decipher this guy since day one and all she's managed to do is grant him insider access to her own mind. Anakin takes advantage of her reticence, gesturing to her camera with an incline of his head and his curls bounce from the motion. "Forgot to turn on the camera." he points out to her. Her gaping mouth cannot be occupied by a single word, and he takes it one step further. "I like your glasses. New pair?"

[solitaireships]

✨ for someone you haven't gotten to write yet?

✨ - "you look…nice."

At first I wasn't sure who to write for bcs I've written for pretty much all of my F/Os already but then I remembered. Miguel has never gotten a fic, and this prompt really is perfect for him. So have a little bit of Miguel and Piera cute moments as they get ready to go to an investor's party

Rating: Teen (kinda. There's cursing, but it's the 2099 version)

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1263 words

Divider by saradika

Piera zips up the back of her dress, getting ready at Miguel’s apartment for an Alchemax party he was invited to. Normally she wouldn’t come to these— Alchemax doesn’t like the press being present, they're always nervous that a secret could leak and fall into one of their rival companies’ hands. But tonight she’s not going to be there on press business, instead coming as Miguel’s girlfriend and plus one.

She’s glad to let the focus be on him tonight. It’s rare that he gets the recognition that he deserves, and has Alchemax’s brightest mind— and sharpest tongue— she’s sure that he’ll be busy dealing with countless corporate bigshots tonight. Ones who will then also quickly realize they made a mistake in talking to him.

Piera’s also pretty sure that’s part of why Miguel invited her along. Even if he wasn’t her boyfriend, he would have made sure that someone came with him so he wouldn’t lose his mind fielding infinite annoying questions about his work from people who only care about their bottom line. Neither of them are the biggest fan of parties, but at least she can be a grounding force for him as he deals with all of the mindless smalltalk and networking tonight. 

If nothing else, Piera’s glad for the opportunity to get to dress up. It’s not often that she gets opportunities like this for her to go all out, so she wants to look her best. And with this being something rare for her, she decided to try something new to mark the occasion. 

Piera’s always liked fashion from the 1950s— the vintage feel is interesting to her, and something that she carried into her costume as Spider-Woman. But this is the first cocktail dress she’s worn styled after those aesthetics.

The light purple dress is cinched around her hips, its skirt flaring out and stopping just below her knees. The sweetheart neckline of it shows off her chest more than she’s used to, and her arms are on full display with its sleeveless look. She debated about wearing the pearl necklace she has on tonight, worrying it would draw too much attention to her bust, but she can admit it goes well with the white faux fur wrap she has and the gold rings glittering on her fingers. She styled her hair for tonight more than usual too, managing to get it into Hollywood waves. 

As Piera looks at herself in the mirror, it’s hard to believe that this is really her. She can recognize herself of course, but it’s so different from her usual look that it takes a second for her to process. It’s rare for her to feel this good about her appearance, and as she scoops up the pair of white heels she’s going to put on before leaving, she hopes Miguel likes the way this look came out as much as she does. 

“Miggy, I’m ready to go!” Piera calls once she makes her way out to the living room. 

His voice calls back from the bedroom, “Hold on a second, lover!”

It doesn’t take long for him to come out, though it gives Piera enough time for her to put on her shoes. And as Miguel comes out, she gets a chance to enjoy the view of him in his suit.

It’s a custom tailored one with a dark blue jacket and matching pair of pants. A bit of gold embroidery is along the lapels of the suit, matching with a golden tie. He has a white button up shirt on along with it, and he’s wearing a pair of shiny new brown shoes. It all goes well with the yellow tinted glasses he always wears, the large circle rims of them hiding the unnaturally bright red color of his eyes. 

Miguel does up the buttons of his jacket as he walks into the living room, hiding the way his stomach peeks over the waistband of his pants. Piera thinks he looks handsome in the suit, it shows off his broad shoulders well and he does always look good in blue. He always dresses nicely for work, but she likes seeing him dress a little more formally, a little more to show off his looks. 

She really is lucky to get to call him her boyfriend. 

“I’ll just need to grab my keys,” Miguel says. “Do you have the ones for the car already?”

“Yep,” Piera confirms. She’s glad that she was able to get a dress with pockets in it. 

“Alright, let’s—”

He pauses, eyes wide behind his glasses as he looks at Piera. His eyes roam over her, one hand idly reaching up to adjust his tie. 

“Wow. You look… nice,” Miguel says after a second. 

“Oh. Thanks.” 

Piera’s never been good at taking compliments. It’s hard to believe them most of the time, and with how overactive her mind usually is, she can’t help but worry that he paused because he doesn’t actually like her dress. 

But any worries about whether Miguel meant it or not fade away as he takes Piera’s hand in his, guiding it up to give her a quick kiss on the back of her hand. It makes her think of something out of an old movie, one of the ones that she was only able to find recreations of in the library since the film was long lost to time. Piera tries to ignore the way her heart flutters at that, keeping her composure. 

“You look handsome, by the way,” she says. 

“Figured I should put some effort in. It’s not every day that Tyler lets me come to these things. I think he’s scared I’ll call an investor a glitch to their face. Might as well dress up a little for the occasion,” Miguel says with a grin. 

“The occasion of getting to go to an Alchemax party, or the occasion of bit-talking an investor?” Piera teases. 

“Only one of those is an event worth celebrating.”

“True.”

Miguel lets go of Piera’s hand, going to get his keys. “But at least I’m not going to be suffering through hours of boring corporate talk that makes me want to throw myself into the sun alone this time.”

“I’ll do what I can to distract you,” Piera offers. She says it jokingly, but she’s genuinely glad to help him get through this. Given his complicated relationship with Tyler, she’s more than happy to keep his mind off of things. 

“Thanks,” Miguel says. He tucks his keys into the pocket of his slacks, checking his watch. “Alright, we’re already going to be a couple minutes late. Are you ready to head out?”

“I could’ve been ready earlier if you told me,” Piera says, making her way over to the apartment door with Miguel. 

“We’re not going to want to be there the whole time. Being late is good,” he assures. 

“If you say so.”

Miguel opens the door, motioning with Piera to go ahead of him. “After you.”

“Thank you.”

“You know I’m always glad to follow your lead,” he says.

“And I’m gonna be trusting you to lead us through this god awful party,” Piera replies.

Miguel scoffs. “The only thing I’ll be leading us towards is an exit after an hour of suffering through everything.”

“Mhm, you’ll get to be my hero again then.”

“Only if you're mine by never leaving me alone tonight.”

“Sounds like an easy job,” Piera says as the two of them make their way to the elevator. After all, she’s always happy to spend time with Miguel.

[eddiessweetheart86]

Waiting for a Girl Like You

Summary: You (AFAB/She/Her pronouns) meet Eddie Munson at a college party and hit it off

Warnings: Unprotected P in V sex (PLEASE BE SAFE!!), language, physical fighting (brief), drugs (weed), smoking (weed and cigarettes) Let me know if I missed anything:)

Just a short story that came to me while I was at work lol

I hope you enjoy! I will be working on a part 2!

~

You are at a college party during Thanksgiving break 1985. It is quite lackluster, just people drinking and being idiots, but that’s parties for you. Somehow many high school students infiltrated, so you were being stalked by horny teenage boys that you had no interest in considering you’re 20 years old and have standards.

You told Steve that you need to go get some air and wave a cigarette in his face, you give him a smile with your tongue out and made your way through the rowdy crowd of people.

Outside in the backyard there were only about ten people, some sitting and talking on the grass and others making out on picnic blankets or lettermen jackets.

You light your cigarette and walk to the side of the frat house so your view isn’t a live porno movie and see someone lying on their back on the ground. You rush to them, landing roughly on your knees.

You put out the cigarette on the bottom of your boot and let your arms hover over the unconscious boy’s shoulders, debating if you should shake him.

His hair was curly and long, loose bangs on his forehead. His skin was pale, very pale and his mouth was slightly open.

He overdosed, oh shit! Goddamn jiminy fuckface! you thought. You put two fingers to his neck to check for a pulse.

Then he opens his eyes and screams in terror directly in your face, causing you to shriek and fall back onto your butt, catching yourself with your elbows.

“What the fuck!” you yell “I thought you were dead!”

“No!” He says as if he answered a stupid question

“You looked pale! Like— like some dying Victorian child!”

“I’m just white!”

“Jesus Christ! You bag of— bitch!” you say and grab another cigarette from your skirt pocket.

The boy laughs at your distressed demeanor.

“So funny, right! I love scaring innocent women too!” You say sarcastically

“This is just really good shit” He says reaching for a cigarette case next to his torso.

“Looks like it” You say annoyed. You’re still trying to compose yourself, shaking so bad that you can’t light your cigarette.

The boy grabs your lighter and lights it for you, making tense eye contact as he does it. His eyes sparkle in the moonlight and the temporary flash from the lighter makes them look more seductive. You take a puff and exhale out of the side of your mouth, away from his face.

“Shit, where are my manners?” He says extending his hand “I’m Eddie. Munson. If you already know me… no you don’t”

You laugh at his comment and also because he wants to shake hands. Who does that anymore?

You take his hand and shake “Okay Mr. President” you joke “I’m Y/N”

“Oh please, Mister President is my father” he says and waves his hand like a debutante

You both laugh, not breaking eye contact. You bite the inside of your cheek and then finally say “Can I have some?”, motioning to his cigarette case.

You both lie on the grass, he puts his red flannel under your head so your hair does not get grass or leaves in it. You pass the freshly lit joint, talking about topics ranging from music to movies to astrophysics, which he knows a lot about. After only talking to this boy for 10 minutes you were already a goner. He’s so funny and smart and witty and absolutely gorgeous.

You talk about how annoying high school horn-dogs are and how one named Andy has been trying to get in your pants for months.

“Andy such an asshole. All of them are. Especially Jason, he’s not here, thank fuck”

“Jason? I don’t think I’ve ever met him. How do you know him?”

“We… go to school together”

You sit up quickly “What? You said you’re turning 20 next week?”

“Yeah” He says with an embarrassed tone

“So you’re a 20 year old senior? In high school?”

“Well when you say it like that it makes it sound like… the truth” He mumbles sadly

“No, I don’t mean it in a rude way… it’s just that… you’re really smart. Like, you just explained Hawking Radiation to me while high. To be honest, it sounded like you were speaking the same language that the adults in Charlie Brown speak… but it was hot” you blush

Eddie, still lying down on his back, blushes too, not that you can see, but you can tell, you can feel that he is.

“It’s interesting stuff. And I just can’t focus too well in school. Plus, the teachers hate me and treat me like shit, so why go?”

“Eddie… you can’t keep failing. You need to pass this year. You know what, let me tutor you! I was a straight A student”

Eddie chuckles “Sweetheart, I won’t be able to focus if you were my tit— tutor”

You playfully push his shoulder

Eddie sits up, leaning back on his palms “You’re really beautiful” he says dreamily

“So are you” You say looking nervously fiddling with the black fabric of your skirt

“Can I… kiss you?” He asks

“It’s ‘may I’ Mr. Munson” you joke and lean into him.

He puts one hand on the back on your head and the other lightly on your waist. You have one hand on his thigh and the other on his chest. You slowly lean him back and throw your leg around him so you’re straddling him. The whole time you do not break away from each other. He hold your waist and grinds you into his clothed erection, which you can feel through your panties.

You pull away from him and slip your panties off. Then you unbuckle his belt, pull down his pants a little and reveal his huge, curved dick.

You go back up to his face and kiss his neck, making your way up to his lips. As you do this you’re stroking his cock, gently touching it to your entrance.

Since the second you lied down next to him you’ve been soaking wet, this is what you’ve been waiting for.

Eddie slides in, slowly, inch by inch, and there are a lot inches. You both moan into each other’s mouths the deeper he goes.

When he is seated all the way inside you, you sit up and lean back, arching your back and putting your hands on his thighs. You begin to roll your hips on his, letting out a soft moan with each thrust. You’ve never felt so much emotion during sex, you wanted to see him come inside you. You wanted to make him feel good and if you didn’t climax you would honestly not care.

Eddie’s hands are up your shirt, squeezing your tits.

Eddie is so close to finishing but he doesn’t want you to think he’s just another amateur high school boy.

“Fuck… Eddie, I’m close” You moan as you bounce on his cock

Now that you said that there is no going back for Eddie Munson

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, Y/N I’m—“

“Yes! Cum in me! Yes!” You squeal

Eddie groans, finishing inside you. You follow with a few deep thrusts, your orgasm erupts from your pelvis then your thighs and throughout your whole body. When you finally finish you stop moving and fall onto his chest, both catching your breath.

“I’m sorry… that was… so quick” he says

“No! It was incredible! Fuck it was incredible!” You say with a big grin

Eddie smiles and gives you a quick kiss on your lips. You roll off of him and onto the grass, he tucks himself back into his underwear and pants as you put your panties back on

“Are you… do you wanna clean up?” He asks

“No” you smirk “I wanna walk around with your cum inside me for the rest of the night” you plant a huge kiss on his lips

“Fuck, sweetheart” he says slapping his hand to his heart

You go back to the party and Steve is making out with some girl so you continue the rest of the night talking to Eddie.

“Hey, he bothering you?” Andy asks you, pointing at Eddie. You can see Chance and the rest of the goons laughing and watching from the kitchen

You rolls your eyes and open your mouth to tell him to leave you alone but Eddie beats you to it

“Fuck off, Andy” Eddie says

“Woah! I wasn’t talking to you freak” he spits

“Andy! Can you leave me the fuck alone! I’m not gonna sleep with you!” You yell

He stares at you, eyes angry, and then turns to Eddie “Hey man, sorry. She may look like a whore but those legs are closed tighter than—“

Before you can even react Andy is on the floor and Eddie grabs your hand and runs off.

You run out the door out, passing Steve on the way out, and run down the street to his van. He opens the drivers door and ushers you in. You crawl into the passenger seat and he starts the car. He’s fast at making a getaway.

Andy and Chance are just standing on the porch, not even running towards the van.

You and Eddie flip your middle fingers up and smile, then he swiftly drives away, both of you laughing like maniacs after a heist.

~

The next morning you wake up to your phone ringing. Eddie is next to you in your bed.

You reach over Eddie and say a groggily “Hello?”

“Hey did you get home safely?” Steve asks on the other end

“Obviously”

“Okay, fuck my kindness then”

You laugh “I’m fine, Steve. You?”

“I’m good. So… is the long-haired delinquent in the room with us right now?”

“Bye Steve” You say and hang up as he laughs at himself

Eddie groans when you lean back over him to put the phone back

“Hey Eddie” you whisper and shake him awake

“Yeah” Eddie croaks

“You have to go home. My mom would freak if she sees I brought a guy home”

Eddie rushes to put his clothes on and then goes out the window

“When can I see you again?” He asks

“I’ll see. Here” You grab a pen and write your phone number on his hand “This is my dorm room phone. I’ll be there tonight”

“Maybe we can meet up?” Eddie suggests

“We’ll see. They’re kinda strict about non-students being in the buildings” you kiss him on the lips and pull away to look into his deep brown eyes “See you later, Mr. Munson”

“See ya later” He says and runs off to his van

He gets into his van and speeds away. On the way home he can feel his heart in his throat as he thinks of you, and he can’t help but smile. “Waiting for a Girl Like You” by Foreigner comes on the radio, but instead of switching it off, as he usually does, Eddie blasts it and screams along to the few lyrics he knows.

Eddie Munson is hopelessly in love. And the best part is that he’s not scared.

~

You go into the bathroom and draw yourself a bath, even though you already took a shower last night after coming home, you just want to relax and think about Eddie and your possible future as boyfriend and girlfriend.

The next day Eddie swings open the doors to the drama club room, where they hold their DnD campaigns. He’s smiling like an idiot as Mike, Dustin, Gareth and Jeff stare at him.

“Mike and gentlemen!” He says putting on foot on his throne like a nobleman about to get his portrait drawn “I… did it!”

The room is silent

“Liar!” Gareth yells

“Throw tomatoes at him!” Mike yells

Jeff pulls a whole tomato out of his lunchbox, but Mike, very confused, stops him from throwing it.

“I’m not lying, dickwads. You’re looking at a man now. I have officially lost my virginity and I feel… relaxed”

Jeff tilts his head and squints, practically having a staring contest with Eddie.

“He’s telling the truth” Jeff says assuringly

The whole room erupts in cheers and Gareth puts his arm around Eddie and shakes him around

“Who is she?” Dustin asks

“You wouldn’t know her. She’s in college” He says with a smug tone, he leans forward and whispers “And she’s… filthy”

The boys laugh

Eddie leans over the Gareth and whispers to him about you walking around with his cum in your panties, causing Gareth’s eyes to nearly bulge out of his head and his jaw to go slack.

“What?” Jeff yells. Eddie turns to Jeff and whispers the same thing, getting the same reaction.

“Hey tell us!” Dustin says motioning between him and Mike

“No way! It’s too dirty for your child brains”

“We’re 14” Mike says

“Exactly” Eddie retorts

“Oh come on! I wanna know!” Dustin says

“No, it’s so bad!” Jeff says laughing and poking Gareth

“Yeah, if I had a wife and she did that…” Gareth says letting out a quick exhale to emphasize his over-exaggerated shock “She can put a leash on me too if she wants”

Jeff, Eddie and Gareth burst into laughter

“Tell us!” Mike begs

“Okay, okay! Let’s just say I finished the race but she kept the prize… in her panties… all night”

“Oh my god!” Dustin and Mike both say in unison and in disgust

Dustin rubs his eyes, as if it’ll reset his brain.

“Dude! That’s disgusting!” Mike says

“Disgusting? Or amazing?” Jeff asks

“Disgusting!” Dustin yells “He said disgusting!”

~

Meanwhile, you’re sitting on the couch, suitcase in hand, rolling it back and forth mindlessly because your mom is demanding that you wait for your brother to get home so you could say your goodbyes.

The front door opens quickly and in walks your kid brother.

“Dusty! Your sister is about to leave, give her a hug!” Your mom says

“Mom she lives like 10 minutes away” Dustin groans

“10 minutes too far!” She says hugging you tightly and squeezing your cheeks like your a baby

She pulls away and you pull your suitcase with you towards Dustin

“Bye, stupid” you say

“Y/N!” your mom says as she makes her way to grab the camera

“Sorry. Bye Dustin” you pat his shoulder and walk past him

“Bye, Y/N. Make good choices.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask softly

“I heard a boy in your room last night, Mary Magdalene” Dustin responds slyly

“No you didn’t” you say through gritted teeth

“Smile!” Your mom says running back in

You and Dustin put on half-ass smiles and your mom snaps the photo

“Mom, the cat!” You say pointing to Tews who is lying adorably on his back. She squeals when she sees him. You flip Dustin off and he does the same while your mom is turned around taking a picture of the cat

“Mom! Dustin flipped me off!” You yell, quickly putting your finger down

“Dustin!” She whips back around

“Bye mom!” You yell and walk out the door

“Bye sweetie!” She waves “Dustin don’t ever—“

The last thing you hear before closing the door is Dustin fighting for his life.

[fawnandshadows]

Cinnamon Girl — A Caraval Story

Pairings: Tella x Jacks, Tella x Dante

Summary: Set in Finale, Tella finds herself at a crossroads

Rating: M

Warnings: Mature themes, language

Word Count: 1.4k

MY LOVE!!! You have been in my life for over a year now (and frankly I’m not sure how that’s possible because I swear we just met the other day) and I’m so incredibly grateful to call you my friend! You make me laugh until I’m in tears and you have brightened up my life in so many ways. I hope you have an amazing day @sakurakittypeach !! 🤍🤍

Tella…thought she knew where she was, but it was getting so hard to tell these days…She found herself wandering aimlessly through the streets of Valenda, but she always found herself going back to the same place. 

Her sister has been avoiding her — Not intentionally, but Scarlett was either with Julian, or trying to keep busy while they were in a fight…which was merely an interlude until they patched up whatever argument they were in. Those two, as dearly as Tella loved them, were either deliriously in love, or simply biding their time until they were back together.

Actually, Tella thought with a shake of her head, they were always deliriously in love. And Tella never understood what it was that caused them to struggle, it was obvious they loved each other… If that was Tella…well, if Tella had someone who loved her as much as Julian loved Scarlett, then she wouldn’t be sitting in one of the most infamous gambling dens in all of Elantine’s Empire…and the person next to her wouldn’t have blonde hair, but rather black. And instead of ice blue eyes staring down at her, she’d be gazing up into the darkest brown and searching for the little flecks of gold she knew to be in there.

“Usually,” Jacks drawled, his chilled hand coming up to clasp her chin. “The ladies I entertain don’t look quite so bored,” He tilted her head back so that her golden curls fell like liquid down her back, and pressed kisses along the length of her neck. His teeth coming out to scrape and bite against her overheated skin. “I promise, no one will come back here and disturb us.”

Tella pressed a small hand into his chest, debating whether she wanted to push him away or grip his blonde hair. 

If she kept her eyes closed, then she could pretend the lips kissing her were somebody else’s. His. 

Her hand slid up to his hair. 

“Maybe I’m harder to impress than some of your other guests.” Tella whispered into his ear, and she found herself giving into his touch. Letting him lay her on her back as he settled between her thighs, his hips pushing her into the leather couch. The dress of her skirt bunching at her hips. 

He not so gently bit her throat, sinking his teeth into where her pulse fluttered, and Tella couldn’t suppress the sharp sound of surprise that came from her. 

“A challenge,” Jacks grinned into her skin and ground his hips against hers before propping himself up, his hands on either side of her face — a cage that should have scared her. “Tell me, my beautiful Tella, why do you keep coming back to me?” 

His blue eyes were cold. 

Because you take the pain away. 

“Does it matter, as long as I’m here?” Tella replied, in a voice that wasn’t as seductive as she had hoped. 

“When I’m with a woman, I prefer to have all of her,” He moved one hand to the place between her thighs, right over the cotton of her panties, and Tella flushed knowing he felt how wet she was. “Her body… Her thoughts…”

Tella gasped as his thumb pressed down. 

“Her heart?” Tella asked, moving her hips against his fingers. 

His gaze sharpened. 

“Always.” 

His lips crashed into hers as his hand worked between her legs, moving the fabric away from her center before moving to unfasten his pants. 

Tella felt him nudging at her entrance, and she mentally prepared herself to feel full and stretched and just as Jacks started to push the door to his office creaked open — almost slamming into the wall. 

Her eyes opened wide, and she saw a tall, dark figure standing in the doorway…The real man much more handsome and sharp and beautiful than the image she had conjured of him in her mind. 

“A party?” Dante said in a carefully amused voice. “And I wasn’t invited?” 

One of his hands was still clasped around the door handle, and the other was propped up on his hip. His dark hair hung rakishly over his tanned forehead and his eyes…his eyes were darker than Tella had ever seen.

Jacks went rigid over her, which was his only tell. Instead of pushing into her like he had planned he continued to kiss along the length of her neck and over her jawline. 

“It’s a talent,” Jacks said, his lips moving over her skin. “Always showing up where you’re not fucking wanted.”

Dante grinned sharply. 

“Tella’s wanted,” Dante said, his voice carefree, but Tella studied him well enough to know that it was heavily curated and took an immense amount of effort on his part. “By someone much more important than you.”

“I’m not one to leave a lady so…unsatisfied.” Jacks said and ground his hips against Tella’s in an obscene way. 

“The lady,” Tella said in a bright voice, one that sounded completely out of place and unrecognizable to her own ears. “Has a voice and can speak for herself.”

Blue and brown eyes looked at her intently, and she felt the complete weight of them. 

Dante cocked his head to the side. His face was almost impassive, but she noted the way his jaw clenched. 

“Who is it that wants to see me?” Tella asked, trying to sink into the cushioned couch and away from Jacks’ body. 

Dante raised a dark brow. 

“Legend.” The name came from Jacks, not Dante. 

He shifted them, so that he was sitting up with Tella on his lap — and she felt her blood rushing to her face at the sudden movement. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. Her dress covered where they almost joined. His cold hands splayed over her tiny hips. 

“Come with me.” Dante said, his expression losing some of its amused facade. 

“Or stay.” Jacks squeezed her hips. 

There was some part of her, probably not one that she should be proud of, that wanted to stay with Jacks. Just to see how Dante would react. If it would hurt him in the same way he hurt her when he left her on the steps…and being with Jacks — it was addictive. 

But if Dante was here, then it most likely was important. Otherwise he never would have risked coming here. 

“I should go.” Tella said, looking into sharp blue eyes. Jacks’s face didn’t change. He wore the same haughty smirk that he always did. Even though she was leaving him, he acted as if it was a victory. Like he had somehow won.

“I’ll see you tonight.” Jacks grinned, not bothering to lower his voice. 

From the corner of her eye Tella saw Dante tense as he heard the words Jacks said, and understood them. Jacks would be visiting her in her dreams. A small shiver ran through her skin.

Tella slowly slid off of Jacks’s lap — she tried to give Jacks privacy to cover himself, but he was absurdly slow in tucking himself into his pants, and Tella knew why. He wanted to torment Dante. Let him know exactly what would have happened if he hadn’t walked in on them. 

She walked to the door and stood in front of Dante, feeling fragile in front of him, but she kept her head held high. 

She was often compared to a doll — with her big blue eyes and golden curls and small stature — but this was the only time she ever felt like one. 

“I’m ready.” Tella said, staring him in the eyes as she smoothed the wrinkles in her dress. 

Dante brought one hand up and tugged up the bodice of her dress, ensuring that her breast was fully covered before placing his hand on the small base of her back and leading her out of the room.

The door slamming behind them. 

They didn’t speak a word as they walked through the gambling hall, ignoring all the debauchery around them. It wasn’t until they were out in the crisp night air, far away from the Jacks, did Dante speak. 

“Why do you go there?”

Their feet sounded over the cobbled stone street. 

Tella thought over all of the things that she could say, of all the things she would love to say, and for once she decided to hold her tongue. 

“Because he holds me without hurting me,” Tella said, swallowing all of the other words that threatened to escape. Dante’s brown eyes flickered to the plum-red mark on her pale throat, and he raised his brow in question. The fury on his face shining through his mask. Tella wet her dry lips before continuing. “He doesn’t hurt me in the ways that matter. He doesn’t hurt my heart.” 

----

tagging: @thefangirlofhp @sakurakittypeach @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565

[riverdale-retread]

Riverdale s7 e1

There is a lot of commentary about whether the show is bad or good, and among those who hold that it's bad, a debate about whether said badness is intentional (It's camp! It's satire! It's  commentary on culture and/or our times!) or brought about from a lack of talent or planning by the producers, writers and/or actors.

What I say is this - I love the care with which Riverdale is made.  Starting with the S7 opening sequence!!

Archie’s painted hot rod is shown, then as the song plays Archie spins into view, his face framed in a little circle. He's doing something with his eyebrows. His smile is just a little off. Not a LOT off. Just off.  Immediately after that we see him press a kiss to Mary Andrews' cheek. We know it's all wrong because Mary Andrews is wary of the violence of this son that she regrets mothering and can't wait to get rid of.  They are not this affectionate.

Next up is Betty Cooper, short hair in the cutest ringlets, smiling sweetly, looking wholesome.  Betty Cooper found the pressure to be sweetly wholesome unbearably suffocating all six seasons of this show.  Immediately after her is Veronica with the most spectacular bangs,  looking pretty and hard and insincere.  These are things that Veronica hates to be thought of as.  

Then comes Cheryl, severely annoyed to be there, giving an evil eyed false smile.  Assuming arguendo that this is Jughead as world-maker as well as narrator, the fact that Cheryl gets to have a do-over of her intro in the montage, a doubling-up if you will, is noteworthy.  Everyone else gets the one shot in the juke box, but Cheryl gets a twofer, wearing the Lolita-Grundy sunglasses and pouting over the door of a great looking convertible. Kevin, looking gormless is up next and it makes me feel worried. Toni Topaz is looking ultra heterosexual with her long ponytail up-do. She winks at the  audience.  This is not edgy Serpent Queen Toni at all. But she and Veronica both look spectacular with bangs.  Tabitha in white cats’ eye glasses and white gloves, blows a kiss to the audience, looking sheltered and innocent when we all know she's a weirdo and not above cosplaying a truck stop hooker to catch a killer.  

The only person who looks like "himself" is Jughead, who comes last.  Worried, frantic, concerned and unhappy - basically, fail-adult Jughead without Tabitha.  Poor Jughead.

The year, he says, is 1955 and apparently people didn't mind when couples executed complicated dances involving swirling skirts inside a diner where people are trying to eat.  Jughead is narrating as he clatters away on a huge typewriter at the Diner.  Apparently the patrons don't mind that either. Does he keep it there?  Did he commandeer the one in the office?? Does he haul it around??

As Jughead narrates, speculating about where he is - Not sure if he's in the past or the past of an alternate universe -  he speaks faster and more frantically, sounding more and more like Bunker Jughead of Rivervale.  He tries to sound unhappy about living in a railcar with Hot Dog (". . . which actually tracks" sighhhh) but we all know he's relieved he's not homeless and couch surfing. Having a dog and a residence of his own is more stability than he's had since graduating high school and before Jabitha began cohabitation.

They're all juniors in high school again!  Betty and Kevin holding hands down the hallway, Betty in excellent patterned pants with eyes only for Kevin who won't look at her.  Jughead looks at the two of them with an expression of suppressing in indigestion burp but neither notice him.  Jughead is worried for Betty, all the time, nonstop, in every universe.  Plus Bughead were the horniest little fuckers in any high school on American television ever, and so the fact of Betty dating a gay man worries Jughead.  He doesn’t want to have sex with her anymore, yet Jughead wants Betty to have good things.  And Jughead has never liked Kevin much, but he’s worried for Kevin too. Betty wasn’t and isn’t a girl who takes not getting her way with grace.

Cheryl still has a twin brother, but she is completely not at all in love with this one.  The face she makes is not of a girl dominating the halls of her high school with her soulmate.  Jughead feels very similar about this iteration of a Boy Blossom, noting first and foremost that this kiddo is Cheryl’s twin, then second that he is not Jason, before introducing us to his actual name: Julian.

Julian like the possessed doll, the chimera twin that got eaten by Cheryl in the womb, etc, that Julian. Who actually knew this Julian name, other than Toni?  

Jughead’s thoughts turn directly from Cheryl to Not-Jason to Reggie then on to Archie.  This is the first of several pings back to earlier seasons, which I am sure I’m not going to be able to catch in a perfect way.  But!  Reggie and Jason were constantly in each other’s company in Jughead’s hallucinatory reminiscences of Jason during S1, even though Reggie barely ever mentioned Jason, and Cheryl has never been shown actually discussing Jason with either Reggie 1.0 or 2.0.

The key thing that Jughead notices about Archie is his body, in the same way the key thing he notices about Julian is that he is not Jason.  Archie being wholesome enough to kiss his mom on the cheek goodbye every morning being into body building in 1955 is very progressive (and gay) of him, isn’t it?  That sort of muscular build was still sort of a niche thing, I thought.

Jughead has been frowning at all these people for quite a while, long enough to confirm that they have no recollection of their S6 selves.  He hasn’t seen Tabitha, who he helpfully explains is chronokinetic and the town’s literal guardian angel AND his girlfriend.

Just in time, Pop Tate announces that the bus from Mississippi has arrived.  Tabitha, looking very sad, is accompanied by Toni, equally sad, and a third person, who I assumed was Chuck even though the actor has changed because that wouldn’t be Munroe.  Sadness from having to witness an act of racial injustice and hatred makes people move in slow motion into the Diner.

Jughead watches Tabitha slowly walk past him before he calls her name.  The way he says “Tabitha” is so cautious, because she might reject any conversation with the guy wearing a bulky sweater with the S stamped on it AND a felt crown making very loud tappity tap noises at her grandfather’s diner, and hopeful, because maybe they’re friends, and maybe hearing Jughead will make this Tabitha remember season 6.  The guarded, questioning response he gets from her makes Jughead change tack fast, to discuss the Emmett Till hearing verdict as something he heard “on the radio.”   When Jughead says the verdict made him “sick to my stomach” Tabitha frowns slightly, wary of where he might go with this, perhaps.   Tabitha saying that she and her friends are trying to figure out what they should do next, Jughead isn’t even breathing.  He’s watching her so hard, so hopeful that Tabitha will give him some hint that she knows this is the wrong universe, and so worried she might not.

When she asks him to confirm that his name is Jughead in a way that indicates they aren’t even friends in this universe, Jughead is so hurt that his drops out of his careful, speak-in-full-sentences 1950s speech, and stutters.  His eyes get much, much sadder, right before he says it’s overwhelming and heartbreaking.  He looks like he might cry.   Poor Jughead.  

The cruelty of his fate is astounding.  He was a kid who was left behind and rejected by his mother, let to live homeless by his father, rejected by Fred Andrews, routinely forgotten by his girlfriend during what he thought of as their shared childhood memories, and now, the singularly stable adult friendship and relationship of his life is like it never existed.  Jughead Jones is someone who hasn’t ever been without a girlfriend, it seems since starting one with Betty Cooper, but now when he needs a relationship the most, Tabitha literally doesn’t know him.

Simply because Tabitha Tate doesn’t know him, Jughead hates everything about the 1950s. (Whoever said the 1950s was the greatest decade should have their head examined, he deadpans.)

Archie is trying to skip out of the house when Mary calls to him.  Archie grimaces so hard at his mother’s summons that I can see it through the back of his head.  This did give me a small twinge of hope that maybe he does remember S1-6, and that Archie is putting on this wholesome teenager act, same as Jughead, until he can figure out what’s going on.  He puts on an evidently false face of doe-eyed innocence when he gets it together to go talk to his mother. He’s literally never made that face before in the past six years.

Mary Andrews is very upset about the photos of James Dean’s car accident in the papers, so she confiscates the keys to Archie’s “hotrod” with “fire painted on its sides.” Archie tries to talk his way out of this but fails.  He longingly looks at his “barely above a jalopy” vehicle before turning to face the reality of having to take a very old looking bicycle to school.

Archie has never been this cute to me. His little face!   Then he’s peddling uphill, getting honked at, and so mad .  Just, adorable.  I wanna give him a cookie.   He gets to school just in time.

Meanwhile, Betty in her very excellent 1950s pants is sitting with Toni in the Blue and Gold room.  Her sweater says Betty on it in a curly font.  With her short blonde curls framing her sweet face Betty looks picture perfect. She and Toni both have such enormous eyes that I keep getting distracted from the serious topic they are discussing - how to get past the school censors to properly cover the Emmett Till travesty.  When Betty says she will throw her weight behind getting the story told, Toni smiles at her in a small cheek scrunching way that she’s never done before.  She looks amazing, by the way - the bangs, the big hoop earrings, the scarf /headband thing in her hair, the Southside Serpent Jeans jacket.

Cut to a class where a 1950s tv announcer voice is explaining what a mill is (a souped up hot rod or jalopy) in a film the class are watching  when the principal (Warden Norton repurposed as Principal Featherhead!) bursts in to make an announcement.  Archie is wearing an R sweater, with Jughead in the S sweater seated nearby.

What do these mean??

Veronica make an iconic entrance, complete with heralding blues horns.  Yellow heels, yellow belt, black dress with white polka dots, black purse,  sunglasses, big black sunhat trimmed with the same fabric as her dress, and red lips.  Lace gloves with little black polka dots.

OMG SHE LOOKS SO HOT.

I want this whole thing.  I make a vow to only wear yellow heels with black dresses.

Archie, getting his first look, drops his pencil.  (Kevin, right behind him, has no reaction whatsoever.)  Jughead, Tabitha-less, looks constipated as he notes:  “Damn.”

Girl, that’s what I said!

With everyone else in some sort of sweater or jacket, buttoned up to the neck, Veronica’s plunging neckline and sleeveless dress makes her look practically naked.   She’s a Hollywood scion - Hermione and Hiram have “Amercia’s number one rated television program,” and of course they’re going to call it, Oh Mija!

I LOVED this in-joke, because it functions as a tribute to Hiram.  Mija was the word he said the most, after, maybe, Archie.

For some reason, this whole situation - Veronica’s appearance, introduction, presence and existence- piss Cheryl off entirely.  She is huffing, rolling her eyes, and generally extremely antsy.

Seated right behind her, Archie is just in heaven. Veronica is being very alternative-universe here: her self introduction is very pompous.  Real Veronica Lodge actually hates pomposity.  Her vocabulary is still very Jughead-huge though (“opportune” and “raven haired.”)  Veronica says that she’s trying a method acting type of thing (de rigueur for the age perhaps - another thing she might actually say) of experiencing small town life so she can better portray the “innocent ingenue” in the upcoming production of “Our Town.”

Longtime viewers are meant to know that she is lying about staying with an aunt-and-uncle, mostly because these people have never been introduced in the past six seasons.  As far as we’ve ever been told about Hiram in the competing lores of his life, he doesn’t have siblings. We have almost no lore about Hermione, other than FP hit on her almost once in high school and she had the affair with Fred Andrews as an adult.

Both Cheryl and Betty do not like that Veronica called them “small town lifers” basically.   Archie is entirely entranced with her, laughing at every little joke that Veronica makes, and even Cheryl pointedly turning in her seat to glare at him can’t make his besotted grin falter even a little bit.  

Veronica purrs and preens when she calls herself “the scion of Tinseltown royalty.”  I’m surprised she doesn’t roll her Rs.  When she winsomely says Thank You, Archie, whose face has been lit up like a christmas tree this whole time, bursts into solitary applause.   Cheryl is still very mad, but Archie gets rewarded with an extremely sexy wink by Veronica for being such an immediate fan.  

Is that a blush I see on Archie’s face?

I love this Archie. He’s so cute.

The table that Veronica chooses to try to join is Cheryl, Betty,  Kevin, Julian and Archie.  This is a weird fricking cluster of people.  Cheryl and Betty? And what the heck would Kevin and Julian have in common?   When Veronica asks to sit, Cheryl wants to say no but she is betrayed by both of the other redheads, who clear the space immediately.  Veronica comes to perch gracefully between the two redhead boys.  

Veronica says she caught all their names in the class they were just in.  Of course, Betty having BETTY embroidered into her sweater probably helps with that too.   Remembering that the R wearing Archie is Archie might be more of a feat.   Veronica shows that she took Cheryl’s eye rolls to heart by pointedly asking Cheryl what her name was.  Cheryl is extremely displeased, yet again.   This seems to know exactly what just happened between Veronica and Cheryl- he is trying very hard not to laugh too much.

Cheryl tries to explain that that they’d been discussing James Dean’s death, very self-importantly adding that she is president of his fanclub, when she gets undermined by Julian, who interrupts with a very weak joke about the Oh Mija! show being “high-larious,” to Veronica.   He says that the Blossoms “tune in every week” which must be a lie, because Cheryl’s whole face sours.  Betty and Kevin seem like they’re on the same wavelength.  They project the same calm, almost bovine energy when they ask Veronica where she lived in LA (BelAir) and if she knew James Dean.

Cheryl sharply tells Kevin off for being “so provincial,” then goes off to sideways disparage Veronica by implying that she wasn’t important enough to be a friend of James Dean, a person who was friends with Elizabethe Taylor.   Turns out Veronica Lodge was ‘friendly’ with Jimmy, “friendly” enough to go skinny dipping together at the Chateau Marmaduke (standing in for Chateau Marmont).  

This makes Archie choke.  Literally.  He focuses on “skinny dipping” -Veronica! Naked! She does Naked things! - while Betty and Kevin (Bevin? Ketty??) are entranced about being that friendly with James Dean.  Julian is more in Archie’s camp - he wants to know if Veronica has done the naked thing once or more than once.  I so appreciate the asshole energy that Julian projects nonstop.  He reminds me a lot of Bret Weston Wallis that way. You know on sight that he’s a dickhead, which is 180 degrees different from the angelic way that Jughead used to hallucinate Jason.

When Cheryl plays with her hair to sarcastically ask if Veronica will claim that she had dated Jimmy Dean, Veronica says no, but then drops a bombshell.  James Dean “played both sides of the net.”  In case the small town rubes don’t get her meaning, Veronica clarifies that this means both girls and boys.  Kevin has a milder version of Archie’s choking reaction from seconds before at this thought.  He’s smiling, and Betty is frowning.  Oh?  Oh???

When Kevin wants Veronica to name what James Dean was, Archie interrupts. This made me wonder if there  was a 1950s term for bisexual, that everyone would’ve known, that you can say on a CW show in 2023?    I guess not because Kevin never gets to finish his question.

Archie has a confused reaction, which fits canon so far and why Jarchie hasn’t happened yet even though it should.  He finds the concept of regular guys who are almost cowboys (all American? Is that what he means to say?) being anything other than 100% proof heterosexual incomprehensible.  Cheryl reacts with homophobic anger - it’s besmirchment, it’s foul, to say Jimmy Dean was not straight.   When Veronica calls her provincial, Cheryl slut shames her.  Nobody cares that Cheryl has flounced off, so now Kevin wants to know about Sal Mineo.

Kevin is definitely not straight in this universe.  Veronica knows it, apparently immediately. Poor Betty.

In science class later that day we see ETHEL is Jughead’s lab desk partner. Jughead is miserable to be back in high school.  He has an Asian American science teacher, who wears nerdy round glasses and has a bit of a lisp.  The teacher says Bailey Comet is due to arrive in two years.   He sounds vaguely Singporean, his teacher.  

Cut to Cheryl screaming GUYS as she floats in the air, trying to ice the comet.

Cut to the end of school, where Archie winsomely offers Veronica an escort home.  He has no ride, however, and Veronica isn’t the type of girl to walk. (She also just can’t, not in those high heels.)  Julian has offered Veronica a ride, ditching his sister wholesale.  JASON WOULD NEVER. Archie and Cheryl can’t bear to look at each other in the face of this rejection they’ve suffered.

In the waning light, Betty and Veronica are trying to talk to two old white men.  Dupont from Stonewall is here in Riverdale now as Werther a ‘child psychiatrist’ who fully backs Warden, I mean Principal, Featherhead that the Emmett Till murder and trial are not suitable subject matter for the school paper.

Toni tries to advocate for publication by saying that people need to know what happened “so that it doesn’t happen again.”  That is so adorable and incorrect.  Knowing something terrible happened again does not in any way ensure that it doesn’t keep happening.  I think the better way to think about it is, We owe it to the wronged to mark their stories.  Featherhead shoots her down by saying that “these sorts of things don’t happen in Riverdale.”  He also says a wrong thing - that “change doesn’t happen overnight.” Actually all change happens overnight.  That’s where there’s always a backlash to any progress, because those who can’t keep up want to turn it back. A lot of the time, they succeed.  In any case, Featherstone patronizes Toni by telling her take satisfaction in how ‘well written’ in article is.

Later, at family dinner in which Polly and Charles don’t exist, Betty tries to push her parents into reading Toni’s article on the air at their nightly broadcast on RIVW.  15 minutes is what they get, of which Toni’s article would take a whole minute.   Hal’s 50s persona is very hilarious.  He looks extremely shifty and chipunky, reminding me quite a lot of Peter Pettigrew of all things.  Alice has absolutely killer eyebrows, sharp enough to slice your face open.   They both repeat Featherstone’s line about the article being ‘well written’ but have no intention of rocking the boat.   Betty is angry but she is overruled by the power of the Blossom money and her parents not wanting to upset their only sponsor.

1950s Archie is still the cutest.  He is working his car, underneath it, as he breathlessly narrates his ove for Veronica Lodge.  He actually says SHAZAM!  persuasively.  Hit with a thunderbolt indeed.  He’s so 1950s in fact that the things he says and the way he says them feel suspicious too perfect. “How’s a guy like me gonna get anywhere with a girl like Veronica Lodge” and so  forth.  Jughead is perched like a depressed crow in his S sweater that seems to get darker and darker as the day goes on, looking off to the side and not listening to this earnest puppy love talk.

Jughead’s narration takes over. He is just so anxious.  He’s talking so fast, thinking about Bailey’s Comet, trying to harness that to get back to the future. “But I needed [ pause ] help.”  He sounds increasingly like the wigged out Bunker Jug of Rivervale.  Archie asks for his dad’s hammer, which sets off Jughead’s memory - that Archie buried the hammer in the time capsule.

The capsule they buried in the year 2020 when they graduated from high school, not to be confused with the year 2020 when they were 6 years after graduating from high school, might still be in existence in 1955 even though they were sent ‘back’ to this time from the first but not the second 2020.

Jughead seems to think this is a logical leap and I am very tickled. I kind of find it annoying (sorry, anti-intellectualism incoming, mea culpa in advance) when time travel stories get too precious about theoretical physics, so this made me very pleased with the wild swings they take in narrative on Riverdale.

So! Jughead asks for a shovel to Archie, who gives him an odd look. Is it because Archie thinks “Can I borrow a shovel?” is a really weird response to “Have you seen my dad’s hammer?” or is it because Archie knows something?

Later that night, Jughead is digging something out of the ground again. Grave robbery is one of his leitmotifs, I suppose?   He hits something hard, and guess what! It’s the time capsule.  Jughead is out of breath as he says “Thank God” but he seems just as frantic and scared as before.  And dun dun!! Someone is watching him do all this from the shadows!  The hairline looks vaguely like Tabitha.

Veronica is going to school the next day, wearing  more modest neckline and weather appropriate warm clothes.   Archie has somehow gotten his car out of the garage, so now he’s able to offer her a ride home. She’s very pleased, but Jughead walks right in between the two of them, carrying the time capsule ice box. Summarily, he insists that the two of them come meet him in the music room. Veronica has no idea who he is.

In the music room, they’re all holding their 2020 self’s contribution to the time capsule.  Toni has never seen the Pretty Poisons jacket.  Veronica thinks the Pop’s menu is an only passable prop.  Betty finds the headlines to be “like Dr. Seuss” meaning amusing gibberish, perhaps?   And Kevin keeps asking unanswerable questions - he wants to know what the “inch” is in Hedwig and the Angry Inch.  Archie wants to know when Jughead buried Fred’s hammer in a cooler.

Jughead tackles that one first, saying “YOU did.”  Archie genuinely looks like he has no idea what Jughead’ is talking about, but I’ve sussed it out now - 1950s Archie’s response to confusion is to smile about it. So he smiles.  Jughead can see that his attempt to “shake something loose” in his friends’ minds isn’t working, so in his frustration, his presentation starts to get very garbled.  He tells them they buried all these things 67 years ago IN THE FUTURE which, given the tenses, doesn’t even amount to English.   He says they need to get back to ‘our present, our future’ before full on stuttering.  Betty is concerned, Cheryl is annoyed, Toni and Kevin look embarrassed for Jughead, Archie is smiling because he’s confused.  Veronica, however, is very entertained.  

Archie wants to know what Jughead buried.  Jughead knows it was his “yarn beanie” but then says it wasn’t in the time capsule.  For some reason, this takes the fun out of this exercise for Archie, the fact that Jughead didn’t include an item of his own in the ‘cooler.’

Veronica says she’ll play along, and asks if she or Elizabeth Taylor is more famous in the future.  Cheryl, not to be outdone, cuts in with a request to give a bird’s eye view of the future.  Jughead has not thought this far in advance, so his answer is (adorably) piss poor.  he just throw things out - smartphones,  text messages, spotify, the internet - in THAT order which is the most confusing thing of all time.  Betty tries to help him out since he’s getting frantic during this speech that makes no sense to her - she asks Jughead to describe everyone’s Season 6 selves.

Jughead’s summaries are as follows:  Archie was in the army, fought in a war. Betty was in FBI hunting serial killers.  The way Betty practically salivates at the word serial killer, which doesn’t exist as a word yet, is VERY interesting.  Veronica owns a casino, and before that a speakeasy.  Toni bought the speakeasy, turned it into a biker bar.  Both Veronica and Toni are charmed by this story.  

Jughead positively chokes when he tries to summarize Kevin’s life.  He can tell, by this time, that this is going very sideways, which won’t be helped by how out of sorts Kevin’s life became by the end of Season 6.  Kevin is summarized as directing some musicals, after which he joined an organ harvesting cult.  Not wrong, but not very fulsome.  Cheryl, Jughead says, was possessed by an ancestor and became a witch.  She is not a happy customer, at all.

Archie says a fascinating thing- that he wouldn’t want to go back to the future because “we” sound miserable. Well, given that he was just told he joined the army and went to war, this is true for him, but not all the futures are miserable.

Veronica wants to know how the whole ‘going back to the future’ thing will happen, to which Jughead’s entire presentation falls completely apart. When he says that one of the ways might be a comet, Toni (who has tried very hard to be polite so far) gives a What the fuck look to Betty, who answers it with a Oh he’s just like this smile.   Jughead is fully in frantic world-maintainer Bunker Jughead mode now, and starts shouting about having Archie and Betty make out on Archie’s bed and then “BLOW  UP A BOMB UNDERNEATH THEM.”

This is so funny. I love with Jughead gets all Bunker-Jug, with the shouting and the extreme hand gestures. Is he perhaps channeling Hiram??

Everyone thinks this is very funny, but Archie has had enough.  Archie tries to make Jughead ‘take five’ which puts Jughead fully into feral motormouth mode to ask “YOU’RENOTGONNABEATMEUPAREYOUCUZYOU’REREALLYVIOLENTINTHEFUTURE”

The whole sentence is spit out as one long word.

When the two of them are alone in the gym, Archie lets it rip.  “People are going to think you belong in the looney bin with the other nutjobs!” and “It’s hard enough without your crazy stories” etc.  Jughead is coming down from his frantic mania so being called a ‘nut job’ is not helping.  His eyes actually start to glisten with tears.  “You think I’m crazy?” he asks, in a more normal, much sadder cadence.   Jughead is so upset, and so lonely, and so despairing.

This is a big change from his mid teens, when he took on being not understood, being isolated, unique and alone, as a badge of honor.  This Jughead understands the horror of being trapped in a solitary reality.  He can’t even stand to look at Archie, because that would mean confronting how trapped and alone he actually is in this universe.  Archie tries to be kind, telling him to keep using his ‘overactive’ imagination by channeling that energy into creating fiction.  When Jughead gives up altogether, and agrees, Archie actually skips a couple steps (something he’s never done in any of the other universes) before leaving Jughead standing in the gym.

At the very red, very depressing Blossom mansion, Penelope, who has the most fascinating hairdo (it’s both ornate and simple, hideous and perfectly coiffed) while dressed like the nightmare camp version of the English queen wants to know why  her twins look so sullen.  The way the Blossom twins of this universe bicker seems much more realistic, and, accordingly, much more dull.   I think this is post facto validation for the way the Cheryl-Jason relationship is in the S1-6 canon. It’s so much more interesting than this mundanity between Julian and Cheryl.

Penelope delivers movie magazines to Cheryl, and on the cover is someone not Veronica Lodge being cast in Our Town!

Meanwhile, Veronica is on a date with Archie at Pop’s!  She loves the food. All her attempts to make lighthearted conversation with Archie fail.  He has no idea who Gloria Swanson is.  This literally breaks Veronica’s spirit.   So she changes her line of questioning - “Tell me everything there is to know about Archie Andrews.”

His life is so boring.  “Work on my car. I like sports. I come here to pops. And i hangout at sweet water river.  mostly to fish.”

Then Archie reveals that Fred didn’t make it back from the Korean War, making him one of the 33,000 American servicemen who died.  Thank you Fred Andrews for your service, I guess? I’m slightly peeved that they didn’t make up a different war like they did for Archie to go fight in during the 2020 that lasted for seven years, but then they used the real Emmett Till story so they might as well use the Korean War, I suppose.  Archie is very used to people being upset about having asked, as well as not knowing what to say, so he is very smooth in the way he assures Veronica that “It’s OK” when she tries to apologize for prying.   In this universe, Mary Andrews works part time at the dress shop (no lawyering for her, alas).   I’m shocked she doesn’t work at Pop’s.  Though I guess maybe this economy is better.

Archie has never had a serious girlfriend by his Junior year of HS, about which Veronica is shocked.  Two days after meeting Veronica and in the course of their first real date, Archie more or less says that he wants to be Veronica’s boyfriend. He looks so starry eyed at her, that Veronica is extremely charmed. (So am I.)

But Veronica can’t be let to have nice things, so in comes Cheryl, shouting “J’accuse!”  Cheryl hates Veronica SO MUCH.  Just the ad hominem insults - “lying liar of a spoiled brat” and “banished by your parents!”  - and she insists on shouting the fact that Veronica employed a bit of puffery when she was introducing herself to the class.  

At the Pembroke, Veronica is weeping while consoled by Archie.  Archie tries to say nobody takes Cheryl seriously  Veronica fesses up that she was in fact banished, and she was a problem for her parents.   Veronica says she was ignored and sidelined since the Lodges started Oh Mija!  This is fascinating actually because Veronica’s persistent problem during her high school years was that both her parents were completely obsessed with her- and when she acquired a hitherto unknown older sibling halfway through her years in high school, Hermosa exhibited the same Lodge trait - obsession with Veronica, wanting to love her, wanting and willing to shoot at people on her behalf, and hating her just the little bit.  Now, in this universe, she’s an inconvenient burden neither parents cares much about - which indicates that Veronica was so the object of her parents’ focus because the two of them didn’t have sufficient creative outlets.  “The show is their real baby, not me.”    

This happened in a slower way during S5-6.  When Hiram finally, FINALLY killed off Riverdale and began his SoDale giant real estate project, he stopped being as invested in Veronica per se.  And when Hermione found the semi-acting gig of being a “Real Housewife,” she disappeared entirely out of Veronica’s life.

It turns out Veronica’s deep dark secret, the thing that got her banished to Riverdale by her parents, was that she was in fact tangentially involved in James Dean’s death.  She was one of several good time girls who formed a sort of racing fandom for Dean, and were going to meet him to cheer him on during a race.  

After consoling Veronica, Archie gets home late, to be immediately yelled at by Mary.  Mary is traumatized by the loss of Fred Andrews - which she honestly wasn’t very much in S4-6. Maybe this is why, if he does remember, Archie prefers to stay in this universe.    He has a mom who cares deeply that his father died.  Mother and son bond over their shared loss.  The compromise is that Archie is allowed to drive as long as his car goes very, very slow.  I will also note that his question about how he took HIS car out in a drive is a very unteenager thing to say.  So the question remains - what does Archie know or sense about this alternate universe?

In a fit of masochism, Veronica watches her parents’ show.  The kid cast to play the Mija is Tillie Temple (aka Shirley Temple, perhaps??).  Veronica hates Tilie.  Of course, right now is when Hermione calls.   Turns out someone is keeping a strict eye on the guests that Veronica has over at the apartment.  Veronica wants to go home for Thanksgiving, but Hermione doesn’t say she can come.  She has Orson Welles visiting.  Veronica is so lonely.   This is also new for Veronica - Maternal rejection has never been her problem.  That was usually reserved for Jughead, Cheryl and to a lesser extent, Betty and Archie.

Betty reads the Emmett Till newsletter which show the pictures of what Till went through.  It radicalizes Betty  into wanting to publish the article Toni wrote.  But Toni wants to read a poem out during the morning announcements. There’s an echo of the larger theme in S1 through 6 here.  In previous seasons, Cheryl took it upon herself to make up for her ancestor’s sins. In this one, Toni wants Cheryl to make it up to - who? Toni? the world? - someone for her parents’ cowardice in not wanting to cover the Till murder.   Toni is planning an ambush.

Tabitha immediately approaches Jughead She asks for help.  NAACP is taking Emmett Till’s mother on tour, so Tabitha is going with them.  What Tabitha needs someone to help her ‘stay on top of’ school while she is on this tour.  It’s really not clear to me what that will be, but Jughead - though he is crushed that this Tabitha doesn’t even seem to know him at all - agrees immediately.  His eyes get all sad again, as he looks with wistful tenderness at this person who is exactly like his girlfriend but isn’t, at all.   He smiles and says “Awesome!” which he corrects to “Swell.”

Meanwhile Toni ambushes Cheryl in the bathroom with Betty.  Cheryl doesn’t mind letting Toni borrow her platform, but points out that Featherhead has pulled the plug before.  For what, I wonder? When??  She’s otherwise very easily persuaded.

Tabitha has fainted, Featherhead is tending to her, Miss Bell is off, and so now, Toni can take over the morning announcement!

As Toni was reading the Langston Hughes poem I realized with the Rs and Ss stand for on those sweaters. R is for Riverdale.  A bunch of other students have Rs emblazoned on their sweaters and sweatshirts.  So the S must be for Southside.  Jughead wears a Southside High sweater all the time to attend Riverdale High, and they just let him!

So anyway Toni exhorts everyone to ‘talk to each other’ about it, and this is the third weird lie propagated in American society.  The emphasis on dialogue as somehow a catalyst for systemic change, which it is not

The four girls get a telling off from Featherhead, who tries to call them liars -but Tabitha has an answer for that (she felt sick! but felt better!) and insubordinate - but Cheryl has an answer for that (there has not been a rule that poetry can’t be read during the morning announcement or that they have to pass censorship).  

In the classroom later, the teacher does open up the discussion to the topic, but see, this is the problem.  It puts the burden on the three people of color - Tabitha, Toni, and the unnamed guy I have assumed is Chuck Clayton- to explain reality to everyone else, who can be passive recipients of information and responsible only for articulating their emotional responses.

Later that school day, Veronica is offered a ride by both Julian and Archie, and rejects them both in favor of walking home!

Late at night, Jughead is freaking out by himself in the diner, no typewriter.  He is cracking up.  Maybe seasons 1-6 were the dream and he finally woke up!!  

Tabitha slides into the booth and Glory Hallelujah it’s HIS Tabitha!  “The Tabitha who remembers and loves you.”  He reaches out to grasp her with both hands.  He’s so happy to see her, he says, covering his eyes with one hand, trying not to burst into tears.  Tabitha says that the comet hit because Cheryl failed, so they had their extinction level event  after all.  This isn’t the Sweet Hereafter.  She instead used her life force to send everyone back to 1955 to try to change the future.  She has to be ALONE to untangle all the messed up timelines.  “You have to make a go of it here in the 50s.”

So she parked Jughead here in 1955 to be safe, but because he kept remembering the actual reality (and could drive himself insane or further corrupt the safe timeline) she had to come back to make him forget, so that he can “live in the present, in the moment.”   Oh, but Tabitha.  Jughead was already so bad at that!  And now that’s his part of the mission? To hold it together without her while she fixes the universe?

Jabitha may be the MOST EPIC relationship in scale which doesn’t quite make up for the tiny amount of screen time we’re likely to get if Tabitha has decided that she has to solve this universe sized problem ALONE.  Jughead was willing to die a LOT.  Tabitha went through every single scenario where Jughead died to see how to make that not happen.  And now, Jughead is going to endure having the happiest time of his life wiped from memory - the time when he was a stable adult, who knew who he was in the world, when he was in a relationship and family unit of people who accepted him and supported him, when he had a real home - because Tabitha says it’s “for the best.”  He decides to trust her with erasing the thing that any of us hold the dearest - his memories that constitute his sense of self.   And can we talk about Tabitha’s self sacrifice?  She’s going to do this very difficult work of setting the UNIVERSE RIGHT while voluntarily, entirely, completely forgotten (by her own hand!) by her significant other who adores her,  all her friends in the community she chose to become independent from her parents, all alone.  

Holy shit.

Jughead’s sprint home after their kiss, which rightly seems to freeze time to be everlasting before Tabitha steps away, is so desperate and frantic.  Jughead who was terrified of being forgotten is beginning to forget the most important person in his adult life. All he has are the words “bend. toward. justice.” and the sense that something terrible has just happened to him, without the ability to remember what it is.   This isn’t the Sweet Hereafter.  This has to be hell.

I am LOVING this.  It’s so BIG.  I wish they could SHOW it though.  But I think eventually, because the universe does in fact bend towards justice, someone will write me the fanfic that will have me lain flat on the floor from devastation.  Because omg the Jabitha relationship has SCOPE.

And the final kicker-  Jughead doesn’t recognize his stupid hat.  Ha!

P.S.  The title reference, “Don’t Worry Darling”  if it’s to that movie that came out this year, in 2023, then it’s very twisty and fun.  Because that movie is about a man manipulating a woman’s mind for his own aggrandizement, and this episode is the mirror of that - a woman manipulating a man’s mind, with his explicit agreement, to save the universe.

[jess-moloney]

Ice Studios as a whole business makes no sense:

[Warning: Super long post]

Let's take a look at their weird "stocking" and "restocking" habits.

First off, we are to believe that the moment something restocks it also sells out (For instance the hats). On October 1st 2023, there was a post on Ice's shop saying the hats would be restocked. Then either they never were or they sold out so fast that no one who wanted them had a chance to buy them.

According to the number of likes on the post for the restock there's 1164 though you can remove one of those since it's Jess and she's probably not buying her own merch (cause she never wears it) so 1163 people liked that post.

There's one comment saying that they missed the restock cause they had bills to pay. There's another comment asking "When"

This means they either never restocked in the first place or they sold at least 1163 hats almost as soon as they were listed. Which certainly is not possible. I'd also assume only a fraction of the people who liked that post were in the market to buy a nearly $100 hat. You'd have to estimate it was probably more like 500 people and even that's being generous so maybe 250 people.

If they did "restock" (which is debatable going by the comments asking when they were going to restock) then they didn't stock more than I'm guessing around 300? 400? If that. Which is why they sold out so fast. Yet, I also can't believe this brand is so popular that they actually sold hundreds of those hats for that amount that quickly. Why don't I believe that?

Well, the skirt has been up for how long now? A week? Two? First it started where you could just buy it (no size options at all). A few days later some size options were added. Sizes 1-2. Even after this Complexicon thing it's still not sold out. Then, I guess you can argue well almost no one can fit into those sizes so of course it wouldn't sell very fast. Fair enough, I'll give you that.

This shirt has been restocked and there for quite a while with many different size options (they also just added a new colour option). No sizes are sold out. With the "advertising" they are currently doing (which by the way that account basically did nothing to advertise anything until maybe a week ago?) if they had such an active cult following devoted to buying these items they should already be sold out or at very least, one of the sizes should be unavailable. Except they aren't.

These pants (which look extremely different from how they are advertised, so much so that I didn't even realize it was the same item) are sold for half this price by Oakley. A better more recognizable and reliable brand. Even if that weren't the case if you look at the website (desktop version) it says it's sold out but then it also says that the item is for "pre-order". If you look at the IG account on the ads when they claim this is dropping, you see a bunch of confused people asking "when"? So either they never actually stocked it or people don't realize that the item in the shop is the item they are advertising (because they look very, very different) so they didn't go buy it.

Now, here's the weird thing. The IG says that the item will be stocked, but then you get the note that the item is pre-order and it ships in 6-8 weeks. There is a post that says "October drop" but since people are still asking when, I don't think it ever dropped despite being in the store and unrecognizable as how they are advertising it. Yet, it was supposed to already be in stock at some point, even though they never dropped it because there was never a post that said it dropped, ever, but it's sold out before they even announced it being dropped and now for a long time it's been stuck on "sold out" but also pre-order?

I have the same exact questions about this jacket which is apparently the "entire outfit" and in the same exact state of limbo as the pants. Look at the pants and jacket compared to how they are both advertised. Do they look anything alike? Even if they did, they are sold as separate items and to get them both, in total, you would need to pay $650. Since there's also confusion as to whether they ever even stocked this item, just going by the comments and posts that promise to stock it then never actually do, (and also the people in the comments confused about how to access the shop) do I believe they sold out of both things? No. I don't. Especially since I can't find one single post from anyone who actually bought it or is wearing it.

The same goes for any item in the store, unless those people are directly connected to Jess or Renell somehow. The one thing I did find (from last year) are some shoes they were selling, allegedly. They had a semi-influencer post an ad for them, there were some other ads posted, and then one "unboxing" video from an account that has around 600 followers and that's it. If you go to the Ice Studios hashtag on IG you will see they have less than 1000 posts tagged to them and most of those posts are Jess (tagging things that are completely unrelated to Ice Studios) and definitely not products that they sell. If you go to any other brand hashtag, big one, even semi-big, you will find posts not only from big accounts but small accounts showing off "Hey look I just got my new *brand* thing" trying to get reposted/noticed by the company. There is not one post like that in the Ice Studios tag.

Ice Studios also doesn't have any other social media. No Twitter, Tiktok, Youtube, or Facebook. So you mean to tell me these insanely overprice items that seem to be in demand by a fraction of people are selling out very quickly and fast enough that this business makes some sort of profit? That's not possible. There's no way they are even stocking over 1000 of each item. They probably aren't even stocking over 100 of each item. I suppose if they manage to somehow sell 100 of those pairs of pants at $300 each, in theory, that's 300 grand, right? However, if this is the case where is the money all going?

For example:

Let's say they stocked 100 of each item and sold out of each item. They would make a ton of money, surely. Then it would at least have to be split 50/50 between Renell and Jess. That would be after taxes and whatever production/shipping fees or whatever they are paying to have these items made. After that point I guess, they just keep 98% of the profits themselves and don't put it back into advertising? Marketing? Doing anything to grow this brand whatsoever?

As a very quick crash grab, that makes sense. I could see someone getting popular enough to open a "store" drop insanely overpriced merch, sell out of it somewhat fast, and keep half a million dollars then close up shop. That's not what they are or have been doing. They are running this business in a very odd manner and have been for 7-8 years. They never seem to restock when people want things restocked if they do it at all (because it's questionable if they do). They don't seem to stock items people keep demanding (though they could certainly get these same items right now and much cheaper than Ice is selling them for).

They don't have any celebrity endorsements, real advertisements, brand recognition, or anything close to that after 7 years. That means they can't be making tons of money because no one outside of their very niche 20K followers even knows who the hell they are. I guess you could tack on a few more because Renell has a ton of followers but how many of them also want to drop that kind of money on a shirt or some pants? Probably a fraction of her actual follower count (and then you have to figure how many of her followers are active and how many aren't, like how Jess seems to have maybe 10K active followers if that, even if her follower count reflects she has 40K followers).

Go ask 10 people on the street, 100 people, 1000 people, if they've ever heard of Ice Studios. I guarantee not a single one of them will know what you're talking about or what that is. At first, I do think it's possible that Renell (by herself) made a killing on what she was selling. Over time, something happened because anything she made (or Jess did) never went back into the business it just went into their pockets. They've never tried to do anything to make this brand marketable or legitimate outside of social media and only on one official account.

If you look at the search rankings (and various terms) you'll find that this website is not even close to popular. You'll also see that people keep searching for the shoes and the cargo skirt (two items that they have failed to bring back) but even if they did bring them back it seems like only 50 people might buy the skirt. The shoes are slightly more popular with 210 monthly searches. Once again, you'd have to figure that only a fraction of these people would actually buy these items and are probably just looking for a price and I'm certain once they were to see a price probably about 50-75% of them wouldn't end up spending however much ridiculous money they would charge for the skirt or shoes.

They've created some minor demand/buzz for items they don't sell anymore and refuse to restock or list (even though it seems they could probably make a good amount on those if they did). They stock a skirt in two small sizes that almost no one can wear/buy. Their entire business seems to be word of mouth. You can also buy traffic to your website to inflate the rankings so who even knows how genuine any of this is, to be honest. Just as much as you can buy likes on IG posts (comments as well).

I have two theories on what might be going on here:

They don't stock that many items to begin with so they sell out very quickly and make a decent profit but are so greedy they keep the majority of it (and then don't put it back into the business to make it a better business). I don't know why they would do this because if they were making that kind of profit and had been putting it back into the business from the start they'd be a much bigger brand by now.

Renell was making a huge profit on her store, then she met Jess, Jess somehow convinced Renell that if she took over management, then the store would get even bigger/more profitable. She was able to invest/buy out or convince Renell to give her 50% ownership and co-founder status. Whatever she actually did, Jess managed to get at least 50% ownership in what used to be a profitable business. Once she took it over, it started to tank, hard. Probably because shortly after that point she started dating Jamie and her entire life became about dating Jamie and doing nothing else. Since Jess has 50% ownership in the company, even though she's shit at running it, Renell probably can't do much about it without buying Jess out or some other legal thing that would be seriously complicated and too messy to do. That or Jess has somehow convinced Renell that she's going to "turn the business around" and do what she promised to do back in 2019 when they seemed to have become partners.

I think the most logical answer is the second one. That when she got to Renell the business was on the rise, she offered to buy out half the company, promised to make it huge with her "management" techniques, and worked on it kind of for a minute (probably not that hard because she figured it would practically sell itself since it was already doing that) then started dating Jamie and forgot what having anything resembling a job was and let the whole thing go to shit. Not that I really think she was working that hard in the first place just doing maybe 5% more. I think right now Jamie is realizing that she's a lazy con artist who makes promises she can't keep and Renell has probably noticed (and probably before now) that Jess has no idea what she's doing.

This is why Jess is scrambling to make Ice Studios look bigger than it actually is and doing all of this work suddenly. Not only because Jamie is probably leaving her ass but because Renell probably can't stand what Jess did to this business. Of course, you'd have to take all of this with a grain of salt because it's only my best guess going on the data that I can find but it seems like that's the most logical explanation for what's going on here. Also, add in that Jess has probably been taking her cut of the money this whole time, not investing it back into the company, and spending it on ridiculous shit like all the surgery she needed for her face. I do think she's a con artist, I do think someone here got scammed, I do think this business is poorly run trash and falsely advertising their popularity and products, and I do think that Jess is behind all of it because that is the only thing that makes any sense. If you did read all of this, what do you think? Anything to add? Have any theories? I'd like to know because I'm at a loss otherwise.

[sanchoyoscribbles]

I've been wanting to do upgraded forms of my ocs for a bit now but I didn't necessarily wanna follow the ReTurn format (those feel a bit more like redesigns than proper upgrades!) kind of wanted to make them more coherent as a group while I was at it. it makes sense for them not to be super matchy-matchy at the start. they don't exactly work as a unit! (even the og 3 who are on the same team! they're so dysfunctional!) although they're probably too cluttered for typical tmm designs I feel like I can get away with it for upgraded forms...in universe these would be like. movie-only type ones. lmao

these aren't the finalized designs, but I thought itd be fun to show it as a wip so you guys can see what changes from early drafts to the final versions!!! and kind of explain my process ^_^

some fun design details: Cara's top +skirt topper is shaped like a star (I..plan to add MORE stars to her design somehow. maybe on her cuff buttons too. or on her cape somehow. I may change the shape of it to a star entirely?)

her and Sapote both have the bow+heart emblem belt Mira's og design has while Aqua and Persi have matching side bows on their outfits

Persi's design leans WAY harder into alien design motifs. considering changing her arm thingies to those wraps the aliens wear...

Aqua's is a lot looser and more flowy than her normal miniskirt dress! and her hair is a lot longer in a bun instead of her faux metal ponytail that can be used as a weapon in a pinch. I feel like an earlier aqua would shy away from having longer hair even tho she can change it whenever just bc she'd worry abt it (or looser fabric) in battle...

ALL of these designs have callbacks to early drafts of all of their beta/earlier designs (like, the designs BEFORE their current ones too)

Aqua and Mira both have hearts in their designs to match each other (debating leaving that for just those two or adding it to all 6 of them? )

Mira's LONG leg warmers...were my way of compromising my want to give her a clown-silhouette jumpsuit but being too attached to her lil pumpkin pant shorts lmao (also, kind of look like hooves. donkeygirl win) in general I feel like the long socks + side pony give her a slightly more mature look which is. good considering these designs would show up when time+character development has passed

Sapote's entire silhouette being moth-shaped! even her bows! (and return of her classic puffy ponytail which I Kind Of Like Better than her Current Twintails asdfkjh)

I'm still going back and forth on colors @_@ either going to do gradients, one solid color like black or white + their dominant colors, or gold accents on all of them or smth...we'll see!! again, these are very Subject To Change, just wanted to show a wip :D

[boeswhore]

Hey lovie, it’s Ally!

I’m here for a ship hehehe 🙈❤️

My style has been compared to miss frizzle from the magic school bus! I wear tons of bright colours and HUGE earrings. I love skirts and girly clothes :) but when I’m not feeling my best you can find me in a big hoodie and my hiking pants.

My hobbies include music (I’m an conservatory saxophonist and pianist), hiking, fishing/camping (I’m originally from AB and it shows) and writing (duh)! I’m very outdoorsy and I absolutely love being outside when I’m not watching hockey! I adore exploring our beautiful British Columbia and I spend plenty of time back in Alberta out in nature. (If I didn’t have to work, I’d always be outside)

I struggle with a migraine disorder that I’ve had since my early teens so I can’t always practice my hobbies lol! All in all though, I try to be a super bright person. I love my family and my friends so much. I’m quite loud when I don’t have a migraine and I tend to be a big ball of energy/a comedian based on my evening thought with ally tag 😂

I listen to plenty of Mt.Joy, Caamp, Rainbow Kitten Surprise, Lumineers, Harry Styles, and FlipTurn. Very many gentle and folk musicians there lol.

I love the Canucks, Flames, Wild, Hurricanes, Old Umich, and Golden Knights (for NolPats mainly)

Congrats again, My Love! Ilyyyyyy

-Ally

hi ally i love you so so much babe 🥺💗

soo i had a debate between two hockey boys and i think i’ve finally decided who i ship you with !!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i ship you with nolan patrick !!

from the looks of nolan’s ig you both are literally the same person ! his posts are so outdoorsy and i know that you two would go on the most amazing adventures ever together with his pups ! i feel like he would also really appreciate your love of music and always insist that you play him something so he can record you and save it for later and watch it whenever he needs a smile ! he just gives the sweetest boy and her vibes— always making sure he can assist you in any way when it comes to ur migraines <33

the cutest couple ever #nobby or #ablan 😭💗

[ellispup91]

Day 11: Gratitude (Free)

Where could he be? Worry wrinkles Minfilia’s brow as she wanders through the Waking Sands, seeking their newest recruit. Though recruit seemed ill-fitting after resisting—and overcoming—a Primal. The unexpected hero has been slinking around the Sands since Thancred had brought him back—whole but not hale—but when she’d gone to check in on him, he’d been nowhere to be found. 

Where —her eyes catch on the toe of a familiar boot, sticking out from behind a pile of crates in one of the storage rooms. Ellismus. She wanders closer to peek around the barrier and—she blinks. Because there is the Miqo’te, tucked into the small space, with one leg folded and a blanket of—wood? yes, they appear to be wood—wood chips spilling from his lap and onto the stone floor. In his left hand he grips a small pine-brown shape which he drags an odd looking knife over. The shaving curls and peels away, dropping down onto his thigh. 

At her footstep, a furry ear twitches and swivels in her direction, just a second before slitted crimson eyes follow. 

“Minfilia?” He blinks and follows her gaze to the mess. “Ah, shit!” Heedless of the knife he waves around, he swipes at the shavings sticking to his pants. “Um. Sorry, I wasn’t expectin’— I’ll clean it up, I promise. I just—” 

He is well enough. She smiles. What a relief. A soft giggle fills the small space as she shakes her head. 

“Since I have not developed a habit of stepping in piles of wood shavings since you’ve arrived, I trust you will.” She debates only a moment before squeezing in and lowering herself down beside him. Immediately chips stick to her skirt. “It is nice and quiet here. What are you doing?” Ellismus hesitates before slowly relaxing back again. A delicate blush colours his pale face. 

“Just… keepin’ m’ hands busy.” 

“May I see?” Minfilia holds out her hand, a request rather than a demand. Again he hesitates. Then—he places the chunk over wood carefully in her palm. Upon closer inspection, chunk is an insult. Though incomplete she can clearly make out a small body and a smaller head with a long and almost graceful beak sticking out. Its tail is an adorable little stub and wings rise up from its sides—a bird in flight, with a sweeping shape underneath she can only guess might be a base to balance it.

“It’s lovely. You are very talented.” Ears flicking back and cheeks darkening, the Seeker takes back the carving.

“It’s… not a lot, but...” He mumbles, immediately returning to his task. With a few smart digs of the knife, feathers appear to give the stumpy tail life. “It… prob’ly sounds stupid, but it helps… keep me from goin’ too far int’ my own head.” There’s a lot he doesn’t say—but it says, perhaps, enough. Her smile is soft. 

“A dangerous place is it?” He doesn’t answer, not right away. When he does, it is quieter still. 

“...Sometimes.” Silence falls between them for several seconds before he shakes himself. “Sorry, was there somethin’ y’ needed?” Minfilia just shakes her head.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright. But, seeing you are well, I will let you rest.” Standing, she brushes dust and bits of wood from her skirt. “But if you decide you could use a diplomat to negotiate the danger… You know where to find me.” 

“Oh— Um… Th- Thanks.” She politely pretends she doesn’t notice the wide-eyed look he gives her as she takes her leave. 

The next morning, awaiting Minfilia on her desk, is a small carving. A beautiful, unpainted hummingbird, caught in a moment of flight. She smiles.