#follow me for more texan fun fact

[diazisms]

Hi bia, I’m a new follower and new watcher of the show, I want to know if in the show there’s clarification of where eddie’s family comes from? Like they are Latinos but from which country? I see a lot of people kinda asume he’s Mexican but as far as I watched there’s no actual confirmation…

hellouuu. yes it's confirmed. his dad is mexican and his mom is swedish. he says this in s2 "awful people" when the racist guy refuses help from hen or chim because they're poc and he points to buck and eddie and bobby calls eddie diaz and the guy on the ground goes "diaz?" and eddie goes "yeah, my dad's mexican. my mom's swedish. i can help you with the swedish half but nobody ever told me which half that is."

also. his family's from el paso. and this isn't me just being "oh haha texas is close to mexico" no like the joint city of el paso, texas (USA) and juarez, chihuahua (mexico) is one of the largest bi-national cities. i think it only comes second to the one on the california border. there are people who live in juarez but work in el paso, teenagers who cross the border every day to get to their high school. el paso and juarez function as one large city, and is even referred to as paso del norte, or a hyphenated version of the two names. it's pretty safe to assume that a latino character who grew up in el paso is mexican lol. not to mention ryan guzman himself shares the same ethnic background as eddie! he's mexican and swedish :)

[shadowsndaisies]

hangman meets 'thena

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: word is, there's a new pilot on board carrier air wing nine, and she flies for the VFA-14, the Tophatters.

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: the highly requested hangman and athena meet blurb, let me know what else you'd like to see from this universe, especially things that exist outside the storyline. or even if you just want more of certain characters. This serves as a precursory understanding to Jake and Athena, it probably doesn't answer every question about them, but it might help you see their foundation a bit better. but special shoutout to @djs8891 @tgmreader @rory-cakes and @fanreader75 for asking specifically about hangman and athenas dynamic (mentions at the end as well)

You’d heard of him, everyone active had. The only active aviator with a confirmed kill, never mind that your dad had two.

Hangman was exactly what you expected if you were honest.

Phoenix, who had taken an instant liking to you as soon as you’d been reassigned to the Tophatters, had filled you in on all the Lemoore gossip. Phoenix flew with the VFA-41, the Black Aces, also based out of Lemoore, and in fact, on the same carrier as you, Commander, Carrier Air Wing Nine. Her first order of business was getting you caught up on the carrier, that included learning the players, and while she was happy to introduce you to different Naval officers, the only one she warned against was Hangman.

Someone really should have told her that at your core, you were your father’s daughter.

Let it be known, you did not go looking for him. He appeared in all his Ken Doll Aviator glory as you were doing a morning check on your F/A 18E. Apparently he also flew an F/A 18E, ‘Nix on the other hand had an F/A 18F, as she normally flew with a WSO.

He approached, full of cocky attitude, and maybe it was all the years being raised by both Ice and Mav, but when he spoke it was like you could understand him just as fluently as you did with them. You could see where Nat was coming from with “honestly, Athena, Hangman in two words? Texan Douchewad.”

“Well, Howdy, darlin’, scuttlebutt was that there was a new girl on board, glad to meet you, name’s Hangman,” was his introduction.

You couldn’t help the smirk when he said girl, “Isn’t the hallmark of a proper southern boy, that he’s, well, proper?” you shoot back, eye brow quirked. “I’m a woman, not a girl.”

It was fun, watching the way his smirk melted, how his brow furrowed, as he tried to catch up.

“You-”

“Phoenix gave me a run down, but to be honest, I’ve always preferred forming my own perceptions,” you shrug, as you continue your check.

As you brush past him, you aren’t surprised to hear him following after you. “Ah, so my reputation precedes me then?” he muses, and you can see the way he uses his charm and humor to cover, a shield of bravado, too bad he didn’t realize you were raised by bravado.

“Not exactly, though I did see your plaque at Top Gun, to be fair, I saw Phoenix’s too,” you shrug again.

“So you’re the fresh blood, huh?” he prompts, and finally you turn and smile at him.

“I guess fresh blood is better than being called new girl. Name’s Athena, you’d do well to use it,” you tell him, smile in place.

“Athena? As in th4e Greek goddess of war and wisdom?” he asks, brows furrowed down.

“That’s the one,” you nod, moving to check the landing gear.

“Athena as in, the Naval Aviator who climbed through the ranks and had two separate stations before she went to Top Gun?” he follows up and you turn.

You turn to face Hangman, and now your brows are pulled, “How’d you know that?”

“I keep tabs on things that pique my interest,” he shrugs, and your lip curls on the end. “Rumor was you had Admirals arguing over who got you under their command…”

“Nice to meet you Hangman,” you decide finally, climbing back from under the plane, and offering him your hand.

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss Athena,” he smirks back. “It true your old man flew too?” he tacks the question on as he shakes your hand.

You can see it in his eyes, nepotism, you know it’s where is brain’s gone. It’s like you couldn’t escape it, everyone assumed that’s how you got as far as you have, as quick as you have. They were wrong.

“Yeah, mostly f-14s though, nothing with the juice of my baby,” you straight up lie, so what if your dad was still flying? So what if he was probably flying f/a-18s or something experimental? No one but you needed the specifics, and you’re pretty sure it wouldn’t help you fight against the nepo-baby claims. Too bad no one realized how much of a detriment being attached to Maverick actually was. It made most of the higher ups uneasy about taking you on, unsure if you’d inherited your father’s need for speed and reckless streak, you had, but you were just better than him at keeping it in check, if Ice taught you anything, it was that — “ice cold, kiddo, no mistakes.”

“Must’ve been nice, having a leg up like that,” he’s still smiling as he talks down at you.

You match his smile and catch the flicker of confusion in his eyes as you walk up closer to him. “It was, see, it prepared me for a lifetime of dealing with cocky naval aviators and their inflated sense of bubble wrap bravado.”

“That all?” he presses, staring down at you, the two of you now face to face, staring hard at each other, but you caught the little twitch of his eye at your term.

“No,” you smirk before turning and walking away, “but I’ve got a hop to prep for, see you around Hangman.”

…

He finds you in the Mess later that day. You’d just returned from morning drills with your squad, and was eating with Phoenix.

“Ladies,” he greets, setting his own tray down in the seat opposite you.

“And I’ve officially lost my appetite,” Phoenix decided, standing up. “Athena, I’ll catch you later, I’d say it’s nice to see you, Bagman, but we know better,” she states, grabbing her tray, patting your shoulder and walking away.

“You sure know how to clear a room, Hangman,” you note, eyes flicking to Phoenix over Hangman’s shoulder, Nat was clearing her tray and pauses to look back and roll her eyes dramatically as she looks at Hangman’s back.

Your lip twitches and you lift your glass of water to cover up the smile threatening to split your lips.

“Bubble wrap bravado,” Hangman repeats back to you, echoing your statement from yesterday.

“What about it?” you challenge.

“Explain it to me,” it’s not a question, not in how it’s phrased, but you understand that he is asking.

“Protective to an extent, easier to pop than you think, so long as you apply the pressure properly. Problem is, everyone knows when it does, it’s usually a bit loud,” you explain, and he seems so incredibly focused on you.

You didn’t mind the hyper-focus though, you’d coined the term a long time ago. It had originally been for a different boy, one with a temper, but who you’d watched grow up. Ice had thought it an apt descriptor, he’d even taken it to describe a few officer’s he’d interacted with over the years.

“Hmm,” he hums, eyes glued to yours.

“You disagree?” you ask.

“No. I think you hit it on the head,” he admits and your lips curl up just the slightest bit, at least he seemed honest… cock sure and stubborn too, but honest.

“A naval aviator for a father was a lot of things, Hangman,” you admit, hesitating for a moment, deciding how much you wanted to say. “It was limited time, and firm goodbyes. It was getting behind a yoke for the first time when I was 12. It was learning ranks at the same time I was learning how to do multiplication,” you say, and you study how his expression changed which each revelation. “Having a Naval Aviator for a father might have given me a home field advantage, but that’s all it did. The rest, the wings, the assignments, I earned those,” you tell him seriously.

“Sure you did,” he nods along condescendingly, but his eyes betray his curiosity, and for now, that was enough for you.

You smile again at him, though this time it is a bit sour. “You don’t believe me, that’s fine, fair even, to be skeptical. But you should know, you’re gonna eat crow when you realize how wrong you were,” you tell him seriously, before standing up with your plate and glass, and walking away.

…

You get your chance to prove him wrong just a few days later when the Tophatters get assigned to a drill with both of the other squadrons on board the carrier, the Black Aces, and the Vigilantes. Meaning both Nat and Jake are in the air with you.

After is the first time Jake looks at you with something other than cocky contempt. As if seeing you fly up close resolved some of his concerns, but there’s still something there. He was waiting for the other shoe, too bad no one told him that you’d had both feet firmly on the ground since you signed your life to the Unites States Naval Services.

You get paired with him about a month and a half later for a cover assignment for an emergency evac of a SEAL team.

Normally assignments were set within squads, but it was an emergency evac and the carrier was docked. You and Jake had been the closest to the carrier at the time who were qualified, and so you were the two who were sent off. You flew south into South America, and while a lot of the details were later labeled as redacted, Jake never questioned your ability after. Nor should he. You saved his life.

He did however decide that meant you were friends, much to the immense annoyance of one Natasha Trace.

Considering the entire mission had been classified and redacted, you weren’t able to explain a lot of it to her, but when Jake started choosing his words a little more carefully she did her best not to start anything either. When he started sitting with you in the mess, she eyed him carefully. And when he started following you around in any downtime that lined up, she kept her mouth shut.

She found a new case study in the two of you, the outward and obvious differences between Hangman with Athena, and Hangman without. Her eyes jumping from how easily you let your guard down with him, and how utterly soft Hangman could be when he thought no one was paying attention.

Natasha, to her credit, had tried, desperately tried, to get more information out of you regarding your budding friendship, but all you would ever offer was a simple, “people tend to be more complex than what meets the eye, ‘Nix, I’m proof of that. So is he, and so are you.”

She decided then and there, you had way too much tact and patience, and maybe, just maybe, that was what Hangman needed.

...

everything: @butterfly-skinnylegend

athena’s tags: @omgbrianab @smoothdogsgirl @bazellawriz @sbrewer21 @inky-sun @djs8891 @rory-cakes @geeksareunique @je6291 @whoismurphyslaw @kee-0-kee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @thespillingvoid @youdontknowe @burningcoffeecupp @mrsevans90

...

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐇𝐈, 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 8k

chapter summary: Joel takes you on your first date. A barbecue meant to be fun becomes a minefield of unpleasant memories for Tommy.

warnings: mutual masturbation, piv, dirty talking, light spit play, PTSD, war flashbacks, angst towards the end

a/n: yup, you're seeing correct, I uploaded a day early!! woooo

Chapter Ten || Chapter Twelve

When Joel mentioned taking you out for a date, you couldn't help but imagine something simple and unassuming, just like him. You envisioned a quaint, unpretentious restaurant where you could share intimate conversation, followed by a leisurely stroll back home. You knew Joel wasn't exactly an innovative man; however, his wood carving skills, took you by surprise when he showed you some of his artwork, it made your heart grow fonder for him. As much as he poked fun at himself for not understanding art, or knowing much of it, he was an artist. 

In the end, you weren't expecting anything extravagant, and you had no complaints about it. That was a part of his Texan charm. It was who he was, and you loved him for it.

What you didn't expect was to take a thirty to forty-minute drive to South Congress.

“You didn't have to go through all this trouble,” you say as Joel opens the truck door for you. Smiling, he rolls his eye. He offers you his hand, and with a skip in your heart, you accept it, feeling the heat of his palm. Joel steadies you as you hop down from the vehicle. Sarah was at another sleepover, carefully orchestrated by Joel, making it the perfect time for him to take you on the first date he mentioned a couple of days ago.

“It’s no trouble,” he answers, moving his jaw. “But if you keep sayin’ that I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re not a fan of the idea.” 

“Oh, I’m definitely a fan. No need to worry your pretty head about that.” 

Before taking the first step, he holds your arm and tugs you back toward him. Your eyes widen when he throws your jacket over your shoulders, “‘Might get cold,” he murmurs, fingers skimming down your bare arms. Then he sighs. “I love it when you call me pretty. Makes me all tingly inside.” 

“Well then,” you smile, leaning closer. “Let me say it again, you’re pretty. Prettiest man I know.” 

Joel's lips curl into a wide grin, his humming filling the air. “I’m blushin’,” he teases, capturing your lips in a swift, lingering kiss, lacing his fingers with yours. “I knew this would be a good idea,” he mutters against your lips in a self-congratulatory tone. His taste lingers on your mouth, leaving you craving more. 

“I don’t want to burst your bubble but I’m still not sure what we’re doing here. You never told me.” 

Hand in hand, you and Joel set off, walking down the street at a leisurely pace. The sun, beginning its descent from the vast expanse of blue skies, painted the world in a soft, golden hue. 

“We’re here to look at the murals,” he explains. “Thought you might like it, bein’ an artist and all. And if we get hungry there’s this Tex-Mex place I like to go to, I take Sarah there all the time.” 

He's nonchalant about it, yet he still averts his eyes. A soft crimson flares under his shirt, creeping up his neck and tinting his cheeks. Your heart beats quickly. You may now be a part of his life, but Sarah will always hold a tender place in his heart. Something he hesitates to share, like a tiny box of secrets. She's his everything. You wonder how many times he had to keep that part of himself hidden, how many times he mentioned his daughter and saw the hesitation in the other party's eyes. It's no one's fault, really. It's a complicated situation no matter which side you consider. And you're fairly certain he's never mentioned his romantic endeavors to Sarah. Why would he? To him, none of it ever led anywhere, so there was no sense in telling her about it.

You don't want him to be nervous about sharing more about that part of his life. You have adored Sarah ever since you met her. Now, you're somewhat grateful that it took the two of you longer than normal to get here. It gave you a chance to show him that no matter the state of your relationship, you'll be there for Sarah, for Tommy, and for everyone he cares about.

Because you care about them too. 

“You visit here a lot?” 

He tips his chin, “We used to,” he answers and offers you his arm, you thread the gap between torso and tricep. “When she was five we came here a lot. Really liked it.” 

A half chuckle, half exhale leaves his lips. You give him a sympathetic look. “Well, maybe we can come here together one day. Tommy too. We can make a day of it, I bet she misses it.” 

"Yeah," his eyes glaze over for a second, looking ahead towards the sun-kissed street. You softly dig your nails into his arm, snapping him out of it. He blinks and tenses under your touch. "Yeah, we definitely should. Maybe during spring break or somethin’."

You squeeze his arm again, and when he turns to look at you, you smile. He returns it in kind, and you feel his smile leave an imprint on your skin as his lips touch your forehead.

“Can’t wait to show you all of it, sweet tea.” 

And he does. 

Joel shows you everything that he loves. The streets of Austin come alive with vibrant murals, each one captivating in its own way—some simple, some complicated. You see the South Congress Mural on South Congress Avenue that stands tall, its graffiti letters painted in vibrant colors, depicting the cityscape. The italicized phrase 'I Love You So Much,' spray-painted by Amy Cook for her partner Liz Lambert—Joel doesn't say much here. He stares at it for a while before gripping your hand tighter. Suddenly, he tugs your arm, pressing his lips firmly against yours, sucking the air from your lungs. Here, you take a quick coffee break and continue on.

There are so many. Your eyes catch sight of a mural depicting a piece of toast and yellow butter, lovingly painted on a vibrant blue wall, inside the piece of butter and toast it says “you’re my butter half”. You laugh and nudge Joel in the ribs and repeat the words to him. His smile is the widest you’ve ever seen. 

Joel introduces you to Jeremiah the Innocent. A smiling cartoonish frog, on top of it you read HI, HOW ARE YOU. He then told you that Jeremiah had another name as well— Ron. Named by, of course, Sarah. Leaning closer, you tell Joel that you agree, the frog looks much more like a Ron rather than a Jeremiah. 

After that Joel, a keeper of his word, takes you to a small Tex-Mex place. He orders chips and queso as an appetizer, followed up by two cold beers and tacos. 

"I think you might have killed me," you say, rubbing your stomach and leaning back as the cold metal of the chair bites into your skin.

Joel cocks an eyebrow, a small smile touching the corner of his lips. “So. . .no dessert?” 

“Don’t joke,” you answer seriously. “I always have room for dessert.” 

He laughs, “You sound like Sarah,” just as you begin to smile, he adds. “And Tommy actually. That man has an endless pit instead of a stomach.” 

“Tell me about it.” you grin. 

The sun begins to disappear, shades of light blue fading into something darker that lingers in the sky. It reminds you of the times when you angrily slap your widest brush on top of the canvas and just move it around without any aim or goal. The string lights come to life. Joel looks gorgeous under the soft glow; it's almost dreamlike. If you were to reach out, you're not entirely sure that he wouldn't fade away.

His hand finds yours over the table, lacing your fingers together. A stuttering, silent breath escapes your lips. The effects of alcohol buzz both in your veins and mind. His thumb traces your knuckles, a gesture so familiar yet foreign at the same time. With a smile, you bring the back of his hand to your lips before he does. You tenderly kiss him, feeling the softness of lips moving over the mountains and valleys of his hand. His breath hitches, and your ears feel warm.

"Should we head back?" he murmurs, his voice dipping into something darker. His thumb finds purchase on your lower lip and tugs on it, eliciting a soft gasp. "I think I'm gettin’ hungry again."

You kiss the pad of his thumb as he cups your cheek, and you nuzzle into the width of his palm. Wetness gathers between your legs, heat building at the base of your spine. You can't wait for him to devour you.

Joel’s fingers trace the spine of the book that lays idly on your bedside table. He adorns a soft smile, gaze curious as he picks it up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, turning your back as he begins to flip through the pages. “I’m going to freshen up a bit, make yourself comfortable.” 

With that, you exit the bedroom and head to the bathroom. You're feeling positively tingly. The ache in your bones would normally entice you to go to bed early, but sleep is the last thing on your mind right now. All you want is for that man to ravage you. During the drive back, the only thing on your mind was his lips, his hands, his cock—his weight on your body.

You quickly splash cold water onto your face, sighing as the cool numbness replaces the sticky sweat from the day. After brushing your teeth, you head back. 

You smile when you see Joel sitting at the edge of the bed, book still in hand. 

He’s looking at something. 

You raise an eyebrow, taking a step closer. There’s something in his hand, something smaller and vaguely familiar. 

Shit. 

Shit shit shit shit. 

“Joel?”  Your voice barely manages a whisper, you're surprised he hears your pleading call of his name. He flinches, shoulders raising all the way to his ears. You clear your throat. “What. . . What are you looking at?” 

You already know the answer. 

"How long have you had this?" he asks, every word sounding dull. He twists his body enough to face you, holding the small Polaroid picture between his fingers— oh god, you're screwed, aren't you?

"I-I can explain," you blurt out, increasing your steps' speed. You stand in front of him, the picture's glossy surface reflecting the light into your eyes. "You forgot your magazine, and when I opened it to read it, the... the picture just fell out, I swear! I know I should've told you, gave it back, but, well, I—"

Unable to keep your eyes open due to the constant spinning of the world around you, you close them. His gaze remains fixed on you, half moons hidden beneath bushy eyebrows. Embarrassment surges through you, heating you from the inside out. In a fit of desperation, you cover your face with both palms, sighing into them. "Fuck, I'm so sorry," you mutter, your voice muffled by your hands.

Joel stares at you, dumbfounded. With shaky legs, he stands and gently cups your wrists, tugging your hand away from your face. You refuse to meet his gaze, your eyes glued to a spot on his neck. You miss how wide his eyes are, how his gaze grows soft as he stares. 

“Why are you sorry?” he whispers. “I think you misunderstood, sunshine. I ain’t mad. I’m embarrassed.” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, lifting your gaze. “Why?” 

He smiles, “Lots of why’s goin’ around,” you continue to stare and he clicks his tongue. “It’s a half-naked picture of me. A picture that I took, you can’t blame me for gettin’ flustered.” 

“You look good.” 

“Thanks,” he scoffs with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I guess it’s better that you found it instead of. . . Tommy or worse.” 

You know what worse means. He’s right, he was lucky it had been you. 

“I’m just glad you’re not mad.” 

“Me, mad at you?” he shakes his head, looking appalled by the thought. “Never.” 

“Don’t be so sure.” 

His hands drop to your waist. Fingers roughened with work digging into your flesh. The excitement you felt comes rushing back, flooding your veins. Joel pins your hips together, the growing outline of his cock brushing your clothed mound. You gasp and he inches impossibly close, lips brushing your ear. “Why did you have it in your little book over there?” he drawls, his voice thick. “Did you touch yourself lookin’ at it, sweetheart?” 

Your voice shakes and you can barely get a word out. You swallow, shaking your head. 

“Don’t lie,” he hums. The drag of his lips down your neck turns your insides into mush. “Can I see?” 

“See what?” 

A moment of silence follows. You take this time to unbutton his jeans and slip a hand underneath the dense fabric. You cup his length, and it hardens in your palm, growing in size. Your breath hitches as his hips move forward, chasing the grip of your fingers. Taking a deep inhale, you breathe him in, filling yourself with his scent. 

“I wanna watch,” his voice cracks. “See how you touched yourself while thinkin’ of me.” 

Your breath hitches, “And what will you be doing?” 

You stroke him slowly, the pad of your thumb moving over the slit before moving down again. You shiver at the feeling of his hot breath against your skin. 

“I’ll be watchin’, sweetheart. Engraving your spread-out cunt into memory.” 

“Jesus, Joel,” you breathe heavily, your pulse loudly thrumming in your veins. Joel is absolutely filthy—something you never thought you’d be thinking. He tugs you towards the bed. With every step, another garment falls to the floor. You’re shivering all over, body cold yet warm at the same time. The expectation crackling in the air pricks at your skin. 

What is this? It never felt like this before. A need so desperate. A want so large. In this moment you’re convinced that you and Joel were always meant to be as pretentious that might sound. You have no idea how else to explain it. Every time you’re with him, even in the most peaceful moments, you feel an impending. . . something. You’re not sure what it is yet but you know it’s a wicked, dark feeling. A dystopian surrealism. The works of  Zdzisław Beksiński; death, destruction, shattered worlds. . . yet still beautiful. You love those paintings. Just like Joel, it leaves you uneasy and mystified. 

The air is knocked from your lungs as your back hits the bedrest, your naked legs falling open like a butterflys’ wings. You wait for a touch that never comes. Joel drags the chair and takes a seat. He pulls out his hefty length, fingers loosely curling around it. You hold your breath. 

“Don’t keep me waitin’ now,” he rasps as he touches himself lazily. “Show me.” 

Your eyes never leave him, and you slowly circle your clit with two fingers. An immediate sense of relaxation and soft pleasure blossom over different patches of skin. You pinch the sensitive bundle of nerves and continue moving your fingers around. You arch your hips, wetness growing with every stroke. Your insides clench. Joel’s heavy breathing fills the room, your own breathing coming out in short pants. 

“Spread yourself darlin’,” his voice lowers, making your stomach turn. With two fingers you show him, spreading yourself s while you circle the middle one around your clit. A soft whimper of his name echoes from the back of your throat. It’s different like this. Knowing that he’s right there, staring, observing your every move. It lits a fire between your legs. A feeling so raw and open.  

Your ache swells inside of you like wildfire. You keen at the slick sounds of Joel’s fist accompanying your own lewd sounds. The rest of the world falls silent, your mind a complete blank, your sole focus on the man that makes you feel soft and tender. 

A build-up to an orgasm can be a strange thing. Sometimes you don’t think of anything or anyone, just focused on your fingers and the fire between your legs. Other times your imagination becomes so vivid that you swear there’s a cock splitting you open. Your stomach clenches, muscles rippling under the faux feeling of someone being there with you. And, technically, there is someone with you but not in the typical sense. Your back lifts from the mattress, your feet sliding down the soft sheets as your fingers move frantically. You can feel it hardening, throbbing under your ministrations. 

“That’s it,” Joel groans, the bed dips, you’re too far gone to notice he stopped jerking off and is inching closer for a better look. “Come for me, darlin’. Let’s see how you make a mess.” 

Your ears ring 

Your lips part so wide that the corners are aflame

Your throat constricts a silent plea

Your fingers twitch, insides pulsing as you gush and make a mess—just like he wanted. 

You love doing what he asks of you. 

You feel it trickling down the inside of your thighs, the curve of your ass. It’s too much. Whimpers rattling your chest, your throat sore. Joel mutters praise, telling you how good you are, how perfect. Another soft lingering orgasm warms you from the inside out, more drops of pure ecstasy spilling over. 

He trails his hand up the inside your thigh, slick gathering at the tips of his fingers. A soft gasp leaves your lips as you clench around nothing, “Next time I’m bringin’ the camera over.” you give him a look and he chuckles. “It’s only fair, don’t ya think?” 

“I don’t think that picture will be sexy as you think,” you answer, smiling. 

He frowns, his look almost glaring as he stares into your eyes, “Bulshit. You’re gorgeous. It’ll be like havin’. . . the . . . Mona Lisa in my pocket,” he says, slightly unsure.

"I do appreciate you using art references whenever you talk to me; it's like a gimmick," you grin and wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer. "Hey, if you want a picture, you can have one. Just promise not to leave it lying around like you did with your own. I don't need any more embarrassing moments in my life."

“We all have embarrassing moments.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a promise,” you answer with a playful lilt. He rolls his eyes, a hand sneaking down between your bodies, he aligns himself with your sopping sex, cock filling you slowly, inch by inch. Your eyelids flutter, a moan ripping from you. 

Fully inside you, he murmurs into your mouth, “I’ll guard it with my life. Promise.” 

His words fall on deaf ears. Your vision blurs at the stretch of his cock, drawing his hips back, only the bulbous head remains. He watches you. Watches your fluttering cunt adjust to the size, then, just as you’re about to say something, he slams into you. Electricity crackles over your skin, a sensation that makes you feel numb. Joel buries his head into your neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin as he sets a brutal pace. His strokes are slow and hard. Every ridge felt as he massages the insides of your cunt. It’s exhilarating. Breathtaking. So much so that you think you’re crying a little, soft salty tears gathering in your eyes. 

“You wanna know something?” he groans, fucking deeper into you. “I thought of you while takin’ the picture. Thought about this perfect cunt.” 

He holds your thighs with a heavy hold, pushing both legs up until your knees are grazing your forehead. You don’t think being a pretzel ever felt so good. Joel jackhammers into you, the wet glide of his cock leaves you breathless. Between narrowed eyes you watch him; his brows furrowed with concentration, lips slightly ajar, pink tongue poking out. He’s flushed. The soft tint of red looks good on him. You desperately want to bury your lips into his neck and lick the vein that meanders down, you want to sink your teeth into it. 

In a quick glimpse, his eyes briefly catch yours. The muscle in his jaw moves and he licks his lips, the color in his irises gone, eaten away by lust. You notice him pursing his lips and your eyes go wide, a thin line of saliva drips from his mouth, adding to the mess between your thighs. Your breath falters, you squeez him tight. His hips stutter but he’s not phased by the sudden tightness. 

“Touch yourself,” he commands, voice hoarse. “I wanna feel you comin’ around my cock.” 

You moan at how soaked you are, your fingers playing with the mixture of spit and slick. It doesn’t take you long. A couple swipes of your fingers and you’re seeing stars. Your orgasm sears you from the inside out, your entire body tensing at the force of his thrusts. With a knee-jerk reaction, you grip the back of your thigh, nails biting into your skin. He pushes your hand away, thumb soothingly going over the crescent-shaped marks. 

His unwavering gaze aggravates you. A sudden shame rolling in your stomach, he bats the thoughts away by allowing your legs to fall and frame his broad waist. Suddenly his lips are on your own, sucking your tongue into his mouth, swallowing the moans. He tastes your hesitations, your fears, your unsaid love for him—all of it, from a single, hungry, messy kiss. 

Joel’s hips slow down into a delicious grind, the coarse hairs that crown his cock doused, you feel the brush of his pelvis on the pearl that beats. Your insides flutter one last time before he’s pulling out, spilling over the soft flesh of your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he moans into your open mouth. You shudder at the trickle of seed on your skin. “That was amazin’ sweetheart. You always feel so fuckin’ good. ‘Can’t wrap my head around it.” 

You giggle, “I hope you know the feeling is mutual, neighbor,” you feel the wet drag of his lips down your cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good before.” 

“You’re just sayin’ that,” he tuts, breath fanning your neck. 

“Do I need to remind you how we ended up in this bed?” you tease. “You, finding a picture of yourself that I masturbated to? If that doesn’t convince you I don’t know what will.” 

He thinks about it for a second then shrugs, “Fair.” 

“By the way thank you for. . . everything. I had a great time Joel,” you thread your fingers through his mussed hair and he lays his head on your chest. His hand gently cups the underside of your breast, a possessive gesture. You feel the scrape of his beard as he speaks. 

“I didn’t do nothin’ special. You deserve more.” 

Your heart clenches the ache of his self-deprecation a reflection of his inability to perceive his own worth. “Stop selling yourself short—” 

He cuts you off, “You deserve to have a relationship you don’t need to hide. It’s not fair.” 

Your heart splinters, torn between the desire to protect what you have and the yearning to be truthful to those that you love. When your silence grows, Joel look up to you, his eyes wide like full moons. And just as somber. Your lips crack in a smile. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “We’ll tell him eventually. When we’re ready, right?” 

He swallows, throat moving. “Yeah,” he answers, gaze breaking away from yours. “We will. When we’re ready.” 

Neither of you are brave enough to ask when that might be. 

The sun beats down on Tommy’s skin and with the back of his hand, he wipes away the sweat on his forehead. Next to the grill is always the hottest. It’s a beautiful day out, birds chirping, sun shining and whenever a cloud passes by, adding a bit of color to the boring blue sky, Tommy sighs in relief, enjoying the fleeting coolness of the passing shadow.

Joel is at the grill, and from the corner of his eye, Tommy sees him turning the ribs and chicken wings. A loud sizzle fills the air, and with a hiss, Joel backs away, cursing as a searing drop of fat lands on his tanned skin. In typical younger sibling fashion, Tommy laughs, earning an equally heated glare from his older brother. Neither of them says a word. Joel returns his gaze to the meats, while Tommy shifts his eyes back to the large bowl he's holding. It contains a mixture of a generous amount of barbecue sauce, olive oil, Worcestershire sauce, minced garlic, smoked paprika, cayenne pepper, salt, and black pepper. He gives them another vigorous stir before adding the stemless button mushrooms. He tosses them all together until each one is evenly coated.

A bead of sweat rolls down his face, “Joel, I know you have this sense of always wantin’ to be right but I doubt our recipe is gonna be the one to change her mind about mushrooms.” 

“It will,” he grunts, shirt dipping and sticking between his shoulder blades. “If she doesn’t, more for us.” 

“Well, I guess that’s one way to look at it.” 

Joel doesn’t answer and Tommy doesn’t bother to force a conversation. The silence he shares with his brother has always been a comfortable one, but lately, that hasn’t quite been the case. There’s this wall that he can’t seem to breach no matter what he does or says. And ever since Joel broke up with Asha, it only got worse. He can’t shake the sense that whatever his older brother had in mind, it must be about you. It has to be. 

Tommy’s feelings for you haven’t exactly disappeared. As much as he wished he had a button to turn it all off, he can’t, but he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t mind staying friends. What he feels for you is more than that. He enjoys your company, your jokes, your thoughts. He can’t imagine living out the rest of his life without it. 

However, he's not stupid, contrary to what many people might believe.

Tommy has noticed the stares, the weird tension in his brother’s shoulders whenever you’re around. Hell, if Joel has feelings for you he should just own up to it, talk about it. All Tommy wants is for Joel to come and talk to him. However, when it comes to romance, Joel rarely does. Even after the breakup with Asha, Joel barely said a word. Tommy later on learned the details from Asha and it fucking stung. 

Ever since they were little, Joel had this tendency to shoulder everything, it didn’t matter if the issue was big or small, he would carry it, and he would do so in silence. Tommy hated that. He wanted to talk about things, wanted to tell Joel about his nightmares, the blank notebook that Tommy can’t bring himself to write into—he desperately wants things to change. He wants Joel to stop playing the martyr. Tommy’s not a kid anymore, they can carry the weight together. 

“Gosh that smells delicious!”

Tommy jerks at the sound of your voice. Startled, he looks up and sees you making your way through Joel’s yard, carrying a Tupperware full of coleslaw and a pitcher of homemade iced tea. You place both items on the wooden table and walk toward the brothers. Just as you pass by Joel, your hand brushes his shoulder. Again, Tommy sees him visibly tense with the contact. 

You turn to Tommy, arms spread wide, a joyous grin stretched across your face. Tommy mimics the expression, pulling up a different kind of mask. He pulls you into a tight embrace and presses his lips ointo your forehead. 

"Oh, are those the mushrooms?" you ask, still held within Tommy's arms, your gaze lowered to the small table Joel brought out for food prep. "I'm both terrified and excited."

“I hope you’ll like’em,” Tommy answers. “Joel is convinced that you will.” 

You laugh and mouth at Tommy, "Do you think he'll explode if he turns out to be wrong?" Tommy can barely hide the snicker that escapes his lips.

“I heard that,” Joel grunts without looking. 

You expertly move the conversation along, “Where’s Sarah?” 

"She should be here soon," he responds. "She mentioned wanting to buy some lemon bars for the barbecue."

“Where is she buying them from? Olivia is going to come over too so she can pick Sarah up.” 

After discussing locations and making a quick phone call, Olivia happily agrees to pick up Sarah because, according to you, she's not that far away anyway. You help Tommy skewer the barbecue mushrooms, and conversation flows seamlessly. Even Joel gradually loosens up, relaxing as he starts to place the prepared skewers. You appear surprisingly cheerful, and Tommy doesn't mean to imply that you were ever a downer—rather, he hasn't seen you this relaxed in a long time. It seems the grief that had molded you months ago, forcing you to behave a certain way, had loosened around you. Now you see what he’s seen all along; that you deserved to make jokes and have fun and be happy. 

He likes to think he had a part to play in that with the renovation of the room.

In the midst of finishing up the mushrooms, a car stops, and a moment later, Olivia and Sarah hop out.

Sarah wastes no time wrapping her nimble arms around Tommy's neck, giving him a tight hug. Tommy returns the gesture in kind, lifting her off the ground a little. "Hey, sugarcube! How was school?"

"Boring," she answers, letting go. "How was work?"

Tommy scrunches up his nose, prompting a bubble of laughter from her. "Boring," he parrots.

While Sarah heads inside to change, Olivia places the lemon bars on the table and comes to greet you. The sizzle of the grill fills the air as Sarah's voice cuts through the lively atmosphere, calling out to Joel from the window of the house. "Dad, I can't find my purple shirt!" she exclaims. “You said you’d have it washed today!” 

Joel turns his attention away from the grill, a concerned furrow forming on his brow. "I'll be right there, sweetheart," he assures her. He looks over at Olivia. "Liv, can you man the grill for a moment?"

Olivia nods, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Consider it done. You go find that shirt."

With a grateful nod, Joel moves swiftly toward the house, leaving Olivia to handle the grilling duties. He passes by Tommy and you, giving a brief smile and a nod of acknowledgment before disappearing inside.

Tommy's gaze follows Olivia as she confidently takes charge of the grill, her tongs expertly flipping the remaining skewers and wings. There's a sense of ease in her movements, a natural grace that Tommy finds captivating. Her focused expression softens with a slight smile. 

Meanwhile, Tommy takes a moment to observe you as you retrieve a couple of cold beers from the cooler. The sunlight catches in your hair, casting a warm glow around you. 

You approach him with the beers in hand, Tommy can't help but be captivated by your infectious smile. It's a smile that reaches your eyes, radiating happiness and a genuine warmth that draws him in. He takes one of the beers from you, his fingers grazing against yours for a brief moment, sending a jolt of electricity through his veins.

"Cheers," you say, raising your bottle in a toast. Tommy mirrors your action, their bottles clinking together, the sound ringing in the air.

"Cheers," he replies, his voice laced with genuine affection. The clinking of the bottles marks a moment of connection, a shared bond that goes beyond mere friendship.

“Isn’t it interesting?” Olivia suddenly says, snapping your attention from Tommy to her. He frowns.  

“What is?” you ask. 

“That I’m here. . . doing all the work without a beer in my hand.” 

You roll your eyes, walking back to the cooler, “You could’ve just asked you know?” you tease, handing her a cold bottle. She shrugs with a wink. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

Tommy smells smoke. The crackling of flames too loud. Their banter fades into the background. His body grows tense by instinct, feeling the threat of danger that isn’t there. He becomes uncharacteristically still, listening, but not hearing anything. 

“Ah shit, I burnt it,” Olivia hisses, fanning the smoke with a moisturized hand. “Well, at least I only burned three of them. You guys think Joel will kill me?” 

He hears bits of the conversation, your laughter following Olivia’s words. The smoke in the air is thicker now, grayer. Sweat sticks to his skin and Tommy swears he feels the familiar feeling of hot dirt on his skin. Unaware, he starts rubbing his arms, trying to get rid of the sticky feeling. 

Tommy smells gunpowder. 

He hears bullets whizzing through the air. 

Just as the grill suddenly flares up, a searing pain jolts through Tommy's body. In his disoriented state, he misconstrues your touch on his back as a threat. Reacting instinctively, he moves away, his mind clouded. His hand inadvertently catches your wrist, twisting the limb. You let out a shout. 

A surge of guilt pierces Tommy's heart as he realizes that it’s you. His eyes widen with a mixture of fear and remorse, and he releases his grip on your wrist, his hands trembling. "Fuck, sorry—" he stammers, choked up. "I. . . I thought. . ."

Before he can finish his sentence, he sees Joel above your shoulder, his face etched with concern, closely followed by Sarah. 

"What happened?" Joel demands.

You step in before Tommy can explain, his chest heaves, “Nothing, I just startled him.” 

Joel doesn’t seem to buy it, his gaze fixed on his baby brother, he raises an eyebrow. “Tommy?” he asks again, his voice leveled. 

Tommy's gaze shifts from you to Joel and Sarah. He struggles to find the right words, his mind still tangled in a web. He doesn’t say a word, just shakes his head. Joel’s gaze softens, hands coming up to cup Tommy’s cheeks. He lifts his brother’s gaze to face his own. 

"It's okay, Tommy. We're here. We're safe, you’re home," when Tommy attempts to back away, Joel holds him tighter. "Let's just take a moment to breathe."

Tommy’s mind blanks for a second when Joel visibly takes a deep, slow breath. Joel looks at him with a sign of expectation and the younger Miller mimics the way he breathes. Deep and slow. One, two, three. Once more, and that’s it. He’s breathing again. The sky is blue again. 

“Shiiiit,” he exhales on the last breath. Joel drops his hands and takes a step back, you’re standing right next to him, brows drawn together. Suddenly the guilt is back. “I’m sorry,” he says the apology muffled by clenched teeth. “Are you. . . okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you say hovering back and forth, wanting to come closer but also not wanting to overwhelm him. “Do you need anything?” 

“I should be asking you that,” he takes a step closer, taking your wrist between his fingers. He gently smooths his thumb over where he bent—god, he’s a fucking mess. “We should put some ice on that.” 

“I got it!” Olivia jumps out, placing the end of the cold bottle on your wrist. You stifle a snort. She narrows her eyes at you. “That’s a weird way to say thank you.” 

You roll your eyes, “Thanks, Liv.” 

Tommy pulls away and takes a seat. Content in having calmed his brother, Joel returns to the grill and gives Olivia a look that screams, "What the hell have you done?!" 

He smiles, feeling his racing heart finally begin to calm down.

“Are you sure you’re alright uncle Tommy?” 

His eyes meet Sarah’s, two concerned and observant juvenile eyes staring into his own. He’s not sure what to say—no, he knows what to say, he just doesn’t know how to say it in a way that she’ll believe him. 

Without waiting for a response, Sarah sits next to him and reaches for two glasses and the pitcher. She pours iced tea into both. “Here,” she says, prompting him to replace the beer with the glass. Tommy obliges. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he murmurs. “That ain’t your responsibility.” 

“It’s not. . . but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t worry. And I know you can’t talk to me about it, I’m not dad, but you know I love you, right?” 

“‘Course I do,” Tommy answers quickly, ignoring the way the sun stings his eyes, he forces them to stay open. “Your dad takes good care of me. And I know you care, I appreciate the reminder though,” he lets out a sigh, drags a heavy palm down his face, and swallows. “I’m gonna get better.” I have to get better. 

Sarah doesn’t say another word. She slowly drops her head to his shoulder, looks over to her father who’s in the middle of placing three mushroom skewers on your plate. Tommy smiles. 

“They’re idiots,” she murmurs, he doesn’t miss the affectionate cadence in her tone. 

“Yeah,” Tommy answers. “But they’re our idiots.” 

The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. However, your love for mushrooms still remained nonexistent, much to Joel's surprise. He was shocked to see that his and Tommy's barbecue mushrooms hadn't managed to convert you into an avid mushroom lover. In an attempt to mask the lingering taste, you nearly downed the entire pitcher of iced tea—making sure Joel wasn't looking, of course. He was still quite salty about not liking them. He even went far as to pout about it, which you found adorable if you’re being completely honest. You're not sure his ego could handle the thought of you desperately wanting to scrub your tongue with a sponge.

Olivia was the first one to leave as the scorching sun was replaced by shiny stars, and you helped with cleaning up. You noticed that Tommy was avoiding your gaze like the plague, and Joel remained silent about what had happened. Your wrist, although not physically hurting, still ached. You had promised him that you would be there for him, but you felt like you had failed miserably. You had no knowledge of what was going on in his head, and if today was any indication, there was a lot happening.

When he’s about to bid his farewells, you touch his forearm. It’s such a small gesture but he flinches anyway and you quickly withdraw your hand. You chew the inside of your cheek. 

“Do you want to come over?” you ask, swallowing. “I have some leftover wine.” 

It doesn’t take him long to answer but the seconds that pass feel like an eternity. He nods and gestures to the door. 

“I’ll be waitin’ outside, go get your things.” 

“Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in a sec.” 

He closes the door softly behind him. A click that is barely audible. You hear footsteps and turn to see Joel exiting the kitchen. “Everythin’ good?” he asks. 

“I think so, I invited Tommy over. I think it’ll be good to talk.” 

You see it in his eyes, the need to hold you, to cradle your cheeks and brush your lips together. The internal fight is visible from his expression. You figure which side wins when he remains still, staring, eyes flitting between you and the windows near the door. Tommy’s smoking a cigarette with his back turned. 

“I think so too,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor. “He’s been more closed off lately and my usual grumpy self probably ain’t helpin’.” 

“I applaud you for admitting that you are, in fact, grumpy.” 

He tries to hide it but can’t, a small smile peeking from under his mustache. “Shut up.” 

“I really wanna say make me,” you grin and pick up your bag. “But I don’t think we have time for that.” 

“I’ll remember, don’t worry.” 

You ignore the way your legs press together at the sudden drop in his tone. The chill of the doorknob sends shivers down your spine. You’re afraid of being alone with Tommy. You’re scared that you’re going to blurt everything, all of it. You miss being able to talk to him—Tommy definitely wasn’t a stranger to the rants about the many failed romances in your life. With a sigh, you crack the door open. You hear a shift behind you. . . then a gentle hand on your waist. 

A kiss on the back of your neck. 

“Call me if you need anythin’.” 

“I will.” 

You finally step into the warm night. Tommy turns to you, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. The knot in your throat makes it hard to breathe, the younger Miller looks over your shoulder. 

“See ya later old timer,” he calls out to Joel. You don’t hear him answer but you’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, the click of the door follows. Cigarette loose between his lips, Tommy offers you his arm and you take it. 

The walk to your home is a silent one. 

Your house is ominous in the dark, quickly, you flick the lights open. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

“I always do,” he murmurs and takes off his shoes. “Would it be alright if we skip the wine? I’m not really feelin’ up for it.” 

“Of course,” you answer. “Do you want anything else?” 

“Nah. Let’s just talk.” 

The request takes you by surprise. You blink dumbly at the back of his head, and when the silence fills the space between you, he turns. He stares at you for a moment, gauging what your reaction means. His brows come together, a humorful smile tugging at one corner of his lips. 

“Why do you look so shocked? That’s why you invited me over right? To talk.” 

“I. . . Yeah, exactly.” 

He heads to the living room and you follow his trail like a lost duckling. “Before you say anythin’,” he says, lifting a hand as you take a seat next to him. “Let me apologize. I didn’t mean. . . I would never hurt you. Today was an accident, I got lost.” 

Lost. . . that was exactly what it was, wasn’t it? 

“It’s okay, it was my mistake really. I shouldn’t have touched you when you were so out of it. Can I. . . Can I ask what you were thinking about?” 

His shoulders raise, his breathing becomes shallow, “I think it was because of the smoke. I was right there, at the battlefield, again. Fuck. I didn’t know.” 

You wait for him to continue. 

“There ain’t much out there you know? Just you and a couple of brothers you made along the way. When you see them fall, it’s hard to erase the memory of it.” 

“No one is expecting you to erase it,” you whisper, your hand hovers above his knee and when he nods, you place itover the curve. “As hard as it is, that’s a part of you. No one blames you for today. No one is mad at you. We just want you to be okay—I want you to be okay.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m workin’ on it. I just hate talkin’ about it so much. I tried. . .I tried to be the hero you know? I tried so hard to make a difference. It didn’t mean nothin’ and when you realize the person you’re gunnin’ down is just as lost as you are, you realize there are no heroes in the battlefield.” a sudden chuckle bursts from his lips, compeltly void, he covers his face with a palm. “But I’m still so stupid. I still want to believe some difference can be made. I want to be good so fuckin’ bad and I don’t know why. I should be happy just doin’ my own thing like Joel but I’m not.” 

His words sink into your skin, blend with the blood in your veins, and suffocate your lungs. You want to cry. He sounds so broken, so hopeless. The need to hold him makes your knees tremble. You imagine an eighteen-year-old Tommy, signing up with the army with a hopeful gaze. You’ve heard the stories, remember Joel telling you the arguments that followed after that. Tommy hadn’t backed down, adamant about proving his brother wrong. The stubborn nature of it reminds you of your own brother, the endless arguments that would go on and on and on with your grandfather. 

The army takes their hopes and dreams and spits them out broken and strange. 

“You’re not stupid, Tommy,” you mutter, barely audible. “We all want to be good. There’s no shame in that. I’m. . .similar, I always want to do the right thing. I want to be good too. Don’t compare yourself to Joel he. . . he got lucky with Sarah. As long as she’s happy and safe he doesn’t care about right and wrong. We on the other hand, we’re still trying to find ourselves. It’s not as easy for us to make that distinction. We think endlessly about the ones who get caught in the crossfire.” 

God, but you aren’t doing the right thing. It’s easy to forget that with Joel’s lips on your skin—sure, maybe you’re not straight-up lying to him, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re being dishonest. 

He looks at you with those puppy dog eyes. So round and wide. “People like you can’t try to be good,” he answers, confusing you. He waits, allowing the silence to follow as he thinks of his words. “You’re already good. You don’t need to try to be.” 

The confession bubbles up from your chest to your throat. You taste it. Sweet like sugar and deadly like poison. You have to tell him. You need to tell him. 

You lick your lips, your mouth  dry like sandpaper. He’s staring directly into your soul, he sees something hopeful. Something good. You want to shake him, tell him that he’s the good one. He doesn’t blink. Not once. You open your mouth. You’re going to do it, you’re going to tell him and whatever happens next, however he reacts, it’s what you deserve. 

Normally, Tommy’s eyes are a shade lighter compared to his older brother’s. While Joel’s eyes walk the line of being downright black, Tommy’s always reminds you of your favorite brand of chocolate. 

But right now it’s dark as night. Just like Joel’s. 

“Hey,” he finally blinks, smiling. The confession that had bubbled to the surface slowly simmers down. “We should get some sleep.” 

“But—” 

“I appreciate you talkin’ to me sweetheart. I. . . feel better, in a weird way,” he comes closer, kisses your cheek. His lips are damp. “I’ll be sure to talk to you more in the future, a’right? Promise.” 

“Okay,” you mumble. You both get up from the couch and saunter upstairs, the air that surrounds you lighter. He takes the guest bedroom, the room where August slept the week before. 

Tommy stills at the door, “Well, goodnight.” 

You can’t leave it at this, you just can’t. 

“Tommy, I need to tell you something.” your words are sharp and clear. His hand tightens around the doorknob, what does he think you’re about to say? 

“Yeah?” 

You can’t do it. Coward. 

“Do you need. . . another pillow?” 

“Um,” he opens the door, takes a look. “No, I’m good. Is that all you were gonna say?” 

“It is.” 

It isn’t. 

I'm sorry that this took me insanely long for some reason???? Honestly, I blame the fact that I'm not used to writing family dynamics, it's hard. 😭😭😭 but nonetheless I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you guys thought 💜

I did make a post about it but I'll be taking a small break from SIB, I will return to it and will be working on it in the background but I really need to let my mind loose. The next two chapters are already outlined so y'all won't be waiting for that long! This isn't one of those series where the rest of the plot is lost in time and space and I'm too chicken to work on it lmaodfvd

Thank you so much for all the support!!

[bradshawssugarbaby]

All Dressed Up - Capt. Syverson x Reader

A/N: based on a thought I had while watching Sand Castle earlier and a discussion with @nouis-bum from a couple of days ago. I couldn't help myself, sorry. Also, we decided for the purpose of my writing, his name's Luke.

pairing: Capt. Syverson x fem!reader

warnings/content: oral (m & f receiving), no use of y/n, no real mention of reader's features other than long hair.

word count: 1.8k

“Honey, have you seen my blue shirt?” Luke Syverson called out to his wife, his icy-blue eyes squinting as he tried to think of where his dress shirt could be. He was sure he’d checked every laundry basket, every drawer in the dresser, and both sides of the closet. He bounded down the stairs, heavy footsteps echoing through the house as he headed for the laundry room. His brows knit together as he thought about any stone he may have left unturned in his search. He didn’t dress up often - in fact, the missing dress shirt in question was his only dress shirt. He had always gotten by with an old t-shirt and a pair of jeans when he went out, which wasn’t a regular occurrence until you’d entered his life a few years ago. 

Slowly, you’d begun to introduce new things into his closet, replacing his tattered old Houston Texans jersey was the first step - he’d kept the old one, of course, for nostalgic purposes, but it hardly fit, and the deep navy blue fabric had gained a few holes here and there over the years. The new one had been a birthday gift from you that first year you were together, and he treasured it. The dress shirt was introduced the second Christmas the two of you were together. You had a work Christmas party and he was home from his latest tour for a 6 month break until the next one came around. He’d never met any of your co-workers before, and wanting to make a good impression and keep you happy, he’d reluctantly agreed to go shopping with you to pick out something better suited to wear than a tattered cotton graphic tee he’d had for at least a decade, and a well-worn, faded pair of jeans. 

As he squatted down in front of the dryer, opening the door to look at the contents inside to see if his shirt was somewhere in amongst the clean laundry waiting to be folded, he heard footsteps come up behind him, followed by a wolf whistle. He smirked to himself, closing the dryer door after yet another unsuccessful search. He stood upright, his full 6-foot-something frame straightening up as he turned to face you. His bulking muscular figure was still toned from the years of military service he’d just retired from, although now, he stood a little more solidly, having grown accustomed to more than just black coffee and shitty food while he was away. His arms folded across his chest, muscles bulging as he stood before her. His wife stood in front of him, batting her eyelashes as she donned his blue button up shirt, sitting oversized on her, drooping off her shoulders as grinned at him. His eyes scanned over her, taking in the sight before him. His lips curled up into a smirk, framed by his thick, curly, dark beard, the chestnut coloured hairs recently trimmed to look less wild than they usually did. He noticed that the shirt stopped just above her knee, and it didn’t take more than a split second to realize that the shirt was the only article of clothing she was wearing at the time. 

“Now, darlin’, why exactly have ya got my shirt on?” His voice carried a teasing tone to it as he spoke, the smirk on his face remaining unchanged as his piercing blue eyes continued to gawk at her. 

“Thought it made for a kinda cute shirt dress, don’t you?” She teased, twirling a long strand of hair around her index finger, “Besides, kinda fun watchin’ you run around half naked lookin’ for it.”

“Sugar, don’t get me wrong, it looks great on ya, but I can’t exactly go out for dinner lookin’ like this,” Luke gestured to his naked torso, his hand stopping just above the waist of his dark-washed jeans.

“Fine, but, before I take it off,” She began, her lips curving into a devilish grin as she dragged her fingers lazily over his skin, gently raking through the brown curls that adorned his chest, “I want to make you feel good first.”

“Darlin’, you’re killin’ me here,” He shook his head, laughing as he looked down at her. 

Luke watched as she gently pressed her lips to his collarbone before slowly slinking down to her knees before him. He took his belt in his hand, undoing the metal buckle and sliding the long leather material through the belt loops around his waist. He dropped it to the ground, the sound of the buckle clattering against the hardwood flooring echoing through the room. 

He undid the button on his jeans with urgency, dragging them down just enough to allow his wife the space she’d need to pleasure him. She yanked the elastic waistband of his boxers down with a smirk, his hardened cock springing back as she freed it from its cotton restraints. She pressed her lips to it, leaving a tauntingly delicate kiss to the sensitive, red tip, her hand firmly gripping the base. She licked a long, wet stripe up the underside of his length, beginning at the base and ending in a swirling motion around the tip, giving him a doe-eyed gaze as she looked up at him, watching for his reaction. He tilted his head back, letting out a deep, low growling moan before turning his head back to look down at her, grunting her name as she guided his member past her lips, creating suction on the tip with her mouth. 

She began bobbing her head along his length, her cheeks hollowing as she pushed his erection further into her mouth, saliva beginning to drip down it as she took more of his length past her lips. She pulled her mouth back off his cock with a loud popping noise, smirking up at him as he grunted upon the loss of contact. 

“Fucking Christ, babygirl, you’re killin’ me here,” Luke rasped, shaking his head as he looked down at her.

Luke grabbed a handful of her hair, gripping it as he guided her mouth back onto him, pushing her further down his erection and guiding her back off it at a rhythmic pace, building in speed as she went. Luke was struggling to keep himself composed as she continued working his orgasm out of him with her mouth. Her eyes began to water as his tip brushed the back of her throat and the moment his sensitive cap made contact, he felt his knees buckle, swallowing hard as he tried to hold off his orgasm as long as he could. Her gaze never left his face as he tossed his head back, her name falling from his lips like a prayer as thick, warm ropes of cum shot down her throat. His eyes shut for a brief moment, completely lost in his own pleasure. He looked down at her, watching as she slowly backed herself off of him, dragging her tongue lazily against his underside as she did so. 

“Darlin’, I think it’s only fair I return the favour for ya now,” He gave her a mischievous smirk as he offered his hand out to her, helping her stand to her feet. 

Luke gripped her hips and hoisted her up onto the metal top of the dryer, grinning at her as he took his turn kneeling on the floor. He pulled her forwards by her hips. He tapped the inside of her thigh with his hand, indicating to her that she needed to spread her legs to allow him to fit between them. His blue eyes watched her as he dragged two thick fingers along her wet folds, his voice in a low hum as he spoke, amused at how aroused she was. Luke used his fingers to part her lips gently, letting out a deep exhale as he stared at her, taking in the sight before him.

“Look at you, darlin’, pussy all wet for me, just waitin’ for me to take care a’ya, hmm?” he cooed as he watched her part her lips, allowing a soft moan to escape from her mouth.

“Luke, please, baby,” she mewled, whimpering as he circled the pad of his fingertip against her swollen clit. 

The sound of her whimpering, soft moans were music to Luke’s ears, and he wasted no time in pressing his lips to her sensitive bud, lapping his tongue against it, tasting her sweet arousal as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thigh. He dipped two of his fingers into her now dripping core, lazily fucking them into her as he sucked on her nub, waiting for her to beg him to give her more. 

“Luke, fucking hell, stop fucking teasing me, please?” She whined, her voice raising in pitch as she let out another whimper.

Luke pumped his fingers into her faster, pressing into her soft spot as he continued to lick and suck at her clit, his bright blue eyes never leaving once leaving her face as he watched, feeling himself become more aroused by seeing her face contort and hearing her vocalize her pleasure. He felt her leg tremble under his free hand, and he continued to fuck her with his fingers, pulling his mouth off of her clit just enough for her to hear him speak.

“Soak my fingers for me, sugar,” He husked, watching as he continued to thrust them into her wet folds, an animalistic grunt escaping his lips as he felt her clenching around him.

She tossed her head back as her arousal coated him, a loud, passionate scream of his name echoing through the air as she climaxed. Luke pulled his fingers out, licking them clean before ducking back between her thighs, delving his tongue inbetween her folds to clean up the mess he’d made of her. Once finished, he pulled back his head, sitting back on his feet for a moment as he grinned up at her, his bearded chin glistening with her arousal as he looked at her. 

“Now, sweetness, you’re gonna have to take my shirt off of ya now, or else we’re never gonna make it to dinner. They might notice us being missing.” He smirked, shaking his head as he stood up.

Luke reached his hands out to grab her by the hips, nodding as he helped her down off of the dryer. He cocked an eyebrow up at her, watching as she slowly undid the buttons of the shirt before shrugging the blue material back off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as she exposed her bare skin to him. Unable to control his impulsive urges, Luke grabbed her by the waist, gripping her body tightly as he pulled her in against his frame. 

“Well…maybe we can be a few minutes late?” 

[billygoat26]

I've been seeing a lot about KOSA on here

Don't get me wrong, I don't support it.

So I'll just say this; if any of you have read Fahrenheit 451 then you know what I'm gonna be talking about. (Censorship. It's- it's censorship.)

Basically, if you haven't read it, the book is about a time somewhere in the future where all books get burned, the only "stories" are little comics but it's just images... no words at all, and television has become the new "family." If you get caught with books, your house gets burnt down, the books burned as well.

BUT. Instead of trying to summarize the entire story, let me just show you parts of Beatty's speech.

"The fact is we didn't get along well until photography came into its own. Then--motion pictures in the early twentieth century. Radio. Television. Things began to have mass."

"And because they had mass, they became simpler," said Beatty. "Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books levelled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me?"

"Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests. Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending."

"Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference."

"Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more."

"Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!"

"School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?"

"The zipper displaces the button and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and thus a melancholy hour."

"More sports for everyone, group spirit, fun, and you don't have to think, eh? Organize and organize and super organize super-super sports. More cartoons in books. More pictures. The mind drinks less and less."

"Now let's take up the minorities in our civilization, shall we? Bigger the population, the more minorities. Don't step on the toes of the dog-lovers, the cat-lovers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, Mormons, Baptists, Unitarians, second-generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen, people from Oregon or Mexico."

"Authors, full of evil thoughts, lock up your typewriters. They did. Magazines became a nice blend of vanilla tapioca. Books, so the damned snobbish critics said, were dishwater."

"We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against."

"A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it."

"...there was no longer need of firemen for the old purposes. They were given the new job, as custodians of our peace of mind, the focus of our understandable and rightful dread of being inferior; official censors, judges, and executors."

"Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book."

"You can't build a house without nails and wood. If you don't want a house built, hide the nails and wood. If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war."

(Source of the quotes: beatty-speech-to-montag-excerpt.pdf (wordpress.com))

(Page numbers for physical copy: 51 - 60)

I hope you get the point- we're heading down a daaaangerous path and chances are, this is- or at least is very damn close to- our future. If you want to have a good education (or your kids to have a good education), then take into consideration the things you either vote for or support, etc.

[emotionallyglued]

NFL WEEK 1 THOUGHTS

Man what the FUCK i'll be doing these now, I LOVE FOOTBALL!!!!!!

Fun fact, this is my first time watching football in action! I've only really tangentially followed everything via Reddit threads and twitter stuff. It was a treat and I loved every game I watched.

MY VIKINGS THRASHED THE GIANTS, I LOVE FOOTBALL. WE'RE SO BACK. WE'RE GOING TO TO SUPER BOWL WITH SAM DARNOLD AS OUR QB, AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER ABOUT IT. I LOVE ANDREW VAN GINKEL. I am very hopeful about the Vikings future, we got a lot of cap space, good defense (though I don't know if it's because we have a good defense or because Daniel Jones sucks) and overall, the vibes are good.

Speaking of, my god, Daniel Jones. They are paying this man a four year 160 million contract and he has thrown more touchdown passes FOR THE OPPOSING TEAM RATHER THAN HIS OWN. I feel bad for the Giants considering that they lost Saquon, their offense ALL sucks, I do not know what Daboll is thinking with all of these plays considering that this is DANIEL FUCKING JONES.

The Chiefs squeak by with a scripted win. Sad for the Ravens but they're definitely going to be good this year, this is no reason for any fan to be panicking. But also, what the FUCK were the bills thinking giving XAVIER WORTHY TO THE CHIEFS??? Genuinely impressive stuff from him in this game, speedy fuck and I'm going to die because the Chief's dynasty is going to go on further than the fucking Patriots one.

Thank you Will Levis for providing potentially the funniest NFL pic of all time.

6. Also, genuinely hilarious win by the Bears who had: 0 Passing touchdowns. 0 Rushing touchdowns. Winning 24-17 via 3 Field Goals, a Pick-6 and a blocked kick TD. Caleb Williams only passed 96 yards. This might be one of those Bears seasons where the Bears have a godlike defense and a bad offense.

7. As per usual, the Falcons are stuck in a Hell of their own creation. This is incredibly hilarious for me and I will continue to smoke on that Atlanta pack. The entire NFC South can go to hell far as I'm concerned, I hate ALL OF THOSE TEAMS!!!

8. I'm sorry for my recently followed Bengals fan but I AIN'T LIE. THE STEELERS COOKED. They might have a good season (they always have a good season I have no idea how they do this.)

9. The Raiders punted on 4th and 1, with 7:15 remaining WHILE LOSING. I think they deserve that loss.

10. I love the Texans and I love CJ Stroud (<- Is only a Texan's fan because I gotta have a team to root for in the AFC) I'LL BE TRYING TO DO THESE EVERY WEEK CUZ I LOVE FOOTBALL. PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT FOOTBALL. PLEASE.

[just-paradox-things]

for the ask thing 🍄👻🪐🎁💬

🍄 - "How did you get your system name?"

Okay, so this is one we get a lot, actually, but it's not a very interesting answer. Basically, we're extremely Homestuck-heavy, like, it's an extremely overrepresented source among our fictives. That's the first reason.

The second reason is that like, 5 of us are Dirks, a character deeply steeped in paradox.

The third is that paradoxes are fun, and I like when my brain hurts because I'm a mental masochist.

👻 - "Do your headmates have different voices or speech patterns?"

The amount of A, Texans and B, British people in here is insane. Our voices vary pretty widely as far as register, and a lot of people have a really hard time masking due to accent or the pitch of their voice. So, yes. Yes they do.

🪐 - "What is headspace like for you?"

Oh, boy, this is gonna be long one.

So, we have an innerworld, and it's a jumbled up, nonsensical patchwork of everything you'd want in an innerworld. Alastor, our lovely architect, has helped us to orchestrate this.

The frontroom looks different depending on the perspective you view it from. One way, it's the fucking backrooms. The other way, it's the surveillance room from Death Note, only with one big screen instead of multiple small ones.

The only traceable layout of the innerworld is on the floor the frontroom is on. There's a door leading into a foyer. Directly to your front and left are both doors that go fucking nowhere, and to the right is the Garden. Basically where unformed alters hang out. This is a dangerous area because you could get pulled in. Behind that is the memory archives, which is just a dark room full of filing cabinets. I'm not tryna go in there for a lot of reasons.

If you want to go anywhere else, you have to use the magic doors.

What are the magic doors? Well, that's easy, silly. You can open up any door in the innerworld and with the right intention, they'll bring you to the room or area you want to go to. Kind of like the teleportation doors in Deltarune.

Other things in the innerworld include: a rough facade of areas in various people's sources (kind of like movie sets) that they can visit when homesick, an entire beach and ocean that looks like it's under the deck of a house, a fight pit (recently revealed to exist by our Bro fictive. Thanks for that,) The Room You Never Ever Ever go in, June's bedroom and Tord's study. This list is not exhaustive, but it's all I can think of right now.

🎁 - "Have you ever bought your headmates things?"

If there is an apple option when buying a dessert, I am contractually obligated to purchase it. It takes actual, genuine willpower to pick something else. This did not happen pre-syscovery. Fuck you, Dave.

💬 - "Free space! Tell me about something."

Fun Paradox Fact! Hal, who was our co-host for a while, refuses to engage with clone paradoxes, for obvious reasons within his source.

Follow for more fun facts!

[imeverywoman420]

I haven't been following your European discourse or whatever but I did read the post about 'self-flagellating Texans' & found myself completely agreeing. im not saying we need more patriotism from americans or chauvinism from whites but I personally wince a little whenever someone's like, "I don't have a culture! I don't have any heritage, history, etc etc." are you not embarrassed?boy? When I hear people say that, the only things they're telling me is that 1. they don't think critically about their own lives & 2. they don't listen to literally anything their family's told them about their own memories & experiences. like, fun to rag on pandora bracelets & mcmansions or whatever. But everyone belongs to a culture even if it's one they're ashamed of, one not conducive to human happiness. plus I think in a way it fetishizes or even woobifies non-Western & non-first world cultures. by intimating you don't have a culture what you really mean is that your way of life is the default. by saying you have no culture is to say your standards of living transcend it, & the pitying head-nodding self-hating liberal americans who perform this ritual denigration have boxed themselves comfortably out of the uncomfortable acknowledgment of their own relativism. Other cultures are "nice", & they 9 times out of 10 mean this supposed exemption from culture as a searing critique of imperialism. but imperialism cannot wipe out one culture without imposing another on both its oppressed & oppressor classes. this really feels no different than a white person saying they're colorblind or a straight person saying that there's no unique gay experience, love is love, after all.... these are people too entangled in their own guilt complexes to evaluate their material reality as americans. Only americans could ever insist that born-and-bred americans do not have a culture. for better or for worse, own it. I used to be boring & insufferable in this way. Like I'm a white girl from the midwest. I didn't think I had to, you know, think about this fact of my person because I was too privileged, too stupid, un-self-aware. whatever.but one night my grandma came over & we sat outside & got to talking about Her father. And he was an inventor in his free time? And a farmer? He dropped out of school in the 4th grade? And still went on to become arbitrator on behalf of his workplace's union?everyone from my family, basically, is from Ohio. Like I wouldn't qualify for the DAR or anything (thank god) but my parents' parents, their parents, & so on. anyone living on firsthand in some relation's memory, then, is from Ohio. and the older I get the more I realize I am a person with a hometown & a past, & this has a miraculously self-humanizing effect on an individual. too many kids think they were born in anywhere, USA, & the worst part's that this is becoming more & more a real truth (though by no means The Truth).....late stage capitalism, the technology it is impossible without, has more than anything else created these vast swaths of courage-draining monoculture in recent decades. So now more than ever culture preserved on individual & familial levels is being threatened. but even while an unimaginative culture of consumption diminishes the recognition of culture on an intimate level, it's....not too late. if you have living relatives you can talk to, then it isn't too late. Not yet, anyway. and while there are undeniable, indelible bonds bt. whiteness, americanness, & imperialism, too many gen-Z people think they "don't have a culture" because they're white or American. And these are, yes, the reasons why they don't want to think about their culture. But any real cultural erosion happening is facilitated by technological evolution & capitalism. Too many cheesecake factories. Simple as.

Literally so true!! The whole reason i embraced being from west virginia is bc i spent all of my life embarrassed and self flagellating for other peoples amusement.

[misssophiachase]

prompt- AH Klaroline. we usually see klaus developing feelings for caroline while she's in a relationship with someone else. i would like to see something where klaus has been in an established relationship with another girl and caroline realizes that she's developed feelings for him. (if you don't have time to do this one, don't worry about it).

Thanks nonnie, I love it so much! Inspired really. Got a bit carried away too, see notes at the end.

Synopsis: One wedding and a completely confused best man and maid of honour.

“And all you never say is that you love me so.”

All You Never Say

Caroline Forbes, Maid of Honour, Invites you to celebrate:

The Bachelorette Party for

Katherine Pierce

On Saturday fifteenth of June, twenty-twenty one at Connaught Bar, Mayfair, London at 2000h

Dress: Party Attire

One week before the nuptials - Connaught Bar, London England, 10:21pm

“What happened to the Kitty Kat I knew who’d usually be dancing on the bar right now and showing the stripper just how it’s done?” 

Although her tone was light and teasing, Caroline was a little disappointed given this was her best friend’s bachelorette party and there wasn’t a tacky veil or penis straw in sight. 

Also, they’d been forced to hire out a venue to avoid unwanted media attention before the big day so the atmosphere wasn’t quite what she was expecting either. 

The word lacklustre seemed a good word to describe it all.  

Maid of Honour Caroline had been banned from most fun things when organising Kat’s last night of ‘freedom’. 

“She’s marrying one of the United Kingdom’s most eligible bachelors, not to mention the youngest Minister in the Government’s Cabinet. That doesn’t really go with the wholesome reputation she’s trying to portray, Care,” Bonnie offered, eating the olive from her martini. “Although, I think it’s a shame you can’t put those pole dancing moves we learned in Cabo to good use.”

“This is one pathetic stripper, just saying,” Rebekah offered, joining them at the bar and stealing Bonnie’s drink from her outstretched hands.

“I was on the other side of the world, I could only go by his rating on the internet,” Caroline argued. “Plus, I also had to find one who kept some clothes on and we all know what that means.”

“What’s underneath doesn’t match the whole package,” Bonnie finished. “We don’t need to tip him, do we?”

When Katherine called Caroline thirteen months earlier to say she was engaged to Elijah, Caroline couldn’t have been happier. They’d all met each other at private boarding school and had stayed in touch ever since and even though they seemed like opposites, Kat and Elijah complemented one another. 

Also, Katherine’s job as head neurosurgeon at one of London’s most prestigious private hospitals and her impressive family inheritance greatly helped matters when it came to swaying his parents on the engagement. 

The Mikaelsons. 

Mikael and Esther were extremely wealthy and well-connected in English society.  They came from family money and owned a large and impressive property portfolio spanning the entire globe and had sent their children to the best boarding school the US had to offer.  

Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. 

Caroline wasn’t wealthy like the rest of her friends. She’d be lying if that fact didn’t make her feel somewhat inferior. Her father owned the local general store and, if it weren’t for her scholarship, Caroline would have ended up in public school. Not that she would have minded but her father insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

Attending the exclusive boarding school had been an adjustment to say the least and not just because of the ugly and uncomfortable uniforms they had to wear. Caroline was assigned to a room with three fellow students. 

Katherine Pierce, although the daughter of a talented cardiothoracic surgeon and a world class architect, was wild and impulsive and constantly in trouble with the dean for her indiscretions like sneaking out to meet boys and smoking on occasion. 

Bonnie Bennett was the gorgeous but serious high achiever whose parents owned one of the biggest publishing houses in the world. She was taught never to take anything for granted and work hard for what she wanted in life. 

Rebekah Mikaelson, while strong-willed and passionate, was the odd one out from the beginning. She made it her aim in life to drive the other girls crazy with her brittle personality and unwanted opinions. Although it took a while, and a few choice fights that needed to be broken up between her and Katherine, the girls became best friends. 

Rebekah’s brothers all attended the school at the same time but in different years with Elijah the eldest followed by Klaus then Kol and youngest sibling Rebekah.  

The Mikaelson boys and their best friend from home, Enzo St John, were definitely the most popular and sought after by the female student body. Caroline, not being one to conform, refused to play that game. She had no intention of stroking their egos any further, especially head womaniser Klaus. 

There was no doubting he was gorgeous, it ran in their family after all, but he knew it. 

Caroline found that she could have a fun time with Enzo, a deep and meaningful discussion with Elijah and a joke with Kol but when it came to Klaus all he did was tease her and rile her up. 

Of course she told herself it was because he was an immature idiot but wasn’t overly convinced it was the only reason given the looks she’d send his way when she knew no one was looking.  Caroline hoped whatever weird thing was happening would dissipate when they graduated. 

Kol and Bonnie had dated for a year at school, but apart from them they all stayed friends. So much so, that after they’d all graduated and gone their separate ways in life they still caught up for most significant occasions. 

This wedding being one of many. 

Katherine and Elijah had reconnected in Boston and, even though she always said he was too serious, they fell in love and were now on the verge of marriage. 

Caroline was so excited, if not about the bachelorette party. 

“Who are we kidding? I got the wild stuff out when you three were all too busy being good girls in boarding school,” she scoffed. Caroline wouldn’t admit it aloud but she had a point. “And there’s nothing stopping you three from getting up there with the stripper.” 

“Pass,” all three replied, looking up at him ominously. 

“How about we get out of here and see what the boys are up to?” Katherine suggested a twinkle in her brown eyes. 

“Because I think that defeats the purpose of a bachelorette party, Pierce,” Caroline drawled. “And this is Elijah, no offence but poker doesn’t sound all that exciting if you ask me.”

“Says the girl with the special poker skills,” Kat smiled deviously. “Klaus likes to think he’s the best player but we all know you could give him a run for his money. I’d say watching you fleece him is a fun way to spend an evening.”

Caroline had to admit angering the best man and her wedding partner certainly had its benefits. They’d seen each other in passing the previous day on arrival but otherwise hadn’t connected much recently because she was based on the West coast in Los Angeles and him on the East in New York City. 

He was the CEO of a prominent stockbroking firm and, by all reports, had been dating a Texan oil billionaire’s daughter and model, Hayley someone, for the past year.  

Okay, her surname was Marshall. 

She may have read a few editions of Page Six and seen them attending premieres and openings. She was sort of attractive.

Okay, she was gorgeous with big, brown doe eyes and a glossy chestnut mane and legs for days. 

Caroline told herself that she didn’t care more times than she could count but there was also something lingering beneath the surface with Klaus. She would have endeavoured to forget him after school had it not been for something that happened two years earlier and changed her opinion of him completely. 

Bastard.

And with that came the insecurity she hated. Even though she’d carved out a successful career as a human rights lawyer, she’d never fit into his life because she didn’t have a rich family or a huge inheritance like Hayley. Not that she cared but she knew his family did. 

She noticed her friends giving her weird looks, clearly she didn’t realise how much of a Klaus trance she’d descended into. 

“Sure. Why not?”

American Bar, Savoy Hotel, London 11:07pm 

“This is lame,” Kol scoffed, throwing his cards on the makeshift poker table. 

“He’s only saying that because he’s losing,” Enzo laughed, pulling the chips towards him greedily. 

“No, I’m saying that because this is no bachelor party,” he huffed, standing up and going to the bar to make himself another drink. “You couldn’t even organise one, measly stripper?”

As with the girls, the guys had hired out the venue for privacy reasons, not that they were actually doing anything untoward. 

Klaus had won the most money so far but he’d left the table to take a call from Hayley letting Enzo win a few rounds in his absence. She was arriving the next day for the wedding and was calling to check on the arrangements. 

Klaus was certain he’d told her multiple times but she was someone who liked things just right. But she also liked to call. 

A lot. 

At first he thought it was endearing but after a year he was starting to realise it was largely overkill. So too, her obsession with all things materialistic and celebrity and having to be at the opening of everything and anything. Klaus liked to keep more of a low profile if he could and that trait only reminded him of his parents and their chosen life together.

When he’d met her during a wild weekend in Miami, Klaus was immediately taken with her. He even thought it was love but decided that was just the tequila talking and it was most definitely lust. Klaus didn’t do relationships and he assumed she would be a momentary distraction until his parents had taken a strong liking to her.  Or more accurately to her wealth and family connections and future prospects for them. 

With Mikael and Esther it wasn’t much about love but what you did for a living and how much money your family had. Their marriage was case in point. 

Klaus wasn’t one to do what his parents told him but he’d long felt the black sheep given his secret paternity and decided it would be good to earn their favour for a change.  

There was also another reason to entertain the relationship, one that had made him realise that, no matter what, he was always going to have to settle for second best. 

“Are we interrupting anything?” Klaus looked up into the eyes of his future sister-in-law. He and Katherine had acted like siblings from the moment they met so to him her marriage to Elijah was inevitable.     

“Great!” Kol growled from his vantage point behind the bar. “Not only do I have to sit through this poor excuse for a party but now the girls have arrived.”

“Nice to see you too, Kol,” Bonnie said, raising her eyebrows. Although they’d dated over ten years ago everyone seemed to think something was still very much happening between them. 

“As much as I’m glad to see my beautiful fiance,” Elijah smiled, standing so he could pull her into his arms affectionately. “I’m not sure this is the done thing.”

“Oh, you mean like strippers, brother?” 

“You’re more than welcome to our stripper, Kol, we only left him in Mayfair about ten minutes ago so you might be able to catch him if you’re lucky,” Rebekah teased, swiping a few of Enzo’s prized chips from the table.

“Oi, woman!” He muttered, attempting to take it back while she squealed in response. 

Rebekah and Enzo had been play fighting since he was eleven and she was nine.  The rest of the group all knew it was unresolved tension that would finally sort itself out some day so were just waiting for it to click into place. 

“So, what you’re telling me is that the girls were allowed to have a stripper?” Clearly, Kol wasn’t letting this one go easily. 

“Oh would you please shut up, little brother, does it shock you that Elijah didn’t actually want one?” Klaus barked, his brother wearing on his last nerve. 

For the most part his gaze had been surreptitiously trained on the maid of honour.  Attired in a little, black dress that hugged her in all the right places it was incredibly distracting.  She was also wearing her hair just how he liked it, loose and a little wild. How many times had he imagined running his fingers through those waves? Too many to count.

Yes, Caroline Forbes was his dirty little secret. One that he had every intention of keeping because it would do him no good to reveal it. 

“I promise that when you get married I’ll book out an entire strip club,” Enzo offered, stealing the chip from Rebekah’s grasp while she wasn’t watching and sending her a triumphant smirk. “Happy?”

“Are we playing poker or what?” Caroline asked. This got his attention. Klaus looked over at her, his eyebrows cocked curiously. 

“You play poker, love?”

“I dabble,” she replied, taking a seat at the table. “I mean, I used to play with my grandpa when I was about ten. Pretty sure the rules haven’t changed much since then.” It would have been adorable if Klaus wasn’t so competitive by nature. 

“We are playing for real money here,” he warned, giving her one last chance to back out. “I mean I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” 

“I’m a big girl and can take care of myself,” she shot back. “So, just deal the cards, Mikaelson.” 

The others took their place and the game was restarted, even Kol seemed to have gotten out of his funk to play. The first hand went like this:

“All red,” Rebekah smiled triumphantly, laying her cards on the table. After betting her entire bank it was sufficed to say she was out from the get-go. 

“All red? Seriously, little sister? Can you please take her away Enzo and never let her play ever again,” Klaus muttered through gritted teeth. How were they even related?

Second hand ended in Katherine and Elijah being expelled for too much PDA at the poker table. Neither of the love birds minded a little time out in the corner. 

Third hand came down to a poor display of bluffing from Kol while Bonnie complained because all she wanted to do was play Go Fish because it was more entertaining.

Then there were two.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just give in, Forbes?” Klaus asked, leaning back lazily in his chair.  She was studying her cards carefully. Most hands she’d folded before betting anything and he was starting to realise she was too careful, much like the girl he knew in real life.   

“Give me a minute,” she hissed, fastening a loose wave behind her ear. Klaus could tell it was a sign of a bad hand but at the same time he wished he was the one to place it there. 

“Okay, I want three cards,” she asked, placing the discarded ones face down. 

“Maybe you should just fold, love?” He asked, partly because he was concerned but also because Klaus knew he was that accomplished. His straight flush was looking extremely good right now. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me what to do, ass,” she offered, noting his shocked look in response. “I was just trying to counter your love with something equally fitting.”

“Fine,” he murmured trying to pretend not to feel dejected. “Three cards.”

She took them and again studied them closely. Meanwhile the rest of the group had gathered around, no doubt sensing this was their last hand and everyone could finally go home. 

“Okay, how about we stop beating around the bush and I just bet everything I have,” she said pushing it all into the middle. 

“You’re bluffing,” he blurted out, knowing it was impossible she had a hand to beat his flush. 

“I guess you’ll have to bet to find out,” she smiled. All he wanted to do was kiss it off her face and that was just for starters. He shook his head reminding himself that he needed to relax. 

“Call,” she said, her expression serious. They held each other’s gaze for a prolonged period, Klaus telling himself it was to try and read the poker signs but that wasn’t it at all. He suddenly realised that he could stare at her for hours and never tire. 

Not just hours, forever maybe.  

He cleared his throat knowing that everyone was now watching in anticipation. 

“Straight flush,” he grinned proudly, laying it out on the table. She gave it a brief look before placing hers next to his. 

“All red.” Given it was a ten, Jack, Queen, King and Ace of diamonds, also known as a royal flush, she was clearly being facetious. 

“You played me, Forbes.” He finally uttered amongst the cheers and Rebekah’s insistence that she must have had a winning hand all along. 

She pulled the chips towards her happily choosing not to respond immediately. His eyes were still trained on her though, desperate for some kind of response.

“And you underestimated me, Mikaelson,” she murmured. 

Yes. Maybe he had underestimated her and everything else.

TBC - Next part will be up tomorrow PM..there’s a chance encounter in the middle of the night, a rehearsal dinner and a slight wedding mishap before the big day. But let me know what you think so far : ) 

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[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 38)

A faint, warm breeze caresses Mila’s face as she and Juri walk along the quiet street, running alongside the newly built wall. A few of the Alexandrian men are working on the final piece, funnily enough nearby the church that caused it to break. It’s been two months since the wall collapsed now, or at least that’s what she thinks. Mila looks at the new construction as she and Juri passes, feeling a sense of calm throughout her soul as her eyes sweep over the repaired structure that has also been expanded; a part of Deanna’s original plan for the community. On the piece of the wall that stood by the invasion, next to the small graveyard, someone has written the name of those who have perished; loved ones, friends, family and those who became family after the outbreak. It’s a nice memorial site, a quiet corner of the community. Since that day, when the walkers poured into Alexandria, everything has gone back to a somewhat normal state.  

It’s a hot mid-summer’s day, the sky is blue and the clouds look extra fluffy. Juri points towards them and gestures as if he squeezed an invisible marshmallow between his soft little fingers.

“Yeah they look tasty.” Mila smiles and squints up towards the floating clouds cruising by without a hurry. “What about-” Softly, she pinches Juri’s button nose. “I try to find us some yummy marshmallows for a barbecue when I get back, huh?”

With glittering eyes Juri nods and hugs her tightly; obviously he is positive about the idea.

“Then it’s a date.” Mila chuckles and hugs Juri back, before putting him down on the ground. “Ufh, you are getting heavy. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.”

With a proud, sunny face Juri stretches, he’s certainly not a little guy anymore; in Mila’s eyes, paradoxically, he’s still her little baby, while she’s also well aware that he’s turning four in a few months. Where the heck did the years between infancy and two go? With a smile, she thinks of Maggie and what adventure awaits her and Glenn in the years to come. At least they have each other, a small consolation when the world is constantly on the brink of doom. 

“Since you’re a big boy now, you’re going to teach Maggie’s baby a lot of important things. Like Carl does with you and Judith.” Mila says and takes Juri’s hand. “You think you can do that?”

Juri nods, with eyes that take the task very seriously. He adores Carl like an older brother and being addressed as a big boy, doing ‘Carl-stuff’, is everything he’s ever wanted. Juri gestures with his free hand and makes a finger walk in the air; of course he will teach the new baby to walk. But when he lets go of Mila’s hand, to show that he’s going to teach the baby to tie its shoes, Mila raises her left eyebrow.

“Well, I think we have to practice that one a little bit, Malysh.” Mila says.

Stubbornly, Juri signals that he’s already trying to learn, or rather states, very stubborn, that Daryl should teach him. He’s done it before, Juri gestures with a triumphant grin.

“Really?” Mila smiles. “Sure, I bet he’s good at it. What’s left for me then? I’m just gonna sit by and watch?”

By putting his hands together in front of him and pointing his index fingers straight ahead, Juri gestures a finger-gun. He narrows one eye and pretends to aim and fire. He points at her with a smile, clarifies that she’s best at shooting, therefore she should teach him. 

“Spasibo, malysh.” She winks at Juri. “Not quite yet, though. But I promise you, I will.”

Further down the street, both of them catch sight of Daryl and Denise. They part, Denise walks away from them and Daryl turns and starts to walk in their direction. Mila waves at him and Juri starts to run as fast as his short legs possibly can towards their favorite archer. Despite his packing, a backpack and the crossbow, Daryl receives Juri when he reaches him; he lifts him up in the air on straight, strong arms, making Juri’s blonde hair dance around his angelic face. The silent laugh that spreads on his face makes Mila’s heart swell with joy. She had never thought that the surly archer would melt completely because of a, certainly charming, mute toddler; her little ray of sunshine. He even smiles as he lifts Juri into the air. Surely a sight for sore eyes, she thinks as they meet in the middle of the street.

“Ya’ ready?” Daryl greets her as he puts Juri down. “We’re heading out now.”

“All done.” She replies, notices a piece of paper in Daryl’s hand. A shopping list? “That’s a nice little list you got there.” Mila peeks over the edge of the slightly crinkly paper, that looks like it’s been passed around the entire community. “Food, gas, some medicine, more medicine… another medicine-” She frowns her eyebrows. “Orange soda?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Denise wanted to surprise Tara.”

“That’s nice.” Mila nods.

It was decided last night that Tara and Heath would go on a longer supply run. Daryl was asked to follow, but declined. Mila suspected that it was because of her; she’s been a bit under the weather the last couple of days; she’s been tired and just a bit feeble, felt nauseated. Carol was sure it was just her female hormones acting out, which could very well be a possibility. Tracking a period during the apocalypse wasn’t high on her ‘to do’-list, so she brushed it off. Daryl didn’t say anything about the reason for his decision, but Mila guessed that he didn’t feel like leaving her behind, even though she’s neither sick or… well, anything really. Just a bit tired. Instead, it was decided that Daryl and Rick would go on a supply run. Mila offered to come along; Daryl couldn’t possibly stop her from following, so it was settled that she’d tag along. 

They walk to the dusty Chrysler sedan together. Rick’s already in place, assuring that his gun is loaded and attached properly to his belt when they arrive.

“Mornin’.” He greets them with a nod; Once a cop, always a cop. The only thing missing is the wide-brimmed hat. “Ready to go?”

Both of them nod and Daryl hands Rick the list of supplies.

“Ya’ see anything you miss?” He asks.

Rick glances through the list quickly.

“We’re outta’ toothpaste.” He states and lifts his eyes to them, waving the note between his fingers. “Keep an eye open for spearmint and baking soda. Michonne’s orders.”

“Got it.” Mila turns to Juri and squats in front of him. “Okay, be nice to Carol and the others, don’t run away.”

With a serious look, Juri reminds her of the promise of marshmallows.

“I’ll remember.” Mila promises and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “There, davay.” She gets up from the ground as Juri turns and runs over to the porch, climbs the stairs and gets into the house to find Carol. 

They get in the car, Rick and Daryl in the front seat and Mila in the back seat. She puts her handgun and backpack in the seat next to her and Rick rolls over to the gates, where Eugene’s about to push it open for them. On the other side, pierced on a couple of rebar attached to a broken car, a couple of walkers are trying their best to reach for them with their worn, boney arms, all in vain. 

Eugene strutts over to the passenger seat of the car and leans into the open window. The mullet looks more solid than ever as he hands Daryl another note. “I mapped out some of the agricultural supply places in the area.” He says in the heavy Texan accent Mila finds incredibly fascinating. “Even if they’ve been cleaned out, my bet is that the sorghum would be untouched. Now, that there is a criminally underrated grain that could change the game with our food situation from scary to hunky-dunky.”  

No one says anything. Mila rests her elbows on the backs of the driver’s and passenger seats and leans in so her head sticks out in between the two men in the front. 

”I'm talking standability-” Eugene continues. “Drought tolerance, grain-to-stover ratio that is the envy of all corns.” He pauses. “Think about it.”

”Gosh I could listen to him forever.” Mila says and looks at Rick. “Hunky-dunky.” She repeats in an as good as it gets Texan accent, while meeting Eugene’s eyes.

“All right.”

The car drives out through the gate, Rick accelerates and they leave Alexandria behind. 

“I’m having a good feeling ‘bout today.” Rick says cheerful.

“Really?” Mila replies.

“Just-” Rick shrugs. “You know- You just feel it. Today’s the day. We're gonna find food, maybe some people. The law of averages has gotta catch up.”

“We ain’t seen nobody for weeks.” Daryl notes. “Maybe we ain’t gonna find nobody.”

“That’s sunny.” Mila says, strokes his bare arm with her fingertips. “Let’s cheer this bad boy up, sheriff.”

Rick grins and pushes ‘play’ on the stereo. The music starts faintly and Mila recognizes the band as Social Distortion. 

”Oh I like this one!” Mila exclaims and starts to sing along.  

”Thought ya’ only liked country?” Rick looks at her in the rearview mirror. 

”Nuh.” Mila shakes her head. ”I’m full of surprises. Fun fact, I went to a bunch of cool concerts back in Jersey. These guys, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, Rise Against, Pearl Jam- Lots of rock, punk, country-” Mila continues to sing along when the chorus starts. ”I made out with the Social Distortion singer, Mike Ness, after a concert. Or at least I think it was him.”

”Think?” Daryl sputters and turns to look at her. 

”I was eighteen!” Mila shrugs easily. “And drunk beyond judgement.” She confesses. ”He was- old, kinda’ handsome. Smelled quite nice, except the sweat. When I think about it, it could just as well be any middle aged guy with tattoos and tons of hair wax working backstage. I will never know for sure. But I’d like to believe it was the singer. Makes the story more interesting.”

Rick laughs.

“Concerts are wild.” He agrees while tapping the steering wheel. “I took Lori to see Tim McGraw once, before Carl was born. Cheap fried hot wings, beer in red plastic cups, great music; great night.”

“Is he the-” Mila starts to hum while drumming on the thighs. “Hu-huuu- I like it, I love it-”

“-I want some more of it-” Rick tunes in and snaps his finger to her beat. “I try so hard, I can't rise above it. I don't know what it is 'bout that little gal's lovin’-”

“Christ sake-” Daryl sighs and slides further down the passenger seat. 

“Here-” Rick hands Mila the worn plastic case of cd’s from the door pocket. “Find something good.”

“Yes, captain.” Mila unzips the case and starts to flip the plastic pages, filled with scratched cd’s, before finding something that looks promising. “Here-” 

“Please, don’t-” Daryl pleads. 

Too late. She leans into the front seat and pushes the cd into the radio.

“Crank it up!” 

Rick turns the volume wheel up to fourteen and both he and Mila happily exclaims “yeeeah” when the intro to “Life is a highway” blasts out of the cheap stereo. 

“Ya’ both crazy!” Daryl cries, in an attempt to drown out the radio. 

“Draws ‘em away from home!” Rick calls before tuning into the catchy chorus with Mila.

Rick knows the lyrics even better than she does; she still stumbles on the fast lines combined with her not pitch perfect english.

After driving for awhile, while continuing their exceptional singalong, Daryl manages to override the music:

”Look-” Daryl points out of the window and Rick hits the brakes in a matter of seconds. ”Back up.”

While Mila stretches forward and turns down the volume, Rick puts in reverse gear and drives the car back to the intersection. About a hundred meter to their right lies a couple of buildings. A silo, a shed and a barn, with ’sorghum’ written all over the dirty white roof. Rick turns the wheel, hits the gas and drives in the direction of the barn. He drives up on the dirt road and parks in front of the red building. It looks untouched, as if no one else knew about the great power of the sorghum. They step out of the car and look around. It’s quiet, no walkers.

“Let’s check it out.” Rick looks around the corner.

”Best to be safe.” Daryl says and walks over to the storage roll up door. He checks the handle, nods as to tell that it’s unlocked. ”Ya’ cover?” He looks up at her and Rick. 

”Yup.” Rick returns, hand on his gun. 

While the two men get ready for combat, Mila throws a glance out over the fields surrounding the barn; keeping an eye open for potential enemies. The door goes up with a loud noise and Rick bursts into the barn. Mila’s eyes land on the back of a truck. 

“No sorghum?” Mila says.

”Doesn’t look like it.” Rick turns to her and Daryl. “We’re good.” He states and points at the truck. ”One more time?” 

”It ain’t locked.” Daryl puts his hand on the handle and thugs at the box truck roll up door that rolls up with a rattle. 

”Wohaa!” Mila exclaims. 

The truck is filled with supplies; food, blankets, towels, everything really. It must be their lucky day.

”How ’bout that?” Daryl says. “Looks like we’re done for today.”

”Let’s get this thing going, grab our gear and come back for the car later. Take another way back and see what we can see.” Rick states. “We still need to find more things.”

”I’ll go start it up-” Mila says. ”If it starts.”

”I think it does.” 

”Also one of your optimistic predictions?” She smirks at Rick, turns and walks over to the drivers side and opens the door. ”Hah, they where dumb enough to leave the keys.”

Daryl unloads the most necessary things from the car, Rick locks it with a ‘beep’ on the key and  they get inside the truck; Mila makes herself comfortable between her two companions and they backs out of the barn and hits the road. They head in the direction Rick drove before Daryl asked him to stop. The road is lined by green, lush forest. The sun has settled behind some clouds, but it’s still warm, a sticky moist heat that doesn’t really make Mila’s tiredness any better. She’s already drinked a whole bottle of water by herself and starts to feel her jeans push at her bladder. In the distance, she sees what looks like a very run-down gas station. 

“Should we check it out?” Daryl looks at Rick, who nods. “Might be some gas left.”

“Let’s find out.” 

Rick parks at the first pump and they get out of the truck. The gas station is a mess; debris everywhere, an abandoned jeep is parked outside and the black color of the roof has begun to flake and exposes the gray metal underneath. The store looks equally miserable. She strolls up to the doors and peeks through the dirty glass, but sees nothing else than darkness. On her right Daryl’s checking out a tipped-over vending machine, filled with soda and candy. Someone must’ve given up halfway through their attempt to move it, Mila thinks.

“Give me a hand with this.” Daryl says.

Rick, looking around the desolated place, turns on the spot and walks over to help. Besides her urge to pee, Mila’s struck by a slight sensation through her head, like nausea, just as she has been doing on and off the last two days. Heck, not now. 

“I just gotta- you know.” She makes a whistling sound, to signal that she needs to find a toilet, or just walk behind the corner of the gas station to pee, or vomit - right now she cannot decide which of them she needs the most.

“We’ll get this.” Daryl nods towards the vending machine.

Mila turns and walks towards the door of the gas station. She thugs at it, then pushes it open with force. It’s barricaded with a shelf and she creates a passage wide enough for her to get through  and walks inside the dark store, gun raised in front of her. She lets her gaze get used to the dark, then sweeps over the empty, chaotic store before she walks towards the back of it, towards the door with ‘staff only’, hanging on just one hinge. The back of the shop, a room that looks like something between an office and a storage, with walls clad in brown wooden panels, is also empty. She quickly finds the ‘staff only’-toilet that doesn’t look far too disgusting to sit down on. She closes the door halfway, to prevent herself from being in total darkness. While unzipping her jeans she curses herself for not bringing a flashlight. As she sits down, she promises herself to wash her whole body with steel wool as soon as they are back in Alexandria; the toilet stinks of urine and It must be a pure bacteria party in the small space. She closes her eyes, feels how the nausea calms down a bit, focuses to breath through her mouth to close out the acrid smell. She takes another breath and feels her bladder relax, happy to release the huge amount of water she drank. 

Despite the disgusting toilet, it feels better to go to the toilet inside than outside. Mila reluctantly remembers the time she had to pee in the woods, and a walker snuck up behind her. With her trousers around her ankles, Mila had to ward off the armless, dead man. It wasn’t her proudest moment for sure. 

Loud voices and thumps make her wake up from her thoughts. Mila almost falls on her nose getting up from the toilet seat with her jeans around her ankles. Swearing over the fact that she might have to repeat her unworthy pants incident, she makes her way out from the bathroom, thuggin’ on her panties and jeans to get them over her ass, to see what’s going on outside. Is there an ambush? She loses balance, while trying to zip her pants, when she makes her way out in between the gap in the door and drops to the pavement. While brushing her hair out of her face, Mila catches sight of Daryl and Rick standing out in the street. The truck is gone. 

“What the heck?!” She cries and gets up from the ground, fiddling with the zipper. “Where’s the truck?”

“Gone.” Rick hollers back at her. 

Mila lets go of the zipper again -whatever if she shows off her undies at this point- and holds out her arms, to show that she noticed that very well on her own. 

“I was gone for like, five minutes, and now you lost the truck?”

“He took it-” Rick continues. 

“He who?” 

“Some goddamn’ hippie.” Daryl scoffs angrily. “Crashed into Rick and then drove off with the truck, swiped the keys.”

“Wha- just like that?” Mila says, more confused than ever. What the hell happened?

“We talked to him.” 

“Okay… and?”

“Told us his name- called himself Jesus.”

“Yeah I’m sure that’s his name.” Mila laughs dryly; right, Jesus Christ would surely show up in the middle of nowhere and steal a truck filled with toothpaste, food and other supplies. “Jesus don’t steal trucks.” She says. “Jesus isn’t even real! And how on earth did he overpower both of you?” 

The two men in front of her transform into two ashamed puppies, that’s been caught peeing on the carpet, in the matter of seconds. Mila suspects that they weren’t overpowered but tricked; muscles and guns are no use for cunning, and she knows a lot about the latter.  

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Mila sighs, squats and ties her boots with an extra secure double knot. “Lets go.” 

“What?” Daryl looks at her. 

“We gotta follow the truck.” She replies and thanks her lucky star for not having eaten anything heavy earlier this morning. “I won’t let someone who believes himself to be Jesus just steal our truck. I went to church back in Russia when I was a child; stealing is a sin, which makes this Jesus a hypocrite. Come on.”

Mila starts to run. Had she known she would have to chase after a truck, she would have taken a pair of running shoes. They pass the vending machine after a few hundred meters, discarded in the middle of the road. Mila brakes and takes a deep breath, wiping sweat from her forehead. The sticky heat is killing her and the three of them drip with sweat. Rick’s shirt is several shades darker and Daryl looks almost freshly showered. Next to her, Rick doubles down and rests his hands on his knees, still hugging the gun.

“How far do you think he’d come?” She pants.  

“Dunno.” Daryl takes a crowbar from his backpack, shatters the display case of the vending machine and starts to stuff orange sodas and some snacks into his bag. He reaches Mila a can. “Here, drink.”  

She smiles, as to say ‘thank you’ and opens the can. The soda is somewhere between lukewarm and warm, but it’s better than nothing. She finishes the can quickly and wipes her mouth on the back of her arm.  

“Isn’t this the soda Denise wanted?” She asks.

“Uhu.” Daryl nods. “Special request.” 

He takes one of the cans, punctures a hole in its side and pours the lukewarm orange drink into his mouth. Very classy.

“Hey, whatever she wants. She saved Carl's life.” Rick replies and receives the can from Daryl. “If there's still people out here, and they're still people, we should bring 'em in.” 

“Still feelin’ positive, huh?” Daryl asks his friend. “Takin’ em in? Like this guy, stealing our truck?”

“No, not this guy.” 

Daryl turns and looks at her, the gaze wanders from top to bottom.

“Ya’ good to go?” The look is caring, protective. As if he was trying to say 'sorry ‘bout the bumpy ride'. 

Mila nods, feels a drop of sweat run down her lip, into her mouth. 

“Let’s get this over with.” She replies and collects her long, sweaty hair on the back of her head, ties it up with a hair tie. “I’ve ran marathons, remember.”

They set off again at a slightly faster pace, strengthened by the soda. Mila breathes calmly as she sprints over the concrete, counts her breaths as she used to do when she was an avid runner and used to go out for a long run for fun. The circumstances are a bit different from back then; no running shoes or comfortable running clothes in bright colors, no iPod filled with upbeat music and no fitness clock tracking her pulse and her route. The boots are actually horrible to run in, the same goes for jeans, t-shirt and denim shirt, plus a backpack and weapons. 

They follow the tire tracks until they reach a crest, where Daryl signals for them to stop. Carefully they ascend the hill until they can peek over the edge. In the hill down on the other side they see the truck, standing still. It has a puncture and Mila immediately sees a long-haired man with a beard, dressed in a long coat and a beanie, which in itself is pure madness. She’s dripping with sweat and would never in her life put on a long coat or hat now. 

“That’s him?” She asks faintly. 

“That’s him.” Rick nods at them to follow him into the woods to the left. 

They carefully make their way over the fallen leaves between the trees, without losing sight of the truck. The man walks around to the back of the car and they see their chance. They quickly get out of the woods, Rick takes the lead and throws himself forward, wraps his arms around the man from behind.

“Hold still and maybe we won’t hurt you.”

If Rick thought it would help, he was completely wrong. The man sends off an elbow into Rick’s stomach and is suddenly free again. He makes a move, kicks Rick in the guts and gets him down on the ground. It's obvious that the guy is a bit sharper than the rest of the knives in the drawer; Mila climbs out of the ditch just as the man is about to set off towards the driver’s door, but is stopped by Daryl. While the men fight with each other, Mila manages to get up on the road just as the bearded man slips out of Daryl’s arms, pushes him into the side of the truck, turns around and loses track completely at the sight of Mila, who -tired of running and still a little nauseous- has pulled out her gun and aims it at him.

“Surprise!”

The brief moment is enough for Daryl to get back on his feet. He sees his chance when the man turns and notices Mila and tackles him from behind, down into the ditch. At gunpoint, they finally have the upper hand.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants and looks at Mila.

“The power of surprise.” She shrugs and looks down at the man. 

He’s about thirty, long brown hair, beard. Yes, she sees the resemblance to Jesus; every time she sat in church and counted the icons portraying him when she was little. The serious man with sloping shoulders, blue dress, beard and well-groomed hair. The difference is that the Jesus in the icons didn’t have a knitted beanie and a leather coat.

The foliage behind the man in the grass rustles. A walker then announces its presence, by a guttural hissing sound.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus looks at them.

Without answering, Mila raises her gun at the walker and shoots.  

“Okay.” Jesus nods, still with his hands raised in front of him. “You gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There's a lot of food on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys - now.”

“I think you know I'm not a bad guy.” 

Once again, Mila suddenly feels that unpleasant, nauseating feeling, but this time it spreads from her head down to her stomach. She turns around, hurries away a few meters, bends forward and vomits into the ditch. ‘Is she okay?’ she hears Jesus' question, while she spits and feels how she shivers all over her body; fuck, she hates to vomit. But it actually feels better.

“Ey-” She hears Daryl scoff at the poor guy. “Eyes here, dude! The keys!”

“I’m fine.” Mila hollers and waves her arm at them, still folded like a pocket knife.

“You sure?” Jesus calls back.

“Oh shut up!” She shouts. “It’s because of you I’m throwing up.”

“Sorry.”

“Just-” Mila straightens her back. She feels less nauseated, a bit weak but otherwise much better. “Give us the keys.”

For some reason, Mila can’t figure out why, Jesus throws her the keys. It might be out of pity, or the fact that her two comrades are holding him at gunpoint; she nods at him, as a way to say thanks.

While Rick ties Jesus up, Daryl hurries over to her.

“Ya’ okay?” His eyes are worried. “Ya’ sick?”

“No I’m fine.” Mila nods averted. “Probably just too much running and too little breakfast. I’m good now.” She smiles. “Just, don’t kiss me until we’re back and I’ve brushed my teeths, okay?”

He doesn’t look completely convinced, but he grunts a little, caresses her cheek and places a kiss on her forehead instead.

“There’s toothpaste in the back of the truck.” He says, before returning to Rick and Jesus.

Mila gets into the truck, sits down in the middle seat and closes her eyes; maybe she should try to find one of those toothpastes, she has a foul taste in her mouth. She looks around the cab and finds a pack of spearmint gum. As she pushes a third gum into her mouth, Daryl and Rick jump on either side of her.

“Where is Jesus?” She asks.

“On the street.”

“What? We can’t just leave him?”

“Of course we can.” Rick replies, turns the key and starts the car. 

“So long, you prick.” Daryl shouts out of the window as they drive off.

Mila chuckles dryish; She has an underlying sense that something is going to happen. Karma. She takes out the case of cd’s from her backpack, picks the “best of sixties” album and pushes the cd into the stereo. The sound of Connie Francis “Tennessee waltz” crackles out of the speakers and Daryl hands out snacks from the vending machine. 

“Still worked out. Today still is the day.” Rick recalls while snacking on a chocolate-peanut bar. He then points in front of him. “Hey, look at that.”

The truck drives out of the forest, and Mila sees both fields and buildings.

“Yeah, a barn.“ Daryl says. 

As Rick turns off in the direction of the barn, something makes them all fall silent and listen; thumps, like something hitting the truck box, is heard even over the loud music.

“What’s that?” Mila exclaims. “You hear that?”

It’s inevitable what the noise is; footsteps.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.” Daryl says. 

All three of them react at the same time; Rick stands on the brake pedal, the car stops with a howl and Jesus falls down in front of the windshield and tumbles to the ground. Daryl, swearing loudly, throws himself out of the car to follow him and Mila follows Daryl. She has no idea why, but her gut feeling tells her that Daryl won’t be gentle on him. It also tells her that Jesus probably isn’t dangerous at all, which isn’t in his favor if Daryl, who’s all muscles and pretty bad impulse control, gets a hold of him.

“Daryl-” She calls. “No- Stop!”

“I’ve had enough of ya’!” Daryl shouts at Jesus, not hearing Mila. 

This must look ever so stupid, Mila thinks as she sprints after Daryl and the hippy-dippy guy into the dry green field; like one of those silent films, except that the soundtrack in this case happens to be Helen Shapiro’s “Walking back to happiness” playing from the car. Mila running after Daryl, running after this odd long-haired man who seems to believe he’s Jesus. Why in the world would he otherwise call himself that? 

”No- no, stop it!” Mila shouts, as if she was scolding at a bad dog. 

She stumbles and falls flat on her stomach, while Jesus reaches the now stationary truck and throws himself into the driver’s seat. Daryl follows.

“Come here, you little shit!” He barks and starts to drag Jesus out of the car. 

At the same time a walker has snuck up behind Daryl. Mila gets up on her knees, gropes for her gun, but before she has managed to raise it to shoot, she hears Jesus call out ‘duck’; Daryl ducks just in time. A gun finds its way into the walker's skull and it falls back like a bowling pin. 

“Thanks.” Daryl pants, then sends off a punch into Jesus face. “That's my gun! Come here!” 

He throws Jesus out of the truck, onto the grass. He doesn’t remain there for long; instead, he lays hooks for Daryl, who stumbles, giving Jesus time to get up on his feet and set off again.

“Son of a-” Daryl roars and runs after.

“Fuck- knock it out!” Mila shouts and increases her speed, minimizing the distance between herself and her, frankly pissed off, other half. Before Daryl’s able to take another leap in his hunt for the handcuffed, longhaired karate kid, she tackles him to the ground with a thud. ”Stop this!” Mila climbs up on top of him, to prevent Daryl from getting up from the grass. ”This is stupid!” 

”Christ- knock it out ya’!” 

Crap, she doesn’t have time to argue. Mila climbs over Daryl and sets after Jesus, who has slowed down to watch the wrestling match played out in the grass behind him. A surprised expression spreads on his bearded face as he sees her approaching, faster than he imagined. Jesus turns and starts to run again, but he doesn’t get up to speed fast enough. Mila lunges for him and they tumbles to the ground in a bundle of arms and legs, and she starts to wrestle him. He doesn’t fight her, but he tries with all his power to get loose from her grip. Mila gets a sharp elbow in the eye and a cracked lip before hobo-Jesus is ripped away from her by Daryl, who looks like he’s boiling.

“Ey, that’s ma’ girl, ya’ scumbag!”

“Wohaa, jeez.” The long haired, ravaged man, flies like a raggedy Anne-doll through the air.  

Mila gets up from the ground, covered in dry grass and wipes blood from her mouth on the back of her hand. Her eye pounds and already feel swollen, a certain recipe for an upcoming, gorgeous black eye. Daryl pants loudly through his nostrils while holding on to the ravaged man’s coat, the poor guy can barely stand up straight.  

“I had him.” Mila glares at Daryl and spits blood on the ground in front of her feet.

“I’d had him if ya’ didn’t tackle me.” Daryl scoffs back, still holding on to Jesus' collar. 

“You’d kill that poor man if you’d catched him.” Mila replies, pointing at Jesus. “You’re not exactly sensible when you’re angry.”

“Oh yeah right, you’re the one to talk!” Daryl scoffs back. “What about that guy’s kneecaps-”

“I had every right-” Mila cries. “He sliced my guts with a fucking machete!” 

”You two are related of some sort?” Jesus doubtfully breaks in. 

”Married!”

“What?” Daryl sputters, looking both terrified and shocked at her sudden, out of the blue exclamation. 

“Feels like it!” Mila replies and spits more blood; they’re arguing like they were married at least. “Pridurok...” She mutters, eyes locked at Daryl.  

”Oh-” Jesus pants and looks just as confused as Daryl does, plus a bit tufted. “Right-”

“Shut up.”

Pow! Jesus falls to the ground. Mila rolls her eyes; why does he have to punch everyone? She snorts and turns, stepping through the tall grass in the direction of the car. Damn hypocrisy, she thinks to herself. She passes Rick, who walks in the opposite direction out in the tall grassy field, holding his bloody knife, but ignores him. She’s frankly grumpy and her eye hurts. But she halts when she doesn’t spot the truck.

“Where the fuck is the truck!?”

She looks around. It’s nowhere to be seen. As she lets her gaze sweep over the field she catches sight of something behind some trees, in the small pond.

“Shit.” Rick comes up at her side, eyes locked at the truck that’s sinking further down the pond. “He must’ve knocked it into neutral.”

“Now what?”

They both turn and start walking back towards Daryl and the man in the grass.

“Are you alright?” Rick looks at Daryl. “Let's go check them cars, get the hell out of here.”

“What about the guy?” Mila points at Jesus. 

“What about him?” Daryl asks. 

“Well, he was actually nice, saved you.” She replies. 

“Hm.”

“Did he ever pull a weapon on you?” Rick asks. 

“Fine.” Daryl sputters. “Fuck- fine. Let’s put him up a tree.”

“No. He’ll come back with us.” Mila corrects, giving Daryl a sharp gaze. “Enough of that grumpy attitude.” She nods at Jesus. “Come on, let’s find a car. Drag him with you.”

They find a working car about fifteen minutes later. Daryl throws Jesus into the backseat. Mila takes the wheel, Daryl calls shotgun and Rick takes place next to Jesus, who’s still knocked out and they start driving back to Alexandria. 

“He took a pretty hard hit.” Rick says and meets Mila’s gaze in the mirror, then looks at Jesus. “Denise needs to look him over.”

“Try to wake him.” Mila suggests. “See if he’s got permanent brain damages.”

Rick shakes the man, who grunts and starts moving. He blinks and jumps.

“You’re alive.” Rick says. “Good.”

“Yeah-” Jesus grunts again. “Why am I in a car? I heard something about a tree.”

“It was a joke.” Mila says, meeting his drowsy eyes in the mirror. 

“It wasn’t.” Daryl looks at her.

“You wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “You wouldn’t have left him.”

“I would’ve-” Daryl nods upwards. “Right up in a tree.”

“He’s a comedian.” Mila says, once again looking at Jesus in the mirror, not taking notice of Daryl’s irritated expression. “Or at least tries to be.”

”Where have you been all my life?” Jesus chuckles and looks at her in the mirror and sends off a radiant smile that tells Mila that he’s using mouthwash on a daily basis. 

”Ey- knock it out!” Daryl reaches back and slaps the man on his tied up hands. 

Mila lets out a faint laugh. Huh, look at that; a jealous Daryl Dixon. Jeez Louise, there’s nothing to worry about, Mila thinks to herself, but Daryl’s poor self-confidence doesn’t make it easy for him. She pats her jealous, southern knight on the back of the hand.  

”He looks like a hippy dippy orthodox priest.” Mila gives the surly, blushing archer a soft gaze. “Calm down, Dixon.” She turns to the rear view mirror and the hippy dippy man in the backseat. If papa was here, he wouldn’t have let him inside the car. Not in a million years. “No offense, but you do.” She says to Jesus.

”None taken.” He nods at her with a curious gaze. “What’s up with the accent?”

”Up and running, thanks for noticing.”

While steering the car with her knees, Mila once again takes out the case of cd’s, now missing the one with sixties-music, takes out a random cd and puts it in the stereo. She adjusts the volume-wheel on the radio and increases the sound of “The Chain” and starts to tap the wheel while singing along. 

“You’re a really good singer.” The man in the back calls after a while.

“Thanks.” Mila replies backwards. “I’m a dental nurse.”

“Did you sing to the patients?”

“To the kids, sometimes. Some terrified men before they, you know-” She closes her eyes and pretends to snore. “Put them down.”

“I’m sure that’s not what it’s called.” Rick replies.

“I made them sleep.” Mila shrugs her shoulders. “Right?”

“Not what it sounded like.” Daryl says and meets her eyes, with a slightly amused expression on his stern face. 

“Anyway I think it sounded beautiful.” Jesus says. 

”I like this guy!” Mila looks at him and Rick with an excited smile upon her face, nodding her head to the beat of the music. ”Can we keep him?”

“He ain’t a dog.” 

“But he’s quite fun!” 

”You see.” Jesus says triumphantly. “She likes me.”

That’s it for Daryl. He turns and once again starts to try and hit the guy. Mila hits the brakes and the car stops with such force that Jesus is thrown into the headrest of the passenger seat, and dozes off.

“Knock it off!” Mila roars. “Or I won’t drive an inch further.”

The angry mom-voice isn’t only effective on children, it works really well on adult men as well. Daryl mutters and returns to his seat. Mila steps on the gas pedal again and continues to drive. Outside, it eventually starts to get dark. The sky is clear and the stars look brighter than ever. When she brakes at the gate to Alexandria, it’s pitch black. Daryl gets out, opens the gate and she drives into the community; a sensation of calm spreads throughout her body. That’s when she remembers.

“Shit.”

“What?” Rick asks.

“Forgot to get marshmallows.”

When the gate’s closed and locked, Daryl gets into the car again and Mila drives up to the infirmary, parks and the engine dies. The three of them get out of the car and stretch. What a fucking day, Mila thinks to herself, while watching Rick and Daryl dragging the still unconscious Jesus out of the backseat. They carry him up the stairs to the infirmary, knock on the door and wait. Denise opens in a few seconds.

“Sorry to wake you up.” Rick excuses himself before Denise can say something.

From her spot at the car, Mila notices Denise’s confused expression as she notices the lifeless man. 

“Who is this?!”

“Come on, man, he's heavy.” Daryl says to Rick. “Oh, that thing-” He looks at Denise. “Uh, didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry.”

While they bring Jesus inside, Mila leans up against the hot hood and looks at the stars. Juri has probably been asleep for a while now. She doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s late. Rick and Daryl walk out of the infirmary just as she catches sight of the pole star. 

“He’s taken care of.” Daryl says as he walks up to her. He examines her in detail in the faint glow of the infirmary. “Let’s patch ya’ up.” 

Mila doesn’t struggle. She’s tired and hungry. They go back into the infirmary and she sits down on one of the beds with clean, white sheets and exhales. There’s a mirror in the corner of the room. When Mila sees her reflection, she sighs even deeper; she has a pretty neat blackeye and a cracked lip. Daryl sits down on the stool in front of her.  

“A hell of a blackeye-” He squints at the look of her pulsating, sore eye. “Ya’ really took a few punches.” He takes the bottle with alcohol and a wipe and pours some onto it. “Like Rocky Balboa.”

“Yeah, but I won.” Mila replies. 

“Just like Rocky.” Daryl replies. “Still though- hell of a fight.” 

“Better me than you I guess.” Mila swears as Daryl, as gently as he can, wipes her cracked lip with the drenched wipe. “You’d kill him.” 

Mila nods over Daryl’s shoulder, towards the knocked out man lying on the narrow hospital bed, handcuffed to the bed frame. Daryl turns, looks at Jesus, then scoffs. 

“I’ll kill him if he ever puts his hands on ya’ again.” Daryl mutters and throws the wipe over the room, into the trash bin. 

“Don’t have to, I’ll do it myself.” Mila smiles, but grimaces; it hurts to smile. “I know.” Daryl replies. “Sorry ‘bout earlier. For yellin’ at ya’.”

“You gotta work on that temper.” Mila states. “It ain’t good for the blood pressure.”

With a grunt, as much of an answer as anything, Daryl puts his hand at the back of her head, brings it to his lips and kisses her on the forehead. 

“Ain’t gonna need to stitch ya’ up.” He says. “Come on, let’s get ya’ to bed, Rocky.”

“Yes, Adrien.” Mila grins wryly. “What about Jesus Christ Superstar?” She nods towards the other bed. 

“Yeah we’ll deal with him later.”

“You gonna tuck me in first?” Mila asks. “I’d love that, but honestly, I need a quick shower before bed. I think I might have caught every possible STD there is from that disgusting toilet at the gas station.”

[stereogeekspodcast]

[Transcript] Season 2, Episode 2. Stereo Geeks Special: The CW’s Walker

We can't believe we're saying it, but we've enjoyed the first six episodes of The CW's Walker. What is this reboot of the 90s action show doing that's so unexpected and downright subversive? In this spoiler-free review of the first half of the opening season, the Stereo Geeks duo dive into why we're loving the show and why you should give it a try.

Walker promo image courtesy The CW.

Listen to the episode on Anchor.

Ron: Welcome to a new Stereo Geeks Special! In this episode we’ll be reviewing the first 6 episodes of The CW’s Walker.

I’m Ron.

Mon: And I’m Mon. Please note that this is a spoiler-filled review so if you haven’t caught up with the first 6 episodes, please watch them and return to our podcast!

[Continuum by Audionautix plays]

Ron: This show is adapted from the 1993 series, Walker, Texas Ranger. It was conceived by Jared Padalecki, and Anna Fricke is the showrunner. There are numerous women writing and directing the episodes. Despite the source material, this show is surprisingly subversive with regards to masculinity, gender roles, and race.

Mon: The original Walker, Texas Ranger TV show aired in the 90s, with Chuck Norris in the lead. The show was also inspired by a Chuck Norris film from the 1980s. So, as you can imagine, it was a punch-fest. Now we can't really attest to that, because we never saw it. We only ever caught the trailers on TV.

I have to say when you and I launched this podcast, I don't think we would have imagined that we would have even watched a single episode of the Walker reboot, forget actually dedicating an entire special to it. But here we are!

Ron: Well, I think part of the reason why we're actually talking about the show is because of Jared Padalecki. As Sam Winchester on Supernatural for 15 years, Padalecki has wormed his way into a lot of hearts.

But Walker is nothing like Supernatural and Cordell Walker, Jared Padalecki’s character on the show—yeah, he is no Sam Winchester.

Mon: The first episode really had me worried. It started off with a female character being fridged, and the entire storyline was confusing. Do you remember how many times I turned to you and said ‘I'm so confused. I'm so confused.’?

You were introduced to every character, and seemingly every character dynamic as well. All of that in the first 45 minutes. It was too much, and it was too messy. But the end of the episode really made us want to come back. And I think the success of this show really lies in the fact that every episode makes us want to come back and meet these characters, find out what they're doing and how are they surviving.

So, who are the characters?

Ron: As we’ve already mentioned, we have Jared Padalecki as Cordell Walker, the titular Texas Ranger. Alongside Cordell is his partner in crime—or in law enforcement— Lindsey Morgan’s Micki Ramirez. She is the first female Texas Ranger, and the first Latina Texas Ranger in the show.

Cordell’s wife, who we meet briefly in the first episode, and she returns in flashbacks in subsequent episodes, is Emily, played by Jared Padalecki’s real life wife Genevieve Padalecki. And fun fact, Jared and Genevieve met during Supernatural.

Keeping it in the Supernatural family, we have, Mitch Pileggi, playing Bonham, Cordell’s father. As Supernatural fans will remember. Mitch Pileggi played Sam and Dean's grandfather, Samuel Campbell in Supernatural.

We also meet Cordell’s mother, his children, his brother—who's also the ADA. And we also meet Coby Bell’s, Larry James, who is Cordell and Micki's captain, and has been Cordell’s long-suffering friend. There are several other characters that we meet as well. And all this happens in the first episode, so as you can imagine, it's a bit clunky.

From episode 2 onwards, it seems like they have a bit more focus. You don't have to meet every single character; they come in from time to time when they're needed in the story. And I think, overall, that kind of helped our connection with the show.

Not having watched the original, we don't really have a bouncing off point, but we do know that there was a lot of action, not much on the drama, not much on the emotions—there wasn't much human connection. I think a lot of people were hoping that they would just get something like that with this show. But Walker isn’t like that.

From the first episode onwards, it works really hard to balance the police procedural side with the family drama and dynamics. And six episodes in, I think it’s done a pretty good job.

Mon: It's been really successful in bringing these two rather disparate angles together. And what it does very well is to structurally interweave these two parallel storylines. We go from the investigation to the family drama and then we go back again, and it's not cyclical, as much as it is interwoven. And that structurally makes the episodes very interesting to watch.

Ron: But more importantly, the way they’ve balanced these two sides of Cordell’s life is actually pivotal to how the show proceeds, because Cordell is a single father now. He doesn't do a very good job of just being a Ranger, or just being a dad, and he's at the point where he's trying to figure out how to do those together. And it's actually quite amusing when you're watching it because you're like, ‘shouldn't you be with your kids right now?’ And then other times you're like ‘don’t you have a job to do?’

Mon: I feel like it's really important for us to see both these sides, not only of Cordell, but also of Micki, because it's always great to see how the job impacts the characters’ family dynamics, and the other way around. Because if you're being pulled out of your investigation because your kid did something ridiculous, or you're abandoning some kind of family trip because there's another bad guy on the loose, there will be explosions somewhere or the other. And it just makes it more relatable.

Also, we might be seeing some new pattern in The CW shows because Superman & Lois is doing something similar, right? And so's Black Lightning. They're constantly trying to show us what it's like to be a working parent. But since this is The CW, the working parents can’t just go into some office job— their office job happens to be being a Texas Ranger, or being superhero.

Ron: And that's really the crux of the show. So maybe that's why people aren't enjoying it because it isn't just, you know, fisticuffs and guns. This show is very much about subverting toxic masculinity. Walker isn’t pure as driven snow, he's definitely layered and tortured, and he does things that are questionable. But the important thing is that Micki, and the people around him, call him out on it. I especially love that about episode 6—which is fresh in our minds because we just saw it—but it's not something you see often.

Mon: I feel like in the pilot episode they kind of leaned in towards what people would have expected of Walker, being a reboot of the original Walker, Texas Ranger show. But it doesn't pan out like that, because as you said, toxic masculinity is nowhere over here.

But there are consequences to the actions that Walker takes in the pilot episode, which we see in episode 6, and that is a nuance that you need in the 21st century. We have moved beyond just watching people beat other people up. We need to know that there are people behind those fists, and that's what we’re finding out.

Ron: We started watching the show because Jared Padalecki was in it. But according to my research, Padalecki has been thinking about the show for a while.

Mon: I've been hearing about his name attached to a Walker reboot for a long time. And the only reason I think it finally got the green light is because Supernatural was announced to be coming to an end in 2020. It's been on hold for a while.

Ron: It's funny because in the initial concept apparently Padalecki was going to produce the show, and the Jensen Ackles who's going to be stepping in as Walker. [laughs]

Mon: I can see that. But you know, Ackles would have brought a kind of swagger that this version of Cordell Walker doesn't need. And I think it would have changed the dynamic a lot.

Ron: I totally agree with that, especially because Padalecki seems to have got the idea from reading a story about a policeman who walked away from his duties because he did not want to continue separating children from their parents, just because they were immigrants.

Mon: Wow.

Ron: Yeah.

Mon: That explains the undertone throughout.

Ron: Exactly.

Mon: We can't tell you too much…

Ron: …but it's what have you read that.

I'm actually very curious to see where this first season goes, because that kind of story is playing a certain part in this. We've seen it pop up quite a bit just in these first six episodes. Will they take it forward? How far will they go with that? Not sure.

Mon: It will be a bold move to really tackle immigration, immigrant problems, head on in a show like Walker. This is why we need a blank canvas. You do a reboot, you do something different. You bring it to the 21st century.

Ron: According to Padalecki’s interview with Variety, this is what we said: This is not a show about a martial artist kicking minorities in the face; this is a show about a legit Texan saying, ‘Hey, I need to hear the whole story before I make a decision.’ So this version is less about what goes through somebody’s fists and feet, and more about what goes through somebody’s head and heart.”

We've definitely seen that in the first six episodes, and following the events of the sixth episode, I think we're gonna see a lot more of that.

Mon: Exactly. They're not being completely in your face about immigrants and minority communities, how they're treated and the issues that they face, but that's definitely there.

Ron: So one of my concerns when I started watching the pilot episode was that, oh, we have a white family at the center of the story. The problem with having a completely white family is that everybody around them is also white, but this show doesn't do that.

For one, Micki, who is Cordell’s partner has a massive role; she's basically the second lead. We also have Captain James played by Coby Bell, who is a Black man, and he is trying to make a difference in his department. The Walker showrunner, Anna Fricke spoke to Variety about the characters of colour on the show: “This was always supposed to be a show that was set up to have conversations on both sides of the fence and that Walker is a character that can see things both ways — we call him the edge of the coin. We realized that unwittingly we were set up to have those conversations in the characters of Captain James, who is a Black man, and in Walker’s new partner, who is a Latinx woman.”

So, she went on to talk about the pilot episode especially, because it did get delayed in production. So they went back to the writers room, and they worked on a few things. So this is what she had to say about how the pilot was changed slightly to reflect the circumstances of 2020. “Given that we had the extra time, we tweaked the pilot slightly in that Captain James, as a newer captain who was promoted while Walker was gone on a case, is really here on a mission to bring progress into the department and to keep an eye on corruption.”

Now considering everything that we have seen in 2020 and the police violence that has been, well, it's been there in the US for a long time, but in 2020, it's just—you couldn't avoid it. So, the Black Lives Matter movement definitely had an impact on the show. I'm kind of surprised that there aren't other shows that are following the same example. 2020 threw everything out of balance, but writers rooms had the opportunity to really absorb everything that was happening around them. I like the fact that the Walker team went back and said, ‘You know what we can do something, we can show what's happening in the real world through our show’. And that's why, I guess, we’ve seeing so much of the subversion.

I think what we’ve seen till now is only a taste of what's to come, really.

Mon: Oh, I agree with you. Listening to what Anna Fricke had to say about Captain James, I want to see more of that, because right now, he's almost comic relief—which I love, I really love that about him. But you can tell that there is a serious story and a serious character simmering beneath what is seen.

And this is a really clever move by the writers room so far. They are going with the easy route—family drama and investigation, but they're slipping in these moments which are making you think, which are bringing the reality of the world into the fantasy of the show.

In the first episode, Micki highlights some of the racism that she's had to overcome to be a Texas Ranger. In episode two, Stella, Cordell’s daughter, she acknowledges her white privilege and how it lets her off the hook, but not her Latinx friend.

And throughout, we see the same thing—a person of color is accused of killing his boss. Did he really do it? This seems too easy; it's constantly happening in every episode. It's a pattern. And I feel like it is crescendoing to something major. Is it going to be a realization of just how harmful some of the Texas Rangers’ actions are in the real world? Or is it going to be something different? We don't know.

Ron: Whatever we've learned so far about the show is making me question why they've kept the name of the show, just Walker.

Mon: Ooooo. Good point.

Ron: Especially now that we know what the inspiration for the show was for Jared Padalecki. Hmmm.

Mon: Wow, that’s really making me think.

I really like how refreshing this show is. It could have just been an easy reboot; they could have just cruise controlled throughout the entire story. It could have been about guy loses his wife, he's drunk, he meets new partner, they build a romance, kids go on living their life—none of that is happening so far. There are real questions being asked here, and it's thought provoking.

It's entertaining but it's also thought provoking. And I like that; that's a good mix. I mean let's be honest, when you cast Jared Padalecki as Cordell Walker, you know you're going to get a different kind of hero. He's not just going to be broody. He's not just going to be an Action Man; there's going to be layers. And that's what we get.

He definitely comes across as somebody who is burdened by his loss. He's also a little bit arrogant, but he's coming to terms with the fact that he has made mistakes in his life; he's constantly continuing to make mistakes, and he has to address those. But he's also funny; because like, he's a real person.

He'll suddenly act out not realizing the consequences, or he'll say something because he got excited. He is so normal. And I really liked that because there are these instances of comic relief and you're like, ‘that came out of nowhere, but I really needed that’.

Ron: It's funny because we’ve kept mentioning how we watched the show because of Jared Padalecki and how, because he was Sam Winchester, it was just a natural progression. But watching Walker, I'm not getting anything of Sam Winchester. I'm commending Jared Padalecki for his performance because Sam Winchester was last year, Walker is just a few months later.

The person that Sam Winchester was, was kind of young, needed direction, always turned to his older brother. Walker isn't like that. Cordell is a grownass man with teenage children. Somehow I just can't get over that

Mon: And the fact that Sam Winchester was such a rule follower, whereas Cordell’s middle name is basically rule breaker. I just really like that. I mean, we know that an actor is supposed to be able to disappear into new roles, but it's always funny when you go from 15 years as one person and then suddenly he's just living in the boots of Cordell Walker.

Despite that, I have to say that the performances throughout are very The CW. Either people are speaking rather staccato, or they're a little bit singy-songy and melodious. I feel like they need to up the ante a little bit, because this kind of show, with its drama and its family dynamics, it requires a little bit more nuance. But it hasn't really affected how I enjoy the show.

Ron: I think for the most part, Jared Padalecki and Lindsey Morgan are doing a very good job. I love the chemistry between the two characters, they feel like their partners, and it makes it really fun to watch. The parents, played by Mitch Pileggi and Molly Hagan, that's a dynamic that I'm very interested in watching more of. I don't know where they're going with it, but it's not what I expected.

Mon: I feel like they’re teetering on the brink of being a soap opera with Abeline and Bonham, but they're constantly restraining, so I want to know what they're planning to do with them. Because I feel like Bonham, especially, he's changed since the pilot. He's not the person who we were introduced to during the pilot episode, and that's a good thing because I didn't like that guy. With Abeline, she's a very different kind of character, and I almost feel like she's an antihero,

Ron: Or is it Bonham who the antihero?

Mon: Oooooo

Ron: There is some tension between these two characters. We aren't given much information. They’re eking it out for the audience, and it's so unexpected. Every time they come on screen I'm just like, ‘What is going on what is happening with these two?’ Sometimes they're happy to be together, a lot of times they're not. I feel like we're gonna get to know something which is gonna change how we watch the show.

When it comes to acting, I think the young ones, Violet Brinson, who play Stella, and Kale Culley, who plays August, they've taken some time to settle into their roles. It's one of the same problems that we kind of have with Superman & Lois, where Superman and Lois are great to watch, but the children? Not so much.

Mon: Yeah, I would say the weakest link in the show is definitely Stella and August, especially August. I feel like they want to do something with this character, but he's just been left behind. With Stella, she's almost the conduit for some of the drama, some of the flashbacks, and some of the race-talk that is happening. But with August, he's not even an angsty teen; he's just there.

Ron: But I think that relates to how this show is gender swapping a lot of moments. Stella is basically the troublemaker, and it's an understandable reaction because she is grieving and her father wasn't there when she was grieving. So she's acting out just to get attention, which is something that teenagers do. August, on the other hand, is the ‘good’ child. He’s a saint. He doesn't do anything wrong. He immediately allows his father back into their lives and Stella is the one who's questioning, ‘why?’. This man was gone when we needed him. She wants August to stand up for them. But August doesn't. He wants to keep the piece. That's a fun little subversion that I’ve been wanting to see in shows but this one is giving it to us.

And then there are these other little things, like Stella is playing soccer. I have not seen soccer in an American TV show, so that's really unexpected. It's usually American football, or it’s lacrosse, like in Teen Wolf, but soccer? Not so much, so that's fun. You see August kind of helping with the cooking, but he's also very interested in photography. And that's a creative field that we usually see female characters get into. What's also quite interesting in Walker is that both Stella and August are taking after their mother. They do things that she used to like doing, that she was interested in, that they did with her. Their father, not so much, even though he was also absent so they would want to do something that he likes. But it seems like they're genetically predisposed to want to be like their mom, so that's fun.

From what we know of Emily, she was quite multitalented. She was a photographer. She was a great mom. She was a good friend; she was a wonderful wife; she was a handyman. And Walker, on the other hand, is terrible with tools. We don't usually get to see things like that.

Mon: In a way, Walker is defined by only two things: his job and his family. But Emily, despite having such curtailed screen time, is this fully-fledged character, who was so amazing in every way and everybody is like, kind of, always wishing that Emily was there, and not Walker. I don't know if they intended that as a subversion, but it sure comes across as that.

Ron: What Walker does well is that the subversion isn't just limited to the Walker family. Like we see Micki, is the Ranger, but her partner, Trey, is a nurse. Now, this is something that used to drive me up the wall about most shows that were, you know, in any way action-oriented, sci-fi, fantasy. Female characters were almost always relegated to the role of healer or nurturer, male characters got to go out there and fight. But here, it's exactly the opposite. Micki is the one who is going out and fighting, whereas Trey is the one who is there to help people and take care of them if things go bad.

Mon: And not just medically. He's also an emotional support for a lot of people. Like he's there for Stella, he's there for Walker. He's also there for Micki. So again, that's why we need a refreshing change from what we've always had. And I like that it’s the CW which is doing it because, yeah, they’re kind of on the map because of their superhero stuff, but we've always found that even with the superhero stuff, there have been times when we felt like they could have pushed some boundaries, but they didn't. And with this show, I'm not saying they're like, completely breaking every possible glass ceiling. I'm just saying that they're doing a very good job of making some cracks.

Ron: I mean there is a strip club scene which is not what it looks like. That's all I'm gonna say.

From episode 2 onwards, every story has been really, really exciting. So, from a writing point of view, the show is also doing a really good job. I've actually found myself surprised by the direction of some of the stories, and that's quite fun, considering we've watched a lot of police procedurals in our lives.

Mon: At this point, it's easy to get a little bit jaded with pop culture. This is our entertainment—action stuff, superhero stuff, we are for it. But you need to innovate. It's a tough landscape, there's so much new content coming out, so much of it is in the same genre. What I feel like with Walker is that, mostly because of Padalecki, he's gonna draw in a completely different crowd, which is the Supernatural crowd. And because it's on The CW, you're also getting eyeballs from an audience who is kind of watching Riverdale in the evenings. And then they got Walker. And you need that balance, because so much content is cruise control. And as we said, this show could easily have been that, but it wasn’t. And it's trying very hard not to.

As we said, there is a certain pattern, because in every episode, you're like, ‘Wait, did they just do that?’ And it makes you sit up and take notice and wonder, ‘okay in all these years, why did no other show have this particular scene?’ And more than anything else, I think that's what's making us come back. It's like, how are they innovating? How are they being more creative and more innovative with the same established storylines and dynamics.

Ron: I'm going to give Walker props for even trying to do things differently, because you just mentioned Riverdale, and that show is entertaining, but it's been so cliched from the very start. And considering its audience, I really would have wanted it to do something a little bit different. There have been times when I’ve watched Riverdal and I thought, ‘Oh okay, that's a little bit different.’ But honestly, it just doesn't try that hard.

Mon: No, in fact, some of the messaging in there is problematic to say the least. Young people are watching it, and, well, young people are on The CW a lot, and I do worry that they need to get a strong message about what's right, what's wrong and what you should be questioning,

And that's what Walker is doing. It is acknowledging the privilege of this family. But at the same time, it is also telling us that they have their own struggles. Are their struggles greater than other people? No. But this is the story that we’re being told, because we need the audience stand in, and as we know the easiest way for the audience to walk into a show is through somebody who apparently looks like them.

Ron: The people around the Walker family are people of color. So you have Micki, you have Trey, you have Captain James, Stella's friend, August’s possible love interest, they haven't got there yet. Even Cordell’s brother Liam, his partner is a person of color. So you've got this in with the Walker family, but around them, you’ve got all these people of color who we definitely are interested in and invested in. It could have easily been the other way around, and I would have liked that, but I'll take it.

Mon: I think the smart move by the writers has been that not only do we have an in with a white family, but we're also looking through their eyes to understand the different viewpoints of the people around them. And essentially what's happening is that no one is being made to feel alienated in a circumstance or an environment that they feel is their own. So, the fact that the white family has a ranch, and stuff like that okay, yeah, that's aspirational for a lot of people. But you also have the Black captain who is new. So you have that audience who is enjoying being part of a club, if you could say, that hasn't always represented them. And then you have, of course, with Micki, and the dichotomy of being a Texas Ranger, when the Texas Rangers are such a problem for the Latinx community. So it’s this inclusivity, which I guess we’re really, there for.

Ron: And that's all just within the first six episodes, so I really don't know where this show is going to be going. I'm very excited by its direction. And I'm really surprised that from all the shows that we've seen Walker is the one that's making us think, ‘well, this is doing something different’.

Mon: Yeah, and I think it's fortuitous that we are recording this episode after episode 6. That was some episode! A lot happened, they packed in a lot. There were a lot of twists and turns too; a lot of bombshells in there. And it's actually making us rethink how we have viewed some of the characters. There are some revelations coming and I don't think we're gonna like it.

Ron: Well, I for one, am totally invested in this show. Episode 6 felt like it was a turning point. According to Anna Fricke, the showrunner, things are gonna be happening. I cannot wait to find out what they are.

So, there you have it. We're really enjoying the first six episodes of Walker, which is not something we thought that we would be saying on our podcast.

Mon: But we’re glad we are. Because, you know what, if you haven't caught this show because you think it's not your kind of show, give it a shot. And give it a shot beyond just the pilot episode because you're in for a ride.

Ron: And some really great characters.

Mon: Absolutely.

Ron: Have you watched Walker? What did you think of it? We'd love to hear from you.

You can find us on Twitter @Stereo_Geeks. Or send us an email stereogeekspodcast@gmail.com. We hope you enjoyed this episode. And see you next week!

Mon: The Stereo Geeks logo was created using Canva. The music for our podcast comes courtesy Audionautix.

[Continuum by Audionautix plays]

Transcription by Otter.ai, Ron, and Mon.

[tf2-headcanons-and-scenarios]

Mercs receiving a cool-down hug from s/o?(you can decide what pissed them off in the first place)

A/N: This was certainly a treat to make, hope you enjoy these!! 💕

Scout:

- You began noticing Scout’s frustration on the battlefield after being sent through respawn a few times, though you didn’t think much of it at first

- However, Spy’s laughter along with the domination fanfare made it obvious that Scout was being owned by the opposition, specifically the enemy Scout

- Over and over again did you witness Scout going through respawn, more times than you could actually count that very round

- Engi said his respawn count ticked over 100 just as the round ended

- Despite winning the round, you didn’t see Scout celebrating with the rest of the team afterwards, so you went to look for him

- You found him bouncing his baseball against the wall, throwing the poor thing with a lot of force

- That was was definitely going to become dented

- You sat beside him and asked him what was wrong, to which he details his entire disaster of being dominated by a Scout just as annoying and cocky as him

- He told you that what really pissed him off was when he started weaving you into his trash talking

- Ridiculous things such as “Heh, looks like I’m the one that should be dating [y/n] from now on!” or “If [y/n] were to see you now they’d start falling in love with me instead!”

- As childish as the insults were, they really got to him and he couldn’t keep his cool for the entire round

- You didn’t know what to say so you brought him close for a comfort hug

- He was caught off-guard at first but it didn’t take long for him to hug you back tightly

- You boy stayed like that for a while and he eventually calmed down

- He’ll never admit that your hugs remind him of home

Soldier:

- It was easy to pinpoint when Soldier was growing angry, usually he’d start yelling at the top of his lungs and try to murder the hell out of the person/people that pushed him over the edge

- If someone on your team pissed him off, he’d make life for that person living hell until he either forgets about it or another poor soul manages to piss him off

- That poor soul so happened to be almost everyone on the entire team when they began to lose ground pushing the cart

- He was holding Scout up by the throat and pinned Pyro to the ground with his foot when you and Medic stepped in to intervene

- He was itching for blood and a bloody fight, nothing was going to calm him down anytime soon

- Heavy eventually restrained him and set him on top of the cart so he can still help push the bloody thing

- You sat on top of it with him as he kept trying to yell and fight absolutely everyone around him

- You try to tall reason into him but words seem to be the last thing he wants to hear, so you try the next best thing and hug him

- He froze and tried to shake you off at first, still boiling with anger, but he eventually quietened down and tried to get away from you less and less

- As Scout puts it, you managed to ‘tame the beast’ with a mere hug

- Soldier wouldn’t mind getting angry again if it meant you could hug him again. That being said, he was convinced for a while that you’ll only hug him if he’s angry

- He does try to get angry all the time for hugs from you

- You eventually remind him that hugs from you are infinite no matter what the circumstances are

Pyro:

- It comes down to Pyro’s body language to tell if they’re angry, happy, sad etc.

- It takes a while for you to notice, but you figured out they were not having a very good day when they walked out of respawn visibly shaking from anger, growling behind their gas mask as they march back to the front lines

- You didn’t really know what had happened until you witness Pyro protecting your fellow Engineer’s nest but dying to a very cocky Spy who never sapped the buildings, instead opting to pester and target only Pyro

- You never did see that Spy at the end of the round, you don’t know why

- When the round was over, you tried to find Pyro to see if they were alright, only to find them burning the bodies left behind by the enemy team as they all went through respawn

- They were violently shaking from anger, and they were verbally growling in frustration

- When you tried to approach them, they turned around, grabbed you and almost threw you into the fire when they snapped out of their rage for a few seconds

- This gave you the time to wrap them up in a hug and whisper comforting words into their ear through the gas mask

- They stopped shaking from anger and started shaking from crying, and they held onto you tightly, as if letting go was going to send them back to moments ago

- From that moment forward, anytime they begin to feel frustrated or angry, they seek you out for a hug

- They really believe your hugs work like magic, they make all the bad things go away

- If they have to wait for you to respawn for a quick hug, so be it

Demoman:

- Most of the time, if Demoman gets pissed off, he’d usually drink it away until it didn’t bother him anymore

- Even if he became drunk on the battlefield, so long as it meant he wasn’t feeling the absolute shit-fest that was being dominated by an enemy then he’ll drink until the cows come home

- However, you notice him trying to drink his anger away and failing miserably during a round of CTF in 2Fort

- Turns out some enemy Engineer was dishing out the dirt on absolutely everyone on your team, throwing insults and taunts at everyone who crossed his path

- Particularly this Texan asshole jabbed at Demo’s history of drinking, poor choices and his lost eye. As an added cherry on top, the enemy Engi threw you into that pile too

- “I don’t know who to feel sorry for: You for your lack of fighting skills, or ya girlfriend for dating your sorry drunk ass.”

- Demo was just feeling like shit to the point he was really pissed off

- In an attempt to comfort him, you bring him into a gentle and cautious hug, unsure if it was the best course of action to take

- Your shoulders relax when he returns the hug and clings to you as you rub soothing circles into his back and kiss his cheek and forehead

- Afterwards you accompany him to help get revenge on the enemy Engineer

- Let’s just say that it was a lot of fun for the both of you, not so much for the Engineer

Heavy:

- When this man is angry, he’s angry in one of two ways

- Either he mows down the entire enemy team with his mini-gun with no mercy or sense of control

- Or he stays silent, keeps to himself, avoids everyone like the plague and stays locked up in his room for hours on end without speaking to anyone else

- You catch him alone in his room reading a book in Russian one day after a fight ensued between the team

- Heavy, as you remembered, was one of the main participants in the argument and as much as he tried to keep his cook throughout the entire ordeal, you knew that Scout was never going to give up

- He notices your presence and instead of motioning for you to leave, he motions for you to come sit with him to read together

- You sit beside him and he gives you a book in English, and you both sit in awkward silence together reading in his room

- Eventually you break the silence by asking if he was ok. He doesn’t respond to you in words but he nods at the question

- You lean over and wrap your arms around him apologising for the mess that was the fight, at least what you had been guilty of doing/dating during the argument

- He lets out a sigh and holds you close, giving you gentle pats on the back. Heavy feels himself relaxing more and feeling less frustrated than before because of the hug

- He invites you to sit close to him as he translates his book into English for you to understand

- You both cool off completely reading Russian literature together, and he even teaches you a few new sentences in Russian

Engineer:

- Engineer is more on the verbal side of the coin whenever he’s angry. The only physical things he’s done while angry were throwing tools down on the ground or kicking broken machinery

- There was no round going on when you and the rest of the team hear something breaking, followed by the not-so-sweet melody of a Texan swearing throughout the base from his workshop

- You and a few of the mercs go and see what had happened, finding Engineer cursing at a teleporter that lay in pieces

- Eventually everyone but you left the area, and you step towards him to ask what had happened

- He told you that the teleporters were having a difficult time keeping themselves running, and hat he tried to fix them to no sort of avail

- He grabbed his hat and threw it down to the ground, kicking the broken bits of the teleporter and he roughly grabbed his blueprints and moved to work on it again

- You pick the pieces up and place them by the work bench before moving behind the Texan and giving him a comforting hug

- He tenses up at first before sighing and leaning into your gentle touch that he loves so dearly

- He apologises for the mess and making you concerned, giving you a hug in return

- He still is angry, just not as much now that you’re here

- You both spend the rest of the day fixing the teleporter

Medic:

- This man tends to hide the fact that he’s frustrated by getting himself busy with absolutely anything he can

- If there were no opportunities to experiment on a team member, he’d either feed his birds or write up medical reports he has yet to finish

- You find him feeding his doves late in the evening after overhearing the amount of headaches the German received from Scout and Soldier

- You didn’t know much of the details, but whatever it was that they did severely pissed of Medic

- You approach Medic and ask him for his side of the incident and he brushes you off, saying that he’s fine etc.

- You don’t buy his bullshit for a second but you don’t insist on any answers until he was willing to talk

- You give him a gentle hug to calm him down and you hear him let out a big sigh

- He calms down enough to tell you what happened, and you listen to him while petting Archimedes in your hands

- Eventually you both start discussing various other subjects to lighten the mood, the base filling up with laughter echoing from Medic’s lab

- He honestly believes you help him calm down after a stressful day, which means he goes to you if he’s feeling stressed or aggravated

- You help him extract revenge on Soldier and Scout the following morning

- Let’s just say Soldier and Scout scores leave on account of medical issues

Sniper:

- When he’s angry he’s silent full stop, and he grows a lot more distant from everyone around him

- In-Battle he just starts missing some of his shots if he’s angry, outside of battle he just drives off somewhere to cool off by himself for a few hours

- You managed to catch him before he left the base one evening after a disagreement ensued between the Australian and Spy

- You try to encourage him back to base instead of driving off somewhere but he doesn’t want to get out of the car and he tells you to either get in with him or go back to base

- You jump into the passenger seat of the car, much to Sniper’s surprise, and the both of you drive in awkward silence out to the middle of nowhere

- You follow him to the top of the van where he’s watching the stars above, his face in a scowl

- Both of you sit in silence until you reach over to hug him

- He tenses up at first but gives in and wraps an arm around you, understanding the intentions of your sudden hug

- You both sit in comfortable silence Star-gazing, and he calms down

- Since then, he offers to take you out Star-gazing every now and then, and hugs become a bit more frequent especially if he’s feeling frustrated

Spy:

- For Spy, much like most of the other mercs, he’d either make life for the person/people who pissed him off living hell or he’d retreat to his Smoking Room to be alone with his anger

- You went looking for the French mercenary after coming back from a trip to town, and found him drinking and smoking in his Smoking Room

- It didn’t take a genius to determine that he had another fight with Scout

- You invite yourself inside and you receive the unwelcoming cold shoulder from Spy, the both of you sitting in silence as he tries to calm himself down

- You break the silence by asking him what went wrong and he tells you to leave before he sends you through respawn

- Despite threatening you to leave, you knew better and stayed put, even going as bold as hugging him because no amount of words was going to get through to him

- He tries to push you away, spilling his beverage onto the floor, but you cling onto him and persist

- Eventually he stops fighting you in case you got hurt, and he began to sink into your embrace

- He won’t admit it to you, but he reckons your hug was what he needed after the headache that was Scout being a dick

- He invites you to stay in the Room, offering you a drink as he turns on some music

- He keeps you close for the rest of the evening, he wants to keep holding you in his arms and he wants to be held by your embrace as he finally calms down

[5oclockcoffees]

Fahrenheit 451

With school turning out more runners, jumpers, racers, tinkerers, grabbers, snatchers, fliers, and swimmers instead of examiners, critics, knowers, and imaginative creators, the word 'intellectual,' of course, became the swear word it deserved to be. You always dread the unfamiliar. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows who might be the target of the well read man? Me? I won't stomach them for a minute. "When did it all start, you ask, this job of ours, how did it come about, where, when? Well, I'd say it really got started around about a thing called the Civil War. Even though our rule-book claims it was founded earlier. The fact is we didn't get along well until photography came into its own. Then motion pictures in the early twentieth century. Radio. Television. Things began to have mass. And because they had mass, they became simpler. Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books leveled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me? Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations, Digests. Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending. Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference. But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet (you know the title certainly, Montag; it is probably only a faint rumor of a title to you, Mrs. Montag) whose sole knowledge, as I say, of Hamlet was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: now at least you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbors. Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more. Speed up the film, Montag, quick. Click? Pic? Look, Eye, Now, Flick, Here, There, Swift, Pace, Up, Down, In, Out, Why, How, Who, What, Where, Eh? Uh! Bang! Smack! Wallop, Bing, Bong, Boom! Digest-digests, digest-digest-digests. Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought! School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts? Empty the theatres save for clowns and furnish the rooms with glass walls and pretty colors running up and down the walls like confetti or blood or sherry or sauterne. You like baseball, don't you, Montag? More sports for everyone, group spirit, fun, and you don't have to think, eh? Organize and organize and super organize super-super sports. More cartoons in books. More pictures. The mind drinks less and less. Impatience. Highways full of crowds going somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, nowhere. The gasoline refuge. Towns turn into motels, people in nomadic surges from place to place, following the moon tides, living tonight in the room where you slept this noon and I the night before. Now let's take up the minorities in our civilization, shall we? Bigger the population, the more minorities. Don't step on the toes of the dog-lovers, the cat-lovers, doctors, lawyers, merchants, chiefs, Mormons, Baptists, Unitarians, second-generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen, people from Oregon or Mexico. The people in this book, this play, this TV serial are not meant to represent any actual painters, cartographers, mechanics anywhere. The bigger your market, Montag, the less you handle controversy, remember that! All the minor minor minorities with their navels to be kept clean. Authors, full of evil thoughts, lock up your typewriters. They did. Magazines became a nice blend of vanilla tapioca. Books, so the damned snobbish critics said, were dishwater. No wonder books stopped selling, the critics said. But the public, knowing what it wanted, spinning happily, let the comic-books survive. And the three-dimensional sex-magazines, of course. There you have it, Montag. It didn't come from the Government down. There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship, to start with, no! Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick, thank God. You must understand that our civilization is so vast that we can't have our minorities upset and stirred. Ask yourself, What do we want in this country, above all? People want to be happy, isn't that right? Haven't you heard it all your life? I want to be happy, people say. Well, aren't they? Don't we keep them moving, don't we give them fun? That's all we live for, isn't it? For pleasure, for titillation? And you must admit our culture provides plenty of these. Colored people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator. Funerals are unhappy and pagan? Eliminate them, too. Forget them. Burn them all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean. [There was a girl next door. She's gone now, I think, dead. I can't even remember her face. But she was different. How? How did she happen?] Here or there, that's bound to occur. Heredity and environment are funny things. You can't rid yourselves of all the odd ducks in just a few years. The home environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That's why we've lowered the kindergarten age year after year until now we're almost snatching them from the cradle. If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the Government is inefficient, top-heavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of non-combustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely `brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy. Any man who can take a TV wall apart and put it back together again, and most men can nowadays, is happier than any man who tries to slide-rule, measure, and equate the universe, which just won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely. I know, I've tried it; to hell with it. So bring on your clubs and parties, your acrobats and magicians, your dare-devils, jet cars, motorcycle helicopters, your sex and heroin, more of everything to do with automatic reflex. If the drama is bad, if the film says nothing, if the play is hollow, sting me with the Theremin, loudly. I'll think I'm responding to the play, when it's only a tactile reaction to vibration. But I don't care. I just like solid entertainment." We always talk about 1984 and Brave New World as the dystopias we are living in today, but Ray Bradbury´s book, written in the early 50s, is scarily accurate, describing perfectly and especially the last three/four years.

[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

Moon City Don't Judge - Chapter 1

1983, NSAS Headquarters, Edinburgh, Scotland

“So this is for the newest Jamestown mission, then? What number are these Yankees on now?”

“Jamestown 85.”

“Oh, well I sure am flattered to be allowed in this late in the game. What did they tell you?”

“They’re trying to look international after the Russians had that mission with the French.”

Heather McKay snorted at that, taking the folder from Marcus and flicking through the pictures of the recent mission that had been broadcast on TV for the whole world to see just how friendly Russia were now.

The image of two astronauts with contrasting flags on their arms made her smirk a little. Since unilaterally declaring independence after World War Two, Scotland had become a far more passive nation, leaving larger countries like the US and the Soviet Union to sort out their own scraps unless they were absolutely needed to step in.

“So, they want to make nice with a passive country.”

“Exactly. I’ve been chatting with Molly Cobb, she’s head of astronauts now over at Houston, expecting one Mr McKay, second Scot in space.”

Heather laughed, nodding as she set the folder down and grabbed her water bottle from its resting spot on Marcus’ desk.

“I thought that was just a trick we played on rookie engineers and astronauts, not seasoned professionals.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and shrugging.

“Messing with Americans is just as fun, even if they are fellow astronauts.”

“Seekers of independence from the crown playing pranks on each other. How mature.” Heather grinned, lifting her jacket from the back of her chair and shrugging it onto her shoulders.

The folder was still open on the table as she gave it one more scan, sighing.

“That’s early as hell to be rising, Marcus.”

“You can sleep when you’re dead, you know that better than anyone, astronaut.”

“Sure do, desk jockey.” The younger woman smiled at him when he gave her a deprecating look, offering him a fist bump as a goodbye.

“Have fun in Moon City, kid.”

Flying to America commercially felt like being stuck in a tin can for hours on end, though Heather was sure if she’d tried to fly it alone, she would have fallen asleep and crashed by now. She spent the time with her seat leaned back a fraction and a personnel file in her lap for the people she’d be working with. She knew Margo from a few years before when she had advised her on how to deal with a young Aleida Rosales and they had kept in touch since, so she passed by her file with ease and moved onto the astronaut section without realising she’d skipped the profile of her newest colleague, Molly Cobb.

With so many names to memorise and personal facts to store away in her head to be used at a later date, Heather barely had the energy to look at Cobb’s profile, her closing eyes skimming the information about the death of Wubbo Ockels before finally shutting as she passed out from exhaustion.

“Mrs McKay? Mrs McKay, we’ve arrived at Houston Intercontinental, it’s time to depart the plane.”

Heather came around to find a made-up flight attendant peering at her and shaking her shoulder gently, lacquered brown eyes focused on hers.

She flinched briefly at the sight before nodding when she took in the woman’s words, sliding out from her seat and looking at her once she’d grabbed her carry on from the overhead bins.

“What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon, Mrs McKay, you’ve gained six hours.”

“Not Mrs, please, I’m not married.” Heather smiled kindly at the woman, nodding when she excused herself and exiting the plane into the fresh air.

At least, she had hoped it would be fresh. Instead, it felt like the Sahara compared to Edinburgh; the heat turned right up in Texas during June. It made her glad the man who put her through security knew who she was and went out of his way to help her through quickly.

She had a feeling that would be a rare thing in a country where nationalism was rampant. If you weren’t an American in the United States, you weren’t worth anyone’s time.

Luggage claim took longer than security for once, chewing the Scot out fifteen minutes later back into the hot Texan sun where a man in a secret service type suit stood beside an entirely black car with tinted windows.

“Miss Mickey?”

“It’s McKay. You would think with a fancy car service, the ability to say my name correctly would be included in the package.”

“Apologies, ma’am. I’ve been instructed to take you straight to the hotel.”

Heather nodded, giving him her suitcase and guitar to load into the trunk before sitting in the back of the car, relaxing into the comfortable leather after hours upon hours in a spiny airplane seat.

With tinted windows surrounding her, the sun was blocked out to make the rest of the journey easier with less heat, so she was fine to actually talk to the driver when he took off from the airport.

“I didn’t expect so much security around my arrival. It’s almost as if I’m a cosmonaut.”

“No, ma’am, the president was only concerned that the Russians may attack you to start a war with your passive nation.”

She sighed in the back seat, shaking her head as she leaned against the headrest behind her.

“I don’t believe they would. Scotland is no enemy of the USSR.”

“I meant no offense, ma’am, only to say that your head of state agrees with the president. He knows the danger too.”

Heather rolled her eyes at the mention of the Scottish leader, remembering the twelfth head of state from a meeting a few months before. She had much preferred the man who saw her off into space six years before.

“The head of state’s a misogynistic prick.”

The driver didn’t say anything in response, only smiling to her in the rear-view mirror which she found amusing. He obviously agreed but chances were there was a wire in the car to make sure he didn’t criticise his own government. How confident that made her feel about being in one of the two most controversial countries on the planet.

She’d researched the distance between the airport and the space centre before she left Scotland, wanting to make sure she knew her surroundings and not exactly thankful that there was an hour between them.

She had a feeling she’d be relying on her driver a lot during this trip if she were to get anywhere other than the space centre.

The rest of the journey was quiet, what Heather would call typical American scenery of square buildings and grey roads passing them by until they finally reached the hotel. She could see the space centre in all its glory across the road, large and looming over the water beside it.

“Much less attractive than NSAS headquarters, wouldn’t you say?”

“No pretty castles to convert in this country, ma’am. We make do with concrete and glass.”

“Looks like a bunch of grey shoeboxes to me.” Heather scoffed as she took the suitcase and instrument from him, slipping on her sunglasses and hat to avoid the sun above them.

“Maybe you can give them some design tips tomorrow, ma’am.”

She nodded, grabbing her backpack from the seat and throwing it over her shoulder with her guitar case, following him into the hotel once the car was locked and sifting in her bag for the hotel information Marcus had given her so she could check in.

“I have a copy of your booking if you can’t find your own.” She looked up at her driver to find a fresh sheet of paper in his hand and grinned, taking it and handing it to the receptionist when they reached the counter.

“Fucking bless you, boy.”

“Of course, ma’am. If that’s everything you need?”

“Yes. No, sorry, do you know where the Outpost is? My head of astronaut affairs gave me that name for the local pub, but I’m all turned around here.”

“The Outpost is across the road and five blocks to the left, Miss Mickey. You can’t miss the sign.” The receptionist spoke up before the driver could, causing the other woman to nod, taking off her glasses now that they were inside and smiling at both of them.

“Thank you. Kid, I meant to ask what your name is. I hate to have you driving me around when I don’t know who you are.”

“Liam Russett, ma’am, at your service and surely older than you so there’s no need to call me kid.”

Heather snorted at that, shaking her head as she hooked her glasses on the collar of her shirt.

“Well, if that’s true, you should get yourself a new job rather than driving around child astronauts.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am, really. You have my number for when you need driven somewhere. Have a nice night, Miss McKay.”

“You too, Liam.” She waved to him and grinned when he waved back, turning to talk to the receptionist.

“Hi, sorry for making you wait.”

“I’m used to it, don’t fret. Okay, Miss Mickey,”

That pronunciation wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“…you’re booked in for the next week and two weeks after your return, courtesy of NASA, but you can stay for longer after your mission if you should wish to set that up. Here’s your key and if you’re joining us for the full breakfast tomorrow, we start serving at 8am.” The woman behind the desk smiled kindly, getting another bright smile from Heather as she shifted her bags into the elevator to the side of reception.

“I’ll probably catch a donut at the centre tomorrow, but I will keep the breakfast thing in mind for another day! Thank you!” She called over her shoulder as the doors shut and she started going up to the sixth floor.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt like a cat dragged through a hedge backwards. Her hair was sticking to the side of her face with the sweat, the hat plastering part of her fringe to her forehead when she took it off. Her cheeks were red from the sun too and it occurred to her that she’d need sun-cream if she was going to be stuck in America for longer than a day.

As she stepped out onto the right floor and shifted open her hotel room door with a bit of struggle, the phone on the table started ringing.

Heather groaned, shutting the door behind her once her stuff was inside and picking up the call quickly, putting the receiver to her ear.

“Heather McKay, who’s calling, please?”

“Heather, you got there okay, good. How was the plane trip?”

“Hell, I’d honestly prefer a fucking Saltire shuttle.” The young woman expressed to Marcus on the other side as she flopped down on the mattress, glad for the comfort.

Her fellow astronaut laughed on the other end of the call, leaning back on his own armchair.

“Christ, worse than Saltire? Aren’t I glad I volunteered you for this mission and not myself?”

Heather rolled her eyes, staring out of the window that stretched her wall. The sky was a perfect blue with the sun shining down on the city, reminding her of decent summer days at home when she’d kick up sand on the beach. It was a relaxing memory to think about after the long journey.

“Yeah, aren’t you fucking lucky? I’m gonna head for the Outpost tonight with my guitar, try and make friends before I show up tomorrow.”

“Your social skills have come a long way since I met you.”

“And as soon as our leader and their leader aren’t bastards, I’ll be much more sociable!” She sighed, sitting up and going to the window to look across the roofs of the shoeboxes across the road.

“I don’t believe that but you’re Molly’s problem for the next month, not mine.”

Heather grinned at his words. She knew what he meant. Out of the first two Scots in space, she was far more foul-mouthed and quick-witted than Marcus, and it had definitely been a problem in the past.

“Don’t you worry, Marky, I’ll make you proud. Say hi to Laura and James for me.” She bid him goodbye before hanging up, returning the phone to its holder, and skimming through the tourist information book in an attempt at finding a place to eat after the hellish plane ride.

In the end, she had settled for a burger from the van outside NASA headquarters, sitting on a stone wall in front of some flower beds and enjoying watching so many engineers and scientists pass by, chatting away about their work.

Science was one half of her busy life and she loved it. Being at NASA was just the cherry on top of her career now, even if she wasn’t a fan of the politics the agency let itself get caught up in.

She listened to the chatter until her burger was a mere wrapper crushed in her hands and was surprised by the time on the clock outside the hotel. She sure hadn’t realised she’d been sitting there for that many hours but keeping a low profile and being jetlagged clearly passed the time faster than she thought.

Heading back up to her room, Heather changed into a fresh t-shirt and flannel before wandering over to the Outpost bar once she ran a brush through her hair. She could feel people eyeing her as soon as she walked in, clearly sticking out like a sore thumb as someone who they’d never seen before.

No one recognised her yet, thankfully. She didn’t need “socialist Scot scum” comments when she just wanted to drink and play her guitar. She let herself look at the astronaut souvenirs in the glass case by the door then approached the bar, smiling at the woman she certainly recognised as Karen Baldwin from the file about her husband.

“Hi, what can I get for ya?”

“A dram of your best Scots whisky, please.”

“Taste of home coming right up. Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I’m new, start tomorrow. Thought I’d show my face and try to make friends before going to the moon with this lot.”

Karen nodded, the recognition clicking in her head as she slid the whisky to the younger woman.

“McKay, right? Ed was talking about you. First Scottish woman astronaut, and you changed the law on gay rights, didn’t you? Pretty ballsy.”

Heather shrugged, sipping her whisky and relishing in the burn going down her throat for a moment before speaking.

“And yet folks here in Texas would probably see me hung for it, at the very least fined 500 dollar for kissing a lady in public.”

“Some people never want to let go of their traditions, we’ll get there.” Karen smiled, nodding to the guitar strapped to her back with a slight grin.

“If you’re looking to make friends, you should play. They like music.” She told her with a wink before moving along to serve the newest patron in the door.

The young Scot looked around the bar once before taking her advice, sitting at a table in the corner near the counter and starting to play.

“Ring of Fire, good idea.” Karen mouthed to her from the bar, praising her choice of an American song as the front door opened again, none other than Molly Cobb walking through it and smiling at Karen, giving a brief wave.

“A beer, please, Karen.”

“Love is a burning thing… and it makes, a fiery ring…”

She could feel eyes on her, practically every pair in the bar turning to look at her eventually while she played. Usually, the attention didn’t bother her but the distraction of feet approaching her made her fingers tremble slightly on the strings.

Heather didn’t like being such a close focus of attention. She was used to the crowd having boundaries, being on a stage or a higher platform where they couldn’t reach her, but as she finished the song a few minutes later with every person in the bar staring at her, she could feel a wave of nerves run through her.

Molly was right there, sitting right there with her beer in hand and sunglasses pushing her hair back from her face, blue eyes focused on Heather.

“You’re good.”

“I practice.”

“Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Heather laughed in a light tone, strumming the cords of her guitar slightly. This woman had no idea that they were colleagues, that they had first woman of her nation in space in common. She was looking right through her.

“Oh, I just like the astronaut knick-knacks at this bar, plus I thought I’d try to impress the great Molly Cobb with my playing. Did you like it?” She tilted her head, acting as if she were simply an awestruck citizen and not reporting to duty for the woman the next day.

“Well colour me impressed, though that may just be the alcohol.”

“I’d like to see you do better. Your skills seem singular to flying.” She smirked, wondering how long she could get away with her secret identity.

Taking another sip of her whisky, Heather watched the other woman over the lip of her glass. She sure looked a lot more attractive in person compared to the photo in her information folder, but she wouldn’t act on that fact. It would put them both in danger for her to flirt in public here.

Even friends could turn on Molly if she got that close to another woman, Heather knew that.

“Yeah, and what other skills can you boast, sweetheart? Lemme guess, you can play two instruments.”

Oh, you bitch.

“First impressions aren’t your thing, are they? Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll report for duty first thing tomorrow morning in your office, even if you’re a smug bitch. My name’s Heather McKay, by the way.” She held out her hand for Molly to shake as an introduction and smiled kindly when the older woman sighed, shaking her hand.

“Heather McKay, first Scottish woman in space. Marcus told me you were a Mr.”

“Wee trick we like to play on new recruits from other countries, he thought it would be funny to play it on a Yank.” Heather downed what remained of her whisky before ignoring Molly and waving to Karen as she left the bar.

“See you tomorrow, boss.”

[collisiondiscourse]

Do u have a list of your favriote animes?? Top 10 maybe? My watch list is already down to the floor but ,, I’m curious

OH GEEZ I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE IM A FAKE WEEB AUS I HAVENT WATCHED MANY ANIMES MUCH LESS FINISHED THEM UHH SWEATS

off the top of my head though i can list anime series and movies that ive liked and also ones that im looking out for!! (admittedly though... bnha is probably the longest running series ive ever kept up with)

ANIME I RECOMMEND (5+1)

1. The Great Pretender

listen. listennn. i love heist movies almost just a little bit more than the next person (nervously shoves huge oceans 11 obsession behind my back) and the great pretender basically?? feeds me that. the humor is excellent, the story is fun, and i just think that the blond cocky one should kiss the dorky dark haired one. i havent finished it but it has EVERYTHING u could want. french thieves, con artistry, hot characters, and RIVALRIES.

2. Assassination Classroom

ok. i. havent actually even finished season one of this. but listen its really good so far and if you havent watched it yet id be really really REALLY surprised. koro senseis kinda cute but i wont think about the implications of that too hard

3. Hello World (movie)

I WATCHED THIS ON MY BIRTHDAY AT 4 AM IN THE MORNING BUT THIS MOVIE IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL TO LOOK AT AND WHILE I HAVE A LOVE-HATE RELATIONSHIP W THE PLOT, YOUD ENJOY IT IF YOU LIKE THE IDEA OF TIME TRAVEL AND LIVING IN A SIMULATION (the girl love interest gets like. 0 screen time and that fact will upset me til i die)

4. Kimi No Na Wa (movie)

(oh god these are all mainstream im so disgusting dont look at me yall have probably seen this all) this movie made me cry real tears. the character development and relationship development in this movie is actually excellent and youre going to want to rewatch this about 70 times. by FAR my favorite anime movie and the fact that some people still havent watched it is HAUNTING. its about two people who keep switching bodies randomly over the course of many years.

5. YURI!!! ON ICE

ok ivE BEEN YELLING ABOUT THIS ANIME FOR THE PAST WEEK AND I KNOW YOUVE PROBABLY WATCHED IT BUT PLEASE GOD I JUST LOVE THIS SERIES SO GD MUCH IT HAUNTS ME

(+1). RWBY

this... is technically not an anime LOL. its american and while the art style is very anime-esque, its ultimately modelled w 3d software and made by a texan studio. If we were to count this as an anime, then this would be the longest ive ever sticked with at a whopping 9 seasons. Ive followed rwby since i was like. 10 years old and im not gonna say much about it except that youll love the premise if you love bnha AND that the animation gets WAY better with time.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

- absolutely ANYTHING by satoshi kon. sets u up for a mind trip and the art style is BREATHTAKING. a few examples are perfect blue and paprika

- Free! but not like. actual free. i recomment the octopimp version named 50% off just bc its funnier

- kidding aside, if you include parodied and abridged animes,,, PLEASE WATCH SAO ABRDIGED. I HATE SAO SO MUCH BUT SAO ABRIDGED MAKES ME NOT WANT TO BEAT UP KIRITO

- ok i know manga doesnt count but if u want psychological horror i recommend anything my junji ito AND doubt (the one w the bunny people—its been a while i forget who made it)

[neerasrealm]

bRO jason or LJ would be great with the record scratch one imo HSHSH

WHEN I SAW JASON AS AN OPTION I LOST IT FHGSDHF. Anyway hi this story is basically Jason getting bullied by Kate the Chaser for 2000+ words. Enjoy.

*record scratch* 

*freeze frame* 

Yep, that’s me. No, not the vague figure you’re imagining now from the zero amount of information I’ve given you, and no, I’m not the heroic yet relatable main-character you’d expect either. I’m the one that’s currently, and quite poetically, hiding in the corner of a chicken coop. Yeah, that’s the one.

Hi, I'm Jason. I'm a toymaker. And also half- or maybe three quarters demon because I work for an immortal god of chaos and destruction. And for a little more context, I'm in a chicken coop because things went horribly, horribly wrong. 

I was given one simple task. Spy on a woman named Kate. Okay, no problem. She's human, average height and weight. Nothing to be concerned about. The only foreseeable threat was the fact that she works for my boss's biggest rival. A man named Slender. I would say creature, but from what I've heard he's rather good at acting civilised, though I've also heard that it's all just an act to lower guards. Regardless, I had no fear of her.

No fear that is, until she happened to catch me watching her via my pet surveillance mouse, Licorice. She smacked the poor thing with a rake! A rake! My poor innocent little surveillance drone...Licorice wouldn't harm a fly…

Eh-hem. Anyway- after she found and assaulted Licorice I tried to make my escape- but she caught me. So I hid in the only place I could. 

The chicken coop. 

And that's where I am now. Curled up amongst feathers, grain and very upset birds. If I wasn't trying to be quiet, I would've killed them by now. Especially the one that’s pecking my leg. Rude bitch. I have half a mind to strangle you, you know that, chicken?

Wait.

Oh no.

I hear footsteps.

The door to the chicken coop is yanked open and suddenly I’m being glared at by an angry asian lady wearing black and white flannel. 

‘’Get outta my coop, bitch boy.’’

Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, RUDE. third of all,

‘’No.’’

She glares at me.

‘’Alright, that’s it.’’

She climbs into the fucking chicken coop, grabs me by my EXPENSIVE knee high boots and YANKS me out of the coop with strength I didn’t expect from her. I scream and thrash about and kick at her until she lets me go. She stands over me, glaring. I glare right back. She puts her hands on her hips, channeling the energy of an angry texan grandma. If I wasn’t British I’d probably be terrified right now. 

‘’Who gave you permission to go snoopin’ around my property?’’

‘’I don’t need permission to snoop anywhere,’’ I growl back. ‘’I do as I please.’’

"So you admit you WERE snoopin'!" She points an accusing finger at me. 

"No, I was just saying I don't need permission to snoop." I cross my arms and give her a smug look. The word snoop sounds really weird now that we keep saying i- "AH!" 

She yanks me by the collar of my rather EXPENSIVE shirt. Blue eyes glare into mine between strands of dark hair. ‘’Jason,’’ she growls. ‘’Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here before I crack your skull open like an over-ripe cantaloupe.’’

I glare at her. ‘’...Fine.’’ I sigh. ‘’I was asked to look into you since you’ve changed location. It was suspected that you were doing something, or perhaps Slender had changed his base of operat-’’ I’m interrupted by her letting go of my collar and rudely placing her muddy boot on my nice clean clothes. ‘’HEY!’’

‘’I fucking moved out, Jason. Jesus. Can Zalgo just calm his tits? Do I have to live in fear of the bastard for the rest of my life just because of Slender?’’

‘’Yes, you do.’’ I glare at her. ‘’Maybe you should have considered that before becoming his proxy.’’ She rolls her eyes and lifts her foot off of me. I brush dirt off myself but- that mud isn’t going to come off easily...these were expensive clothes too…

‘’Get up.’’

‘’I’m not taking orders from you!’’

‘’Then maybe I should tell Slender I found a creepy redhead sitting up a tree watching me!’’

"Hey! I am not creepy!" 

Kate glares down at me, her hands on her hips again. After a few moments of stubborn silence, I stand up and brush dirt off myself. She folds her arms.

"I won't tell Slender about this if you do somethin' for me." She says. I squint.

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" I murmur. She nods.

"Yep. I have a fence that needs fixin', along with some stuff in the house and fields. If ya help me I won't tell Slenderman I found ya creepin' around my property."

What the hell does this woman take me for? I'm not going to let her blackmail me! I glare at her and cross my arms. "Absolutely not." I say before turning and walking away. Hah! That'll show her! I'm simply going to walk away from my problems!

"Aren't ya forgettin’ somethin'?" I turn and look at her and stare in horror. She's holding my beloved mouse from her tail, swinging her from side to side like she's a toy rather than a beloved pet!

"LICORICE!" I yelp and run towards her to grab back my poor pet. Kate moves out of the way with surprising speed. I suppose that's why her nickname is 'The Chaser'. 

"Ah ah ah." She wags a finger at me, teasing me. "Not until you help me."

"What?!" Licorice is being held ransom now?! I stare at Kate in horror. She smirks. "...fine! Fine, I'll do it! Just- don't hurt licorice...please…"

"That's the spirit, jacey-boy!" She chirps. Dear god I hope she never calls me that again. She stuffs licorice back into her pocket and smiles smugly. "Now c'mon."

Begrudgingly, I follow her to her home. It’s a large country house, with a spacious wooden deck. Inside is just as cozy as you’d expect. This is actually a nice place- I wouldn’t mind living here myself if it wasn’t on a farm. I don’t like farms. They smell bad.

‘’Alright, here we go.’’ She leads me into the kitchen. There’s a toolbag on the kitchen table. She picks it up and holds it out to me. ‘’There’s some broken bannisters on the stairs. Think you can fix them up?’’

‘’I guess if there’s replacement bannisters.’’ I grunt. 

‘’In the shed out back. And after you’re done that, you can fix some holes I found in the walls upstairs,’’ she shrugs at me. ‘’I think the past owner had a teenage son. Punched the shit outta the place.’’

‘’Of course he did…’’ I take the toolbag and sigh. ‘’Fine.’’ 

 I march out the backdoor and find her shed. Walking inside, the bannisters I need are laying on a table. It smells of fresh paint in here- I actually quite like that smell...I grab the bannisters and march back inside. The bitch is making coffee instead of- you know, working like I am. I glare at her as I walk back into the hallway. Her stairs are completely missing several bannisters- six to be exact. With a sigh, I put down the bannisters and rummage through the bag for a drill. Why does she think I’m qualified to fix stairs anyway? Because I’m a toymaker?? I mean- yeah I know how to fix things like this- but still! My skills are more in carving and painting and sewing...ugh…

I pull out the drill I need and get to work. It’s a simple process. Drill a nail into the stairs, drill a matching hole into the bannister, then screw it on. Nothing too difficult- the only bad part is the sawdust that gets everywhere. Not my problem though- at least I hope it isn’t. If she makes me clean it up I’ll be mad.

‘’I finished.’’ I growl to Kate as I walk back into the kitchen. ‘’What next?’’

She’s eating fucking banana bread. Taunting me with the fact that I’m doing all of her work for her. Fuck you, Kate. Fuck you. If I was in a room with Slenderman and you and I had one bullet, I’d shoot Slender and beat you to death myself. Fuck you AND YOUR BANANA BRE-

‘’There’s plaster and newspaper upstairs. You can stuff the holes up and plaster over ‘em.’’ she smiles at me. Ah. I didn’t need to come in here at all. I could have avoided seeing the accursed banana bread…

I go upstairs like a good slave laborer. The bucket of plaster and stack of newspapers is sitting right next to the top of the stairs. How did I miss it? Ugh. Whatever- ripping up the papers to stuff up the holes in the walls is actually kind of fun. I haven't made anything with paper mache in a while...it’s kind of time consuming to make but still fun! 

Thinking about paper mache makes the time go by much much faster. By the time I’ve patched up every single hole in the wall I’ve almost completely forgotten why I’m so angry! It’s nice- being productive always helps me calm down and forget why I’m so stressed…

‘’Hey, Jason!’’

Ah. I remember now. I look down the stairs at Kate. She smirks a bit. ‘’Ya done?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Good! Ya can help me with the fence then!’’

Ugh. With a huff I walk downstairs and follow her outside. She leads me to a wooden fence that’s broken down and barely standing. Next to it is a shovel, some timber and more tools. She picks the shovel up and starts digging around the fencepost. Together, the two of us remove the rotten wood from the bottom of the post, fill up the hole, and replace the rest of the rotten and broken wood. By the time we’re done I’m covered in dirt, and sweaty. I huff and take off my jacket, holding it under my arm. Kate does something similar, tying her flannel shirt around her waist. She stretches, cracking her back and grunting. 

‘’Are we done yet?’’ I growl. Kate smirks. 

‘’Almost. Just need ta water some crops.’’ she strides past me. ‘’C’mon Jacey. It won’t take long.’’ 

‘’Don’t call me Jacey.’’ 

She laughs and leads me over to the field I was watching her in. There's a short pipe with a hose attached to it just by the gate leading into it. She picks up the hose and hands it to me. ‘’Just sprinkle some water over ‘em, got it?’’

‘’I know how to water plants. I’m not dense.’’

Her lips curl up into a smile. ‘’Good. I’m gonna go check on Marigold.’’ she says before wandering away. I frown.

‘’Who’s Marigold?’’ I call after her.

‘’My cow!’’ she yells back. ‘’Now get to work before I feed your mouse to her!’’

Cows don’t even eat mice...stupid bitch. Hmph. begrudgingly, I walk along the small paths in between each line of crops, sprinkling each one with water. She has all sorts of things growing according to the small wooden signs stuck into the dirt. Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes...being a farmer sounds like a hellish lifestyle, but having your own fresh ingredients for cooking does sound appealing...

‘’Jason!’’ 

Just as I’m watering the last of her plants she calls me. I glance over at her. She waves at me from the other end of the field. With a sigh, I walk all the way over to the gate where she’s standing.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’Ya wanna feed the chickens?’’

‘’No.’’ 

‘’Great!’’ she grins at me. Great, now I have to feed the bloody things. As if hiding amongst them earlier wasn’t degrading enough. I put the hose back where I found it and turn to her. She holds out a bucket filled with seeds, grain and berries. I take it and frown.

‘’What is this?’’

‘’Chicken feed. Duh.’’ she rolls her eyes. ‘’C’mon. This is the last thing, promise.’’ I follow her back to the accursed chicken coop. The chickens, there’s seven of them, are just wandering around, pecking aimlessly at the ground. Kate claps her hands and the demon birds all look up. Kate looks at me and gestures to the chickens. ‘’Well c’mon. They’re waitin’.’’

With a sigh I reach into the bucket, grab a handful of feed, and toss it to the ground. Immediately it’s swarmed by bloodthirsty- er- bloodhungry chickens who peck the ground aggressively. Out of fear for my safety I continue tossing feed at the birds. Admittedly it is fun seeing chickens rapidly look around in confusion when they’re hit on the head with their own food. This isn’t actually too bad. These chickens aren’t all that ba-

‘’Ow!’’

I TAKE IT BACK ONE OF THE FUCKERS JUST PECKED MY FOOT. I kick at the aggressive bird. It flutters back and I give it my best sneer. Kate clicks her tongue and I look up at her. 

‘’Bad idea, Jacey.’’

Huh? Wha- ‘’OW-’’ I stumble back and away from the flock of chickens pecking at my good nice boots. I drop the bucket of feed, stumble on a rock, and fall straight into the muddy ground. I stare at the sky, eyes wide. What- what the fuck...since when are chickens so- aggressive?? I sit up slowly and stare at the demon hens in fear, then at Kate who is aggressively laughing. I glare at her, regain my lost dignity out of spite, and stand up.

‘’Can I go now?’’

‘’Mmm…’’ she rocks on her heels, smirking and considering it for a moment. ‘’Sure. I think ya’ve done everything I need.’’ she pulls her hands out from behind her back and holds out a tupperware container as I walk over to her. What- why is she-

Oh.

Oh if she put licorice in there-

‘’Licorice!’’ yep she did. Bitch. I pick up my beloved mouse and cradle her in my hands, dropping the container in the process. ‘’Oh there you are sweetie...I’m sorry- did the mean lady trap you in there? You poor thing.’’ Licorice squeaks in distress as I pet her gently and kiss the top of her little head. ‘’I know, I know- don’t worry Jason’s here, she isn’t going to hurt you anymore my sweet.’’ 

Licorice rolls up onto my shoulder and snuggles up against my collar. I pat her again and glare at Kate. She smiles sweetly at me.

‘’Get off my property.’’

‘’Gladly.’’