#the LEAST you can do is follow through and show their death mattering to people longer than 10 seconds after the fact

[thenegoteator]

👀 Happy New Year!

happy new year!!!

this was while the Ahsoka show was airing and I was feeling salty about how little Kanan came up initially. it's the "my death is unreasonably downplayed/ignored in recent star wars media" support group. but then we did get the barest of crumbs eventually so I didn't feel it was worth following through

[send me a 👀 in exchange for unposted art from 2023]

[auspicioustidings]

Bannockburn

Summary: Your boyfriend Johnny has come home in a strange mood, and you are about to get your shit rocked at Bannockburn.

Technically, if you squint, a sequel to Savage set just over 700 years later. Like I will perhaps write a proper sequel at some point, but you can blame Bunny for this one.

Words: 3.6k

CW: CNC, smut, implied character death

You were getting nervous. You were getting really nervous. There were two Johnny’s and you never knew what one you were getting when he came home from a mission. Most of the time you got your Johnny, sweet and loving and tackling you to the bed with a laugh while he showed you how much he missed you. But sometimes whatever happened out on mission got his blood up. Whatever he usually did to get himself settled and out of war mode didn’t take. Sometimes you got the Savage Johnny, the one who heard your English accent and became more animal than man. The one who went into such thick Scots that you hardly understood what he was growling into your ear as he took you. 

Usually you knew what Johnny you had the moment he walked through the door. Not this time. This time he seemed like he was boiling with energy under the surface, but he kissed you nonetheless and ate dinner with you and held you as you slept. When he got you both up and packed into the car the next morning for a trip you had the sense to at least be a little worried. Now, hand held in his as you listened to the guide, you had some inkling that you might be in for it. 

“Now King Edward the second invaded as a result of Bruce’s demand to his people to recognise him as their King. He summoned 25,000 infantry and 2000 horses, the largest ever army to invade Scotland. Bruce only had command of 6000 men.”

You could feel the blood draining from your face as the guide went further into the background of the battle. Around about the time she briefly mentioned how Wallace had been hanged, drawn and quartered, limbs displayed in different cities, just shy of ten years before the Battle of Bannockburn, you absolutely knew what Johnny you had on your hands. And this Johnny? There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this Johnny. This Johnny was taking in every word, ready to punish you for your ancestors' transgressions against his. 

You were trying to pay attention, but your eyes were darting around trying to pinpoint any little nooks that might spell danger if he got you in them. Only that was dangerous in itself, because the first time you felt your attention drift from what was being said Johnny had let go of your hand and moved to instead hold you firm by the back of the neck, fingers massaging a little too hard in warning. That got you to pay rapt attention to all of it, to the whole history of the Scottish wars of Independence as it related to Bannockburn. 

It was strange sometimes, you and Johnny. There were times like now when you would be learning about the history of your countries and it felt like some long forgotten memory. There were times when you met his Lieutenant and swore you knew him from somewhere. Like there was some ancient part of you that trusted them when they fought together to watch each other's backs. No matter what Johnny you got, you held such a deep love for him that it scared you sometimes. Your heart twisted as they described what the battle would have been like for the soldiers, the sights and sounds and weapons. It must have been awful. 

You were stuck on it. Stuck on the image of a Johnny with a sword on the battlefield. That was your mistake, zoning out and just following along when he led you out to the grounds. Only when you had been walking for a while did you realise how far you were getting from the safety of a building full of people.

“Where are we going?”

“Dinae pay any attention at all did ye? Must naw have been interesting tae ye learning about how my people battered yours when they tried tae grind us intae nothing.”

“No, I was paying attention. Of course I was” you said, trying to be meek and quell some of his building fury. 

“Couldnae even hunt a bunny without some English noble claiming it wisnae our right. Punishing us” he ranted before turning to you with a feral look in his eye. “Cannae stop me from hunting one right now though can they? Ye going tae run for me wee bunny?”

Fuck. He looked ready to tear into your throat with his teeth. You felt every bit a prey animal, eyes darting around to find a way out of this. The woods. There were woods here. That was where he had been leading you while you had been busy getting stuck on the idea of him as some ancient warrior fighting to the death. Gillies Hill. The guide had told you about it, how the Scottish had made their camp here. It was where they had attacked from.

And it was where you found yourself sprinting through, heart pounding. Your logical mind knew it was a mistake, you running only meant he could chase. You should have just stayed where you were, tried to talk him down. You were stumbling and tripping, trying to get your bearings as the woods became dense around you. Every snap of a twig or sway of a branch sent you darting away in the other direction until you were shaking from exhaustion and no small amount of mounting terror.

You had never been hunted like this. Johnny had been rough with you before in the warmth of your own home, had fucked you into the bed like he was trying to mould you permanently to him. But this was a different creature entirely. This was the monster under the surface that you only caught glimpses of, that you never thought you would meet face to face. The woods were silent of another human, had you managed to escape him?

“Yer naw even trying little bunny, ye want me tae catch ye is that it? Slut.”

His breath was hot on your ear and you choked on any response you had tried to come up with. How had he gotten right behind you without a sound? You were running again, tripping and scraping your knees but clawing your way back to your feet to keep going. The little summer dress was not suited for this, but at least you were wearing boots. At least Johnny had told you to wear boots this morning. 

It was with a sickening dread that you realised he had planned this. He knew you would be running from him, knew he wanted you in a dress for easy access but boots for fleeing into the woods. At least you knew that your Johnny was still in there somewhere, enough to care about you not breaking an ankle. Not enough to care about breaking you in other ways. 

“Aww wee English princess got her knees all scraped up? All yer kinfolk are going tae ken how ye love getting on them for good Scottish cock when they see the marks. Wee whore down in the dirt fucking gagging on it, crying over how much ye love it.”

You couldn’t properly tell what direction his voice was even coming from. The shame of his words was flooding you with a sickly humiliation that only increased when your body reacted differently to how it should have. When you throbbed with need for him. 

“I’m not! That isn’t what’s happening!”

You were flustered and scared and needy and felt like you were yelling at nothing as you kept catching sight of him on your periphery only to turn and find nobody there. 

“Naw? Slick is practically running down yer plush fucking thighs princess, bet yer clenching down on nothin’. Dinnae even have tae catch ye dae I? Could just wait until ye come crawling tae me, begging me tae claim ye. Fucking pleading for it right here, right where my army celebrated before decimating yours.”

His words sent a shiver up your spine. Out here felt removed from time, it really did feel like you were betraying something by finding yourself drawn to this savage. By imagining that his prediction would prove true, that you’d beg for him. You couldn’t, it would be too much, too shameful. So you kept stumbling through the woods even when the deep tenor of his voice rang through in a mocking little song.

God he had translated this for you once. Told you that brose and butter was a euphemism, that it was about fucking a girl full of cum. It had made you blush and laugh at the time when he playfully sang it over to you now that you understood the meaning, but now? Fuck now it just scared the hell out of you with how the words were tinged with a promise. This was hardly playful, he really meant to hold you down and shove himself inside you out here in the woods where anyone could walk by. 

“We can’t! John please, not here” you pleaded, pausing to try and find where he was. “I… you were gone for months, I’ve not…”

He had made you promise before he left that you’d save yourself for him, wouldn’t even put your own fingers inside yourself while he was gone. And you hadn’t. Fuck you would be so tight now, not ready for him to take you hard. Had he known even then that this was the plan?

“Maiden are ye? Scared it’s going tae hurt, princess? It will, did they naw teach ye that we’re animals? We dinnae treat wee English lassies the way yer own men would. Ye’ll get treated the way ye should, like a fucking whore. And ye’ll take it won’t ye? Ye’ll take it wherever I want tae give it tae ye.”

Fuck, you were starting to slip away to whereever he was. You were starting to feel less like yourself and more like the poor English maiden being hunted by the enemy. The bunny being hunted by the hound. Starting to drift away into pure animal instinct, pure fear and arousal. You could hardly breathe now, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

“Please…” you sobbed quietly, not even sure what you were begging for.

And then he was there, towering over you and wrapping a hand around your throat, thumb beneath your chin to tilt your head and force you to look at him. 

“Wonder whit they’d think of ye begging so pretty for the enemy. Cannae help yerself can ye?” he said, as if fascinated by you, slipping his other hand up your dress and under your panties. “Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

Your reaction to those words was violent and unexplainable. It made your legs shake and your pussy clench painfully hard. It was confusing how much it affected you, causing such a flood of wetness that Johnny noticed, his pupils dilating as he squeezed at your throat and laughed when that made you whimper and claw at his hand. He only kept on squeezing until you were starting to see stars.

“Dinnae fucking move princess.”

The pressure of his hands was gone in an instant and the flood of oxygen made you dizzy. There was no time for you to recover before he was on his knees in the dirt, treating your pussy like it was a mouth and sloppily kissing it over your panties. The press of his tongue was insistent and overwhelming, like he was trying to bully it past the fabric. When he ripped at your waistband with his teeth the lace tore. 

He continued his attack like he truly was a wolf sinking his teeth into a fresh meal, completely ruining your underwear until the mangled scraps fell to the floor and left you bare. Your hands were woven into his mohawk and you tried to pull him away, earning a growl that reverberated into your bones and a heavy handed smack to your ass before he assaulted your clit with tongue and teeth and spit. 

You felt yourself clench so hard that you almost felt nauseous. Fuck. You were trying to keep some sense of self, trying to remember that you were out in public and he was some feral version of the man you loved who was saying horrible things to you and promising he was going to hurt you. But there was a creeping haze taking over, turning you dumb for him. 

It wasn’t even something you had been aware was happening when you came on his tongue. It was just sensation, just the desperate need for more. The primal desperation to be fuller even as he pushed his tongue into your over sensitive hole while your walls fluttered through the pleasure of that high.  

“Please, need you.”

“Aye, that right? Needy wee slut.”

You were too far gone to notice that while he was rough in getting you onto your back in the dirt, one hand was gentle in cradling your head to make sure it landed softly. 

“Use those pretty wee words. Ask me for it the way ye’d ask a good English man.”

Ask me for it the way ye’d ask Simon.

When all you could do was wriggle underneath him and whine he grabbed the neckline of your dress and yanked it down to let your breasts spill out, slapping hard at one and making you howl. 

“They naw teach ye how tae talk proper ye wee slut? Ask fucking nicely.”

“Please, please I want you inside me.”

“Aye, can tell that princess. Whit else?”

“Want you to cum inside me.”

“Good fucking girl, wisnae so hard now was it?”

He didn’t take any of his clothes off, just fished his hard cock from his jeans, hooked your knees on his shoulders and pressed into your wet heat in one fluid motion. You both groaned as he bottomed out. It had been so long, you were so fucking tight around him. 

“M’so full, thank you thank you ,m’yours, need you. Fuck, ah. Made for you, it’s so much” you rambled, incoherent in your bliss. 

“There she is, needed this naw? Needed my cock deep in this tight wee English cunt. Cannae be a person without it, it’s whit ye were made for. Fucking built tae be on yer back with yer legs open for me.”

He stayed like that for what felt like forever, the fullness pushing any coherent thought out of your head. Fuck he was so deep like this, with you nearly folded in half. It felt like you were choking on his dick. You were clawing at the dirt by your sides so hard that you thought your fingers might bleed, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head before they could.

You were so cock drunk that you were only distantly aware of the look in his eyes now, the almost obsessive adoration as he took in how you looked pressed into the earth like this, dress rucked up from the bottom and pulled down from the top, palm print visible from where he had slapped at you, knees by your ears, hands pinned over your head and yet despite it all so blissed out you were salivating and babbling at him how you needed him.

When he pulled all the way out to the tip and then slammed back home you choked on the wind being knocked right out of you. It only encouraged him as he started to fuck you hard and deep, taking him time to make sure every thrust settled him so incredibly deep inside of you that you were floating. 

“Braw wee creature aren’t ye? Feart of me and gagin’ fer it anyway. Dinnae fash bonnie, gettin’ yer hole proper.”

You knew vaguely that he was close because you could hardly understand what he was saying. You were so unable to do anything in this position, no leverage on your arms and legs that you could use to pull him closer. 

“Inside, need it inside. Please, please ah!” you cried, no shame left in so as you begged like a bitch in heat for him to cum inside you. 

He shifted and sped his pace, nailing that spongy spot inside you that was making your vision black out with every thrust. You’d have marks on you from the buttons and zipper of his jeans. You’d have marks on your throat and your wrists, on your tits. He needed more, he needed anyone to take one look at you and know who you belonged to.

“‘at’s it, take it. Fuck. Good lass” he groaned as he sunk his teeth into your throat and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came, clamping down on his cock.

He jackhammered into you, forcing his way in while your pussy tried to force him out. The tight heat of it was too much and he growled and stilled after one more brutal thrust had him cumming deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, the painful stretch from being folded as you were a delicious burn with the extra pressure forcing you to stretch further. 

You stayed like that for a while, both panting. Only when you were slowly coming back to your senses did you feel a sharp pain in your back from what must have been a particularly jagged stone. Ah, you thought you were probably bleeding on it, feeling something sticky. 

“Bannockburn” you breathed out softly.

The pressure was off of you almost immediately and he let go of your wrists and kneeled up, pulling out with a soft sigh leaving both of you at the feeling. He was quick to tuck himself in before his hands were back on you, gentle this time, fixing your dress and rubbing at all the spots he had marked.

“C’mere bonnie, ye did so well. Hurting anywhere I need tae look at?”

He looked at your back when you told him, laying soft kisses of apology on you as he cleaned it up. You used to tease Johnny for the little first aid kit he always had strapped to the back of his jeans whenever you went out, but it was coming in incredibly handy. Your panties were toast and he sheepishly tucked the remnants of them into his pocket before getting you to unsteady feet. 

“Creeping Jesus, I’ve made a right mess out of ye” he said with a bashful sort of grin, doing his best to try and fix your hair. 

“Hmm, s’ok” you replied, still a little hazy. 

He kissed you soundly and then gave you an absolute squeeze of a cuddle before scooping you into his arms in a princess carry.

“Let’s get ye all tucked up in the car then we can have a bath and dinner when we’re home eh?”

You nodded and nuzzled into his chest to get comfortable. He would take care of you, he always did.

–

John MacTavish didn’t know how he got so lucky. Not any woman would be softly dozing off in his arms after what he had just put you through. Fuck you were beautiful all of the time, but when you were like this? Fucked out and marked up but achingly soft for him in the afterglow? Jesus, he loved you. He would love you forever, through lifetimes. 

He’d explain obviously, he should really have warned you how hard he was going to go, that should have been pre-negotiated. But he had been so wound up. Fucking Simon Riley and his little comments about you, winding him up by putting thoughts in his head about how demure an English man could get you. It should have just made him laugh and shove at him, instead it made his blood boil and his cock hard and he had taken it out on you. You had let him, you always did until either of you thought it wasn’t safe. 

He paused on his way out of the woods with you, considering waking you so you could see the little glade he had come upon. It was pretty as anything, almost felt like hallowed ground with a giant stone right in the middle. Something about it called to an ancient longing within him. Fuck. He wanted to marry you out here. Was that ridiculous? Maybe just post orgasm stupidity.

Still as he settled you in the car and took you home so he could love you properly, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

–

“Fuck, Johnny.”

Simon Riley was an Englishman through and through. Everytime he stepped into battle it was to strike down those who would oppose his King and country. Yet he had left the battlefield. He had tracked into the woods, to where he knew MacTavish had crawled off to die. He found him leant against the stone that sat in the centre of a glade. Of course this is where he would want to die. Not on the battlefield, but here. The place he had married you. The place they both had.  

“Ye come tae watch it for yerself Si?” Johnny said with a laugh that turned to a hacking cough. 

“Course. Been trying to kill you for years, not about to miss it.”

Simon sat next to him, both of them looking at the sunlight filtering through the trees. It was peaceful here. Maybe in another lifetime they would not have been enemies. Maybe in another lifetime they could have been brothers.

“Ye’ll look after her until I can find her again?”

“Always.”

[ratboyy-withtheexistentialdread]

Nevermore Chapter 97

Spoilers ahead, lads. Skedaddle if you don't fast pass. EDIT I guess I’ve said too much in this post and need to pull it back a little. So imma gonna edit it so it doesn’t say too much about this chapter.

Alright, first my reaction cause HOLY HELL those last few panels really got me like

I really had to put my phone down and talk myself through them. Now, lets talk about what I gained from this chapter and the infamous Annabel Lee. I've noticed, at least in the comment section, the fandom really doesn't care for Annabel's character and its difficult to know where the animosity has come from. Tumblr obviously loves her but us heathens support women's rights and wrongs (Don't we gents?) Many call her a sociopath or what’s happens in the last few panels. Annabel is indeed ruthless, calculating and stone cold but she obviously cares. She cares for Lenore above everything. It can be easy to see this as obsession as we really haven't seen her care about much else or even herself. But one comment on the Webtoon brought up a very valid point which I've also picked up on.

Annabel and Lenore in life were very isolated and broken people when they met one another. Annabel, broken and then rebuilt into a prim and proper lady. Lenore, broken physically and mentally and closed off from the world.

Meeting each other saved them. They were no longer alone. There was an understanding between them at least that we know of.

Their differences though is what divides them in death.

Annabel played games, and masked her true self around her father and family connections. She now makes games of situations to retain what little control she had in life over a society she knew she could never break the rules of. A Game that was always rigged against her.

Lenore rebelled against society. She fled the estate to escape a suitor, was bound to the attic and ostracized by her family, she then faked her death and posed as man to court Annabel, the one person who cared for her.

Lenore wants to break the rules of the deans Death Game. Annabel wants to follow them.

It’s all they’ve ever known.

Before it was only them that mattered. Now Lenore has so much more to fight for and Annabel still only has Lenore. Both are right in their own way of playing the game but it pains the other to witness.

Annabel, I’m sure is aware that the Deans are not all they seem to be and won’t simply allow the students to turn the tables on them if they played how Lenore wants to.

And playing Annabel’s way means the callous death of many many people that do deserve another chance at life.

Now. I do have to agree with Annabel in the sense that Lenore forgets

This is a Death Game

Right now the “villainous” characters show their true face with pride and the “hero’s” are charming and true but as we get down to the wire, it’s going to get grey. There are no good or bad at the end of these games, only survival.

Could Annabel show some restraint and more tact when speaking strategy and making plans with Lenore? Absolutely. She’s little too giddy about sweeping some pieces off the board.

Lenore also needs to stop being so naive. She saw first hand what exactly the Deans are capable of in Dreamland, it put the fear of god in her.

In fairness to both characters though they and we are still missing big pieces of what happened between them and what their causes of death were. Which could hold big aspects of their characterization.

Maybe Lenore was originally very callous about others. In life, aside from Theo and Annabel, we’ve never really seen her interact with others. Perhaps this is the Lenore Annabel speaks of.

Anyway, I’m rambling. In conclusion, I’m a bit disappointed in Nevermores comment section. I enjoy Annabel’s character although some parts do worry me a bit but I have hope Red and Flynn have plans to curve this to a satisfying reason and conclusion.

That cliffhanger, boy howdy, what the fuck is Lenore gonna do…

[buckttommy]

Queerbaiting: using the promise of Queer fan-pairings or Queer characters to lure in a Queer audience without any intention to follow through for the sake of financial gain.

(Relation)ship-baiting: teasing a fan-favorite pairing, Queer or not, to an invested audience without any intention to develop that relationship into romance.

A show/movie/studio can Queerbait without Ship-baiting.

A show/movie/studio can Ship-bait without Queerbaiting.

Learning the distinction between the two is important because—similar to people who use the word "problematic" to describe both Pedophilia and not tipping waiters—no one will take you serious if you don't. You cannot reasonably accuse a show of Queerbaiting when they already have multiple Queer main characters because they are not "teasing" you with Queer representation. They have already followed through on delivering Queer representation because to do so was their intention all along. But you can accuse a show/movie/studio of Ship-baiting when they dangle the promise of a canon relationship in front of you like a carrot on a stick, and subsequently do not deliver.

Both are bad, but different "levels" of bad correlate with different responses, hence why some people get a ticket for jaywalking and some people go to jail for murder.

It's the same principle.

Queerbaiting is cruel and manipulative, designed to target a vulnerable, marginalized audience, and has real-world implications surrounding the refusal to make Queerness visible at the very least, and accepted at the very most. Queerbaiting should be responded to with targeted, intentional fury—not through death threats, but by making it abundantly clear to The Powers That Be (and all those watching)—that toying with Queer audiences is not acceptable.

Ship-baiting is also cruel, but in a different way. Ship-baiting targets a specific group of people (both Queer and Heterosexual, as fandom has always been filled with Straight people too) and does not have any real-world implications beyond ruining your day/week/year. Anger is an acceptable reaction here, but expressing dismay—again, not through death threats—is not the same as accusing an entity/showrunner/etc of an ethical crime.

Please learn the difference.

Fandom (as a collective) has a lot of inherent problems—including but not limited to Racism, Queerphobia, Xenophobia, and more—but I genuinely believe some of the most intelligent, creative, talented, and revolutionary minds that could change the entire face of the Entertainment industry exist here. We deserve to demand respect, and we deserve to be taken seriously, because the more we sound like "unhinged fangirls" when things don't go our way, for whatever reason, the more The Powers That Be are going to treat us like we don't matter. The commodification of fandom was a huge mistake. We were brought into a spotlight that we were never intended to be in, and I don't think we've ever recovered from that. I'm not even sure most people realize this is something we need to recover from. But we can shift the tide in our favor, and that starts by learning the definitions of words and actually using them so that no one—especially not old, white men with power—has an excuse to brush off valid, Ethical concerns as "fandom drama."

[undercover-smutlover]

Captain John Price...🏷️

main masterlist📌

*·˚Don’t forget to reblog, follow, like, and comment on the authors’ or artists’ pages. Show them some love!

*·˚Broken link or @? Pop a note in the comments or my ask box.

Works by @miniwheat77

Sweet: Price is harsh on y/n until a mission goes sideways

Sensitive: The only person reader can confide in is her captain

Maneater + Gaz: Reader is a mechanic on base who takes a break with the boys

Give ’em hell Pt.1: Reader and Price are exposed to a weird chemical

Give ’em hell Pt.2: Repercussions of the weird chemical

Red Lipstick: Reader and Price keep one another company

Works by @captainfern

Lake Of Fire: Price isn’t happy about working with another team

Heart-Shaped Box Pt.1: You help Price feel better

Serve the Servants P.2 + Ghost: The aftermath involving Ghost

Breed: You and Price meet up off base

Marigold Pt.1: Price asks you to meet him upstairs

Marigold Pt.2: Crying becaouse you missed him

Works by @halcyone-of-the-sea

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam: Fisherman Price meets an unexpected person

Our Remains: You are hiding something big from John

Lions and Ibexes: Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

See No Evil Pt.1 and Origami Boats Pt.2: But you’d been hurt because he had been too late. Nearly bled out. 

I’ll Take the Night Shift: It doesn’t matter what I feel…Where is my John?

Works by @xyziiix

ARDOUR: He could already hear the pleading edge in your voice

Three Is A Crowd: Well your Captain always liked proving you wrong

Price Eating You Out by @catsnkooks: Too blissed out to notice a guest

Civillian Reader Is Hurt by @lvlyghost: She believed he would save her. And that was enough

Jealous by @stormiwaves: “I like it when you’re jealous”

Angel of Small Death Pt.1 by @whynot-tryit: Price hires a team medic

Not Meant to Be Here, But Glad You Are by @paranoid-borderline-insane: You need to remember all the tips John gave you to survive

Breaking and Entering Pt.1 and Reprieve Pt.2 by @sprout-fics: No place safer in the world than with him

Doll by @blingblong55: It started as innocent stares

No Hero, Just Me by @firsttimewriter92: Price rescues reader from an abduction

Duty Over Heart by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world: Your lives were forever changed afterwards

Million Dollar Man by @qilinxingg: John gave a satisfied smile as his arms tightened around your small body

Price’s Young Housewife by @moongreenlight: Weekly manicures and pedicures that he’s put his card on file for

My Girls by @bearieio: happy just being able to share moments with your 3 favorite people

Hell on Earth by @ghostlywhiskey: His demeanor and lack of response to your attitude caught you off guard

Designer Dress by @halfmoth-halfman: You can’t think of a better place to start your new life

I Think I Might’ve Inhaled You by @agentmarvel: It eats at him daily, knowing his own indecisiveness is the root of anguish for both of you

Nobody Does It Like You Do by @bunnyreaper: In his embrace, firm and reassuring, you might actually believe him

Spread Your Wings by @crashandlivewrites: “Besides, I find my scene partner enjoys it more when there’s a lot more sensual physical contact involved.”

Mafia!Price x Assistant!Reader by @charliemwrites: In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of colour and delicacy in his world

A Warm Heart by @flowermiist: That clicks in John’s head, it really was you and he was almost amused to say the least.

He Opens the Mail and Part 2 by @the-californicationist: It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby.

Soulmate AU Part 1 by @shotmrmiller: your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[miwsolovely]

—PRIDE

pairing: task force 141 x fem!black!reader

series masterlist taglist next

summary: You’re not fragile. You’re not.

contains: military inaccuracies, Dissociation, mentions + references to past trauma, torture, reader gets triggered a lot in this chapter :(, hurt w comfort, mentions of kidnapping, panic attack ( with comfort )

wc: 4.9k

a/n: ugh this feels rushed :(

a/n 2: sorry for the wait,, ( unedited )

“I told you, step by step, what to do.” The weight of a knife, the weight of the world, feeling very similar at this moment.

All you can do is stare at the floor. Wishing you could see your reflection but at the same time wanting to see it burn.

You wanted to see what had become of you. What he made of you. Wanted to see pitch black iron slowly encrust your heart. Protecting it. Hiding it.

However you wanted to see it burn at the same time. Wanted to show him that he isn’t what defines you. Wanted to show him how far your pride could take you. Until it ultimately breaks you.

Until he breaks you.

“What,” A stinging pain erupts from across your face. “Not gonna answer me sweetcheeks?”

You cough, red staining your lips, your body, your soul.

He scoffs and then as if he remembered something, starts playing with the long crowbar in his hands, tossing it from hand to hand with a giddy smile on his face.

You hack out another dry cough, cringing at the sound and at the metallic taste it left in your mouth. You raise your head to look at him in the eyes. Every muscle twitching and burning in the process.

He squats down to meet your level, your eyes following his every move as you try to scrutinize his actions.

“You know I love you right?” His smile. His God awful smile leads you into a field of roses. But his eyes lead you into the hands of death.

You spit at his feet. The crowbar sings as it hits your head.

***

“You don’t like hospitals do you?”

You blink and try to clear out the fog that encases your mind. Trying to escape the feeling of the knives against your skin, the fist, the crowbar—

“No, huh?” She answers for you. Sophia, you remember, was the woman you were supposed to get cleared by in order to go on missions on this team instead of sitting at a desk. You needed to prove them wrong. No matter how much you resented being on this team. On a team again.

Today marks two months that you’ve been on this base. So far you have no reason to stay, no purpose, all because of a psych eval that was shoved down your throat.

You scold yourself. “No purpose.” What about the man with the overgrown, albeit beautiful, mohawk? The man with the chocolate skin that shined when kissed by the sun?

They were nice. Treated you with a kindness that was only ever expressed by three people: Vera, your Mom, and your sweet Ma. They barely knew you, didn’t say more than two sentences when you were shoved down their throats, and added to their team. You are an intruder. An intruder on something that was beautiful and intimate.

You saw the way they looked at each other. Pinched yourself behind closed doors whenever you felt something green and snapping coil in your stomach, when you found your cheeks getting hot, when you felt your heart skipping a beat or two. For the two Sergeants at least.

The Captain and the Lieutenant however, they were as dark and secretive as their eyes.

Your expression hardens. “Never did.” Never liked them because it leaves a trail. A scent for a well trained dog to sniff out and find you. Kill you and let the birds eat at your flesh, killing you ten times over.

“Well then, today’s not your lucky day, ‘m not finished.” She says. You can see the sass dripping from her mouth, straining her lips and words with a golden ichor, much like the rich ichor of his own sass, his own words, falling, falling, and coloring everything gold. A gold that decays and reveals ugly things, ugly intentions.

You peer at her through your lashes, you look around the room, a room that looks comforting, looks welcoming, but everything has its secrets, you shift where you are, finding the seat you’re in uncomfortable from sitting there too long, your thighs going numb. Spreading, spreading like a disease, his disease his love—

“Are you even payin’ attention?” She stands there, in front of you with her hands on her wide hips, blonde brows furrowed and her pink lips pulled into a deep frown. “Because if you can’t pass a psych eval, then I’d say you’re not ready.”

You huff out a laugh at that, an amused smile pulling at your lips. She stares at you as if offended. “Somethin’ funny?”

You stare at her through half lidded eyes, crossing your arms on your chest. “None of us are ready doll. Not a single one.” You say. “And yet you still see us running into war with our heads shoved up our asses.”

She turns pink at the term of endearment you used for her.

“Well that—that don’t mean ‘m jus’ gonna let you go! I have to evaluate you. . .”

You freeze at her accent revealing itself. It’s something rooted, something deep and southern, like his.

You think it comes out whenever she feels a strong emotion.

Like hate. His hate. His—

“I need to go.”

***

The girl in your reflection wails. Scratching, pleading, yelling, to let her out. Let her take control, let her so she can protect the both of you.

Your breathing comes out ragged, and you claw and fumble with your door until it opens, slamming it and locking the door. You stay there for a second, turning so your forehead rests against the wood, wishing the door was cold, not filled with this burning heat that dug into your skin.

You turn and limp to the bathroom, you wrestle with the door knob and you fight the feeling of your legs giving out. You wished they would too, wished the world would split open and swallow you whole, close and take all your problems away. All your pain and sorrow and—

A knock. Then a voice. “You alright, love?”

Your breathing is harsh and you’re sure whoever is behind the door to your room, Gaz, can hear it.

You try to breathe calmly. You rest your shaking arms on the sink and pray for the cold ceramic to ground you. You twist the faucet all the way to the right and cup the freezing water in your hands.

The girl in this reflection is screaming. Pleading, demanding, for what, you can’t figure out, but your head is pounding, your heart is racing, and water is still pouring out of the faucet.

Get your shit together.

Remember what Vera taught you. In for four, hold for seven, and out for eight.

Four, seven, eight, four, seven eight, four, seven—

“Angel?”

Your breathing took a pause. Angel.

Angel, is the name spoken with a type of special emotion you can’t put your finger on by the two Sergeants. Something that calms you, and something you won’t admit aloud. However it’s Angel, the same name spoken with a hostility that’s rooted in the Captain and his Lieutenant’s voice, that pushes you to build your walls higher.

You stand there, hunched over the sink with the water in your hands escaping through the gaps between your hands like sand in an hourglass; running out of time.

The girl in this reflection fades away, distorted by the ripples in the water caused by the tears that escaped your eyes.

You bring your cupped hands to your face and splash the cold water on your face. You keep your hands on your face, covering your eyes for a moment because you’re not ready to face the world just yet.

After a minute, you blink to clear the blurriness in your eyes and feel for the towel you remember setting on the counter. Bringing it up to your face and wiping away the water that sits there, wishing to wipe away all your problems as easy as that.

You walk out of the bathroom after setting the towel where you found it, not ready to look at the woman you know looks at you with a hostility that matches the Lieutenant’s in the mirror yet.

Through all the noise, both in your head and in the real world, the world that scares you to no end, the world that hates you, you hear Gaz’s soft voice asking if he can come in.

Now, in front of the door to your room, you hesitate opening it. Scared of what he’ll say to you when you open it, if you open it. You’re a Colonel. You’re supposed to be strong and unwavering in everything you do. Why are you scared of what he’ll say to you when he sees your red rimmed eyes? Your pale face? Your shaking hands?

“You’re not enough.” He’d say. “You’re never going to be enough.”

You open the door.

Gaz looks up at you, and it surprises you because he doesn’t look at you with the pity or disdain you thought you’d see in his eyes, but with a soft smile gracing his lips and his honeyed voice asking if you wanted to talk.

He wants to talk. Why?

You ignore his question and ask him yours in turn. “Can I help you, Sergeant?”

He shakes his head slightly, the smile on his face stays. “No, just wanted to talk to you.”

He’s looking deep into your eyes. As if past the red rimmed and glossed over eyes, he can see the torn little girl you are inside curled up into fetal position, scared out of her mind.

You’ve been here two months.

Two months fourteen days and thirteen hours. And you’re moving to the side to allow him entrance.

He walks in your room and turns to face you, using the motion of turning in a half circle to inspect it without you suspecting him of doing so. You still caught on.

The room you're currently in is not really yours, it's a room. Not yours because save for the bag of clothes positioned in front of the closet, the room was barren. The bed was made and left without wrinkles, the nightstand was left untouched and is starting to collect dust, the prison grey walls reflecting your prison mind. Lonely, grey, and bleak.

You stare at him, at Gaz, with cautious and questioning eyes before motioning to the bed with your arm.

"You can sit."

He smiles that small, never ending and perfect smile of his showcasing the moons imbedded in his cheeks, and turns his back towards you to sit on the bed next to the pillows.

Why did he turn his back to you?

You shift where you stand.

Doesn't he know not to turn your back to someone you don't trust?

You meet his gaze with hesitance laced in your actions when you move to your nightstand to take a seat at the chair placed delicately in front of it, sitting down on the old chair that's seen better days, you face the man in your. . . in the room.

You keep your hands in your lap and fiddle with the hem of your sweater. Nervousness seeping you're your skin and bones and sending a chill through your body. "You wanted to talk—"

"Call me Kyle."

You pause.

Of course you knew his name. Knew it and remembered it when you read his file, said it in your mind a billion times without knowing, you knew all their names. But names were for friends, they were for lovers. You aren’t either of those. Callsigns are for strangers. They’re for long nights hunkered down in God knows where fighting Good knows who. They’re so that everything stays secret.

“What do you want to talk about?” You ask again. Ignoring his request to call him by his name and swatting away the small part of your brain begging you call him by his name.

He pauses for a moment, caramel eyes melting and revealing good things, good intentions.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” He asks. His hands, you notice, are unscathed, clean, save for the little white line disrupting the chocolate of his skin. How you wish for hands like that. Clean, soft hands that you’d wish to melt in.

“Just you?” You murmured, trying to sound, fragile. Your eyes probably gave you away however. Vera always told you that.

“Me and Soap if you’d like.” He answers, looking down at his hands and intertwining them.

Him and Soap, Gaz and Soap, Kyle and Johnny.

You breathe in and you swear you can taste the caramel of his eyes. “Okay.” You whisper.

***

“When you said “Task Force,” You said, mimicking quotations in the air with two fingers. “Thought you meant it was some place quiet, a Task Force that barely gets any missions. But no, I find myself in the hands of the largest and most well known special ops team known to man.”

Kate Laswell, your mom, lets out a laugh at that. She finishes signing whatever paperwork she needed to at her desk and leans back in her chair.

“Oh really now?” She asks with a lift of her brow and a smile curling a side of her lips. “And how will you accomplish what you want in life behind the walls of a “quiet” Task Force?”

You sigh, irritated. Your eyes narrow and your eyebrows furrow deep. For a moment, you almost forget it’s your mom you’re talking to. “And what, you expect me to stay on this team? You didn’t see how hostile they treated me.”

Your mom remains nonchalant while she speaks. “You sure you’re my daughter? Last time you complained was when you were eight.” She says. “And you’re right, I didn’t.” You watch as she stands up and walks to a cabinet adjacent to her desk, pulling out an expensive bottle of whiskey and pouring herself a fair amount in a glass cup. “Felt it through the door when I walked out.” She said as she took a sip, winking at you when she met your eyes from the top of her glass.

You slump on the chair you’re sitting in, resting your elbows on your knees and your hands on your face.

“So, what? I’m gonna be stuck on this team till he’s dead?” You say, rubbing your temples to calm the headache you feel throbbing in your head.

Kate walks back to her desk and leans on it, facing you. “No, you’re gonna stay on this team even after you kill him.”

You feel your heart stop beating against your chest, your lungs pausing mid inhale, your fingers moistening with sweat coming from your brow.

You hear ringing in your ears. Screaming. It’s the girl in your reflection, the mirror; she’s screaming. You lift your head from your hands and stare at her through the corner of your eye.

“What?”

Your mom sighs and walks to stand in front of you, leaning on her desk.

“What I’m about to tell you,” She starts, looking at you with hard eyes. “Is something that needs to stay in this room you hear me?”

Your fingers twitch and you find yourself nodding.

She sighs and rubs her head as if she’s fighting s headache right now. She looks stressed. “I heard talk about the Shadow Company kidnapping a scientist.”

Your brows furrow. “A scientist?” You asked. Where is she going with this?

She nods in response to you. “A scientist. His name is Dr. Kelly Berkman. American, mid to late forties, three kids and a wife—”

“Mom.”

“He’s, he’s the CEO of The White Lotus.”

You sit there, confused out of your mind as to why she would be telling you this. The White Lotus is a relatively small company that makes vaccines. Why would he kidnap an innocent man?

Kate stands there, watching you, pleading for you to connect the dots.

When your eyes widen and hands fall limp on your legs, her eyes shine bright with sadness.

You suck in a breath and will it to be your last. “He’s making a bioweapon.”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

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[inbarfink]

One thing about ‘Fionna and Cake’ the Show’s view of trauma and recovery is that it loves to emphasize the idea that a step forwards is a step forwards no matter how flawed it is.

Simon’s decision to embark on the Crown Quest is definitely the most obvious example. It was a terrible move that speaks both to Simon’s inability to see value in his old life outside of noble self-sacrifice and a deep streak of basically-suicidal self-destructiveness. Fionna is only really starting to fathom just how truly a terrible bad no good idea it is, and Simon has yet to really admit it at all.

But compared to where he was just moment before he made that decision, literally resigned to drinking himself away and waiting for death at the hands of the Scarab even though that will also doom all of Fionnaworld - self destructing so hard he was taking an entire universe down with him - that was still technically a Step Forwards.

It got Simon to take Fionna and Cake’s feelings into consideration and actually engage with them as Real People and not just another example of the universe kicking him when he’s down

And it kept him motivated enough to keep moving forwards and really helped him rediscover his capacity to feel happiness 

And that’s how he and Fionna really made friends and developed a bond

And that is what saved Simon from the Magic Crown and his own self-destructiveness in ‘Jerry’, at least temporarily.

Him opening up to Fionna and allowing her to know him beyond just a Pathetic Old Weirdo Who Doesn't Even Have Magic Anymore is what allowed her to so quickly understand why letting Simon turn himself into Ice King is actually such a terrible thing.

And Fionna’s hesitation to give Simon the Crown and the chance she’s given to him to relive his happiest memories stopped - or at least delayed the most self-destructive part of Simon’s plan. 

And I feel it’s pretty probable Fionna’s words and actions and the friendship they forged and the positive experiences the adventure has given him will have an effect on Simon’s decisions in the future.

However toxic and flawed Simon’s first step was, it still mattered to his overall recovery.

And you can say similar things about Fionna’s progress as a hero.

Most notably her blunder with the Obvious Trap in “The Star”. 

Was it a Bad Terrible No Good Idea? Yes, absolutely. Both for Fionna’s psyche in specific and also for Literally Everyone in Vampireworld actually

But it was a Step Forward in the very very bumpy road of Fionna towards true heroism. Her earnest desire to truly help people and make the world around her just a little bit better and questioning authority - after blindly following the Winter King’s flattery in a quest to Defeat All the Baddies made her hurt so many people… 

It shows how much her experiences affected her and mattered to her how much she’s trying to learn from her mistakes. Taking responsibilities for her actions, dealing with the consequences. Even as the people around her are, however well-intentionally, trying to tell her to pay it no mind at all 

Fionna still understands that it is important to her to care about everything that happened and to try and do better. And she did really try to do better. 

And after that little blinder went up in flames, she started trying to do better by being more careful. And that also wasn't perfect because she became kinda overly-careful and overprotective and put a huge wedge between her and Cake

But it's still an important step in Fionna learning to process the consequences of her actions. And because Fionna is now so much more invested in thinking things through and not wanting anyone to get hurt - that is also a big reason why she hesitated to give Simon the Extinctworld Crown. And it's probably going to lead to other good deeds in the future.

And that… doesn’t negate All the Terrible Things that happened as a result of her decisions - but it still mattered as a step forwards for her character as well. 

[troius]

What we learned from the war

"Endings are hard" is a something of a truism, but it's borne out in Bleach, where every story arc besides after the first two stumbled at the finish (even the endings of the first two arcs don't really "end" so much as continue into a new story). In the Arrancar arc, the number of characters and plotlines got so overwhelming that an ending that had to be rushed if it was to arrive at all. In the Lost Agent arc, the characters were pared down, but the ending wound up thematically inconsistent with the story anyways, possibly due to real-life circumstances. And the Thousand-Year Blood War somehow managed to have both problems.

The change in direction from "tightly focused character drama" to "sprawling cast of soldiers" meant that it was unlikely to ever give us the development of our protagonist that we craved, and that lack of focus was only aggravated by the widely-reported health problems of the author. And yet, perhaps because we don't get that, because so little of this arc is filtered through Ichigo learning about himself, we get a much clearer statement of the values inherent in the work.

This is most evident in our antagonists for this Arc. Yhwach and the Wandenreich don't really have the relationship with Ichigo that previoius antagonists had. He never knew his Quincy heritage, never identified with their ideals, and so feels very little conflict about opposing them. He doesn't ever develop his Quincy powers, at least beyond integrating them with his already existing powerset. And he doesn't take much of a personal interest in Yhwach, who in turn, doesn't seem to think much of him when he's not directly in front of him.

But for all that Ichigo doesn't end up having much of a dynamic with them, the Wandenreich still manages to maintain a unique character. Every antagonist has a priority, something that they are willing to do great evil for. For Soul Society, it's its own existence, the continuation of the system they've built. For Aizen, it's his own self-aggrandizement. For the Fullbringers, it was simply living another day, screwing over others so that they can't screw you first. But the Wandenreich has no such priority. They simply want it all to end.

That's most obvious in Yhwach's ending monologue, but you can see it from the very beginning as he kills Yamamoto, the man who tried to move on from his bloody past being slaughtered by the man who would absolutely not let it go. Yhwach shows more emotion towards the skeletons of Argola and Huberdt, his dead soldiers from a war long lost, than he does towards any of his living subordinates. And his subordinates follow his lead in showing no love to one another, happily stabbing each other in the back without even the Arrancars' uneasy level of camaraderie. Their movement has no future, and neither do they, so nihilism is the only recourse.

Most of the time. I think it's important to note that every time a member of the Wandenreich expresses positive feelings towards one of their comrades, it's immediately followed by them turning on Yhwach. Liltotto, Bazz, Giselle, eventually, in her own twisted way…even Jugram, at the very end. Sure, Yhwach kills them for their impertinence (he is the bad guy), but he also massacres the Wandenreich faithful en masse. There's no salvation, only death, and he'll enforce that state on his followers rather than allow them to discover any alternative.

I imagine the lesson, and the general attitude of the Wandenreich, was not lost on Uryu Ishida. Even in his relative paucity of appearances, it's he who is at the moral center of the arc. His culture, which he had thought was nearly entirely dead, turns out to be alive, and out for vengeance against the people who exterminated them. It's something he probably fantasized about growing up, and I don't blame him for joining. How could he not?

But at the end, he makes the very easy choice. Calling it a matter of "life and death" is a little on the nose, but it's morally quite black and white. Yhwach has no hope for this world, or for his people within it, or even himself. He lost a war for the nature of existence to a monster a thousand years ago, and never got over it. But Uryu has the strength to look at the horrors of this world and yet hope for better. Because he has people he loves in life, and who love him in return, he can dream of a better tomorrow.

And that's what the ending is all about. Yhwach loses to Ichigo, and it is very much "good guy beats bad guy". But he also loses to Uryu, and to "I hope to have a family with my girlfriend who I love so much" Renji Abarai, and to "I have a tremendous amount of hope to eventually make myself king of everything" Sosuke Aizen, and eventually (in a way I'm still confused about mechanically) to the child Ichigo and Orihime will eventually have, the literal embodiment of the potential of the future.

The final villain of Bleach is not society's tendency to preserve itself at any human cost. It's not individual selfishness, or manipulativeness, or any of the many vices we saw embodied in the hollows throughout the series. It's despair, the idea that life might not be worth living even through all the struggles and horrors our protagonists have endured. Sure, it will always raise its head, sometimes at the most inconvenient, or ill-fitting times. But having its reincarnation be blown away by the supernaturally normal lives of our cast…well, that's as clear of a message as I can imagine.

[bakugotrashpanda]

Tribute!Touya x Stylist!OC Word Count: 4.5k

Hunger Games AU

A/N: This was supposed to be a couple paragraphs, but here we are. No beta we die like men. Thank you @t-tomuras for the inspiration <3 I know it’s supposed to be self-ship, but I put an OC in for my comfort.

They escaped the Reaping only to be pulled back in.

The games have gotten boring. There's no shock in seeing kids fight each other in the arena any more. Sure, it serves as a reminder of the past and shows that no matter where someone is from, given the right circumstances, anyone can kill. Barbaric. But… the glamor of voyeurism, of watching kids suffer mentally and physically as entertainment, has lost its spark.

But pushing the age range for the reaping back? Giving kids more time to hope and dread, to understand what they're losing once they have a taste of a future – their future? Ripping families apart at an age where maybe someone is losing their parent rather than a sibling? Cruelly putting a decade of adults who thought they escaped the horrors of the Capital back into the running of dying? Delicious. 

At least in the jaded eyes of the Capital.

For Touya Todoroki though, it’s a chance for him to finally live up to his father’s expectations. Living in District 2 has its perks – if you’re seeking glory in death. The finest training establishments for Peacekeepers also means the finest training for careers who want to put their names in the stars or die trying. Touya wouldn’t even have to sneak into these facilities if he wanted that; he’d just need to throw his last name around and every door would open for him.

Special benefits of being a colonel’s son.

But he was never interested. He skated through life putting his name on the stupid ring out of some sense of duty and familial pressure only for it never to be drawn because some other idiot volunteers. Usually it was multiple idiots all clamoring to be first. 

He escapes his teenaged years unscathed. 

Adulthood means nothing to him. There’s no sweet relief he knows other districts must feel now that they have one less thing to worry about – for now, nor is there any bitter resentment at losing the opportunity at doing something great and having the eyes of the country on you. Life just… goes on. 

When faced with the prospect of needing a job, Touya’s options were to follow his father’s footsteps and become a low level military grunt and rise through the ranks, or join the miners in the quarries. 

It was a never-ending tirade from his father about how he ‘wasted his potential’ and ‘humiliated the family name’ by going into the quarries.

A couple years passed. Touya finally got a place of his own, left a string of broken hearts, and generally felt unsatisfied with life. There has to be more to living than just waking up, working, joining his coworkers at the bar, and then going back to his shitty apartment at the end of the day to wake up and start it all over again.

And then the rules change. It happens mid-shift. A roar rises above the normal work noise. He thinks it’s another truck rolling over – that would be the second one this week. But the angry cries work their way down the line to where he’s stationed. 

We’re back in the Reaping.

Fear. Chaos. Anger. 

Everyone around him is in a tizzy. And Touya feels numb. Back in the Reaping?

The site clears out. People panic and run home to hear it for themselves and not through the grapevine. 

Touya goes to the best source he can (unfortunately) think of; the Todoroki household.

Tensions are high.

His brother and sister sit ramrod straight around a rarely used dinner table that is more for show than anything else. Fuyumi fiddles with the locket around her neck – pictures of her new child no doubt. Natsuo’s clenched fists on the table are stark white causing the onyx band on his ring finger to stand out even more.

“It’s true,” his father says quietly. “You’re all back in the Reaping.”

Silence. 

Tears trickle down Fuyumi’s face.

As adults, there will be less bravado about volunteering. Less people will want to willingly leave their lives behind and–

“I’ll volunteer.” Shouto. Perfect fucking Shouto. Of course he would. Touya has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“You’ll make me proud,” their father says and fondly claps him on the shoulder. 

That’s that. Everyone disperses back to their own homes. If Shouto volunteers, then that’s the boys taken care of. If Fuyumi’s name gets picked, then she’s shit out of luck.

So why does Touya stand tall on the day of the Reaping? Why does his voice ring out loud and clear after the introductions are done? Why do his feet carrying him onto the stage?

Standing next to the announcer, his gaze flicks from his stunned brothers to his father. That’s why. Watching his father try and fail to control his bitter rage, his face turning dark shades of crimson. That’s why he did it. To rob him of what should’ve been a proud moment in his life.

There’s a mic in his face. He stares at the announcer who’s hungry for an answer.

“Your bravery,” they start again, “What motivates you?”

He looks at the screen behind him and smirks. He’s no longer the scrawny teenager internally mocking all the tributes. His years working have filled out his formerly lanky frame. 

“To show that the Todoroki name means something,” he answers condescendingly, “And that I’m not wasting my potential.”

There’s an outburst from the stands. He refuses to look. He knows who it is. It would only be the cherry on top if his old man keeled over and died from anger right here right now.

He did it. He volunteered. 

What a stupid fucking mistake. 

His goodbyes are awful and he spends most of it deflecting questions from his family. Yes, he’s aware Shouto was going to volunteer. No, he doesn’t have any remorse for what he did. Yes, he definitely is thinking of family, just not in the way they’re implying. Will he survive and win? That’s to be determined. 

His father doesn’t make an appearance.

The short train ride to the Capitol is spent silently with the mentors and the other tribute. His counterpart seems… alright. She has some training  and a determination that’ll maybe help her live past the first day. What can Touya do? Explosives. Operate heavy machinery. Swing a hammer. How much different can a skull be from a rock?

Peacekeepers escort them to a processing center with sterile white walls and bright overhead lights that give Touya a headache. How many of them were trained by his father?

The tributes from 1 arrive at the same time as them. He gets a glimpse of the duo before being whisked away to a slightly less off-putting room. A woman with matte black lipstick and electric blue hair styled in an angular bob waits inside.

He can feel her calculating brown eyes rove up and down his body. Taking stock.

“Like what you see?” Touya says sarcastically. She doesn’t respond, but walks up to him, the slightly dimmer light reflecting off the gold lining her gray suit.

The woman extends her hand. “Alex. Your stylist.”

“Great,” says Touya, ignoring her hand. “Just what I need. Fashion.”

Alex pulls out a tablet and a laser pointer of sorts and starts circling Touya. “Think of me as your personal storyteller,” she says and taps away on her tablet before returning to scanning him. “I use your body to tell the world about you.”

“I’m not one of the children you can dress up like a doll.”

“Good. No one needs another sob story in the lineup. There are enough people leaving spouses and kids behind that’ll try and use that to their advantage.” She stops in front of him and shines the laser from his left to his right shoulder. From this close he can see the layers of makeup the Capitol is renowned for. “Tell me you’re more interesting than that.”

“Got no wife, and no kids with my name.” Maybe a bastard or two, but who’s counting?

“And what do you do in 2?”

“Quarry work.”

“Which is?”

“You’re fuckin’ annoying. Rocks. Demolition.”

“Why not military? Your father is up there, right?”

“You do your homework,” Touya smirks, “I was on a train for less than two hours after I volunteered.”

“I have to in order to be good at my job.”

Touya crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s your real question?”

A smirk crinkles her supposedly flawless facade. “Why volunteer?”

“To be every bit the disappointment my father expects me to be. One final ‘fuck you’ just for him.”

Alex stands there for a moment tapping one perfectly manicured nail against her thigh. Lost in thought, she chews on her bottom lip for a second, the black lipstick coming off at the inner edge to reveal her natural lip underneath.

Fuck he wants to smear it. Take the perfection of the Capitol and ruin it any way he can. 

“I can make this work,” she says determinedly and taps furiously at her tablet. “Your first appearance isn’t for a couple days. I want something bold; something that’ll make everyone stop and stare and the first volunteer and wonder what was going through his head.”

“Don’t dress me up like a fucking gladiator,” Dabi says. He recalls that being the go-to in the past – a show of strength and closeness to the Capitol. Gaudy. 

Brown eyes meet his, and fingers that were flying fast over the screen are still for a second. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Back to work.

“Then what, want me to show you my work uniform?” Because nothing says ‘I’m here to win’ like beige coveralls.

“I have bigger plans for you. You’re not going to be something as archaic as a gladiator, and I’m certainly not playing up to your district’s masonry export. If I wanted that I’d go to 12 and deal with the coal mines.” She turns her tablet off and tucks it away to stare up at him. There’s a small spark in eyes otherwise devoid of life. “I know about the secret export that the Capitol overlooks. We’re going military chic.”

Touya’s face crunches into a sneer. “Why don’t you raid my father’s closet, there’s nothing but uniforms in there.”

“You do a good job of looking like a stuffy asshole on your own,” she counters. “I’ll make you look good. You just need to focus on making sure you can win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Touya says sarcastically. 

Alex goes to the door and knocks twice. “I have full confidence in you Touya — if you want it, I believe you can win it all.”

The Peacekeepers return and escort him to the training grounds. More like a prison with shiny luxuries meant to distract them from the fact that they’re going to die in a few short weeks. 

When the tributes are rounded up the following day, they’re brought back to the harshly lit facility. Alex waits for him again in their room, hands clasped behind her back. Wisps of bright blue hair purposely fall out of the two buns at her neck and barely graze the white dress covering her lightly tan skin. The loose material is cinched at her waist with a thick golden belt. 

For someone who doesn’t want to dress her tribute as a gladiator, she pulls off the toga-esque dress well.

Alex raises an eyebrow and nods to a clothing rack beside her. Touya approaches it and nearly drops the only thing hanging there on the floor when he realizes what it is.

“You can’t be serious,” Touya says.

Alex’s smile drips with overwhelming sweetness that sets Touya on edge. “Today is all about you and making you look good. That’s what you’ll wear today. I’ll step out of the room for three minutes.” Her dress flows behind her as she walks out of the room.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Touya mutters to himself. Regardless, he pulls the clothing off the hanger and strips.

The black, lightweight bodysuit bends easily with him. He gives a couple test jumps with no hindrance. Black boots with thick soles remind him of his work boots – but much better quality. Something the Capitol can no doubt afford. A subtle dark blue honeycomb pattern runs throughout the suit and is only noticeable in the light. Silver metal plates are seamlessly worked into the chest area, forearms, and various points in the back.

There’s a small knock at the door. Alex slips back inside, her eyes greedily roving over Touya’s body again. The corner of her gold stained lips quirks up briefly.

“Is this it?” Touya asks. He extends an arm and moves his bare wrist around. A pair of gloves would help. Immediately he drops his arm. Help? Help what? This is just for show. It won’t help him in the arena.

“I have some accessories to try out over there.” Alex points to a table Touya didn’t notice before in the opposite corner. “You’re my dress up doll today.”

“And this?” Touya gestures to his outfit.

“You’re the future of Peacekeepers.” Alex reaches a hand out and hesitates. She meets Touya’s gaze and hesitantly asks, “Can I?”

He nods and fights the heat rising up his face.

“Naturally, it’s functional,” Alex says confidently. Her nails tap against the metal plating on his forearm. “In a real fight, this would help protect you without the clunkiness the current Peacekeepers have.”

“And protect the vital organs.” Touya can’t help but notice the not so decorative metal covering certain parts of his body.

Alex smiles impishly. “Precisely. Titanium-reinforced plating protects key organs, and a strong reinforced weave body suit resists knife and other close combat weapons.”

Touya frowns. This could actually be for a Peacekeeper in the future. Is he just her toy to promote her fashion line or whatever?

He should be angry. He should tear it all off and wear a his fucking work uniform. He’s going to die, and she’s using him as a model.

But it doesn’t matter. He agreed to this. He volunteered for this. And so what if she wants to use him?

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does…

“If you’re trying to get on my father’s good side to gain his favor, you chose the wrong son to align yourself with,” Touya says bitterly.

“Why would I get on his good side?” Alex tilts her head, “You’re doing this for whatever personal vendetta you have against him.”

“And possibly outfitting the future Peacekeepers hadn’t crossed your mind?” he quips.

“Of course it did,” she snorts, “But I have other avenues for that if I really want to. For now, I enjoy the freedom I get with you tributes.”

Freedom. Tributes. How ironic.

Alex floats over to her accessory table and comes back with a pair of black gloves lined with silver. “Put these on.”

She flits back and forth between the table and Touya, holding up various tools and having him put things on and take things off. It feels like an hour of bartering for different accouterments. No, the belts are overkill. Yes, the gun and knife harnesses are fine. Yes, kneepads are bulky, but they’d be practical. No, he will absolutely not wear anything that covers his neck entirely.

He thinks it’s over and he can go – where? He doesn’t know. Anywhere but here – but Alex drags Touya over to a full length mirror. He’s startled by his own appearance. Alex wanted military chic, and she delivered in a cyber punk, dystopian way. He looks like he should wear a faceless mask and keep the masses bent through fear.

He looks like a minion trained by his father.

He looks like someone his father would be proud of.

Brilliant blue fills the lower half of his vision. Standing on her tiptoes, Alex runs her hands through his hair. Her nails scrape his scalp lightly and send shivers down his spine. This close, he can smell her perfume — an amber and rose mix. To someone who has no time for luxuries like perfume, it’s an assault on his senses, but by Capitol standards it’s rather lackluster. 

“What’re you doing?” he murmurs before clearing his throat and asking the question again in a harsher tone. 

She frowns and runs her hand through his hair again, pinning it back between her fingers. “Trying to figure out how I want your hair styled,” she says absently. 

“Wouldn’t the mirror be better for that?” He gestures at the enhanced mirror, no doubt recording his every move. 

With a huff, Alex steps back and plants her hands on her hips. “Is that what you want?”

No. 

“It’ll make this go faster.”

“Fine.” Alex taps the mirror and pulls him over. Bright lights illuminate his face. Alex taps his hair on the reflection and a menu pops up. “I was thinking about having it slicked back or parted instead of this spiky mess you leave it in.”

She swipes through a couple hairstyles, pausing on a couple to see his reaction. 

Touya turns his head on a couple and stares at his augmented reflection. Slicked back doesn’t look half bad. Parted is a no go.

“I look like my brother like this,” Touya grimaces at the near perfect Natsuo hairstyle, “But slicked is fine.”

Alex studies his reflection. With a wave of her hand everything resets. 

“One more option.” Pulling up a color wheel she drags the color selector to black. Touya watches his hair change from stark white to inky black. “Keep it styled as you have it and change the color. Then during your interview go with slicked back.”

Hair dye?

He does look sinister with it. Deadly. 

“Do it.”

It’s a whirlwind of activity before the parade. Lambs being led to the slaughter.

He’s harnessed into the chariot with the other District 2 tribute who sports a similarly designed suit. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun and her face is caked with enough makeup to be mistaken for a Capitol native.

They’re the second ones in. Cheers and roars from the audience and the warm sun slam into him. When was the last time he felt the sun? On the day of the Reaping?

A round camera flies with them, zooming in on their outfits and faces. Without thinking, Touya raises a hand and makes a finger gun. This one’s for you, old man. Pulling the ‘trigger’, he smirks and goes back to ignoring the device. The crowd’s reaction is deafening.

He ignores the other chariots coming to a rest beside them. He ignores the President and his speech. He ignores the audience. 

Calm.

Cool

Collected.

Keep a level head.

Survive. 

With a jolt, his chariot is following District 1’s out. 

He’s plunged back into darkness and artificial lighting.

Unhooking himself, he hops down and purposefully walks back to his room. Keep the facade going as long as possible.

Silence is just as bad as thousands of people cheering for him.

Amber and rose teasing his nose is the only warning he gets before warm arms wrap around his neck. “Genius! Pure genius.” Alex’s hands trail down his arms. “You made this work for you and the audience loved it.”

He lets her prattle on but doesn’t listen. Instead, his eyes follow the curve of her cheeks and the spark in her eye. There’s even flecks of gold in her irises. How much of her is actually her and how much is changed for the Capitol? Does it really matter? He drinks up her essence and commits it to memory. 

A week passes. Much like the Peacekeepers training in his district, Touya’s kept to a tight schedule. Eat. Sleep. Train. There’s more to it though – layers and layers of politics; impressing the right people, finding allies to fight alongside, measuring up threats.

Trying not to get to know the people he’ll have to kill.

It’s after a brutal day of training when Alex whirls into the room, her eyes ablaze. 

“I heard you took a beating in training today,” she says. Walking over to the wall, she pushes a panel and drags a hidden clothing rack out.

“Is that concern I hear?” Touya taunts.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Bossy,” he scoffs but lifts his shirt knowing full well that if he doesn’t do it, she’ll do it for him. He turns and tosses his shirt in a corner.

“You have your final interview tonight and I need to see if there are bruises where-” There’s a pause. Touya smirks. He knows what she’s seen. “There’s a tattoo.”

One he got as soon as he was old enough and had the money. The first thing he purchased on his own. A dragon that starts at his left shoulder and wraps around his back, crosses his abdomen, and ends below the belt. “And?”

“I didn’t know you have a tattoo,” she says bluntly. He watches her eyes follow the scales wrapping around his hip. “How… How far does it go?”

“Interested in what’s below the belt?”

“I’m interested in how I can use it.”

“In that case, find out for yourself.” Touya expects some banter – a witty retort telling him where he can shove it. But nothing comes. With a sigh he pats the end of the art. “The tail ends on my thigh.”

“Okay. Okay.” Alex says, hands clasped together tightly in front of her mouth. Even with all her makeup, Touya can see the flustered glow rising in her cheeks. “I can work with this.” A pause. “I can work with this.”

“You sound so confident,” Touya says sarcastically. That gets her attention.

“I am a professional,” she snaps back, but it seems to be more of a reminder for herself. She clears her throat and marches over to him. Her eyes pinpoint every bruise on his chest from training. “I’ll cover those up, but we’re leaving your art on display for everyone to see.”

“What, no shirt?”

“No,” she smirks, “You’ll have a shirt… of sorts.”

Turns out ‘of sorts’ means ‘mesh shirt under a leather jacket. Much to Touya’s chagrin, his verbal sparring partner remained quiet during their time together – only answering questions when he asked.

In the end, Touya ends up in leather pants and jacket with neon blue lighting at the seams. Even his boots from the parade were updated with the same strips of light. The only alteration Alex made on site was removing the zipper of the jacket and installing more lights in its place to keep it open and exposing just enough of his tattoo to pique Caesar Flickerman’s curiosity.

True to her word, Alex slicks back Touya’s hair for the interview.

And as usual, he’s impressed with her work.

They’re the first ones to gather at the studio. The other tributes trickle in with their mentors and stylists, but Touya ignores them all. The general buzz of noise around him doesn’t compare to the frustrating silence between him and Alex.

“I don’t know what they’re going to ask, but the vibe I’m going for is ‘play boy’,” Alex finally says. “Make the women want you, and the men want to be you. Confident. Charismatic. Charm the money out of their accounts.”

He lets her ramble for a minute more before sweeping up both her hands in one of his own. Wide brown eyes framed by blue hair stare at him.

She’s shaking.

“Stop,” he says in a gruff voice. “You’re worrying. Where did the confident stylist who wanted to take on supplying the Peacekeepers go?”

“This is your last chance to make a good impression before you go in the arena tomorrow. You need them to like you,” she blurts out. As if he didn’t already know that.

“Whatever happens happens,” he shrugs. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

He hears his name and thunderous applause. Dropping her hands, Touya steps back.

“It’s my time.”

“Good luck,” she whispers. Was that meant for his ears? He almost stops. Almost. But she’s right, he needs all the money he can finesse out of these people.

The day of the Games is a somber affair. A bodysuit waits at the foot of his bed for him, and he wonders for a moment when that arrived. He pulls it on and waits silently in his room. No doubt his counterpart is in the main dining area with the mentors going over strategy. He should be there too. But starting this afternoon it’ll be just him.

So why not start being by himself earlier.

He even opts to wait in the arena loading zone by himself. Until Alex arrives to make last minute appearance alterations.

“No special outfit for me today?” Touya asks and gestures to his bodysuit.

“No.”

Right. And he knew that too, but damn, any conversation would be appreciated right now. “Any advice?”

“Don’t die.”

A voice booms through the intercom in the room. Two minutes, tributes.

“Alex.” Desperation rises in his gut. “Kiss me.” Don’t let the last thing I hear and see of you be misery.

“What?” Deep brown eyes filled with pain stare up at him. Fuck. It hurts to see. It’s not the first time he’s left a woman with that look on her face before, but dammit why did it have to be her?

“Just once, before I die.” He’s not pleading. Touya Todoroki doesn’t beg. “You can’t refuse a dying man’s wish.”

“Touya,” Alex smiles faintly, “You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re going to win.”

“Alex…” 

“I know you will,” Alex says fiercely. “You have to.” He hates the way her voice starts to break and quaver. “I… I don’t want to watch you die.”

“Why?”

Say it.

“You know why.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t say it now.”

Say it. For me.

The intercom goes off again. One minute, tributes.

“I won’t ask ag-”

Soft lips are on his. He wraps his arms around her body and pulls her close. Fuck the Peacekeepers in the room. He’s going to die, and he’s going to enjoy this last moment with Alex.

Nails rake through his hair and elicit a groan from him. He digs his nails in and deepens the kiss. One minute feels like an eternity, but Touya takes it all – her taste, her scent, her sounds – and commits it to memory. Breaking the salty kiss, he stands on the pad and watches the glass casing come down around him at the last second.

Drying her tears, Alex beams at him. Probably trying to stay strong until I’m gone. “Come back to me, Touya.”

And maybe he will.

[tieronecrush]

I have a request but it’s also infideltiy so I understand if you ignore this lol.

I’ve been thinking lately about a scenario where reader and Joel have been separated since the outbreak for a few years, reader starts dating some guy in the QZ she’s at, joel shows up and they reunite. Joel really tries to stay away and respect her relationship but they’re both too emotional and horny to resist. I really do love passionate reuinion sex tho!!!!

thank you so much for your request lovely nonnie! i switched it up just a lil bit to make the reader the one who shows up with her bf to boston where joel already is - hope that’s okay!!

muscle memory

joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

word count: 6.5k

summary: when you flee the baltimore QZ to head to boston with your boyfriend and others, the last person you expect to see is joel miller. you had mourned him for years, having thought your last partner was lost to you forever. when the two of you start smuggling together, more time around each other only seems to strengthen your connection - to the point where neither of you can manage the tension anymore.

warnings: NO USE OF Y/N, no age specified, use of pet names (‘bonny’, ‘little lamb’, ‘sugar’), infidelity, previous relationship, mentions of death/loss, some angsty angst, alcohol use, mentions of drug use, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, cockwarming, dirty talk, praise, mild breeding kink, possessive!joel, soft!dom joel

Boston is an upgrade from Baltimore. At least in the state you left it; the Baltimore QZ had finally succumbed to Firefly occupation and FEDRA was forced out. Not that it really mattered to you, but it was another reason to add to the list. The biggest reason for your caravan up north was that your smuggling lines and connections had dried up. Like, completely. Either people found better deals or died on their journeys outside of the walls of whatever QZ they were from. You mostly dealt with Washington and Philly, both having been radio silent for weeks by the time your smuggling group made the decision to move on. You were welcoming the change; sure, the means to get there was full of uncertainty and danger, but the group you were with and your boyfriend of a few months, Danny, made you feel the slightest bit more confident trekking through the decimated country.

It’s been a few weeks since you all officially transitioned into the Boston QZ, registered under FEDRA, and having gone through your quarantine. You all settled into your government-assigned homes, you living with Danny and others grouping up to attempt to make these shabby walls feel like home.

It was easy to be with Danny. You two had known each other for years, done tons of runs together, and developed a comfortable friendship. Your relationship was born out of convenience -- after hooking up one night when you both needed to be taken care of, you stayed together. It was nice to have companionship, but it certainly wasn’t love.

You haven’t felt that way since Joel.

Joel Miller. Your partner when the world went to shit.

The two of you were together for a couple of years, and you were planning to move in with him at the start of the new year - 2004. It was supposed to be your year. Moving in with the love of your life and his daughter that you loved as if she were your own, probably getting engaged or just eloping with him, maybe even talking about growing your little family.

You loved your life before. You mourned it for years after the outbreak happened, knowing you likely wouldn’t see any part of it again.

When Outbreak Day happened, you weren’t with Joel. You weren’t even in Austin. It was the week of your mom’s 60th birthday, and she had begged you to come up north for a visit. You were supposed to fly home on September 26th. You were supposed to surprise Joel for his own birthday.

And then your flight got canceled. Rebooked for the following day.

And everything changed.

But that was years ago, now it’s 2010. Family members were long gone, friends made along the way lost, too. You grieved as well as you could with the way the world moved now. Despite searching for any sign of Joel, or Sarah, or even his brother Tommy, you accepted your fate to be alone and settled in Baltimore.

And now, you were accepting the fate that your new home would be Boston. Seemed like a decent replacement in your mind, and hearing about the smuggling business here made you eager to get involved.

The small group that you traveled with had arranged a meeting with two of the more prolific runners in the city. You weren’t given any details besides a meeting place and time, so when that night came, you and Danny made your way into the dilapidated storage building along with your friends from Baltimore.

You glanced around at the place, attention turning to the small huffs of frustration coming from your boyfriend next to you. He was fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, the grooves stuck in the fabric. Nimble fingers worked it loose as you stood amongst everyone, Danny’s lips pressing to your hairline in a sweet thanks.

There is no way in whatever is holy, if there even is anything out there, that Joel is seeing who he thinks he’s seeing. They must be a figment of his imagination. It’s been seven years.

And then he hears that laugh. This stranger has a laugh that he would recognize anywhere.

That’s your laugh. That smile is yours, too. And when you turn towards him finally, his gaze fixed on you since you entered the room, he meets your eyes. Those eyes that made his heart sing whenever they shined with joy, made him shatter when they were filled with tears, made him completely head over heels for you.

And right now, they were making it all come rushing back. The heartbreak, the loss, the grief, the love.

A small gasp escapes your mouth when you recognize him. He was aging, that much he knew. Had some grays sprinkled into his brown hair, his beard was just as patchy as it had been before. He had harsher lines on his face, the world wearing him down much quicker than it would if the outbreak never happened — if he never knew what loss was like.

You’re taking inventory of all of his changes, and he notices similar ones in you. Your hair is longer, even pulled back he can tell it’s inches past where you normally would keep it. There’s the faintest wrinkles next to your eyes, soft smile lines near your lips. Signs that you stayed light in the world of darkness. That made the pain in his chest lessen just the smallest amount.

He keeps checking that you’re still there during the entire meeting. Tess does the talking, some grumbles of rules coming from him, but he’s thankful that she’s taken the lead ‘cause he doesn’t know if he could get more than a handful of words out at a time. With arms crossed over his chest, he pinches his bicep as he glances at you again, assuring himself that he isn’t dreaming or having a bad trip from those pills he takes.

The rest of the meeting goes by quickly, plans are made for the next few runs to integrate the newest additions. He stays back, hoping that you would do the same. There was no way that he wasn’t going to talk to you; he’d run after you if you left.

Luckily for him, you had understood the subliminal messages in the short bits of eye contact he made with you.

The guy that was with you stayed, too, but he stood near the exit while you stepped closer to Joel.

With you right in front of him, he gave himself another quick pinch before clearing his throat. Just when he was about to break the growing awkward tension in the stale air, he heard your voice crack.

“Hi.”

That’s all you say, and suddenly he can’t help the grin that quips up to the side. A hushed chuckle exhales through his mouth shortly, eyes locking with yours.

“Hey there, bonny.”

He watches your shoulders drop from their frigid position, uneasiness visibly relaxing after the greeting. He grins wider, dimple deepening in his cheek as his chest tightens from the gentle reaction he’s gotten out of you.

He still had the tiniest bit of his accent. Especially when he said that nickname. Short for bluebonnet, Texas’s wildflower, which is where the name originated from. Joel called you his wildflower, and when you asked him what kind of flower one night, he told you he only knew bluebonnets. Typical proud Texan man. Eventually, the moniker turned into ‘bonny’.

It’s a nickname you hadn’t heard since your last phone call with him, disappointment evident in his voice when you had to confess that your planned surprise wasn’t going to happen and that you would be home the next day to celebrate with him belatedly.

“‘S alright, bonny. Sarah’s already got something planned for the two of us. Promised her I’d pick up a cake on the way home from the site.”

Your stomach had toiled with anxiety that day from his sadness that you were going to be missing from his birthday and that he was just missing you. This time around, hearing that same nickname roused your nerves from the thrill that it zipped down your spine, the sound of his voice around the words tingling in your ears.

The two of you make introductions to your respective tag-alongs, Joel to Danny and you to Tess. Greetings were passed and conversation flowed, the two of you skating around your history with company present, only divulging necessary details. You two dated before. That was it. They didn’t need to know how long, how serious, how you mourned the loss of him and the life you two built together.

Ignoring the past in conversation was easy. Ignoring the physical pull you felt towards him was more of a challenge. Heat crawls up your back and settles on the nape of your neck, tongue poking out to wet your lips every few moments. Fingertips itch to touch his skin, to trace the lines on his palms, and to brush over the scar on the right side of his face. One he didn’t have with you, and you wanted to know what it was from.

You wanted to know a lot from him. What these last seven years looked like for him. Once the conversation died down naturally, you faced Joel and asked him gently the first of the two most pressing questions you wanted answered.

“Where’s Tommy? Guessin’ the two of you are still glued to each other like you were back then,” you tack on a light laugh to your query, feeling the rush of panic as you realize that these answers you were wanting might not be answers that you want to hear. A lump forms in your throat as you wait for his response, a tender look on your face.

“He’s, uh, he’s here still. Doesn’t run with us though, he’s been getting into shit with the Fireflies here. Drives me insane, but you know how he is.”

“Always a joiner,” the words roll off your tongue and you bite down on it, cursing yourself internally for making fun of his brother without really knowing how this Joel would respond.

Relief washes over you when he laughs, not a full one, but nevertheless, you got to see a sliver more of that smile that had you smitten.

“Got that right. Tommy always wants to be a hero,” he shakes his head back and forth, an adoring smirk on his face as his stare lengthens and his mind is taken to his younger brother for a moment.

With the news of Tommy, you were even more eager to ask your second question. It gripped your heart, tugging it nearly out of your chest. Your voice softened as you spoke to him, eyes involuntarily watering in anticipation.

“And Sarah?”

Silence. As if the words catch in his throat and start to choke him from the inside. His eyes widen in loss of oxygen, chest still as he holds his breath. He can’t look away from you, eyes quickly pacing to hold contact with yours. They communicate desperation, as if he wants so badly to explain, to tell you what happened to his daughter that you loved, but he can’t get the words out of his airway.

It tells you everything, that look. You hadn’t lost your ability to read Joel, and the realization completely demolishes the composure you were attempting to maintain. Closing the gap between you, you focus on Joel as you wrap your arms around his waist, tight and full of compassion. Your head rests on his chest, facing to the side. Everything else in the room falls away, muscle memory moving your hands in circles against his lower back in the way you remember he loved. He’s tense in your arms, his own wrapping around your shoulders hesitantly until he feels the comforting touch. Tautness breaks from him, resting more of his weight against you as his head dips down to rest his chin on you and his eyes close.

Yours close too, and just for that moment, you’re back in his kitchen, sticky summer morning air coating the room from the open screen door. Cartoons squeak from the TV in the other room, and the smell of Joel’s French toast wafts from it’s crisping on the stove.

Domestic bliss. What could’ve been.

That hug has tormented Joel for weeks. The first time he saw you, the first time he heard your voice, the first time he held you after he thought he never would again. And that one time has unearthed a hunger for more. A need for you. Doesn’t matter if he’s around you or not, he can’t stop thinking about you.

When you’re on runs with him, he has one eye on you at all times. When it’s a route without your boyfriend, he feels a bit bolder; touches linger on your back as he guides you through obstacles or around your arms as he holds you back to get ahead of you to clear a room.

He’s been trying, so desperately trying, to respect your relationship. Not that you mention him much, but you and Danny arrived in Boston, shacked up together, and have made no hints at that changing. For now.

It’s gotten to the point where it’s driven him to drink, added to the long list of things he needs to be inebriated or high to cope with.

This is how he ended up at the QZ speakeasy, a few blocks from his building which makes it an easy past-curfew destination. Sole occupant of the low, barrel table against the back wall, he pounds a whiskey back which quickly turns into three. A buzz has started in his body and his mind, a clear path to his ideal destination on the horizon. It was a shitty run today, mostly coming up dry and having to deny some trades. Plus, you weren’t with him.

When he’s waving the bartender for another glass, his eyes skate across the room and catch you standing at the top landing of the stairs that snake down to the warehouse basement bar, eagerness evident in your expression when you find him. Overprotective, he watches you bound down the stairs to make sure you get to whoever you’re meeting without any issues. He’d be more than happy to step in if someone got too close.

Focused on his self-appointed task, he doesn’t realize that you’re making your way over to him excitedly until you’re standing in front of his table, gesturing to the empty seat across from him that he offers to you.

Plopping down in the wooden chair, a goofy smile stretches across your face as the giddiness of being around him flickers in your stomach. You’d felt this jolt of energy being near him, thinking about him. It’d been like that for weeks since you saw him again and held him. It was a spark, and now your embers were slowly catching fire the more time you spent with Joel.

Greetings were exchanged, and him buying you a drink along with another for himself. Finger tracing around the lip of your glass, you glance up at him and attempt to make small talk if only to be able to hear his voice.

“So, how was the run today?”

“‘S fine. Pretty dry.” His response is clipped, mumbled out as he brings his drink up to his lips for a swig.

“Oh, really? That’s a shame. You got another one planned?” you keep your eyes on him, watching as he looks anywhere but at you. Around the table, across the room, even at his own boot.

“Yeah, got one next week.” Joel’s grumbling, deep crease between his brows as he sulks in his chair.

“Maybe I can join you on that one?” you propose, hoping that it gets his attention. Sure, you could be reading into it, but something told you that he enjoyed having you around as much as you enjoyed being around him. Brows raised in hopefully curiosity, anticipation swells your tongue in your mouth.

“Maybe.”

That’s it? That’s all he has to say?

Joel’s always been a man of few words, always crafting careful and thoughtful responses when you were together. But this? This is ridiculous. He clearly doesn’t want you around, his eyes darting as if to look for the fastest escape route. It stings, deflating your excitement. The chance of this encounter was the sole reason you went out tonight. Danny had fucked off to play poker or gamble away ration cards with some other guys he’d gotten buddy-buddy with, and it didn’t help that you two had been drifting further from each other over the last week. You weren’t sure how much longer this companionship would be worth it, and with Joel always around, it certainly was starting to blur some lines. He always made you feel better, even when he wasn’t trying. Except for tonight.

Your hurt boils into anger, and you scoff at him, arms crossing firmly in front of your chest.

“You keep acting like you’re looking for a chance to leave. If I’m keeping you here, feel free to go. I’ll drink by myself.”

Joel looks at you, his eyes softening. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, thinking about what he should say. You get annoyed by his lack of response, grabbing your drink off the table and slipping out of your chair to leave him there.

“Are you really that oblivious, bonny?”

You turn back, anger growing at the thought that he’s mocking you.

“Well, screw me for trying to make conversation with you, Joel. I guess I am oblivious ‘cause I thought we could be friends or, I don’t know, at least civil after all this time.”

“Bonny, I can’t be friends with you.”

He’s kicking you when you're down, clearly just being cruel.

“Why? What did I do?”

“I can’t be friends with you, ‘cause I want more than that.”

The honesty stuns you. Sure, you had felt that pull towards Joel again, but you didn’t know that he felt the same way or that he would act on it if he did. He gets up from his chair, taking a step closer to you before he continues.

“I looked for you, y’know? After everything. All I wanted was to have you back. I knew you’d know what I needed. And when I saw you again, I realized why I couldn’t stop looking. What I needed most was you.”

He stands close to you now, warm breaths intermingling with the other’s, humidity heating your cheeks while his eyes stay locked on you. Everything you’ve felt since Joel had been revived into your life suddenly becomes overwhelming; you can’t contain them, can’t compartmentalize them anymore. You reach for him, hand pressed over his heart, feeling the rushed beating pulsing under your touch.

His eyes look down slowly to his chest and then back up to you when you whisper, “Mine feels the same way when I see you.”

“Is that right? Can I feel for myself?”

You nod slowly, peeling your hand off of him only for him to catch it and hold it in his. Your voice is thick, “Maybe somewhere a little more private? Like your place?”

He looks confused for a second, brows knitting together before it dawns on him, pupils widening and darkening his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here, bonny.”

Keys jingle as he twists them in the lock, throwing the thin wooden door open after he pulls them out. He nods for you to step in ahead of him, taking a few paces into the apartment and surveying around. The door clicks behind you and the deadbolt slides into place, the sounds sending goosebumps across your skin at the prospect of being totally alone with Joel, no watchful eyes or possible interruptions.

Eyes continue to skate along the room, tiny details noted. Half-drunk whiskey bottle on the counter, small baggies of pills on the coffee table, other finds from his side occupation littering the space.

His weighted steps drag across the worn wooden floors at your back, the presence of him hanging behind you slowing your breaths in suspense. Saliva coats your mouth at the dryness of your thirst, hair standing off of your skin in waiting.

The first touch you feel is his fingers brushing against the back of your neck, sweeping the hair there off to one side and holding it there. Joel takes one step closer, chest pressing against your shoulder blades and crotch against the swell of your ass. The warmth radiating off of him sends a shiver down your spine, jolting against him briefly. Your breaths pause as you wait for his next move, eyes fluttering closed when his lips touch the nape of your neck in a ghostly kiss. A hand wraps around you, resting just over your breast to feel the rapid beating of your heart, the rhythm matching his own that you feel against your back. A placid gasp puffs from between your lips, snapping the taut tension between the two of you and sending a new urgency to his actions.

Palms encase your hips, spinning you around to face him and tugging you close to feel every curve pushed against him. His lips find yours in a hungry kiss, your own mouth opening in a sigh at the contact. Joel takes this as an opportunity to lick into your mouth, tongue dominating yours and swallowing every whimper that comes out of you.

Your own hands grip his shoulders, nails dragging against the fabric down to his biceps. Fingertips dig into the flexed muscles, steadying yourself as he starts to walk you backward throughout his place. He never leaves your lips, knowing the space with his eyes closed to lead you all the way back through the door to the small bedroom on the left side of the living space.

A whine escapes you when his mouth detaches from yours, working kisses along your jaw to the hollow under your ear, sucking at the space there. A groan rumbles from his chest when you let out a soft moan and hold his arms tighter, hips involuntarily jerking against his growing bulge.

Lust-blown eyes stare into yours as he stands up fully again, delicate touch brushing your cheek before his thumb nudges the scar that sits on your brow. The look in his eyes pains for half a second, and you finally speak up since leaving the speakeasy.

“‘S not a good story. Happened from a lamp falling onto my head when I was raiding around some suburban house. Just an accident. You wouldn’t have been able to stop it from being there.”

His gaze meets yours again, tugged away from the fibrous tissue on your face. The bulb in his throat bobs when he swallows, head moving side to side minutely.

His hand caresses your cheek, voice thick with his drawl when he softly responds, “You underestimate me, bonny.”

The words gloss your vision, quick blinks settling the emotion and clearing the picture of Joel in front of you again. Your heart constricts in your chest, attempting to imagine the amount of pain that he’s been through, but you can’t even begin to know.

Instead of dwelling on the moment, he presses one light, affectionate kiss to your lips before he takes a step back. He grips the hem of your shirt, brows quirking up in a silent question. You nod subtly, the permission allowing him to slowly tug the fabric over your head. He devours the newly exposed skin with his burning stare, compelled to bend down and trace his lips over every new mark he sees while his hands move across your curves to reacquaint himself with your new features. Wider hips, rougher skin, purply stretch marks veining your skin along with ropy paths where injuries had healed over.

Joints crack softly as he settles onto his knees in front of you, sending you into light giggles while he groans and presses his forehead against your lower tummy. He reaches around and playfully smacks your jean-covered ass, a fake scowl on his face when he looks up at you from his praying position.

“‘Nuff gigglin’ at me, you’re gonna feel this sore come morning.”

The threat of his words floods arousal between your thighs, bottom lip toyed between your teeth as you quiet down your laughter. Joel kisses your clothed thigh, fingers popping the button of your jeans and dragging the zipper before they hook in your waistband and tug the denim down your legs. Joel laughs lightly at your silence, eyes finding yours as his hands lift each of your feet one at a time to help you out of your pants.

“Thought that might get you excited, lil’ lamb. I know you’re gonna be such a good girl for me, aren’t ya?”

The wink that follows his drawl jolts your limbs and fingers twist into his locks as his open mouth exhales warm, humid air on your panty-covered mound. He presses his face against the fabric, inhaling deeply and moaning softly at the scent of you.

“Fuck, sugar, it’s still the same. Missed you so much. You think you still taste the same?” He directs the question up to your face, your head lulled down to meet his gaze. A smirk pulls at the corners of your mouth, mischief glittering in your eyes.

“Only one way to find out, baby.”

His amber eyes were pools of ink with how much they darkened, full of carnality. Large fingers smoothly strip you out of your panties, his figure coming to stand at his full height in front of you. Gripping your waist, he guides you back to sit on the edge of the mattress, lifting your legs by your thighs and easily maneuvering you toward the center.

Joel moves to climb onto the bed with you, but your soft sigh of frustration stops him.

“I wanna see you. ‘Specially if I’m completely naked, ‘s only fair that you are, too,” you gripe to him, bottom lip protruding only slightly in a pout. Joel considers for a moment, ultimately deciding that fair’s fair. He pulls his knee off of the mattress and makes quick work of undressing, his own clothes laying rumbled on the floor with yours.

Satisfied with his fulfillment of your request, your eyes completely devour his bare body as he moves to kneel on the mattress between your open legs. Fighting for survival has kept him fit, broad shoulders flexing as he lifts your legs at the crook of your knees to spread them further. His chest is firm, the rest of his torso softer just as it had always been. It was one of your favorite parts of him, the sight of it now taking you back to times cuddling him on the couch or in bed, head in his lap to press kisses against his tummy or resting your head there and being lulled to sleep. Your fingernails comb through the happy trail, pressing into the skin of his lower abdomen as you sit up to kiss him deeply. He moans quietly against your lips, your knees pressing into his stocky thighs, toes curling against the flexed muscles in his calves. Your arms settle around his neck, lips chasing his as he pulls back to look at you.

“I really did miss you, bonny. Couldn’t believe it when you were in front of me again. Still can’t really believe it right now.” His voice is breathy, eyes holding yours, moving back and forth minutely. One of his hands encompasses the left side of your face, the other moving down between your bodies, his frame bent over yours. Two fingers work circles into your clit, inhale catching in your throat while your legs tense from the feeling of his touch on you.

“M-Missed you, too. So much. I looked for you everywhere I went. Needed you again, I need you now.”

“‘M right here, lil’ lamb. Not going anywhere again. I’m gonna make you feel so good, just like I used to.”

His fingers working your clit slip through your wetness, pressing against your entrance to coax a moan out of you. He hooks them into you, pushed against your spongy walls in search for that spot he’d been all too familiar with. Like riding a bike, he fell right back into what you had loved from him before, knowing just how to work you up. His jaw dropped slightly as his eyes glued to where his fingers thrusted into you; he closed his mouth every so often to swallow the saliva flooding his mouth until he couldn’t wait another second to taste you again.

Joel folded over, legs scooting back on the bed to allow his head to sit between your thighs, tongue lapping against your clit feverishly and switching with his lips every so often to suck at the same spot.

The sounds leaving you at that point were wanton and lewd, mixing with the squelch of your wetness. You felt the familiar knot tightening in your stomach until it’s pulled loose, a loud gasp of his name while your nails dig into his shoulder and walls tighten around him.

He keeps his pace, mouth still attached to your core. He’s not going to let up without you saying something, and you can’t take another moment without him giving you what you want — what you need from him. Fingers tangled in his mussed hair, peeling him from between your thighs. He meets your eyes, lips and chin shining with dampness in the low light of the bedroom and fingers pulling out of you. Eyes blown into blackness at the sight of your pleasure, mouth opening to speak when you cut him off.

“More of that later, if you really want it. But I need you. Inside of me.”

Joel smirks devilishly, fingers coated in your come pushing between your lips and into your mouth for you to clean off.

“Just tastes so sweet, bonny. Can’t help but want seconds,” his hard cock twitches where it lays against your thigh at the feeling of your tongue sucking his fingers, “Better ask again nicely, lamb. Or else I’m not giving you anything.”

The smirk stays painted on his face, a huff of frustration as your hips jerk up to chase his hand that hover over you, desperate for more.

“Please, pretty please. I need you,” you beg, pleading in your eyes as you look through your lashes, dull nails scratching his skin.

“That’s my good girl. Kept your manners.” The wink he sends you flutters your walls around nothing, whimpering as he manipulates you into his desired position.

Joel straddles one of your thighs, bringing the other up to lay against his torso and rest on his shoulder. Your hips turn only slightly to the side in the position, opening your pelvis into a kindling heat. He spits in one of his palms, fingers of the same hand running shortly through your arousal and then mixing the fluids to coat the tender skin of his length. The head of him pushes into you deliciously measured, his motion pausing for you to adjust.

It only takes a moment before your body remembers, the muscles of your tight pussy molding around him once again. Your body feels the familiarity of him, the reactions it has are heightened from the comfort of his own body, focusing solely on how perfectly he fits inside of you.

“Damn, sugar, feel like your little pussy got even tighter. Feels so pefect around me, like she knows who’s about to fuck her just right,” his voice is coated with lust, jaw laxing with a guttural groan when he pushes further into you.

When Joel finally starts a rhythm, slow and deep at first, your eyes roll back into your skull as your head presses hard into the mattress under you. The position brings him incredibly deep, and his size fills you nearly to the brim. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt since the last time you’d had him, his veins on his swollen cock carving the same paths along your insides to feel every detail of him.

“Feel so full, baby. Haven’t felt it since I had you last,” your voice is higher and breathier, toned in a whine.

“That’s right, bonny. Nobody makes you feel as good as I do, huh? Probably haven’t had a decent fuck for years, you poor thing.”

All you can do in response is moan, hands gripping his forearms that are the part of his nearest to you.

He fucks you like this for a good moment, moaning your name quietly before he huffs in frustration, completely pulling out of you. Immediately, you mewl at the loss, head shooting up to protest before he’s moving you to his will again.

“Just a second, sugar. Need to be able to kiss you and feel you all over. Being such a good girl for me, I promise you’re gonna love this.”

He still couldn’t be as deep and close to you as he needed to be in the previous position, so he manipulates your jellied limbs easily to be able to fully cover you with his body. His grip is on your knees, bending your one leg that was once between his thighs to move your calf to hook over his shoulder. Once both your legs are settled on his frame, he continues to stretch your hips by leaning over you, pinning your thighs back to your ribs. He’s completely opened your lower half, folding you back to the point where his tummy is resting against yours and his face is hovering over you. Muscles in your legs and hip flexors burn and spasm, but you can’t care for even a moment when Joel thrusts into you again. You’d never been in this position with him before, and your mind instantly clears of any thoughts besides how hard and deep Joel is fucking you, how you had never felt as full and complete as you did in that moment.

He chuckles as he watches you completely cock drunk, one hand leaving your leg. The large palm finds your lower abdomen, pressing against it as he locks his gaze in yours.

“Can you feel me right here, lil’ lamb? Feel me deep, pushing your belly?” His voice is sweetened sickeningly, the pride and amusement of being the one to give you this experience, to make you feel that full once again evident in the twinkle of his eyes and the sideways smirk on his face.

Chants of his name leave your mouth, your voice barely covering the sounds of his skin slapping against yours steadily.

With him inside of you, it was like two puzzle pieces joining together to finish the picture. The satisfaction of completion was there on all fronts, his rhythm frying your nerves and tightening that red hot coil in your core. With his body covering yours in this embrace, he keeps his mouth on you, heady kisses to your lips when you can take it and mouth biting or licking along your chin, jaw, and neck when you need to breathe.

His motions switch up in the next instant, pushed into you at the hilt as his hips circle to grind you on him. He makes tight figure eights, the act getting you to the point where he’s fucked you completely dumb. All you want in that moment is to feel his warm spend inside of you, watch his face contort from his own pleasure. You can tell he’s close the less he speaks and the more he pants, head falling to your shoulder and eyes closing as he focuses hard to keep pace.

“Come inside me, please. I want it,” your tone is urgent, spilling the words out before your orgasm blinds you white-hot, mind clear of everything except for the euphoric high Joel’s given you. Tightening around him, he moans loudly, thrusts becoming messy and stacatto as he chases his own peak.

“God, such a perfect girl for me. You gonna keep my come in you all night? Go back to your boyfriend tomorrow with it dripping out?”

All you can do is nod, cunt fluttering around him as it starts to work into overstimulation, the rub of his skin against your clit so pleasurable it’s getting painful. Your voice falters when a third orgasm pulses through you.

“Y-Yes, yes. I want you inside for as long as it’ll stay there. Pl-Please, baby.”

Your begging pushes Joel over the edge, hips stuttering as ropes of his warm spend fill you up. He starts to work into you again, fucking it deeper before he finishes.

The pair of you are sweaty, sticky messes; hair tangled, lips swollen, eyelids heavy in recovery. Joel stays inside of you, gently moving your legs down and his own arms wrapping under you to lay you on your side with him, lifting one of your legs to rest on his hip.

Soft, supple kisses are shared as the two of you drift in and out of consciousness, eventually falling asleep completely.

Blue tinted sunlight creeps into the sole window of Joel’s bedroom, the night sky fading into a lilac dawn. You’re studying Joel as he sleeps, long lashes grazing his cheeks, lips parted just enough to let some light snores escape. Your finger delicately traces the scar on his right temple, your featherlight touch causing his eyes to flutter open and find your gaze half awake.

Joel’s immediately in fight or flight mode, arm around your waist tightening as he holds you closer.

“You okay? Something happen?” His voice is hoarse from sleep, clearing his throat as the slight panic wakes his up more.

Gently, you rest your hand on his chest and shake your head with a tender smile.

“Everything’s fine, you can relax. I was just lookin’ at you before I have to go home.”

Joel deflates, brow creasing at the mention of you needing to leave, to go home to your equally shitty apartment and some guy that wasn’t him. Jealousy flicked in his chest, a confession sitting in his throat for a minute before he let it out.

“I really did mean it, y’know. I need you. Now that I’ve got you back in my life, I can’t let you go. You’re some of the only family I’ve got left, and I don’t think I could survive losing you again.” His voice is shaky, wet brown eyes locked with yours. You have rarely seen Joel this unguarded, even in your life before, without the hardness that had come with the constant threat to his survival hanging over his head. The words wrapped around your heart, squeezing tightly and ripping it out of your chest to give to him. Silence falls between the two of you as an understanding washes over you, relaxing your body as the memory of safety, comfort, and home ripples throughout every muscle. You tell him what you have felt since the moment you saw him again:

“I’m not going anywhere, Joel. Not without you.”

tagging the mutuals: @swiftispunk @joelsversion @johnwatsn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @pedrit0-pascalit0 @theelishad @undrthelights @ladamedusoif @ruinedbylanadelrey @thetriumphantpanda @pedgeitopascal @dinsdjrn @thepascalofus @pedgito @soaringcloud @somedayauthor @alloftheimagines @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters @atinylittlepain @nicolethered @scrambledslut @lunapascal

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

PoC and queer people, and queers of color are not out here being mad at everyone for no reason. Did you guys think it was just a group of cishet white men who probably don’t even watch the show? We have begged all these years for aid, but it’s dystopian-like to see you guys come together and pay over $21 thousand for a billboard within a few hours. The “charities” aren’t listed, and even then seeing fans tell the organizers use all the money for advertisements is horrifying to say the least. Even more so adding on the creator is a Zionist and antiBlack, which again White people arent gonna give a shit about as they continue to show so in all fandoms. It’s the people affected that calls this guy out, and y’all don’t listen. Do what you want, but stop diminishing our voices as the “angry crowd” have some damn compassion

CW: Racism, Anti-Semitism, Zionism, This is a save space ship so please do not read if you don't have the spoons because there's heavy shit in here today. ------ Hi friend! First of all, I want to say thank you so much for reaching out and giving me some more information! Personally, I don't think what you're being mad about is "for no reason". For me, that's not where the issue lies, and perhaps you could provide me with some further insight. So far, the only kinds of responses to this campaign that I've encountered that are negative have been "Taika is a Zionist", and I have not encountered that "queers of color " we're having a problem. Now, that could be that I just haven't seen them and now that my reach is out a little further it's coming up-- which is great, I want to have a conversation about it. I am newer to the fandom so it's possible I just haven't been around for a lot of this in the past, I admit that. I would be more than happy to hear more about what it is that "Queers of Color" have a problem with regarding the show.

------

In regards to "Even more so adding on the creator (I'm assuming you're referring to Taika here as opposed to David Jenkins?) is a Zionist and antiBlack, which again White people arent gonna give a shit about as they continue to show so in all fandoms."

So, I can see why you feel that way. I've heard a lot from many people of color who feel as if they aren't being considered in a lot of fandoms (not specifically this one but general scifi , fantasy, etc). I am white, so I know that no matter what my background is culturally, I cannot understand the full extent of what our friends of color go through so I try to amplify the voices of those people when they bring information to the table. I do think this fandom cares, and would love to hear more if you're willing to provide it.

My First Question is, where is the narrative coming from that Taika is AntiBlack? He's of Te Whānau-ā-Apanui, an indigenous person, with jewish heritage. I did some googling (yes I realise that's not the most efficient or accurate tool, but I did try to find independant sources). The thing that sticks out most to me is regarding the 2020 following the death of George Floyd. Here is one of the articles I referenced:

Taika's tweet was "Watch the whole thing. Eloquent. Clear. Everyone is angry but there is a way to direct that anger." in response to Killer Mike's message asking “not burn your own house down” and instead “fortify your own house.” and to "Plot, plan, strategize, and organize" as he said in the video.

Now, I see a lot of reactions from people of color specifically stating "don't police my anger" and that is a 100% valid take. No one should be telling you how to channel your anger when as a society you are being murdered and you have to fight back to survive. I do think that everyone still has a lot to learn.

I am going to give you a little background on myself (not to toot my own horn, but to provide a little perspective on how much we are still learning). I am whiteyest white person there is, like I go outside and my skin practically lights on fire from my irish/eastern european ancestry, but I also have a black biological grandmother from Guayana who had ancestry back to many years before when slaves were brought over during the Atlantic Slave Trade. So growing up, even though I was white, I thought I had it all figured out on racism because my grandma was black. The narratives taught in US schools were that "racism was in the past" because schools had been white washed, and I grew up in Northern Virginia, where it was supposed to be "multicultural center of the country" since we were so close to DC. Over time, I started finding out from friends of color and indigenous friends that they were still experiencing racism towards them. I never knew, because I wouldn't have, it wasn't faced towards me. And I knew some-- but I didn't know enough even then 15 years ago. Roll around to 2010-12ish, several things occurred that made "black face" become more prominent and I had more discussions with my friends about what kind of racism they dealt with in their day to day lives. I used to color my arms when I was a kid with a brown marker because I wanted to look like my grandma. I found out at the ripe old age of 24 that was basically black face for a lot of people and that it wasn't ok.

2020 came, and George Floyd, and Brianna Taylor, Stephan Clark, Botham Jean, Freddie Gray and so many others were murdered by police and white supremacist shitwads, and suddenly, not just me but so many more white people started to get the slightest inkling of just HOW BAD it really was for black people in this country. That was the year honestly I started to question the systems of our government, and all the racial inequalities that I THOUGHT I had understood before.

Our government, our society culturally has tried its best to sweep racial inequality under the rug, and pretend like "racism is gone" when we still have systems built on racism, that benefit from racist systems of the past. (This is why it's so important that we keep fighting against people who want to white wash history books in a lot of the southern states like FL and TX) Is that an excuse? Of course not. But I believe in change whole-heartedly, and while I am still ashamed of the vast ignorance I had for so many years, and worry about the ignorance I still don't know I'm ignorant of, I do try to be better. I am trying to take that shame and continue to learn and chip away at my ignorance not only through others but on my own. I am not asking for you to pity, or to forgive me or any other white person for that kind of ignorance, what I'm doing here is trying to make a safe space to share and so you can see that people can actively change. Is it enough? Probably not, but it's a start.

-- Now, All that to say, regarding Taika... that tweet from 2020, as I said, quite a lot of people (of all colors) had their eyes opened that year to some pretty systemic racist horrors, and if that is the tweet that sparked the idea that Taika is "Anti-Black" I think, while you don't have to forgive him, it would be something to consider that quite a lot of people were well intending during that time but did not fully comprehend exactly how bad it was. I would however, if you'd be willing to chat with me in DMs about it, or send another ask, like to hear more if there was more evidence of it somewhere I didn't see.

-------- In regards to Taika being a Zionist... which I have heard from others quoting the letter he signed asking for the release of hostages in Gaza. I'm including a link to a copy of the letter just so people can read it, I realize the hollywood reporter isn't an amazing source, but it has the letter included, so thats why. Once again, when that letter came out back in October, quite a lot of people didn't actually know what was going on in Gaza.

We all heard brief things in our day to day news feed, but just like how everything is on the internet right now, information isn't "complete" it's broken up in fragments and it takes a really long time to compile them. There is misinformation galore, and it's incredibly easy to not hear the entire story. I know in October, I was dealing with health issues and I was completely just not paying attention what was going on (we all have our lives and as much as I'd like to say we can all be omniscient and fully present for all things it's truly not a reasonable expectation of any human being nor should it be, the world is a very large place, and we should help where we can but there's a limitation on human ability).

In my opinion, as someone who has tried a lot of their life to "do the right thing" and made a lot of mistakes and tried to learn from them, that letter, and Taika signing it seemed like a "Good intentions" situation again, hoping that he could help in someway. Am I making excuses for him? No, I'm expressing my perspective. I'm not here to change your opinion on him, I'm here to express why fans are still fighting for this show. Do you have other resources regarding his support of zionism?

What concerns me though as a whole, is people throwing 'Zionist' around very liberally these days. I am not an expert on the situation and I don't claim to be. However, growing up in DC when 9/11 happened, I can tell you that labels like that can get dangerous very VERY quickly. Muslim families I grew up with had their windows shattered with bricks on the night of 9/11 (and labeled terrorists) despite being pillars in the community and never having hurt a soul.

Right now, Zionist is a word that is being used to label someone in a very intense way, and it invokes dangerous responses in people. I do believe we really need to make sure we are labeling these situations properly because those kinds of labels CAN and WILL get out of hand very quickly and get people hurt.

I'm going to link to this article from the Anne Frank house to define Zionism. I am also going to list this article from the American Jewish Committee regarding racism and anti-semitism. Once again I'm not an expert on the situation going on in Gaza, and I'm happy to hear more regarding it.

-----------

In regards to your comments on the charities: There are some charities listed in a few places, they just aren't all part of the advertising campaign one:

The main one for Rainbow Youth is here: The Renew As a Crew Fundraiser (not the advertising one) https://ry-community.raisely.com/renewasacrew/ **The Advertising Campaign / Charities**

You mentioned in your ask "even then seeing fans tell the organisers use all the money for advertisements is horrifying to say the least".

I can understand why that would be horrifying to someone who is feeling raw the way that you are. It's completely valid. I would like to offer up the perspective that some people are very invested in this show for their own reasons (some people have never felt represented in major networks) and they too are allowed to feel excited and say things that might be in their own best interest. We are all allowed those opinions, and I think the more we shame people for wanting something, the less discussion we're going to be able to have. That said, I think the @renewasacrew leadership team made a good decision to stick to their original $10K for advertising, and the rest going to charity because of the confusion. It does the most good, and still allows the original intent -- to show the world how much Our Flag Means Death means to many people.

In regards to which charities they are going to -- I had seen somewhere that they were going to a charity Samba and Vico Ortiz had chosen but I asked the leadership team on twitter and this is what they responded with (which I think is fair, they're trying to take their time to make a good decision with the help of everyone involved).

-------------------

I would also like to point out however, that we do have the ability to care about more than one thing at once. One thing that makes life worth living is the little things that make us smile. I have a lot of stuff at home that makes life rough, and my escape is this gay pirate show, and this beautiful, compassionate community that supports it.

We are allowed to have things that we love as well as the things we fight for. I do a lot of my activism on facebook and in person, I don't bring it to tumblr much because this is the safe space for a lot of people to dream and have dreams. It is important for everyone's mental health to step away from the realities of life sometimes (which I know some people like those in Gaza or Ukraine can't do) or else we all burn out and can't help anymore.

I hope this helps a bit in showing you we do care about queers of color, and we do want to know more how we can help, and we are willing to listen. There's a lot of compassion in this community, and I think a lot of people would be willing to talk about it if things are done in a safe space. I do apologize that you feel like we've "diminished" your voices, that was not the intention. If you would like to use that voice to provide more examples and your views I'm happy to listen. I do think we need to allow people to enjoy things too though, because life's not worth living otherwise. Nothing is perfect, but we continue to try and improve.

I would also like to recommend that if the OFMD fandom renewal campaign is bothering folks, please feel free to block us. We don't want to make anyone feel bad, but we also want to express ourselves in a healthy manner. Much love your way Anon.

[d3sertdream3r]

I’ve noticed a lot of rancid takes about Taliesin’s characters that are annoying me, so I’m going to rant for a minute. 

Tal has perfected the art of creating paradoxical characters, and I think a lot of people end up getting lost and confused in the layers. This is not a “if you don't get it, you’re dumb” type of thing. It’s just that I wish people would truly ponder his characters and why they’re the way they are because they’re not the stereotypical protagonists that North American entertainment focuses on. They’re not strictly kind and generous, intelligent and charming, or hateful and arrogant. They’re all of the above. 

A lot of western media features characters that are fairly cut and dry and easy to understand. There isn’t a ton of complexity happening, and from what I’ve seen, the majority of the people hating on his characters and role-play style are from areas where they aren't used to Tal’s type of character. They’re not used to characters having multiple characteristics that seem to contradict each other all at once (even though that’s how people are in real life). I’m guessing that’s part of why they don't like them, but who knows. 

Caduceus is the least paradoxical of his characters, which is why I think most people say he’s their favorite of Tal’s characters. He is the personification of a fluffy blanket and a warm hug. What’s not to love?? Percy, Molly/Kingsley, and Ashton on the other hand, are all much rougher around the edges. The point of them is to provide the opposite of comfort for the audience; they're meant to make people a little uncomfortable. They hold up a mirror to the audience and force us to look at the parts of humanity that we try to avoid. Not the pure evil of mankind that Matt’s villains often show, but something even more sad and hard to swallow. 

Audiences tend to like characters that deal with trauma through humor and/or charm. People benefit from these types of characters by laughing at them or lusting over them. There’s nothing wrong with this by any means; that’s all part of the fun of fandom! However, characters that deal with their trauma in ways that are more raw and painful tend to be disliked. 

Percy is filled with constant fear that his past will haunt his future. He is convinced that wherever he goes, the darkness will follow and the pain awaits. He has horrible nightmares and lives with incessant paranoia, yet faces the deadliest monsters, demons, gods, etc with nothing but his wit and a gun. He can't stop inventing, not just to glorify himself but to protect everyone. He’s so many things at once, which is what makes him so real and complex and fascinating. 

Molly/Kingsley’s story is about wondering who you truly are and not meeting expectations of those you care about. Imagine that you’re not the only one comparing yourself to someone else; all your friends are too. You’re trying to figure out what defines you while feeling like everyone you know wants you to be someone else. His story is also filled with questions about nihilism and whether or not anything truly matters, including identity. 

Ashton represents the endless loneliness of abandonment and feeling like no matter what you do, those you love will never care about you as much as you care about them. He pushes people away and acts like he doesn’t have a care in the world while simultaneously doing everything he can to grip onto his friends. He is jealous of Laudna for the way she died because it showed how loved she was, and how sick is that? To be jealous of someone’s death? To try and force someone to admit that they haven’t gotten over their issues because you can’t accept that it’s possible to overcome yours? What's wrong with you? If it’s possible for people to do that, why can't you? What’s wrong with you? Why is it so hard for you when it seems so easy for others? What’s wrong with you? They represent not just the physical, but the emotional chronic pain that most people don’t have to think about every day. 

I have so much more to say about these amazing characters, but that would take an entire novel. They emotionally bleed all over the place. While they can still be lighthearted and humorous at times, they’re often really messy in various ways. But that doesn’t stop them from being so loving and wonderful at the same time! 

TL;DR, Taliesin’s characters are incredible and I’m so grateful that he is willing to play them in such a raw and real way for those of us that aren’t always funny or charming enough about our trauma to make society like us. 

[hxhhasmysoul]

I read somewhere that said Yuji is parallel with Getou (because in an interview Gege said that both were too kind and sincere in a cruel JJK world). Do you agree?

I've spent over an hour trying to find an interview where Gege said something like that and came up with nothing, so I'd love to know at least which interview this is from, like date or publication's name, if not a link to a transcript.

I don't read Getou as particularly kind personally. His disagreement with Gojou, before they switch positions further down the line, feels quite detached and "academic".

People who follow this blog will be shocked, but I think Gojou is spot on calling out that Getou is trying to be righteous. He's wrong in his disdain for the weak, obviously, but he's not wrong about Getou.

Getou is very clearly repeating something he heard at school or from the jujutsu establishment. He has very clearly bought into their framing of that separates the sorcerers from the general population and also looks down on the normies, considers them weak.

Because this is internalised propaganda and and duty but not some deep personal conviction about the value of life or whatever, faced with reality it crumbles.

He very clearly sees himself as separate from the normies. And here it seems that his choice to protect them as a sorcerer was made after the events with Riko. It's unclear if it was the first time he'd made that choice, for example when he became a student, but it seems that he made it at that point (again?).

The jujutsu world doesn't care for the weak at all, sorcerer and normie alike, it will exploit its own weak like it did with the Star Plasma Vessels, or it will abandon them like it did with Mimiko and Nanako. And because Getou has fully embraced the otherising of non-sorcerers he turns to full blown fascism in which he wants to create a good world just for his own.

___________________

Yuuji's convictions come from within himself. They are deeply rooted in his compassion for others, in his discomfort with the suffering of others.

And he justifies his involvement in jujutsu through there being a thing only he can do to prevent some curse related deaths.

Yaga really strongly challanges Yuuji's convictions in the scene above, he wants to drag something real out of him, something he can trust. And maybe it'll be a leap, but maybe it's because of the regrets he voices.

Regrets concerning Getou.

And it's not only about someone dying fro Yuuji. He show's this concern to the mother of the convict from the detention centre, he shows so much compassion and understanding to Junpei. He understands the gravity of killing Eso and Kechizu, he sympathises with Chousou's pain in their fight. And so on.

He even values the lives of the American soldiers that Kenjaku invited and he gets upset with Angel who acts like their lives don't matter.

Shibuya and the Culling Games haven't beaten out of him the ability to value human life. Because for him it's a true conviction, it's not a duty, not internalised propaganda.

Yuuji's convictions are so strong and true that he even affects Megumi who starts to question the propaganda he'd internalised.

He actually takes the time to consider why he saved Yuuji. He visits the mother of the guy killed in the detention centre. He asks Maki why she saves people.

He doesn't go super far with all of that, his life philosophy is very deeply ingrained in him. But he is affected because his convictions are as weak as Getou's in the beginning.

But there isn't some switch between Yuuji and Megumi in the way they approach others. As there is between Gojou and Getou.

Megumi partially infects Yuuji with the cog mentality, but Yuuji doesn't completely succumb to it and recently he's been showing more and more initiative in how he handles things.

___________

But the lack of similarity goes beyond just their mindsets.

They are approached completely differently by the Jujutsu Society.

Getou was valued among his peers, recognised as a special grade. Even when he defected and started committing violence against the normies he never became a priority for the jujutsu world. There was a death sentence on his head but he seemed to be perfectly capable of operating semi publicly in JJK 0. The sorcerers only take active interest in him once he comes to challenge them. Because in reality he's no threat to them, just to the normies.

Yuuji is considered a normie who consumed a dangerous cursed object. The elders don't see him as human and the sell that view to the Kyoto kids.

Which only Miwa has a problem with, the rest of them are really well indoctrinated.

Sukuna is a threat to normie and sorcerer alike so he cannot be ignored like Getou. He and his vessel need to be eliminated.

So obviously they don't share story and character arcs.

______

So in conclusion, no, I don't see parallels.

If you tell me which interview that comparison supposedly comes from, I could maybe try to understand what that was about.

What Gege actually has said about Getou in one of the interviews is that they wanted it to be clear that Getou had a choice, that they didn't want it to seem like a duh that Getou hated people. That's why the conversation with Yuki is there, to show how he chooses to draw these conclusions, a conversation the fandom loves to misinterpret.

Yuuji has experienced so far a similar if not higher level of trauma than Getou at the point of his defection. Yuuji is constantly faced with such choices in the manga, choices to stop caring about the lives of others, and he never takes them.

I actually find it upsetting when people draw these parallels.

[fomee-c]

Adventure Time has the best redemption arcs

I love deep-diving into my favourite shows, which makes me lucky that Adventure Time has been analyzed to death.

It's awesome because it feels like the show itself is growing up along with Finn. The older seasons are a lot more episodic and focused on the surreality of Ooo. Meanwhile, the later seasons really embrace the show's complicated lore and the idea that morality isn't black and white. The progression of maturity in this one show is INSANE. As the show becomes more mature, so does main character Finn, physically and emotionally.

Nowhere are the show's themes and Finn's personal growth better demonstrated through the show's use of redemption arcs. As the show progresses, classical villain-hero archetypes are subverted to show that Finn is learning that people aren't exclusively good or bad. As the show and Finna age, being a hero or doing the right thing evolves from the basic idea of "fighting evil" to being empathetic and seeking peace.

Heavy spoilers for the main series after the cut.

Some context

I just wanna mention some facts about the show's history.

If you watch the first AT episode followed by the last episode, you're gonna feel disoriented. They're clearly the same show, but it feels like they have very different goals. Early AT is more lighthearted and less serious. The episodes have morals, but they're pretty simple. The randomness of Ooo is played more for comedy than for lore purposes.

Around season 5, the show started taking on a different direction. It's still funny and weird, but the characters are more fleshed out and the messages the show is trying to convey require a lot of digestion. For example, Princess Bubblegum is always smart, but the way she's depicted in episodes like"Enchiridion" vs "Burning Low." Although I consider this a massive improvement, it's unclear how much was pre-planned. Was PB always destined to become a control-obsessed, unethical ruler-scientist? Or was her initial characterization just Finn's crush?

Yes.

Episodes as early as season 1 ep 24 ("What have you done?") show PB acting more like a tyrant than a princess and have the Ice King depicted in a less antagonistic matter. The reason for the tonal shift in the later season is that as Finn grows up, his experiences change the way he perceives reality.

Ooo through Finn's eyes

Adventure Time is about Finn the human and Jake the dog, but really it's mostly about Finn.

The other characters get character arcs and have plot-relevant conflicts, but the show's main focus is dedicated to Finn's coming-of-age story. Finn is Ooo's hero: he's social, caring, and brave, and he's motivated by a strong sense of justice and a desire for adventure. All he wants is to try new things and help others at any cost.

However, he's only 12, at least at the beginning. His idea of being a hero is rooted in black/white morality. If you do bad things, then you're bad. Stopping bad people makes you good. And as a 12-year-old, he believes the only way to stop bad people is through violence.

The show is immature in this respect, too. For the first few seasons, there are two main antagonists. There's the recurring Ice King and his plots to force princesses to marry him, playing off the "save the princess" trope (more on him later). And then there's the Lich, who's a genuinely powerful cosmic entity that seeks to destroy life in all its forms. Naturally, Finn fights them both off through righteous punching.

The show presents this basic understanding of evil, that evil is as evil does. In the beginning, there's almost no nuance to these characters. And this is true with good characters, too.

Billy is a huge catalyst for Finn's character development, but you can see the show's limited understanding of heroism in his debut episode. Billy is Finn's predecessor in a way, being the number one fighter against evil. In "His Hero," Billy realized the fighting evil through violence didn't treat the root problem, opting instead for community activism. However, the show makes this look like a bad thing, with the moral of the episode being that violence can solve problems. Ironically, Finn's character development mirrors Billy, as he realizes over time that he fighting evil might mean hurting people he cares about. Case in point: Simon Petrikov, the Ice King.

The power of redemption arcs

Redemption arcs are controversial because they're ideal but they feel forced if they go unearned. In Adventure Time, redemption arcs serve a two-fold purpose: to convey the message that "evil" people can be understood and rehabilitated and to show Finn's developing maturity as he realizes this.

Ice King

The first character to get a real redemption arc is the Ice King. Initially, he's portrayed as Jake and Finn's natural nemesis, especially when he targets Princess Bubblegum. However, as the show goes on, it becomes clear that the Ice King isn't really malicious; he's just lonely and he doesn't know how to socialize in an appropriate way. Over time, he becomes a sympathetic villain. However, this changes with the Christmas specials "Holly Jolly Secrets, parts 1 and 2." In this episode, Finn and Jake discover the Ice King used to be a man named Simon, whose personality and sanity were corrupted by magic. Simon's backstory is further developed in "I Remember You" and "Simon and Marcy." From this point on, Finn starts referring to the Ice King as Simon, acknowledging Simon's true self and stops treating him less harshly. This leads to a really heartwarming moment in "Don't Look," where Finn's perception literally warps reality, causing the IK to revert to Simon (in appearance but not in personality).

Consequently, the Ice King becomes less antagonistic in general and we even get IK-centric episodes where he takes on a heroic role. For all intents and purposes, post-season 3 Ice King is Finn's friend. The show went from using a cliché villain-type to dedicating a significant amount of time and plot to Ice King's eventual return as Simon. From this, Finn learns that treating people with kindness is imperative to stopping evil. Not only did finding out that IK's personal life was tragic but by treating him as a friend he diminished IK's evil inclinations.

Magic Man

Magic Man is one of the more disturbing characters on the show. He always shows up to do something gross or psychologically messed up. Unlike the Ice King, who was shown to be evil because he wanted companionship, Magic Man wants people to suffer out of pure contempt for the world. His "pranks" include simple stuff like turning Finn into a foot, to more deranged acts like forcing Jake to escape a dream world where doing so would mean destroying all his new friends.

What's interesting about Magic Man's redemption arc is that Finn and Jake have little to do with it. Magic Man redeems himself practically by accident.

We gradually learn that Magic Man's wife was destroyed by GOLB, a powerful entity that can erase things from all realities. So Magic Man's cruelty is best described as frustration or vengeance to an extent. He is constantly suffering, which he tries to mitigate by deriving pleasure from others' suffering.

However, he eventually loses his magic powers (and with it, his anger and sadness) in"You Forgot Your Floaties", grounding him back in reality. From then on, his journey is one of atonement. He tries to reconcile with his family and seeks forgiveness from the people he has tortured.

This arc says more about the show's maturity than it does about Finn's. Although Finn shows no hatred towards a magic-less Normal Man, he seems pretty indifferent. The show, on the other hand, takes the time to make him a tragic figure and offers him a chance at redemption. It wants the audience to know that experiencing loss is not an excuse for being a jerk, but it can explain someone's actions.

King Man's (his title after rejoining the Martian community) redemption arc also demonstrates AT's advancing writing skills. Instead of giving King Man a clear-cut redemption arc, the show depicts him as genuinely sorry without changing his personality. King Man is still obsessed with Margles and is harsh with Martian prisoners, but he's no longer angry with the world. He hasn't moved, as is difficult to do with grief, but he wants to contribute to society instead of rage against it.

Betty Grof

Betty marks a milestone in the show and Finn's personal growth. She is the first antagonist who is shown to be sympathetic from the start. It helps that we know Betty before she goes crazy with magic, but despite that, Finn nor the show ever thinks of Betty as an "evil" character. She's misguided and unethical but well-intentioned.

Betty's whole deal is that she wants to be with Simon, which requires curing him of the Ice King Crown's effects. However, after she absorbs Magic Man's madness and sadness, she starts undertaking strategies that cause Ice King more stress than good.

She becomes a true antagonist in the Elemental mini-series when she prioritizes Simon's recovery over the lives of Ooo's inhabitants, despite the Ice King begging her to save his friends. Even after she betrays Finn, he doesn't seem to see her as a villain specifically. The real source of conflict in the Elemental series was more so the unchecked emotions of Finn's friends; Betty was just an obstacle.

Betty's redemption arc is completed in the show's finale. Betty summons GOLB, risking the entire universe's destruction to save Simon. Except her goal is not only to save Simon but to save their relationship. In an act of self-sacrifice, Betty manages to banish/merge with GOLB to save Ooo, despite knowing she could never be with Simon.

However, it's not as clear as I make it out to seem. While Betty does sacrifice her relationship with Simon, she still manages to save him, begging the question: if Betty couldn't save Simon, would she have made that decision? (I'm inclined to think no, but let me know what you think!)

Even if the "redemption" part of her arc feels rushed, it's Betty's journey that highlights the show's maturity. Just because she does bad things doesn't mean she's a bad person. Finn gets this; he doesn't blame Betty for almost destroying the world. He's more focused on aligning with her desire to save Simon and the rest of Ooo.

Through Betty, Adventure Time explains that it's impossible to judge people as good or evil. To do the right thing doesn't mean to help people who you think are "good" or oppose people you think are "evil" but to find common ground and a common goal.

Uncle Gumbald

He's basically the last antagonist of the show. I don't think there's a lot to say about him that hasn't already been said, so this section will be short.

He's a lot like PB in that he's a visionary. Their conflict stems from their competing ideas and the fact that they both want to subjugate each other.

They almost reach an understanding in the finale when they experience each other's lives, with PB realizing that Gumbald deserved to be treated as an equal. However, he isn't redeemed because he attempts to subjugate PB anyways by faking a truce. I feel like this was supposed to highlight PB's character growth as early PB definitely wouldn't have been willing to share authority.

Fern

I would say this is probably the most important redemption arc for Finn's character. It's weird to say that because Fern is introduced so late into the show and his arc is completed when he dies in the last minutes of the finale. Furthermore, he's a strange character to begin with. He's a grass clone of Finn made from two magic swords, and he's hardly antagonistic toward Finn except in the last two seasons.

But let's look at what we're dealing with here.

Fern's internal conflict is an identity crisis. At one point in the series, Finn comes into contact with a past self (merging timelines situation, dw about it), turning one of his selves into a sword. It's intentionally ambiguous at first, but it's eventually revealed that there is a miniature Finn inside the sword who is cognisant of the world around him. Because of Real Finn's carelessness, Sword Finn ends up getting busted, and eventually infected with a grass parasite, creating Fern.

Up until now, Finn has been acing his new pacifist approach to conflict resolution. He now prioritizes understanding someone's actions and reasoning with them, saving fighting as a last resort.

Fern represents Finn's greatest empathy challenge: trying to understand someone he thinks he already understands. To do this, Finn has to accept that his preconceived notions of Fern are wrong and take the time to get to know the real Fern. He thinks that because they share some sort of biology and memories, they are the same people. He fails to acknowledge the different life experiences that have forged him and Fern into distinct people.

When Fern heel-turns into an antagonist, it's not a surprise. We have seen repeatedly the jealousy that he feels outcasted by the real Finn. We also know he's frustrated with the dissonance between his past "life" and his current circumstances. Like Betty, Finn doesn't see Fern as a villain. However, he doesn't try to understand where Fern is coming from. He assumes that because they are similar, Fern will be willing to talk things out. In other words, Finn wants to reconcile with Fern but doesn't get how devastating Fern's identity crisis is.

In the finale's dream-dimension fight sequence, we see Finn finally hear out Fern's concerns and the two explore Fern's past together.

Fern does die because of plot reasons, but not before re-establishing his and Finn's friendship. I don't really like it when stories sacrifice one character for another's development, but it makes sense given Finn's narrative is about realizing that doing the right thing isn't always a feel-good experience. Finn wants the people he cares about to be safe, and he knows that Fern is in danger by siding with malicious characters like Gumbald. Fern also decides to align with people who care about him rather than someone who wants to use him. If Fern's villain arc is caused by feelings of inadequacies, then it's resolved through self-acceptance. Redeeming Fern requires Finn to truly understand Fern, but this means Finn loses someone who gets him.

I think it's implied Fern could never be at peace alive, since the grass demon was keeping him alive while corrupting his heart. It's a unique take on a heroic sacrifice: setting Fern free means letting Fern go.

Misc. thoughts

Not all redemption arcs are equal. I wanted to touch on a few mini-redemption arcs that either didn't fit the post or had a lesser impact on the story. These aren't relevant to the text, so feel free to skip to the conclusion.

Irredeemable villains

Some AT antagonists never get redemption arcs. These are usually one-off villains who don't get much characterization apart from just being evil. I don't think that AT wants to imply these people are beyond help (see Magic Man for proof), but maybe becoming a good person means that someone has to understand you first, which is harder to do in some cases. Examples include:

Ricardio the heart man

Thief Princess

Wyatt

Redemption arcs?

Originally, I wanted to write a section on Princess Bubblegum and how she gradually releases her iron grip on her kingdom. However, I decided against it because Finn never really sees her as a bad person. However, understanding that she's not perfect is definitely part of her arc. If I were to write about PB, it'd have to be a separate article, probably incorporating how Marceline plays into her character development and how her relationship with evolves over time.

Another character I omitted from this analysis was Lemongrab. I wouldn't describe his arc as a redemption arc because I feel it was more focused on self-discovery than making up for his past actions.

Finally, I thought about writing about the Lich's transformation into Sweet Pea, but I almost don't count it since they are essentially two different characters. A redemption arc to me means that a character undergoes a change of heart. I feel like Sweet Pea is more like the Lich reborn, and while you can argue that the events in "Whispers" are the good Lich fighting against his dormant persona, I feel like it's clear that Sweet Pea and the Lich are not one and the same. Either way, Sweet Pea being the Lich's redemption is to muddy to discuss in this context.

Becoming good

One thing I like about Adventure Time is that no one tries to make the bad guys turn good. Redemption arcs are mostly self-initiated. With characters like Ice King, Finn doesn't try to turn him into a hero, he just stops treating Simon like a villain. Unlike in other media, heroes and villains are not real roles in AT. They are more like social constructs that are easily altered once you start to empathize with supposed villains.

But while "villains" is a flexible term in AT, evil-doing is not. AT puts forward the standard that people should seek forgiveness and atone for the ways they've caused harm. It's a pretty grown-up idea that we should own up to our actions but also forgive people who want to be forgiven.

Conclusion

In Adventure Time, Finn wants to be a hero, but in trying to do so, he needs to answer this question: "What makes a hero?" Originally, the show asserts that a hero is someone who beats up bad guys and obeys people in authority. But as Finn and the audience get older, the show's ideas evolve, too. Through the use of its extensive rogue gallery, Adventure Time affirms that "bad people" are usually just normal people with personal issues. Heroism becomes less associated with righteous violence and more geared towards empathy and reconciliation. Eventually, Finn and the show give up on the hero-villain dichotomy, acknowledging that these categorizations prevent people from helping those who need it most.

Note: this is the first analysis I've posted on Tumblr and I'm planning on writing more with the goal of getting better at writing and media literacy. Additionally, I really love this franchise and I'm always down to discuss it further. Please let me know what you all think?

[the-banana-0verlord]

The yanderes of Nevermore

Notes: Gn reader, yandere themes, etc. You can choose to see some sort of contuinity between the paragraphs or not. also GO READ NEVERMORE IT’S AWESOME AND ON WEBTOON.

***

There were times when you made Lenore saner and others where you drived her crazy. But it all broke down on the day she kidnapped you, taking you away from your arranged marriage until lightning struck twice and killed you both.

Annabel Lee was absolutely whipped with you. She learned the news of your death the day of her unhappy wedding, as the knife of her fiancé struck through her heart. But now that she found you again, she’ll use all of her power to make sure you’ll stay by her side.

It was common knowledge that Morella had nothing else than good intentions. It was those intentions that drove away all of the people she considered a “bad influence”, even if they were your friends. You were left isolated, turning to her and only her for support.

Duke was a trickster: one second he was there, the next he was nowhere to be seen. You were also a troublemaker, a quality not unseen by him. Using nothing but his wits, he tricked you into more trouble than you thought, with only him able to be your knight in shining armor against the Dean’s wrath.

Pluto worshipped the very ground you walked on and celebrated every breath you took. Everywhere you went, he was there, following you like a shadow. He hated everyone you talked with as they were not worthy of your smile and your kindness. He would make sure they’d disappear.

Berenice was not one to hide her affections, and god forbid a man would even look at you in the wrong way. But it was no use to try and get away: everytime you manifested your uncertainty, she would still smile, but her claws would dug deep into your arm as a warning.

Eulalie was strange, to say the least, but you gained quite a liking to her as she stuck around. To this day, you still have no idea of the horrors she has done to keep her for herself thanks to her seemingly harmless nature.

Dignity was a bizarre concept to Ada, as she would throw away every last shred of her own to satisfy you. For you, it was privacy you lacked: no matter how many times you tried to avoid her, she would pop up beside you like an unwanted weed.

Prospero may be cold, but he is also entitled. As your fiancé in your past life, he believes you belong to him. He doesn’t hesitate to punish you harshly if you fail the duties he assigns you to be what he calls a “good partner”.

Montresor was anything but a good man: selfish, greedy, cruel and a hypocrite. While he was busy sleeping around as he pleased, you were forbidden of showing even the slightest glimpse of your neck to one of these peasants. You were his and his alone.

Do not underestimate Will. Like Pluto, he is similar to a lost puppy, sticking by anyone who is stronger and will “guide” him. His instinct is to serve, even if his last act of service would be to die in your name.

You don’t remember when or how you died, or how long it has been. All that mathered is that you woke up in Merry and Mourn’s arms as their new little doll, a plaything to use until bore.

***

Have a good day/night!

[funnylittlelad]

Rules Made To Be Broken - Steve Harrington x gn!reader

Thank you for (over) 200 followers!!

Masterlist - AO3

Rule One >>

summary: As you and Steve grow closer, things seem to be going perfectly. That is until your police chief father steps in. The more you lie the deeper a hole you dig, but what else can you do? No matter what your dad says, you're not staying away from Steve Harrington.

wordcount: 12k

notes/tags: Hopper!reader, secret dating, sneaking around, fluff, friends to lovers, almost teenage car shenanigans, events of season three do not take place (canon divergent), Hopper is a bit of an overprotective helicopter parent, mentions of/talks about: abusive parents, tumultuous relationships, divorce, death, and family trauma., Steve's dad is his own warning, We Love Callahan In This House.

Prologue: Accidents Happen

It happens by accident. At least, that's what you tell yourself. You’d had the odd relationship here and there, but it’s never been serious. It's never been allowed to be serious. Your dad made sure of that. He scared anyone off before they got too comfortable. Usually, you're fine with that. It saves you a lot of trouble in the long run. You like that you don't have to commit. That's why Steve Harrington coming out of nowhere scares the living shit out of you.

Over the past year, you’d gotten closer to him. Not a lot, but enough for him to get a foothold. Then he started working at the ice cream shop next to your job at the mall arcade. You’d pop in every so often to say hi to Robin. She was one of the few friends your dad approved of. He never stopped you from being friends with people, but there would always be a telltale hmph. After a few weeks, you started visiting more, only it wasn't for Robin. It was for Steve Harrington and his little sailor shorts. 

“You’re gonna get me fired with all these free samples,” Steve pretends to complain with crossed arms.

You finish polishing off the most recent little spoon with a smile.

“You’re the one that keeps giving them to me, Mr. One-Per-Customer,” you tease.

“Don't you have snot to clean off of some video game?” he jabs, leaning forward on the counter.

“I got off and you seemed like you needed company,” you shrug.

“Well, I get off in fifteen. What d’you say to keeping me company through a movie?” Steve asks in a rare show of bashfulness, picking at an invisible spot on the counter. 

You grow a dazzling grin.

“I say that sounds fun.”

It was fun. Until Steve drove you home. Your driveway is lit only by the last reaches of sunlight, an orange fading to purple over the trees. On the front porch, leaning with his forearms against the railing, and a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth is your dad. He watches Steve’s car with narrowed eyes, taking a slow drag. The half-unbuttoned uniform tells you he just got off duty. 

“Should I say hi?” Steve asks unsure.

“No,” you sigh, “We’re about to fight.”

Steve looks at you startled.

“What?” 

“Jonathan isn't home, which means I was supposed to come back right after work to watch Will and El. Except Will and El don't need a babysitter, but I need a life. So, we’re about to fight,” you explain like it's a simple equation.

“Right, I forgot Hopper and Joyce shacked up,” Steve nods.

“Don't talk about my dad shacking up,” you scrunch your face in disgust.

“Sorry,” Steve laughs and stretches an arm over the back of your seat around the headrest, “When can I see you again?”

A spiced apple scent surrounds you, rolling off of him. A smell that's Steve’s and Steve’s alone.

“You see me almost every time you work,” you point out with a light blush.

“I know, but I mean like this,” he gestures between you with his free hand.

The smile that crawls onto your face is impossible to fight off. You glance back at your dad. He’s stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray on the railing. Then he pulls out the pack of Camels that's always in his breast pocket and takes out another. His eyes stay glued on Steve as he lights it, settling back into his position on the railing to make it clear he isn't going anywhere. 

“I’m free tomorrow after four,” you look back at Steve who is still watching you.

Your heart races under his scrutiny.

“Pick you up at four-thirty?” He raises his eyebrows hopefully.

“See you then.”

You slip out of Steve’s beemer with one last smile. Your back stays to your father as you gently wave at Steve while he pulls out. Once he’s driving away you sigh. There’s no more putting this off. You turn around slowly to find your dad standing upright with his arms crossed. The newest cigarette hangs from the side of his mouth.

“You’re late,” he states.

“And the house is still standing,” you gesture behind him.

“Why was Harrington bringing you home?” he questions, jerking his chin toward the now-empty space in the driveway.

“Because we’re friends and we hung out after work,” you shrug. 

“Friends, huh?”

“Yes, dad, friends. Y’know, those things I have every now and then until you scare them off,” you cross your own arms.

“That's all you are?” he checks suspiciously.

“Yes, that's all we are,” you confirm.

“Alright,” he nods in understanding, “You’re grounded.”

“What? You can't ground me! I’m nineteen years old!” You argue.

“My roof,” he shoots back.

“This is bullshit,” you scoff.

Your dad’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks around like there are people around to witness your audacity. 

“You were supposed to come home after work. What if something happened?” He reminds you sternly.

Your arms flail angrily in the air toward the house.

“Nothing happened! Will and El are fourteen; they don't need me to watch them!” 

“You’re grounded for a week,” he deadpans.

You let out a humorless laugh. Frustration bubbles in your chest until you can feel it pressing against your eyes. You hold the tears in. They’ll do you no good here.

“Dad, you have to accept that I’m not a child at some point,” you snap. 

“Good to know,” he drawls, “Check back at the end of the week and see where I’m at.”

“You're ridiculous,” you grumble as you storm past him, slamming the front door behind you.

Will and El sit wide-eyed on the couch totally not listening. You ignore them as you storm down the hall to the room you share with Jonathan, slamming that door too. With a groan, you flop face-first on your bed and let out a half scream into your pillow. There’s a soft knock on the door. 

“What,” you call out, face still in the pillow so your voice is muffled.

The door creaks, just like all the doors in this house.

“Are you okay?” El’s voice asks from the doorway. 

You sigh and turn your head to look at her. The grown-out hair looks good on her. The confidence it brings her looks even better. El has been your sister since the moment you met her, no question about it. Even if it hurts like hell to look at her sometimes.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry I wasn't home,” you answer softly.

“It is okay. Will has been helping me get ready for school,” she says. 

You smile and prop yourself up on your elbows.

“You excited to start?”

She shrugs with a small smile.

“Nervous,” she decides.

You nod.

“That's normal. Don’t worry. You’ll have Will with you and I’ll be here when you get home,” you promise.

She nods, shoulders relaxing.

“Is dad upset?”

“Yeah, he is,” you sigh.

“Joyce will fix it,” she assures you.

“You’re probably right,” you agree.

Joyce likely will fix it. She seems to be the only person who can really get through to your dad. It's something you're endlessly grateful for. You love your new family members. You really do. You just wish there was more room. You wish you had your own space. You wish there wasn't a battle every day for the shower before all the hot water is gone. You wish the food containers were always full and never put back empty, always causing a fight. 

“I miss the cabin too,” El admits quietly as if she read your mind. 

A small, sad smile crawls onto your lips.

“Dad and Joyce have been trying to find somewhere bigger. We won't be so cramped soon,” you tell her, mostly trying to convince yourself.

“Good,” she nods.

Later that night Joyce does indeed fix everything. At the very least, she got you ungrounded. She manages to make your dad realize that grounding you is not only a little extreme but a bit childish. He even begrudgingly agrees to Will and El being home without supervision more. Not a lot more, but more nonetheless. 

The next day Steve picks you up at four-thirty sharp. Your skin buzzes as you slide into his car. He’s smiling before you even get in. It's lovely, like a sunset over a meadow. Soft, light, and calming. You end up getting milkshakes and sitting on the hood of his car in the back parking lot of the diner. It's a nice evening, warm and breezy. Golden hour transforms Steve into something otherworldly. Every blond highlight becomes so much more, his skin looks like it's glowing, and his eyes are sweet glimmering butterscotch candies on you. 

“I hope I didn't get you in too much trouble last night,” he says with a smirk.

“You didn't. I'm pretty sure he likes you anyways. Y’know, after you helped save the world and his kid. He was mad at me, but I think he’s over it,” you answer. 

“It must’ve been hard having the police chief as your dad growing up,” Steve comments thoughtfully.

“It was,” you smile wryly, “It didn't get me invited to any parties, that's for sure.”

Steve cringes as red blooms across his cheeks. He sips on his milkshake, avoiding your amused eyes. The two of you weren't friends in school by a long shot. When he finds them again, his own are far more apologetic than they need to be.

“I’m sorry if I was a jerk to you at all.”

Your wry smile turns soft and genuine.

“You weren't, but you're right. My dad’s job definitely didn't make me popular. Everyone assumed I was a narc. Even the people on the track team with me.”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles, “I remember that being said.”

“Can I ask you a dumb question without you laughing at how dumb it is?” You nudge his sneaker with your own.

He puts on a serious face and gives you a dutiful nod. 

“Ask away.”

“Is this a date?” 

Steve immediately starts to laugh. You hit him in the chest.

“You said you wouldn't laugh,” you whine.

“I said I wouldn't laugh at how dumb it is. I’m laughing at how cute it is,” he informs you with a smile.

You can feel the flames lick across your skin as his words heat you up. You take a sip of your own chocolate milkshake to cool down.

“So, what’s the verdict, Harrington?” You cut right to the chase.

Steve chuckles some more.

“I’m really seeing the Hopper genes,” he teases.

“Shut up.”

“No, no, really, I do. I can see them riiight,” Steve reaches across and brushes his cold thumb over your lips, “here.”

His hand cradles your jaw as his thumb continues brushing the cool soft skin of your lips. His fingers are so icy from holding his milkshake that you shiver. 

“You stare at my dad’s mouth a lot?” You breathe teasingly.

Both of you regard each other with hooded eyelids.

“He smokes a lot of cigarettes,” Steve shrugs, “It draws the eye.”

You’re in the middle of laughing when his lips capture yours. The kiss is sweet, tender, and chaste. Steve’s hand slides to tangle his thick fingers in your hair. He puts his milkshake down next to him to free his other hand. His newly liberated hand cups your jaw as he deepens the kiss. Your heart races in your stomach as you get a taste of Steve Harrington on the hood of his beemer. When you pull back you're both breathing heavier than before. Wide smiles spread across both of your flushed faces. 

“So, is it a date or not?” You jokingly ask with furrowed brows.

Steve laughs and you can't help but laugh along. It feels good to laugh with Steve. It feels right. Your laughs mingle like they were always meant to be heard together. When you finish your milkshakes Steve brings you home. Once again, your dad is on the porch smoking. No doubt he’s waiting to see if you abide by your promise to be home before dinner. 

“Is it just me or is he trying to melt me with his eyes?” Steve smiles and waves at your dad through the windshield as he asks.

Your dad gives him a nod of acknowledgment. You roll your eyes at your dad’s standoffishness. 

“Don't take it personally, he does it to everyone.”

“Noted.”

“I had a lot of fun with you today,” you smile.

Steve grins at you, so tempted to kiss you but conscious of your father’s eyes on him.

“Me too. Y’know- uh- Robin and I do these movie nights every week. Would you maybe wanna crash the next one? I know she wouldn't mind and I wouldn't mind spending more time with you,” Steve’s hand subtly moves to brush your thigh under the cover of the dashboard.

“You’re positive Robin won't mind me being there?” 

“Absolutely.”

You find yourself smiling and nodding before putting much more thought into it. All your little pleasure-seeking rat brain heard was more time with Steve.

“Then I’d love to.”

“Great, I’ll give you a call tomorrow with the details.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” You say, wishing you could kiss him.

Then you slide out of the car. Steve doesn't pull out until you hit the two porch stairs. Your dad watches him leave before turning to you.

“You and Harrington normally hang out alone?” He asks. 

“What's the big deal?”

“Just didn't realize you two were that close.”

“Yeah, well, fighting otherworldly creatures of the night with someone tends to strengthen a friendship,” you drawl sarcastically.

“Isn't he friends with your friend with the tuba?”

“I know you know who Robin is and what instrument she plays,” you roll your eyes playfully, “and yes he is.”

“What about them, there something going on there?”

“No,” you snort, “definitely not. Why are you so interested in Steve’s dating life?”

“I’m your father. I’m just looking out for you. I've caught Harrington in the back of that beemer enough times to know what his dating life is like,” he explains gruffly and takes a drag of his cigarette.

The thought of your dad tapping on the steamed-up window of Steve’s car with the butt of his flashlight puts a bad taste in your mouth. It makes you miss the sweet taste of Steve. 

“You don't think it's possible for people to change?” you question, trying not to sound too defensive.

Your dad huffs a laugh and puts out his cigarette.

“Guys like him don't change, trust me,” he tells you.

Anger starts to prick at your skin. You can't fight him, though. It wouldn't change his mind anyways.

“Well, I’m going to his house for a movie night with Robin this week,” you inform him.

He seems to physically relax when he hears Robin will be with you. It fills you with a strange sense of dread. You thought your dad liked Steve. You didn't think he’d have an issue with Steve or his dating life. Anxiety starts to creep in. What if your dad chases Steve away? For once, you care if the person you're seeing is scared off.

“Look,” your dad rubs his jaw as he collects his thoughts, “Steve is a decent guy. I know he’s good looking and I’m sure there are rumors about- about- his virility-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” you cut him off sharply, “What’s the point you're even trying to make?”

“Just stay away from him like that. It's fine you're friends, but keep it there. You’ll only end up hurt,” he tells you.

Well, that certainly isn't what you expected. A dense ball of anger, sadness, hurt, and defensiveness sits in your gut. If you don't get away soon you’re sure you’ll blow one way or another.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll stay away from Steve,” you lie.

There's no chance in Hell.

Robin’s eyes are wide as saucers as you tell her about your dad’s Anti-Steve sentiments. You lay across her bed as she sways herself to and fro on her desk chair. Her room is as scattered and cluttered as her mind is, but that’s what you love about it. It’s like living in one of Robin’s thoughts. “He seriously told you to stay away from him?” She questions incredulously.

“Sure did. God, he’s so dramatic. I don't get why he's so against it. I mean, sure Steve has been known to… get around, but that was high school. He hasn't even been able to score a date in like a year,” you vent.

“What are you going to do?” Robin's eyebrows knit. 

She was admittedly ecstatic when Steve told her he wanted to ask you out. She was even more ecstatic when you told her you may have a tiny crush on Steve. You swore up and down it was the sailor shorts that did it, but you both know better. It's clear when you and Steve are around each other. You gravitate toward one another without thought, slowly growing closer and talking more until it's like you're the only two in existence. 

“I’m not going to stop seeing Steve,” you shake your head, “I mean we've only been on one date and he hasn't even asked me on a second one yet-”

“Nope, don't even go there,” Robin cuts you off.

“What? I’m just saying-”

“You’re about to convince yourself that Steve doesn't really like you. I’m not letting it happen.”

You pout dramatically at her. There's no time to try to argue or push back playfully. Steve honks from the driveway three times to signal his arrival. A grin spreads across your face as you shoot up and start heading down. Robin shakes her head as she breathes a laugh. 

Steve is standing with his arm propped on the top of the open driver-side door. He smiles wide at you as you emerge from the house. You stroll right up to him allowing the door to act as a physical barrier. Before you can say anything, Steve ducks down and plants a quick kiss on your lips. You’re suddenly boiling. He smiles sweetly when he pulls away.

“Hey, there,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” you murmur back.

“Okay, if this is how it's going to be all night, I change my mind,” Robin complains from behind you.

You poke your tongue out at her teasingly causing her to chuckle. Instinctively, you start going for the backseat because Robin is here. The moment you start in that direction you’re stopped.

“Ah-Ah-Ah- Since you and Steve are officially sucking face now it only seems right you take shotgun,” Robin puts her hands up to insist.

The smile that starts to spread on your face dies.

“Thanks, Rob, but I probably shouldn't. My dad is on duty today and if he sees that I’m suddenly the one sitting in the front…,” you trail off with a sigh.

“What's the big deal if he sees you sitting in the front?” Steve asks with furrowed brows.

You glance at Steve anxiously and then at Robin. Both of you look back at Steve.

“My dad may be against the idea of us dating and he might have told me to stay away from you in any romantic sense,” you tell him.

Steve frowns with searching eyes. He reminds you of a cartoon puppy.

“I thought he liked me,” he says.

“He does! He just…,” you start, but struggle.

“He thinks you're a whore,” Robin chimes in.

“Robin,” you hiss and shoot her a glare.

She mouths a sheepish sorry. You sigh and look at Steve’s hurt expression once more.

“He just doesn't want me to get hurt. It doesn't change anything. All this means is we have to keep it down low until we can change his mind,” you assure him.

He nods but doesn't look convinced. 

“Guess that means a sleepover tonight is off the table?” he checks half hopeful.

“My curfew is graciously at eleven,” you smile sadly.

“Curfew? You’re an adult,” Robin scoffs.

“An adult who doesn't have a key for the new house yet. My dad said if I’m not home by then the door will be locked.”

“What's the big deal if the door is locked if you have somewhere to stay?” Robin pushes.

“Look- I don't have an explanation for everything, okay? I know my dad is really strict and it’s kind of pathetic because I’m too old for it. It’s more complicated than it looks. If that's something you don't want to deal with o-or-” you start a slightly panicked ramble.

“Whoa- no one is saying that,” Steve reaches out and places warm hands on your upper arms.

The contact grounds you. You nod, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I upset you. My mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes and I-” Robin starts an anxious apology.

“It’s okay, Rob. I know,” you offer a small smile.

You all clamber into Steve’s car after that. You place yourself in the middle of the backseat. Steve’s eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror every few minutes. Each time you felt the corners of your lips twitch and your cheeks warm. Something about Steve makes you feel like you're in middle school again trying to figure out how to act around the person you like-like. 

In the end, you're glad you chose the back. Around half way to Steve’s house, you see the truck. Your dad is camped out on a pull-off, normal for a cop scouting for speeding tickets. Not normal for the Hawkins Police Chief, though. You groan when you realize he planted himself where he knew Steve would likely drive by. His eyes scan the car as Steve drives by. Steve very pointedly drives the speed limit. You avoid his eyes entirely.

“You said your curfew is at eleven?” Steve double-checks, meeting your eyes once more in the mirror.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a nod.

“Got it,” he nods resolutely.

It's safe to say he’s determined to get you home on time after the look Hopper just gave him. Steve kind of wishes he didn't look over in the first place. The moment he noticed the chief’s truck he should have kept his eyes forward like he didn't see a thing. Likely the worst part about the whole thing is how blatant it was. Hopper wanted Steve to know that he was watching, to be careful, and tread lightly. It’s a message he heard loud and clear. Steve won’t give Hopper any more reasons not to like him.

They make it to Steve’s without incident. Hopper thankfully doesn't follow them, but Steve makes sure to abide by every traffic law anyways. He wouldn't doubt Hopper has eyes everywhere. Plus, he’s seen the man in action and he'd like to not be on the other end of that.

“Steve,” Robin groans when she sees the VHS on his coffee table, “Why did you have to pick that one?”

“What? I like that movie,” he defends, face beginning to glow.

Your own face catches fire when you read the cover. A couple of months ago you and Steve had a break at the same time. You spent the entire thirty minutes at a food court table talking about movies. At some point you let it slip that your favorite has recently become The NeverEnding Story. The very film that sits on the coffee table now. You send Steve a shy smile that he catches.

“Fine, it’s your week to pick,” Robin sighs with a dramatic eye roll. 

It doesn't surprise anyone but you when Steve takes your hand to lead you to the end of his plush couch. He sits and pulls you down with him so his arm is automatically over your shoulder. Robin shakes her head playfully with a smirk. She sits on the other end of the couch so she can stretch out like a cat. Her feet and yours barely miss each other as you curl into Steve.

A quarter of the way through Robin is knocked out cold. The way her arms flop over her face makes you chuckle. Steve breathes a laugh and shakes his head at her.

“She's unbelievable. She does this every week,” he tries to sound exasperated but fails.

“Sounds pretty believable if it happens every week,” you say.

“At least now that you’re going to be here I won't be left to finish the movies alone,” he comments somewhat absentmindedly.

Your eyes widen.

“Now that I’m going to be here?” You echo.

Steve’s bright brown eyes quickly move away. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “Y’know, if- if you'd want to. We could make this a regular thing.”

Your face breaks into a large toothy grin. Steve’s face starts to mirror yours as he registers your reaction.

“That sounds like fun. As long as you’re sure my dad hasn't spooked you,” you joke half-heartedly.

“You kidding? After I took a bat to a Demogorgon right in front of you, you don't think I can handle your dad being a little protective?” Steve scoffs playfully.

“A little?” You question with a smirk.

“Okay, a lot protective,” He concedes with a dramatic little shake of his head.

You watch the front of his soft-looking hair bounce with the movement. It strikes you how pretty he is in the dull glow of the television. You find it a little unfair how pretty he is in every setting. As nerves settle in you look back to the television.

“Are you sure you don't mind?” You ask more seriously, “I know it’s a lot to deal with. I get it if you'd rather just stay friends.”

Steve brings his hand up. His finger crooks and finds the underneath of your chin. He uses it to guide your face to look at him. When your wide eyes meet his intense ones he doesn't stop guiding you. He meets you halfway, stealing a sweet gentle kiss. Butterflies flutter around your gut as his tender lips move against yours. It’s over far too soon, but he keeps his forehead on yours.

“I like you too much to just stay friends. I’m okay doing whatever it takes to be with you,” he states firmly like it's a fact.

Another smile crawls onto your face. 

“I’m really glad you said that because I like you too much to just stay friends too,” you tell him softly.

He grins as his hooded eyes look into yours. This close in the dark they look so deep, his pupil and irises still fully distinguishable but the color is clearly rich. Rich in a way that gets lost in the low lighting.

“When can I take you out again?” he asks quietly.

“We probably can't do anything romantic too publicly, but it wouldn't be too hard for me to sneak out at night,” you say innocently.

“Won't your dad kill you if he finds out?” Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

From this close, you only know that because you can feel him do it.

“Well- yeah, but I have the benefit of something you, unfortunately, don't, my dear Steve,” you tease.

“And what’s that?” 

“Siblings.”

“How does that help?” 

You chuckle.

“They’ll cover for me if I need it in a pinch,” you explain.

Steve’s smile returns.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” he asks, trying to make it sound enough like a joke to pass it off as one if need be.

He’s terrified of coming on too strong. It’s just that when Steve likes someone he does it with his whole chest. He loves emphatically and that's not for everyone. Although, no one is talking about love right now. Definitely not, that would be far too soon. Steve fancies himself a pretty intuitive guy, though. He can feel the potential there. A seed in need of watering and tending until it blooms into something beautiful.

“Tomorrow’s not soon enough,” you answer, “but it’ll have to do.”

You wake Robin up when the credits roll on the screen. She’s a little moody about it but gets over it quickly. It’s half past ten so Steve brings Robin home first. With her out of the car you move to the front. The entire way back to your house Steve’s hand rests on your thigh, heavy and warm. When the house comes into view it slinks away leaving your skin to miss it.

It doesn't surprise you in the slightest to see your dad on the porch smoking. You roll your eyes at the sight, not caring if he can see. The clock in Steve's car reads a quarter to eleven. Steve got you home with fifteen minutes to spare. 

“Is ten too late for tomorrow?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

What if he wasn't being serious about tomorrow? The insecurity gets you talking again.

“My dad has night duty, but he’ll think I’m in bed so there's no reason for him to leave the station,” you explain quickly.

Steve is nodding before you finish.

“Ten sounds perfect. Should I park down the street?”

“Yeah, near the end by the sign,” you confirm.

“It’s a date,” he grins.

Your face catches fire for the millionth time tonight. You're grateful it's too dark for your dad to tell from the porch. 

“Have a good night,” you tell him softly.

You resist the urge to kiss him. You resist the urge to even just hug him knowing you have an audience.

“Have a good night.”

When you slip from the beemer a sigh escapes your lips. You wish your dad wasn't so… Well, your dad. The thing is, you also know him. It’s hard and takes time, but you can change his mind. Maybe you can even recruit Joyce in the effort, speed up the process. You'll have to ask Jonathan and Will if they think she’d help or just tell your dad about you and Steve.

“You have a good night?” Your dad asks as he puts out his cigarette.

“Yeah, it was fun. Actually, they invited me to do it every week,” you answer happily.

He nods as you two head inside.

“And Harrington will be driving you every week?” He asks.

“Yes, unless you’re going to magically pull a car from somewhere,” you answer.

He shoots you a deadpan look.

“Alright. Don't forget, I have night duty tomorrow,” he reminds you.

“I know, dad. Don't worry, I plan on coming home right after work anyways. I don't have anything to do tomorrow,” you tell him.

You ignore the tiny seed of guilt that drops in your stomach. You don't like lying to your dad, but he doesn't leave you much choice. A sturdy hand finds the back of your head. He pulls your head forward and plants a slightly too-rough kiss on your forehead. It's gruff, prickly, and warm just like him. For a second you feel like a kid again, before everything went to shit. 

“Sleep tight,” he tells you.

“Sleep tight,” you smile tightly.

Jonathan is awake reading and listening to music on his walkman. The movement of you coming in draws his attention. He pulls down his headphones until they rest around his neck. Slow rock leaks from the speakers.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey, I’m glad you're up. I actually have a pretty big favor to ask,” you say.

He regards you suspiciously. The two of you aren't close by any means. It took weeks to have a civil conversation when you're in the bedroom together. There was a territorial showdown that nearly tore the house apart.

“What is it?” He questions slowly.

“I’m going to sneak out tomorrow night after my dad goes to work. I just need you to leave the window cracked so I can get back in and to make sure no one knows I’m gone,” you say.

“Oh, is that all?” He scoffs, “No way. I’m not getting murdered when your dad finds out you snuck out.”

“He won't find out. Please, Jonathan, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really important to me,” you all but beg.

His eyes narrow on you as you sit on your bed. 

“What are you sneaking out for?” 

“I’m seeing Steve.”

He snorts humorlessly.

“So, you want to die,” he says mostly to himself.

Realizing this isn't going your way, you set your jaw and straighten out your shoulders. You sigh and click your tongue.

“Y’know, it's a shame…,” you begin absently.

“What is?” He takes the bait.

“How long you're going to be grounded when I tell my dad and Joyce about the stash under your bed,” you shrug.

If looks could kill, you’d most definitely be dead. 

“How do you-”

“You’re really not as subtle as you think,” you laugh.

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Fine,” he snaps.

The headphones are back over his ears in a second.

“Thank you,” you sing.

That night you curl into bed buzzing with anticipation. Steve doesn't care if it's a little hard to be with you. He doesn't care if your dad is difficult and overprotective. He likes you enough to try anyway. You only hope you can change your dad’s mind about him before his patience runs out.  

Jonathan is bitter about you sneaking out, but you don't care. Everyone is home for dinner, making it a raucous affair of arms reaching over the table to fight for food even though there's more than enough to go around. You swear Jonathan starts fighting with you over the last drumstick just to get back at you for your blackmail.

“You’ve already had three,” he protests.

“So have you!” you shout back incredulously, gesturing wildly.

“Yeah, but I eat more.”

“Really? Why is that?” You challenge him cruelly.

He glares at you, seething from across the table.

“You’re such a-” he starts.

“Alright,” your dad loudly interrupts and snatches the drumstick off the plate, “Now it’s mine. Problem solved.”

Both of you grumble and sink back into your seats like a couple of children. Will and El, the actual children at the table, exchange amused looks as they fight off laughter. 

“How has work been?” Joyce asks you pleasantly.

She’s completely unphased by your dad’s tantrum in response to your own. You suppose she's probably used to the Hopper family antics at this point. 

“It’s been fine,” you shrug, “there's a supervisor position opening up. I was thinking of going for it.”

“That’s great!” Joyce beams. 

It makes you feel warm in your chest.

“Supervisor? Won't that put you full-time? What about college? I thought you were starting next semester,” your dad grills.

It’s a struggle not to roll your eyes, but you succeed. 

“Yeah, I’m thinking of extending my gap year,” you shrug like it isn't a big deal.

Joyce cringes a little but attempts to maintain her smile. Jonathan, Will, and El all look between you and your dad.

“Really? When did you decide that?” Your dad questions.

“Does it really matter? It’s what I want to do,” you defend.

“Is this because Steve isn't going to college?” He’s outright interrogating you at the dinner table now.

“Jim,” Joyce warns softly.

He looks at her with an incredulous smile.

“What?”

She tucks her chin in a tad and gives him a look. 

“For your information, no it's not because of Steve,” you snap, “I don't even know his plans for the fall. What���s your issue with him?”

“Nothing!”

“No, clearly there's something! You have such a weird thing about me and Steve. Why are you so afraid of me being friends or getting into a relationship with him?” You demand.

“Because I've seen what it looks like when a Harrington loves someone,” he shouts, “It’s usually black and blue!”

Anger rises hot and red to your cheeks. Your heart pounds in your chest. The air around the table is so tense it's hard to move.

“You’re unbelievable,” you shout back and shove away from the table.

“Where are you going?” he calls after you.

“To bed. Have a good night at work,” you slam your bedroom door shut behind you. 

“Jim,” Joyce sighs.

“What?” He asks defensively.

“Steve really isn't that bad,” Will comments gently, “He’s friends with Dustin.”

“I think Steve is a fine guy,” Hopper states, “But I've seen the kind of relationships he grew up around.”

“That doesn't mean Steve is anything like John,” Joyce reasons.

Hopper’s jaw flexes as he clenches.

“Yeah, well, I’m not willing to take the chance,” he answers gruffly.

Jonathan is the one that gets the conversation moving forward. They try to enjoy the rest of their dinner while Hopper seeths and you blast music from your bedroom. Thirty minutes later Jonathan comes in and shuts off your stereo.

“Hopper and mom went to work,” he informs you.

“Thanks,” you sigh.

You can feel Jonathan’s eyes on you as you collect your things.

“What?” you ask shortly, not stopping.

“Nothing,” he quickly snaps before relaxing a little, “Mom tried talking to him after.”

“Yeah?” You snort humorlessly, “What’d she say?”

“She was on your side. Told him you don't have to go to college if you don't want to.”

You reply with a simple hm.

“When will you be back?” he sighs.

“Around midnight.”

“Okay- just… be safe.”

You turn with everything you need in your pockets. Your eyebrows are nearly in your hairline as you take in Jonathan. He sits on his bed, hands in his lap. His hair has gotten long and shaggy in a way that makes you want to cut it.

“Careful, I might think you care about me,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes.

“You might be annoying, but you’re family,” he says.

A small smile creeps onto your lips. You give him a playful punch in the upper arm. He rubs it and makes a disgruntled face at you. 

“Love you too, bro.”

You nearly eat dirt on your way out of the window, but you make it unscathed. With a wide smile, you trot down the street where you see Steve’s beemer waiting beneath a streetlamp. The door is unlocked when you get there allowing you to slip in easily. Steve’s lips are on yours before you can say hi. His hand cups your face as he presses his lips urgently to yours.

You’re downright giggling when he pulls away. It's embarrassing.

“Hello to you too,” you murmur. 

“Hello,” he murmurs back with a sweet smile.

Steve takes off after that. His hand is on your thigh again. This time you find the courage to intertwine your hand with his. He flashes a smile at you when you do so. Hawkins has never felt so perfect. It's like a scene from a movie as you steal glances at Steve as often as you can. 

“Where are you taking me, Harrington?” You ask with teasing suspicion.

“I know this spot by Lovers Lake. Figured we could just hang out,” he shrugs, attempting to hide his insecurity.

“Not enough room for the two of us in that big house of yours?” you chuckle.

His eyes shift uncomfortably.

“My parents are home right now. I’m sorry if you thought-”

“No, no, Steve, it's fine. I was just teasing. As long as we get to spend time together, I don't care where we end up,” you promise.

His soft eyes fall on you as he stops at a sign. Before he could allow himself to fall in too deep too fast, he clears his throat.

“Speaking of parents,” he says and starts driving again, “How’d it go with yours?”

You groan and roll your eyes dramatically. 

“I told him I don't plan on going to college. You can imagine how that went,” you tell him.

Steve grimaces as he pulls off onto a dirt road. It’s bumpy, but Steve isn't driving for long. You end up parked on a little overlook of the lake. Moonlight ripples across the surface giving the water the appearance of a night sky below you. Steve’s seat belt is off so he can angle himself to look at you fully. You mirror him. Gentle music trickles from the radio too low for you to really make out what it is.

“I take it he wasn’t too happy with that then?” Steve raises his eyebrows in sympathetic curiosity.

“He doesn’t seem too happy with me in general lately,” you sigh and begin picking at your fingers in your lap.

His hand takes yours to stop the anxious movement. The action draws your gaze. Steve is half frowning, thumb rubbing circles into the skin of your hand.

“He’s just worried. I kinda get it, y’know? You’re his kid and he isn’t ready for you to grow up,” he reasons.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s ready,” you frown, “He was so annoying tonight. I actually left dinner and locked myself in my room.”

Steve leans over and gives your temple a quick comforting kiss.

“My mom asked me how school was today,” Steve huffs a laugh. 

You wrinkle your nose.

“How old does she think you are?” You ask.

“Seventeen apparently.”

“Is she always so detached?” 

There’s something sad in his puppy dog eyes when they find you. The corners of his lips twitch in a sardonic little gesture.

“Yeah, she’s pretty spaced most of the time,” he answers quietly.

“And here I am complaining that my dad pays too much attention,” you joke.

It earns you a soft chuckle from him.

“At least my mom doesn’t stake out side roads she knows I’ll be driving on,” he teases back.

You throw your head back as you laugh. Steve grins as he watches, drinking in every last detail. His eyes drag over the silhouette of your nose and jawline in the moonlight. You’re so soft, yet there’s a bite about you. It draws him in and leaves him always wanting more, more, more. It leaves him reaching out to brush the hair from your face. Then the hair is tucked away, but he continues to skirt the backs of his fingers over your cheek. He can feel the warmth rise to them. Your face moves into his touch as you turn to look at him.

“Steve?” You probe so quietly that you aren’t sure he hears you.

“Yeah?”

“My dad said something tonight and… I think it might take more than we thought to win him over,” you admit.

Steve’s brows furrow as his eyes searches yours.

“What did he say?”

You take an even breath.

“He’s afraid, because of y-your dad, that you’ll-”

“Stop,” Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head, “Don’t say it.”

You don’t. Instead, you lean over the center console and throw your arms around his shoulders. Steve immediately melts into your embrace, circling his own arms around you and burying his face in your neck.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head the best he can in his current position. Then he’s pulling back, hands holding either side of your head. His eyes bore into you.

“I’m not like my dad. I wouldn't ever do what he does,” he promises.

There's no need to ask what it is Steve’s dad does. You've gathered enough context clues tonight to piece it together. Your hands come up to cover Steve’s.

“I know,” you tell him, “I trust you. You’re a good person, Steve Harrington.”

Steve can feel how lovesick his smile is. Your voice and words are a salve on wounds rubbed raw. You worry your lip between your teeth for a moment before continuing to speak.

“Does your dad ever do that to you?” You inquire softly.

“Not since I started fighting back,” he answers with a sad smile. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say because you don't know what else there is to say.

You hate that Steve has had to go through so much and always has it overlooked. You hate that your dad thinks Steve could be anything like this father. All he’s ever been is kind and gentle with you. 

“Let’s just forget about everything else tonight,” he suggests with a voice like silk, “There’s just us.”

It's a request you're more than willing to oblige. Especially when Steve’s lips find yours in a fury. It's more heated than anything the two of you have done until now, but it feels so fucking good. Steve’s hands are wide and thick as they tangle in your hair and hold the base of your neck. Your own hands explore Steve’s firm chest and shoulders over his shirt. The two of you together are the flame of a candle, flickering hot and quick. 

Steve moans when you nip at his lip, allowing you to become acquainted with his tongue. It’s all so much and not enough. Everything around you is all Steve. There's nothing but Steve. He leans over the console more, hands moving to find your sides and running down them until they meet the hem of your shirt. His hands skirt around the thin layer of skin exposed by your shirt riding up. A shiver of want runs through you. You nod as his mouth continues to devour yours. Steve’s hands leave trails of heat licking up your skin as they commit every inch to memory.

You’re ready to take it further. You want Steve in every way. You want him until he’s all there is. It doesn't matter if you’re in his car out by the lake. All that matters is it's you and Steve and Steve seems to want you just as much. You muster up the courage and start to palm where his pants have grown noticeably tighter.

Just as Steve is moaning into your mouth there’s a clink clink clink on the driver's side window. The two of you fly apart, snapping to see the source of the noise, and then looking back at each other completely panicked.

“C’mon, Steve, the windows aren't that steamed up. I know it's you,” a familiar voice drones.

You groan and drop your face in your hands. The voice itself brings relief, but not a lot. Steve rolls down the window and a flashlight clicks on, blinding both of you.

“Christ- Uncle Phil, can you quit it with that?” Steve complains and shoves the flashlight away.

The light clicks off revealing a curly head of brown hair and a pair of glasses you know all too well.

“Hey, Callahan,” you greet meekly with a small wave.

“No- no,” he groans, briefly throwing his head back with his hands covering his face, “Not Little Hopper! Steve, do you have a death wish?”

“Please, don't tell my dad,” you beg quickly.

Callahan’s eyes slide between the two of you. His tongue is firmly in his cheek as he takes in the sight of his nephew moments away from having sex with his boss’s kid. 

“You two are putting me in a real tough position here,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“We know. That’s why we would be super grateful if you didn’t tell Hopper anything,” Steve says.

Callahan levels Steve with a stare for a moment before his eyes move to you. Your heart is thumping at the speed of sound in your chest. It wouldn't be surprising if you dropped dead of a heart attack right now. This man who you’ve known for years, who has watched you at the station and played Uno with you, who has been like family in a lot of ways has your life in his hands. It’s unfair for everyone involved. 

“I’ve been fearing the day I find you in someone’s car like this,” he tells you with a wry smile, “If it had to happen, I’m happy it's with Steve. At least I know you’re safe.”

A timid smile tugs at your lips. 

“Does that mean you won't tell?” You ask quietly.

He lets out a deep heavy breath and shakes his head.

“I won't say anything,” he points sternly at you, “but it better not get back to your dad that I knew about this.”

You and Steve nod. Steve even gives his uncle a salute. 

“So, are you gonna…,” Steve trails off, gesturing with his eyes for his uncle to leave.

“Yeah, right,” Callahan snorts, “You two are going home and brainstorming ways to be more discreet. Separately, no sneaking each other into anyone’s houses.”

Steve rolls his eyes but agrees. He’s in no position to argue with his uncle right now. Callahan pulls out enough for Steve to get you guys out of there. He flashes his lights once as a goodbye. The silence of the car threatens to suffocate you. Steve stops the car the turn before your street. You can feel his eyes on you as you squeeze your hands together in your lap.

“You okay?” He asks softly.

“I’m okay. Are we?” You risk a glance.

The knit of his brow tells you he’s confused, maybe even a little worried.

“Of course we are. Why wouldn't we be?”

“I guess I was afraid that might have spooked you,” you shrug sheepishly. 

“It’ll take more than my Uncle Phil to spook me,” he smirks.

You chuckle and lean in to steal a quick kiss. He does it back like it's a competition he’s determined to win. You scrunch your nose and stick your tongue out at him. He returns the favor. The two of you break into giggles. Thoughts that bubbled to the surface this morning, and kept bubbling up every hour after that, make their grand reappearance. Does Steve want to take this to a more serious level like you do? Has he already decided to stop seeing other people like you have?

“I like you, like a lot,” you tell him with all the eloquence of a rock.

“I like you, like a lot, too,” he smiles.

“I have a crazy question that I just thought of right this moment,” you segue with an innocent smile.

“Oh, is that right? What's this totally not premeditated question?” He teases.

“What are we doing here exactly?” It comes out far timider than you’d like.

“What do you want to be doing here exactly?” he smirks knowing you're melting inside as he dances around an answer.

You give him an unimpressed frown that's fighting to be a smile.

“Personally, I think I'd like to call you my boyfriend,” you go for it and try not to hold your breath too much.

Steve’s smile becomes something dazzling. Mischief appears in the background of it, though.

“You think, huh? I dunno,” he sighs dramatically, “I only date people who are enthusiastic about dating me.”

You roll your eyes as the smile wins. 

“Oh, is that why you kept striking out at Scoops?” you tease.

He throws a pout your way.

“Maybe.”

“Well, Steve Harrington, I would be pretty enthused to call you my boyfriend,” you tell him with a sweet smile and even sweeter eyes.

“I’d be pretty enthused too,” he grins as he leans toward you.

He kisses you with almost as much passion as before. Pre-Callahan rudely interrupting. The two of you giggle into the kiss, causing you to pull apart but stay close.

“When will I see you again, boyfriend?” you hum.

“I have family stuff tomorrow after work, but my parents will be gone again Thursday. We could hang out at my place. Then movie night is Friday. It’s Rob’s turn to pick,” he answers.

“Five dollars says she picks Fast Times,” you smirk.

“Are you kidding?” he snorts, “I’m not taking a bet I know I’ll lose.”

You laugh, resting your forehead on his shoulder. When the giggles subside you bring your head up once more and find Steve’s impossibly warm gaze. He looks at you like you just invented laughter before his very eyes. It’s almost too much for you to handle. It makes you more afraid of losing this, of losing him, to your dad’s strictness.

“My dad will be home Thursday, but I don’t think Robin would mind covering for me for a few hours,” you say. 

“Should I get you from Rob’s?”

“That’ll probably be for the best.”

The two of you get stuck, trapped in a trance of gooey gazes and lovesick smiles. Anyone watching would gag at the sight. No one else matters to the two of you right now, though.

“You should get inside before Uncle Phil finds us again,” Steve sighs.

You nod.

Both of you surge forward to steal one last kiss. You don't think you’ll ever tire of the way Steve’s kisses make you feel. It’s like you’re static clinging to a freshly dried sweater, warm and buzzing with energy. Your foreheads stay together when you part. Your lips hover so close you could kiss again by accident.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs 

The pet name brings heat to your cheeks as if there are hot coals beneath your skin. There’s a fluttering in your stomach that makes you shy.

“Goodnight,” you answer just as softly.

You steal the last peck before slipping from his beemer, winning the game for tonight. It's simple enough to get back inside. You round the side of the house to your window. It’s still cracked. You peek in first. Jonathan is listening to music on his walkman as he writes in his notebook. 

The window slides up easily. As you climb in, Jonathan shoots up pin-straight, breath noticeably heavier. Once it registers it's you he relaxes and slumps back down. He takes off his headphones.

“I thought you wouldn't be back until midnight,” he says, a hint of annoyance creeping in.

“Callahan caught us and sent us home,” you explain as you shut the window behind you.

“Callahan caught you? Why aren't you more freaked out by this?” He questions, furrowing his brows.

“Because I’ve known him like half my life and he’s Steve’s uncle. He promised not to tell,” you shrug. 

“He’s Steve’s uncle?” 

“Yeah, on his mom’s side. I saw them around the station a few times,” as you say it you suddenly wonder if they were at the station for another reason that went over your head until now. 

“How are you so lucky?” He scoffs and shakes his head.

“I dunno, nepotism?” 

Jonathan actually laughs. You ignore the skunky smell and take the win.

“So, when are you doing this again?” he jerks his chin up at you and crosses his arms.

“Thursday, but don't worry. Your services shouldn't be required then,” you answer jovially as you pick out pajamas to change into. 

“Wow, four whole days? How will you ever manage?” He drawls.

“Shut up. Steve’s parents are home. He has to do something with them.”

“Oh, that mayor thing probably.”

You pause and turn to look at Jonathan.

“Mayor thing?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “there’s some town award ceremony thing this week. Aren’t you going with your dad?”

“I am,” you nod slowly, “but why would Steve be there?”

Jonathan looks at you like you're stupid. Right now you're inclined to think maybe you are.

“Because his dad owns like half the town and wins at least two things a year,” he answers.

You inhale deeply and slowly, trying not to get too angry at yourself for forgetting. This stupid event that you always try to get out of, but couldn't this year. Your dad is winning something big apparently. That's not to say you're not proud of him, you are. This thing is just dreadfully boring. Steve being there makes things more interesting. More terrifying, sure, but more interesting nonetheless. 

“How do you even know all this, weirdo?” You question.

“The school newspaper,” he sneers, “We cover it in the first issue.”

 “Whatever, I’m going to get changed,” you grumble and leave the room.

The bathroom gives you the first moment alone to process everything tonight. When you catch your reflection in the mirror it's a little flushed, a little frazzled, but happy. Built-up energy comes out in the form of a little squeak and dance. Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. Steve Harrington is your boyfriend! Now, all you have to do is find a way to guarantee your dad won't kill him for it. 

You and your dad fuss uncomfortably with the fancy clothes you've been out in. Joyce worries about all the finer details around you, swatting away your hands when one of you goes to pull on your collar or loosen a button. You have to admit, the Hoppers clean up well. They just hate getting cleaned up. It’s like giving a cat a bath.

“Oh, look at the two of you,” Joyce gushes, “We need to get pictures!”

Both you and your dad start to protest, but it's to no avail. She's already calling for Jonathan and his camera. He wears a smug smirk at your clear irritation. You shoot him daggers in return. 

“At least try to smile,” he tells you and your dad.

You look at each other. You have to look upward to meet his eyes. One thing you didn't inherit from your dad is his height. A look of resigned agreement passes between you before you’re smiling at the camera. Jonathan takes a quick succession of photos and you're allowed to leave. 

It feels funny being all dressed up in the chief's truck. This is the first time you've felt out of place in it. 

“So,” your dad starts awkwardly, “About college…”

“Dad,” you sigh and rub your eyes with one hand, “Can we please not do this tonight?”

“I’m not- I’m just-” he pauses and takes a breath to calm down before trying again, “What I’m trying to say is, if this supervisor thing is what you wanna do… Then do it.”

You watch him drive with wide eyes. 

“Really?” 

He nods.

“Yeah, really.”

“What made you change your mind?” Your hazard to ask.

“Don't get me wrong,” he waves a hand around, “I still want you to go to school and get an education, but… I want you to be happy more.”

His words cause a bright light of hope to flicker on in your chest. A small smile sprouts on your face. With a steadying breath to muster up the courage you take the dive. 

“I’m really glad you said that beca-” You start.

“God damn it,” your dad’s frustration cuts you off, “Harrington is already here.”

Your eyes snap forward. Sure enough, ahead of you in a rounded driveway is a shiny sleek black car. The apex of the driveway meets the front of a local event hall that’s been decorated to the nines. No doubt thanks to all that Harrington money. There are valets waiting to take everyone’s cars. 

Out of the car comes a well-groomed polished man in a suit. His hair is a short chestnut coif and he has dangerously green eyes that feel perpetually sharp. From the other side appears a woman with an elegant red dress. Her own dark hair is up in a fashionably loose bun. They don't smile at each other. In fact, they barely regard each other at all. They immediately jump into talking to those around them. 

Then he climbs out of the back. Steve is in a sharp black suit of his own and his brown hair has been perfectly blown out. His smile is unnaturally tight. It takes a massive amount of restraint to not fling your door open and run to him.

“Can you just be civil for tonight?” You sigh.

“I’m civil,” your dad argues lightly.

“Is that so? Then you won't mind me hanging out with Steve tonight,” you say knowingly.

Your dad’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. A ball of disappointment drops in your stomach. Any hope has been extinguished. Clearly, him caring about your happiness the most doesn't extend to Steve.

“Probably best to stay away while his old man is around,” he advises cryptically. 

“Why? Steve isn't his dad,” you snap without meaning to.

“Maybe not, but he’s always worse when he’s around. Callahan caught him with someone last night, y’know. I told you, guys like him don't change,” he half lectures. 

You look out your window as your face catches fire. 

“Whatever, Steve is my friend and I don't want to argue about it tonight,” you state.

Your dad sighs but doesn't carry it any further. He doesn't want to argue about it tonight either apparently. Steve disappears into the venue leaving you to watch after him. After a short wait, you finally get to the top of the curve and climb out of the car.

“Hey, Chief,” the kid working valet greets.

The chief truck stays in front of the building, but off to the side. Just in case some world-ending call comes in. Half the town is here and the other half wants to be. It's a nice excuse to dress up, have a few drinks, and eat a free meal. You’re most excited to steal looks at Steve. 

When you enter it's a grand room with circular tables arranged around a stage at the front. The back of the room has an extravagant bar where most people are mingling right now. The decorations are simple yet tasteful. The mayor, a young man the town elected to save them from all the crazy shit Hawkins seems to attract, shakes hands with his constituents around the room.

Some councilman starts talking to your dad. You’re introduced briefly then you’re just stuck standing there. This is the part you hate about these things. Just waiting around as your dad falls in and out of conversations. Bored, your eyes scan the room searching before you know it. 

Sticky sweet eyes, molten light brown that you know has green hidden near the middle like caramel apples, catch you from near the bar. Steve’s entire being brightens when he realizes you’re there. He smiles and sends you a discreet little wave. He’s so pretty it makes your teeth ache. You return both the smile and wave, already calculating how you can sneak off to say hello.

“I’m going to get a drink,” you say.

Your dad nods as the councilman continues talking his ear off. Whatever they're talking about, your dad doesn't seem especially interested. With him distracted, you easily make your way to the bar. You take care to stick to the opposite end as the Harringtons, but Steve’s eyes have already found you. He excuses himself and waves through all of Hawkins’ finest residents. The bartender comes up to where you're leaning on the bar with your forearms.

“What can I get for you?” he asks.

“Just a sprite, thanks,” you smile.

“Make that two,” Steve’s voice comes from behind you.

A wide grin spreads across your face as you turn around. You’re met with an expression similar to your own. 

“Why, Mr. Harrington, funny running into you here,” you muse.

“Mm, I’m considering it lucky. You look amazing,” he tells you as his eyes trail up and down your form.

“You look exceptionally handsome yourself.”

“I didn't know you’d be here,” he comments, still drinking you in.

Your face warms under his eyes.

“Normally I wouldn't, but I didn't have anything to get me out of it this year. What table are you guys at? We’re over at four,” you point at a round table near the front.

“We’re at one,” he points to a few tables away.

“Good, I think my dad would burst a blood vessel if he had to sit near yours tonight,” you attempt to keep it light, but the weight is still present.

“He won't burst one when he sees you over here talking to me?” he teases, helping to carry the load.

“Eh, he’ll survive,” you wave him off. 

“Sprites,” the bartender announces as he places the two glasses on the bar top. 

You reach for your wallet, but Steve’s hand catches your wrist.

“Put it on the Harrington tab, thanks,” he says.

The bartender nods and walks off. Steve’s hand stays on your wrist.

“So, there’s a coat check over in the entrance hall…,” you trail off suggestively, glancing to the doorway to the entrance hall.

Steve’s eyes follow yours and a smirk grows on his lips. His lips you wish you could kiss right in the middle of this stupid event.

“Meet you in twenty-” he begins to plan.

“Steve, there you are,” a deep voice sighs.

Steve goes stiff, straightening until he’s ramrod straight. Your eyes widen as they move to the man over Steve’s shoulder. Steve turns around, clenching his Sprite a little tighter than before. 

“Sorry, sir, I came to grab a drink and ran into a friend,” he says, but his voice is different.

He’s different. His hands move less, barely at all. The inflection of his voice is more proper, professional almost. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the back of his head. 

“Who is this friend?” His father asks, sounding tired.

“We work at the mall together,” Steve explains.

“Right, the mall,” his father states disdainfully.

“Steve is a really good worker,” you pipe in, attempting to back Steve up.

Both men’s eyes turn to you. Steve’s are soft and tender, but the gentleness of them is cut through by the sharpness of his father’s. His father sizes you up, but it's unlike anything you've experienced. You don't feel like he's looking at you, but all the price tags attached to the things you own and wear. It's as if his eyes are calculating your value. You feel like a burger from Benny’s compared to Steve’s fine dining at Enzo’s. 

“And who is it you belong to?” he questions with narrowed eyes.

“Oh- uh-” you stutter.

“John,” your dad’s curt voice saves you.

All eyes go to your dad. 

“Jim.”

He stands taller than John Harrington and thicker. His eyes are stony and his mouth is set. The two men hold each other’s gaze like dogs readying for the other to launch. Your dad’s eyes soften when they land on you behind the Harrington men. They create a wall between you. A wall you desperately want your dad to break through. This situation has gotten itchy and uncomfortable very fast.

“You okay?” he checks.

“Yeah, I just ran into Steve while getting my drink,” you answer with a small smile, holding up the drink in question.

Your dad nods, resetting his jaw. His eyes fall on Steve. Steve who, to his credit, is trying to convey as apologetic a look as he can get away with in front of his own father. He tries to communicate that he doesn't want you around John Harrington anymore than your dad does. You aren't sure it works.

“It’s good to see you, Chief,” Steve smiles tightly.

“Yeah, you too,” your dad replies unconvincingly.

“So, how've you been, Jim? How’s- uh- Diane, is it?” John inquires.

Now it’s your turn to go completely stiff. The mention of your mother sends your heart racing and your stomach plummeting. You look at your dad, panicked and worried. Steve catches the shift. Your dad has gone completely cold. He glares at John, jaw flexing as he restrains himself. There’s no way John doesn't know… right? It feels like everyone in Hawkins knows the tragedy of the Hoppers. A tragedy that split them up and sent half of them back home to Hawkins. 

“Fine,” your dad answers short and hot before looking at you, “Let’s go find our table.”

You don't argue. You don't even speak. You simply nod and shoot Steve a shy smile as you shuffle past him. John Harrington’s eyes are heavy on you, but you don't acknowledge them. Your dad casts a solid arm over your shoulder, sheltering you from the Harrington men. Then he’s ushering you away. The only noise comes from the people around you blissfully unaware of the tension stretching between the Hoppers and the Harringtons. Little cards on the table with your names on them aren't hard to find. The two of you take your seats.

“Dad,” you start quietly, “I’m really sorry.”

Your dad fixes you with a tired smile.

“Nothing to be sorry for. You were just saying hi to a friend, right?” He raises his eyebrows slightly.

You have to swallow the lump of guilt in your throat before responding.

“Right,” you nod, “His dad came over right when we got our drinks.”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. The gesture skews some of his mustache hair.

“Look, if you’re going to be friends with Steve, fine,” he says evenly, “But I don't want you anywhere near John Harrington.”

“Okay,” you agree without hesitation.

Your dad smiles warmly at you. The trust he casts over you only makes your skin crawl. Are you the worst kid in the world? It’s starting to feel that way.

“I’m sorry he mentioned mom,” you attempt to assuage some of your guilt.

“Don't be,” he sighs, “He knew what he was doing.”

A beat of silence passes over you. Anxiously, you sip your drink.

“I… I haven't talked to her, y’know. Since she…,” you can't finish the thought.

“You should,” he tells you, “You should call her soon.”

You furrow your brows at him. That wasn't what you had been expecting from him.

“Why?” 

“Because she’s your mother. I’m sure she would like to hear from you.”

A short puff of air exits your nose as you cross your arms.

“She’s someone else’s mother too now. I’m sure she’s busy,” you answer bitterly.

Your dad sighs once more, running a hand down his face again. 

“You can't stay mad at her forever,” he reasons.

“But you can?” 

“That's different we’re- She’s your mother. It’s different.”

“She was my mother. You two aren't the only ones who lost someone. You aren't the only ones that get to be mad at each other for everything. I was there too, I experienced it too,” you snap quietly enough to only be heard by him.

His features soften at that. He nods solemnly. His heavy hand clamps comfortingly on your shoulder with a squeeze before retreating back to the table.

“Are you doing that movie night thing with Steve and your tuba friend?” he asks.

You chuckle and roll your eyes.

“Robin and I will be going to Steve’s on Friday, yes. His parents will be gone again by then. He wouldn't have us over otherwise,” you reply. 

“Good.”

“He was trying to keep me from him,” you tell him, picking at a spot on the white tablecloth.

“Good,” he echoes.

“Does that mean you’re going to stop being so crazy about me and him?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

His mouth flattens into a line.

“I’m okay with you being friends, but there are rules,” he lifts a finger to start listing, “One, no hanging out alone unless it's in public. Two, you don’t go there if his parents are home. Three, he only comes over when I’m home.”

“Anything else?” You half-joke.

He levels you with a serious look.

“Just… Be honest with me. I just want to know you're safe.”

If you didn't know any better you’d think the whole world is crashing around you. Fuck, you feel god awful. Your dad’s voice mixes with the ghost of Callahan’s in your head. At least I know you’re safe, Callahan had said when finding you with Steve. I just want to know you’re safe. You force a smile that you hope is convincing.

“Yeah, of course,” you say, “There aren't any secrets between us.”

He smiles, the corners of his mustache lifting up in the way they do when it's really genuine. He gives you a loving shoulder squeeze. You struggle to hold back your nausea. There aren't any secrets between us. Maybe at one time that was true, but certainly not anymore.

Rule One >>