#And I can't block the tag bc then I'd be blocking the

[storm-and-starlight]

The hardest thing in fandom is when there is one person who has great analysis on every aspect of the text BUT you physically cannot *stand* their takes on your favorite character

[sofastuffing]

i have a headache

[wolveria]

listen i don't wanna sound too evil here but bonus points if 049 is the *last* SCP to fuck Reid during monster-fucking bang marathon. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

Dude we are on the same wavelength because that is exactly what I was going to do

I was probably going to have some kind of SCP involved that acts as an aphrodisiac for SCPs or something lol I don't know if one exists so I'll probably make it up, but if anyone knows of an SCP that already exists that can do that, let me knooow

The whump potential for 049 seeing what's been done to Reid and is unable to stop from doing it himself

[shirogane-oushirou]

gripping anybody who puts sea otters in the river otter tags like this:

(doubled for size)

I Want My Boy. The River Noodle. Give Him To Me.

[sureuncertainty]

at least now i've gone through an important tumblr rite of passage, watching a longtime mutual become a radfem :/

[united-under-skyfall]

.

[damiemontclair]

This blog is a spoiler safe blog. All spoilers will be reblogged with appropriate warnings for at least 2 weeks after the show is done airing. Spoilertags to block will be listed on my pinned post

[nereb-and-dungalef]

[image id: tags reading #And if everyone is in on the lie it's Goncharov

/end id]

I just saw someone say the words "jokingly gaslight" this might be a good time to reintroduce the internet to the terms "lying" or perhaps "pranking" or even just "joking" on it's own

[ryanthedemiboy]

Shoutout to the asshole who asked me a non-rhetorical question and then blocked me. Why bother asking a question if you're not going to let me answer? I don't care that you blocked me, i'm just baffled as to why you even bothered to take the time to type a message and not let me reply.

[leviscolwill]

read your mind (smau)

pairing: ollie bearman x singer!reader

in which: ollie is his gf's most supportive fan and you're the most supportive wag (face claim: sabrina carpenter)

notes: my first socmed au ever !! this was so so much fun to write hehe, i don't know if it's too long or too short for this kind of story so lmkkk. also yn.fm is yourname.fm (bc music got it ? hahahahaha.....)

now playing: read your mind by sabrina carpenter (emails i can't send)

yn.fm

liked by gracieabrams, olliebearman, and 472.332 others

yn.fm cooking a little something 👩‍🍳🤭

view all comments

user57 ALBUM SOON

yn.fm maybe, maybe not 🤭

olliebearman who let her cook ⁉️⁉️

yn.fm UR SO MEAN

olliebearman haha i love you

olliebearman

liked by yn.fm, arthurleclerc, and 67.843 others

olliebearman aaand we're back ! very excited about my first season in f2, many good things to come 😁👍

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prema_team Let's go Ollie !

yn.fm ROTY AWARD INCOMING

yn.fm I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO WIN EVERY RACE

olliebearman who are you ?

yn.fm oliver answer the phone NOW 😁

yn.fm

liked by olliebearman, taylorswift and 861.989 others

yn.fm SURPRISE !!! my debut album 'email i can't send' is dropping on april 27th 2023 💌 i'm so so so excited to share these stories with you, tell me which track you're claiming in the commentssss 🫶

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user44 NONSENSE IS ABOUT TO BE MY TOP SPOTIFY WRAPPED SONG I CAN FEEL IT

olliebearman good choice 👍

yn.fm stop influencing my babies 😡

olliebearman just appreciating their taste love 🤷‍♂️

olliebearman they're so not ready

olliebearman not our little secret anymore :(

yn.fm i'll share other secrets with u dw 🤭

olliebearman

liked by scuderiaferrari, yn.fm, and 98.089 others

olliebearman so happy with this weekend's results! hoping for many other wins for the rest of the season :)

view all comments

yn.fm MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

yn.fm 🐻celona 🤭🫶

yn.fm so leng

olliebearman stop this madness

scuderiaferrari Complimenti Ollie 👏

olliebearman grazie mille team !

yn.fm @olliebearman stop pretending you can speak italian on main

olliebearman @yn.fm you're about to get blocked

yn.fm

liked by flolikethis, alferdoflores and 980.421 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm nonsense video out tomorrow starring my favourite boy ever !!!

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user98 the highway is looking rlly comfy rn

olliebearman i caught the l-o-v-e

yn.fm so corny

olliebearman ??? they're your lyrics

yn.fm no ❤️

olliebearman am i your favourite actor as well ?

yn.fm not you thinking you can top ryan gosling

olliebearman 😞

yn.fm

liked by renee_downer, dennis_hauger and 875.385 others

yn.fm yk i luv a london boy !! uk tour starts tonight 😎

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olliebearman actually i'm from essex

yn.fm 'actually i'm from essex' ���☝️

olliebearman the british slander was a bit unnecessary

user68 i'm so excited to see you tonight xx

yn.fm i can't wait to see your cute faces my loves 🥹

formula2

liked by kimi.antonelli, roynissany and 57.998 others

formula2 Bearman to receive post-Feature Race time penalty at the #BritishGP.

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yn.fm booo you whore

user15 ariana what are you doing here ??

user66 LMAOO Y/N ON YOUR PUBLIC ACCOUNT ???

user98 @user66 her pr team must be so tired

yn.fm literally underserved

user39 so real of you

user07 so sad about ollie's penalty, on his home race as well :(

olliebearman

liked by prema_racing, nyckdevries, and 78.054 others

olliebearman i wish this weekend would've ended on a better note, but i'd like to thank everyone for the support there ❤️

view all comments

yn.fm so happy that i got to see you do what you love at your home race 🫶

yn.fm you were perfect ilysm

olliebearman love you ❤️

olliebearman

liked by clementnovalak, jakcrawford_ and 178.652 others [tagged: @yn.fm]

olliebearman happy one year to the most beautiful, hardworking and kind person on earth. here's to many many many other summers with you my love

view all comments

yn.fm I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ARGH

olliebearman i love you more 😁

paularon_ @olliebearman eww

yn.fm my swiftie bf

olliebearman you basically brainwashed me into a swiftie but okay

yn.fm

liked by oliviarodrigo, lissiemackintosh, and 1.003.581 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm happy anniversary to my lover, i'm so happy our paths crossed because i don't even know what i would do without you !! i love you more than words can say 🫶

view all comments

olliebearman my pretty girl !! i love you so much ❤️

yourbsf @olliebearman can i get her back now

olliebearman @yourbsf maybe tmrw

yourbsf @olliebearman it's been a week bearman 😐

olliebearman @yourbsf joint custody is so complicated with you

yn.fm @olliebearman @yourbsf HELLOO ??

[sanguineterrain]

redamancy | steve harrington

Summary: redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings/tags: friends to lovers, 5+1 fic format, no use of y/n, FLUFF, PINING PINING, injured s4 steve, hospital setting, general vecna angst (eddie's alive bc i will never kill eddie in my fics), bed sharing, happy ending, and kissing. if that wasn't clear. :)

A/N: fun fact: this is the first time i've written a 5+1 fic! technically it's 4+1 but whatevs. if you enjoy this fic, please give it a reblog and support your local steve harrington tumblrina.

divider by firefly-graphics

i. the promise 

"Would you ever get married?" 

You open your eyes. The setting sun nearly blinds you through the windshield. Immediately, you stick out a hand to block it. 

You're still reclined all the way back in the passenger seat, because Steve's fancy schmancy BMW can do that. He frequently lectures you about doing it while he's driving. Have I taught you nothing? Road safety! 

"I mean, I guess so," you say. "If someone ever wants to put a ring on me."

You sit up and pull down the sun visor. Steve turns. His hair lightens in the summer, shades of reddish blond peeking through. He insists his hair has never been anything but brown, fiercely pledging his allegiance to brunettes. You coo at his highlights all the same. 

"I want to," he says after a minute. "I wanna get married." 

You're parked down the block from your house. You should've gotten out ten minutes ago, but there's never any rush when you're with Steve.

"The line to wed you will be out the door, champ," you say around a grin. 

"Hm. I dunno." He stretches in his seat. "Maybe if I was the same guy I was a few years ago." 

You wrinkle your nose. "I doubt that."

"But what can I really offer?" he continues. "I'm just some guy who can't get into college."

"That doesn't mean no one will marry you. Some people who go to college are dumber than dirt. They get married. College has nothing to do with it. You can go, if you really want to. One rejection doesn't say anything about you, Steve." 

"I guess."

You pull the lever on the side. The seat shoots up with a brrrap! It clicks as you straighten. 

"Where did all this come from, anyway?" you ask. 

Steve shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

He smiles. "I like to live on the edge."

"Contemplating marriage like the world's biggest sap. Definitely edgy."

Steve hums. His hands are in his lap. He picks at a cuticle, a habit he’s recently developed. You wonder why he’s so anxious. 

"Two people from our graduating class got married last week."

Your eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Lisa Schell and Gary Brewer." 

"Wait, didn't she cheat on him?"

"Yeah, but he slept with her sister, so I guess they called it even."

You shake your head. "That's insane. They're literally babies, Steve. That's like Dustin getting married."

Steve scowls. "He's not allowed to get married before me." 

"Not even to his possibly fictional Suzie?" 

"Not even to her."

You stare at the freckles on Steve's face and how his frizz kind of looks like a halo in the light. You imagine the feel of his hair in your hands, the warmth of his scalp.

"I'd marry you," you say. 

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. 

"What?"

"Like, if you were in a pinch."

He looks at you sideways. You flatten, then scrunch your hands over your knees. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. 

"I'm talking about spending the rest of my life with someone, you know. Not borrowing fifty bucks."

"Fifty bucks is a lot of money for some of us, Harrington."

"That’s probably how much Lisa's wedding dress cost."

"I hope she kept the receipt."

Silence descends. A soft breeze blows through your cracked window. You want to search Steve's glove box for gum, but you've just told him you'd marry him, so you can't do anything except think about the fact that those words came out of your mouth. 

"Are you…" Steve begins, then pauses. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you're worried, for some incomprehensible reason, that no one will marry you."

"I scoop ice cream for a living."

You level him with a look. 

"Steve. We're kids. Cut yourself some slack."

His eyes turn hollow. They've been doing that lately. You wish you knew why. 

"I don't really feel like a kid these days," he says. 

Something about the way Steve sounds makes you want to climb over the console and curl into him, cradle his head to your neck. Which is crazy. You guys don't do that. Steve isn't yours to do that with. 

"Let's make a pact," you say softly. 

He meets your eye. "A pact?"

"Mmhm. Let's say if both of us aren't married by… thirty, then we'll get married."

"Well, I don't want a pity marriage." 

You roll your eyes. "It's not a pity marriage, Steve."

"Thirty is so late! You really think I won't be married by then?" he asks. 

"No, I don't think that. I already said folks will be lined up to marry you," you say. 

"I can't wait till I'm thirty." 

"Or you'll turn into an old maid?" 

"Meh meh meh," he mocks without any heat. 

You purse your lips so you don't smile. "Fine. We'll split the difference. Twenty-four?"

Steve considers that. Really considers it. It suddenly occurs to you what you're promising and who you're promising it to. You wonder if you'll both forget about it. Or brush it off. Oh, what did we know? We were kids!

Except Steve doesn't feel like a kid. And maybe you don't either, as much as you wish you do. 

"Do you mean it?" he asks. 

"Of course I do."

"No, seriously." He's serious. "I mean it, so if you don't…"

"Steve, I said I mean it. I do."

"You'll marry me?"

"I will."

"Swear on it."

You hold out your right pinkie out, waiting. Steve hooks his finger over yours. Impulsively, you kiss your linked pinkies. To show that you really, truly mean it.

You try to picture it. What walking down the aisle to meet Steve at the altar would feel like. You wonder if he'd keep his hair long, like it is now. You like it long. Would he keep it long for you?

"Will you buy me a ring?" you ask. "If we get married, I mean."

"Of course I'd buy you a ring," Steve says. "I'd get you anything you wanted."

"Okay." Your heart hammers in your chest. "I'm gonna go home."

"Alright. Want me to pull up to the door?"

"No, it's fine. Walking is good for digestion. Those milkshakes were no joke."

Steve smiles. He has such a lovely smile. His Cupid's bow is shaped exactly like a heart. 

"Same time tomorrow? It's movie night." 

Right. Your movie night. A semi-regular occasion that includes you, Steve, Robin, and the kids, sometimes. You've watched at least a dozen movies this summer together. Only this time, you're watching a movie after promising to marry Steve. 

"Sounds good," you say. "Will you pick me up?"

"Always."

Another promise. You hadn't realized how many Steve makes to you. 

"'Kay. See you."

You get out. Steve waves as he pulls away from the curb. 

Your ring finger feels bare. You rub it, hoping the feeling will go away. 

ii. the wound 

The plastic chair has turned your legs numb. Your butt is about to follow. 

Can butts go numb? You're not sure. You'll find out soon, though. 

You rub your eyes. God, you need sleep. 

Across the room, you catch Joyce Byers' gaze. She smiles at you, though it's brittle. You try to smile back, feeling distinctly like you might break if you stretch your mouth too far. 

She looks away, and your not-smile falls. 

"They'll let us in soon," she says, like she knows. She does know. Better than you, certainly. 

The hospital smells cold. It smells like a place people go to die. 

Your heartbeat ratchets. You shouldn't think like that. 

"You don't understand," comes Dustin's voice. He's at the receptionist's desk, flanked by Mike and Lucas. Dustin's face is red and blotchy, near tears. 

"I need to see him. You won't let me see Eddie, so—" 

The receptionist rears back, like she can't believe three children are daring to speak to her. 

"Neither patient is cleared for visitors," she says icily. "Now, for the last time: have a seat."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joyce begin to stand, ready to herd the kids away. You beat her to it. Out of everyone in this room, you're probably the only person who has the strength to stand. 

"Guys, c'mon. It won't be long." 

They don't look at you. You don't take it personally. An hour earlier, you'd cornered Dustin and forced him to tell you what happened. What's been happening. 

So he did. And now you're here. 

You don't blame them for glaring at the prickly receptionist. But you know that won't do anything. It won't heal Steve quicker. And it won't make anybody feel better. 

"Hey, Dustin." You lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you like you're not Steve. You wish it was you in surgery instead. 

"Come sit," you say. 

"I need to see him," he tells you. 

"I know." Your throat tightens, threatening to trap your words altogether. You rush to get the rest out. "I do too. But this isn't going to make that happen faster. Come sit with me. Okay?"

"He'll be fine," Mike says quietly. "They don't wanna get sued by his asshole dad."

You nod, because yeah, good point. Quite possibly the first time Richard Harrington has brought anybody comfort. He's in Cancun, last you'd heard. You hope he chokes on a margarita. 

Dustin follows you. Mike and Lucas sit next to Joyce. The five of you wait. 

At some point, you fall asleep. When you wake up, it's to the contentious receptionist peering over you all. 

"Mr. Harrington is awake," she says primly. "You may see him now, young man."

Dustin flies out of the chair, Lucas and Mike at his heels. 

A part of you wants to go home, and you feel terrible for it. You feel terrible that Steve almost died, but you're the frightened one. You don't know if you can bear to see him tied to tubes and a heart monitor.

"Go on."

Joyce tracks you sleepily. Her hair is more knotted than before you fell asleep. She nods to the hallway. 

"Go see him."

You can’t voice every thought, every fear. I don’t know if I can see him like this.

“It’s good he won’t wake up alone,” she says.

“He’s got a family.” You wave your hand weakly. 

Joyce watches you for a moment. Then she gets up.

"Yes, he does." 

She holds out her hand. 

You don’t know Joyce Byers very well. This is probably the longest conversation you’ve had with her. You realize, then, that you're wrong—you’re not the one who’s strong enough to stand.

“Let’s go see him,” she says. "All of his loved ones should be there." 

God, are you really that obvious? 

You take her hand, and the two of you go down the hall.

Steve is nearly unrecognizable in the hospital bed. The kids are speaking to him, unusually quiet. They look up when you enter. 

Steve’s eyes lock with yours. 

“Hey,” is all you say.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough with disuse and getting choked by what Dustin had described as demon bats. 

“Boys, come on,” Joyce calls. “Let’s make a cafeteria stop.”

You see Dustin about to protest, but Lucas tugs his arm like he knows, and goddamn, you really are that obvious, aren’t you? 

You wait for the door to close behind you. Then you walk to Steve’s side. 

The gnarled ring of flesh around his neck makes you queasy. The rest of him isn’t much better, red and purple smeared across any skin that’s not covered by the chalky hospital gown.

You sit in the chair. It’s the same plastic kind as the ones in the waiting room, but this one doesn’t feel so hard.

“Robin called me,” you say.

Steve closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be.” Your voice cracks. “Can’t believe you went dimension-surfing without me.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Your breath is punched out of you. 

“No,” you say softly. “My God, Steve. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand creeps to the edge of the bed. His fingers are scraped.

You take his hand and lace your fingers together. He slow-blinks. He’ll probably fall asleep in the next half hour. 

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers. “Mad, I mean. I’d be mad too.”

You know he wouldn’t be, though. You know Steve would forgive you in a heartbeat.

“I’m not mad,” you say, equally as quiet. “I just… I was scared." 

He nods. "I'm sorry for scaring you." 

You bow your head and close your eyes. When Robin had called, you'd run to the bathroom and coughed up stomach acid.

They say he’ll make it, she'd told you, and you'd realized with violent clarity that you love him. 

But Steve doesn't need that right now. So you bury it.

You lean in and bring Steve's knuckles to your lips, taking care not to jostle him.

His eyes widen. Part of you hopes he won’t remember this conversation.

"Don't do that again," you say. “Not without me.”

"Okay,” he whispers. “I won't." 

You wait until he falls asleep, hand in his. 

iii. the brand

“There’s no way I’m getting in your death van, Munson!” Robin whines.

“Death van is an exaggeration, Buckley. If anything, it’s a life van. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Definitely not because of that heap of metal,” Steve murmurs to you. You snicker.

It’s nearly dark, but a summer dark, where it doesn’t actually turn to night until well after nine PM. The top two buttons of Steve’s dress shirt are undone, and you can’t stop staring. It’s embarrassing, really. You’d nearly missed Eddie’s walk across the stage because of that damned triangle of tanned skin and dark chest hair.

“Why can’t we take the station wagon?” Robin asks. 

“I think Nancy already left,” you say. “Sorry, Rob.” 

“And I’ve put my car jacking days behind me,” Eddie announces, flinging his arms out. “So my van it shall be!”

Robin whips her head around to glare at Steve. 

“This is your fault,” she accuses scathingly.

“Me?!”

“You just had to go and get a flat tire yesterday.”

“Yeah, Steve,” you add cheekily. “Why couldn’t you have foreseen the dreaded timeline where Eddie drives?”

“Et tu?” Eddie asks. “I’m hurt. I’m a great driver, y’know. Better than Steve, some have told me.”

“Dustin only told you that ‘cause you were high on morphine and about to burst into tears,” Robin says.

As they bicker, Steve draws closer, so your arms brush. You close the distance, crowding him.

“Y’okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you say, startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.”

“Are you okay?”

He turns to you. He looks like he’s searching for something. You don’t know what.

“Yeah,” Steve says after a minute. “I am. Better than, actually.”

“‘Cause I’m here, right?” you ask with a gooey grin.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re here.”

He sounds honest, so you turn away, because you can’t handle that and his chest hair. 

"I should get to choose where we go," Robin says as you arrive at Eddie's van. "Since it may be our last trip and all."

"Funny you were in Band and not president of the drama club, Buckley," Eddie says dryly. 

"Pot, kettle."

"How 'bout Rita's?" you suggest. "Unlimited refills and no one will hassle Eddie."

"Aw, you care about little ol' me?" Eddie asks. 

"If you get us there in one piece, yes."

Eddie huffs. "No wonder you and the Hair are like this." He crosses his fingers. 

"Damn right," Steve says. "We even finish each other's—"

"Terribly cliche sayings!" you say. 

Robin looks at you for a moment, unusually smirky. Then she looks at Steve. 

"You match. Blue dress, blue tie."

"That's so if she gets lost, they know who to return her to," Steve says. 

You scoff. "More like the other way around." 

He pouts. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," you sing, skipping ahead to Eddie's van. 

"I'm sorry, are you excited to ride in the Hell Van?" Robin asks. 

You shrug. "We could use some excitement around here, couldn't we?"

"No!" all three say.

"I've had enough excitement for ten lifetimes," Robin mutters. 

Eddie pulls the door open. Your smile quickly drops. 

"Uh, Eddie? Where the fuck are the seats?"

"Right, so, usually I only have Gareth and Jeff ride with me. Gareth always calls shotgun—"

"Shotgun!" Robin hollers, and races to the front seat. 

You stare at the single backseat chair. There's no way it's big enough for you and Steve. 

"Holy shit," Steve says, taking stock of the "backseat."

Eddie rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah… listen, if I'd known we'd be taking her, I would've put the other seat in, swear! Usually we take it out for the equipment." 

"Well, what are we supposed to do? Lay down and pray? This is how people get head injuries, Eddie," you say, arms folded. 

"Maybe we can call a cab," Steve suggests. 

"At this hour?" You shake your head. "No way. This isn't Indianapolis."

"Oh my God." Robin groans. "The solution is so obvious. Sit on Steve's lap. Boom. Now come on, I'm starving."

You tense. Steve is tactile, sure, and you've become acclimated to that over the years. 

But this? This is way, way beyond that. 

"Uh…" Steve glances at you. "Do you… I mean, if you don't mind?"

You glance at Eddie, who's got the tiniest smirk. You glower and he clears his throat, hiding his mouth behind a lock of hair. 

"I don't mind," you say, more confident than you feel. "It's a short drive."

Eddie nods. "Definitely. I'll step on it."

"Please don't step on it," Robin calls. "We're already chancing fate by letting you drive in the first place."

Eddie huffs, walking to the driver's side. "Y'know, Buckley, you are just…"

You look at Steve. He smiles at you, sweet as always. 

"This isn't gonna aggravate any injuries, right?" you ask. "Me… sitting on you?"

You wince at the wording. 

"No, should be fine. My PT gave me the all clear a month ago."

You nod tightly. "Right. Okay. You go first."

Steve climbs in, planting his feet on the floor. You go next, stooping in front of him. You catch each other's gaze for a moment. Then you laugh, suddenly trying to look anywhere but at Steve. 

"Right, so I'll just…"

You slide onto Steve's lap, trying to hold some of your weight so you won't crush him. He splays an easy hand over your belly and leans over to pull the van door shut. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

"You can sit back, y'know," he says, breath tickling your ear. "’M not made of glass."

"Didn't want your legs to go numb," you joke weakly. 

Steve makes an unhappy noise and tugs you back so you're fully seated on him. You angle yourself so you can look at him. Steve looks up at you, lightly tracing a pattern on your hip. Like you do this all the time. 

"Hi," you say, too jittery to crack another joke. 

Steve smiles gently. "Hey."

His tone is fond. You feel sick. 

"Everybody good?" Eddie asks. 

He adjusts the rear view mirror and you watch his eyebrows shoot up in the reflection. 

"You two look cozy."

"Shut the fuck up, Munson," you mumble. "Just drive, already." 

Eddie giggles like a gremlin in reply and turns the ignition.

It’s not bad, at first. Eddie takes it easy driving through Hawkins. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to attract attention. The other part is that Hopper promised Eddie a night in jail if he caught him running the stop signs again. 

You personally think it’s a bluff. Robin does not; she’s enthusiastically annoying about road safety, and points out every single sign and red light. This causes Eddie to start slamming the breaks in retaliation. 

“Holy fuck!” you yelp when Eddie hits the breaks particularly hard. “Eddie!”

Steve is quick to tug you backwards, considering you’re not belted. You scramble to grab his shoulders and twist to look at him.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

He smiles, then leans away, glaring at the front.

“Really, Munson?”

“She started it!” Eddie insists. “Blame your BFF!”

“Can you drive like someone who doesn’t have a death wish?” Robin shoots back.

Steve’s hands are now on the small of your back and on your hip, respectively. Your legs hang over the side of the carseat, butt nestled quite firmly on his thighs. 

God, you’re never living this down. 

“Y’okay?” 

Steve’s breath in your ear makes you squirm. You turn to look at him.

“Fine,” you murmur. “I’m not crushing you, am I?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Eddie breaks again, harder than before. You slip. 

Steve reacts instantly, his hand grabbing the meat of your thigh. Your dress rides up, so it’s skin on skin. 

The momentum is worse, however, because you jerk back. Right into Steve’s face.

Your nose mashes into his, which isn’t great. But then, your lips smush against his cheek. When you pull back, there’s a smeared lipstick print.

Maybe you’re the one with a death wish.

Robin is screeching incoherently but you can't focus on anything but the smudge of pink on Steve's cheek. Your chest feels tight. 

He looks like he's yours.

"Yeah, we're fine, " Steve says, voice close enough to startle you back into the conversation. 

He looks up at you. Your hand lands on the lipstick, like if you cover it, it'll go away. Steve tilts his head, mouth open in a question. 

"Sorry," you rush out before he can speak. "I got some of my, uh, lipstick on you." 

He relaxes. 

"Oh. Thought I was bleeding or something," he says with a slight laugh. "'S okay, I can wipe it off when we get there."

"Uh-huh." 

You drop your hand. You can't stop staring. Stop staring.

The print isn't exactly in the shape of your lips, but it's close. You can see the divots and where your lips parted. If someone were to see you two, they'd assume a lot of things you're not. 

Steve's collar is wrinkled from the van ride from Hell. His neck is flushed. You wonder how your lipstick would look there. 

Eddie presses the brake, softer this time. Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your thigh anyway. More marks. 

"Alright, relax, gang," Eddie says. "We're almost there."

You touch Steve's cheek again and hope he'll forget to wash you off of his face. 

iv. the secret

It's raining. You're in Steve's bed. 

Thunder shakes the sky. You curl further into your—Steve’s—pillow. It smells like his soap and detergent. 

You used to like the rain. Not so much these days. Rain makes you think of blood on asphalt and being alone at twenty-four. Rain silences you. 

"Do you think he'll come back?" 

You've never dared to ask anyone. Not even Joyce. She'd know. She wouldn't tell you the truth, though. 

Nancy Wheeler probably could. She'd face you with that steel brow of hers and give it to you straight. 

Yes. The monster's back. You're not getting married. 

You slip your hand into Steve’s. He squeezes your fingers. Outside, the rain roars. 

"I don't know," Steve says into the darkness. 

You can't see him like this. It makes you mildly claustrophobic. Maybe you should turn on the hall light. 

"Hopper said he was dead. So did that other guy—uh, Murray. And like, Eddie's okay. And Max. El would tell us if she sensed something. It's not like he could come back without making a sound. I mean, from what she told me, she basically, like, unraveled him from the inside out. Which is pretty gross, but also a good way to keep someone dead."

He's rambling. He's rambling to distract you. 

God, what the fuck are you going to do when you're twenty-four and unmarried and Steve's forgotten all about you? 

"I don't want anyone to die," you whisper. 

Steve squeezes your hand harder. 

"No one's gonna die."

You shift closer. You can barely make out Steve's silhouette. The ends of his hair tickle your knuckles. 

"Hey," he says, and you try to find his eyes, but you can't. "Nothing's gonna happen, okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, even though something did happen, something that almost took him away from you, and you don't know if you can handle that again. 

"You can stay here as long as you want," he says. 

"I can go back to my room."

Steve threads his fingers with yours. You can't see his eyes but it's okay.

"Don't," he says. 

"Okay."

You scoot forward, closing another few inches between you two. Now, you feel Steve's breath on your face. He smells like minty toothpaste. He is alive. 

The rain batters against the windows. You could kiss him. You could kiss him right now, and no one would know except for you and him. 

His breath has begun to even out. You lean in blindly. Your lips land on his hair. 

It's hardly a kiss. It’ll be your secret anyway.

+ and, finally, the first.

"Dustin wanted chocolate milk," you say, not looking up from the tub of yogurt you're searching the date for. 

"Yeah," Steve says, parking the cart to the side. "Kid's addicted."

He opens the giant fridge door and a burst of cold air nips at your arm. You shy away. 

"Six dollars? Jesus, does it come from gold cows?"

You snort, finally putting the yogurt in the cart. You stay at Steve’s house more often than not these days, so there’s no point in getting a separate cart.

"What?" Steve asks, looking at you. 

"You're funny, that's what."

"I am?"

"You sound like somebody's grandpa."

"I do not!"

"Do too," you say sweetly. 

"Do not."

"Do too infinity."

Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, whatever. I'm a grandpa 'cause I don't wanna spend a leg and an arm on chocolate milk for the little shit? So be it."

"Steve," you begin, eyebrows drawing together. "It's his birthday. Have a heart, old man." 

"Oh, good grief," he mumbles, but he takes the carton and puts it into the cart. 

You smile. Steve shakes his head. 

"This is why I don't go shopping with you. You're an enabler."

"I am," you say happily, walking alongside him as he pushes the cart. 

"And you don't push the cart."

You tut. "Pretty girls don't push shopping carts, Steven." 

"Oh, they just find some poor sap to push it for them, huh?" 

"I'm so glad you're on board," you say, skipping ahead to the chip aisle. 

You look through the shelves and land on two types of Doritos. Cool Ranch and Original. It’s a tough decision.

“Steve, what do you think?” You hold up the bags. “Which do they like better?”

“Ranch. According to Mike, liking the original flavors of snacks is lame.”

You snicker and take three bags of the Cool Ranch. Steve pushes the cart to you. 

“I feel like we’re shopping for our kid,” you say. “We’re the awesome house everybody wants to visit because we have the best snacks and the biggest pool.”

You look up when Steve doesn’t reply. He stares at you, expression unreadable. Your smile dims.

“What?” you ask.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Steve, seriously. What is it?”

He shakes his head again. 

“Nothing, really. Just zoned out for a second.”

He continues to push the cart down the aisle. You watch him for a moment, then follow. The two of you quickly check off the remaining items on Steve’s list (yes, his actual, physical grocery list), and then you check out.

The cashier smiles at you both in line. She’s an older woman, with the typical poofy blowout nearly every woman over fifty gets at Brenda’s Salon in downtown Hawkins. You busily put the items on the conveyor belt while Steve takes out his wallet and makes conversation with the cashier. It’s a good routine you two have established. 

When the cashier’s done, you squeeze past the cart and grab half of the bags. Steve takes the receipt and the rest of the bags.

“You two are very sweet together,” the cashier says, her round cheeks blush-red like apples. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve replies, and heads to the exit.

You’re frozen for a moment, startled until Steve calls your name. You heft the bags in your arms and hurry after him. 

Steve stops and takes two of your bags before crossing the parking lot. 

“Steve,” you say, and huff. “I can carry them.”

“Pretty girls don’t push carts or carry bags. It’s the rule, remember?”

You watch, unimpressed, as Steve then proceeds to try and get his car keys with an armful of grocery bags. When he almost drops a bag for the third time, you sigh and take pity. 

“Which pocket?” you ask, snaking your arm around.

“Back left,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, feeling disgustingly fond. You shove your hand down Steve’s back jean pocket. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Take me out to dinner at least,” he says.

“Pretty boys don’t get taken to dinner until the pretty girl has been asked out properly,” you shoot back. 

Steve smiles, but the joke doesn’t land like it usually does. You step away as soon as you get the keys, clearing your throat. 

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson about carrying all the bags, Popeye.”

You open the trunk for him, then go to open the passenger side door.

“If I don’t carry all the bags, how else am I meant to show off to the ladies?”

You pull the handle on the driver’s side for Steve and he gets in, beaming cheekily at you.

“The only person who’s watching you make a fool of yourself is me, big guy,” you say. “So, mission failed.”

You open the glove compartment and start fishing through for gum. You find a Juicy Fruit packet but it’s empty. 

“Damn, that’s what we forgot,” you say, defeatedly crumpling the cardboard. “Gum.”

You start to turn to Steve. “Do you think we—”

You’ve wondered, probably more than you should, about how Steve Harrington kisses. 

Now you know: tenderly. 

He cups both sides of your face, and you have to brace yourself on the center console for balance. Your other hand tangles in his hair. It’s as soft as you imagined, free of product, and you scrunch the baby hairs at the base of his scalp. Steve makes a quiet noise. 

You kiss until you need air. Even then, Steve doesn’t let you go far. You part with only an inch or two between you. 

“There’s gum in the middle compartment,” is the first thing he says.

“Huh?”

“In here.” He pats the compartment between the seats. “Hubba Bubba. I got it last week.”

You giggle and grab Steve’s face with both hands. His hands slip to your arms and he squeezes, smiling gently.

“What?” he asks.

“Fuck, I’m glad I know you,” you say. 

Steve kisses you again. Two. Steve Harrington has officially kissed you two times. 

You hope you’ll lose track at some point.

[notiddygothgf]

7. Behave

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You need to behave ❞ ❝ I can try. ❞

★ c.w.: aki being a smooth criminal. (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: HI THEREEEE. im giving you some new chapter(s. yes. plural) before this week because i start my new internship and i know i will be super busy! also bc my cousin slash proofreader told me she would end her life if i didn't so. (her, just now btw: yeah. you know thats right!) anyway take this damn chapter. i HOPE YOU LOVED ITTTT i love tension i love aki hes such a sweet pea in this chapter. MORE SEXINESS COMINGGGGG AKAKAKA KEEP COMMENTING ILY ALL

★ w.c: .6.5k

shameless ; chapter index

"THANK YOU FOR COMING under such short notice," Makima began, her voice smooth and authoritative. She stood at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the room, which was empty save for you and her. "Today's agenda is straightforward. We have a new mission that requires immediate attention, and I believe it's crucial to ensure everything goes smoothly."

You shifted in your seat, trying to focus on her words.

Makima's eyes flicked to you briefly before continuing. "We have a newcomer joining one of our teams, specifically under the command of Captain Hayakawa."

No fucking way. You thought. There was no way – no fucking shot. Your heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of his name.

Makima continued, "While I have full confidence in Captain Hayakawa's capabilities, I believe it wouldn't hurt to have an additional layer of support."

She paused, looking directly at you. "Which is why you will be joining Hayakawa's mission alongside his team."

Before you could react, the door opened again, and the captain in question stepped in. His eyes went wide when he saw you, but he quickly masked his surprise, standing tall and composed.

Act cool, you reminded yourself. Don't be messy.

Still, it was hard to ignore him when you had spent the last week of your life replaying the memory of his lips on your skin. As if you hadn't spent all of last night and this morning anxious to see him again. Replaying the memory of his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise while you were on top of him.

Fuck.

"I apologize for the short notice," Makima said, her gaze shifting to Aki. "You will be taking on this mission with additional support to ensure its success."

Aki nodded, his eyes flickering back to you only momentarily. He couldn't stop looking at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. You tried to maintain your composure, feeling the weight of his gaze. If you stayed in that room any longer, you thought you would have exploded.

"Understood," Aki said, his voice steady. So deep, fucking hell – the sound of it practically had you squeezing your thighs together.

"Good," Makima said, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. "You're dismissed."

You bowed, and made your exit. He followed you.

As you and Aki walked out into the hallway, the tension between you was palpable. The door clicked shut behind you, and Aki turned to you, his voice low.

"Are you busy right now? Or after this?"

You shook your head, trying to hide the slight tremor in your voice. You were so happy to see him, it wasn't even funny. "Not really. Why?"

You followed him outside, the cool afternoon air a stark contrast to the stuffy meeting room.

"There's a cafe up the block from here," He said slowly. "Wanna grab a coffee with me?"

Yes. More than anything.

"I'd prefer something alcoholic," You answered. "Or sweet. Know anywhere a girl can get a soda around here? If not, a beer would suffice."

"I'd prefer something alcoholic," you answered, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Or sweet. Know anywhere a girl can get a soda around here? If not, a beer would suffice."

Aki smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Can't have you drinking on the job now, can we?"

You walked in comfortable silence, the noise of Tokyo's busy sidewalks filling the spaces between your thoughts. People moved around you in a blur of motion, but it felt like you and Aki were in your own little bubble. Aki walked side by side with you, his sword strapped to his back, the hilt glinting in the sunlight. The sun filtered through his bangs, casting dappled shadows on his face and making his features look almost ethereal.

Your eyes wandered, taking in the vibrant cityscape around you. Neon signs flashed overhead, and the smell of street food wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of blooming flowers from a nearby park. You felt a sense of contentment, an odd calm in the midst of the city's chaos.

You pulled over to a vending machine on the corner. Aki dug into his pocket and pulled out a few coins, dropping them into the slot with a clink. He turned to you, his eyes questioning. "What do you want?"

"Oh, uh..." you trailed off, glancing at the selection. "Dr. Pepper?"

He punched in the numbers, and the can clattered down into the dispenser. He retrieved it for you and then put in a few more coins to get himself a Coke.

You popped the cap, and he did the same. The crisp sound of the cans opening was followed by a hiss of carbonation.

"Cheers," you said, tapping your can against his. The impact made the soda fizz up and threaten to spill. You quickly brought the can to your lips, sucking up the overflow.

Aki licked the top of his can clean, his tongue darting out in a way that made your thoughts wander.

"It's so nice out today," you said as the two of you began to walk again, the city sprawling out before you.

"That's because I told the weather you'd be coming back," Aki replied with a smirk, his tone playful.

"Cornball." You laughed, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. The casual contact sent a thrill through you. "How have you been since we last saw each other?"

"Miserable," he answered.

You laughed at his admission. Then, when you realized he wasn't joking, you piped down.

"Has Himeno said anything about," You took a sip of your Dr. Pepper, "You know...?

"The two of us hooking up?" He answered like it was nothing, "No, she hasn't."

"No–" You sputtered, "I meant about everything else that happened."

"She hasn't texted you?" He raised a brow at you. When you didn't answer, he shrugged, "She'll get over herself."

Then, when you continued to look at him with an unspoken question hidden behind your lips, he added, "No one knows about us. Not here, at least."

Good. You thought. You wanted to keep it that way. Yet, for some odd reason, you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your gut at the thought of other women laying their hands on him.

"About that..." You sighed. "Aki, look... I– you're a great guy, and I... it just... You understand why it can't happen again, right?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen the first time, either," He answered coolly – you stopped walking, and he stopped, too, letting the pedestrians pass the two of you by, "What?" He asked, "I think it's a little late for that, don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. The worst part was that he was right. "Yeah, but I just... I dunno, I want to be– I want to do the right thing."

Aki sighed, "Look. I would never do anything you don't wanna do. Believe me when I say that you have full control of any situation that goes on in between us. At the same time," He took a breath, "I can't sit here and lie and tell you I haven't been thinking about you every day since you left. I will never stop craving you. In fact, I'd help you break your vows again in a heartbeat. Just say the word."

You felt the heat creep from the back of your neck to the points of your cheeks. You're insufferable, you thought, Insufferable and infuriatingly attractive. 

God, I hate you. It couldn't have been further from the truth.

You began walking again. He followed suit.

"You gonna tell him?" He asked you.

You answered him without looking, "Who?"

With legs as long as his, it didn't take him very long at all to catch up to you – walking side by side like an obedient dog.

"Your husband."

The sound of those words coming out of his mouth made your heart drop. You knew he knew you had a husband, reasonably, but he had never acknowledged him verbally. Until today.

You cleared your throat, doing your best to seem unphased by him – a task that proved to be much more difficult than it seemed, considering that every time you looked into your husband's eyes, you wished they were his instead. "Tell him what?" You sipped your Dr. Pepper.

Your coworker raised a brow, deadpanning, "That you fucked your coworker."

His brazen remark made you all but choke on your soda, wiping the spilled saccharine fluid off of your lips. You were in complete and utter disbelief that he would be so open about it in public, like he wasn't at all ashamed by what he had done.

After a moment of silence, you replied, "I'll get to it. Look, we got into this... this fight before I left. It got pretty ugly. He's angry enough as it is. At the very least, I want to keep my life in Kyoto."

"Do you, though?" He hummed.

You didn't. 

When the two of you passed a flower shop on the side of the road, you pulled over, drawn to a planter full of wildflowers near the front – pink and blue and gorgeous. You reached out to pinch one of the stems between your fingertips.

"Yes," You snapped back, gaze trained on the plant. "And if you want to keep this cordial relationship going, then you need to behave. I want you to behave."

He sighed behind you – voice much closer this time, like he was right behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand to your right.

You didn't glorify him with a response. Instead, you brought one of the flowers up to your nose, giving it a sniff. It smelled fresh, as if they had just been picked this morning. It was a rare treat to find such unique flowers at a store.

You could feel his presence next to you – the warmth of his body right next to yours. The proximity was suffocating. He was staring at the pretty flowers, too. He was so close, in fact, that you felt his knuckle graze yours. You stifled a shudder but didn't move away.

His touch brought back memories of the two of you in bed together. The heat of his skin, the way he whispered your name, the intense look in his eyes.

"You murdered my happiness– our happiness. This is the end of everything, isn't it?"

"You are my happiness," He panted, licking a stripe from your clavicle to your jaw. 

"Oh, fuck–" You arched your back, eyes rolling with bliss. "Murderer–" You moaned, "Murderer!"

The knot in your stomach was about to snap. You could feel it.

"Murderer!"

"Yes–" He breathed.

"Don't stop–"

"I won't."

His finger caressed yours, twitching, as if he wanted to hold your hand.

You stared at the flowers, trying to concentrate on their vibrant colors and delicate petals, but every nerve in your body was focused on the subtle pressure of his touch – every nerve was on fire. His knuckle brushed against yours again, this time lingering just a bit longer. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt through you that you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

The world around you seemed to fade, the bustling sounds of the city and the murmurs of people passing by becoming a distant hum. It was just you and him, standing in front of a planter full of wildflowers, the air thick with unspoken words.

I missed you, You thought, but didn't say.

Your breath caught as his pinky finger hooked around yours, the smallest of connections, yet it felt like a lifeline. It took everything in you not to turn your hand and entwine your fingers with his.

He shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. The movement caused his fingers to slide further against yours, and you could feel the soft pad of his thumb tracing your palm.

Your heart was pounding inside of your chest.

He was close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He reached out and gently touched a white flower, his fingers brushing against the soft petals.

"These are beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. You could hear the underlying tension, the same tension that thrummed through your veins.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" He mused, eyes scanning your flustered face.

Slowly, rather than awaiting an answer from you, he pulled the cigarette out from between his lips, popping it between yours.

You knew it was wrong. 

But, still, you couldn't resist the temptation as you wrapped your lips around the stick and breathed in.

Just as your fingers began to intertwine, you pulled away abruptly, your heart racing. The sudden loss of contact felt like a physical ache, but you forced yourself to move.

He was fucking addictive, and you felt like you were experiencing withdrawals.

"Sorry," Aki said. For the briefest moment, hurt flashed across his expression. It was quickly replaced by that deadpan, stone-faced facade that you knew so well, like it was only a moment of weakness."I'm gonna run to the bathroom. Don't get lost."

"Yeah, okay," You breathed in response.

He hesitated for a second, like he didn't really want to go, but eventually turned and left you alone with your thoughts. You stood there, staring at the flowers but not really seeing them. Your mind wandered, drifting through the chaotic mess of thoughts that had been stirred up since you stepped back into Tokyo.

You thought about the plants, the ones you admired at the entrance with their big, green leaves. They were beautiful. Your husband would never let you bring one home.

The memory of him – of your last interaction with him – left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your thoughts circled back to Aki. His words echoed in your mind:

It's a little late for that, don't you think?

Was he right? Had you already crossed a line that you couldn't uncross?

The conflict in your brain was overwhelming. On one hand, the allure of indulging your passions was tempting, intoxicating,even. On the other hand, you had a life back in Kyoto, a comfortable lifestyle that you knew well, even if it wasn't fulfilling.

You couldn't possibly give it all up for a man in uniform, could you?

You wandered deeper into the shop, your eyes glancing over the array of plants and flowers. The air was filled with the earthy scent of soil and the sweet fragrance of blooms. You trailed your fingers over the leaves of a potted fern, its delicate fronds tickling your skin.

You found yourself standing in front of a tall, leafy plant with broad, vibrant green leaves. It was stunning, and you could picture it in your living room, adding a touch of life and color to the space. But then the image of your husband's disapproving face flashed in your mind. He would never allow it. He hated the mess they made, the dirt that inevitably found its way onto the floor.

A sigh escaped your lips. Why did everything have to be so complicated? 

You were caught between two worlds, two lives. One was predictable and safe, the other chaotic and exhilarating. And Aki...he was the embodiment of that second life, the one that made your heart race and your mind spin with possibilities.

Your thoughts drifted to the times you had spent with him, the stolen glances, the memory of his lips like a ghost on your neck.

It's a little late for that, don't you think?

You felt a pang of guilt. Your husband didn't deserve this. He was a good man, providing a stable, comfortable life for you. But comfort wasn't everything. There was a part of you that craved more, that longed for the passion and intensity that Aki brought into your life.

Your fingers brushed against the edge of a delicate orchid, its petals soft and velvety under your touch. You remembered how Aki's touch felt against your skin, the way his fingers trailed over your body with a mix of tenderness and desire. The memory sent a shiver down your spine.

You closed your eyes, trying to focus, to ground yourself. The logical part of your mind told you to walk away, to leave Tokyo and never look back. But your heart, your traitorous heart, whispered that maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching. You opened your eyes and turned to see Aki standing there. He was holding something behind his back.

"You ready to go?" He asked.

You nodded slowly, not knowing whether or not to feel relieved that he had interrupted your thoughts.

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Alright."

You were exhausted. Mentally and physically.

The two of you walked out of the shop, the unspoken tension still hanging in the air. It was as if nothing had happened at all between the two of you, and while you thought you wanted that before, you weren't so sure now.

Was it really too late to turn back?

The sun felt warm against your face, against the fabric of your Public Safety uniform that heated up beneath its rays. You took a deep breath of fresh air before looking at Aki again.

He looked beautiful in the sunlight. The golden glow hugged his pretty features – his perfect nose, the curve of his cupid's bow, the pools of moody blue in his eyes. When he was looking at you like that... he was breathtaking.

And he was... holding a bouquet out with one hand...? It looked like the flowers you had seen in the planter at the shop. Long, beautiful stems speckled with soft, pastel petals – hues of blue, pink and purple projecting from the bouquet like pretty little fireworks. Wildflowers, the kind you couldn't buy anywhere else.

You felt similar fireworks in your stomach. You didn't know which sight was more beautiful – the flowers, or him.

"Aki..." You exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding. "What's this?"

"The flowers you liked. I asked the shop owner to make me a bouquet," He peered down at you softly, tenderly, as if his gaze could melt you like butter. "Do you like them?"

And, clearly, it could. Your expression softened immediately, and you took the flowers from him gently. "I love them, Aki. They're gorgeous," You paused, nearly saying 'you shouldn't be getting me these. I don't deserve them', but decided resisting him was hopeless, "Thank you."

He bought you flowers. He. Bought. You. Flowers. Your smile could power an entire city.

"You shouldn't have," You hummed, giving them a good whiff. They smelled even fresher than the ones you had smelled outside of the shop. "They're so fucking pretty."

He smiled stupidly, as if he couldn't help himself, "So are you."

As the two of you continued walking up the block – to nowhere in particular, at least to your knowledge – Aki began to speak again, "My roommates aren't home today. You should come back to my place. We can–"

"We're not doing that again," You deadpanned.

Aki frowned. "I was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie. Have a few beers, bake something."

"I shouldn't be at your place at all," You reminded him. You would not be so easily swayed. "For any reason. Remember?"

"Not even if I make us dinner?" He tried to bargain with you. "I wanted to try something new tonight. Maybe you could try it for me. Give me some pointers, you know?"

Okay. Apparently, you would be so easily swayed.

"Alright, fine," You sighed. Pointing an accusatory finger at him, you added, "But I have to behave, Aki. You need to behave."

He only smiled at your words, swatting your hand away, "I can try."

.

You stood barefoot in the bathroom, watching yourself in the mirror. Your Public Safety uniform sat folded in a pile on top of the toilet. Aki's sweater – which he had offered you after it became clear that your afternoon rendezvous would carry on into the evening – hung off of your much smaller frame. The neckline was so wide that it threatened to slip off of your shoulder, and the sleeves fell far past your fingers.

He had given you a pair of sweatshorts to change into, too, but you couldn't imagine trying them on. At least, not when his sweater fell just above your knees like a nightgown.

And, for the love of all that was holy, the smell of him clung to the navy blue fabric. You could hardly bear to be wrapped in it – swaddled in the warmth of something you knew he wore over his own body.

You were frozen, staring at your reflection, the oversized sweater consuming your smaller frame. The way the fabric draped over you, brushing against your knees, made you feel small, almost protected. But that wasn't right, was it? You were married, and this—this was crossing a line. Crossing that line you just said you weren't going to cross a few hours earlier.

It's just clothes. Who cares if I don't wear the pants under it? It's not like I'm spreading my legs open for him.

You weren't sure who you were trying to convince.

You wanted to believe that, needed to believe it. After all, the sweater was practically a dress on you, and it wasn't like you were walking around with your ass hanging out. And the shorts? They didn't belong to you, didn't fit right. No, the sweater was good enough.

You took a deep breath, inhaling his scent once more. The warmth, the familiarity, it almost felt like a comfort you had been deprived of for so long. But you knew this wasn't about the sweater or the way it fit.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, you knew you had taken a moment too long. You released a weak breath, trying to act casual, trying to convince yourself that everything was fine. That you hadn't crossed a line. But deep down, you knew you were lying to yourself.

It wasn't just about the sweater.

Aki was in the kitchen by the stove, donning a black sweatshirt and gray sweatpants himself. He was hunched over a pot, stirring something that smelled delicious.

You sauntered into the kitchen, crossing your arms self-consciously over your chest. "Smells tasty," You hummed.

Aki turned around, licking something off of his finger. He looked as if he was about to say something, perhaps a witty retort, but whatever he was going to say died on his lips when he saw you in his sweater. His gaze flicked down to your shoulders, your sleeve-covered arms, the smooth skin of your legs that the sweater revealed – and he looked like it took everything he had to keep his mouth shut.

His expression softened, like you made him as weak as he made you. Then, like he hadn't promised to behave a few hours earlier, a smile most scandalous snuck over his lips.

You propped your hand up on your hip, quirking your brow at him, "What?"

He shook his head, but the smile never left his face. "Nothing," He laughed quietly, "You look cute. Am I allowed to say that?"

I look cute? You thought. You look cute.

Cute was an understatement, honestly. There was a sort of domestic charm to him cooking dinner for the two of you, clad in his pajamas, black hair down over his neck and hanging in his pretty face. It was dangerous – you could get used to a sight like that, and that idea frightened you.

"No," You bit your lip, fighting a cheeky grin of your own, "But, thank you."

Reasonably, you knew it was inappropriate. Still, you figured there was no harm in indulging a little.

You left the kitchen after that, skipping into the living room of his apartment – which was so, undeniably him, with its clean blue, white and gray accents – and plopping down on the carpet between the couch and the coffee table. You pulled a blanket off of the couch and wrapped it around your shoulders. Your can of beer sat open on a coaster on the table from earlier, and you took a hefty swig of it.

The TV was on, set to a soap opera with the volume down. You reached for the remote and turned it up (like you owned the place).

"Cookies are in," Aki climbed over the couch, sitting on the floor next to you. He set two dishes on the table. "Now we wait 10 minutes."

You practically began to salivate just looking at the food. There were pieces of chicken neatly sliced on the plate, topped off with a delicious sauce that smelled an awful lot like the one you had smelled Aki making earlier.

"It's Teriyaki," He said.

You picked up your chopsticks, popping a piece in your mouth and all but moaning at the flavor. "That's really fucking good, Aki."

"Is it?" He asked, "I thought I overcooked it."

"Just take the damn compliment, Captain," You answered him (while stuffing your face full of chicken).

Aki only smiled at you. "Do you want to watch anything specific? I have one of the Halloween movies in."

"Halloween's fine," You offered, "I'd say I could go for a romcom, but I doubt you'd have one of those lying around. Don't seem like that kinda guy."

"You'd be surprised," He hummed, holding his beer can up to his lips and taking a sip, "I don't own any, but, for the record, I can get pretty caught up in those soap operas on the TV."

"Is that so?" You grinned stupidly.

He turned the DVD Player on with the remote, using his other hand to feed himself a few more pieces of chicken. It was all so sickeningly domestic that it made your head spin.

Aki set his chopsticks down on the table, turning to you after the opening credits began to roll. "Mind letting me in?" He said, nodding toward your blanket.

The thought of sharing a blanket with him had you flushed and nervous. You shook your head, "Like hell I will. Go get your own blanket."

"That is my blanket," He corrected you, shifting closer, "Now, move over, before I steal it from you."

As you scooted away, a playful grin spread across your face. "You're not getting it," you said, holding the blanket tight around your body like it was a lifeline.

Aki arched his brow, his lips quirking up in a smirk. "We'll see about that," he murmured, inching closer to you.

You squealed, trying to push him away as he pretended to wrestle the blanket from your grip. "No! Get your own!" you laughed, your heart pounding in your chest.

Aki chuckled, effortlessly overpowering your resistance. "Told you, it's mine," he said, his arm slipping around your shoulders. Before you could protest, he tugged the blanket over both of you, trapping you in the shared warmth.

The sudden proximity stole your breath away. The room fell silent, the only sound being the faint murmur of the movie playing in the background. You tried to focus on the screen, but it was impossible with Aki so close, his presence overwhelming your senses. His cologne, the remnants of his cooking, the subtle heat radiating from him—it all wrapped around you, making your heart race.

Your eyes flickered to him, and you froze. He was already looking at you, his expression unreadable, but the tension between you was palpable. The space between your faces was impossibly small, and for a moment, you thought he might—

A shrill alarm pierced the air, shattering the moment.

"The cookies," Aki whispered, his voice low and rough. He pulled away from you reluctantly, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he got up.

You watched him as he walked to the kitchen, your body still tingling from where his arm had been. He moved with practiced ease, opening the oven and pulling the cookie tray out, grabbing a spatula to flick the cookies onto a plate. The sound of a blood-curdling scream from the TV pulled your attention back to the movie, but your focus was split, your mind still reeling from the closeness you'd just shared.

Hesitantly, you moved to the couch.

Aki returned to the living room, the plate of cookies in hand. He slipped back under the blanket without a word, settling beside you so closely that your thighs pressed together, the heat between your bodies almost suffocating. You didn't resist this time, letting him claim his spot, but the tension in the air was undeniable, thick like static electricity.

You both finished your meals in silence, the sounds of the movie barely registering as your senses were tuned entirely to his presence. Each movement he made sent a ripple of awareness through you. The way his fingers brushed against yours as he reached for his drink, the subtle shift of his leg against yours—it was all too much, and not enough at the same time.

What's wrong with me today? Am I in heat?

Desperate for a distraction, you reached for a cookie and took a bite, the sweet warmth of it melting on your tongue. "This is so good," you murmured, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You held the cookie out to him, offering it like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. "You have to try it."

He turned to you, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made your heart stutter. "Okay," he said, but instead of reaching for a cookie from the plate, he leaned in. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze never wavered from yours.

You froze as he crossed that unspoken boundary between the two of you. For a brief moment, you thought he might—no, he wouldn't—but then his lips brushed against the edge of the cookie, and your heart slammed against your ribcage. He took a bite, his eyes dark and intense, watching your every reaction.

He chewed slowly, almost deliberately, before he spoke. "That's good," he murmured, his voice low, resonant with an undercurrent of something that sent a fucking shiver down your spine. He licked a crumb from his finger, a simple gesture made unbearably sexy by the way his eyes flicked back to yours.

Your hand trembled as you set the cookie down, your mind reeling from the sheer intensity of the moment. The room felt too small, the air too thick, every second stretching out as you both sat there, teetering on the edge of something that felt inevitable.

The tension was unbearable, an unspoken force drawing you closer together. Your breath was shallow, every inch of your body hyper-aware of his proximity, the way his eyes seemed to darken with every passing second. The space between you was charged, electric, as if the very air was waiting for you to make the next move – as if he was waiting for you to make the next move.

Then, before either of you could break the silence, you both moved at once – all but jumping at each other in the process of linking your lips together in the middle.The kiss was fierce, desperate, as if all the tension that had been building between the two of you finally snapped, and the sheer force of it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

His hands were on you in an instant, rough and urgent, pulling you into his lap.

It was a mess of heat and need, his lips devouring yours with a hunger that screamed, 'I missed you. I'm tired of pretending like I didn't'. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until it felt like you might drown in it. The taste of teriyaki mingled with the lingering sweetness of the cookie, a heady mix that only drove you further into the sensation of him, him, him.

You wrapped your bare thighs around his lower back, letting him pull you closer still. With your hips flush against his, you could feel him pressing up against you – hot and ready, just like the cookies were.

It had been years since you had felt desired like this. Would it really be so bad to indulge yourself a little more?

You could feel his breath hitch, his grip tightening on your waist as the kiss intensified, becoming something almost frantic. The world outside of this moment ceased to exist; it was just the two of you, lost in each other, in the heat, the taste, the sheer overwhelming desire as you ravaged each other on Aki's couch.

You could forget about his roommates for a minute.

Wait.

His roommates.

When you finally pulled away, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Your chest heaved, struggling to catch your breath, as you stared at each other, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and you could see the conflict there, the struggle between what had just happened and the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air.

'You need to behave'.

"Aki–" You panted, gripping the inky black tresses at the base of his neck while his kisses descended down the valley of your neck. "Aki, your roommates–"

"Fuck them," He mumbled against your skin. "Missed you."

And there it was, that warm pit of desire bubbling deep inside of your gut. The feeling of being desired. Of being missed.

A shuddering moan passed through your lips when he wrapped his lips around your sweet spot, right in the crook of your neck, and applied a gentle suction.

"I told you– we can't be doing this," You said (but did absolutely nothing to stop his kisses), "Oh, God, Aki."

You felt so weak. He made you weak. You couldn't possibly resist him.

"Aren't they– Aren't they coming?" Was your next attempt at stopping the moment (despite the fact that you most definitely did not want to stop, and made that clear by rolling your hips into him like a desperate whore).

"My roommates?" He smirked, sliding off the couch and dropping to his knees to press more kisses to your thighs, your legs. He peeked up, blue eyes glinting with mischief, "No, but you can, if you want."

"We can't..." You trailed off, but, fuck, when you watched him get down on his knees to press slow, tender kisses to your calf, you really, really wondered if you could.

"We can," He murmured, voice slurred against your skin. "Right here on the couch, if you want. Bedroom works, too. But do you want me to – is the question."

Want him... to do what...?

You thought of the last time you'd had him like this. The image of his black hair disappearing between your thighs, his tongue lapping you up like he was dying of thirst.

And you couldn't help the wanton shudder that overcame you. "I do, Aki, but..."

"Say it again," He peered up at you, eyes desperate.

"I.." You swallowed. "I do– I want you to... I want you, Aki."

He put his head down, pressing a kiss to your thigh, "Fuck, say it again."

"I... I want you, Aki," You breathed. It felt liberating to say it – no "but"s or "if"s attached. Just him. You wanted him in the most primitive and feral way that you had ever wanted anyone before.

"Then let me have you again," He murmured softly. He licked a long stripe up your leg, from your inner thigh to where the sweater ended. "I've been craving it all week," He continued, throwing your earlier words back at you, "You wouldn't keep a needy man waiting, would you?"

"No," You panted. Not knowing how else to sugar coat the words – and being, frankly, too exhausted for formalities, you cut to the chase. "I need you to fuck me, Aki."

He froze suddenly, wild eyes peering into yours like he thought you would never ask. "Yeah?" He replied, breathless. "Right now?"

"Please, sir..." You teased him. "You won't keep a needy woman waiting, will you?"

"But, your roommates..." You said. "What if they come home early?"

His hands slid up your smooth thighs, beneath the hem of his sweater, where they could grip your hips. "You'll be quiet for me, yeah?"

And his eyes, fuck, his eyes – he peered up at you, half-lidded, tipsy, and enamored by you. Who knew that the Devil Hunter could have such an ability to look as if he, himself, had been possessed by a Devil?

You told yourself you would be good. You told yourself that you would do the right thing.

"Yes," You exhaled softly, like it pained you to keep it in, "Fuck, yes."

You would just... start tomorrow.

Tomorrow, You thought as he slipped beneath your sweater and pulled your ass closer to the edge of the couch, Yeah, that's it.

Tomorrow.

a/n:

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505

wanna join the taglist? | shameless ; chapter index

[mammoth-clangen]

Do you like Clangen and Sabertoothed cats? Great, me too!

My name is Pav and this is my clangen blog! <Start reading here>

Important Things

🧓 Im a '99 bby so please don't DM if you're a minor (actually would prefer no unexpected DMs period tbh, im anxious)

⛏️ I work 12hrs 7 days, week on/week off, meaning I will completely vanish 50% of the time and there's nothing I can do about it

🦘 I'm also an Aussie, so my time zone is weird even when I'm not at work (So if I don't reply, im not ignoring u! ;v;-b )

❔️Asks and Anons are turned on! Please read the FAQ below before asking to avoid repeats c:

😻 I read all the tags and replies even if I don't reply. Tysm everyone saying nice things, it makes my day ;v;

😵‍💫 My focus changes like the weather lately, so while I'm Hoping I'll be able to keep this up, please don't get Life Or Death Invested c':

Tags

#mammothmoon -all chapters are tagged with this

#moon (1/2/3/etc) -each moon is tagged by number, and in-character asks from given moons

#mammothask -asks sent to me (will also tag who asks them)

#mammothfanart -art of my silly sabercats by other blogs, tysm!

#mammothref -character references (or possibly species refs if i make them eventually)

#paleo stuff -anything where I'm nerding about paleo biology etc

#ooc/#Pav chatter -Pav updates about Pav! or asks directed to me

#blood/gore/animal death/etc -tagged straight as is if you need to block them!

FAQ

This will be added to as I get more asks and replies to go off!

How often do you post pages?

I try for at least once every 2 weeks, as I spend 50% of my life in the outback with no ability to draw!

Where/ when is Mammothclan set?

In late pleistocene North America, around 12ka ago, during the Younger Dryas!

What species are the cats?

They're Homotherium serum, a scimitar toothed cat.

How paleo accurate is this setting?

Relatively accurate? There's not going to be any species out of their time and place, but I'm not super bothered by, say, exact plant species and how realistic certain story aspects are.

Can I ask the characters' questions?

You can, but I can't promise to answer all of them!

Are we allowed to include characters as cameos/ draw fanart?

Yes definitely absolutely!!!!

You are also welcome to change them to regular cats if that fits better cx (please don't humanise them though, I find that specifically very uncanny)

What mode are you playing on Clangen/ what toggles?

Expanded mode, mass extinctions on, cheating on, "pregnancy ignores biology" off, unknown second parent pregnancies off (bc in my trial run every queen was constantly spawning kittens at lightspeed, no ty)

How far ahead are you from the pages you've drawn?

Currently 40moons ahead, cause I like playing the long game with foreshadowing >:3c

Where do you download Clangen?

Here!

Could you elaborate on/ explain content of (page/panel/speech bubble) that confused me?

Sure! If something is unclear, but it seems like it should be explained, please ask and I'll make sure to clarify c:

Can you tell me about (character backstory/spoilers/ aspect of lore not touched on in comic yet)?

No! I don't want to spoil those kinds of things, I'd rather they come up naturally in the comic than dump them under an ask.

I'm a firm believer that if it doesn't happen in text, it's not cannon.

[glitchychara]

Amnesia

Tyler One Shot, 3,384 words

I really hate puzzles. It's weird, because I'm more of a problem solving girl, but puzzles just piss me off for some reason. I hate TVs too. I don't know what it is about them, but they just bug me. Mario's always watching some stupid thing on the TV, which kinda makes me wanna smash it to pieces with a hammer. Again, it makes no sense to me since I don't mind playing video games with them, even when I keep losing to everyone because I've never played before. It's just the TV in general, I guess. Although I recently learned my biggest trigger is TV static. I don't know why, but I get weird flashbacks everytime I hear it. Even though it was only once since I've been here. I started seeing images and they filled up my head and I didn't know what was going on and then someone reached out and I couldn't see who it was so I swung but it turned out to be Meggy so she blocked me and she asked me if I was okay and then-

And then I got up. And I left. And I came back a few hours later. And they never brought it up. Nor have I heard any TV static since. 

But anyways, Meggy and Smg4 took me to the doctor yesterday, which I don't know why a centaur would wanna be in the medical field, nor did I trust the guy, but at least he was gonna tell me exactly what was wrong with me….until he gave me my doctors note and it was literally a scribble. Like, excuse me sir, what the HELL is this supposed to be? Chicken scratch?? Anyways I gave it to the axolotl looking guy who was working at the pharmacy and somehow HE KNEW WHAT IT SAID?? I swear I'll NEVER understand doctors. Anyways, he gave me this bottle of pills and sent me on my merry way. Guess who STILL doesn't know what's wrong with her? Me :). So I figured I'd Google what the pills were for and guess what? Apparently I have something called “Amnesia” which, according to Google, means “permanent or temporary memory loss.” 

Huh??

add “doctors” and “pharmacists” to the list of things I hate.

I talked to Three recently, and he asked me if I was going to get my own house. I told him I didn't plan too. “Why not?” he asked, stacking cups next to the coffee machine. I shrugged and continued my task-cleaning out the new pastry display. “Smg4 lets me live in his guest room for free. Why would I wanna pay for a house?” He laughed and asked if I wanted to live with him forever. “Well, not forever, obviously. Just until I go home.” I replied, now adding pastries to the display case. “Tyler. About that…” I turned and looked at him, confused. It was the first time I've ever seen him look sad. “Tyler, you don't even know where you're from. How do you plan on getting home if you can't remember how you got here? Might as well get used to living in the Mushroom Kingdom, you know.” I rolled my eyes and ignored him. What would he know? I'm completely fine living in the castle. It's not like Smg4 does much anyways, other than making videos. Which he should make better, by the way. I mean, he lacks creativity, and a story in general. The whole point of making something is to entertain your audience. How is he going to do that if he's so focused on his “it doesn't have to be perfect” bs? I swear, some people don't deserve their fame, or money, or power or reviews or stars. 

5. stars.

What am I saying? I don't know anything about true art. I've never even made anything myself. Maybe those doctors were right.

Damn Amnesia…

(tagging @its-a-me-mango and @psychologistlemon bc I thought you guys being the doctor/pharmacist was funny)

[shaunashipman]

You move pretty similarly to some crazy buddie shippers. Like hating on a mustache so badly and getting pissed bc you see it because there's no bts of Lou yet is crazyyyy. "disgusting dead caterpillar decaying on his top lip" like are you okay? Like the crew loves the mustache & so does the cast. Let them have fun. Why are you so upset when the cast all look happy and having fun on set with it. I feel like if it was any other cast with the mustache for example Bobby or Kenny, you'd enjoy it. But since it's RG and it makes buddies happy, you're being a buzzkill bc you hate that buddies so much. It just doesn't feel like you're actually a fan of the show but just a fan of Lou & bucktommy. Lou will eventually be spotted on set unless they give them an offscreen breakup which I can't see them doing twice in a row for Buck.

babe are you okay? why are you so pressed about what I'm doing?

show me where, in any of my mustache hating posts, I mention lou. if you go through my blog, you'll find very little posts about lou being/not being on set (no shade to those that are posting, I know y'all are having fun 😘). I'm not worried about lou not being seen on set. it's very unlikely tommy isn't coming back, at least for a little bit, so I'm not stressed. and if he isn't, I'll complain about how it's bad writing for a day or two, then move on.

my hatred of the mustache, is because I fucking hate mustaches. kenny or peter or anyone could have one and I'd still fucking hate it. because I hate mustaches. the only person I even slightly tolerate it on is tom selleck, and even on him it's gross, it's just that he's always had one so he looks weirder without it. you hear that? I hate the mustache on thee mustache man. I stand by "disgusting dead caterpillar decaying on his top lip". it's true. just like it's also true that other people really like the mustache, and find it attractive, and I don't like to unnecessarily rain on other people's parades, so I didn't put my mustache loathing posts in the tags.

and I'm not upset about the videos of the mustache, I'm bored. the cast and crew is having fun, great, glad they are, I'm not. and I'm not commenting on their videos about it, I'm not tagging the cast in my posts, I'm just stating, on my own blog, to my followers and mutuals, that I don't like the mustache and I'm bored of seeing it in the bts. people are welcome to unfollow, and even block if they want. but several of my moots really like the mustache, and post about it, and I don't unfollow them, so I think they'll also be fine with seeing posts about how I don't like it. because we're adults who understand you don't have to agree with every single opinion someone has to be friends with them.

funny how a handful of posts about me disliking the mustache = me not even liking the show. quick question, are you part of eddieblr who thinks the show revolves around him? cause newsflash, I could in fact hate the character of eddie, and RG, and it wouldn't mean I don't love the rest of the show. yeah, I post a lot about bucktommy, they're my shiny new blorbos, fresh out of the package and hardly damaged yet. but I very much love the rest of the show and characters.

so, how about you stop worrying about what other people like or don't like, curate your space, and leave me to be a hater in peace

[jevilowo]

List of Tf2 inconsistenties that piss me off

Bc its 1am and im staying awake while beloved mutual Jo livetexts me while they watch venom (I'd tag them but they blocked tf2 tag)

The timeline presented in the Shakespearicles post. Just read it yourself its sosisoso frustrating

The claim in the Shakespearicles post that mankind gave up inventing until 1921. What do you call Radigan in the 1890s then idiot.

Different claims on Merasmus' age (older than the universe in doommates, vs 6000ish in the lore comics) (this means the universe is 5999ish i guess okay)

Scout claims in comic 4 that he met Ms Pauling 6 years ago. Medic claims the mercs have shared "at least" 8 halloweens together. Despite both of these, the catch up comics imply the gravel wars with our mercs only took place over one summer. The first two are supposed to be meta jokes I think (ms pauling debuted in the war update comic, 2009, 5 years before comic 4 [miscalculations again??], and the first scream fortress was also 2009, 8 years before comic 6) but come onnnn be consistentttt.

Australian women had moustaches in the 1890s, but Mags doesn't? I've blamed this on long term Australium Depletion but its still annoying.

Saxton Hale claims its 2010 on the mannconomy update page, but the corresponding comic takes place in the 60s. I'm presuming this means the comic takes place on a different part of the timeline from Saxton’s notes but okay.

The crazy wild Australium retcon. So Sniper was created in 2007 to be australian. Then they invented Saxton Hale for Spy vs Sniper in 2009. Then people liked him so he became important. So in 2010, the engineer update invented Australium (although it was alluded to as early as the classless update a bit before that) and the corresponding comic claimed it made all australians buff. Despite this, in 2011 Sniper's parents were given very not buff, probably bc the artist was hella rushed at the time and had no time to reread the engineer update stuff. Then the comic writer remembered scrawny bastard Sniper was Australian, although maybe the regular writers were cooking excuses for that before then. So we got the New Zealand excuse in 2014 (im pretty sure), but that still didn't explain away his parents looking normal. Thus, my australium depletion theory. Valve should just hire me at this rate smh.

Silas Mann. They were setting him up to be somewhat important I'M SURE OF IT. They even retconned a mann co "quarterly concern" from the classless update to include his name for the engineer update! And they changed the cover slightly. Can't tell if this is a retcon or some abandoned "they tried to cut him out of history" sideplot thingy to explain how Silas became the Horsemann. I'm still holding out hope he returns in comic 7.

Abe Lincoln died two different ways and still became a mercenary? I excuse this as he faked his death a little too well (some blueprints imply it in the engineer update)

Speaking of, a coin claiming he invented the rocket jump despite MY BOY SHAKESPEARICLES. GAH.

This is just off the top of my head, mind you, and i haven't finished lore research. Expect many more grievances.

But yeah no in conclusion the writers need a calculator and also to consult each other more often so they don't contradict each other