#I got... kind of... carried away... again...

[starrydali]

Cuteness Agression - Rafe Cameron

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ Rafe’s got a temper—everyone knows that. But nothing sets him off like you and those big, wide doe eyes that make him feel like he’s losing his mind. You look up at him all innocent, like you have no clue what you're doing, and it drives him insane. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Rafe Cameron has a short temper he always has.

But nothing—nothing—sets him off quite like you do.

Not in a bad way. No, in the kind of way that pulls at his heart strings, makes his hands too twitchy, and his brain too loud—because how the fuck is he supposed to think straight when you looks at him like that?

Like right now.

You're just standing there, staring up at him with those big, ridiculous doe eyes, all wide and innocent, like you have no clue what your doing to him.

Rafe knows he should still be mad, his jaw is still tight, adrenaline still rushing through his veins from nearly breaking some guy’s face for looking at you the wrong way—but then you go and tilt your head, brows pinching together all cute, and—

"Fuck," Rafe mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

Your eyes somehow get even bigger. "What?"

He groans, grabbing the back of his neck, turning away. "You gotta stop looking at me like that, sweetie."

"Like what?" you ask, voice all soft, tugging on his hoodie, actually trying to kill him.

He whips back around, eyes wild. "Like you’re a fucking baby deer! Like I could put you in my pocket and carry you around or some shit!"

You blink. "You want to carry me around?"

"No!" His hand go to your face, squeezing your cheeks just enough to make your lips pout, and fuck, that’s even worse. "I wanna—ugh—I don’t know what I wanna do! Shake you? Kiss you? Bite you?" His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you impossibly cuter, and he growls under his breath. "You’re gonna kill me, you know that?"

Your cheeks squish in his hands as you let out a soft, "I'm sorry."

Rafe groans again, louder this time, finally loosing it he drops your face and pushes you towards the bedroom.

"Come on let's see if you're still this fucking cute with tears running down your face".

You scrunch up your face in an almost scared look and god does that pull his heart strings. He feels a little bad but if he doesn’t do something about all this goddamn cuteness aggression, he’s genuinely going to lose his mind.

✧. ┊ Send requests! :)

[shiftyfly]

[interview with fantasy author Sir Terry Pratchett]

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

my creative writing prof also HATES fantasy. as in if she asks for an example of symbolism in a book, and you give something from a fantasy novel, she’ll ask for an example from a “non-commercial book” instead.

I dunno man, people can have preferences, but the second you discount the artistic merit of sci fi and fantasy I stop taking your opinion seriously. and there’s such a big culture in Canada of only valuing literary fiction, to the point where one of our biggest authors, Margaret Atwood, refused for a while to classify her books as sci fi or fantasy. she said they were “speculative fiction”, which is entirely separate and very highbrow (sarcasm).

and I could go on about how Octavia Butler and Ursula Le Guin wrote books every bit as intellectual (and honestly, even more so) than their literary counterparts, but I am also an enjoyer of schlock!! I think there’s artistic merit in animorphs, and in isekais where a japanese schoolgirl reincarnates into a magical spider who has to level up like it’s a video game! it’s like with everything, you can’t draw a clean line that separates ‘art’ from ‘non-art’ or even ‘lesser art’, and pretending you can do so just makes you look ignorant and goofy. in my opinion.

[novvabee]

And They Were Roommates 12

I am finally throwing y'all a bone lol

summary:Sirius invites you out to a party

CW: drinking, a kiss, not proofread

word count: 1.8k

You giggled as you bumped into Sirius, making your way into your home. He wobbled for a moment then regained his stability and giggled along with you.

Sirius had invited you and the boys out to a house party tonight. Sirius’s brother and his roommates, Barty and Evan, were throwing a small party to celebrate Barty’s birthday. Lily, Mary, and Marlene were all in attendance which made you feel loads better about the whole thing.

You were nervous to attend, not only did you not know a lot of the people there, but the last time you encountered Barty, he got some information out of you that you would rather have kept secret. You were worried that if you encountered him tonight, he may bring it up again. 

You kept close to the girls, laughing and dancing mostly, and when you weren’t with them, you were having fun with the boys. You also had Pandora and Dorcas to talk to, you three caught up and enjoyed some time together for a while before you made your way back to where Sirius had started a drinking game in the living room.

The events were hazy after that, you lost a few rounds of the game and drank pretty heavily, mostly to try and avoid conversation with Barty. There was however one moment he caught your eye from across the room and just smirked at you. You quickly looked away, hoping that he wouldn’t come over. If you had a loose tongue at the Thanksgiving party, then you were basically an open book now. You spent the whole night in close range to James, Remus, and Sirius, just in case. 

At one point you could remember Remus cutting you off, but you just went to James and asked him for another drink sweetly. He instantly obeyed, shoving his way quickly into the kitchen to grab you a drink.

The rest of the night was hazy again after that, you remember something about Remus and James dragging you to the front door and putting your coat on for you. You remember bits and pieces of the walk back to your house, stumbling and laughing, eventually asking James to carry you the rest of the way.

Remus and James seemed to have held their liquor better than you and Sirius, all of them better than you for sure. You two became drunk partners in crime, laughing at every little thing that happened and joked about nonsensical things.

It was one of those exact nonsensical things that you two were giggling about while Remus opened the door to your house and allowed you two drunk fools in. 

You flopped yourself onto the couch, legs hanging over the armrest. Sirius plopped down next to you, moving your head into his lap. You were vaguely aware of James stating he needed something to eat and Remus following him into the kitchen.

You looked up at Sirius, he was gorgeous in this light. Actually, he was always gorgeous, you thought so from the very first time you met him. You remember him standing there with his hair messy and half tied back, his nails painted, tattoos on display.

That’s one thing you loved about him, he looks so hard, so dangerous, but he couldn't be farther than it. He was sweet, kind, charming. He made you laugh. He was incredibly witty and intelligent, even if he didn’t show it, and he was personable. He knew your favorite snacks without you having to tell him, he kept the temperature slightly warmer for you because he knew your feet would freeze, always sided with your movie choices even if he didn’t really want to watch it, he just wanted you happy. He would never admit to any of it of course, he had his appearance to keep up.

“Whaddya starin’ at sweetheart?” He asked. You caught yourself staring up at him, zoned out in your drunken state. 

“Nothin.” you giggled.

“Do I have somethin’ on m’face?” He asked you, words slightly slurred together.

“Only pretty.” you replied.

Sirius smiled. He never blushed, but that smile was the closest thing you had ever seen come from him. “You think I'm pretty?” 

You giggled again and nodded your head, the room spinning slightly with the movement. Sirius smiled down at you and traced a line down the side of your face, so gentle and his hand so warm.

“You’re the pretty one here, sweetheart.” He said softly, still smiling down at you.

You laughed and shook your head. He was absolutely pretty, his stunning eyes, his curly hair, his perfect lips. Lips that were indeed so close. Close enough that you could just…

You leaned up and locked your lips onto his. He didn’t pull away from you, he faltered for only a moment before kissing you back. His lips were just as warm as his hands and he tasted like cherries and liquor. 

You pulled back and saw a light in his eyes, a smile on those perfect lips. “I think you’re really pretty Siri,” You whispered. 

Sirius leaned in to connect your lips again, but you heard Remus enter the room and that captured your attention. 

He sauntered over to where you were sprawled out on the couch and offered you a glass of water. You looked up at him with your most convincing puppy eyes, trying to convince him not to make you drink it.

He wasn’t convinced, only extending the glass further in your direction. You reluctantly took the glass from him and sat up to take a sip, sitting upright.

“You’ve gotta drink some water, don’t wanna be hungover in the morning do you?” Remus asked.

You rolled your eyes and looked up at him. “I don’t get hungover.” you argued. James entered the living room, half eaten slice of toast in hand.

Remus’s brows shot straight up at your comment. “Sure you don’t,” he mused, “Only last time you were in bed all day and yelled at us if we made the slightest noise.” 

“You all deserved it,” You countered, “And I'm not even drunk!” you made to stand up and challenge him, but you forgot the glass in your hand and tilted it too far forward. You felt the water hit the floor before you could react. This wasn’t helping your case.

You looked up at Remus who had a look that you were proving his point written on his features. You started laughing and could hear James chuckling from across the room as well.

“And with that, I think it's time for bed.” Remus said, taking your now mostly empty glass and setting it on the coffee table. He held out his hand, offering it to you. You groaned, too comfy to leave the couch, you’d rather just curl up right here on the couch, and on Sirius’s lap. You definitely didn’t want to walk up stairs.

You couldn’t protest much as Remus grabbed ahold of your hand and hoisted you up onto your feet. You stumbled a little but Remus steadied you, making sure you were fully upright. You laughed which in turn made him laugh as you made your way towards the stairs.

You stopped right in front of them and looked up. It seemed like such a daunting task now. You groaned again. James chuckled from behind you.

“Here get on.” He said, his back to you. You giggled and clumsily climbed onto his back. He gripped the backs of your thighs and piggy backed you up the stairs with ease. 

You giggled the whole way up, feeling like you were flying.

He opened your door and walked you to your bed. He dropped you off, and though it wasn’t a far fall, you felt your stomach drop the whole way down. You bounced as you landed on the fluffy mattress, giggly as ever.

“Wait wait don’t go!” you said, grabbing his wrist. 

It was James's turn to giggle now as he sat down next to you on the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Remus was leaning against the frame of your door Sirius next to him, leaning back on him for support. They looked so… cute. Like a couple casually showing affection. It was nice to see. You smiled lazily at them and Remus laughed, probably looking goofy.

“Want help taking off your makeup?” Remus asked, walking over to your vanity where you kept some makeup removing wipes.

“No!” you protested, rolling onto your side. “Too eepy. Don’t wanna move.”

Remus again laughed as he walked over to you, wipe in hand. “Well, eepy girls still gotta take their makeup off.” he said. James turned you over so the Remus could wipe away your makeup.

“It’s cold!” you squealed, trying to squirm away from them. It was no use, they were much stronger than you, especially when you were inebriated.

“There you go, love.” Remus said with one final swipe of the wipe. 

You brought your hands up to your face, feeling clean and fresh. Remus patted your head and returned to where Sirius was waiting for him at the doorway. 

“Wait!” you called after him. “You can stay.”

Remus and Sirius both chuckled and looked at you confused but amused. “What do you mean love? We’re going to our rooms, it’s time for bed.”

“But,” you started pulling James back down onto the bed again once he tried to stand, “You could stay. Here, with me.” You tried your luck with the best puppy eyes you could muster on James. He just looked panicked and looked to Remus for help.

“I’m down for a sleepover.” Sirius laughed, making his way to your bed.

He didn’t make if far before Remus was pulling him back. “Oh, love,” Remus laughed, “How about we have a sleepover a different night, huh?” Sirius shot him a dirty look and opened his mouth to protest.

“But, it’ll be fun!” you tried again. “My bed is big enough for everyone, look!” you sprawled out on your bed, attempting to show off it’s size to them. They could easily all fit, and you could fit right in, feel all of their warmth. “Please.”

It looked as if it genuinely broke Remus’s heart as he said “Love, listen, maybe we can all have a sleepover when we’re all…”

“Sober?” Sirius finished for him.

“I’m not drunk!” you fought. You wanted them to stay, you wanted for them to be close to you tonight. But sadly, James stood and fell into place with Remus and Sirius by the door. 

“How about tomorrow, love?” James said, he too looking torn.

You pouted, hoping that a pitiful look to match how you felt on the inside would be enough for them to change their minds.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Remus said, turning down the hallway, followed by a sad “Goodnight,” from James.

Sirius was the last one left standing at your door. “Goodnight, love,” He said, flipping your light switch off and shutting your door behind him. You saw the shadow of his footsteps retread down the hall as well.

You whined and stripped off your clothes, finding a tshirt off of the floor to sleep in. you tucked yourself into bed, another night of feeling your bed so empty.

sorry if you voted for James or Remus but believe me they will have their time. I wrote this so fast so if there's issues sorry lol, I just wanted to get the idea down.

Taglist💌 : @too-efn-old-to-be-here @cometsghost @eeviee4 @giuli-in-earth @spicybearnaise @the-lavender-girl @adharalikethestar @champomiel @itsleroyposts @enamoredwithbella @babymash @ilovejamespottersomuch @liszblog @sammyreid @kiaslily @idkman5335 @willowlovestheweasleys @lady-balem @nislame @latenightreadingpdf @v-loves-frogs @meggishhhh @mooonyxoxo @sodavrr @notmonstersapocalipse @plk-18 @prettylittlewrites @darkloverfox @navs-bhat @lexi2005 @bache3 @koolayee @mysteriouslyperfecttiger @timeinthefire @rey26 @psamathegoesrawr

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬

Pairing: dad!chris x teacher!afab!reader, friends to lovers, nonidol!au

Synopsis: Go ahead and cry, little girl, Nobody does it like you do, I know how much it matters to you, I know that you got daddy issues, And if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do, I'd run away and hide with you

Warnings: domestic fluff, angst, tears and all, references to the neighborhood, ft. 2racha, lemme know if I've missed something

A/n: the neighborhood. They did this to me. Reader isn't going to be mentioned on the story a lot...well at least in this first chapter. I swear I got carried away with this I didn't mean for it to be this long 😔 it wasn't even meant to be a chapter like story...

She wasn’t his. A constant reminder that knocked at the back of his mind.

Chris wasn’t the kind of man to complain over every small detail. Life had handed him its fair share of punches, and he’d taken his fair share without even flinching or losing the warmth in his heart. Anyone who saw him on the outside would think of him as the one that had everything good happening to him. But on the inside, the scars remained- ugly and tender. Before it all turned grey, he was actually living the life. A newlywed with a beautiful baby three months in the making. Victoria, his now ex-wife was an extravagant person and Chris knew that but she still had other loveable qualities which he doted on. Come five years down the line, and the secrets began to come to light.

Victoria had always wanted more. More money, more status, more luxury. She knew Chris had all of that so she just decided to play along with his domestic loveable fantasies. And Chris had known this about her from the start, but he had convinced himself that love would be enough. That their little circle-just him, Victoria, and their now four-year-old daughter, Mia-would be enough.

He was wrong.

It started with the late nights out, business dinners and events with people whose names Chris never recognized. Which Chris saw as karma for constantly keeping his late nights at work too but she always came back with excuses that didn’t really add up but then again, he pushed it aside, to exhausted from his own work and raising Mia to argue. Then it was her appearance. Disheveled hair, messed up make up, hickeys? Sure, he’s been lacking in being the romantic husband but he didn’t remember giving her any of those.

“Can we talk, baby?” he had tried to ask her one evening, when he put Mia to bed. They were in their shared bedroom which was beginning to feel lonelier by the week. Victoria sat at her vanity, in pristine white doing her night routine. “About?” she responded flatly.

“U-us,” he takes off his shirt and folds it neatly. “Am I not making you feel good anymore?” she paused, looked at him through the mirror and chuckled “What’s making you say that, Chris?”

“You’ve got marks. And I haven’t given you any…”

She applied cream under her eyes. “isn’t that supposed to make you feel bad?” he gave a tight-lipped expression “Baby,” he walked over to her. “I-I know I haven’t been as romantic as I was before and that’s on me. But it’s making me feel uncomfortable that I’m seeing this and that it wasn’t me who- “

Victoria sighed, setting down the jar of cream with an exasperated clink. She turned in her chair, crossing her legs as she reagree Chris with an almost amused expression.

“You’re being dramatic,” she said cooly. “It’s just a few marks. Why does it matter where they came from?” Chris felt his stomach twist. “Because I love you. because I-”

“Love isn’t enough, Chris,” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “You think just because you get to come home every night and kiss Mia goodnight it’ll make me so obsessed with you that I’d forget my own needs?” his brows furrowed as he plopped himself on the edge of the bed. “I-I don’t understand…” Victoria rolled her eyes. “It’s not just about her, Chris. I have needs too. I need just as much excitement and love as Mia gets. I need passion, I need to be with someone who treats me like I deserve to be loved not like another chore at the end of the day.” Chris felt something crack inside his chest. “A chore?” He echoed, voice above a whisper. Isn’t that what she made him feel like? Barely giving him any breathing space with all the ‘don’t forget to pick these up at the store’, or ‘I can’t make it blah blah blah I have an appointment’ and all the other useless excuses he carried on his shoulder.

“And Mia? What does she need. What does she deserve?”

“Don’t start that. She deserves stability. You work all the time too and I’ve told you timelessly that you can’t be keeping your late schedule when we have her to think about. Look, the difference between us is just that I’ve found a way to make it work for me. To balance you and my…real needs.”

Realization dawned like a cold slap to the face. “There’s someone else.” She didn’t deny it. Didn’t. Even. Flinch. Victora turned back to the mirror, picking up her cream again as if the conversation had already ended in her mind. “You don’t have to worry about me, baby. I can take care of myself and leave. We’ll file for divorce. And I’ll take Mia.” He couldn’t even understand her anymore. She just wants to leave? She’s not going to hear his side of the story? Taking his baby girl?! His eyes shot up. “Like hell you will.” Chris rarely raised his voice at her before, but that night, the betrayal shattered something inside him. “So that’s it? You’re walking away from your family for a supposedly bigger paycheck?”

Her eyes still focused on her reflection she spoke, “This is a blessing in disguise, Chris. Take it or leave it.”

And that was when the real war began.

The woman had connections, the bitch. Lawyers who knew how to twist the narrative. Chris worked long hours making him ‘too busy’ to be a full-time parent. He didn’t come from money making him ‘unstable’ compared to Victoria’s new fiancé- a wealthy, well-respected businessman. The court never even asked who Mia wanted to stay with. Despite everything Chris fought. Hard. But the corrupt system wasn’t built to favor fathers like him. In the saddening end, Victoria was granted full custody. He was left with weekends and whatever stolen moments he could manage. Innocent Mia had sobbed in his arms the first time she had to leave. Chris had nearly broken down right there with her. She couldn’t understand it all but what she did know was that being with her father was never enough. He was so close yet so far away.

At the time Chris didn’t have a lot of people to lean on, but if there were two people who saw everything from the beginning, it was Changbin and Jisung. They saw it all. They were the ones who stayed- when everyone whispered about how he should’ve seen it coming or how maybe he just wasn’t enough. Changbin was the first to throw a punch when some asshole had the nerve to call Chris pathetic for loving someone who was visibly used him. Jisung had been the one to show up at his doorstep at 3 A.M., with food, refusing to leave until Chris had at least eaten something. Now, they were the ones who made sure Mia had people who truly adored her and treated her like family, even when her mother made her feel like a second thought.

-

The school bell echoed through the courtyard, signaling freedom for dozens of gleeful kids. Chris leaned against his car, scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on her- Mia, sprinting towards him with wild abandon, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders.

“Daddy!” She screamed, her face lighting like the sun. Chris opened his arms just in time for her to crash into him. He lifted her off the ground spinning her around as pure joy surged through him.

Mia’s eyes sparkled as she hugged him tight. “Can we get ice cream before dinner tonight?” he chuckled. “Ice cream before dinner? That sounds like trouble, baby.” “Please?” she begged, tilting her head in that way that always melted him. He sighed dramatically. “Anything for my babygirl.”

Chris’ apartment wasn’t grand. Well not as grand as the one he used to have with his ex-wife. But it was warm. Lived-in. The type of place where every corner held memories- some old some new, most centered around Mia, of course. Mia’s drawings were taped to the fridge, stick figures holding hands with big smiles and a sun in the constant corner that shone too brightly. Tiny pink socks and stuffed animals littered the couch, evidence of the weekend play sessions that always ended with Mia curled up against his side, fighting sleep just to stay up a little longer with him.

When she was with him, Chris was dad in every sense of the word. He cooked her meals even when they turned out slightly burnt, he helped her with homework (which explaining to her sometimes confused him in the process). When it came to bedtime stories, he helped her pick them out and carried her to the bed when she fell asleep mid-play. Some Saturdays he would take her to the studio and sometimes it was unavoidable. Mia was always curious about her dad’s job. Plus, she vaguely remembers that she used to see him working with different genres of people when she was younger, back when she had more than weekends with him.

So, after stopping for her favorite snack on a Saturday morning, they arrived at the studio. When they walked in, Mia’s eyes widened as she took everything in. tiny sparks of color filled the faint memories of this place in her mind. The soundproof walls, the scattered yet arranged equipment, the glowing computer screens displaying colorful waveforms. “Woah…” She bounced forward, her tiny hands gripping her bunny in its ears. Chris smiled watching her.

“Cool, yeah?” Chris ruffled before guiding her to the main recording room. “Come on, I’ll show you where the chaos happens.” Before they could go any further, a familiar voice called out.

“Yaa! Is that my favorite troublemaker?!” Mia’s face lit up instantly as Changbin appeared from one of the side rooms, arms spread wide. “Uncle Binnie!” she squealed, running to him without hesitation. Chris barely had time before she leapt into Changbin’s arms, giggling as he spun her around. “Look at you, getting so big! What happened to tiny Mia I used to know?”

“I’m still tiny,” she giggled. “I dunno…you’re almost as big as your dad now,” He teased, shooting the other man a smirk. Chris rolled his eyes. “Funny.” They got in to the studio together. Chris dropped Mia’s backpack on the couch at the end of the room, as Changbin sat her on his lap.

“Where’s J. One?” he asked. As if on cue the door opened with Jisung walking in, coffee in hand. His eyes darted straight to the tiny person on Changbin’s lap, playfully blinking in disbelief. “No way. Is that my Mia?”

Mia gasped. “Uncle ‘Sung!” she wriggled out of the other’s arms and ran straight for Jisung who caught her one-handed with ease, throwing her into his arms. “Daang, I haven’t seen you in forever!” he said dramatically, pretending to stagger under her weight. “You sure you’re not twenty now?” she squeaked, hitting his shoulder “I’m six!”

“Six? No way. You’re lying,” he teased dropping her.

Chris shook his head, watching as they fell into playful banter. Mia looked genuinely happy, completely forgetting about everything else. And it made Chris forget about everything to for a while. At least on most Saturdays.

-

Sundays were the worst. For both of them. Sunday nights felt like losing her all over again. Chris never liked to bring up Victoria unless Mia did first. He knew better than to talk shit about her mother in front of her, no matter how much resentment he held. She was too young to understand the full extent of what happened, and he didn’t want her carrying the weight of their broken marriage. But sometimes, she asked questions. And those were the hard moments.

After dinner one Sunday, with Mia’s bags packed and toys arranged, Chris was brushing her hair. She sat on the couch, the bunny clutched to her chest. She had been quiet. They were always strangely quiet on Sunday nights. He didn’t push, but Mia always spoke when she was ready. Mr. Bean played softly on the TV in the background when she finally spoke.

“Do you like Mr. Dlyan?”. He froze, his hands pausing mid-stroke. That was the name of Victoria’s new husband. The one that seemed to have wider pockets according to her. He forced himself to keep his voice light. “Why do you ask, baby?”

Mia shrugged, kicking her feet. “Mommy says he’s nice. And that he takes good care of us.” “He’s mommy’s new husband, but you know that already.” He said carefully. “Do you like him?” she hesitated, her tiny fingers fiddling with the edge of her animal’s ear. “He buys me lots of toys,” she admitted. “And he says I can call him Dad if I want to.” His grip on the brush tightened. He took a slow breath, forcing down the lump in his throat.

“And do you want to?”

She looked up at him then, big, honest eyes searching his face. “No.”

Relief washed over him so quickly it made him feel guilty. He cleared his throat and set the brush down, gently pulling her into his lap. “Mia, listen to me,” he said softly. “You can call him whatever makes you comfortable. But just because mommy married someone else doesn’t make me any less of a father. Especially your father. That will never change. Okay?”

Mia nodded, gripping his shirt. “I don’t want him to be my dad. I already have one.” He smiled pressing a kiss to her head. “That’s right, baby. You do.” She snuggled closer. “But mommy says I should be happy with him. That its better this way.”

Chris shut his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his emotions before they could break through. He hated the idea of Mia feeling pressured, of her thinking she had to accept this new man as a father figure just to keep the peace. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Mia,” he murmured. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel.”

She turned back to the tv. “But I want to be with you.” Chris held her a little tighter, kissing her forehead like he always did when the words I love you weren’t enough.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

The sky was painted in muted hues of blue and orange, the sun seemed reluctant to set as Chris’s car idled in front of his ex-wife’s pristine suburban house. Mia sat in the backseat, silent, her small fingers anxiously twisting the strap of her backpack. Chris stole a glance at her through the rearview mirror, his chest tightening at the sight of her downcast face.

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he said softly, hating the weight of those words. Mia didn’t move. Her lips wobbled, and tears threatened to spill over her long lashes. Chris unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat, reaching for her hand. “Hey,” he whispered, “It’s okay.” “It’s not okay,” she sniffled, her voice breaking. “I hate going back. Mommy doesn’t even talk to me ask, Daddy. She’s always busy with her friends and her phone! Its better being with you daddy! I don’t wanna go back!”

“I know it’s hard,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. “But you’ll be back with me on Friday. We'll do anything you want, yeah? Just you and me.” She tried to smile, but crumbled into tears. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her into his arms, letting her cry against his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, baby,” he whispered, his own voice thick. “But I promise- Daddy always comes back for you.” her fingers clutched his jacket like a lifeline. “I love you, Daddy.” She choked out.

“I love you too, Mia. So much.”

That was the loop. The constant loop that went on and on. Chris was so tired of it all.

Till you came in.

Gawddd I swear I didn't want it to be this long...this was prolly just like an intro ig...I don't know 😭

Taglist:

@pessimisticloather @pixie-felix

You can check my pinned post to join my taglist!

~kc💗

[dippindaz]

Would you be willing to do a Billy x Reader (Eddie’s younger sister/sibling). I just feel that Billy and Eddie would hate each other so the dynamics could be fun to play with. Is Y/n just like Eddie or quiet and a bookworm? I feel liked they’d have the same curly hair, maybe same eye colour. I listened to something similar on YT recently, thought it was cool.

thanks xx

Of course!! And I definitely think they have the same hair, no way you escape those curls.

I uh—I also got a little carried away with brainstorming an idea for this request so this is gonna be a multi-part thing now!! lol, I hope you all enjoy. (Also If you'd like this request to be executed differently as I know I went a little off the rails with it, I'd be more than happy to do it just send in another ask if that's the case :) )

Masterlist here

Mentions of drug baggies and Billy being Billy, (I think) are the only necessary warnings.

The trailer door creaked as it swung open, and Billy stepped inside without hesitation, letting it fall shut behind him. The place was dimly lit, cluttered with old magazines, half-empty beer cans, and random junk Eddie never bothered to clean up. Typical. Billy barely glanced at the mess, his attention locked on the guy slouched on the couch, counting out a handful of baggies like it was just another boring Tuesday.

Eddie barely spared him a glance. “You’re early.”

Billy shrugged, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe. “And you’re slow.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, tossing one of the baggies onto the table. “Gimme a sec. Gotta grab something from the van.” He pushed himself up with a grunt, shoving past Billy and out the door without another word.

Billy let out a scoff, but as his eyes flicked around the room, they landed on someone else—someone unexpected.

Sitting cross-legged in the recliner across the room, nose buried in a dog-eared paperback, was you. Eddie’s little sister. He’d seen you around school before, always on the outskirts, never in the thick of things. You had that same wild hair as Eddie, though without the dramatics. Quieter. More reserved. Talking was Eddie’s thing.

Billy tilted his head, a slow grin creeping onto his face.

“Well, shit,” he drawled. “Didn’t peg Munson for the type to keep secrets.”

You didn’t look up. “Didn’t peg you for the type to knock.”

Billy chuckled, stepping further inside. “I don’t. Doors open for me.” His voice was thick with arrogance, the kind that made most girls stumble over themselves. You just turned a page.

“Huh.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, studying you. “Didn’t know Munson had a sister. Guess you don’t get out much.” He did know, he just wanted to jab at you, you were sure.

This time, you did glance up, just briefly. “Or maybe you just don’t pay attention.”

Billy grinned. “Oh, I’m paying attention now.”

He let that hang in the air, watching for a reaction. Most girls at school either giggled around him or avoided him like the plague. You just seemed… uninterested.

Before he could push further, the door swung open again, and Eddie stomped back inside.

“Alright, let’s wrap this up,” Eddie muttered, tossing another baggie onto the pile. Then his eyes landed on Billy—no, on the space between Billy and you.

His expression darkened instantly. “The hell are you doin’ talking to my sister, Hargrove?”

Billy didn’t take his eyes off you. “Didn’t realize she needed permission to talk.”

Eddie grabbed the baggies, shoving them into Billy’s hand. “Yeah, well, now you know. So don’t.”

Billy smirked, slow and taunting, before finally tearing his gaze away from you. He lifted the baggies in a lazy salute. “Pleasure doin’ business, Munson.” Then, with one last glance at you, he strolled out, whistling under his breath.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Eddie spun around. “Don’t talk to him.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know who he is, Eddie.”

“Then you should know better.”

You sighed, waving him off. It annoyed you, but you were used to Eddie’s protective side. “It’s not like I’m gonna fall for him or something. He’s just a guy.”

Eddie scoffed. “Yeah. A guy who’s bad news.”

You just shook your head. It didn’t matter. A crush was harmless, right?

Harmless.

Right.

———————————————————————————

Later the next day you find yourself being dragged to the arcade with the kids. Arcades were okay, a bit too loud and overwhelming for you, but you’d go if it made the buttheads smile. The bells above the arcade door jingle as Dustin and the others rush inside, already chattering about high scores and token strategies. You’re about to follow when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Didn’t take you for the arcade type, Munson.”

You freeze for half a second before turning, already bracing yourself.

Billy Hargrove is leaning against the side of his Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips, one arm draped lazily over the car door. The setting sun glints off his silver chain, making the smirk on his face look even more infuriating.

You school your expression. “Not often.”

Billy exhales a slow stream of smoke, eyes dragging over you with interest. “Then what’s the occasion?”

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

His smirk deepens. “Just makin’ conversation, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, where the kids disappeared inside. A distraction would be nice right about now. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Maybe a mirror to admire yourself in?”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car. “That was the plan,” he admits, taking another drag. “Then I saw you.”

You roll your eyes. “Lucky me.”

Billy grins like you just handed him a prize. “Yeah, lucky you.”

You shift on your feet, debating if this conversation is even worth the effort. But Billy takes another step forward, the amusement in his eyes sharpening like he’s enjoying every second of this.

“Y’know,” he muses, tipping his head, “didn’t expect Eddie’s little sister to be so—” He drags his gaze over you, slow and deliberate. “—cute.”

Your breath hitches before you can stop it, and heat creeps up your neck.

Billy notices. Of course he does.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” he teases. “That’s alright. I like a challenge.”

You force out a scoff, hoping it covers the way your pulse kicks up. “You’re wasting your time.”

Billy flicks the ash from his cigarette, watching you like he’s already decided that’s not true. “Nah. I don’t think so.” He takes another lazy step closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “I bet if I asked real nice, you’d keep me company.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

His smirk curves into something slower, more deliberate. “Because you’re curious.”

Your stomach flips.

And he’s right.

Before you can decide whether to snap back or just ignore him, the arcade door swings open, and Lucas steps outside. He barely glances at Billy, his focus locking onto you instead.

“You coming?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

You exhale, grateful for the interruption. “Yeah.”

Billy’s smirk lingers as you turn away. “See you around, Munson.”

You don’t look back.

But even as you step inside, you can still feel his eyes on you.

———————————————————————————

You didn’t see Billy for the rest of the weekend, and though you saw him today you thankfully hadn’t talked to him. Only issue? He’s in your class. You’ve been keeping your head down, eyes glued to your notebook, willing yourself to focus. The teacher is droning on about something—probably the Cold War, or maybe Nixon—but it’s hard to tell over the sound of Billy Hargrove’s constant, low-voiced disruptions from the seat beside you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You don’t have to pretend to be so into this. Bet you’d have way more fun if you—”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Shut up, Hargrove.”

He lets out a short, amused chuckle, unfazed. “Feisty,” he muses. “I like it.”

You grip your pencil tighter, refusing to take the bait. He’d started this the second he strolled into class late and took the empty seat next to you. Just your luck. You weren’t sure if he even belonged in this class or if he just did whatever he wanted and no one stopped him.

Billy shifts again, slouching in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “You know, ignorin' me doesn’t make me go away.”

“No, but it makes me feel better.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “That so?”

You don’t answer. Across the room, your teacher gives an exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples. “Mr. Hargrove, unless you’re going to contribute something insightful, I suggest you keep quiet.”

Billy raises his hands in mock innocence. “Just tryin’ to have a conversation, sir.”

The class snickers, but you just exhale slowly, willing the clock to move faster.

By the time the bell rings, you’re out of your seat in an instant, shoving your books into your bag as fast as humanly possible. But you should’ve known better.

Billy’s already leaning against the lockers when you reach yours, arms crossed, that same smug smirk playing at his lips.

“You always this fun, or just in class?”

You glance at him briefly, but you don’t stop twisting your locker dial. “What do you want?”

“What, can’t a guy say hi?”

You roll your eyes, pulling the door open. “Hi. Bye.”

Billy doesn’t move. If anything, he seems more amused. “Eddie put you up to this?” he asks, tilting his head. “The whole avoiding-me-like-the-plague thing?”

You huff, shoving your books inside. “No one has to tell me to avoid you.”

“Ah.” Billy nods, like that confirms something. “Right. So you just listen to every word your big brother says?”

“I have my own brain, thanks.”

“Yeah?” He leans in a little, and for the first time, you hesitate. He notices. “So what’s stoppin' you?”

You blink. “Stopping me from what?”

“From having a real conversation with me.”

You scoff, slamming your locker shut. “Maybe I just don’t want to.”

Billy studies you, eyes flicking over your face, your stiff posture, the way your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. He smirks—but it’s different this time. Less cocky. More… calculating.

And that’s what makes your stomach twist.

Billy Hargrove was a lot of things—reckless, arrogant, charming when it suited him—but he wasn’t aimless. If he was talking to you, pushing your buttons, keeping you on edge, it was because he wanted something. And Billy Hargrove always got what he wanted.

But why you?

That was the part that didn’t make sense. You weren’t stupid. You knew what people like him were like, knew the way he treated girls at school—like conquests, like challenges, like something to pass the time. You’d spent years keeping your head down, staying out of the drama, and ever since he moved to Hawkins, out of his orbit, and yet now, for some reason, he had decided to step into yours.

And the worst part?

A tiny, traitorous part of you didn’t entirely hate it.

Billy watches you carefully, waiting for something—a crack, a slip, a reaction he can use. When you don’t give him one, he exhales, clicking his tongue. “Shame.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What is?”

“That you’re so damn stubborn.” He takes a step back, like he’s already won something. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Like I said, I enjoy a challenge.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him without another word.

Billy chuckles under his breath as he watches you walk away.

You shake off the lingering feeling of Billy’s eyes on you as you weave through the crowded hallway. The last thing you need is to be thinking about him, but the interaction still clings to you, like cigarette smoke that won’t wash out.

It doesn’t help that your next class—English—feels like a blur. You’re barely paying attention as you slip into your usual seat near the middle of the room.

“Jesus, you look like you saw a ghost.”

You blink, snapping out of it. Robin Buckley is staring at you from the next desk over, eyebrows raised in amusement. She twirls a pen between her fingers, already halfway slouched in her chair. “Or, like, had an existential crisis in the hallway.”

You snort, rubbing a hand over your face. “More like the second one.”

Robin perks up. “Ooh, do tell.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with a reason not to, the words are already slipping out. “It’s Billy.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Hargrove?”

“No, Billy Joel,” you deadpan.

Robin shoots you a look. “Okay, first of all, don’t sass me when I’m trying to provide moral support. Second of all, what did he do now?”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the desk. “Nothing… technically. He just keeps—" You pause, struggling to put it into words. "—I don’t know. Talking to me.”

Robin’s eyes narrow. “Talking how?”

You shift uncomfortably. “Like… I don’t know, like he’s testing me or something. Seeing how much he can get away with.”

Robin hums, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Lemme guess. The classic Hargrove moves? Smirking, standing too close, saying weirdly suggestive things but in that way where if you call him out, he’d act like you’re the crazy one?”

You blink. “Yeah. That’s… disturbingly accurate.”

Robin leans back, shrugging. “I’ve seen him do it before. He’s got a type.”

Your stomach twists slightly at that. “And what’s his type?”

She gives you a knowing look. “Girls he thinks he can mess with.”

You make a face. “Great. Love that for me.”

Robin tilts her head, considering you. “So… what are you gonna do?”

You exhale through your nose. “Ignore him.”

Robin snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that. He’s like a cockroach—impossible to kill and way too smug about it.”

You groan, resting your forehead against your desk. “This is so stupid. Why is he even bothering?”

Robin shrugs. “Could be a few reasons. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he wants to piss Eddie off.” She pauses, then smirks. “Or maybe he’s just got the hots for you.”

You whip your head up to glare at her. “Shut up.”

Robin grins. “I’m just saying! You’re cute, he’s an asshole—it tracks.”

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm. “He’s not interested in me. He’s interested in annoying me.”

Robin shrugs. “Eh. Sometimes those things overlap.”

Before you can argue, the teacher calls for everyone’s attention, starting the lesson. You sink lower in your seat, pretending to take notes, but Robin’s words stick with you.

What if she was right?

And worse… what if a tiny, irrational part of you wanted her to be?

The rest of the school day drags, but you do your best to push Billy from your mind. Robin’s words still linger, though—He’s got a type. You tell yourself she’s wrong. That Billy’s just messing with you because he’s bored, because you’re Eddie’s sister, because it entertains him to get under your skin.

But then, like clockwork, he finds you again.

You’re at your locker, swapping out books, when you feel it—someone hovering just close enough to be intentional. You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Billy Hargrove leans casually against the locker beside yours, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “Miss me?”

You huff, slamming your locker shut. “Not even a little.”

“Ouch,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

You roll your eyes and turn to walk away, but Billy easily matches your pace, strolling beside you down the hall.

“Relax, Munson. I’ll behave,” he promises, voice lighter than before. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

He grins. “True. But I’m thinkin’ maybe you don’t hate me as much as you pretend.”

You scoff. “What gave you that idea?”

Billy shrugs. “Just a feeling.” He glances down at you, his smirk shifting into something less predatory, more amused. “So, what do you do for fun, Munson? Besides avoid me, of course.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the normalcy of the question. “Why do you care?”

“Just tryin’ to figure you out.”

You steal a glance at him, expecting the usual smugness, but for once, he just looks… curious. That’s what makes you pause.

Billy Hargrove doesn’t ask questions just to ask them. Everything he does is deliberate—he pushes, he pulls, he tests the waters. And right now? He’s testing you.

Before you can decide how to respond, the warning bell rings. You pause, gripping the strap of your bag.

Billy clicks his tongue. “Guess you’re off the hook—for now.”

You shake your head, stepping away. “Whatever, Hargrove.”

But really, it wasn’t whatever. You couldn’t lie—to yourself, at least. Since the day Billy appeared in Hawkins, you’d found him attractive. How could you not? But you also knew exactly what he was. Trouble. And you had enough of that in your life. You weren’t interested in being another notch in his bed frame, another girl he’d charm just to discard.

The rest of the school day feels like a blur. You can barely focus on the lessons, your thoughts drifting back to Billy. The way he keeps popping up, his questions that always seem to lead somewhere you’re not quite sure of, the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what buttons to push. By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave.

You grab your bag and head out the door, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of being watched. The halls are crowded with students streaming out into the parking lot, eager to start their weekends. But you don’t get far before you feel it—that familiar presence. Someone too close, too intentional.

Billy. Again.

That same infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

You exhale sharply. “Yeah, it’s almost like we go to the same school.”

Billy chuckles, pushing off the car to fall into step beside you. “Y’know I like your attitude.”

You shake your head, already regretting engaging, but it doesn’t matter, Billy doesn’t give up easily.

“So,” he says casually, hands slipping into his pockets, “how come I never see you at any of the parties?”

You snort. “Because I don’t go to them?”

“Tragic,” he muses. “You’re really missin’ out.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

Billy tilts his head, studying you. “Lemme guess. Not a fan of loud music? Drunk assholes?” His smirk grows. “Or just worried big brother Munson wouldn’t approve?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re obsessed with Eddie, you know that?”

Billy chuckles. “Nah. But it’s fun gettin’ under his skin.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you approach Eddie’s van. Billy follows, stepping in front of you just before you can reach the door. “Y’know,” he muses, “you keep actin’ like you don’t like talkin’ to me, but you never actually tell me to leave.”

Your lips part, but before you can find a response, another voice cuts in.

“What the hell is this?”

Eddie.

He’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed, a deep scowl etched into his face.

Billy grins. “Hey, Munson.”

Eddie ignores him, eyes locked on you. “You good?”

You sigh. “Yeah, Eds. We were just—”

“She was just enjoyin’ my company,” Billy interrupts smoothly, flashing a grin.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, sure she was.” He looks at you again, more serious now. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

You huff, glancing between them, then finally step around Billy toward the passenger side of the van.

Billy doesn’t stop you, but as you open the door, he calls after you. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t respond.

The van door slams shut behind you, and as Eddie pulls out of the parking lot, you can’t help but glance back out the window at Billy’s retreating figure. Something about the way he’s been acting lately nags at you. It’s different from how he’s treated everyone else; he’s not pushing you away, not provoking Eddie, not throwing his usual taunts.

The second Eddie pulls into the street, he lets out a sharp scoff.

“Seriously?” He shoots you a look, eyebrows raised. “Billy Hargrove?”

You roll your eyes, already exhausted. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, really?” He snorts. “’Cause from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like he was trying to work his slimy little charm on you.”

You huff, shifting in your seat. “He was just talking, Eddie. You’re acting like I was about to jump into his car.”

Eddie groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s how it starts, dude. First, it’s just talking, then he’s got you riding shotgun in that stupid Camaro, then—” He shudders dramatically. “God, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

You cross your arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being smart,” he counters, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Hargrove’s a dick. And I don’t mean in a ‘he’s kind of an ass but deep down he’s okay’ way. I mean in a ‘he’s a total, no-redeeming-qualities, king-sized douchebag’ way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, staring out the window.

Eddie sighs, his voice softening just slightly. “Look, I know you think I’m overreacting, but I’m serious, alright? He’s not good news.”

“I know that,” you mutter, because you do. Everyone does.

Eddie shakes his head. “Then why the hell were you even talking to him?”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with your bag strap. “I dunno. It just… happened.”

Eddie exhales heavily, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” you say automatically.

But something about the way Billy looked at you lingers in the back of your mind. He was charming, you’d give him that.

The drive back to the trailer is quiet. Eddie’s hands grip the steering wheel tight, and his fingers tap the rhythm of a song you can’t quite make out. You steal a glance at him, the tense set of his jaw making it clear that he’s still fuming about Billy. You know he’s just trying to protect you, but there’s something in his posture that hints at more than just concern—he’s pissed. It’s not like he hasn't made it obvious, but there’s an edge to his anger now, a frustration that’s starting to gnaw at you too.

As the van rumbles down the road toward the trailer park, you lean back against the seat, eyes trained on the world outside the window, your thoughts still lingering on the brief encounter with Billy. What the hell was that about? He hadn’t been his usual smug self. Something about it felt different, almost… normal. But you knew better than to let that pull you in.

When the van turns into the gravel lot, you finally sit up straight, looking out the window at the trailer. The silence is thick between you and Eddie, but it’s not uncomfortable. Neither of you is really ready to talk, but eventually, Eddie pulls the van to a stop outside the trailer.

He kills the engine, then turns to you, eyes still intense. “You sure you’re good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to come out steady.

He’s quick to catch it, though, his brows knitting together. “What’s goin’ on with you and Billy, anyway?”

You sigh, pulling the door open and stepping out into the cool evening air. “Nothing,” you say, though you don’t even believe it yourself.

Eddie’s eyes follow you as you move around the van and up the steps to the door of the trailer. You can feel his gaze on you, but when you look back at him, he’s already turning away, clearly ready to call it a night.

It’s quiet inside the trailer, the soft hum of the fridge being the only sound. Eddie slams the door behind him, and you hear the familiar clink of him tossing his keys on the counter. The normalcy of it settles over you, but your mind can’t let go of Billy. You try to shake it off, but the lingering look he gave you, his sudden charm, nags at the back of your mind.

Eddie’s voice breaks through your thoughts. “You know, if Hargrove’s gonna keep trying to mess with you, I’m not gonna sit by and watch it happen.”

You stop in your tracks, looking back at him. His expression is hard now, serious.

“You don’t have to protect me, Eddie,” you mutter, though you can feel the familiar prickling of tension creeping up your spine.

“I’m your brother. It’s what I do.” He shrugs, trying to look casual, but the anger is still there, simmering. “Just don’t do anything stupid with him, alright? He’s a real piece of work, and I don’t trust him for a second.”

You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, but something about the way Eddie looks at you stops you. You just nod, even if you’re not sure you’ll follow through.

The truth is, part of you is curious about Billy—curious in a way that makes you uncomfortable. And for all of Eddie’s warnings, the pull Billy’s subtle charm has on you is harder to ignore.

But you can’t let it happen. Not with him.

It’d be stupid. You’re the responsible one, the careful one. Eddie’s future didn’t look the brightest, but yours was looking okay right now and you needed to keep it that way. To take care of your uncle when he was older, to make sure Eddie had a roof over his head. You didn’t have time to screw up. Which meant you didn’t have time for stupid high school romances, especially not with someone like Billy.

Eddie flops onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the table. “So, what’s on the agenda tonight? Homework? Overthinking? Staring at the ceiling and contemplating existence?”

You snort, pouring yourself a glass of water. “All of the above.”

He grins, but it fades after a beat. “Hey,” he says, more serious now. “You know I’m not trying to be an ass, right? About Billy?”

You sigh, setting your glass down. “I know.”

“I just—” He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want you getting caught up in something you’ll regret. You’re smarter than that.”

You press your lips together, nodding. “I know,” you repeat.

Eddie watches you for a second longer, then sighs, leaning back again. “Alright, well. If you start getting brainwashed by his stupid pretty-boy hair, I’ll stage an intervention.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. “I thought you only considered Steve a pretty boy.” You tease.

Eddie holds up a finger as if he’s about to inform you of something major. You chuckle as he drops it back to his lap. “Touché.”

The night passes in the usual rhythm. You finish up some homework while Eddie strums lazily on his guitar, eventually getting caught up in his D&D notes. By the time you both call it a night, the house is quiet except for the low hum of the TV in the background.

But as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you can’t seem to stop your mind from thinking about Billy. His stupid face, stupid smirk, and yes, that stupid pretty-boy hair. You’re not used to it. You’re not the kind of person who has a lot of crushes or interest in people. And it frustrates you to no end that you can’t seem to control your thoughts.

———————————————————————————

Tuesday morning feels like a repeat of yesterday, and yet, it feels heavier somehow. You walk down the hall with your books clutched tightly to your chest, hoping for a quiet start to the day. But when you turn the corner, you spot Billy. Leaning against the lockers with that infuriating, cocky smirk plastered on his face.

He looks up at you, eyes narrowing playfully as you stop in your tracks. For a brief second, he just stares, like he's trying to figure out your next move.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, his voice too smooth for your liking. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

You stare at him, suppressing the instinct to roll your eyes. He’s not really concerned. It's just part of the game he plays. "Not interested in playing your little games today, Hargrove."

Billy chuckles lowly, pushing off the lockers to step closer to you, his gaze not leaving yours for a second. "Oh, I don’t know about that. You played them yesterday."

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to go about my day,” you mutter, stepping to the side to walk past him.

But Billy’s too quick, blocking your path with a casual lean against the lockers. “C’mon, Munson. I know I’m irresistible, no point in pretending you’re not interested.”

You swallow hard, already feeling that familiar knot of frustration building. Why could he seem to read you effortlessly? “I’m not interested in anything you’ve got to say.”

Billy’s eyes glimmer with something dangerous, and he tilts his head just slightly. "Really? ‘Cause you’ve been looking at me a lot for someone who isn’t."

You force yourself not to react. He’s fishing for a reaction, and you’re not going to give it to him. "You have no clue what you’re talking about," you reply, trying to sound steady, but your heart is racing.

Billy takes a step forward, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. “You know, I can tell when someone’s just pretending. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think, sweetheart.” He leans in even closer, his face inches from yours. “Why don’t you admit it? You’re intrigued.”

For a moment, part of you wants to push him away, to tell him to get lost. The logical part of you. But instead, you freeze. He’s not backing down and not deterred by you brushing him off. And part of you is happy he isn’t. Part of you is almost enjoying his attention.

“I don’t care what you think, Billy,” you say, the words coming out a little shakier than you intend. "You’re not worth my time."

Billy smirks again, his eyes lighting up in that annoying, self-satisfied way that makes your skin crawl. “Sure, Princess. You keep telling yourself that.”

He steps aside, finally letting you pass, but not before his hand grazes the side of your arm. The touch sends an involuntary shiver down your spine, and it takes everything in you to keep walking. You try to shake it off as you keep walking down the hall, but you know he’s watching you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re exhausted—mentally, mostly. You spent half the morning trying to ignore the way Billy Hargrove had been getting under your skin, and the other half pretending like he hadn’t been in your head since yesterday. It was stupid, really. You knew what kind of guy he was. And yet, here you were, letting it bother you.

You drop into your usual seat at the lunch table, across from Robin and Steve. Eddie’s already there, poking at his food with disinterest while Robin chatters about some new movie she and Steve saw over the weekend. You try to listen, but the weight of Billy’s gaze from across the cafeteria is making it difficult.

“You’ve been a little quiet today,” Robin suddenly says, snapping you out of your thoughts. She nudges your tray. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically, but even you don’t sound convincing.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”

Eddie, who up until now has been ignoring the conversation, suddenly glances up. He follows your gaze across the cafeteria and scoffs. “Jesus Christ. Again?”

You snap back to reality, tearing your gaze away from Billy, but it’s too late. Eddie saw.

“I thought we talked about this,” Eddie mutters, stabbing a fry into a glob of ketchup.

“We did,” you reply tightly.

“And?”

“And nothing,” you huff.

Robin, sensing the shift in tension, leans in with an interested smirk. “Alright, so are we gonna pretend like Hargrove isn’t staring at you from across the room, or…?”

Steve groans. “Seriously? The dudes a dick,” He says as if you don’t know. “We knew something was up, you’ve been looking weird all day.”

“I have not been looking weird,” you argue.

Robin grins. “You kinda have.”

Eddie lets out a sharp exhale and turns to you fully. “You told me you were done with this already.”

“There’s nothing to be done with,” you snap, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not doing anything.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah? Well, he sure as hell is.”

Robin watches the exchange with an amused expression, but Steve looks a little more cautious. “Listen, I don’t like the guy either,” he says, glancing toward Billy. “But maybe let her handle it?”

Eddie looks at Steve like he just suggested something insane. “Oh, sure, let’s just let her walk straight into that disaster.”

You slam your fork down. “Eddie, enough.”

The table goes quiet.

You rub your temples, exhaling hard. “I know what he’s like. You don’t need to keep lecturing me about it.”

Eddie blinks, caught off guard by your tone. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off. “And I get it, okay? You don’t trust him. I don’t trust him either. But I’m not an idiot, and I don’t need you hovering over me every five seconds about it.”

Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but for once, he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales heavily and mutters, “I’m just looking out for you.”

Your shoulders slump slightly, some of the fight draining out of you. “I know.”

Robin clears her throat, cutting the tension. “Sooo, we all in agreement? Hargrove is an actual demon, but it’s not our job to beat the idea into her head?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I still think it’s our job.”

Steve nudges his arm. “Let it go, dude.”

Eddie grumbles under his breath but says nothing else.

You poke at your food, your appetite all but gone. Across the cafeteria, Billy is still watching you, and despite everything you just said… you don’t look away this time.

The last bell finally rings, and you exhale, relieved to be free from the suffocating halls of Hawkins High—at least for the day. You gather your things, moving quickly to avoid getting caught up in the post-class rush, but it doesn’t take long before you feel it again.

That familiar, lingering presence.

You don’t even have to look to know who it is.

Billy falls into step beside you, hands in the pockets of his worn leather jacket, looking effortlessly smug. “You got a habit of starin’, princess,” he muses, voice dripping with amusement.

You blink, thrown off. “What?”

“Lunch,” he clarifies, smirk widening. “Caught you lookin’ at me.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you walk faster. “You’re delusional.”

Billy matches your pace with ease. “Am I?” He tilts his head, studying you. “’Cause I could’ve sworn you were watchin’ me. Like you couldn’t help yourself.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you keep walking, refusing to look at him. “You’re full of yourself.”

Billy hums, clearly entertained. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

You stop at your locker, spinning the dial harder than necessary as you try to keep your expression neutral. “If I was looking, which I wasn’t, it’d only be because you make it hard to ignore your obnoxious ass.”

Billy leans against the lockers beside you, unbothered. “Yeah?” His voice drops lower, smooth and teasing. “That why you’re all flustered right now?”

You slam your locker shut, glaring at him. “I’m not flustered.”

His eyes flicker over your face, reading you too easily, like he knows he’s in your head and is enjoying every second of it. “Whatever you say, Munson.” He pushes off the locker, stepping back but not leaving just yet. “Maybe next time, don’t be so obvious.”

You huff, adjusting your bag as you start to walk away, only for his voice to call after you one more time.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You don’t look back.

But damn it, you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

———————————————————————————

You’re exhausted—from school, from Eddie’s constant hovering, and most of all, from Billy’s persistence. He hasn’t done anything outright, nothing you could point to and say, see, this is why he’s trouble. But he’s there. In the halls, in your periphery, throwing casual smirks your way like he knows something you don’t.

At lunch, you’re at your usual spot with Eddie and his friends, Robin perched on the other side of the table, half-listening to Steve complain about work. You’re mostly tuned out, too aware of the weight of a particular gaze from across the room.

Billy is sitting with his douchebag friends, lounging back in his seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But his eyes keep flicking to you. Not constantly—just enough that you know it’s deliberate. Just enough that it’s distracting. Again.

“You spacing out or something?” Robin nudges your arm, making you blink and tear your gaze away.

“What?”

Robin follows your line of sight, eyes narrowing when she spots Billy at his table. When she looks back at you, her expression is unreadable. “Are we seriously doing this again?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

Robin leans in, lowering her voice. “Whatever weird, unspoken thing that’s happening between you and Hargrove.”

“There is no thing,” you insist quickly, too quickly.

She snorts. “Right. And Steve suddenly enjoys working retail.”

You shoot her a look, but she just shrugs. “I’m just saying—if you’re gonna go down that road, at least be smart about it.”

You don’t respond, mostly because you’re not even sure what to say. There’s no thing between you and Billy. There can’t be.

And yet, when you glance back across the room, you catch Billy smirking at you, like he knows something you don’t.

You look away this time.

The day starts like any other—school, classes, Eddie making sarcastic comments at every opportunity. But you can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting, like the inevitable pull of a current you’re not sure you want to fight anymore.

At lunch, you and Eddie are sitting with Robin, idly picking at your food when Steve Harrington appears, dropping his tray onto the table with a loud clatter.

“Alright, losers,” Steve announces, pointing at each of you in turn. “You’re coming to the game tomorrow.”

Robin groans dramatically, flopping onto the table. “Ugh, do we have to?”

“Yes.” Steve stabs a fry in her direction. “Support your school, Buckley. And besides, the team’s doing good this season. It might actually be fun.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, no. I’ve got a very important Hellfire meeting tomorrow. Sorry, big guy, but D&D takes precedence over sweaty jocks running around in circles.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Figures. What about you?” He turns to you, and you open your mouth to refuse out of instinct—until an image of Billy flashes through your mind.

You hesitate. Billy will be there.

You shouldn't care. You know that. But the thought plants itself in your brain, an unshakable little itch. You tell yourself it's curiosity, nothing more. It’s not like you’re going for him. It’s just… an excuse. A reason to see if he acts the same outside of school, if he’ll even acknowledge you when he's with his friends, when he’s not leaning against your locker and throwing smug comments your way.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “I mean… I guess I don’t have anything else going on.”

Robin sighs, giving you a look. “Fine. But if it sucks, I get to complain the whole time.”

Steve grins, triumphant. “Deal.”

Eddie shakes his head, unimpressed. “You’re really gonna go watch Hargrove stroke his own ego for an hour and a half?”

You nudge him with your elbow. “It’s just a game, Eds. Not the end of the world.”

He mutters something about falling to the dark side, but the conversation moves on, leaving you with the nagging realization that, despite every logical reason not to, you want to see Billy play.

You don’t expect to run into Billy after school, but of course, he finds you.

You’re walking toward the parking lot when you hear the unmistakable click of a lighter, followed by the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. Turning your head, you spot Billy leaning against a tree near the edge of the lot, one foot crossed over the other, watching you like he’s been waiting.

“You stalkin’ me, Munson?” he drawls, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.

You scoff. “Says the guy who’s always conveniently around.”

Billy smirks but doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods toward you. “So? You gonna be there tomorrow?”

Your heart stutters for half a second before you recover. “The game?”

He hums in confirmation, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You cross your arms. “Why do you care?”

He exhales a long stream of smoke, eyes flickering over you like he’s assessing something. “Maybe I just like an audience.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches before you can stop it. His eyes catch the movement, and his smirk softens—just slightly.

“I’ll be there,” you admit before you can overthink it.

Billy tilts his head, looking vaguely pleased. “Good.”

He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t gloat like you expect him to. Instead, he flicks his cigarette away, pushing off the tree with an easy roll of his shoulders. “See you tomorrow, doll.”

And just like that, he’s gone, walking toward his Camaro like it was just another casual conversation.

You watch him go, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

It’s just a basketball game. It’s just curiosity.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

———————————————————————————

Friday drags, each class feeling longer than usual. You go through the motions—taking notes, exchanging sarcastic remarks with Eddie, rolling your eyes at Robin’s exaggerated groaning about having to endure the game later. But underneath it all, there’s something… off.

Billy hasn’t sought you out once.

No lingering at your locker. No smug comments in the hall. No interruptions in class with whispered teasing in your ear. It’s almost unsettling.

You shouldn’t care. It should be a relief, really. Maybe he lost interest, moved on to some other poor girl to taunt and charm in equal measure. That’s what you should want.

And yet, every time you pass him in the hall, your stomach twists just a little when he doesn’t even glance your way. He walks with his usual swagger, laughing with his friends, exuding the same effortless confidence, but it’s like you don’t exist.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. But a small part of you—a part you don’t want to acknowledge—already misses the attention.

By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than ready to leave, eager for a distraction. Robin finds you at your locker, shoving her books into her bag with a dramatic sigh.

“I cannot believe we’re voluntarily going to this thing.”

You snort. “You act like it’s torture.”

“It is torture,” she insists. “Loud gym, sweaty dudes, and an entire student body acting like they suddenly care about school spirit? Pass.”

You shut your locker, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Well, too late now. Plus we’re supporting Steve.”

Robin groans, but she follows you anyway, because despite all her complaining, you both know she doesn’t actually mind.

As the two of you make your way toward the gym, you can’t help but wonder—will Billy keep ignoring you? Or was this whole day just a setup for something else? Regardless, you didn’t like it.

[revelboo]

Oh dearest revel may I request the next part to the samurai code? I have had a strong fixation with drift lately and it’s 100% healthy I promise

-✨💜💫

Sure!

The Samurai Code Pt 5

Drift x Reader

• Leaning against Drift’s servos as he carries you, you’re aware that you’re slowly tilting until your cheek is on your arm. Exhaustion tugging at you, trying to pull you under. “Not much further,” Drift says and you look up at him, eyelids drooping. But if you fall asleep, there’s no telling how long you’ll be out. Can’t sleep no matter how badly you want to. You don’t hurt when you’re sleeping. “Brainstorm will be able to help.” Feel one of his servos slide down your spine, his tone sure, but you can’t tell if he really believes it. And it’s not fair that he got saddled with you, feeling guiltier about it every day. Hate being a burden to him and you know you are even if he’s too kind to say it.

• You offer him a little smile, reaching up to press your fingers against your temple. And he’s aware of the fact that your skin is chilled again as he holds you. That he hadn’t been able to coax you into drinking water or eating for him. That you’re much thinner now than when you’d blipped into existence. Hates it. Watching you fading right in front of his optics and being unable to help you. Failing you. The last time Ratchet had scanned you, the medic hadn’t had to say anything. Had just vented and set the scanner aside, face grim. His friend resigned to an inevitability he can’t stop fighting against. Knows Ratchet hates this, too. Having a patient he can’t help.

• Eyes opening with a groan at the soft sound of a door opening, you tiredly look around at the space he’s carried you into. Brainstorm’s lab? And Drift is striding toward a bot bent over working on something, the mech’s yellow optics lifting and you spot movement on a counter. “Over here,” the other mech says. Lifting your fingers in a weak little wave at the other human, you force a smile. Know there are other humans on the ship, but they’re kept away from you. Like whatever’s wrong with you might be catching. Turning to retrieve a scanner kind of like the one Ratchet uses on you, Brainstorm runs it over you while you’re still in Drift’s hands.

• “Well?” He asks as the scientist stares at the reading on whatever it is he’s done to that scanner. ‘Something went wrong when they came over,’ Brainstorm mutters, adjusting something and then scanning you again to make you squint as the light plays over you. ‘Most of the humans bounce back pretty quickly, but yours isn’t quite all here.’ What? Frowning as Brainstorm fiddles with his scanner before pointing at you with it. ‘Look, they’re not quite anchored here in this moment and place. It’s killing them.’ Reminding himself that skewering the scientist won’t help you, he vents softly and smiles. “But you can help.”

• “Nope,” Brainstorm laughs, tapping the scanner against his palm before holding it up when Drift makes a noise you’ve never heard from him before. Snarling almost to make the fine hair at your nape prickle. “But you can. Give your little human an anchor.” An anchor? Eyes tiredly closing, that bit about you dying isn’t any surprise. You’d realized it already even if Drift and Ratchet won’t admit it. Saw it in the pitying looks they give you. Hear Brainstorm say something about a spark bond as you start to drift again. So tired. Feeling so bad for Drift trying so hard for you, fighting for you. Unable to just let you go.

Previous

[heartfullofleeches]

You don't gotta, but can I request one of your yans take care of us while we are sick? I feel terrible, but more than anything, I'm bored because I can't play ffxiv if I can't keep my eyes open... I don't mind which yan so if there's one you really wanna write about, feel free. If you need a suggestion tho, than Miller

Ps the medicine I got tastes like spearmint sweethearts, so it's not all bad at least

Yan Streamer + Sick Reader Blurb

-

"We gather here today to mourn the loss of our dear friend and frequent guest, Y/n. After hours of research, it's clear to me that the cause of their illness is heartache over the audacity many of you have in telling them to ditch me for you. They will be missed, and loved."

"Miller? Are you telling your chat I'm dead again!"

Arising from your coffin of blankets of stuffed companions, you lean off the bed - craning your neck and narrowing your puffy eyes to get a better look at the chat messages flying by on their monitor. Miller, wasting no time as you whence from the odd angle, bolts over to your side - propping a pillow behind your head as they ease you against the headboard.

"Whoa, whoa- Take it easy! Don't want you moving a muscle till you're feeling better unless there's a fire or you have to go to the bathroom."

Patting out the blankets, Miller kisses your forehead. "But you already know I'd carry you out of here if that first thing happened. Tea's almost done and the soup will be ready in about a half hour. Even if you can't stomach everything, a few sips of the broth will be good for you."

"Thanks, Miller." Turning away, you cough into your fist. "I'd be worse off without your help , but you didn't have to cancel your whole stream for me.

Miller places the back of their palm to your cheek.

"That fever must be getting to you. If I could somehow transfer all of your suffering into me I'd do that shit in a heartbeat! Those guys will be fine for a day without me, but if I spent that day with them while you're sick right behind me what kind of partner would I be?"

".... A terrible one?

"Ex-actly."

[half-of-a-gay]

i’ve never done this before clearly but : rugby player sevika x teams manager reader , PLEASE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!

my first request 🤭🤩🤗

Rugby player!Sevika x Team manager!Reader

Sevika was a force on the field—unstoppable, relentless, a powerhouse in every sense of the word. She was the kind of player who made opponents hesitate before getting in her way, and the kind of teammate who turned a losing game into a victory with sheer determination. She had the scars to prove it, the muscle to back it up, and the confidence that made her damn near impossible to ignore.

Except when it came to you.

You, the team manager who kept things running smoothly—ordering equipment, organizing travel schedules, making sure their bruised and battered bodies had ice packs and painkillers ready after every brutal game. The one person Sevika, the unshakable, unbreakable rugby star, could barely string two sentences together around.

It was ridiculous, really. She could trash-talk a 200-pound forward without flinching, could carry half the team on her back if needed, but the second you looked at her with that easy smile, clipboard in hand, asking how her shoulder was doing after last week’s game, Sevika forgot how to function.

She wasn’t the kind of person who talked about things.

Not about her injuries. Not about how exhausted she was. And definitely not about the way she felt whenever you so much as looked at her.

So she kept quiet. It was easier that way.

You, on the other hand, were everywhere—on the sidelines, running the team like a well-oiled machine. But Sevika noticed the small things, too. How you hooked your pen on the collar of your shirt when you weren’t taking notes. The way you chewed your lip when you were deep in thought. The fact that, no matter how chaotic things got, you always checked in on her first.

And that terrified Sevika. Because if she let herself believe you cared more about her than just another player on the team, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from wanting more. So she buried it.

Or at least, she tried.

She had survived another week of avoiding you at all costs. But the universe clearly had other plans.

"Sevika."

Your voice cut through the noise of the locker room, sharp and unrelenting, and she froze mid-step. She considered pretending not to hear you, but based on the look on your face when she turned around, that probably would’ve gotten her killed.

Shit. Caught.

Slowly, she faced you, schooling her expression into something bored, as if you weren’t standing there, arms crossed, looking at her like she was one wrong answer away from getting her ass handed to her.

"Yeah?" she drawled, leaning against the row of lockers with the kind of forced, lazy confidence that was supposed to hide the fact that you scared the shit out of her—and that she was, in fact, internally panicking.

"You’ve been ignoring my messages about your rehab schedule."

Damn. She knew she should’ve responded to those.

"I’ve been busy."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Too busy to let me know if your shoulder is still wrecked? That’s funny, because I saw you benching twice your weight in the gym yesterday."

Sevika exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. "It’s fine."

"It won’t be if you keep being stupid," you shot back, stepping closer.

Sevika tensed.

You were too close—close enough that she could smell your perfume, something soft, completely at odds with the sweat and adrenaline that clung to her skin.

Her brain short-circuited. She was not built for this.

"I—I’ll do the rehab, alright?" she muttered, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on the floor. "I’ll text you back."

"You better."

You held her gaze for a second longer before stepping back, giving her just enough room to breathe again. But then—

"You do realize we have an away game next week, right?" you said, arms still crossed.

Sevika blinked. "Yeah?"

"And that you’re a starter."

"…Yeah?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose like she was the biggest headache of your entire existence.

"Sevika, we need you at full strength. We're all counting on you." Your voice softened, just barely.

Oh.

Sevika swallowed, her pulse skipping in her throat. You didn’t say it like the coach. Didn’t say it like she was just another player.

You said it like it meant something more, like she meant something.

Fuck.

Her chest tightened, words sticking to the roof of her mouth. "…I’ll take it easy," she finally muttered. "No promises, but—I’ll try."

You tilted your head, considering. Then, after a beat— "That’s the best I’m gonna get, huh?"

"Pretty much."

You sighed, shaking your head, but you were smiling—just a little.

"Fine," you said, turning to leave. But just as you reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, smirking.

"Also, if you're gonna keep staring at me during practice, at least try to be subtle about it."

Sevika felt her heart stop.

You were already walking away, leaving her standing there like a complete idiot, blood roaring in her ears.

She was so screwed.

---

Sevika couldn’t stop replaying that moment in her head.

You knew she’d been staring. Had you known for a while? Were you just messing with her? Or— worst case scenario—were you dropping a hint because you wanted her to do something about it?

That thought lingered in her head all week, crawling under her skin in a way that no brutal tackle or grueling practice could. She spent every spare second convincing herself she should just make a move already.

And with the away game coming up—two nights out of town, stuck in a hotel together. Perfect opportunity. She could finally say something. Maybe ask you to grab coffee. Or a drink. Or hell, just talk to you like a normal person.

Yeah. She could do this.

Probably...

---

The away game was brutal. Hard hits. Fast plays. The kind of match that left blood on jerseys and bruises on ribs. Sevika played like she had something to prove—not to the opposing team, not to her coach, but to you.

She tackled harder. Ran faster. Every time she did something impressive, she flicked her gaze toward you, trying to catch a reaction.

And she did.

She saw the way you leaned forward when she broke through the defensive line. Saw how your fingers tightened around your clipboard when she slammed an opponent into the ground. You didn’t cheer, but you didn’t have to. Sevika wasn’t an idiot—she knew you were paying attention.

By the time the whistle blew, declaring their victory, she was covered in sweat and aching all over. But she barely felt it.

Because when she looked up, she caught the smallest smile on your lips.

And that? That made it all worth it.

The players were cheering, laughing, slinging arms over each other’s shoulders as they trudged off the field. You were waiting by the locker room entrance, already running through logistics in your head.

"Bus leaves at ten sharp," you reminded them. "Anyone late buys breakfast for the whole team."

Groans and grumbles followed, but Sevika barely registered them. She was already working through her next move.

This was it. Now or never.

---

Sevika liked to take the edge off with a drink after games. But she could handle her alcohol. She always kept her control—anything to keep the world from getting too close.

But tonight? Tonight, she let go.

Because the opportunities had been there. Moments to make a move, to say something, to do something. The bus ride, when you sat next to her, your knee brushing against hers. The hotel check-in, when you nudged her playfully after handing her room key. The post-game celebration, when you stood right there, close enough that she could've just—

But she hadn't.

Every single time, she hesitated, choking on the words before they could leave her mouth.

So, instead of dealing with that fact, she drowned it.

One drink turned into two. Two turned into five and more.

Which was how she found herself outside your hotel room door at 1 a.m., one hand braced against the frame, the other knocking—too soft at first, then a little more insistent when you didn’t answer right away.

When the door finally swung open, you were standing there, sleepy and so unfairly cute, wearing an oversized sleep shirt that hit mid-thigh. Your hair was messy, your voice groggy when you muttered:

"Sevika?"

She swallowed hard. Was she always this warm, or was that the alcohol?

"You gotta help me," she said, blinking slowly.

You sighed, already rubbing your temples. "Are you drunk?"

"My shoulder hurts," she said instead, leaning against the doorframe a little more, tilting her head at you.

"Sevika—"

"Can I come in?" She blinked up at you, purposefully softening her expression, just a little. "Please?"

You exhaled through your nose, stepping aside. "Five minutes."

That was a mistake.

Because the second she was inside, Sevika collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto her side with a dramatic groan.

You sighed, closing the door behind you. "I swear to God, Sevika—"

"Bed’s nice," she muttered into your pillow, voice way too soft for someone usually so gruff. She rolled onto her back, blinking up at you. "You’re nice."

You crossed your arms. "You said your shoulder hurt."

"It does," she whined, stretching her arms over her head, shamelessly putting her toned stomach on display beneath her hoodie. She peered up at you, smirking. "You gonna fix me up or what?"

You shot her a dry look. "You’re so full of shit."

"But you like me," she countered, her grin lazy, lopsided. "Don’t deny it."

You crossed your arms, raising an unimpressed brow. "Are you flirting with me right now?"

She smirked, slow and lazy. "Depends. Is it working?"

"Not even a little."

She pouted—actually pouted—before shifting to one side and patting the empty space next to her.

"Come here."

You scoffed. "Not happening."

"But my shoulder hurts," she whined, drawing out the last word like a sulky child. "And you’re all warm."

"You are not cuddling me, Sevika."

She huffed, rolling onto her stomach, muffling her next words into your blanket. "You’re cruel."

She peeked up at you, her hair falling over her face, her lips set in a dramatic little pout. "Please?"

"No."

She groaned again, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. "Ugh, fine. I’ll just die from shoulder pain. Right here. In your bed. Tragic, really."

You snorted. "You’ll be fine."

"You don’t know that," she grumbled, dropping her arm just enough to peek at you. "What if I wake up and it’s worse?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Sevika—"

"Just let me hold you for, like, five minutes," she bargained, voice pitiful. "It’s for medical reasons."

"Oh my God."

"Please?" she tried again, giving you the best puppy-dog eyes she could muster.

Not even you can resist those big gray eyes. So you fold. Of course you do. You pointed a finger at her. "You get one minute."

Before you could even finish sitting down, Sevika grabbed your wrist and pulled—not hard, just enough to throw you slightly off balance.

"Sevika—"

But before you could protest, she was already maneuvering you, shifting so that when you finally settled, her head was resting firmly against your chest, arms draped lazily around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She let out a content sigh, her breath warm against your collarbone.

You stiffened, praying she doesn't notice now hard your heart is pounding against your chest. "This is not happening. Get off."

"Shh." She nuzzled in closer, completely unbothered. "Shoulder hurts. This helps."

"I should’ve just let you suffer. You are so lucky you’re drunk," you muttered, glaring down at her.

She just sighed happily, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. Her grip tightening ever so slightly. "You smell so good," she murmured. "Like…flowers or something."

Your face heated. "Sevika—"

"Soft," she mumbled.

"I swear—"

"Mm." She hummed, already half-asleep.

You should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve made her move to her own bed.

But as her breathing slowed, as her body relaxed against yours, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

You just shook your head, turning off the lamp, very aware of the fact that Sevika—stoic, untouchable, intimidating Sevika—was currently curled up on your chest, sighing like she’d never been more comfortable in her life.

[chaoticrockmusic]

◯𓇋An Enemy's Kiss◯𓇋

Sysopsis; What happens when there's tension in-between two so-called enemies? What happens when you finally see why this pirate always got back up, because you let him?

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

The sky was a molten red, the city beneath them reduced to little more than shattered bones and smoking rubble. The wind carried the acrid scent of destruction, howling through the skeletal remains of buildings, as if mourning the ruin left behind.

At the edge of the crumbling tower, you stood, bloodied and breathless, fists clenched at your sides. Across from you, Sanji exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulder, his usual easy grace marred by exhaustion. Ash clung to his tattered shirt, soot streaked his cheek, but still—that damnable fire in his eyes refused to go out.

“You just do not quit, do you?” Your voice trembled with rage, the weight of it pressing into every syllable. “Time and time again, you ruin everything! I build, you break. I rise, you knock me down. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I put you in the dirt, you just keep getting back up—like some cockroach that refuses to die!”

Sanji swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and let out a short, humorless laugh. “You talk like I’m the problem,” he muttered, tilting his head. “Like you aren’t the one leaving wreckage in your wake.”

“You do not get to stand there and preach to me.” You took a step forward, voice sharp as a blade. “Not after everything. Do you have any idea how much easier things would be if you were gone?”

The words hung between you, heavy with something unspoken. The wind howled through the ruins, but neither of you moved, the tension coiled tight as a wire.

Then, after a beat, Sanji exhaled, shaking his head.

“You don’t mean that.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “And what makes you so sure?”

He took a step forward this time, slow and deliberate, his sharp eyes never leaving yours. “Because if you really wanted me gone,” he said, voice quiet but unwavering, “you would have done it by now.”

Your breath caught.

Sanji was close enough now that you could see past the exhaustion, past the bruises and cuts, past the ever-present smirk he wore like armor. His eyes—steady, piercing, frustratingly understanding—locked onto yours, searching.

And damn him, because he was right.

You had the chance before. More than once. A well-placed blow, a single ruthless strike, and he would not be standing here now. But every time, something held you back. Some invisible chain wrapped tight around your wrists, refusing to let you finish it.

You hated him for seeing it. Hated him for the way he still stood there, unwavering.

“You are insufferable.” The words came out as a whisper—low, bitter, almost pained.

Sanji’s lips curled, just slightly, in something that was not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. “Yeah?” he murmured. “So are you.”

The air between you shifted—dangerous, electric.

It was impossible to tell who moved first.

One second, you were standing at a distance, and the next, you had collided—hands fisting in his torn shirt, his grip firm at your waist, and then his lips crashed against yours in something desperate, reckless, inevitable.

The battle had raged for so long, but this? This was its own kind of war.

Fury burned between you, but so did something deeper, something raw and undeniable. The taste of blood lingered between your mouths, the scent of smoke curling in the air, but none of it mattered. Not when he was pulling you closer, not when your hands trembled against him, not when you realized just how badly you had wanted this—wanted him.

The moment stretched, sharp and breathless, before you finally tore yourself away, your forehead resting against his as your breathing came ragged.

Sanji’s fingers lingered at your waist, hesitant but unwilling to let go.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you rasped.

His breath was warm against your lips as he chuckled, low and rough. “Didn’t say it did.”

And yet, as he looked at you—eyes dark, gaze searching—something had shifted. Something had already changed.

And neither of you could take it back now.

[librarygarten]

Hi!!! It’s the speedrun anon that talked about Wild fighting Ganon with a pot lid and spoon :3

I am so happy you wrote a lil series on my idea!!! It really means a lot ❤️

I had another idea, because I’m crazy—in the Linked Universe comic, when Twilight gets hit by Dink and is basically dying, I was thinking about his wound and how they treated it…

Since it takes place in Medieval times, how clean was the actual wound before Hyrule started healing it?? A fun idea I had was: Ikesai!Reader using modern medicine to help treat Twilight (and the others as they traveled)

Pain meds, Neosporin, bandaids with fun patterns on them—maybe even a first aid kit if they knew they were going somewhere dangerous. Reader would treat small cuts and they’d heal quicker overtime without using magic. It saves a lot of time, energy, and money for the group; Hyrule doesn’t have to use his magic as much, potions aren’t wasted on smaller wounds, and none of they’re wounds are infected!!

I feel like the climax of reader using these methods would be Twilight’s injury; they ask Wars to go to the nearest bar and grab the strongest alcohol there, they ask Legend for a needle and some fishing line, and ask Hyrule to using magic to numb the pain of the wound.

Unwrapping Twilight’s bandages, with alcohol and needle in hand, Reader begins to sew up Twilight’s wound. It’s crude and disgusting, using only found objects and most likely mead to sterilize the needle and fishing line. Most would leave the room, but Hyrule would have to basically sit there and watch this random person sew up a wound like they were fixing a tear in fabric.

Once the wound is sewn up and cleaned, it looks a lot better than it did before. There is still the strange magic surrounding the cut but at least it’s closed up now. Reader’s hands are bloodly and smell like mead, but at least Twilight’s wound isn’t making him bleed out.

It healed quicker once Hyrule began to use healing magic on him again, the dark magic around the wound is in a more condensed area so it’s easier to dispel. The only problem…is that Reader has to take out the thread, and this time, Twilight’s awake.

—🌾 Anon (I’ve never named myself in anonymous I hope that’s okay :))

Yay! My first emoji anon :D Sorry this took so long! I got way too carried away learning about medieval medicine lol. I kind of skipped right to when Twi's injured because it was already 2k words long and an intro would have most likely doubled the word count askdfsl.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” You chant it like a mantra. The entire way back to the village. The entire time it took to drag Twilight off Epona and up the stairs as Time arranges your lodging with the innkeeper.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Twilight tells you for the fifth time. He still seems cross that he was benched from the fight, but his voice has much less bite behind it now.

You’re losing him.

“It is not ‘just a scratch,’ Link!” You scold. You can feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes. The use of his real name seems to bring him back a bit, but his eyes are still too unfocused for your liking.

Too much blood. He’s lost too much blood.

You remove one of your hands from his side, where you had been trying desperately to apply pressure to the wound. Your entire hand is soaked in blood.

“Press down here, okay.” You move Twilight’s hand to where yours had been, only taking your other hand off when you’re sure he’s properly applying pressure. “Don’t stop, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Before he can answer, you bolt out of the room and back down the stairs. You run headfirst into Time.

“Woah! Careful,” he says. He looks at your hands, covered in blood past the wrists, and winces. He holds up a pile of white cloth. “I got bandages from the innkeeper.”

“That’s not going to be enough.” You scrunch up your nose at the bandages. They looked clean, but you doubt they were properly sterilized. The one drawback to having fairies and potions magically heal everything is that these people had absolutely no idea how to treat a wound without them. “Go to the kitchen and get vinegar and honey. And see if the innkeeper has any silk thread. If not, try whatever craft store equivalent you guys have.”

Time can only watch as you take the bandages from his hands and rush back up the stairs. After a quick stop to wash your hands, you practically sprint back to the room.

Twilight is still conscious when you get back, thank Hylia, but he doesn’t turn his head to look at you when you come in.

“I’m back.” You tell him as you kneel next to the bed.

“Don’t sound so worried. It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” He smiles. “You were only gone for 30 seconds.”

“You were coughing up blood, Twi!” You peel his shirt away from the wound and quickly press some of the bandages Time had given you against the wound. It would have to do for now. “That means that the thing cracked your ribs and one of those ribs punctured your lungs.”

“I’m pretty sure the fairy took care of that.” He winces as you press even harder against the cut. 

The blood won’t stop.

Before you can descend into hopelessness, the door bursts open. You jump at the noise, and turn to see Hyrule in the doorway, with Four close behind. They both look out of breath.

“So it’s true… it really is him.” Hyrule gasps. “I think I can help.”

“Fairy didn’t do anything.” You sigh, removing one of your hands to wipe the hair away from your face. The color drains from the two heroes' faces when they see the blood.

“I have a life spell.” Hyrule’s palms glow blue as he hovers them over Twilight’s body.

Nothing happens.

His brow furrows as he tries again. He thrusts his hands forward.

Nothing.

“No!” Hyrule cries. Twilight seems to have finally passed out from the blood loss.

“Crap,” you mutter. “Where the heck is Time with that thread and antiseptic.”

“Here.” The old man in question pushes past Four, who seems to be clinging to the doorway for support. He hands you a bottle of vinegar, a jar of honey, and a spool of silk thread with a needle stabbed into the side.

“Great, thanks.” You nod at him. “Rulie, keep that spell going if you can. The wound may not be healing but he had some internal injuries that I want to make sure won’t be an issue. The fairy stopped halfway through and I’m not about to do DIY surgery to remove shattered rib pieces from his lungs.”

Hyrule presses his lips together in a thin line and nods. His hands glow once more as he performs the life spell. You peel away the bandages you had been pressing against Twilight’s side.

“Sorry, buddy. This is going to sting,” you apologize, then pour the water from your canteen over the wound. The old blood washes away, only to be replaced rather quickly by more from the cut.

“What are you doing?” Time asks when you pick up the needle and thread.

“Stitches.” Is all you say as you hold the needle over the candle on the nightstand. Hopefully the heat will disinfect it somewhat.

“You're just going to… what, sew him back together like a torn shirt?” Four looks ready to puke as you begin sewing the wound. Time looks away, trying to ignore the faint sound of the needle sliding through bloody flesh. Hyrule can’t seem to look away, gaze locked on your hands.

“Magic isn’t working to close it,” you grimace. “This is how we close large wounds back home.”

“I know you said you didn’t have any magic where you lived, but this…” Hyrule swallows, hands still over Twilight as he casts the life spell.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Four covers his mouth with one hand as you continue your work. “I’ll go see Epona is comfortable or something.” He rushes down the stairs so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t trip down them.

“Eh. Probably for the better. Too many people in here probably isn’t a good idea right now, anyway,” you cut the thread, satisfied with your stitches. They looked almost professional, with nice, even spacing. But you would have time to be proud later. Time to make sure infection didn’t get in there.

“How long will he be out for?” Time makes a point to look only at your face as he asks the question. Maybe he should leave, too. Watching you couldn’t be good for his health.

“Hard to tell. He’s lost a lot of blood,” you explain as you pour the vinegar into the honey and mix it together. “Do fairies and life spells fix blood loss?”

“I have… no idea,” Hyrule lowers his hands. He looks exhausted. He must have expended every last bit of energy casting that life spell for this long. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a wound bleed this long.”

“Great,” you groan. Hopefully the magic could deal with the blood loss like it dealt with broken ribs and punctured lungs, because there was no way to tell anyone’s blood type here and you did NOT want to play roulette with a blood transfusion.

“What are you doing?” Time asks again. His voice is tense as you begin spreading the vinegar-honey mixture over Twilight’s wound. You have half a mind to kick him out of the room right there, but he’s technically the family of the patient. Still, if he was going to breathe down your neck the whole time you wouldn’t have much choice.

“It will keep out infections. The vinegar and honey are really good at keeping bacteria out,” you wipe your hands off on your pants, trying to get as much of the honey off your hands as possible before reaching for your canteen again. You wash your hands again, just to be safe, before reaching for the pile of remaining bandages.

“Bacteria? What’s that?” Hyrule asks.

“Very, very small organisms that can cause infections if they get into the wound,” you sigh. You don’t have the time to explain germ theory to them right now. You wrap the bandages around Twilight’s abdomen as tightly as possible. Vinegar-honey oozes from under the bandages, and even now, you can see the deep red of Twilight’s blood seeping through.

Crap. This was going to be a long night.

The next few days pass in a blur. Check the wound. Change the bandages. Try to measure Twilight’s heart rate with just your hand and a watch (his pulse seems okay. Hyrule’s spell must be dealing with the blood loss). Shoo people out of the room. Check the wound. Change the bandages. Try not to fall asleep.

When you’re not watching over Twilight, you’re taking care of an exhausted Hyrule. Using the spell so much for so long was taking a toll on him. He looked about as tired as you felt.

Still, Twilight was improving. Most of the color was back in his cheeks, and he kept waking up to say random depressing things before passing back out. Maybe that's why you finally let yourself drift off into sleep, sat on a stool and slumped over the side of the bed.

The feeling of someone rubbing your hair wakes you.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snap open. Twilight is awake. He’s propped up against the headboard of the bed, his fingers threaded through your hair.

“Please tell me you slept while I was out,” he laughs, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. He’s worried about you.

Hey! That was your job!

“You scared me half to death!” You sit up and punch his shoulder. Now that he’s finally awake, you have an earful and a half to give him. “What on earth were you thinking, sprinting towards that thing!?”

“Ow,” he chuckles.

“Don’t worry. The old man and the captain already chewed him out,” Wild snickers from somewhere behind you. Looking around, you see the entire chain scattered about the room.

“Good,” you flop your head back onto the mattress. Your eyes still ache from so many sleepless nights. “How long was I out?”

“Nearly half a day,” Legend snickers.

“Crap,” you groan. Twilight’s bandages should have been changed hours ago. “Did anyone change the bandages? Please tell me you washed your hands before. Oh, and did you apply the antiseptic?”

“Easy there, doc,” Warriors places a hand on your shoulder. “The wound has pretty much closed thanks to you and Hyrule.”

“WHAT?” You bolt upright again. “It should have taken at least a week, maybe two!”

“Magic finally started working on it while you were out,” Hyrule explains. Great. Just great.

“Then I need to take the stitches out,” you press your knuckles into your eyelids, trying to dispel your pounding headache.

“Stitches?” Wind asks.

“They sewed him back together like a garment,” Four grimaces.

“But then shouldn’t the stitches stay in and keep him… together?” Sky peers around your shoulder as you unwrap the bandages. He gags when he sees the cut, which was now just a long red line across Twilight’s stomach and lower chest. Wind tries to elbow his way to see as well, but Sky stops him.

You get up to wash your hands, and when you come back, Twilight is poking at the stitches.

“Don’t touch it!” You swat his hand away. “I didn’t make my own antiseptic for you just so you could infect the cut after it’s mostly healed!”

“You really did just… sew me closed,” he sounds shocked.

“Yep. Now hold still,” you carefully cut each stitch, removing the thread, small beads of blood forming where the stitches used to be. He winces at the feeling. Time watches closely, knuckles white as he grips the footboard of the bed.

“Woah. All that was inside his skin?” Wind stares dumbfoundedly at the pile of knots you removed. You nod, and keep working.

“There,” you sigh as the last bit of thread is removed. “Just keep the area clean and you should be good.”

“Do you do this every time people get hurt in your world?” Legend raises an eyebrow.

“No. Stitches are just for bigger cuts,” you explain.

There’s a moment of silence before Wind speaks up.

“Can I get stitches?” He asks excitedly. A chorus of nine voices responds.

“No!” 

Notes:

Vinegar has antiseptic properties, while alcoholic drinks do not due to their low alcohol percentage. Honey, an ingredient found in mead, has some antiseptic properties, meaning mead also could be used to disinfect a wound, but a combination of honey and vinegar seems to be more effective.

Today, most stitches are made of synthetic fibers. Fishing line is also made of synthetic fibers, like nylon. However, in the medieval period, fishing line was most likely made of nettle-hemp. Today, fishing line would be a great material for stitches. However, I think silk, which is still occasionally used today, might be a better option (silk was also used to make fishing line, but it seems only after the industrial revolution got started).

Also, stitches don’t hurt coming out. I had stitches in my foot (a pretty sensitive area) as a kid. I also have an incredibly low pain tolerance and an intense fear of needles. You can kind of feel them pull, and if you’re squeamish you might freak yourself out, but it definitely doesn’t hurt. Although, I once heard of a doctor that didn’t undo the knots, thus pulling the entire thread of knots through the skin, which would absolutely hurt like hell, but that was because of his incompetence lol.

I made it so reader doesn't see the magic around the cut, as I think isekai and modern readers would have a harder time noticing it. We don't have magic, so we would probably not recognize it if we saw or felt it. It is still very much there.

[mscherub]

Witchy Ways 🕸️

Reader is gender neutral, referred to as Prefect, Y/N, Henchhuman(by Grim)

Warnings!:

My writing cause what was I doing while writing this—

Swearing

Half proof read

Part 4: “The Umbrella and the Black Cat.”

Previous part here <3

Next part here <3 (TBD)

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Part 4: “The Umbrella and the Black Cat.”

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The thing to do now…hide away, maybe? With those readings you got, you’re put on edge, that prickly feeling on the back of your neck people usually get when someone is watching them, though, you’re not sure if you’re actually being watched or not. That’s also concerning. So, now this, and the fear of your own practice, it’s like this world you’ve gotten plopped in to is taunting you or something!

Feels like it for sure. And, you guess now knowing something else is coming your way in the future, things aren’t looking too bright. Up your protection spell magic maybe? It’d certainly be the most beneficial option for your safety right now…damn, having to think of your own safety in general is just a wild thing.

Part of you doesn’t want to believe the symbols you seen, instead of taking them as insightful ones, which is how they are supposed to be taken, they seem more like warnings…or threats, both are plausible answers. And going back to the whole idea of your magic acting up the way it is here, it’s safe to say you can’t just push the thought away or take what you got with a grain of salt.

To even attempt to get these raging thoughts to cease, you’re bordering the edge of the forest by ramshackle, foraging for certain herbs while, in hopes of even finding any, and dangerously close to just banging your head off a tree. Money was, as usual, very tight, so here you are poking around and trying to scrap together any herbs you can find to make your own little protection charms to carry around on you.

“Ahhh…what am I gonna do? Maybe not think about it? Like I could do that…this is really, really cumbersome…” As if talking to yourself would give you an answer, but it honestly helps to clear your mind a bit more and get your thoughts set straight. You carry a little satchel, messing with the drawstrings on the bag as you scout around.

“Weighing the options of safety…I mean for sevens sake, it’s never safe for me here anyways, but thats not…ughhh! It’s one thing after the other anymore.” You mutter again as you bend down and look at a plant…it’s spiky and an awkward blue color, and almost looks like it’s pulsating. This is definitely not a plant you’re accustomed to. Maybe it’d be easier to just go rob the Botanical Gardens because you are not getting too far over here. Though, you’d have to avoid the people frolicking around in there, like the science club kids, sevens forbid you run into Rook, you’re just screwed at that point, or Leona, but he probably wouldn’t care, scratch that, he wouldn’t. Just in and out for what you need, walk in like you own the place and people won’t question!

With a quick look around, scanning the area and deeming it safe to head off to your destination, you start off your little journey. There are easier ways to do protection spells, yes, but your magic is a little unpredictable so to speak, and maybe something like a little protection spell jar or charm would work better, and for a longer period of time for you. For now, however, just drawing a pentacle with your own saliva on the back of your hand should be enough for now, hopefully. You kinda know your own magic…kind of…

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

The botanical gardens are always nicely kept, the plant variety that’s housed in here is definitely in the 100’s, and it’s always nice to come here and look at the various life forms when you quite literally have nothing else to do. You walk along the paths that twist and turn in search of the items you need for just a simple protection satchel…you didn’t have an jars left, so you had to make do with what you had, easy since that’s the way to go anyways!

The organization system of the whole place was usually followed to a T, the rest of the science experiments being done kept away in their own little section and keeping them from cluttering with the other plants. You find “row” R, and you walk down, looking for rosemary, which shouldn’t be that difficult to find. You know, it is kind of calming in the gardens, of course because of how peaceful it can be. You can see how Leona can fall asleep in here—

“Ah! Bonjour, Trickster! What a delightful surprise to see you here!”

Ignore him.

Just…pretend he’s not there. Can’t hear him. You stiffen up and you look down at the rosemary plant which you just managed to find…why now?

“Trickster?” His voice drops slightly and you nod, giving in and turning around to face him.

“Heyyyyy, Rook…” you force a smile. You have to stop thinking of situations in your head because clearly they’re gonna come true.

He smiles back and clasps his hands together, his eyes narrowing. “What is your reason for being here today, alone nonetheless? I see Monsieur Fuzzball isn’t accompanying you on this fine and gorgeous afternoon?”

“He’s just with the duo, like usual. He’s uh, I’ve been dropping him off there a lot lately, I’ve been busy…”

“I see, yet that still doesn’t explain the fact that you are here.”

Why is this man on to you in an instant? Can’t you just be left alone for once? In all reality you knew that couldn’t happen, but I guess it’s time to lie— again. “I’m just trying to get things for, erm— skin care! Yea! That’s it! Skin care, mhmmm! Rosemary is anti inflammatory, did ya know that? Also promotes hair growth…I was just gonna take a little is all. You know me, money is not my uh, not my friend cause it likes to avoid me. Yea.” Convincing enough.

“Ou la la! Why forage around for such items when Rou du Poison has the items already processed that you are in search of! I guarantee that his products will be better than any others, though it is just beautiful to see how hard at work you appeared to be while searching! Ah! Beauté how you try to conserve and take matters into your own hands!” He was as eccentric as ever, clearly.

He slips his hand to the upper part of your back and drags you along out of the gardens, conversing with you the entire time as he drags you off to Pomefiore grounds which never fail to be breathtaking, but also frightening since you know who runs them.

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

“You never fail to surprise me.” Vil quickly states after he hears the reiteration of what you were doing from Rook, who, sits looking too happy at the moment, a smile wide across his face.

“Well, I apologize for not squandering my money off—“

“Exactly, you don’t have money to do that. But are you so humble that you can’t bother to ask help from others? Especially with matters that I expertise in, genuinely, Prefect, you are quite odd.” He sighs as he inspects his nails, uncrossing his legs then standing up. His heels click against the ground as he gets closer to you, his eyes critical as he looks over your features. You were stressed so if you looked a little off that would be why.

“What would you like? I can give you a rundown on your skin type if you’d like. Here, follow along.” And you’re dragged off again. Vil takes you to his room and sits you down promptly at his vanity and he begins to test multiple products on your arms and back of your hands like some guinea pig, but it was all in the best of interest for your skin, obviously.

“Which do you like better of the products? I have a lot procured to multiple skin types…I have to have them on hand for any of my dorm members. And now respectively you, of course.” He hums softly as he begins to take the bottles of products that matched and reacted well with your skin and he ushered you up and brought you to the bathroom to wash your face.

This was not how you intend to spend your afternoon. Not that you were fully against the entire situation, it just wasn’t ideal for the problem you have at hand, the one problem only you know about, but still! Out of all the things you said to Rook you had to say skincare. You could have said cooking and he’d have probably left you alone.

“Pat dry, don’t do anything else, it’ll disrupt and irritate the skin.” He chides as he strolls out of the bathroom and back to his vanity, spinning the chair to face your direction. “Chop chop.”

Toner first, he applies it and lets it sink into your pores while he gets multiple bottles of serums and lists each effect, but you don’t have the effort to actually listen in and understand the properties. Off of serums then on to eye cream, placed prospectively under the eyes.

“Have you been sleeping well? Your eye bags are rather defined. Drink more water and sleep a minimum of 8 hours. No less than that.” Was all this necessary? Coming from him you knew it was just Vil being Vil, helping those around him so they could achieve beauty just like him, but in their own ways, and he was good at it.

“Moisturizer. I’d hope I don’t have to explain this.” He dots some around your face before he moves on to squirting some sunscreen and rubbing it in.

“Done. Did you mention something for your hair as well? At least from what Rook had interpreted your story to say…”

“Actually, no! Haha, just skincare, I gotta go, but uh, thank you?” You quickly interject.

“I see. Take these products then, and come back to me when they empty. Stay on top of your skincare or I will find you myself and remind you of the importance with a lecture.” He smiles, though his reminder is enough to get anybody to not think twice about it. He pushes the little basket of products into your hands.

“Of course! I’m just— I’m gonna go. Ok, bye.” You stand up quickly and you leave his room. Your skin is now soft and bouncy, revitalized, but that doesn’t really change anything about your predicament.

“Prefect!” Epel shouts from behind. You turn around and look at him.

“Hey…”

“The hell happened to you? Oh. Another Victim of Vil’s…you’ll get used to it.” He sighs, nodding along to say he understands. “I just wanna ask you about that jar you made! You think you can make any others like it…but you know, with different effects and in a different container? I’d like to carry one on me for a spell drive game…I tired to do that and I opened the bottle you gave—“

“You opened it?” You tilt your head.

“Yea? I was just gonna try and put the contents into a little baggie but…it stopped working. I dunno what you had set in place on that.” He purses his lips, moving his hands behind his back and smiling again. “I dunno…I’d just…like another one. It was a really helpful thing to have on hand!”

“Epel…it doesn’t work anymore because you broke the wax seal, and another possibility is that…” your voice drops down to a whisper as you think, “I didn’t put much intention into the jars to last for more than just a few days…”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Yea, just don’t break the wax seal is all…” you clear your throat.

“Why’s that, though?”

Why does everybody have to question you anymore? “It kinda…how to word it? Gets rid of the effects?” That’s barely any information on it, but it sounds plausible.

“Huh, ok then. Can you make me another then?”

“I’ll think about it.” You nod. Epel gives you a happy closed eye grin and nods.

“Thanks!” His face almost instantly contorts to some sort of evil look and he smirks, chuckling as he narrows his eyes. “If I get that then I’ll beat them RSA suckers next time we play em! I can’t wait to see the look on their faces, and I’d get MVP of the game.” He snickers to himself. Ok, buddy, have fun with that.

You nod one last time and you finally, finally leave. Second times a charm for the botanical gardens, maybe?

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

With the basket resting in the crook of your elbow as you walk, not had having enough time nor care to drop it off at Ramshackle, you head back to the gardens, back down the paths, back to row R, and back to the damn rosemary plant. You crouch down and you pick off a branch or two and stuff it into the satchel, worrying about processing it all later. Now to section L, and lo and behold, in the middle a tall laurel tree, but fate throwing more problems at you and most likely dying of laughter as it watches you suffer, ironically enough, another thing beginning with the letter L is also there, but it’s not a plant.

Leona and his “clever” sleeping spots never fail to surprise anybody. Tiptoeing around him wasn’t an option, cause he’d hear you, and he’s kinda in your way of climbing up and shaking down a few leaves. Whatever, you’re not letting anything else get in your way now, and especially not for one of the most prominent ingredients you needed. Bay leaves, also widely known to be as equivalently lucky to a shooting star, make a wish upon a bay leaf then burn it, and give it back to nature after. You were gonna use it for its protective properties, however.

You walk up to the thick base of the tree and kick against the side of it, the action causing Leona’s ears to flick and his tail to twitch as he cracks open one of his eyes to, oh so nicely, glare at you.

“What.” He murmurs gruffly, definitely irritated already.

“For one, hello to you two, and secondly, since you’re like already kinda perched up there…get me some leaves off the tree…I need them for uh…cooking.”

“Just go to Sam’s shop and buy some.” He yawns, turning away from you to face the other direction. “They’d be better anyways…already dried out, too…”

“That’s…bro you know I’m fucking broke and can’t spend my money on that, so can’t you do a nice thing for me? I’ll climb up there myself and step on you, so choose the better option…” you meet him back with the same attitude.

“You’re annoying today, huh?” He scoffs as his tail gives a warning flick, but he sits up and glares at you as he grabs his pen and uses his magic to send down—

And now there’s leaves everywhere. He smirks and he slips the pen away and gets back into a comfortable position, falling asleep again almost instantly and leaving you alone to look at the mess of leaves and branches on the ground. Whatever, this still works…you grab what you need and flip him off as you walk away, even if he can’t see.

You manage to gather the other things you need without too much trouble, then being the easier items such as the lavender and sage, easy and not that questionable. Students gave you many quick glances and eager hushed whispers as they watched you “rob,” which technically in this case could be considered borrowing, from the plants. But honestly, who cares, so long as people don’t know your main secret, all you have to say to them is: Fuck em! You don’t have any more left to give today…

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

Hammer in hand you drive a nail into the wood on the outside of Ramshackle. The makeshift stool you’re standing on is…well, not super stable, but it gets the job done. You hang the horseshoe you got just a day ago right above the door in the middle, and of course you cleansed it before you hung it up, it’s just basic protocol anymore from being so on edge.

“Well, let’s see those readings come true now thanks to this bad boy hanging up above my door! I think this is the first time I’ve been happy in a while—“

“Henchhuman, why’re ya talking to yourself, and what are you hanging up?” Grim pipes up as he looks up at you…but it’s also not just him. Ace and Deuce stand behind him, looking up at you as well, clearly a thing or two on their mind that they want to say to you.

“You guys weren’t supposed to be back for like another 10 minutes…”

“But here we are.” Grim sighs.

“This,” you say as you motion to the horseshoe, “cultural thing. That’s what this is, don’t ask anymore questions. Shut up!” You spit out as you step down, looking up at your handiwork. Ace lets out a puff of air and stalks closer to you, looking up at the odd thing.

“We didn’t say anything though—“

“I’m just saying don’t ask. I wanted a…touch of home from back home, exactly. Thanks for bringing Grim back, now byeeee, I’m busy.” You pick up the stool and heave it back inside, Grim shrugging to the two boys and following along behind you.

“So, what happened today?” You question him as you walk into the lounge and head over to the mantel, checking over a few things and dusting away a thin layer of dust that somehow already was managing to form.

“They just complained the whole time about those jars ya made, said they stopped working, and then they did a deep dive as to how they even worked…it was a painful conversation I had to sit through, and no compensation or payment of tuna, either!”

Huh? Deep dived into the topic?

“What did they say about how the jars worked?” You slow down in your movements and peer over your shoulder towards Grim who was laying lazily on the couch.

“Dunno, tuned em out, but they said some stupid thing that you had a student enchant it, but they’re dumb cause I didn’t trace a single bit of magic on em. Then they went off that and started saying you enchanted it yourself, which couldn’t be possible since you didn’t have magic. I told em that.” He hums.

“And…they believed you?” You murmur as you walk over to the couch and sit down. “I mean…I don’t have magic…”

“They’re iffy about it, said they don’t know your world so they don’t know what actually goes on there or what you know. They’re just big doofuses…anyways, I need tuna, I’m hungry.” He hoists himself up and goes into the kitchen.

He stops midway and turns to you again, “oh, and Ace went around mouthing away to people about everything again.” And then he goes off.

That’s a lot of information in one go, and in such a nonchalant way, as well. The black cat…gossip, and if you really look into all the things that happened today, the umbrella, difficulty while you were trying to get the simple shit you needed for a protection spell. Yea…

Ok, distraction time, you know an easy way to be protected, you just have to get a little creative. You get up and grab one of your notebooks before heading upstairs.

Incense is lit and you take a seat in the armchair and begin to draw out a circle and label it with letters going around the perimeter. You write down the words “Strong Protection,” crossing out vowels and repeating letters, being left with “Strngptc” as your jumble of letters. Back to the circle, you draw lines and curves from each letter, making a simplified sigil. It’s still a sigil and will work how you intended it since intention is key. You move on to another group of words, just for a boost of confidence to hopefully hide any evidence of stress, you write down “Beauty and Rejuvenation.” Easier said than done.

You slap these sigils onto the skincare package Vil gave you and go through every step in order that he had applied all the products to your skin. Wash, uh, toner, serum, eye cream, yea? Whatever, then moisturizer and then look in the mirror and— well damn.

You certainly looked a lot better now, and felt a sense of calm. Even after what Vil had done for you just hours earlier, you honestly thought that looked good and helped out just a tiny bit, but you just amplified the products by like 50% and also while adding in the bonus of protection…it’s like you’re a whole new person…glamour magic is no joke, huh? You’ve outdone yourself, props to you.

That’s probably enough worrying for one day…at least for now that is. Maybe distracting yourself isn’t the best way to deal with problems.

…idk where I was going with this one, I’m getting of track a little, I fear…this was kinda just plot progression and a lot of filler shit and also a way for me to mention Pomefiore…all dorms will have their major moments, like Octavinelle in the second part…I just need to find motivation to do it 👍

THANKS FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY WRITING, LOVELIES <3

Again, if you wanna be tagged just ask!

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

Tag list <3:

@w0nd3rhoy

@biumg-ie

[halfbaked00q]

okay as an admitted did-not-watch-NTTD'er who got, like, all of their info from uhh recappers, the wiki synopsis, the specific clips with Q I watched, and whatever I osmosis'ed from fics.

I finally watched the beginning of NTTD at @prismatic-bell's nudging. And I was like. Okay wait. wait wait wait. This is... well-written? And shot and directed & acted?? In a hollywood movie lmao?? Like. The way it's set up w Madeleine's backstory, and then the Bond & Madeleine stuff that does a much better job of establishing their relationship, the goooorgeous wide shots.

I admittedly was rather "I close my eyes I do not see" to a lot of canon - coming from partially a comics fandom background I'm very aware, well-versed, and well-practiced in the 'canon is your pick-and-choose buffet no need to feel like you have to 'respect' the 'sanctity' of 'canon' esp when it's Bad (like it contradicts other canon or you can just Tell this character was Not Written Well and it's like, here's what it could be that is better)' - and from opinions I saw on NTTD I was expecting to be very pick & choose about it.

But okay, wait. wait wait wait. It works. The beginning at least which I watched. Works. Like, it establishes a key character moment for Madeleine that Explains Everything about her behavior, actually - like she just like Bond is actually also very traumatized & has been locking it down/deflecting it vs processing it, and the whole like Vesper thing is (to me) very obviously her misdirecting Bond away from her own Goin Thru It. I can see how it can read as very suspicious to Bond esp with everything else but it, like, is a Narrative and Makes Sense for her character and Works. wild.

Even the Bond stuff makes a ton of sense. Like, when I hadn't watched it and was going off second & third hand information, one of the things I was hrrrm ?? about was the. How do you get from the guy who says "I miss you" at Vesper's grave, to the guy who put Madeleine on the train. The man who, even after finding out Vesper betrayed him, still wanted to save her? Would... send Madeleine away? In what, a fit of pique? Surely he's more of a "run to me and I will handle it" if it turns out not to be true or a "if it is, I'll handle it" kind of guy.

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT IT WAS. YOU KNOW WHAT IT FUCKING WAS LMAO. I WAS MISLED BY THE FUCKIN. BILLIE EILISH SONG LMAO. The lyrics of it make it SOUND like it's a like "you betrayed/cheated on me how could I have ever trusted you" break-up song kind of situation. BUT IT ABSOLUTELY FCKN WASN'T LMAO.

It's like. two traumatized individuals who trauma-bonded and honestly maybe should have spent time apart healing/learning themselves again before re-evaluating if they think a relationship could work, but like. they both were Goin Thru It and let themselves get carried away with it ig. And then right when Madeleine was like. hm I've been Not Dealing with this a Lot (tbh her being a psychologist probably made it worse cuz I think it made her more effective at Not Dealing With It and deflecting/misdirecting, but like. I don't think she was doing it intentionally, I think it was just a "combination of circumstances" thing. But this also works cuz I think before the like why did Madeleine push him towards Vesper again even though he said she was in his past. And it's like. She was delaying dealing with HER shit and probably unconsciously deflected his attention by poking at waht she thinks is still HIS equivalent to her baggage) where was I. Oh yeah, Madeleine is like. hm. yeah. the whole letting go of secrets thing. I. need to come clean to him...

but then all of the Spectre stuff happens.

Even the him sitting in the car thing is soooo so so. Cuz Craig absolutely put his whole pussy in the acting for this scene. he's got that like. wrong side of overstimulated so you shoot past being in the zone and instead are zoning out lowkey thing going on, mixed with the like. agent faced with a hopeless situation Observing Everything still but like vaguely morbidly amused about it, probably what's running through the brain rn is "lmao, wonder which bullet will be The One" kind of deal. And cross-cutting the shooting & wide shots with the bells was *chefs kiss* genius.

Even Madeleine not managing to tell him was well written/paced. Cuz it was very believable that she (not trained for this) was scared/shocked & couldn't get a word out. Until the "JAMES. I'd rather die than have you think I--" and then the fucking. tragedy of the bad timing. god. And then even her not just saying it later is like, it all makes sense with the way it was paced, shot, & edited. It was beaaautiful oh man. This also where I was like. damn lmao. miscommunication in a movie where it. feels like it makes sense and isn't just a stupid macguffin lol??? In a hollywood movie?? wild

but yeah this is also where it was like. hey wait. the man who, in the face of sort of a morbid (passively?) suicidal emotional blowout due to the Everything, but was able to break through it when she got through to him enough for him to look at her, and her to cry & shake her head like no, it's not true/no don't do this/please/(w.e). and go, "Okay." and take action. How does he put her on the train??

BUT. BUT FUCKING. BUT THEN. MY GOD. *Actually* watching the fucking scene I was like. Ooooh. ough ough oh god. This isn't him vindicatively cutting her out of his life "the bitch is dead" style. This is his Vesper in the elevator cage moment. He's fucking drowning in the cage but he doesn't want to take her with him. He's locking her out of the cage. god.

And the fucking. devastation on his face while he's on the platform. THAT'S HIS FUCKIN. VESPER HOLDING HIM ONE LAST TIME AND SHOVING HERSELF TO TH EBACK OF THE CAGE AAARGGGGHH BARK BARK BARK

Which, a-fucking-gain. THEN MAKES THE NO TIME TO DIE SONG. ALL THE FUCKING MORE EGREGIOUS LMAO. "was I stupid to love you was I foolish to trust was it obvious to everybody else" WHAT ARE YOU ON. THIS IS A SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY THIS ISN'T FUCKIN. 'THE BITCH IS DEAD.'

God this is like when ppl are convinced QoS was Bond going on a revenge rampage when he was (1) not even rampaging (2) not on a revenge quest/storyline - that was Camille's story!!!* caveat I did not watch QoS either lol, but I did watch a video essay breaking it down which I found Very Compelling and have since incorporated it into my worldview lmao. Like, in light of me actually watching the beginning of NTTD, and then it launching into the title sequence and the song. IT ACTIVELY. REWRITES HISTORY YOU JUST WATCHED ON THE SCREEN AAAGGGHHH BITE CHOMP KILL. IT UNDERMINES THE WHOLE. ALL OF THE WORK THE FILMMAKERS DID UP TO THAT POINT IN PLOTTING OUT ACTING OUT & ESTABLISHING THE STORY TO THIS POINT.

Like. The problem of the song isn't even oh it's a limited POV thing. IT'S NOT EVEN WAHT BOND'S POV WOULD HAVE BEEN/SHOULD HAVE BEEN BY THAT POINT. Again, this is the "the bitch is dead" edit of the scene, BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENED. THIS IS BOND LOWKEY SPIRALING AND LIKE. OVERSTIMULATED-EXTREME-EMOTIONAL-AMBUSH-IN-A-VERY-SHORT-TIME LOWKEY EMOTIONALLY SPINNING OUT. BUT THEN BREAKING THRU IT ENOUGH WHEN MADELEINE CALLED FOR HIM. TO LOCK HER OUT OF HIS SINKING CAGE. BRUH. BE SO FORREAL RN.

also lmao she clutches her torso WAY too high up, bruh that's her sternum not her belly... but ig the idea translates across still.

but yeah. god. And here I thought No Time to Die the song was just. boring & musically uninspiring. but no. it's so much worse lmao. god.

[imjustdreamingig]

If you want forever, and I'll bet you do

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: Feelings are out, you're still rambling, and Steve thinks you're wonderful.

A/N: when the world thought i abandoned them, i came back... HORRAY!!!! so this is probably my last instalment to this little series, what a joy it has been to write. i'm really proud of this one and am so excited to see how I'll continue to progress in my writing journey. thank you for all the love the last 3 fics got, you have no idea how much my hear soared when I got a notif from this site. i adore you all. pls lmk if you have any suggestions for future fics!

warnings: sfw, swearing, fluff, making out

You don't think your posture has ever been better than right now, sitting in Steve Harrington's living room, hands firmly clasped and placed in your lap. Your eyes quickly scan the beige colored walls, noting the lack of family pictures. In fact, the decor of the entire living room seemed to be more staged than personal, almost as if wanting to give the illusion that this was indeed a home, but not quite hitting the mark.

Steve walks back in from the kitchen carrying two glasses of water and places them on the table in front of you. As he's about to take a seat beside you, he lets out a shocked gasp before hurrying to the cabinet next to the window, pulling out two coasters.

He chuckles nervously as you eye him contemplatively. "My mom is a real stickler for these," he says after he sits back down, running an anxious hand through his hair. "She'll notice the rings the water make the second she walks through the door."

You let out a hum in acknowledgment, not quite sure how to continue the conversation without making him more tense. You notice his shoulders are sort of hunched in, and he's running a hand through his hair again.

Without thinking, you reach out to grab his wrist, pulling it away from his brown locks. Steve looks at you in surprise, mouth slightly parted.

"You're going to ruin your hair even more and I know for a fact you spent at least half and hour on it this morning," you say, reaching out to fix a piece that has fallen into his eyes. Steve laughs, "Hey, I'll neither confirm or deny."

You feel yourself becoming a bit more relaxed with the friendly environment that Steve's presence brings, slowly sinking into the couch rather than sitting as if the Queen of England was going to walk in at any second. That's the vibe you were getting from his house; meticulously clean to the point you almost questioned Steve if someone actually lived here.

When Steve picked you up earlier, you surprised yourself by not feeling those intense fight-or-flight instincts as you watched him run up to your front door.

Aside from accidentally making fun of his music taste on the car ride over, "Of all people Steve, I did not expect you to like Blondie." "What!? They're great!" and you hitting him with the car door as you opened it because he wanted to open it for you, "Your face! I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you there!" "You barely touched me I swear, I just wanted to be nice!" you waited for the usual rush of anxiety to fill you whenever you were near Steve.

You waited for it to appear during the car ride, you waited for it to appear as you walked into his house, and you're waiting for it to appear now.

It didn't.

That doesn't mean that you're not nervous, but it's more of an excited-nervous. The kind of nervous you felt before doing a big presentation in front of your class or performing in the school play. Steve knows how you feel about him and you know how he feels about you, there's no reason to be nervous around him anymore.

Now it's all about what's next. And because you think you can predict the outcome of this study/talk-it-out session, you feel a a flutter of emotions overtake your body, but instead of causing you anxiety, it's causing you excitement.

However.

You absolutely were not going to be the one out of the two of you to address the elephant in the room (aka the reciprocated crush thing). If Steve wanted to talk about it, he would have to start that conversation. Steve was eager to talk about it yesterday, so he should be eager to talk about it right now... Right?

"Listen, I would say we should get to work on the project, but I don't think that's gonna happen today," the boy in question says.

You direct your gaze to your bag thats on the floor and eye your copy of Pride and Prejudice before glancing up to look at Steve, who was already staring at you. He looked so at ease, one elbow leaned against the couch cushion with his fist pressed against his cheek.

He is so pretty.

You turn on the couch to face him and match his pose before saying, "I don't think so either." You didn't realize until this moment how close the two of you were sitting.

Steve says nothing for a moment as he just stares. You note this is the first time in a while that you're not blabbering nonsense at the boy, you usually talk a lot. Steve notices it, too.

"You know, I never took you to be a quiet person," he comments. "I'm usually not," you respond, "I just feel— I don't know, for once I don't feel like talking, I don't feel the need to fill the silence."

"Woah, who knew you could be so poetic." You lightly smack his leg as he teases you. "Oh, shut up, Harrington!" Steve's laughter subsides quickly and he peers down at your hand that's still on his leg. He swallows down the lump in his throat before picking it up, slowly caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

"You make me so nervous, did you know that?" he whispers before looking up at you again. You feel your cheeks heat up even though you know no color is showing on your face. The look that he's giving you is one that you've never seen before, and you've spent too much time of your time staring at him according to Robin.

"I've made the Steve 'the Hair' Harrington nervous? Wait 'till the girls hear about this." You try to lighten the mood a little, but Steve barely cracks a smile, getting a mere tiny lift of the corner of his mouth in response. His thumb never stop caressing your hand.

"I hope that isn't how you see me, at least not now." You shake your head, "Of course not, I'm sorry, not really sure why I pulled that joke right now." Steve shakes his head fondly and wags a finger at you. "You're something else, you're so different. I can never tell what you're thinking." You blink twice. "Uh, is that a bad thing?" you question.

"Absolutely not!" he exclaims. He suddenly lets go of your hand and flops back on the couch, now laying horizontally, with both hands covering his face as he lets out an sigh. "Steve!" you laugh.

"I've never met someone like you before, usually I have girls just throwing themselves at me—before you say it, I know how that sounds just gimme a sec— but you, god, the more I saw you and the more I learned about you and through Robin and your insane excuses, the more hooked I got."

Your heart is beating way too fast that you're positive it can be heard from three houses down. Holy shit, am I getting my own love confession? Steve sits back up straight and his face is one of amused exasperation. "You've made me go crazy, what have you done to me?"

You suck in a gasp. "Well, my mom says the same thing whenever we fight actually," your mouth is spitting out an answer before your brain can fully catch up. You have no idea how to respond to this love confession—oh my god a love confession—that your mouth is just running on autopilot. "Lately, she's been on me about organizing my bookshelf, but like it's my bookshelf in my room, she doesn't have to look at it, and I'm categorizing and cataloguing my books, so of course it's messy, but she wants to pick a fight when I'm actually cleaning for once, so I do-"

Steve lets out a bark of laughter, "Oh Jesus Christ, just shut up."

And all of a sudden, you're being kissed. Passionately. With two hands holding the sides of your face. Your eyes are wide open while Steve's are closed, both your arms are raised slightly not quite knowing what to do with them.

The kiss ends before you can even process that it was happening. The only way you knew it occurred was because of the warmth on your cheeks left behind by Steve's hands and the slight sheen his lips have from your lip gloss.

"Steve," you start and in real time, you see his face flush with a lovely shade of pink, covering his face and creeping down his neck. "I'm sorry! You were just rambling and I didn't know how to help you calm down and I've wanted to do that for a long time but I should've asked you first before-"

It's your turn to cut him off as you lean in and capture his lips into yours. For a second Steve freezes before his mind and body catch up. He lets out a groan before manoeuvring you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist and his hand cupping your cheek. One of your hands is gripping his bicep which holy fuck he is so strong and the other is resting with the hair at the nape of his neck.

His lips are soft and warm and you can taste the mint of the gum he had been chewing as you deepened the kiss. You can actually appreciate this kiss, having had some time to properly process it and melt into it. Fuck, he's such a good kisser.

Unfortunately, because the need to breathe starts to affect you more with each passing second, you separate his mouth from yours with a soft sigh. He leans his forehead onto yours, both arms gently holding your waist now. You stay like that for a few seconds, basking in the afterglow of the most intense kiss you've ever had in your life, especially considering it was with Steve.

Once you put just enough space between the two of you so you're able to see his entire face properly, you let out a small giggle, which turns into two, which turns into three, and eventually your whole body is shaking with laughter. Steve is looking at you incredulously as you place your head on his shoulder before he's joining you, you're laugh just being too contagious.

"What!?" Steve exclaims. "Am I that bad at kissing or something?" In between fits of giggles you shake your head. "No, on the contrary, it's because you're an incredible kisser." The full blown laughs have finally ceased to a few chuckles and you pry your head away from Steve's shoulder, only to look at him, feel the bubbles of laughter resurface, and place it right back in the same position.

Steve kisses the top of your head and starts running his fingers down your back, causing goosebumps to appear wherever they trailed. "You'll have to fill me in then, babe." The nickname earns another tiny giggle on your part. "Not everyone has that crazy mind that you do." He can practically feel you rolling your eyes at him.

"It's just crazy to me that the one thing I wished would happen to me this year actually happened. I wasn't worried about grades or whatever, I just wanted this. And look! It happened!" You remove yourself from your hiding place to look at Steve. "Me from three months ago would probably go into cardiac arrest if I told her this happened."

Steve smirks. "So basically, your solid plan of running away from the guy you liked to make sure this," he gestured between the two of you, "happened was a success."

You let out a squawk of indignation. "Hey, I was gonna say something to you eventually!" Steve is making a face that can only be translated as are you serious? before relenting and admitting, "Ok fine, maybe I wasn't. But the thought was there! That counts. Right?"

Steve snorts, "Sure babe, of course it does." You let out a pleased hum before a glaring at him seriously. "Just to make sure, this means we're dating right? Because I don't want to get the wrong idea and then mark this day as our anniversary and then our one month comes up and I want to do something small, but cute, and you're all like confused because we never explicitly said that we were a couple, and then I'm all mortified so yo-"

Needless to say, it wouldn't be the only time Steve would stop your ramblings that night with a kiss. And he planned on doing it a whole lot more.

[dietcokedaydream]

May I Have This Dance?

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Reader (no use of Y/N) is in denial about the possibility that she's pregnant, and Sirius, ever the incredible (yet teasing) partner, is there to help her through it.

Warnings: discussion of periods/pregnancy, mention of pee, mention of the war. It's mentioned once that the reader is a Gryffindor. Let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: Yes, I did borrow the ending from Friends. No, I'm not sorry. I had fun writing this one. I might make this part of a series, I don't know. Enjoy!

Kneeling on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, you can’t help but let out a groan as the front door of your flat swings open, the rattle of keys hitting the table telling you your boyfriend has just returned from the store. 

“Love? Where are you? I got us some of those freaky pointy tropical fruits to try- they cost an arm and a leg, but I figured-” Sirius stops short when he sees you in the bathroom, flushing the toilet and pushing to your feet. 

“Were you sick again?” he asks, concern evident in his expression, the overflowing paper bags forgotten on the counter as he scans your face for any sign of distress.

The answer, of course, was yes. You have been throwing up randomly for a little over a week now. Sirius has insisted you see a healer, and you have insisted it’s just stress, leading to a number of arguments between the two of you. 

“It’s nothing, I promise,” you say, rinsing your mouth at the sink and joining him in the kitchen, placing a kiss on his cheek before starting to unpack the bags. 

“It’s not nothing, that’s, what, the fourth time this week? And it’s only Wednesday,” Sirius says, gently pushing your hands away from the groceries, grabbing your shoulders, and looking into your eyes. 

You let out a sigh, rubbing your face. You had an idea what might be causing it; your period was late. Originally, you wrote it off as a side effect of the emotional and physical pressure you were under fighting for the order. But now, with the nausea, and still no period, well. It wasn’t looking good. 

Of course, you haven’t brought this up to Sirius yet. What great timing would that be? ‘Hey, I know we and all of our loved ones are kind of busy fighting a war against a genocidal maniac, but do you think you could help me put together this glider?’ 

You are torn away from your thoughts when Sirius says something, pulling your hands down from your face. 

“What?” you ask, looking at him again, earning a chuckle and that award-winning crooked grin you fell in love with back in school. 

“Do you think you should take a test?” Sirius asks again. 

“A test?” you ask “Like-”

“Like a pregnancy test. You know, it’s a stick, you pee on it…” 

You let out a laugh, though it sounds more forced than you intend, turning back to unpack the groceries, placing the odd fruit Sirius had bought in the bowl on the kitchen table. 

“I’m not pregnant,” you say, more like you are telling yourself than Sirius “that would be-” You shake your head, unable to finish your thought “I’m not pregnant.” 

Sirius leans against the counter, watching you continue to unpack the groceries with an amused smirk on his face. “And what makes you so sure?”  

“Because, I’m not,” I say, matter of factly, continuing to unpack the bags.

“Well then, what could a test hurt, eh? Just to confirm what you already know if nothing else.” Sirius says, still looking infuriatingly handsome while he watches you anxiously move about the kitchen. 

“I don’t want to go to the drugstore just to-” 

“Ah ah,” Sirius cuts you off, tapping the nearly-empty bag “I’m one step ahead of you” he reaches in and retrieves a blue box, holding it out in front of him. 

You stand there for a moment, looking between him and the box a few times before saying a petulant “nu uh” and folding the empty paper bags, carrying them to the basket by the fireplace.

Sirius, never one to be deterred, follows you to the living room with a small chuckle “Love, c’mon, you’re sick, you’re late-” 

“How do you know I’m late?” You say, turning around with a furrow in your brow and a sharpness in your tone that Sirius knows is only due to nerves. 

“Oh, come on, I’ve been friends with Moony for nine years, I’ve learned to track all kinds of cycles” he tries to joke, but when you don’t laugh, he steps forward, discarding the box on the coffee table, and cups your face in both hands. 

“Darling, we have to know if you are.” He says softly. 

“I don’t want to know” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. 

Sirius chuckles “Well, that’s a hell of a thing to want to be in the dark about” 

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, before saying “If I am, everything will change, and I like our life. I like us, and this apartment, and- merlin, and we have enough to worry about already right now, we don’t need-” 

Sirius shakes his head, cutting off your rambling. “We’re never going to change,” he says softly “You’re stuck with me, regardless. And I rather like this apartment too, you know. I doubt an infant will take up so much space we have to upgrade from a two-bedroom flat to a villa in the country.” Sirius says, his tone somehow both comforting and teasing as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Don’t you want kids?” he asks. 

“You know I do, I just always figured it would be after the war, when we were older and ready, and it was the right time.” 

“We don’t tend to go the traditional route though, now do we?” Sirius asked with a grin, though his expression had a soft quality to it now. “I would be so bloody excited to have a kid with you, regardless of the timing. And maybe this is a false alarm, and we will get to wait until the perfect time, but please, love, just take the test,” he says, all while rubbing gentle circles on your cheek with his thumb. 

Staring into his grey eyes, you find yourself nodding. “Alright. Fine,” you turn and grab the box from the table, heading straight for the bathroom, surprised when you turn to close the door to see Sirius walking in behind you, sitting on the edge of the tub, looking up at you with kind and expectant eyes. 

With a chuckle, you lean against the sink. “Are you seriously going to watch me pee?” 

Without a trace of humor, Sirius nods, his expression still soft and affectionate. You laugh lightly again, rolling your eyes as you open the box and read the instructions, trying hard not to focus on the way your hands are shaking. 

Just like he said, Sirius sits on the tub the whole time, and once you have washed your hands and set the test face-down on the edge of the sink, you sit next to him, bouncing your leg anxiously and chewing on your thumbnail. 

“How long do we wait?” Sirius asks. 

“Three minutes” you answer, still staring blankly at the little stick sitting on the white countertop. 

“Perfect,” Sirius says, standing and grabbing your arm to drag you up with him, out to the living room. 

“What on earth are you doing?” you ask through a surprised chuckle as Sirius leaves your side to drop the needle on the record player, not even bothering to check what it was the two of you had left on the turntable last night before bed. 

“Three minutes, the perfect amount of time for a dance,” he says, grabbing your hand and taking a dramatic bow as the static from the vinyl fades into the first notes of “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” making you laugh despite yourself as Sirius cringes. 

“You and your bloody Elvis” Sirius mumbles, no true ire in his voice, before he kisses your knuckles, looking up into your eyes. “May I have this dance?” 

You nod, still laughing softly as Sirius stands back to his full height, pulling you against his chest as he sways the two of you back and forth slowly to the music. After a few seconds, you fully relax into him, nearly forgetting about the test developing one room over. Sirius hums along to the music, the vibrations rumbling against your cheek as you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in him. 

When the song fades out, there is a moment of silence, the two of you just swaying gently in the living room before the next track- Rock-A-Hula Baby- starts, causing the both of you to erupt into a fit of laughter, your face buried into Sirius’s black t-shirt while the two of you crack up. 

When the laughter dies down, Sirius gently grips your chin and tilts your head up. “It’s been three minutes,” he says softly. 

“I know,” you say just as quietly. 

When you don’t move, Sirius chuckles, kissing your forehead before letting go and walking to the bathroom, you following behind him, the two of you stopping and looking down at the little, pathetic plastic stick sitting on the sink, waiting to be flipped over, capable of changing your lives entirely in a millisecond. 

You look up at Sirius for a moment. “I love you, more than anything, no matter what,” you say, anxiety evident in your tone. 

Sirius chuckles, smiling at you and kissing your forehead again, and when he speaks, there is a quiver in it that is distinctly uncharacteristic. “I love you too. So so much, always.” 

“Alright,” you nod, looking down at the test and taking a deep breath, poising to flip it before shaking your head, “Nope, you’ve gotta do it,” you say, taking a step back. 

Sirius chuckles, shaking his head “So much for Gryffindor bravery” he teases as he flips the test, eyes flicking from the test to your eyes and back to the test a few times before you finally exclaim “Well?!” 

“It’s uh- it’s negative,” Sirius says with a shrug, infuriatingly nonchalant. 

“What? Neg- are you serious?”

“Always” he replies with a grin, wincing away exaggeratedly as you make to slap his upper arm “Yes, yes, it’s negative,” he says, rubbing his shoulder where you had landed a smack. 

“Well, that’s… that’s good then, isn’t it?” you say, sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at the pattern of the tile on the floor. “I mean, a war isn’t a time to be having a baby anyway, and we’re still so young…” you say, knowing the words are true. But if it wasn’t the right time, why were you so sad to hear the test was negative? One of your hands involuntarily finds its way to your stomach before you look up at Sirius again, asking “Negative? Really?” 

“No, it’s positive,” he says, a grin playing at his lips- the one he wears after a particularly good prank. 

“What? Are you sure?” you shoot to your feet, reaching for the test which he holds out readily “Well, yeah, I lied before,” he says with a chuckle, earning another smack on the arm as you look at the test in your hands, displaying a very prominent plus sign.

One of your hands flies up to cover your mouth, happy tears pricking your eyes as you look up at him “We’re going to have a baby?” 

Sirius nods, his mischievous grin fully replaced by a smile of pure elation “We’re going to have a baby,” he confirms, catching you with a huff as you throw your arms around him and pull him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Maybe this will be alright after all. 

[heisenbergs-magnetic-dick]

captain whiskers getting scritched on the butt is so funny because cats raise their butt For No Reason and when he turns back into wesker. Well.

that's it that's the rq 💓 wishing you out of your block!

butt scritches

wesker & reader

summary: you let a hungry stray into your house and he’s the snobbiest little shit ever

no use of y/n - gn!reader

a/n: this idea is extremely funny to me 😭🙏 especially since Wesker is such a serious character lmao. sorry this took so long I got sick in the middle of writing it and had absolutely zero energy for anything these last few days 😞 anyways THANK YOU 🫶🫶

At first, you didn’t think much of it. What appeared to be a stray cat kept showing up in your backyard, so why not give it something to eat before it went on its way? Only… what started as one can of tuna soon became two cans—then three cans, four, and so on.

At some point, this stray’s visits got so frequent that you started picking up some wet food along with your regular shopping. After all, too much human food couldn’t be healthy for the poor creature. Or so you thought until the cat smacked away the first can of cat food as soon as the scent hit his face.

His whiskers twitched and his ears folded back in a disgusted manner. This happened a couple of times until you decided to give in and let him dine with you every night at dinner. Of course, you didn’t want to sit outside each night and wait for him to finish eating… so you started bringing him inside. In hindsight, it might not have been one of your better ideas.

Lord only knows what kind of diseases the little fleabag was carrying. Did you care, though?

Of course not.

Besides! How could you deny that round, cuddly face and sharp blue eyes? A strangely unique shade, those eyes. They almost looked sort of human, but you tried not to look into it too much before you creeped yourself out too much.

…

It’s 5:30 again.

Your four-legged guest is more punctual than most people you know. He’s always right on time— and lets out the most irritated meows if you’re a minute late to let him in.

Treading over to your backdoor, you slide it open and the orange tabby struts into your home. He makes a B-line towards the dining room (where he sits across you every night).

“You’re really making a dent in my bank account,” you sigh as you watch the cat tear into half a pound of salmon right before your eyes. You could’ve sworn a fly drifted out of your wallet at the register earlier. Of course, the cat pays you no mind.

You forget he’s only here for the food.

“Hm… how many other people are you finessing like this?” you ask rhetorically. “You look too well-fed to not be eating three square meals a day,”

The cat pauses his eating, to your surprise, and he lets out a sharp meow as if he’s talking back. You nearly drop your fork. You already figured that this cat was a little different than most others.

For starters, he acts like a person. He even communicates as such—just like right now. Always meowing after you spoke to him, but you knew some cats were just talkative and liked meowing… but responding to your questions was a different thing, though.

Or maybe this is your Disney princess moment. Maybe you’re the chosen one and you’re actually some kind of animal whisperer. Next time you see another stray, you’ll talk to it and see if it responds to test your wild theory.

As you finish up your meal, so does the cat, signalling that it’s time to leave. You go to pick him up, but he leaps off the table gracefully before you even get close to him.

You follow him back to the sliding doors where he came from, and he meows at you with all the impatience in the world until he hears the lock click and the door opening. You try to pet him before he heads out, but he hisses at your fingers barely grazing the top of his fuzzy little head.

“Fine. Be that way, ya shit.” You say, slightly annoyed as the cat hurries out the door so he can spend the night out in fuck-knows-where. At least Raccoon City was stray friendly… for the most part. “Be safe, dude,”

You shut the door, with the thoughts of spending the rest of your evening glued to your couch and finish watching The Lost Boys. Except right before you’re able to grab a few snacks to indulge in— the meowing starts. It’s the stray, of course. Who else would it be at this hour?

A defeated sigh escapes your lips and turn on your heel muttering to yourself. “What, forget your wallet or something?” you jokingly ask as you approach the door again.

Oh.

It’s raining.

Well… you can’t just leave him out there, can you? And judging by the angered look the creature gives you as the rain continues to soak his fur—he wants to come back in. You let him in, and immediately he begins to shake like a maraca in an attempt to dry himself. Though, by the looks of it, he’s gonna need more than a simple shake to dry off.

“Hold on, wait here. I’ll get a warm towel to dry you, how’s that?” You ask. The cat looks up at you for a moment before planting his butt down on the doormat. “Good. I shouldn’t be long,”

Wandering through your house, you slip into the laundry room and pull a towel from your dryer (which is thankfully not empty since you had started the laundry earlier). It’s not too hot, so you deem it suitable enough for the cat. You head back to the little guy and see that he’s licking away at his fur to get the moisture out.

“Jesus, you couldn’t even wait a minute… come ‘ere.” You say, crouching in front of the cat and dropping the towel on him. With both hands you gently rub him down thoroughly through the towel, his fur becoming tousled and pointing in all directions.

Low meowing her heard from underneath the cloth so you stop, instead you do your best to wrap him up so he’s snug before picking him up and holding him tight to your chest as if he were a baby. But all cats are the cutest little babies to you. Angels sent down from above even with how prissy they got.

You carry him into the living room, deciding that he can warm up with you while you watch tv. Surprisingly, he hasn’t tried to escape your impromptu swaddle. He’s actually purring.

At least he’s comfortable, you think.

…

Almost an hour into your evening, the cat ends up falling asleep in your lap, purring quietly even in his sleep. It gets you thinking… maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if you actually took him in— he’d be your cat instead of just a stray going from place-to-place.

It could be nice, anyway.

Half-asleep, you yawn and your hand absentmindedly finds its way to the cat’s tail end and you give him a few scratches. At the feeling of your fingertips combing through his fur and getting every itch, he raises his rear as he purrs some more, eyes slowly fluttering open as you continue to scratch him.

You hardly have time to process that such a stuck up, demanding cat is giving into your affection with your eyelids drooping shut. You should really head to bed soon… you don’t exactly want to spend the night on your couch, even with a kitty curled up on you. Alas, the events of your day catch up to you and you shut your eyes mid-scratch.

However, they shoot right back open as a roughly ten pound creature soon becomes two-hundred pound… man…? No… that can’t be right— the cat was just here! Immediately, you retract your hand.

You rub your eyes to make sure this isn’t just you being tired. Why else would a grown man be lying across your lap— back arched slightly and your hand rests on his lower back, with a towel resting on his head. The very same towel that was just holding a stray cat in its confines.

You’re completely speechless, mouth agape as you see this man slowly lift his head, relaxing his position on you. He seems to be unaware of the situation, disheveled hair and an almost dazed look on his face. It doesn’t take him long to sit up and notice that you’re there. It’s then that those bright blue eyes of his widen and his mouth falls open.

He says nothing, only backing up and getting off the couch in such speed that it could only be described as unreal.

Snapping out of your trance-like state you swallow thickly and finally, you find your voice again. “… what the fuck.”

a/n: as you can see I went a lil overboard and wrote too much but I’m lowkey back on my shit now so yayay.!.!.!!!! also I’m SO SORRY this is late 😞💔 I been sick so erm.. and I been playing re4r for the first time AND IT WAS SM FUNNNN I LOVED IT.

[strangeracrossthestreet]

I got carried away ranting:

I think the dislike ultimately comes from the fact that Lenore feels like a character and a little parasite in her head stuck in a tug-of-war. And it's a very glaring thing because she's the only character to be like this.

Lenore(1) is infatuated with Annabel from the very beginning, despite having no memories.

And the most important thing is that she is completely and utterly unaffected by anything that happens in the story. She exists in a limbo and comes out when she is needed.

Lenore(2) is mostly bereft of this infatuation (she still thinks Annabel is cute and blushes whenever she gets too touchy..), and is the one we see the most. She's the one talking, she's the one taking actions, she's the one constantly questioning Annabel's intentions. She reacts like you would expect someone to react.

Lenore(1) only appears in very, very specific instances: When she has to save Annabel. When she has to comfort Annabel. When she cries over Annabel.

And every time she shows up, it feels like I'm being slapped in the face over and over again, being very pointedly told "Lenore loves Annabel™ Do Not Worry!" and it doesn't feel organic at all.

Lenore(1) is not a person, and the Garden scene shows that perfectly.

The constant switch ups, the confessions, the bizarre lovestruck looks that have no place in this kind of situation considering how downright livid they have written Lenore to be with her. (We are falling to our deaths, Lenore why are you looking at her like that? Are you content that both of you will die together? Is that IT—)

If you're going to have her be so furious with Annabel as to literally manhandle her and almost pull a gun on her Stick. To. It! Don't have her switch to Lenore(1) and be all blushy when Annabel says "It all looks so small. Like a toy." <- the exact fucking sentiment Lenore(2) is mad at her for having.

If you're going to have her be so mad as to roughly push her to the ground like a sack of potatoes after having watched her suffer an attack and then almost being murdered Stick. To. It! Don't have her switch to Lenore(1) so she can look at Annabel like 🥺 when they're hanging off the balcony and alive only thanks to Duke and Pluto's efforts.

If you're going to have her be so mad as to call Annabel a monster and mad to her face Stick. To. It! Don't have her immediately switch to Lenore(1) and go

"I don't know what I'd do with myself if you feel" and "Of course I'd notice if you were gone."

That's weird, the tone's weird! It's all over the place!

She flip flops between being furious and comforting and it doesn't make sense!

Either have her be completely silent when she's trying to bring Annabel down from her attack OR have that moment extinguish her rage completely and utterly from then on!

Because as it stands, she's still furious, she's still angry, so why the hell is she suddenly taking Annabel's words at face value when she's never once done so before and is in the depths of believing that Annabel only ever manipulates her??

Lenore(1) get out of here!! The moment Lenore said "You really are a monster", that should have been it! No crumbs of good faith left!!

The moment of her trying to claw out of the Misfits's embrace to try and get to Annabel would have hit so much harder without those forced in soft moments because then she'll have REGRETS and GUILT over what she said/how she treated her during the Garden scene and beforehand!!!

Is that not the tragedy? Annabel remembering her fiance and acting accordingly, Lenore not remembering and going against her completely and utterly (and then she gets her Spectre and memory of her death, and boom, angst angst angst angst)

Though really, the whole memories thing is whole 'nother can of worms that it hurts my brain trying to make sense of it. Do the memories matter at all or do characters just act the way they do because Fate™(a.k.a the plot demands it?)

I swear Lenore's the biggest personification of Katy Perry's Hot N Cold song I've ever seen WHEEEZES

This isn't going to be very nice to Lenore, and in general the "remembering in pieces" mechanic, so just don't click read more if you don't want to see me tear into it thanks.

Like I know we all love to call Annabel a manipulator, and she is, but THIS MOMENT is kind of egregious as fuck to me.

The audacity to call her a monster (AND mad) to her face and then comfort her when she reacts badly over it

The audacity to look at her like this:

and then immediately after do this:

Why is she even saying "I don't know what I'd do with myself" if she's not supposed to remember that they were close?

But then why would she be acting like this if she DOES remember that they're close???

The worst thing is that it's so obvious how Lenore cares for the Misfits but when it comes to Annabel it feels cheap? Like it doesn't feel like there's any connection there other than "I remember I'm supposed to love you but do I actually?" rather than there being any genuine emotions involved. (Is that the point???)

WHERE is the delusion? The "Annabel must have surely had a reason—"

WHERE is the trust?

WHERE is the loyalty? <- truly my biggest gripe because Annabel is so fucking devoted I cannot let it go, I can't LMAO

WHERE is her not actually being as mad as she SHOULD be despite all of her misgivings and thus making Duke and Pluto suspicious as all hell?

Lenore has never ONCE given Annabel the benefit of the doubt and I understand that in the beginning when she knew nothing, but now? NOW? After THIS

Clear realization?

At some point I have to think that the flashbacks we're shown are not things they remember in canon unless we're explicitly shown them waking up to it because THIS

does not make sense otherwise.

Lenore WHY are you not losing your mind here? After saying that you're done with Annabel's whole game?

Go crazy go feral???

Annabel gave you the same reasoning, Lenore. Why are you tolerating this from him? You were manhandling Annabel and inches away from pulling a gun on her but now Duke has Annabel by the throat and halfway past a balcony railing and you're just TALKING?

Lenore tell me. Tell MEEEE!

Is it because Annabel treats it like a "game"? She's being playfully and giggly rather than being serious and "there's no other way" like Duke, even though she said THIS

before.

That's the worst part, really. Annabel has been VERY transparent the ENTIRE time and yet Lenore gets mad over her doing exactly what she said she'll do.

Conclusion to my rant:

What do they remember, what do they NOT remember? I don't know!

Annabel is devoted to the depths of hell even to her own detriment but is that because she remembers or because she's just Like That™?

Lenore is full of doubts and perpetual suspicions, and is willing to call her a monster to her face, but at the same time she sprouts "I don't know what I'll do without you." and jumps off balconies. Is that because she remembers or because she's just Like That™?

What is going ON

It's been a week, give or take, right? So they remember, what? 5 days worth of memories? Unless they remember much, much more than just a singular happening a night?

It feels inconsistent at best and utterly pointless at worst.

Just show us the flashbacks as an outside thing, it didn't have to be organically connected to their Nevermore storyline,,,,OR have them remember everything only when they first go Specre